Ginny Aiken: Priced to Move

And I traded ulcers for this? “I’m outta here.” And outta my mind.

Max holds the door, and as I head for his SUV, he calls out, “Have a great time, ladies. I’ll take good care of her.”

My suspicion-o-meter starts beeping like a trash truck in reverse.

We get into his car and buckle up. “I’ll have you know I’m a perfectly capable adult, Max Matthews. There’s not gonna be any of that ‘taking care of Andie’ going on.”

“Let me worry about that.”

Fear waves hello, but then my conscience pipes in: Try more prayer.

I give it another whirl. Lord? Can you make sure murder’snot on his agenda? And while you’re at it, please send mean extra dose of calm coolness in the face of . . . well, Max-ness.

We drive away in silence—a sticky, icky silence. What’s the deal with this guy?

After a few minutes, he says, “I’ve been playing around with an idea. Are you willing to listen?”

“I’m your captive audience, but that doesn’t mean I’ll take the bait.”

“Fair enough. Why don’t you check out the bag in the backseat?”

I give it a glance. The brown paper sack looks innocent enough. Will it blow up when I open it?

A peek at Max gains me nothing. Nothing but the reminder of how close we are. And that answers my question. I doubt he’d have a bomb in the bag. He doesn’t strike me as suicidal.

When I open the sack, I’m stumped. It contains nothing suspicious, just strange. I spread out on my lap a pair of plastic Groucho Marx glasses, a hot-pink ruler, an eight-inch-square blackboard, and an apple.

“What’s all this?”

“Where’s that sense of humor you told me about?”

“Right where it’s always been, but that doesn’t mean I get your shopping habits.”

“Let me spell it out for you. The reason you hate me is because I’m not gem savvy—”

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait. I don’t hate you. I just don’t think you’re the right man for the job.”

“All I want is for you to give me a chance—even though I’d much rather be selling sports equipment. That’s what this is all about, Teach .”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

“Whatever happened to your old folks’ course in rocks?” “You’re never going to think I know anything unless you’re the one who does the teaching. So how about it? If you know as much about gems as you say you do, then go ahead and share. Teach me what you think I need to know.”

Talk about being between a rock and a hard place—pun totally intended. I don’t want to spend any more time with Max than I have to. He’s too attractive, even with all his flaws. Then there’s that coincidence that might not be so much coincidence.

I mean, really. What could be worse than— No. I’m not going there. Not while we’re in his car.

You have your own flaws, remember? Figures my working-overtime conscience would kick in right about now. But flaws don’t compare with guilt. We’re talking murder here.

And maybe not.

On the other hand, Max does have a point. If he’s innocent, and if I’m going to be stuck with him, I would want to make sure he gets his facts straight. So maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all. “I guess we can give it a try. But if it doesn’t work out, then you’re off to sell sports junk.”

He lets out a sigh that tells me he hadn’t been sure of my answer. And he’d been sweating the wait for my decision. Why would he want to spend so much time with me, if he feels I hate him? Especially, if all he wants to do is sell sports stuff. I don’t do sports.

Suspicious, don’t you think?

I slant him a glance and notice his smile, no smirk in sight. In spite of everything and with no effort on his part, his easy good looks hit me in a way I don’t really want to be hit. At least, not by him, and especially not now that Peggy’s got me to thinking.

Focus, Andie, focus. “When do you want to start?”

Max the Magnificent jumps on that. “How about tonight? After work. We can grab something to eat, and then you can knock yourself out throwing gem basics at me.”

Beep, beep, beep. My suspicion-o-meter’s on double-time. His cozy little gem lesson could be construed— mis construed—as a date. Or something more sinister.

Since I don’t want to give him any crazy ideas of either kind, I let the thought slide into oblivion, where it belongs. And will stay. I hope.

My nerves do a jitterbug in my gut. “Where do you want to go?”

“D’you like Chinese?”

“Love it!”

“See? We have something in common.”

“Oh, and last time I looked, you walk upright. That makes two.”

He chuckles. “One can work wonders with a lot less than that.”

Before a comeback can roll off my tongue, my cell phone does Beethoven’s Fifth. “Hello?”

“Miss Andie?” Chief Clark says.

Those nasty nerves of mine kick up another fuss and my heart beats a triple-time cadence. “Yes. What’s wrong? Why would you be calling me?”

“I’m afraid I do have some bad news for you. There’s been an accident.”

Try talking when your heart’s imitating a jackhammer. “Who?”

“I’m sorry, but your aunt and Miss Mona took off going east, east of I-65, that is, down by where there’s them hills by the farms?”

Sorry? Then he rambles? “Get to the point, please!”

His sniff comes across the line. “Well, Miss Andie, it looks like the brakes in Miss Mona’s fancy car—that Jag thing— gave way. They musta been faulty, ’cause that car’s pretty new. Can’t have wore out or anything like that so fast.”

“So far you’ve told me there was a crash, but you haven’t said a word about what really matters. How are my aunt and Miss Mona?”

Max pulls the SUV to the berm, watches me, but keeps silent.

The chief goes on. “It’s like this, Miss Andie. They’re on their way to the hospital right as we speak. Once they get them there, and the emergency folks do what they need to, then you and I, we’ll both know more. I do know Miss Mona weren’t conscious when the EMTs got to her.”

I totally free-fall inside. “Uh . . . thanks. I appreciate the call. And I’m on my way . . . to the hospital—Oh! Which one? Where’d they go?”

“Baptist East. It’s the biggest and closest to the accident.” “I’ll be there.”

When I close my phone, my hands are shaking and I feel like I’m about to throw up. I’m chilled. Everything around me feels unreal, hazy, and fragile.

“Andie,” Max says, his voice caring and gentle. “Tell me where we’re going. We don’t want to waste time.”

That unexpected gentleness of his again touches me, and I smile. “Thanks, Max. We need to get to Baptist East as soon as we can. Miss Mona’s Jag seems to have had some kind of brake failure, and they crashed.”

“Hang on. I’ll get us there.” He turns the key in the ignition, then gives me a wry grin. “But I’m going to need directions. I’m new in town, remember?”

As we hurry to the hospital, I notice how sure he is at the wheel of the SUV, how steady his actions. I take comfort in his strength, and turn, as always, to prayer.

By the time we reach the hospital, even though my stomach’s knotted and my shoulders are tight, I’m in a more peaceful place thanks to my faith in God’s mercy and the power of prayer. I’m also thankful for Max’s surprising sensitivity.

“Hey,” I say softly. “I guess you’re not a three-headed monster with a glowing green halo, after all. Thanks again.”

“I told you I’m human.” He turns off the car. “How boring of me.”

“Ya think?”

“I think you really get something out of arguing with me, but I don’t really know what. Or why.” At my sputter, he puts a hand on my arm. “Wait! I’m not done. I just want to put you on notice, Teach. I intend to find out why you’re so prickly around me. And you also need to know I’m a pretty determined guy.”