Ms. Miller and the Midas Man Read online

  “That’s up to you, Mr....um...But it was nice of you to offer.”

  “Hammond. Scott Hammond. And I meant it. I’d be glad to help out.”

  “I know,” she said, having heard his name a hundred times over the past few weeks, she couldn’t believe she’d forgotten it. Though, there didn’t seem to be much in her mind at the moment anyway, aside from his smile. “I mean, thank you. It’s been nice meeting you, Mr. Ha—”

  “Scotty.”

  Her smile was small as she opened the screen door. She nodded. “Scotty. I’m glad we met.”

  He wasn’t what you’d call a firm believer in love at first sight—lust maybe, not love. But he had a certain instinct about women that rarely disenchanted him. This same intuition was at present on its toes, caroling a Gregorian chant and dancing a jig.

  “Are you really?” he asked, unexpectedly. She stared at him, her bright eyes curious and surprised. “Glad we met? Throwing trash in your yard, and sending Bert over to meet you was only a ploy to get your attention. I won’t go to all that trouble anymore...if there’s another way to get you to talk to me.”

  What a strange man, she thought, and yet rather than run inside and lock the doors, she let the screen door swing closed.

  “To get my attention?”

  “Sure. It’s not like a man moves in next door to a beautiful woman every day. And I couldn’t exactly stroll up the walk and knock on your door to deliver one of my usual lines, so I thought I’d do something...neighborly. But not like borrow a cup of sugar, because that would make it seem like I’d be pestering you for groceries all the time. And not like bake you a cake, because I’m not very good at that stuff. I’d have shoveled your walk if it were snowing, but it’s summer and, well, the trash was handy. In fact, it’s been the same cans and wrappers for a week now.”

  “I see,” she said thoughtfully. “And now that you have my attention, is there a point you’d like to make?”

  He loved a direct, plain-speaking woman. He really did.

  “Yes. I think we should be friends.”

  “Friends,” she repeated.

  The way he was looking at her was a lot more than friendly. She didn’t know many men, but she knew his type. Big, hunky flirt. High on ego, low on gray matter. Putting aside his dog and his trash and the general state of his house, she’d been willing to give her new neighbor a chance. But now...?

  “Definitely friends. Can’t have too many friends, right?”

  This time the smile reached her eyes...and took his breath away. Those first stirrings of desire whipped themselves to a frenzy.

  “Actually, Scott, you can have too many friends. As a matter of fact, I find myself in that exact predicament at this very moment. You may have to wait until someone I know disowns me or dies.”

  He smiled back at her undaunted. He also loved a challenge.

  “I’ve waited a whole week just to talk with you. I guess it’s a good thing that I’m a patient man.”

  “Maybe. But I should warn you, most of my friends are young, forgiving, and very healthy.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  She gave him a sharp look.

  “The little kids going in and out,” he said quickly. “Your students. When the window’s open I can hear them during their violin lessons. You’re a very tolerant teacher. Me, I’d be tempted to put a couple of them out of their misery. Friday’s two-o’clock lesson is the worst. What a noise.”

  She didn’t mean to, but she chuckled, thinking of poor Levy’s little tin ear. “The lessons were his mother’s idea. He’d much rather be playing soccer.”

  “He’s probably better at it too.”

  An awkward moment passed as they realized they were sharing an amusement. He was pleased, she was mildly annoyed.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t like her new neighbor. She found him acceptable, she supposed, having known a few that were worse in New York and Seattle. Likable even, in some vague, loose fashion. But he’d already admitted to having his “usual lines” for meeting women, that the dog and the trash were simply attention-getters. She’d have to be as dumb as a tick on a dead dog not to see his intentions—the smile, the look, the flattery, the manner.

  And they might have worked on someone else, she conceded, pegging him literally as a handsome devil.

  “I’m sure Levy would appreciate your understanding,” she said, opening the screen door again. “However, it isn’t yours he needs.” She hesitated. “I hope murder isn’t your answer for all untalented students.”

