Curds and Whey Box Set

by G M Eppers

  “She mention great grandchildren?” I teased. She had asked me about future grandchildren on my first date with Butte. Mom had no mercy.

  “Well, yes,” he admitted. “But I think that she thinks because they are twins it doubles the chances. But that’s not how it works.”

  “You’ve got that right,” said Avis immediately.

  Agnes laughed good-naturedly. “Cuts them in half, actually. Sometimes I have the headache.”

  That got a nice, but slightly uncomfortable, group chuckle. To change the subject, Sir Haughty said, “Billings is right about your mother, though, Helena. She’s a delightful woman. If I was ten years older…”

  “And she was ten years younger,” I added.

  “Quite. I had a lovely chat with her while we watched some of the telethon. And I’ve been thinking about it ever since.” Then he stopped talking as if we were all supposed to know what he was referring to.

  “What did you talk about, Sir Haughty?” I asked him, finally, as I reinserted a slice of turkey that had slipped out of my sub.

  “There was a piece on the telly about American patriotism,” he said, pronouncing it with a short ‘a’ sound, “and how it was every citizen’s duty to support the Uber cause. Now, I mentioned that it was a global thing and that patriotism had nothing to do with it, but she said of course it did. America is leading the way on Uber research. There’s no Banana Harris in Russia and no Mayo Clinic in the whole of Europe. And suddenly I felt, I don’t know, pride, I guess, but it was all very vicarious. In short, I’m so proud of your country I’d like to make it mine. When we get back I’ll be looking into citizenship classes.”

  “You’re giving up England?” asked Nitro, who had finished his two salads and was sipping a ginger ale.

  “I believe I will look into dual citizenship. One can never have too many countries, you know.”

  “By all means, start a collection,” I said. “It worked really well for Papardelle.” The Mafia boss we had recently put away had confessed to numerous collections, among them international spoons and snowglobes.

  There was a round of congratulations on the very idea of Haughty applying for dual citizenship. And I was beginning to see a pattern in the topics of conversation. First, Knobby had been motivated to finish his wall climb, then Roxy had taken up crochet, and now Sir Haughty wanted American citizenship. “Wait a minute.” I stood and moved toward the front of the group, turning to face them. I raised my voice a bit and asked, “Is there anyone here who has NOT had a life-changing conversation with my mother?” I asked.

  Miss Chiff and Dinny both raised their hands, and Badger shyly raised Backwash’s paw. “You’ve got to be kidding me. My mother? The same woman who told me babies came from a secret aisle at the grocery store? The woman who would not let me watch Pinocchio because she got seasick? The very same woman who was convinced that Groucho Marx wrote the Communist Manifesto? That woman? What could she possibly say that is that profound?”

  Badger tossed a tidbit of bacon from his sub into the air. Harelip, surprisingly since she was so much smaller than the others, won the culinary jump ball, barely chewing at all. “She told me I should propose to Roger,” he said, referring to his boyfriend. None of us had met Roger yet. At this rate, we probably wouldn’t until the wedding. “I’m thinking about it. He’s not the type to ask first. He’s very patient. Which explains why we’re still together even though I’m cavorting around the world all the time. But I’m not sure it would be fair to lock him into playing second fiddle to Uber. Right now it’s voluntary. If we got married, that would change. But until your mother mentioned it, I hadn’t even thought about it.”

  Roxy perked up. “I’m not trying to be pushy, but a double wedding would be fun. Besides, we’ll be lucky to stay in one place long enough for one wedding, let alone two.”

  “Am I to understand that Billings and Ms. Nicely are engaged?” asked Miss Chiff. I’d forgotten that she wasn’t in this particular loop.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” responded Avis Nicely.

  “And that Mr. Collins has a male partner?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” admitted Badger.

  “Thank goodness. I was beginning to think you all were celibate.” She had finished her sandwich and swallowed the last of her ginger ale, wiping the edges of her mouth primly with a napkin. “Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.” Billings pointed her toward the proper door. She disappeared inside it, but before the door closed we could hear her add, “Good God, you people are really spoiled rotten!”

  Dinny began piling the trays back onto the cart. “It’s a shame I didn’t get to meet your mother, Helena. She sounds like a very interesting woman.” She glanced at her watch. “We’ll be landing in about ten minutes, Helena. I understand the local temperature is 41 degrees Fahrenheit with partly cloudy skies and no precipitation expected this week.”

  “Thank you, Dinny. Everyone, time to change into your cold weather clothes.” The cabin became a hub of activity as everyone went to the locker room to retrieve their change of clothes and find a place to change. I had packed heavier jeans, a gray fleece sweatshirt, and a black cotton hoodie and went into the third bathroom stall to change.

  Sylvia edged past me to get to the fourth one. “Helena, I’m really nervous about meeting Banana Harris. I’m afraid I’ll say something stupid.” She talked through the wall as we changed.

