Stirring Up Trouble Page 3

  Now, he went to bed at dawn, slept most of the day, and spent his evenings in a fun atmosphere of music, laughter, and sports. His patrons came to Woody’s for a good time, and he was happy to give it to them. In the three years he’d owned the place, there’d been only one physical fight and one argument. Aside from that, the patrons were as easygoing as he was.

  At the top of the stairs, Emmett used his least sticky hand to open the door and step into his kitchen. He tore off a paper towel and laid it on the granite countertop before he set down what was left of the roll. There wasn’t much. It was damn tasty. He hated that. She was such a miserable person, he’d hoped her food would taste the same way. Instead, it was light and fluffy, sweet, decadent, with just the right ratio of spices and glaze. It was the most perfect cinnamon roll he’d ever eaten.

  He supposed he couldn’t expect anything less from Madelyn. Her high standards apparently applied to her food, not just to everyone else.

  He hadn’t visited the bakery since Madelyn took over. Emmett had gone a couple of times before Estelle Townsend died. She was a sweet older lady—the kind you expected to make tasty cakes and cookies because she was pleasant and plump and always had a smile on her face. Madelyn simply didn’t fit that mold. With her hair pulled back into that tight bun and her constant frown of displeasure, she seemed more likely to start barking at people in French for daring to breathe on her culinary masterpieces.

  He could do without that. And he had, until she started nosing into his life. He hadn’t gotten a single complaint before she’d moved in across the street. Woody’s Bar was surrounded on three sides by businesses, so most nights those stores were closed. The pizza place stayed open later on the weekends, but the hardware store was closed. The fire station was manned 24/7 by people who needed to stay awake, so they didn’t care about the noise.

  That just left the narrow strip of houses on Daisy Drive. The old Victorian with the wraparound porch and big bay window was the closest, but it’d been empty until recently. Now it was Madelyn’s house.

  He knew she didn’t go by her formal name, but he couldn’t make himself call her Maddie. Maddie was what you called a woman who was sweet and fun-loving. She was far too self-righteous for him to call her Maddie. When he was growing up, his grandmother had a friend named Madelyn. Emmett wasn’t certain if it was spelled the same, but they were definitely cut from the same cloth. His grandmother’s best friend had been a wealthy widow with a distaste for everyone and everything. She was old money; migrating to Florida from New England in search of better weather for her husband’s ailments before he passed.

  She’d always looked at Emmett like he was a bit of wildlife that had gotten in the house. A piece of dog shit on her shoe that she couldn’t fully get off. Emmett hadn’t been a poorly behaved child. He never knew why the woman didn’t care for him. But he knew whenever Madelyn came over, he wanted to go to a friend’s house to play.

  That was one difference between the two Madelyns. The gifted baker didn’t look at him like dirt, despite what words came out of her mouth. She looked at him in a way that made him more curious than he wanted to be. Sometimes, her pert little nose would turn up and she’d watch him from beneath her dark lashes like she expected him to try something funny. Other times, when she thought he didn’t see her, there was the heat of open appraisal in her eyes. It was usually followed by a squirm of discomfort.

  He wanted to laugh at her predicament. Poor little rich girl. What to do about an unwanted attraction to an unsuitable boy? The secret knowledge that she was both disgusted by him and attracted to him at the same time made Emmett bold. It was a weakness he could exploit if she insisted on pressing him over the noise issue.

  Emmett finished off the last of the sweet roll and tossed the napkin into the trash under the sink. Checking the locks on the front door, he headed down the hallway to his bedroom. Until he switched on the lights, the room was dark as night. He’d professionally installed in each window blackout panels that wouldn’t let a single beam of sunlight through it. They also muffled the street noise—something Maddie should look into.

  He wasn’t unsympathetic to her plight. As a day sleeper, the whole world conspired against him. Between postal deliveries, telemarketers, and the sirens of the fire station next door, there were plenty of attempts to wake him up. The difference was that none of those people were breaking the sound laws because it was the middle of the day. He had to suck it up, and Maddie needed to learn to do that, too.

  In his bathroom, he switched on the light and cussed when he saw himself in the mirror. He still had on that damn hairnet. He ripped it off and tossed it into the wastebasket.

  He made quick work of brushing his teeth and stripping down to his briefs to go to bed. As he crawled between the sheets in the darkened room, he tried to figure out what he was going to do about this issue with Madelyn.

  He didn’t want Woody’s to be a public nuisance, even if he enjoyed irritating her. He would put in an effort to keep things quieter during the week, but there wasn’t a lot he could do on the weekends. To drum up more business in the fall, he was kicking off some special events at the bar. People rushed in to watch the college football games, then disappeared. To keep them at Woody’s, he was bringing in a live band on Friday nights. Saturday, after the last game, they were doing karaoke.

  Thursday nights were now ladies’ night, where they could get any drink on the menu for two bucks. That was probably in direct correlation to the noise level the night before. He’d had a whole swarm of college girls come in from Gadsden. As college girls tended to do, they went from white wine spritzers to tequila shots. That was a bad combo, if you asked him. Yes, he had to pay a hefty fine for the noise, but at the very least, the cops ran off most of the girls before they started puking in the gravel parking lot.

