Death of a Garage Sale Newbie (19 page)

“I am so tired of these stupid stereotypes. I get this on campus all the time. Physicists are supposed to act and dress a certain way. Just because I’m blond and used to be a cheerleader doesn’t mean I’m dumb People make assumptions about what I think because I’m a Christian.”

Kindra grimaced at the French woman. “I would never dress like that. None of my friends dress like that. If you’re going to pretend to be a Christian, at least do a little field research. Television is filled with lies when it comes to Christians.”

“No.” The French woman seemed to be having some sort of epileptic fit. She shook her head, blinked rapidly, and sucked in her collagen-enhanced lips so tightly they disappeared.

Kindra stopped pacing and gazed down at the box. She lowered her voice. “We know who you really are, Mr. Lustrum.”

The color drained from his face. He made a series of odd groans and squeaks. “You know my name?”

Kindra held up the box. “And I know this belongs to you.”

Ginger did a double take toward Kindra. What had she figured out?

Keaton’s fingers, stiff and splayed apart, reached toward the box.

“I am not stupid. I know not all is true.” The French woman seemed to be on the verge of tears. “I just wanted to learn to be a good American.” She dropped the tote bag on the floor.

Kindra shoved the box toward Keaton.

Ginger stepped back and watched the strange show taking place in her kitchen.

Keaton wrapped his arms around the box. He touched his stiff hair. “Thank you. It’s a family heirloom.”

Kindra rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and planted a fist on her hip. “Oh, cut the lies. You can get it in any ocean tourist shop in the world. You won’t find what you’re looking for in there.”

The lawyer’s eyes popped. He made his squeaking noises again.

Kindra pulled a pile of papers out of her back pocket. “I think this is what you want.”

Keaton’s jaw and the box dropped, clattering at their feet.

Earl stared out
his workshop window at the Lexus in his driveway. Did they even know someone who drove a car like that?

“Is something wrong, Mr. Salinski?” Trevor’s hands dripped with papier-māché.

Earl pulled his drill off the elk antlers he’d been preparing to mount on his latest invention. “No, Trevor, why do you ask?”

“You been starin’ out the window for five minutes, and you drilled three holes in that one antler.” The boy ran his finger through curly brown hair. “I thought we just needed one.”

“So I did. You caught me.” Earl pulled his drill bit out of his drill. “I shouldn’t be operating power tools when my mind is elsewhere.” He handed the bit to Trevor.

The boy placed the bit back in its case. “Where is your mind?”

“Just on some adult things, marriage things.” Earl’s thoughts kept pace with the rapid winding of his drill cord. Would he and Ginger spend their remaining years operating in separate worlds? “You wouldn’t understand.”

Trevor shrugged. “Try me, Mr. S.”

The innocence of his expression calmed Earl. What could it hurt to share? “Since Heidi left for the army, Ginger and I seem to be drifting apart.” He placed his drill on a wall hook. “I thought once the kids were gone…” He shook his head. “Been reading all these books about relationships.”

“Books? Books are just a bunch of words. What good will that do? When me and my buds have had some sort of rift, we just go skate together, no words, just silence. Pretty soon, we’re having so much fun on our boards that we forget what we were mad about. We never read books about getting along.”

Earl couldn’t help but smile at the simplicity of Trevor’s solution. “It’s a little different with a wife than with a…a bud. Women are all about words. I know that much from the books. It’s not that Ginger and I are angry at each other, and we already got way too much silence between us.”

“But there is a rift?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“So just hang together. Like we’re doing. You know, hang.”

“Just hang, huh?”

Trevor nodded. “And Mr. S.?”

“Yes.”

“You need to make her your bud.”

Seashells rattled and tinkled as they fell off the box and scattered across Ginger’s floor. One of the hinges that secured the lid had broken, leaving the top of the box barely attached to the bottom.

Dowdy Woman gasped. “Now they know you are
hippo crit,
Keaton.”

“The word is
hypocrite,
Renata. Learn the word. Hypocrite. You are the worst actress ever.”

She opened and closed her mouth like a fish. “Do not blame me, Keaton.”

“You’re the one who saw people having a garage sale on TV and had to have one yourself. You are not in a movie. This is real life. It’s my life.” His voice cracked. “Now it’s falling apart. As soon as I can book the flight, you and that annoying sister of yours will be back on a plane to France. You can watch all the Jerry Lewis you can stand.”