  “Nonsense,” I told her, although I was dealing with butterflies myself. “I’ve met plenty of important people, including the President of the United States. Just remember, she puts her pants on one leg at a time, just like us.”

  “What if she’s wearing a skirt?”

  Even though she couldn’t see me, I smirked. “She must wear pants sometime. Some people say it helps if you picture someone naked. Maybe you can try that.”

  “I could. That’s what I did the first time I met you.”

  “What?” It was a bit uncomfortable knowing someone I was talking to had pictured me naked. But I didn’t want to appear uptight about it. “Um…did it work?” I tried to recall the day I’d first met Sylvia Pendragon, and come to think of it I’d felt a little intimidated myself. I think it was the eye patch. Back then, of course, it was covering a perfectly good eye, though I didn’t know it. And I remember once I figured it out, I felt more at ease with her. That situation revealed a cunning and sense of humor that I found very endearing. But had she felt the same about me?

  “I don’t remember,” she said, and I wasn’t sure if I believed her. “You kept staring at my eye patch and it kind of threw off my concentration.” She paused as she realized that the same thing might happen in Minnesota. “Oh my. She’s going to stare at my eye patch. I should have had Nitro get me that glass eye. Even your mother said so. And Banana Harris is a doctor. She’ll want to see and she’ll be all clinical. I’m staying on the plane.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I told her. “You are not staying on the plane. I need you. Your one eye is better than all of our eyes put together.”

  “Ew.”

  “Sorry. Bad image. But I mean it. Listen, Ms. Harris is going to be too upset about Clara to care what any of us look like. Relax. You’ll be fine. You don’t have to say a thing. Just be your usual observant self.” One sentence she had said stayed with me and I had to ask. “My mother told you to get a glass eye?”

  “Yes.” The pitch of her voice changed as she moved into the hallway, waiting for me to finish dressing. “She said the patch made me look like a pirate. But pirates are swarthy and have unkempt beards and tricorn hats. I don’t look like a pirate, do I?”

  As I shrugged into my hoodie and zipped it up, she moved to where I could see her. Her skin was smooth and pale, contrasting with short, black hair and the one startlingly green eye. She was wearing an off-white blouse with long loose sleeves, black wool slacks and knee-high black boots. “Nope,” I lied. “Not at all. Of course, I haven’t met many pirates,” I teased her as I waved her ahead of me back to the a
irplane cabin.

  A few minutes later we were all gathered in the cabin again, strapping in for landing. Most everyone, like me, had traded in t-shirts for sweaters, but Sir Haughty had slipped on a long black wool duster, with a green cravat stuffed into the neckline. Both Badger and Nitro had brought heavy jackets. The twins were in faux fur, and Roxy wore a three-quarter length red velvet dress with white faux fur on the edges, looking more like Mrs. Claus than a CURDS agent. “Are you sure about that, Roxy?” I asked her, although she probably hadn’t brought a spare outfit.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t be cold. I have a muff, too.” She indicated her canvas bag, which still had a strand of red yarn sticking out of it. It probably was not an accident that the red of her outfit and the red yarn were an exact match. The scarf thing she was crocheting was for herself. It had to be. Who else wants a scarf with an udder?

  Dinny had corralled the cats and they were confined in preparation for landing, in carriers stored in a gated alcove behind the cockpit, so there was no one to snag the yarn now and cause a commotion.

  After the CURDS1 landed at Rochester International Airport, Dinny unlocked the hatch with a twirl of the wheel and swung the door open. It’s a busy airport with daily flights specifically for the Mayo Clinic patients and their families, so there was no gate available. Dinny waved from the doorway, guiding the person driving the electric staircase to the proper position like a worker on an aircraft carrier guides in a jet. She observed the docking and made sure the connection was secure before giving us the all clear.

  We entered the locker room and gathered gear. Dinny unlocked the weapons locker and supervised the distribution of the hardware. I had secretly advised Billings on what to say so everyone could get used to him taking the lead. “Okay, everyone. We don’t know what we’re walking into here. Clara could have been taken by local hoodlums or by International terrorists. Let’s cover our bases. Stun guns for the hoodlums, guns for the terrorists, cuffs, walkies, and vests. Nitro, you can leave your field kit behind. We probably won’t be testing for Uber and if there are any injuries the Mayo Clinic will have supplies.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to bring it. I kind of feel naked without it,” Nitro said.

  Billings nodded. “Suit yourself. Everyone good? Let’s go.” He led the way down the staircase as one-by-one we were greeted by a blast of frigid air. Everyone except Knobby and Miss Chiff had on their Kevlar vest with CURDS on the back. Kevlar can stop a bullet, but it doesn’t do much for cold air. They do make a bold fashion statement, sort of a cross between “we mean business” and “this wasn’t what we had planned for.” It was a bit windy at the top of the staircase, but as we descended the air stilled. We waved goodbye to Dinny and she closed the airplane door.