  He was certain that before the weekend was up, he’d either have a solution or another grand in fines. Madelyn wasn’t going to give up the fight that easily. A part of him would be sorely disappointed if she did.

  Emmett could still taste a lingering bit of icing on his lips as he drifted off to sleep. He couldn’t help but wonder if those defiant lips might surprise him and taste just as sweet.

  Chapter Three

  “I need a Boston Lager and a light beer.”

  Emmett looked up at his waitress, Joy Lane, as she flattened her serving tray against the bar top and leaned over to inspect him more closely.

  “You look like hell,” she stated matter-of-factly.

  He wasn’t surprised that his miserable state was noticeable. It was hard enough to sleep during the day when the world was awake, but this wasn’t just run-of-the-mill day-sleeper drama. It was all because of that woman.

  “Are you getting enough sleep?”

  At that, he chuckled and poured a beer into a tall pilsner glass. “No, I’m not. I haven’t gotten three consecutive hours of sleep in the last two weeks.”

  “Is the crazy cupcake lady still after you?”

  Emmett scanned the bar’s patrons, poured the other beer, and sat it on her tray. “You’d better watch what you say, Joy. I know you’re pretty new around Rosewood, but the crazy cupcake lady comes from a big, influential family, and there’s usually one or two of them in here. But yes, Fancy Pants still has it in for me.”

  Joy frowned and loaded a fresh bowl of pretzels onto her tray. “Put this on table three’s tab. I’m going to take it to them, then I’m coming back and you’re going to spill about what’s going on.”

  Emmett nodded, and her blond pixie head disappeared around the corner. He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he thought of her indignant expression. He was glad to have Joy here. She’d been working at the bar since the beginning of the summer. Business was doing well enough that he needed to stay behind the bar, pour drinks, and cash out tabs. Bringing on a part-time waitress had been a godsend. She worked only on
Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights, but those were the busiest anyway.

  He’d also noticed the men tended to hang around the bar a little longer on the nights Joy worked. He could understand why. Joy was a curvy woman who liked tight jeans and even tighter T-shirts. Her hair was short, but there wasn’t anything masculine about her. There also wasn’t anything sweet or polite about her, either. As she liked to say, she was a sassy Georgia peach, not some delicate southern magnolia. The customers, both men and women, seemed to respond well to her.

  He wasn’t sure how long they’d have to chat about his problems, though, since it was a Friday. He expected it to be a busy night. It’d cost quite a bit, but they had a really popular band from Birmingham coming to play. He hoped it would bring enough extra revenue to pay for itself.

  And if Fancy Pants couldn’t sleep tonight . . . boo flipping hoo.

  “All right,” Joy said as she climbed up onto a barstool. “Spill it.”

  Emmett leaned down onto his elbows with a sigh. He hadn’t really spoken to anyone about this. He felt silly about the whole thing, really. He was being childish, reacting so immaturely, but he couldn’t help it. There was a part deep down inside that couldn’t let her win.

  “Well, as you know, it started two weeks ago when she called the cops on ladies’ night and we argued the next morning at the bakery. Since then, it’s been a battle back and forth. I paid the punk band extra for a rowdier performance Friday night. At 10:10 exactly, the sheriff showed up and wrote another citation. The next day, she organized a temperance-style Mothers Against Drunk Driving protest across the street. It was like something out of the 1920s with women holding picket signs. They sang and chanted and encouraged cars to honk in support all afternoon while I was trying to sleep.”

  “What did you do?” Joy asked with wide brown eyes.

  “I retaliated by cranking up the amplifiers on the karaoke system Saturday night and gave out an award for the worst singer. This time Madelyn was quicker. The cops were here by 10:05.”

  Emmett watched a few regulars drift in and take a seat by the dartboards. “Then there was the princess tea party parade,” he added in a sour tone.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s hard to really describe it since I was delirious and sleep deprived at the time, but apparently, she gathered every little girl in town for a special Disney princess tea party at her shop. They all dressed up as their favorite characters, had tea, and then paraded through the square singing Disney songs at the top of their lungs. They stopped right outside my bedroom window for quite some time. I was personally serenaded by a stunning, off-key rendition of “Let It Go” followed by “Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo.”

  Joy brought a hand up to cover her mouth, although Emmett wasn’t sure if it was to cover her shock or her laughter. It was pretty ridiculous. And if he’d slept, he might feel differently, but Madelyn wouldn’t let it rest. During the week, even when the bar was closed, she’d gotten her digs in. She’d managed to have furniture delivered by big trucks that beep when they back up and roar with loud diesel engines and air brakes. And then, for some strange reason, the city decided to jackhammer the sidewalk right outside the bar to fix some waterline.

  It felt a little paranoid of him to blame Fancy Pants for that, but he wouldn’t put it past her. With her family’s money and connections, she could do anything she wanted. Mayor Gallagher would probably trip over himself to do whatever that family asked him to, even if it meant tearing up a perfectly good sidewalk.

  “That’s why I organized the motorcycle rally last Wednesday night. We had every chopper in a hundred-mile radius roaring in and out of this parking lot all night and there was nothing she could do about it. Motorcycles make the noise they make. It’s got nothing to do with Woody’s.”

