Curds and Whey Box Set

by G M Eppers

  The next afternoon, I was discharged. Everyone came to help me. Billings and I both had the bandages removed from our hands, and briefly compared our dried out blisters. He touched things only lightly and wouldn’t let me touch anything at all. My ribs were still bound tightly, and Nitro was given instructions on my care as if he actually needed them. Then finally, finally, I was in the rental van and we were on our way to the airport. I’d never been so pleased to see the CURDS1 sitting on the tarmac, staircase in place, door open, Dinny standing there with a huge grin on her face. Sir Haughty, Roxy, Badger and Nitro carried all the gear up. It had already been arranged that Billings’ gear would be stored in Avis’ locker and mine would be stored in Sylvia’s locker until we could safely handle it ourselves, probably when we left for the next mission. Avis and Agnes helped Billings up the stairs, since he couldn’t properly grasp the side railing, by walking up sideways ahead of him and holding his elbows. Because it was a single-wide staircase, they kind of had to fold in on themselves, like they had done to trap Thug Two.

  Before I started up the staircase, Sylvia, who had appointed herself my mother hen, waited at a polite distance, prepared to assist me up the staircase. Butte, who had come with during the whole discharge, took my hand. “Helena,” and he couldn’t find the words after that. He pulled me close and hugged me. Honestly, I’ve never been hugged so much in the space of a few hours as I was that day.

  “You could come with us,” I suggested quietly.

  “No,” he sighed. “I’m going back.”

  “To WHEY? Why?”

  “Look, they weren’t at fault here. My position hasn’t changed.” He stroked the side of my face, folding an errant strand of hair behind my ear. “It was great seeing you again. I mean, you know, seeing you again.” I knew what he meant. “I’ll try to get to D.C. more often. I’ll try to stay in touch.”

  I’d heard these promises before. A lump grew in my throat as I realized that, as far as Butte and I were concerned, not much had changed. “You saved my life,” I said bluntly.

  Then he kissed me. On the lips. He grasped my buttocks and pulled me close enough to feel him. The airport started to spin just like the hotel room in Prague, and I wasn’t on a spinning bed. I got short of breath, and when I tried to catch it a twinge hit me in the ribs. And another twinge hit me higher up. I leaned my head against him for a moment, waiting for the world to settle, listening to his heartbeat. “Oh, Butte,” I didn’t have the words, either.

  Then he kissed my forehead. “When we first got you down, you were so pale, and you passed out so quickly I thought we’d lost you. I thought….” The wind continued to blow my hair around specifically so Butte could tuck it behind my ear every 30 seconds.

  “What happened to us, Butte?” I asked his chest. “Was I so angry about what happened to Dad that I just lashed out and you were there?”

  “No,” he said immediately. He pushed me to arm’s length for a moment to look me in the eyes, his own brown eyes twitching and searching my face. “Absolutely not. That kind of pettiness isn’t in you.” Then his eyes moved up and down, spanning my small frame, “there isn’t room for it.”

  I stuck out my tongue at him, but he pulled me close again, my cheek against his chest and I could feel the vibration of his voice. “No. It was me. I made you think I didn’t care, but the truth was I just wasn’t ready to deal with something like that. Death. I couldn’t deal. I had to pretend it wasn’t happening. I’m sorry.”

  Oh my God, I thought. I love this man. I couldn’t imagine having to live with him again, but I did still love him. It felt a little bit like I was going insane. It didn’t make sense. I squeezed him extra hard, even though it cost me another twinge of pain, and then we pulled away from each other.

  “I’ll take care of the rental car,” he offered, opening the driver’s door and waving as if we did this every day.

  “See you around, Butte.”

  Sylvia helped me up the staircase by supporting me in the rear. Dinny met me with another hug, and I went into CURDS1 and through the locker room without stopping at a locker. Sylvia dodged around me to open the door to the cabin so I wouldn’t have to touch it. And then I was sitting in my window seat and Sylvia was buckling my seatbelt. I looked around, my Internal People Counter satisfied, and felt content.

  After we reached cruising speed, Dinny freed the felines, who had, as she’d told me, been pining for us for a couple of days. They waltzed out, saw us in our seats, then made a 90 degree turn and as a group headed up the staircase. Shortly, we heard the jingle ball rolling around, and then it came bouncing down the stairs with Harelip running after it. The two older cats came down as if chaperoning the young one were an odious chore. People began to unbuckle and relax. And we had a pleasant nine hour flight during which Dinny served, ironically, something called Pappa Pomodoro, which is basically bread soup, using a tomato soup base, spices and crumbled bread, and a rich tiramisu for dessert.

  By the time we trundled up the walk to the house, I was looking forward to my recuperation time. The travel had been both relaxing and exhausting. But I wasn’t too tired to notice that the walkway was now lined with lavender and sage, and violet bougainvillea now framed the front door. It was fresh and inviting, the aromas welcoming us home as if they’d always been there. We all walked straight down the entryway to the kitchen where we knew our separate piles of mail would be on the kitchen table. Except for Badger. As he came through he veered off into the living room and after a quick glance at the kitchen the rest of us followed.

