CLAY WATCHED MAIZIE walk away. Despite what she said, he knew it was a big deal. He was a smart guy and he’d been married long enough to recognize high dudgeon when he saw it. Lately he seemed to be screwing up all the time. Everything he tried blew up in his face, especially when it came to his wife, the sexiest, funniest, most appealing woman he’d ever met.

      Maizie reminded him of a 1950s movie star—a cross between Marilyn Monroe and Pamela Anderson, sans surgical enhancements. She griped about the few pounds she’d gained, but as far as Clay was concerned her curves were perfect.

      Straying had never entered his mind. His theory was why go out for chicken nuggets when you had cordon bleu at home, but lately, whew! The trouble had started when Hannah left for college and the situation was rapidly going downhill.

      Maizie was the owner/operator of Miss Scarlett’s Boudoir. Her boutique was the emporium of all things girly in Magnolia Bluffs, Georgia, and it truly was the happening place. So if boredom wasn’t the problem, what was it—other than missing her baby?

      Then Clay froze as a horrible thought struck him. Was his wife getting tired of him? Maizie and Hannah were his entire world. He didn’t think he could survive without them.

      God, he didn’t need this right now, not on top of the trouble at work. Thinking about the debacle at the office made him want to beat his head against the wall.

      Then Clay had a brilliant idea. Even he could admit it was time to call in an expert and who better than her fraternal twin, Liza. They were about as simpatico as two people could be.

      Add in their cousin Kenni Whittaker and you had the Three Musketeers. Yep, Liza and Kenni would know what to do.

      Pleased that he had a game plan, Clay grabbed his car keys and headed off to work. He’d call Liza when he had a spare minute—not that he had many of those.

      Chapter Two

      It had been a lousy morning. Maizie hated fighting with Clay, but sometimes it felt like a black mood hijacked her brain. And when that happened, dealing with it was worse than getting rid of a bad case of fleas.

      Maizie was doing some deep breathing exercises in the back room of the Boudoir, getting ready to put on her happy face, when she heard a screech followed by a crash. Then someone growled, “Let’s go outside and settle this.” That was something you’d hear at the Honky-Tonk Inn, not at Miss Scarlett’s.

      Enough was enough. Damn it all! Maizie threw her half-eaten Godiva bar in the cabinet and stomped out into the shop. A quick look revealed there wasn’t much to worry about. The combatants were two middle-aged women armed with nothing more lethal than their razor-sharp tongues. Her employees, PJ and Bambi, stood by helplessly.

      “What in the Sam Hill do you two think you’re doing?” Maizie demanded, slamming her hands on her hips for emphasis. She had at least a seven-inch height advantage on both women and she wasn’t afraid to use it. “This isn’t a junior high cafeteria.”

      Sue Belle Pennington and Lucy Albright had been mortal enemies since cheerleading tryouts in the eighth grade. Add the unfortunate fact that neither had the sense God gave a turnip—and voilà—they were an incident waiting to happen.

      Maizie tapped her toe. If they weren’t going to behave they could get out of her store. “I’m waiting for an explanation, and it had better be good.”

      “She, she…” Sue Belle pointed a bony finger at her archenemy. “She thinks she’s smart enough to run the Girl Scout cookie sale. God knows she came out of the shallow end of the gene pool.” The commentary was bad enough, but her wicked-witch cackle was the icing on the cake.

      Lucy lunged for Sue Belle, ready to draw blood, but Maizie grabbed her in midflight.

      “You’re having a catfight, in my store, over who’s going to be the cookie mama?” Maizie would’ve slammed their heads together if she’d thought it would do any good.

      Sue Belle raised her hand in preparation for a rude gesture, but obviously reconsidered when Maizie shot her a lethal glare.

      Lucy, however, didn’t know when to quit. “Her mama stole the Brownie money when we were in third grade. And everyone knows the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” She accompanied her snarky remark with a smirk.

      Oops! The ass whoopin’ was about to commence.

      “Grab Sue Belle,” Maizie yelled to PJ, praying that her assistant manager would be able to restrain the enraged woman. Considering Sue Belle outweighed PJ by at least seventy-five pounds there wasn’t much hope of that.

      “Call my brother-in-law.” Maizie tossed the cordless phone to Bambi, her after-school clerk. “Tell him to send someone over immediately.”

      Zack Maynard, Liza’s husband, was the county sheriff. Sometimes it was handy to have a relative with a badge.

      “Stop it right this minute!” Maizie screamed. Lordy, she hadn’t yelled that loud since her own cheerleading days. But it worked. Everyone in the shop went stock-still.

      “Sit down. I will not tolerate a brawl in my store.”

      Lucy sputtered and Sue Belle straightened her blouse where PJ had latched on to her arm. Although the combatants looked as if they’d rather have tea with Satan, they reluctantly complied, settling on opposite ends of the brocade Victorian fainting couch near the change rooms. The cease-fire, however, didn’t stop them from shooting baleful looks at each other.

      “The dispatcher said someone would be here soon. But not to worry, the doughnut shop’s not too far away.” Bambi punctuated her report with a typical teenage giggle.

      From her lips to God’s ears.

      Ten minutes later Deputy Bubba Watson strolled in, a trail of white powder dribbled down his uniform, and it wasn’t cocaine. The poor man wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box, but he was the law. And if he could