“Jesus, Mom,” he said again.
“Didn’t I tell you these things come back to haunt you? It’s just like SAT scores or your grades in ninth grade. They affect the college you got into. But would you listen? No. You knew best.” Without warning, she whacked him on the shoulder with the paper, “Didn’t I tell you this would resurface one day?”
Sensing she was just getting started, Roman groaned and pulled the covers back over his head. He was too old to be living with his mother and too tired to deal with this now.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The line started forming outside Charlotte’s Attic at nine forty-five A.M. Charlotte glanced at Beth, who wasn’t discussing anything with her except business. Apparently she was talked out from the night before and Charlotte respected her privacy—for now. She fully intended to corner her friend by the end of the day and find out exactly what was going on.
“Did you advertise a sale and forget to tell me?” Beth gestured to the throng of waiting women outside.
“I wish.” Charlotte knitted her brows in confusion.
She walked to the front and unlocked the door. The women poured in as if she were giving merchandise away, and surrounded her until Frieda Whitehall stepped forward, obviously the spokesperson. The older woman had graying hair, cut and set in the only style Lu Anne knew. Frieda typically dressed in polyester pants with matching, hand-washable silk blouses, and today was no different. But Charlotte knew Frieda wanted to put the sizzle back into her marriage, and so she had purchased Charlotte’s handmade bra and panty set.
“What can I do for you ladies?”
“We’re interested in the …” Frieda cleared her throat and blushed.
“The pilfered panties,” Marge Sinclair called out from the back of the crowd. “My Donna could use a pair too.”
“And I need to replace mine,” Frieda said. “I’d also like a pair for Terrie. Maybe they’ll loosen her up a bit.”
“Pilfered panties?” Charlotte blinked in surprise. “You mean the crocheted ones.” Obviously the robbery had become common knowledge. News traveled fast in this town and only Rick and the police chief’s pleadings had kept the situation quiet after the initial break-ins.
“We’d all like a pair.”
“All of you?”
The murmur of assent rose, while the storefront had become a revolving door of women. Some of them were older, some younger, all of them interested in Charlotte’s “pilfered panties.”
“We don’t keep them in stock, you understand.” Beth had taken over. “These are individually made. I’ll take your names, color preference, and measure you for size. Line up and we’ll get started.”
“What in the world is going on?” Charlotte asked. Just last night she’d been worried about losing business, and now there was this deluge of customers for the very style of panties that encouraged robbery. At this rate, she’d be busy crocheting through Christmas, nine months away.
“Have you seen the morning paper?” Lisa Burton, an old classmate of Charlotte’s and now a respected schoolteacher, asked.
Charlotte shook her head. She’d overslept, thanks to a restless night with fevered dreams starring herself and Roman. “No time for paper or coffee. Why?”
Lisa’s eyes glittered with excitement as she handed over a copy of the Gazette. “If there was one man in this town you’d want to break into your home and steal your panties, who would it be?”
“Well …”
Before Charlotte could respond further, Lisa answered her own question. “A Chandler man, of course.”
Charlotte blinked. “Of course.” Roman was the only Chandler who interested her, not that she’d share that truth aloud.
And she didn’t need him stealing her panties, she’d willingly hand them over—so would half the women in this town, she realized. She recalled his brothers’ accounting of last night’s theft and the accusations surrounding Roman. Chase had said he was going to press.
“What did the paper say exactly?” she asked her friend. “Don’t leave anything out.”
Half an hour later, Charlotte had locked her doors, needing a break. In her possession, she had a new list of women who wanted to purchase her panties, many of whom desired luring Roman Chandler into their homes.
“I’m going to be sick.” Charlotte lowered herself into the chair behind her desk. She left Beth out front, organizing and straightening the store after the morning’s madness, while Charlotte made a copy of the list of names to give to the police.
Not only had they taken orders for the most expensive items in the store, but she’d sold things to the women while they waited—sachets for inside the drawers, lingerie hangers, and other items of clothing. It was the most successful day she’d had since opening, and it wasn’t yet noon. But instead of feeling satisfied, Charlotte was ill at ease.
She disliked earning money because of Roman’s bachelor reputation. Jealousy seared her heart as she thought of all the women who’d mentioned his name in her shop today. She resented being slapped with the reminder of what and who he was: a wanderer who loved women. And she’d agreed to be one of those women—until he left town. Charlotte shivered, yet nothing that had happened this afternoon changed her mind about the course she and Roman had chosen.
She glanced at the paper Lisa had left behind and shook her head. Roman was many things, a bachelor and a wanderer included, but he wasn’t a thief. And she didn’t believe for one minute he was behind the robberies. The idea was ridiculous and the fact that grown women had bought into the suggestion floored her. They were building a fantasy concept around the entire idea. Around him.
Charlotte understood the desire to do so, but she also knew better than most: Fantasies didn’t come true and reality was a much harsher teacher.
* * *
Roman made certain to overexert himself with push-ups and a hard
