Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(85)

“Correct.”

“So one family will stay.” As Holly spoke the words, she closed her eyes and covered her face. “And the other family will go.” Banishment. Banishment from the Village of Primm. That day on the porch, Penelope said keeping up with the Joneses was never the concern. If you lived in the Village of Primm, you were the Joneses. The only thing the Joneses feared was banishment. “What do you need?” Holly suspected she already knew.

“I need My Love’s fingerprints—on a bug the size of a whisker.”

Charlotte emerged from beneath the couch, brushing her pregnant body against Jack’s and Holly’s legs.

“What the!” Jack moved quickly, lifting his feet. “What is that? Is that a cat? You didn’t get Ella a cat, did you?”

“Definitely not.” It looked like Charlotte was missing a few teeth. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“Then whose cat is that?”

Holly was silent.

“No.” He covered his face with his hands. “Don’t tell me. Greta’s here?”

“Slipped in for a surprise visit. She’s in the family room making smiley faces with Ella.”

“Greta!” Jack yelled.

“Jack!” Greta yelled back.

Holly hadn’t told Jack her secret—her hidden pinhole camera, her plans to enter the Wilhelm Klaus Film Festival with a three-minute film that would win the grand prize: $10,000. They needed that prize money. But was Holly prepared to throw Mary-Margaret under the bus for crimes committed at school? It seemed there were more pressing issues at stake between the two families. Not the warring colors of pink and yellow—that was Mary-Margaret and Penelope’s battle. Not clipboards, car crashes, cookies, or costumes. What Holly and Mary-Margaret had going here was dueling husbands.

Holly knew this: if My Love was behind the bug infestation that was killing Plume, threatening the village wine, and causing bonfires across the village—that would knock the zip-a-dee-doo-dah out of Mary-Margaret so fast—no amount of “hip, hip!” would restore the “hooray” she claimed she felt in her heart. If all of this was true, Mary-Margaret’s life? Kaboom!





33





Thursday, third day of kindergarten


Holly woke to a quiet house and the distant sound of Bus 13 outside her window. “Ella!” she hollered, throwing the covers off. “Ella! The bus!”

“Holly, Holly. Shhh. Relax.” Jack reached across the bed to grab Holly’s arm. Neither of them was dressed, their clothes on the floor, Holly’s underwear somewhere between the sheets. “Greta’s got this. She’s letting us sleep in.”

“What?” Bloody heck, was he serious? Holly dashed to the window, dragging a sheet with her to wrap around her body. She threw open the shutters, and lo and behold, there was Bus 13, and there was Greta at the bus stop—strumming her ukulele, serenading Ella as Ella climbed onto the school bus from their driveway for the very first time.

“Holy crow, she did it,” Holly mumbled. “My mom actually did it.”

Holly turned from the window to climb back in bed. “Do you know what this means? This means Ella’s one step closer to a smooth transition into kindergarten. By tomorrow, she’ll hop on that bus, no problem.” Holly heard the front door close.

“Mom!” She stepped into pajama bottoms, pulled a T-shirt over her head, then ran into the hallway to scramble down the stairs. Thump, thump, thump. “How’d you do it? How’d you get her on the bus?”

“It was easy.” Greta shrugged. “We pretended we were penguins and wobbled out.”

“That’s it? That’s all it took?” Maybe I’ll try that with Ella. “Oh, but I suppose you could have moved faster had you chosen a bird that could fly. Or maybe one that could run fast like the Road Runner. Meep! Meep! I think it was Friz Freleng who created—no. Chuck Jones. Definitely Chuck Jones. There was a job opening, once, in the film tape library at Warner Brothers, but I was pregnant, and Jack had that East Coast gig. Warner Brothers.” Holly exhaled, years of wistful regret leaving her body. “One of the ‘Big Six’ film studios.”

“Holly.” Greta cupped Holly’s cheeks. “You gotta let it go.” Then she swirled her curly gray hair into a bun. “And if you can’t, then do something about it. You’ve always had too much in that head of yours.”

“Arcus cloud.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Holly bit the corner of her thumbnail. “Holy frack! Mom. Today’s Thursday. Listen to me: we need pies. Lots of them. Like, thirteen. And we need cherries stuffed in them. In, like, the next twenty-four hours.”

“Sure thing, kiddo. Just need to put some finishing touches on a YouTube video. Teaching Lion King’s ‘Hakuna Matata’ on the ukulele. Chords C, F, G, D, G7, and A minor.” Greta pointed the butt of her ukulele at Holly. “You should learn, Holly. It’s good for the soul.”





34


Pie Committee meeting



The Pie Committee met beside the North Gazebo on The Lawn in the town square.

About fifteen moms took a seat on bright-white folding chairs. Holly sat front and center, wired with her mic and spy camera and in a good position for turning her body so that her left breast pointed straight at Mary-Margaret. If Mary-Margaret said chilli thrips, Holly’s left boob would record it.