Page 31 of Misadventures With The Mistaken Twin

“You!” She pointed at me, her hand wrapped in loose gauze that dangled down around her wrist. She was blonde, but had serious roots showing. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, lank and in need of a wash. She wore the same pink puffy coat, but up close I could see small holes all over the left side, little fluffs of white down falling out.

“Me?” I pointed at myself. “Do I know you?”

The woman sputtered, surprised. “No. But you know my husband.”

Jack looked at me, confused. I shrugged my shoulders.

“Who's your husband?”

She rolled her eyes. “Ronald.”

I thought for a moment. “Nope, doesn't ring a bell. Are you all right? It looks like something's wrong with your coat. It looks like?—”

“You were shot,” Jack finished. He stood there, feet wide, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as if ready for a fight. It would be pretty uneven given Jack had seventy-five pounds on her, but it was never wise to underestimate the insane.

“That crazy old man!” she pointed to Old Mr. Chalmer's house. I had no doubt he was watching.

Crazy Lady turned to Jack. “Who the hell are you?” Before he could answer, she continued. “If you think this woman's going to stay with you, you've got another thing coming.” She hooked her thumb toward me. “Honey, she only goes after married men. Are you married?”

Jack stood there, stone faced, but I saw the corner of his lip twitch and I knew he was trying not to laugh. “No,” he answered.

“I'd find a new woman to fool around with. She's a home wrecker.”

“Hey!” I said, insulted.

“I'm keeping my eyes on you!” Again, she pointed her injured hand at me. “I don't want you anywhere near Ronald. He's all mine.”

“You can have him,” I grumbled. “Listen, we've got to go. Nice meeting you, um, what's your name?”

“Lorraine.”

“Lorraine, it's nice meeting you.” I turned and walked to the driver's side of the van. “I think,” I whispered to myself.

Jack and I climbed in and peeled out of there as fast as the van and compacted snow would let me. George the Gnometipped over on the floor. I winced at the thunking sound of ceramic against floor mat. “Pick that up, will you? It’s got enough cracks already. If it breaks, I'm in big trouble with a seven-year-old.”

Jack picked him up without questioning and put him in his lap.

“Who the hell is that woman?” Jack asked after we'd gone two blocks. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the Oldsmobile following at a distance.

“I have no idea. But I guess I know her husband, Ronald.” I wracked my brain trying to think of a Ronald. No luck. The last guy I dated was a Chris and he definitely wouldn't have been married to Scary Lady Lorraine.

Jack was quiet for a moment. “Maybe she's not interested in you.”

I glanced quickly at Jack, my eyes on the road in front of us. It had started to snow, that light fluffy stuff that meant a good powder day at the ski resort. It also meant it had warmed up. When it was bitterly cold, the air was usually too dry to snow because of some high pressure meteorological thing. A front must have moved in, bringing wetter air and frozen precipitation.

It also meant the streets were icy. In the moment my eyes were off the road, I hit a patch of slick stuff. I took my foot off the accelerator and steered the van into the turn. After years of driving in wintery conditions, I knew not to slam my foot on the brake. We only slid about ten feet, but enough to have my tools and pipes clamor around in back. Since we were on the side of the road anyway, I put the van in park and turned to Jack. It seemed I did this a lot with him, these side of the road chit chats.

“Not interested in me?” I stared at him, trying to figure out what he was talking about, when it hit me, like a two by four between the eyes. “You mean...” I sputtered, and then slammedmy palms down onto the steering wheel. “You mean she might be thinking I'm Violet,” I said angrily.

“Do you know a Ronald?”

I crinkled my forehead. “No.” I pulled my cell from my coat pocket, dialed Violet, groaned. “Voicemail.” I listened to her message then answered, “Violet. Any chance you know a guy named Roland?”

“Ronald,” Jack said, looking over his shoulder into the back of the van.

“Ronald,” I repeated into the phone. “A guy named Ronald? Because his wife thinks so. Call me.” I pressed End. “She is such an annoying, meddling sister! I know, Reid, you can't appreciate the fact that I love her and want to kill her at the same time.”

I looked into the side view mirror, eased back onto the road, kept my pace Montana slow.