  Ah-ha! So she did know who he was and why he’d come back to Tylerville. If she was plugged into the local gossip circuit, that would explain her extraordinary lack of curiosity. In fact, if she was plugged into the local gossip circuit, she already knew more than he wanted her to.

  He turned up the intensity of his smile, the dimples were guaranteed to charm. “No. Actually, I only murder the students who remind me too much of me at their age. Then it’s self-preservation.”

  She nodded, believing him entirely, and tried not to smile as she turned to go inside.

  “Hey. Wait a second. What about older friends?” He made an upward hand gesture and looked hopeful. “Taller friends?”

  “Sorry. No vacancies,” she said, walking inside. She giggled, but didn’t realize it.

  “Wait. Come back. Your name. What’s your name? All your mailbox says is Miller. What’s your first name? What should I call you?”

  It would have been so simple just to close the door, or to poke her head out and give him her name. But something crazy and impulsive rose up inside her.

  She pushed the screen door open, her heart fluttering wildly, and smiled back at his elated expression. “Call me...” she said slowly, “Ms. Miller.”

  The expression on Scotty’s face when he turned from the fence would have alarmed a wiser woman. Getting to know Ms. Miller had escalated from a clear challenge to a personal quest in a split second. It wouldn’t be enough now merely to meet her and see what happened between them. Oh no. Too late for that. He liked her. She was aloof, spunky, quickwitted. It was his new and overpowering belief that in the middle of a heartbeat, he may have fallen hopelessly and totally in love with her.

  It was almost like all the poets said it would be—that when you finally fell in love angels would sing and the earth would move. They didn’t, of course, but something had changed. Something had broken loose, snapped, rotated, altered itself inside him, and he knew. He knew she was different, knew she’d make a difference in his life.

  He whistled all afternoon, fairly certain that he’d be dancing on the fringes of her mind for the rest of the day—he knew his women. He also suspected she was looking out her windows more often than before and that she was smiling every time she shook her head at his cheeky behavior.

  Nope. None of that would have surprised him. However, he’d have been blown clean out of his sneakers to know that he was inadvertently compounding her disapproval and tampering with fate that afternoon when his cleanup crew arrived.

  TWO

  “AW! WILL YOU LOOK at that,” Gus said to her four walls, appalled, standing well hidden in the shadows of the room. “Flirting with me this morning and now this in the afternoon. Not one beautiful woman, but two. Cutoffs and halter tops...probably a leg man,” she muttered, craning her neck to watch the women climb the steps to the front door, standing bug-eyed and openmouthed when each received a hug and a quick kiss from him—on the mouth. He obviously had a great affection for both women, and it tied her stomach in knots.

  “Kinky as a corkscrew.” She should have guessed it. Though why he should be any different from the other men she attracted, couldn’t be reasoned. Liars, cheaters, playboys every one. Take Nelson Forge, for example. His approach to love and romance was soft music, soft lights, and soft-soaping.

  “Well, not this time, Mr. Scott Hammond. Baby,” using Nelson’s most sickening endearment. “I’ve been around this block before,” she said, walking hea
d high, spine stiff into the kitchen for a glass of lemonade.

  As a rule she limited lessons to two a day, finding more than that to be a strain on her overtrained nerves. But that particular Saturday she had three violin lessons to give, as Molly Bennett had to make up a lesson due to a conflict with a birthday party the day before. Each was a trial to her patience and a test of her dedication. Not because one child was a beginner and the other two hadn’t practiced, but because of Scott Hammond.

  First, it was irritating that the odd mix of oldies, rap, and contemporary rock music went suddenly silent in the open doors and windows when ten-year-old Andrew Betz arrived for his lesson. Granted, it was considerate, but she would have much preferred that he not pay so much attention to the comings and goings at her house.

  Later, she had to deal with, “Jeez, Ms. Miller. It sounds like they’re having a party next door, doesn’t it?”

