The Liar

Griff grunted, stepped down to eye the cabinet. “Word of the day is ‘dithering,’ which has a picture of Bitsy Addison beside it in every dictionary across the land.”

“She has a little trouble sticking to decisions.”

And there was Matt’s gift for understatement.

“I don’t know how she decides to get out of bed in the morning. I’d be further along if your woman had gotten here sooner and taken Bitsy away. She’s thinking the white’s too white, and maybe she picked the wrong countertop. Or the wrong paint color. Don’t ask about the backsplash.”

“Too late now to change her mind on any of it.”

“You try telling her.”

“You gotta love her.”

“Yeah, you do. But Christ, Matt, can’t we put her in a box for the next three days?”

Grinning, Matt took off his light jacket, tossed it aside.

Where Griff was long and lanky, Matt was tough and ripped. He wore his black hair neat and trim where Griff’s strayed past his collar with a hint of curl. Matt kept his square-jawed face clean-shaven while Griff’s narrow, hollow-cheeked one tended toward scruff.

Matt played chess and enjoyed wine tastings.

Griff liked poker and beer.

They’d been as close as brothers for nearly a decade.

“Got you a sub,” Matt told him.

“Yeah, what kind of sub?”

“That fire-breather one you like. The one that burns off the stomach lining.”

“Cool.”

“How about we get a couple more up, take a break? A quick one? Who knows how long Emma Kate can keep Bitsy out of our hair.”

“Deal.”

As they got to work, Griff decided to start poking.

“Miz Vi’s granddaughter stopped by. The one who just moved back. The widow.”

“Yeah? Heard some buzz about that while I was in town. What’s she like?”

“A heart-stopper. Seriously,” he said, when Matt spared him a look. “She’s got hair the color of her mom’s and Miz Vi’s. Like that painter used.”

“Titian.”

“Right. It’s long and curly. And she got their eyes, too. That dark blue that’s nearly purple. She looks like something poets write about, right down to the sad eyes.”

“Well, her husband died, what, like right after Christmas. Happy freaking holidays.”

About three months, Griff calculated, and that was probably too soon to ask her out on a date.

“So what’s up with her and Emma Kate? Check the level.”

“What do you mean, what’s up? Take your end up a couple hairs. Stop there. Perfect.”

“Bitsy went on about what good friends they were—are—whatever, and the body language said the opposite. I don’t remember Emma Kate ever talking about her.”

“Don’t know,” Matt said as Griff set the screws. “Something about how she left with the guy she married.”

“It has to be more than that.” Griff prodded again, wondered if he’d need his drill. Matt never hung onto the more subtle details when it came to people. “A lot of people move somewhere else when they get married.”

“They lost touch or something.” Matt just shrugged. “Emma Kate mentioned her a couple times, but didn’t have much to say about her.”

Griff could only shake his head. “Matt, what you know about women could fit in a thimble. When a woman brings something up, then doesn’t have much to say about it, she’s got a lot to say about it.”

“Then why doesn’t she say it?”

“Because she needs the right opening, the right angle. Forrest hasn’t said much, either, but he knows how to keep things tucked away. I didn’t think about giving him an opening on it before.”

“Before you knew she was a heart-stopper.”

“There’s that.”

Matt checked the level again, all sides, before they moved on to the next.

“You don’t want to start sniffing around a widow with a kid who’s a friend’s baby sister.”

Griff only smiled as they lined up the second cabinet. “You don’t want to start sniffing around some sassy southern girl who keeps telling you she’s too busy to start anything up.”

“I wore her down, didn’t I?”

“Best thing you ever did. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Griff let go of the cabinet to attach it to the first. “You should ask Emma Kate what the deal is.”

“Why?”

“Because after she walked the redhead out, she had sad eyes. Before she walked her out, she was a little bit pissed, and after, she looked sad.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So you should ask her.”

“Why would I ask her about something like that? Why stir it up?”

“Matt, jeez. Something’s in there. It’ll just stay in there being pissed or sad until it’s stirred up and let out.”

“Like a wasps’ nest,” was Matt’s opinion. “You want to know so much, you ask her.”

“Wuss.”

“About this kind of stuff? Oh yeah, and not ashamed.” He checked the level. “Right on the mark. We do good work.”

“We fix it.”

“That we do. Let’s get the rest of this line up, then have a sub.”

“I’m with you, brother.”

•   •   •

VIOLA STARTED OUT doing hair for fun, doing up her sisters’ or her friends’ hair in fancy dos like they saw in magazines. She told the story of how the first time she took the scissors—and her granddaddy’s straight razor—to her sister Evalynn’s hair, she escaped a hiding because it looked as fine as what Miz Brenda down at Brenda’s Beauty Salon charged good money for.