Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(3)

“This is for you,” Penelope said. “A gift from the Welcome Wagon Committee.” She let a strap slide off her arm, the contents of the tote now fully exposed. “I’m so glad you didn’t buy that colonial in Southern Lakes.”

Holly glanced beyond Penelope toward the sprawling hydrangeas in the neighbor’s yard. “Primm is so—I don’t know—picturesque. I worry I’ve moved to a place where everyone’s trying to keep up with the Joneses.”

“Oh, no, Holly.” Penelope shook a finger. “Don’t worry about that. If you live in the Village of Primm—you are the Joneses. Keeping up is never our concern.”

“Oh? That’s odd.” Holly studied Penelope. “If the Joneses aren’t worried about keeping up, what do they worry about?”

“Banishment.” Penelope blinked, with no particular expression on her face. “Banishment from the village. Once you’re in, it’s devastating to be out. Are you a floral or a spice?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your fragrance. I have two samples. One’s a floral; one’s a spice.” Penelope waited with eyes open wide and a smile that showed all her teeth.

“Floral.”

“Here you go.” Penelope pressed a sample of White Gardenia in Holly’s hand, followed by a small box of carpet-and-room deodorizer, a key chain from Feathered Nest Realty, and a whisk tied to an envelope of mulling spices.

“Thank you, Penelope. That’s so kind.”

Penelope began shoving more product samples at Holly. Packets of sunflower seed from the local nursery. A bronzed garden gnome. It was coming at her so fast; she couldn’t hold on to anything. The twelve-by-twelve lunar calendar did her in, and whoops!—Holly dropped the bronzed garden gnome on Penelope’s foot.

Penelope took it in stride. “I’m wearing steel-toed high heels, Holly. I’m invincible.” She picked up the gnome, plunked it on top of the pile in Holly’s arms. “What was it Dorothy said in The Wizard of Oz? There’s no place like gnome? Ha!”

“This is all very generous. But I’m afraid I might drop something again.”

“That’s all right, Holly,” Penelope said.

But it wasn’t all right because the fallen garden gnome called attention to the packing tape trailing from the back of Holly’s foot like an unwanted hank of toilet paper. “My goodness. I really stepped in it, didn’t I?” She stomped around a bit, mangling the adhesive.

More samples. Hand lotion, a travel stick stain remover, dishwashing detergent, and a fortune cookie wrapped in plastic, the word welcome printed in multiple languages. Hands full, Holly tried to juggle her way through this circus act, wishing she could open the cookie and read her fortune.

“This is quite enough, Penelope, really.”

Penelope dove into her leather tote bag, retrieved a butter-yellow T-shirt, and then, clutching it by the shoulders, stretched it out so Holly could read PRIMM silk-screened across the chest in bold white Varsity font. “Ta-da!” Penelope said. “You’re yellow. Team Buttercream.”

“Buttercream?” Holly wasn’t sure she wanted to be on anyone’s team.

“F.U. Frisbee,” Penelope explained. “Something the moms do. Helps with stress. You’ll see.” She pressed a coupon for gutter cleaning into Holly’s hand.

“Penelope? Please stop.” Is that it? Is she finished?

Nope. Penelope thrust a bottle of white wine at Holly, tucking the butt of the bottle behind the samples until it wedged beneath Holly’s right armpit. “There,” Penelope said, pleased with herself. “Nice and cozy. That’s from the vineyard up the hill near the Stone House. Have I told you about the Stone House? The glass artist? Don’t believe everything you hear. I’ll tell you later. Oh, wait! There’s a note attached.” She peered down the bridge of her nose. “From the Petunia Lane Homeowners’ Association. Welcome to ‘whine’ country.”

Holly shifted her feet, tangling both ankles in packing tape. The wine began to slip backward, so she clamped her arm around its neck and wobbled a bit trying to hold on to it. The cork end moved and bobbed like a buoy floating in her armpit. “Thank you, Penelope. My goodness.”

She needed to go. Go, Penelope. Get off my porch!

“Really, thank you.” Holly couldn’t hold any more. Tickets to a cherry festival. A sample of dog food. “No more. Please stop.” A bottle of Windex with a coupon for window cleaning: BOGO. “Wow. So generous.” The wine was slipping. Everything was toppling over. “Please stop.” Floor cleaner. “Stop!”

“One more thing.” Penelope held a finger up. “I have a few questions to ask.” She extracted a small notebook from her tote and clicked a pen. “For the People of Primm section of the Primm Gazette.”

Holly was reminded of her days in film school: the Welcome Wagon–lady scene opened the Stepford Wives book, but in the first film, it was downplayed, and she couldn’t remember if the Welcome Wagon lady appeared in the more recent adaptation. She found the whole thing amusing. A welcome lady? Holly glanced beyond Penelope to the pristine homes and manicured gardens that lined Petunia Lane. I haven’t inadvertently moved my family onto the set of a satirical sci-fi horror movie, have I? She bent forward so she could nudge Penelope in the arm. “You’re not a robot, are you?”