  She refused to turn to the window Andrew was leaning sideways to look through. The female shrieks and laughter coming from the next house were not only highly provocative and indicative of an orgy taking place, they were...well, embarrassing. He had no shame. And the women, clearly, had no pride. Such a ruckus.

  “Will you two knock it off,” she heard Scott Hammond’s distinctively low male voice saying. “If you two think you’re getting away from me this quickly, think again. We haven’t finished in the bedroom yet.”

  She cringed, her eyes darting to Andrew to check on his level of awareness as her skin flushed hot and pink with chagrin.

  “You know, Andrew,” she said, striving to keep her voice calm and detached. “When I played with the Philharmonic in New York there were all sorts of people around me playing lots of different instruments, making lots of different sounds, doing different things. Sometimes it could be very distracting so I had to learn to concentrate. I had to learn to block out other noises and other people and focus on my instrument, the sounds I was making, what I was doing. Let’s you and I practice that this afternoon, shall we?”

  Then there was Molly Bennett’s giggling...

  “What’s so funny, Molly? Do the vibrations in the strings tickle your fingers? That’s common in the beginning, later those vibrations will tell you—”

  She stopped when Molly giggled again, this time without playing the violin. She also noticed that Molly was looking over her shoulder, through the window. She turned her head quickly to find Scott Hammond in a window directly across from hers, playing an invisible violin, his movements large and elaborate like a mime in a park. When he finally caught her watching him, he stopped, put a hand in the air as if he were going to swear an oath, and waved at her with a huge smile, dimples flashing mischievously.

  She turned back to Molly.

  “You know, Molly, when I played with the Philharmonic in New York there were all sorts of people around me playing lots of different instruments, making lots of different sounds...”

  The worst of it came with Mrs. Mutrux, the minister’s wife, when she arrived to pick up their son Stephen.

  “That’s it for today, Stevie,” she said, closing his music books and handing them to him. “Try to remember to keep your head up, use good posture, and get plenty of extension on your bow. That way the music will be smooth and not choppy, and each note will sing out long and pretty for you.”

  “I think a trumpet would be easier to play than this old thing,” Stevie told her unabashedly.

  “Maybe. But every instrument takes practice. Even the trumpet.” She looked at his mother, who was half in and half out the front door, her attention directed at the house next door. Naturally, there was more shrieking and screaming and laughing going on, but she had long since closed up all her windows, and it was muffled until now. “Six months was our deal, remember? If you still don’t like the violin by then, I’ll speak with your mother about a trumpet, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Stevie’s doing very well,” she said, getting to her feet with a sinking feeling that she might have to apologize for whatever Mrs. Mutrux was watching.

  “He needs to set aside a special time each day for practice and work on his form...a little...and...”

  Her voice trailed off when she joined the preacher’s wife in the doorway and saw what she was seeing—Scott Hammond and the two beautiful women in a water fight on the front lawn.

  “Oh dear,” she muttered.

  “You, too, huh?” Carrie Mutrux asked, glancing at her briefly. “I’ve known him nearly all my life and he never changes.” She smiled wistfully. “I had a crush on him in kindergarten, and as much as I love my husband, I can’t really say my feelings for him have changed much since then.”

  Gus frowned and took a closer look at the minister’s wife. A pretty lady with average features, better known for her practical thinking and dedication and hard work toward her husband’s church than for her own piety. She looked sensible and sane.

  “When he got married and moved away...” She shook her head. “I’m so glad he’s back,” she went on. “It just feels right, you know?”

  “Not exactly,” she said, taking another look at the melee next door, then pulling back out of sight. She refused to give him any more attention than he deserved—which was none at all.