  On the wall in front of the couches was the 75-inch OLED Smart TV with a giant red bow on it. “Oh. My. God,” said Badger. On the coffee table, lined up in a row, were eight sim cards. There was also a manual and a remote with about a hundred buttons on it, and a sign that said “Push Power.” Badger looked at me, but I just held up my delicate hands and gave him a nod. Gingerly, he picked up the remote and pushed the power button. The TV came instantly to life and we saw Miss Chiff sitting behind her office desk.

  She had her head down and was writing something, but there must have been a signal of some kind and she looked up with a pleasant smile. “Welcome home, team! Congratulations on another successful mission.”

  We all stood there, gaping.

  “Well, don’t just stand there drooling!” she said. “How about a ‘thank you for the new tech. You’re the greatest director who ever lived, Miss Chiff.’”

  Most of us were still speechless. Sylvia answered for us. “Thank you for the new tech. You’re the greatest director who ever lived, Miss Chiff.”

  “Do you think she can hear us?” whispered Agnes. “People on TV aren’t supposed to hear us.”

  “I can hear you,” warned Miss Chiff. “Only on this particular channel, and I have the ability to activate it from here as well. It’s all in the manual. I suggest you ALL read it. You’ll have time while Helena and Billings recuperate. And you’ll find an appreciation bonus on the kitchen table. That’s it for now. Miss Chiff, out.” She reached to push a button and then it went to a rerun of Cheers.

  We left it on and headed for the kitchen to collect our mail. Eight piles of various sizes were on the table, with a larger square box in the middle. Billings also had a box, just as square, but flatter. Badger grabbed the box from the center and tore off the wrappings. It was, unbelievably, a full series box set of Game of Thrones in the new BEA-INK format. According to Badger it stood for Best Ever And I’m Not Kidding, but the programmer, Beatrice Inkles would prefer people knew her name. “Yes!” he shouted. “Winter is coming!” He hugged the box. “I will be able to see every purple vein in King Joffrey’s face!”

  The rest of us were a bit more subdued, but equally appreciative of the appreciation gift. We each turned to our personal pile of mail. Mine was mostly bills, the others sorted through their own looking for something interesting. As we sorted and a few envelopes were turned into paper airplanes to fly into the trash can, I glanced out the kitchen
doorway. The inner door was open but the storm door was closed against the autumn chill. Through its full size window I could see new equipment in the yard. I elbowed Billings and got him to look without alerting the others. Three sawhorses now straddled the running track. The scooter had been relocated to lean against the side of the outbuilding where our physicals had been held. Also next to the side of the building was an impromptu chin-up bar made from a curved shower rod bolted to the siding. It was mounted very high. I doubted I could reach it without a stool, even jumping. Billings and I shared a secret smile and I wondered how long before the others noticed the changes. “Billings,” I suggested, to keep everyone distracted, “why don’t you open your package? I think I know what it is.”

  He was fingering it, with apparently mixed feelings. “I think I know, too. But…”

  “You all right, Billings?”

  “Yeah, fine.” He casually unwrapped the box, holding everything with a light touch, then opened the box to reveal a smaller box with the Bük logo on the short sides and the IKEA logo on the long sides. It would appear that Mom had gotten the right item, but Billings still seemed less than excited about it. “Mom, given what I just went through, I’m not sure—“.

  I understood what he meant. He’d gotten the equivalent of about a hundred papercuts, courtesy of the Pappardelle thugs, and they no longer held the nostalgic value they had a week ago. “It’s okay, Billings.”

  He put the Bük down on the table. “Don’t tell Grandma, okay?”

  Before I could answer, a familiar voice said, “Don’t tell Grandma what?” and Knobby crept out of Nitro’s room off the kitchen with my mother in tow.

  “Ta Da!” Knobby said.

  TO BE CONTINUED

  CURDS and WHEY

  #3

  Frankenstein’s Muenster

  by G.M. Eppers

  For Leroy and Mary

  Copyright © 2017 by G.M. Eppers

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2017

  G. M. Eppers

  2064 Douglas Ave.

  Racine, WI 53402

  Contents

  The Mummy Strikes

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  The Damned Pirate

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Creature From the Crab Rangoon

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  The Mummy Strikes

  Chapter One

  There was utter silence, broken only by the sound of a lone envelope hitting the linoleum with the sound of a single bird’s wing flapping. Everyone stared at the apparition that was my mother, standing in the short hallway off the kitchen that led to Nitro’s bedroom. Finally, I shouted, “Mom!” and dropped the mail I was holding onto the table. I rushed over and gave her a big hug, swinging her around so her back was to the group. “It’s so good to see you!” It wasn’t. My movements were a bit too fast and my aching muscles objected strongly.

