Switchy [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Sensations) Read online

  And now…this.

  “No, it’s not.” Francis turned from the window and hurried over to the house phone. “They could be robbing poor Bryant blind.”

  “I don’t think they’d be parked in his driveway if they were. And I didn’t think you knew him well, anyway. You only met him the one time.”

  Em tuned out her mom’s conversation and hoped that the 911 people didn’t arrest her mom and toss her in jail for a false alarm. Or that whoever the men were next door didn’t hate her mom for calling this in.

  But Em knew trying to stop her mom once she got something into her head was just plain dumb. Best to let her do it, touch the stove, and get it over with.

  Not that touching the metaphorical stove seemed to stop her mom for long.

  Of course she loved her parents, but Em would be lying if she said she didn’t resent her two siblings banding together and forcing her into a corner three years ago when their parents moved in with her.

  When their mom had unilaterally decided that they needed to be living with one of their kids instead of alone, Donald and Amy, and their spouses, had apparently conspired with their mom over a plan that moving in with single and alone Em would be a great idea.

  Regardless of how Em had felt about it.

  Before Em knew it, she’d been steamrolled and no longer had her house to herself. Since she knew protesting to her mom would prove pointless, she’d kept her mouth shut at first and silently stewed.

  It was getting harder by the day to remain silent.

  I could move out, transfer the lease to them, and not leave a forwarding address.

  Wasn’t the first time she’d had that thought, first put there by her best friend and boss, Mitchell. She was only renting the house. She hadn’t bought it in the six years she’d lived there, despite the owner hinting around lately that they wouldn’t be against selling it to her. Especially with her lease coming due in a few months.

  When her mom got off the phone, she sounded aggravatingly triumphant. “They said they’re sending a deputy out right away.”

  “Ooookay. Because there’s not a meth house they can be busting or something.”

  “Hmph!” Her mom stormed over to the front door and peeked out. “I can’t wait for them to get hauled out of there in cuffs!”

  “If it’s not you getting hauled out in a self-hugging jacket,” Em muttered under her breath.

  A few minutes later, her mom practically squealed with delight. “Oh! There they are!”

  Before Em could stop her, her mom flung the front door open and was moving deceptively fast for a woman of seventy-three.

  “Dammit.” Em set her laptop aside and went after her.

  Two marked Sarasota County sheriff’s cruisers were parked along their usually quiet street. The deputies were approaching the front door while her mom went sprinting across the lawn in her housecoat and pajamas.

  “There shouldn’t be anyone in there!” she yelled at them. “Make sure you arrest them!”

  One of the deputies turned and put up a warning hand. “Ma’am, please stay back. We’ve got this.”

  Em caught up to her mom and dragged her to a stop, then back a few steps, onto their property. “You know, if there are armed bad guys in there, this is not the smartest place to be.”

  Her mom tried to brush Em off. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I want to see this.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. Come on.” She sheep-dogged her mom back to their own front porch, but then her mom grabbed hold of a post and wouldn’t let go.

  The deputies, their hands resting on the butts of their guns, knocked on the front door, and then immediately took a step back when it opened. From her vantage point, Em couldn’t see who answered the door, but after a moment of talking to whoever it was, two men stepped out onto the porch to talk with the deputies.

  “Ah-ha!” her mom crowed. “See? I told you.”

  “Shh.”

  The guys who’d emerged were a couple of cuties, too. One was taller, maybe six three, short brown hair a little on the curly side. The other was a couple of inches shorter than him with brown hair a slightly lighter shade, and straighter, also cut short.

  From the way the deputies immediately relaxed as the men pulled out their wallets and showed them ID, Em had a feeling her mom was going to be highly disappointed.

  And that Em was going to be making numerous apologies to guys who were probably their new neighbors.

  When, five minutes later, the deputies left after giving friendly waves to the men, Em knew she needed to go do damage control if she wanted any hope of being neighborly with the men.