  Mrs. Mutrux smiled at her. “Small towns,” she said. “They’re chock-full of traditions, and usually for a good reason. When something works, it works. And the Hammonds work here in Tylerville. Always have. Before Mr. Kingsley was principal at the high school, Joe Hammond was. When he retired...well, Mr. Kingsley wasn’t Joe Hammond. He wasn’t as involved. Didn’t have the energy or drive or enthusiasm Joe had, and some of the life went out of it...Not just the high school. The whole community. Tylerville isn’t much good for anything but raising families and retiring. Joe had everyone involved in the school system—with the kids, you know? They were number one in his book, and unless Scotty has changed a great deal, he’ll make them number one again.”

  “You think so?”

  “Oh, yes. When Scotty agreed to be principal at the high school, you could just,” she wiggled head to toe, “feel everyone’s excitement.”

  Gus took another quick peek out the door, then looked at the woman as if she’d lost her mind completely.

  “That Scott Hammond?”

  “Yes. Isn’t he wonderful? I assume the two of you have met?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Stephen, honey? Are you ready?” she asked her son, not taking her gaze off her childhood crush. “Really, Augusta, you won’t believe the difference he’ll make around here. There’s just something about the Hammonds that makes you want to follow their lead. They’re all that way. Born leaders. Very civic-minded.”

  This time, when she passed her skeptical expression beyond the doorway to make sure they were talking about the same person, he was waiting for her.

  Hose running in an arch to the ground, he lifted his free hand in the air and started waving.

  “Carrie Mutrux, that you?” he shouted, loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. “Get yourself over here and let me take a look at you. You sick of being married to that dull old preacher yet?”

  “Not yet,” she said, heading down the steps with Stevie in tow. “But when I am, you’ll be the first to know. You heathen.”

  She held the screen door open and watched as Scott Hammond and the minister’s wife hugged and kissed and hugged again. When they were finally finished, he stooped and said something to Stevie, then he and the boy both turned to look at Gus.

  “Afternoon, Ms. Miller,” he said, smiling that smile. “Hope we weren’t making too much noise.”

  Go to hell sprang to her lips, but there was the minister’s wife and child to consider.

  “Not at all.” She hesitated. “Looks like a fine day for a water fight.”

  “Care to join us?”

  “Not today, thanks. See you next week, Stevie,” she said, stepping back inside and closing the door.

  “Wha
t is the matter with this town? That man? Principal of the high school?”

  “Gus, you’re overreacting,” her sister told her over the phone a few minutes later. “Alan says Scotty Hammond is as good as they come. And I’ve read his résumé. He’s a little overqualified if you ask me, for such a small town.”

  “Lydia, the man is perverted,” she said, flat out. “He’s been cavorting with two half-naked women all afternoon.”

  “Two?” A brief pause. “Well, who could blame them. Isn’t he cute?”

  “Lydia!” Was she the only person getting a clear image of this terrible picture?

  “Well, he is. And if you’d come to dinner with Howard two weeks ago when I begged you to, you could have met him properly. In an official capacity, instead of over the back fence.”

  “You invited me to have dinner with Howard Munce and the school board, to meet the new high school principal. You made it sound almost as exciting as constipation. Why didn’t you tell me he was going to be my next-door neighbor?”

  “I didn’t know he was planning to be. He was staying with one of his sisters at the time and didn’t mention where he planned to live, or I would have told you.”

  “One of his sisters? How many are there?” She stretched to look out a window, noting a sudden silence in the neighborhood. Nothing.

  “Um,” her sister hummed distractedly, always busy doing two things at once, even on the telephone. “He has seven or eight of them here in town. All with different last names because they’re all married, but I understand the family was quite large and very close. The father was the high school principal years ago, even before Alan and I moved here.”

  “You know,” Gus said thoughtfully. “Of the two of us, you’re definitely the more talkative. In fact, I don’t know anyone who talks more than you, except Mother. And yet, you’ve been remarkably secretive about this man.”

  Lydia giggled. “Have I? Maybe that’s because I was thinking that if things didn’t work out between you and Howard, I might hook you up with Scotty Hammond.”