Free (LB1) Shakespeare's Champion by Charlaine Harris Page A

our newest Shakespearean responded happily. “Just too busy, I guess.”
    Marshall was trying to conceal his relief just as hard as Janet was trying to conceal her chagrin.
    “I’ve been cleaning the apartment halls since Pardon died,” I said. “Do you want me to keep on, or have you made other plans?”
    “I expect I’ll be doing it,” Becca said.
    I nodded and gathered my things together. The extra money had been pleasant, but working late on Saturday hadn’t.
    Our sensei was still telling Becca how much we wanted her to come back to class as Janet and I bowed at the door on our way out.
    “Screw her,” Janet said quietly and viciously after we’d reached the parking lot.
    It seemed to me it wouldn’t be too long before Marshall tried to do just that, and Carlton, longtime most eligible bachelor in Shakespeare, had seemed interested, too.
    I liked Janet pretty well, and I could see she was chagrined at the sexy and striking Becca Whitley’s appearance and Marshall’s obvious approval. Janet had been waiting for Marshall to notice her for a couple of years.
    “She’ll never last in Shakespeare,” I told the disappointed woman. I was surprised to hear my own voice.
    “Thanks, Lily,” Janet said, sounding equally surprised. “We’ll have to wait and see.” To my amazement, she gave me a half-hug before unlocking her Trooper.
    When I came in through the kitchen door, I could hear my television. Claude was parked in the double recliner watching a football game. He looked unnervingly at home. He waved a casual hand when I called “Hello,” so I didn’t hurry as I showered and dressed. When I emerged, once again made up and polished, Claude was in the kitchen drinking a glass of iced tea.
    “What do you think of your new landlady?” I asked.
    “The Whitley woman? Looks like a raccoon, don’t she, with all that eye makeup?” he said lazily.
    I smiled. “Ready to eat?” I asked.
    Soon we were driving toward Montrose, the nearest large town. It lay west and slightly north of Shakespeare, and it was the retail hub for many small towns like Shakespeare. Montrose, which boasted a population of around forty thousand year-round, more during college sessions, was where Shakespeareans went when they didn’t want to make the somewhat longer northeast drive to Little Rock.
    I’d never been enthusiastic about Montrose, a town which could have been dropped anywhere in the United States without its visitors knowing the difference. Montrose had no character; it had shopping. There were all the usual fast-food places and all the usual chain stores, and a five-screen movieplex, and a Wal-Mart Super Center. In my view, the main attractions of Montrose were its superior library, its one good independent bookstore, and perhaps four fairly good nonchain restaurants. And a couple of decent chain ones.
    In the months I’d been seeing Marshall, I’d spent more time in Montrose than I had in the four years I’d lived in Shakespeare. Evenings at home had little charm for Marshall.
    We’d tried every restaurant, sat through Jackie Chan and Steven Seagal movies, visited every sporting goods store to compare their prices to Winthrops’, and done our weekly shopping at the Super Center.
    This evening, Claude suggested a movie. I almost agreed out of courtesy. But remembering the uncomfortable hours with Marshall, I admitted, “I really don’t like going to the movies.”
    “That so?”
    “I don’t like sitting with a lot of strangers in the dark, having to listen to them shift around and rattle paper and talk. I’d rather wait until it comes out on video and see it at home.”
    “Okay,” he said. “What would you like to do?”
    “I want to eat at El Paso Grande and go to the bookstore,” I said.
    Silence. I looked over at him out of the corners of my eyes.
    “What about Catch the Wave and the bookstore?” he countered.
    “Done,” I said, relieved. “You don’t like Tex-Mex?”
    “Ate there last week