  “Why didn’t they arrest them?” her mom whined.

  Em turned and pointed at the front door. “You. In the house. Now.”

  “But—”

  “Mom, get in the house. Right now. I’ve had enough of your behavior. You’ve been acting like an obnoxious kid all day, and you’ve officially stepped on my very last nerve.”

  Her mom stormed into the house, slamming the door behind her.

  That was her mom’s latest way of throwing a tantrum, slamming doors.

  How sad is it that it doesn’t even make me flinch anymore?

  Again the thought that her mom might be starting to show signs of dementia crossed Em’s mind, but trying to get her mom to the doctor was like trying to get a cat to take a bath.

  Except that bathing a cat would be a lot easier.

  Em took a deep breath and hurried over to where the two guys were standing on their porch and looking at her.

  She extended her hand as she walked up. “Hi, I’m so sorry about that. My mom is…my mom. I tried to tell her not to call. Em Woodland. I live next door.”

  The men acted guarded, and she couldn’t blame them.

  The shorter one shook with her first. “Jarred Ilsen. Bryant Simonson was my uncle.”

  “Was?” Horror and embarrassment washed through Em. She honestly hadn’t known the guy. She had waved to the elderly man a couple of times when she’d first moved in, but hadn’t seen him there in over a year and assumed he’d either died or moved in with relatives or something. A lawn company took care of the yard every couple of weeks.

  “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry. If I could go crawl under a rock right now, I would.”

  “It’s okay. I can see why she was concerned.”

  The other guy extended his hand. “Garrison Porter.”

  “Hi. Nice to meet you, but sorry about the circumstances. When did he pass?”

  “A couple of weeks ago,” Jarred said. “Sorry, we didn’t know your mom knew him, or we would have come and notified her. He never indicated he was close to any of his neighbors.”

  “She didn’t know him. She thinks she knows everyone’s business, but she doesn’t. So what happens to the house now?”

  Standing this close, she could see Garrison had green eyes. “Jarred inherited it. We’re going to move in. After we clean it out and do some rehabbing first.”

  “Oh! That’s cool.” She immediately felt like an idiot. “I mean, not that he died, but—”

  “It’s okay.” Garrison had a nice smile, too. “Sorry our first meeting was a little rocky.”

  “Hey, the apologies are all on me.” She turned and spotted the blinds in the living room parted, her mom staring through them. Em jabbed a finger at her, and the blinds fell shut again.

  Jarred let out a laugh. “So…no offense, but what’s up with that?”

  “Sorry, really long story. My mom gets very…needy. I work from home a lot, unfortunately. When she thinks I’m not paying enough attention to her, she sort of goes…batshit. Usually she’s hounding my dad. But my dad’s out volunteering today, and that means she’s hyperfocused on me. Lucky me.”

  “Ah,” the men said. “Sorry,” Jarred offered.

  “I love them. They’re my parents. But I kind of got cornered by my siblings into them moving in with me—and oh, my god, I’m so sorry. The last thing you need to h
ear is my issues.”

  “It’s okay,” Garrison assured her. “I take it she won’t call the cops on us again?”

  “I’m thinking about taking the home line out. She refuses to use a cell phone. Might make life easier.”

  That made both men laugh, an easy sound that told her, hopefully, she wasn’t going to be painted with the same brush as her mom’s actions.

  “Look,” she offered, “if you need any help, feel free to ask. I work at an estate sale company. If you need anything appraised, please, it’d be my pleasure to help. For free,” she quickly added. “To make up for this aggravation.”

  “No worries,” Jarred said. “Glad to know there’s a neighborhood busybody who will keep an eye on things for us when we’re not home.”

  “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t classify her like that,” Em said. “More like she keeps track of what interests her.”

  “So what does your husband think about her spying on the neighbors?” Garrison teased.