“I knew that was your plan.” The woman called Renata tilted her chin. “You think I am stupid. I have something on you now. So you cannot send me back.”

“I will send you back, and you will keep your mouth shut.” He stepped into Ginger’s house, crunching seashells underfoot. “I’ll take those papers, if you don’t mind.”

Ginger sidled toward Kindra and stared down at the documents. The paper on top was a title for a motorcycle.

Kindra held the papers to her chest. “I don’t think so.”

“Give them to me.” Keaton lunged toward her.

Kindra gasped and stepped back. Ginger slipped in between Keaton and her friend.

The French woman grabbed Keaton’s arm. “No assault. No assault.”

Keaton pulled free of Renata’s grasp. “No assault? You’re the one who broke the law.”

“I was trying to get your stupid box back. You broke the law, too.”

Ginger’s ears perked up. “What are you talking about?”

“The lady, Mary Margret, she give me her business card when she buy the box.”

“She was a realtor. She gave everyone her business card,” Kindra said.

“Keaton get all mad at me.” The French woman paced in a two-foot line, bending her hands like she was doing bicep exercises. “He want his box back. So I go to her house.”

“We’re not talking about that right now.” Keaton’s face was inches from Renata’s. “These people don’t need to know what you did.” He gritted his teeth.

Ginger stepped away from Kindra. “Did you do something to Mary Margret?”

The woman raised an accusatory finger. “You did it, too.” Her words oozed venom.

“You set me up.” Keaton poked her shoulder. “You talked me into doing that.”

“I broke the law; you broke the law. If you try to send me back to France, I will tell police all.”

“You’ve said too much already, Renata. Just shut up.” He whirled around and stalked toward Kindra. “Give me back my papers.”

Ginger held up a hand to stop him. “Wait a second. I want to hear what Renata saw or did when she went to Mary Margret’s house that day.”

“Yeah, we want to know what happened.” Kindra scooted close to Ginger and stood on tiptoe, looking over her shoulder and pressing against her back.

“None of that matters. Just give me my papers back.”

Ginger walked backward as Keaton charged toward them. Clutching his shirttails, Renata leaned back in a squatting position, which slowed him down. For a moment, he ran in place like a hamster on a wheel.

“Look at them.” Kindra slipped the documents over Ginger’s shoulder. “Why has he gone to all this trouble for these?”

Ginger filed through the papers. They were all titles for motorcycles, ATVs, and snowmobiles. “You want to explain to me why a guy who doesn’t want anyone else riding motorcycles and snowmobiles through the forest has a stack of titles for all kinds of motorized vehicles?” Ginger positioned the papers by her shoulder so Kindra could grab them.

“None of your business.” He tore free of the French woman’s grasp.

“Obviously, you went to great efforts to hide them and are willing to do this bizarre act to get them back.” Ginger took three steps back. “But why?” On what planet did he think anyone would fall for his Organized Bible Society?

A vein popped out on Keaton’s forehead. He curled his lip, revealing perfect white teeth. He dove toward them.

“Give them to me.” He tried to push Ginger aside, but she planted her feet. If he thought he could hurt Kindra, he was mistaken. His fingers dug into Ginger’s shoulder. Pain shot down her arm. She winced.

He angled around her and pulled at the lace collar on Kindra’s blouse. Kindra screamed. Ginger screamed. The papers flew out of Kindra’s hands. Titles rained down on them.

Keaton attempted to grab the documents as they floated to the floor. Ginger and Kindra stepped to one side. On hands and knees, he scrambled across the floor, gathering the titles into a chaotic, crooked pile. His hair had lost its gusto, probably from the amount of sweat he was producing. The top part of it had flopped over his forehead in one solid piece.

Renata stood in the kitchen, mouth open, head shaking,

“Why have you been keeping this a secret? So you own a few motorcycles.”

“I counted twenty,” said Kindra.

“Twenty.” Ginger placed her hands on her hips. “Where do you keep all of them?”

“Eastern Montana, on his father’s wrench.”

“Shut up, Renata.” Still on hands and knees, he spun around to face her. “And the word is
ranch.
”

Sweat drizzled from Keaton’s disintegrating dome head.

