Carolyn Hector - Tempting The Beauty Queen

“Son of a bitch,” Kenzie said from between gritted teeth. “Someone has been in here and tried putting in an air-conditioning unit.”

Ramon followed Kenzie’s glare up to the ceiling of the closet. A silver-coated pipe hung from the top tiles. Rust-colored water stained the walls and the floor. Ramon would rather leave the belongings inside and return with a face mask but Kenzie had already started dragging the plastic bags out. She grunted and tugged at the top bag, an old army-green duffel bag. Ramon took it from her hands and tossed it behind them with ease. The next bags, oddly shaped, weren’t as heavy. Kenzie pulled a picture frame from the top bag.

“The date,” Kenzie breathed. “This photograph was taken over a hundred years ago.” She pressed her finger at the date on the corner of the faded, yellowed newspaper clipping. Ramon wondered if she’d paid attention to the picture first. The image in the article was of a sheriff and his men standing over a body. The sheriff held a most wanted sketch and his deputy held up a picture of a newspaper. The fold of a paper obscured the names tagged in the photo.

“I need to look these names up, of course,” said Kenzie. “What else is in here?”

They found more photographs, including some of the post office they stood in when it was first built. The streets were filled with mud. Instead of a sidewalk there were boardwalks. Mud tarnished the hems of the proud women’s dresses. A box contained old, loose black-and-white photographs from weddings and men dressed up in military garb standing in front of an old bus, being shipped off to war. Another framed photograph showed the original structure of the schoolhouse.

“Before Southwood High and Southwood Middle,” Kenzie began, “everyone was taught in the one school. Now it’s used as a shed by the elementary school.”

“I remember my folks talking about being taught in one school back in Villa San Juan.” Ramon had grown up in a Florida island town so small, they’d only needed one for a long time. He realized Southwood and Villa San Juan weren’t so different.

“It wasn’t until the late fifties the little school had enough students and funding for a total of three brick and mortar buildings. After the Second World War, while African-Americans from other towns were coming back to the same segregation they’d left, Southwood’s citizens banded together as they always had since the Civil War.”

“Why don’t you teach history?” Ramon inquired. “Didn’t Mr. Myers retire?”

Kenzie pulled her hair up into a bun, exposing her long neck. “I wouldn’t mind. I’ve substituted before. I can’t possibly think about teaching right now. That’s all I need my great-aunts and uncles to hear. I’m going to show up at these weddings and be labeled the spinster teacher. And now it looks like I’ve just hit the jackpot of artifacts. I can’t wait to show all this off at the gala this month, providing the new buyer lets me keep them.”

Ramon knew she meant him. He shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t decided yet. There is a lot of damage and I’ve got to keep up the historic regulations.”

“True,” she agreed, still rifling through the closet.

Ramon glanced around the room. The closet had now been turned inside out. In Kenzie’s search, she tossed some things on top of the original bag. Small pieces of paper spilled out from a hole on the side.

“What’s this?” he asked, picking up a square card.

“I have no idea,” Kenzie said, inspecting it in his hand. “I can barely make out ‘Southwood’ at the top. Damn the water damage. I can’t tell. What do you think it is?”

“My gut says an election ballot,” he half teased her. “Maybe the current mayor didn’t win.”

“I wish.” Kenzie frowned. “I hate Anson with a passion. Unfortunately, when he came along, we were doing electronic ballots. No, these look much older. Hmm, the mystery grows. I told you this place was haunted—you may want to rethink buying it.”

“I don’t believe for one minute it’s haunted.”

“You don’t sound too sure.” Kenzie poked his chest. “Scared?”

“I need to come up with a proposal for how I’m going to keep the historic features intact. Maybe I need a historian, someone who can help me with the Economic Development Council.”

“Good luck,” Kenzie huffed and folded her arms across her chest.

“Kenzie, c’mon, why don’t you help me?”

“Why would I want to help you buy this place and turn it into something stupid like a hotel?”

“I already have a hotel. I can offer you something you don’t have.”

Chin jutted forward, Kenzie squared her shoulders. “What can you offer me?”

“If you’ll help me with the proposal, I’ll be your date for all your functions this month.”

“No thanks,” Kenzie quickly responded with a frown. The corners of Ramon’s mouth turned upside down. “Oh come on,” she breathed, “you don’t think I would allow you the chance to stand me up again.”

“We’ve moved beyond that, Kenzie.”

“Oh sure,” Kenzie said, rolling her eyes. “In a matter of minutes we’ve moved on. Whatever. Besides, anyone in town will know we hate each other.”

“There’s a thin line between...”

Kenzie stopped the following sentence from flowing by pressing her two fingers against his lips—that almost kissed her a few moments ago. The same lips that kissed her naked body on a bed of magnolia petals under the full moon.

“You know we can sell chemistry.” Ramon wrapped his left hand around her fingers and kissed the tips.

Kenzie waited a beat or two before pulling away with a step backward. “How so?”

Ramon stepped forward and as if in a dance move, Kenzie backed up against the wall, right where he wanted her. He pressed his hands on the wall on either side of her head. Beneath her blouse her skin rippled with goose bumps. When he dipped his head lower toward hers she pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. Chuckling, Ramon caressed the side of her face.

“Because we can’t deny it.” His lips were practically on hers. He tasted the sweet lemon frosting on her breath.

“Mr. Torres, is that you?” someone yelled and banged on the outside glass.

Kenzie pressed her head against Ramon’s chest and grabbed the lapels of his jacket while Ramon cursed in Spanish. “Think my offer over, sweetheart.”

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