  “If I had one, or even a boyfriend, I guess I probably wouldn’t have my parents living with me now.” She shoved her hair back away from her face. “Sorry. Again. I swear I’m not a mom-hating monster. I think my dad volunteers a couple of days a week to get away from her. When he’s not home…”

  She really wished she had that rock to climb under.

  “Well, if you ever need to escape, feel free to come over,” Jarred said. His brown eyes looked soft, cute, inviting. “The door’s always open.”

  “Thanks. You might regret that invite.” She realized her mom was still spying on them through the blinds, and Em fought the urge to flip her a bird. “Well, I’ll get out of your way. Again, I’m really sorry.”

  Garrison laughed. “It’s okay, honestly. No worries.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, hey.” He pulled out his cell phone. “Let me give you our numbers, if you don’t mind. It’ll be a little while before we’re living here. Tell your mom she’s free to call us if she sees anything suspicious.”

  “Okay, sure.” Em pulled her cell phone out of her back pocket, and two minutes later had the phone numbers for two hunky guys she was almost certain were romantic partners, meaning zero chance for a hookup with either of them.

  Figures.

  Not that a romantic hookup would be in her future as long as her parents were living with her. The last three guys she’d dated had all been scared off by her mom.

  Literally.

  Maybe not directly, but by her mom’s incessant interference, rudeness to them when they came over, and other acts of general asshattery. Like hell she’d give her mom Jarred’s and Garrison’s numbers. That’d be the fastest way for her mom to scare them off.

  I’m PMSing. That’s why I’m acting like such a bitch today.

  Well, it was as good an excuse as any.

  She headed back home to face her mother’s inevitable wrath.

  Chapter Two

  Garrison watched Em walk back to her house next door. She was a cutie, maybe midthirties, if he had to guess. Auburn hair down to her shoulders, and blue eyes.

  “Well, what do you think about that?”

  “Think about what?” Jarred asked. “Single cutie next door, or her semi-psycho mom?”

  Garrison snorted. “Yes.”

  The last thirteen months had been hard on them. It was nice to finally have something to smile about. To laugh about.

  To take their mind off their shared grief.

  “Should make life interesting,” Jarred said. “Not sure if in the good or bad way yet, though.”

  “True. Maybe a little of both.”

  They returned to the living room and looked around again. Very little, if any, of the furniture would stay. What they didn’t trash outright—like the sofa and a fabric-covered recliner—they’d either donate or have a yard sale.

  “Do we redo the kitchen all the way now before we move in?” Jarred asked.

  “I don’t know.” Garrison walked back to the kitchen doorway. “Maybe an IKEA kitchen. We’re not even sure we’re going to like living here. I don’t want to dump a lot of money into it just for us to move in a year or two and not earn that money back.”

  “There is that.”

  The silence fell again.

  “You know, she would have laughed her ass off at that,” Jarred finally said, his voice sounding wistful and soft. “Nosy neighbor calling the cops on ‘her’ boys.”

  “Yeah, I was just thinking that, too. She would have given that old woman a piece of her mind with a smile on her face and a ‘bless your heart’ trashing her.” He draped an arm around Jarred’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “We’ll keep getting through this. Just like they tell us, one day at a time.”

  “But when does it stop hurting so damn much?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  * * * *

  Em forced herself not to break into a mortified run as she strode across the yard to her house.

  Prison orange is not my color. Also, she’s my mom.

  Her mother was standing by the front door and waiting to pounce when Em walked in.

  “Well? Why didn’t they arrest them?”

  Em ducked around her and headed back to the couch. “Because they own the house.”

  “What? No, they don’t.”

  “Uh, yeah, they do. One of those guys is Mr. Simonson’s nephew.” Em sat and grabbed her laptop. “He inherited it. They’re going to move in after they get it cleaned out.”

  “What?”

  “So don’t go calling the cops on them again.”

  “But no one told me he died.”

  Em logged into her laptop and tried to get back to work. “Then I guess you weren’t as close to him as you thought you were.” Which Em knew was not at all, but it wasn’t worth fighting that minor skirmish with her mom.

