Etta Mae's Worst Bad-Luck Day by Ann B. Ross Page A

knees. My legs are one of my best features, if I do say so myself, so I don’t go in for those long straight skirts that tangle around your legs and ride up on your knees every time you take a step. I straightened the V neckline, pleased that it ran deep enough to invite a glance but not a bug-eyed stare, and fastened the black patent leather belt tightly around my waist. Rummaging around on the closet floor, I found my high-heeled black patent leather sandals, frowning at the scuff marks on them. They could’ve used some help, but, pushed for time, I wiped them down with a wet washrag and buckled them on, glad that the Roundup Red polish on my toenails was holding up without a chip.
    Out came the hot rollers, then a good brushing, a little back-combing for fullness, two tiny gold hoops on the rim of one ear, Diamonique studs and a pair of white hoop earrings in both, some lip gloss, and I was ready. I stood in front of the narrow full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door, turning to get a side view, and smiled at the way the dress curved over my bottom and flounced out below.
    After several hefty sprays—it had to last all day—of Elizabeth Taylor’s Passion over and in the most effective places, I bundled up the dirty clothes, hating to touch them as I shoved them into pillowcases. Then I grabbed my black patent leather purse with the gold chain and slung it over my shoulder. Ready for the day and my new life.
    On my way out, the phone rang, and I almost let it go. Instead, I snatched it up, thinking it would be Skip determined to come over. I wish it had been.
    “Ms. Wiggins?” Miss Julia Springer’s voice jolted me.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
What could she want with me?
    “I understand there was a disturbance at your trailer last night.”
    Oh, me,
I moaned to myself. Then, “Uh, well, yes, ma’am, there was, but it was none of my doing.”
Clyde,
I thought,
that sorry thing just had to tattle.
    “That’s neither here nor there. According to your lease, that sort of carrying-on gives me cause to evict you, but Hazel Marie thinks you deserve another chance.” She didn’t even give me a chance to tell her I’d been an innocent bystander. I gripped the phone so tight that my hand was shaking, wanting to let her have it. But she went on without a thought to my feelings. “We’ve been talking this morning, and I’ve come up with a proposition for you. I’d like you to drop by my house sometime today so we can discuss it.”
    What kind of proposition could she propose? I didn’t have time to find out, today of all days. On the other hand, I couldn’t afford to antagonize the old biddy. I needed my trailer in her park until I was legal and safe as Mr. Howard’s wife. My mind was going ninety miles an hour, recalling that she’d known Mr. Howard for years—people in their income bracket stick together—and I knew she wouldn’t approve of our plans for a minute. I had to keep her thinking I’d be up a creek if she evicted me.
    But what I wanted to do was tell her to take her trailer park and stick it where the sun didn’t shine.
    Instead, I said, “Why, yes, ma’am, I think I can make it. I have to be in Abbotsville this morning, anyway, so I’ll swing by in a couple of hours.”
    I hung up the phone, wondering what in the world she could want. I’d just have to grit my teeth and go see. Looking around my trailer once more, I picked up my laundry and hiked the chain of my purse on my shoulder, mentally squeezing a stop at Mrs. Springer’s house between numbers 7 and 8 on my long list of things to do. I hated to leave the trailer with a broken lock, which I’d forgotten to put on my list, but I had no choice.
    After throwing the dirty clothes in the backseat of the car and checking the time, I walked across the crumbling asphalt that divided the two rows of trailers. Picking my way across the yard and stepping around plastic tricycles, rubber balls, an overturned lawn chair, and an empty