Down Home and Deadly

Chapter One

    If you lay down with the dogs, you’ll come up with fleas .

    “ Don’t forget to call the groomer to see what time you should pick up Fluffy,” Lisa yelled over her shoulder as she headed toward the sauna.
    I slumped into my chair and reached for the phone book. Nepotism was alive and well in America , and my so-called career was a train wreck.
    Actually , train wreck was probably a little too dramatic. More like an economy car, really. With a dead battery. And me trudging along behind, pushing uphill.
    I waved my hand in front of my face, trying to disperse the cloying scent of Lisa’s expensive perfume. How did I get here? A year ago I was a valued employee, on the fast track to buying my boss’s health club for a good price, with the added bonus of owner financing. Until Bob asked me to show his rich daughter a little about running the club to help her get her confidence back after her recent separation from her husband.
    If Lisa had a confidence problem, she covered it well with a large mask of egotism. Ever since she showed up, I’d been edging closer and closer to becoming an indentured servant. I still had all my old tasks. (Lisa couldn’t figure out how to actually run the club, only how to use the equipment.) But in addition, I was her daytime maid.
    “How low can I go?” I complained to the empty office and picked up the phone, a prayer for patience running through my mind as I flipped through the business card index for the groomer’s number.
    Wait until Carly heard this one. At the thought of my sister’s reaction, my gaze went automatically to the family picture I kept on my desk. Or rather to the place it used to be. “I don’t believe it.” My picture had been replaced by one of Lisa cuddling her pampered pooch.
    I slammed the phone down. “That so does it.”
    Without stopping to analyze, I grabbed an empty plastic bag from Lisa’s expensive takeout lunch and filled it with my personal things. The things I could find.
    I yanked open the top drawer of the desk. There was my family picture. At least it didn’t get thrown out with the garbage. Or stuck in the pool supply closet, like all my paintings from the office wall did when I took a Branson trip awhile back. “She can put up all the modern art she wants now,” I muttered as I cleaned out the drawer.
    Satisfied I had everything I couldn’t live without, I snatched up my keys. “I’m outta here.”
    I stomped down the hall, pushed open the front door, and crashed into Bob.
    “Jenna?” He shifted the box he was carrying to effectively block my exit. “What are you doing?”
    I took a reluctant step back into the building. “Leaving.”
    “When will you be back?”
    When your daughter figures out she isn’t the queen of the universe . “When you’re ready to sign on the dotted line and make me the owner.” Same thing.
    His face reddened. “Ah, Jenna. I was about ready to do that , actually. But something’s come up and I’m a little short on cash. So even if I did sell it to you now, I couldn’t owner finance. My accountant . . . ”
    I hadn’t been impressed the first time Bob told me what excuse he and his accountant had cooked up for not selling me the place, and I sure didn’t plan to stay around and listen to it again. I put my hand on the box to move it out of my way.
    “Wait!” Bob quickly opened the box and pulled something from it. He gave me his most suave smile and dropped the box at his feet. H e held up a blue T -shirt. White lettering across the front commanded , “Get in the Swim with Jenna Stafford.”
    I frowned. He hoped to win me over with the very T -shirts I’d protested? Capitalizing on my Olympic glory (or lack of, in my opinion, considering I lost) had been the thing I disliked most about this job. A necessary evil. But definitely not a persuasion point for staying.
    His smile stretched wider. “I know how you always hated the pink ones, so I got them in blue.”
    I sighed. “We both know who asked for them in blue.” Demanded was more like it. “And speaking of her . . . ” I moved the T -shirt out of my way like a bull charging a red cloth and brushed past him. “You’d better call the groomer to see what time you should pick up Fluffy.” The door closed behind me.
    Thankfully he didn’t follow me.
    Something about standing in front of the familiar building with my belongings in a plastic bag made my insides quiver. After months of giving notice then giving in