  “Well, how did he die?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When did he die?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, for heaven’s sake, why didn’t you ask?”

  Em glared at her. “You want to know? Go over and ask those two very nice men. After you apologize to them for calling the cops on them and wasting taxpayers’ money on a needless 911 call.”

  “Well, are they brothers?”

  “I don’t think so.” Em was trying to focus on her work, but it was obvious her mother wasn’t going to let her.

  “Then who are they?”

  “They’re really handsome serial killers, Mom. Who will hopefully murder me tonight in my sleep. If I’m lucky. They’ll probably be conducting ritual sacrifices and sex orgies in the backyard. I’m sure I heard them planning a black mass when I walked up. Good thing we don’t have a cat, although they did ask me if I had a goat.” She focused her glare on her mom.

  “You don’t have to be such a cranky smartass.”

  “You know what? You’re right. I’m a total bitch to live with. I think tomorrow you and I will go out and look at condos for you and Dad. We’ll get you moved out this week. That way, you won’t have to put up with me and my bitchiness anymore.”

  Her mom looked horrified. “No!”

  “Why not? It’s not like you can’t afford it. Since you’re refusing to let me get any work done in my own house—”

  “Fine! Be that way.” Her mom stormed over to the kitchen and—loudly—started rattling cabinet doors and pots and pans.

  I refuse to feel guilty about this.

  It was also the fastest way to derail any kind of argument with her mom. A low blow, sure, but it was a trigger Em was finding easier to pull every time she had to use it.

  Sure enough, twenty minutes later, the noises had stopped in the kitchen and her mom returned, looking contrite. “Meryl?”

  Oh, gawd. The “forgive me” tone.

  Em fought the urge to roll her eyes. She’d long since given up trying to get her mom to stop calling her that. “Yes, Mom?”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right that I
overreacted. We really like living here.”

  Em stared up at her mom. “I love you both, but this has got to stop, Mom. If you won’t let me work, and you won’t go to the doctor for a checkup, I honestly don’t know where to go from there.”

  Her mom, predictably, ignored the doctor comment. “Do you want us to contribute more every month to expenses? We can.”

  That wasn’t even the problem. They paid her five hundred every month, even though Em had tried to refuse to take it at first in hopes that she could quickly get them moved somewhere else in a few months. Plus they frequently bought the groceries. But while Em wasn’t rich, she could still make all her expenses on her own even if they weren’t contributing.

  And she had been doing just fine before they moved in.

  Em closed her laptop and set it aside. Taking a moment to make sure she kept her tone gentle, she said, “Mom, I have had no life since you guys moved in with me. I can’t go out to a movie or dinner with friends without you calling me five times to check on me.”

  “That’s because I worry.”

  “I’m forty-two. I’m not a teenager. Do you remember the last guy I dated? Mike?”

  Her mom frowned but didn’t answer.

  Em pressed. “Do you remember what you said to him the first night I invited him over to have dinner with us?”

  “Well, that was several months ago. I—”

  “You said he looked like he needed to get his back waxed. Who the hell says that to someone?”

  Her mother put on a pouty face. “I was just kidding. Geez.”

  “The guy before him, you asked him if his family swam across a river from Mexico!”

  “Well, he was Spanish.”

  “He was from Spain, Mom! Madrid. And let’s not forget that your comment was not only completely out of line, but it was bigoted to boot.”

  “So what are you trying to say?”

  “That I have zero privacy now. When I take a phone call and go to my room, you start knocking on my door in less than two minutes. Every time.”

  “I do not!”

  “Yes, you do. Even if it’s a business call. Your interruptions are always for stupid stuff, too. If I leave my bedroom or office door open, you stand there hovering and listening to me on my call and then play twenty questions with me when I’m done. It’s like if I’m out of your sight and you’re alone in the house, you can’t stand it. If you don’t have control over me or Dad, you go nuts.”