  My name is Helena Montana and I’m coordinator of an investigative team working for the Cheese and Uber Rennet Disposal Service or CURDS for short. We’d just gotten back from a rather nasty mission in Europe involving the Italian Mafia. Naturally, Mom knew about my job, but I never ever ever told her details about the missions. She knew it was dangerous, but it was much better keeping that idea as abstract as possible. I shot a look to my son, Billings, from just over Mom’s shoulder that communicated things that only a mother could pass to her son. Like most of the rest of the world, she was taller than me. Only my eyeballs would be visible, but that was enough for Billings. He silently got the attention of the rest of our team and ran a finger across his throat, mouthing the words “tell her nothing” with exaggerated lip movements. Mom certainly didn’t need to know that our latest mission had involved some of us being kidnapped and tortured. Billings, under his clothes, was covered with small cuts and I had tightly wrapped ribs and drying blisters all over the palms of my hands and a brand new surgical scar where they’d had to operate to stop internal bleeding and repair a punctured lung.

  Roxy Dubois, the tallest of the women, who intensified this by wearing severely high heels, lowered herself slowly, bending at the knees and keeping her back straight, to retrieve the piece of mail she had dropped. She was wearing a silky green floor-length gown with a green and gold bodice. I don’t think Roxy even owns a pair of jeans. She always dresses like it’s Oscar night. Sir Haughty tapped his temple, Badger touched his nose, and Nitro and the twins all nodded their heads in understanding. Only then did I feel I could relax the bear hug I’d been giving my mother. I did so slowly, keenly aware of my broken ribs. I kept my hands lightly on her shoulders, though, so she wouldn’t see the blisters on my hands. “Goodness,” she said, “that must be the best hug I’ve ever gotten, dear.”

  “Oh, wait until Billings gets a hold of you,” I said, waving him forward. “Billings, come give your grandmother a hug.”

  Billings also had the remains of several blisters on his hands left over from our captivity. He kept the palms of his hands out of her sight as he gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Hey, Grandma. Thanks for the Bük. I love it!” He sounded appropriately enthusiastic, although I knew he wasn’t. The Bük is an ereader designed for people who are nostalgic about paper books. It has a Tyvek edge to simulate the experience, with an ad campaign that glorifies the odds of getting a papercut. Unfortunately, in his captivity in Italy, Billings was subjected to a torture technique involving dozens of tiny cuts followed by being hosed down with saltwater. So, he had lost the excitement over that particular feature. Right after opening it he had asked us not to tell Grandma about his not liking the Bük so much, and that is exactly when Mom appeared, having overheard.

  “What was it you didn’t want anyone to tell me, dear?” she asked. “Don’t worry, I won’t be angry. Is it the wrong color? Should I have gotten the bigger one?”

  Like the Grinch in the famous Dr. Seuss tale, Billings thought up a lie and he thought it up quick. “Not at all, Grandma. I didn’t want you to know I opened it so late. My birthday was two, almost three days ago.”

  Mom slapped a hand on his shoulder as if to say, “you silly boy.” “Well, if you had opened it on time and I still hadn’t gotten a thank you, THEN I’d be disappointed. But when I arrived Knobby explained that you were all away on one of your missions.” She turned toward me again. “Really, he’s been such a perfect gentleman, letting me stay here until you got back. He even let me use his room.”

  Knobby, aka Benjamin Olivieri, is our caretaker. CURDS has three investigative teams, A, B, and C, and each one has its own HQ. Knobby tends to all three of them, and has a room in the basement of each one. He stays wherever he likes, though none of them are all that far apart. Ours is in DC and the other two are in Maryland and Virginia. He wanted to be on a team, but he had an accident during training and shattered both of his kneecaps. After that, he couldn’t pass the physical requirements to join a field team, but he was perfectly good as a handyman, as long as he didn’t have to do anything in a hurry. Without kneecaps, his knee joints would dislocate too easily if he stressed them. He took the nickname Knobby just to show there were no hard feelings. At my Mom’s kind words, he blushed. “My pleasure, Ma’am.”

  Nonchalantly, I moved back toward the table and took a seat. My stamina was still not back and I needed to sit down. Mom noticed. “Are you all right, dear? Your color looks a little off. Have y
ou been getting enough to eat? Can I make you something?”

  “No, Mom. I’m fine,” I insisted.

  “Actually,” said Nitro, our medical officer, Tyrone Nathaniel Thackery. “She probably should get some rest. It was a long flight. Helena, you said you hadn’t slept well on the plane, right?” he suggested. Roxy would call it leading the witness.

  “Oh,” piped in Knobby, “you folks want to get some sleep then. The telethon starts tonight, you know. Looks like you’ll be here to watch it for a change.”

  “It’s time for that already?” I asked. It was the 5th Annual Alley OOPS telethon, a fundraiser to fight Offensive Obstruction, the condition caused by eating Uber cheese, which had wiped out millions in a worldwide Pandemic Sweep, known as the big OOPS.