Free Her Fifth Husband? by Dixie Browning Page A

remember she’d loved playing dress-up, her imagination turning her mother’s faded cotton dresses into fancy ballgowns. Having been accused more than once of never having met an artifice she didn’t like, she’d never bothered to deny it. After dozens of makeovers she had found a style she really liked and stuck to it ever since. And while she might draw the line at silicon and botox, if dewlaps or wattles or cellulite ever seriously threatened, she would definitely go for liposuction—maybe even plastic surgery.
    Faylene said, “Long’s I’m here, I’ll just put in a load of laundry. Be back later this evening to put it in the dryer, so don’t you go messin’ around in my utility room, y’hear?”
    â€œWhen did I ever?” Sasha replied.
    Marty said, “You know, I’ve been thinking…that fund-raising yard sale that’s coming up? You reckon we could get them together there? There’ll be food stands and tables, almost like the box suppers.”
    â€œJake lives in Manteo. He’d hardly come all this way for a local fund-raiser.”
    â€œManteo’s not all that far. Besides, it’s for an underprivileged kids’ summer camp. Betcha he’ll go for it if he’s as good a guy as you say he is.”
    â€œDid I say that?”
    In the background, the washing machine began churning.
    â€œYou sort of implied,” Marty said with a lift of one eyebrow.
    â€œI don’t know how you do that.” Sasha shook her head. “That one-eyebrow thing.”
    â€œIt’s easy. You could do it, too, if yours were real instead of penciled on.”
    â€œBless her heart,” Faylene said, drying her hands on the seat of her shorts as she rejoined them, “It comes from all that waxing she gets done. Last time they slipped up and did her eyebrows along with her legs and I don’t know what-all. You get you one o’ them Brazilian jobs?”
    Sasha tossed a teal-and-orange linen pillow at her. All three women began to giggle, and then the phone rang. Faylene was closest. “Want me to get that?”
    â€œWould you please?”
    â€œLasiter residence, Faylene speaking.”
    â€œWho is it?” Sasha whispered. No matter how many quit-bothering-me lists she signed up for, she still got calls from tour groups, resort salesmen and political surveys.
    Faylene held the phone against her pink sequined chest. “Man says his name’s Smith. I think it’s him ,” she whispered loudly. “He says he’s coming this afternoon to take you to get your car.” When she hung up, her smirk said it all. “Didn’t you say that guy’s name was Smith? The one you got picked out for Lily? He sure sounded like a twelve to me. I better go add the softener, I forgot to fill the cup.”
    â€œWay to go, gal!” Marty jabbed a fist in the air. “While you’ve got him here you can tell him about the kids’ day-camp fund-raiser and get him on the hook.” She gave her a knowing smirk. “Some folks believe in catch-and-release. Me, I never did.”
    Â 
    Jake brushed a hand over his newly trimmed hair as he left the barbershop. His client, when he’d finally been able to reach her, had called off the dogs. All a big misunderstanding, according to Ms. J.
    Yeah. Sure it was.
    All the same, with the holiday weekend bearing down on them, the car wasn’t safe where it was.
    Which was how Jake came to be driving to Muddy Landing for the second day in a row, neglecting two new commissions, not to mention keeping up with the paint crew that was finishing up work on his side of the duplex. He put it down to a natural talent for procrastination, along with worrying about his son, who was shipping out any day now, and worrying about the Jamison case. Something didn’t feel right about it, but at this point it was out of his hands.
    He made a mental note to have Miss