Ginger suddenly felt sorry for this pathetic man. “Mr. Lustrum, there is no crime in owning a motorcycle…or twenty. It’s a little excessive, but it is not a crime.”

Out of breath, Keaton clutched the piles of paper to his chest and sat up on his knees. “You don’t understand. For the kind of people I represent, for the kind of speaking engagements I do, it is against the law—their law.” He wiped his glistening forehead with a trembling hand. “If this ever comes out…”

“Why don’t you just get different clients?” Kindra asked.

“I got my first case as a fluke. The money was so good. My whole career is based on these anti-motorized vehicles cases. I charge outrageous amounts for speaking engagements. Everything I own, the house, the Lexus, is because of the focus of my legal practice.” He pointed to Renata. “Do you think
she
would stay around if I didn’t have money?”

Some sort of transformation or realization seemed to be taking place in Renata. She shook her head and took a step backward, never taking her eyes off Keaton.

“Mr. Lustrum, all of that is just stuff. Certainly doing what you love, being true to yourself, matters more.” Ginger picked up a wayward title and handed it to him. His thinking was so distorted. Was there no middle ground? He seemed to see everything in extremes. People weren’t people; they were types. All environmentalists hated motorized vehicles. Christians wore denim jumpers and polyester suits, and French people loved Jerry Lewis.

“That is a fifty-thousand-dollar car out there.” Keaton rose to his feet and placed the titles on Ginger’s kitchen table. He attempted to run his hand through his hair, but it got stuck. “I grew up riding motorcycles and snowmobiling with my dad. Such good times.”

Renata continued to shake her head. “You are shallower than me. True, I stay with you for the money, but you do not even believe in your cause.”

“I love my motorcycles, but I—I could lose everything.”

“It’s just stuff.” Kindra echoed Ginger’s sentiment. Arleta and Suzanne had come to the open sliding door that led to the patio. They stood on the porch, watching the unfolding drama.

Keaton gazed at the women standing outside. Then he grabbed Ginger just above the elbow. “I just want to know that you are not going to the press with this.”

Mr. Lustrum had an overrated sense of his importance.
Man admits to owning twenty motorcycles.
Would that even be a story? “What I don’t understand is how you kept it a secret for this long.” She didn’t understand
why
either. But that was perhaps one for the psychiatrist to figure out.

Ginger filed through the stack of titles on the table. “Certainly someone at the DMV would have squealed on you by now. You being a local celebrity and all.”

“How I keep it a secret is none of your business.” Keaton wrung his hands. “So you ladies aren’t going to blab about this?”

Ginger had a feeling that Renata, judging from the scowl and stiff posture, would do the blabbing or use the secret to leverage staying in the United States.

“Your girlfriend is right; you are a
hippo crit
,” Kindra said.

“I might be a hypocrite, but I’m a rich hypocrite.” He gathered up his titles, tapping them on the table to straighten them before turning back toward Ginger. “So I have your word that you won’t let this leak? I can write you a check right now. Just name the amount.”

“I don’t want your money, Mr. Lustrum.” Ginger was confident that the French woman would do any dirty work required.

Keaton squared his shoulders and tucked his shirt back in his pants. His attempt at regaining some level of dignity backfired. The follicle explosion on his head made that impossible. The polyester pants cinched up to his pectorals didn’t help either. “What do you want?”

“Your girlfriend has to tell us what she knows about Mary Margret.”

Renata glued her eyes to Keaton and made a sound that resembled hissing. He shot her a threat-filled look, eyebrows drawn together, head shaking.

“Did you…did you hurt my friend?”

“Keaton said I could not tell. He said people would find out about the box. I not thinking; I not mean to do it. I only try to get his box back.”

“I think we should go.” He grabbed Renata’s wrist and waved the titles in the air. “A word of this to anyone, and I can find a legal way to make your life miserable.”

Renata turned back around and opened her mouth as if to say something.

Ginger stood, unable to speak, processing what Keaton had said. No one had ever threatened her in that way.

Pressing the titles against his chest, Keaton yanked Renata toward the door. She neglected to close the door behind her, which afforded all of them the bonus feature of watching her break free of Keaton’s grasp and yell at him in French. Ginger didn’t speak a word of French, but she was pretty sure Renata wasn’t paying him any compliments. They both got into the Lexus, car doors slamming.