  “How much have you been charged in fines so far?”

  Emmett reached for the drawer by the register and pulled out a handful of tickets. “Twenty-five hundred. Tonight, I’m hoping to make it an even three grand.”

  “That’s really not fair,” Joy noted. “She can make all the noise she wants during the day and no one can say anything about it.”

  Life wasn’t fair. Emmett knew that. He’d seen good people lose everything they had. He’d seen a sure thing fall flat and wipe out someone’s life savings. Shit happened. He certainly wasn’t going to cry himself to sleep over a childish battle with the stuck-up chick across the street.

  “Any way we could plant a dead rat in the bakery and report her to the health department?”

  Joy looked sweet, like Tinker Bell or something, but she was a devious little thing. He needed to remember that and not give her a reason to use her skills on him. “I like the way your brain works, Joy, but I don’t think it calls for that yet. In the meantime, I’m going to drink a cup of coffee and perk up. You better go over and see what Curt and Jesse want to drink.”

  She reluctantly returned to work, leaving Emmett alone at the bar. That wouldn’t last. He glanced down at his watch. It was almost time for the crowd. Jesse and Curt tended to lead the pack. He started filling pretzel bowls and making sure the chill chest was stocked with bottled imports.

  People started filing in not long after that. From there, it was a steady pace of drinks and a steady roar of voices. Before he knew it, the band was there to set up. Their first set would start at nine, so they’d have a solid hour of playing before the cops shut them down. Considering Madelyn was already in bed, possibly asleep, the sooner they could start playing, the better.

  The band was definitely a draw. By the time they started to play, the bar was wall-to-wall people. Every seat was taken and a crowd had filled the dance floor to stand in front of the stage. Joy could hardly keep up with orders, and with so many people, they had to cash out all the tabs and just have people pay as they drank. Emmett was filling glasses as soon as he pulled them out of the dishwasher. It was an amazing turnout and he was thrilled.

  Until he saw Officer Chamberlain come in the door. The Chamberlain brothers were no strangers to Woody’s. Despite Madelyn’s protests about alcohol, her three brothers frequented the place fairly often. But Simon rarely arrived in uniform. It was just Emmett’s luck that his nemesis would have a police officer in the family. That gave her an unfair advantage. He didn’t have any family in Rosewood, and had only a few friends—if you could call them that. There wasn’t really anyone who would bail him out of jail, much less help him get someone else arrested.

  Emmett glanced at his watch again and noticed it was only nine forty-five. His gaze followed Simon as he weaved through the crowd of people to get to the bar. He squeezed in between a couple of guys and waved to get Emmett’s attention.

  “Evening, Officer Chamberlain,” Emmett said. “You’re early.”

  Simon snorted and shook his head. From what Emmett understood, Simon was one of the youngest of the family. There was another sister who had just gone off to college at the University of Alabama, but she was obviously too young to be in Woody’s. Even at his young age, Simon looked tired. As many times as he or Sheriff Todd had been by the bar in the last few weeks, he understood how they felt. Simon worked the night shift lately, so despite Woody’s being on the wrong side of the law, Emmett and Simon were kindred spirits of a sort.

  “Well, I was driving around and I noticed what time it was. I figured since it was so busy tonight, I should go ahead and come this way, get a parking space, and settle in for the call from dispatch.”

  “Can I get you a soda or something?”

  Simon nodded. “Something with caffeine would be great.”

  Emmett poured him a Coke and handed it over. The noise level in the bar went down a touch as the band opted to take a short break. He wanted to talk to Simon, but the end of the set meant that everyone would be scrambling for refills. “I’m about to get slammed. I’ll be back.”

  Emmett watched Joy make a beeline
to join him behind the bar and they teamed up to pour and ring up orders. The rush faded after about ten minutes, letting him return to Simon for some quiet conversation without the band’s screeching amplifiers in the background.

  “Need a refill?” he asked.

  “Nah, I’m fine, thanks,” Simon said as he turned to look around the bar. “You’ve got a full house tonight.”

  “Everyone’s really excited about the band. I’ve got it turned down as low as it makes sense, but the crowd’s got to be able to hear it over the sound of everyone in here.”

  Simon nodded wearily. “I know. Believe me, I know. And Sheriff Todd knows, too. We’ve never gotten a single complaint about Woody’s until Maddie started in. I get that she goes to bed super early, but she should’ve known what she was getting herself into.”

  “Are you guys going to do something to help me out or are you just going to fine me until you have enough money to buy a couple of new police cruisers?”

  “I don’t know what to do. We’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. Technically, I need to keep fining you, but it seems stupid. Maddie just has a bee in her bonnet about this place and she’s not going to let it go.”

  The crowd applauded as the band returned to the stage and prepared to start their second set. Hopefully a set that would last longer than . . . Emmett looked down at his watch again . . . seven minutes. “So, you can go ahead and write me another citation,” he said. “But I’m not telling the band to give up early. They drove all the way here and a lot of people came out to see them. If you’ll let me go until eleven, I’ll keep karaoke night down tomorrow.”