  First stop was the car rental place. This time there were ten of us, and I had my doubts about the convenience of a single vehicle. Billings, with just a glance at me, approached the counter. “Do you have a car that will seat ten?” he asked.

  The woman behind the counter, whose nametag read ‘Delores,’ had thick brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail, brown eyes, and a beauty mark on her neck. She scanned our large group, noting with interest the Nicely sisters, a woman with an eyepatch, and Mrs. Claus. She probably thought we were here for a costume party. “I’m sorry, we don’t have a car that will hold all of you.”

  Miss Chiff sidled up next to Billings. “We can get two vehicles.”

  “One moment,” said Delores. “As I said, we don’t have a car that big, but we do have a vehicle you can use, I think.”

  “You rent RV’s now?” asked Billings with a smile.

  “No. Um. It’s kind of a bus.”

  “A bus? What do you mean ‘kind of?’”

  Delores assembled some paperwork and started pushing pressure sensitive buttons on her screen. “I have to talk to my manager. One moment, please.” She disappeared behind the wall for a little while and we waited. Roxy, who had been bringing up the rear, sat in a nearby chair and pulled out her crochet. I stepped over. “Roxy, you brought that thing with you?”

  “Yes. You may not realize it, but some of us get a lot of down time. It’s not a big deal. It goes in and out in a second. Watch.” She did two stitches and put it back, then pulled it out and did three more and put it back. “See? It won’t be a problem. It’s not a potato chip. I can do just one if I have to. Besides, changing gears like that is great brain exercise. Besides, it’s my go-bag. What I pack in it is my business, right?”

  “Fine. Don’t let Miss Chiff see you do it.” All of us had a small bag just in case the mission went an extended length of time, so Roxy’s canvas tote wasn’t unusual, but I wasn’t sure Miss Chiff would feel the same way about its contents.

  “Oh, absolutely not. Why do you think I stay back here?” Delores reappeared at the counter and Roxy hastily hid the crocheting and stood. I turned back and moved forward enough to hear what was going on.

  “My manager said I can let you have the bus, but it requires a CDL.”

  “In that case, we’ll take two—“ Billings started to say. He was normally the designated driver, and he only had the standard license.

  “I have a CDL!” said Knobby. “I can drive it. Drove a bus for three years back home.”

  Suddenly, Knobby was the center of attention. “You’ve kept it up, Mr. Olivieri? It’s not expired?” asked Miss Chiff, who thought of aspects of a situation that might escape some people.

  For a moment, Knobby was confused. She had asked two opposing questions and answering neither ‘yes’ nor ‘no’ seemed appropriate. “It’s current, Miss Chiff,” he said finally.

  Billings turned back to Delores. “I guess we’ll take the bus.”

  Delores finished processing the application, with collision insurance, and had Knobby sign for it. “You’ll have to follow me. It’s not in the usual lot.” She led us out the back way through a door that said “alarm will sound” (it didn’t) and past a partially full garbage dumpster. This way led to a lower level of a parking garage. Not far from the door, we saw it. It was white with a black stripe down each side and about half the length of a normal school bus. “We got it last week when St. Edgar the Peaceful School for the Developmentally Challenged replaced it with a regular school bus. We did manage to paint out the words, but the mechanics haven’t done their evaluation yet and it needs some minor repair work inside. We’ll honor our usual warranty, however. If you have any difficulties with it you can call AAA at our expense.”

  Knobby took the keys from Delores and approached the bus, kicking the tires, checking it out. He pushed open the folding door and climbed in, examining the driver’s seat. Bouncing a little, he tested the suspension and his eyes scanned the instrument panel. “I can do this,” he told Billings, who waited at the open door. “All aboard!”

  We all climbed in and found a seat. She wasn’t lying about the evaluation. Nearly every seat was patched with gray duct tape and graffiti adorned the walls and hammered steel-covered seat backs. At least we’d have reading material, I thought. Delores pointed Knobby toward the exit and we were off. “Uh oh. Which way to the Mayo Clinic?” asked Knobby. “There’s no GPS in this thing.” He idled the bus at the edge of the cross street and waited for an answer.

  Badger had taken a front seat and was already engaging the GPS on his phone. “Turn right,” he said.

  I let Badger handle the navigation and sat back to enjoy the ride. The back of the seat in front of me featured a vague heart shape with the letters “GN + AW” in it, and “Hi Ho Silver” scrawled at an angle. It had been decades since I’d been on a bus like this. The smoothest roads felt as bumpy as a rumble strip and I could feel every spring in the seat. Roxy was sitting at the very back and was busy crocheting almost immediately. I didn’t see how she could do it. It’s well known that the back of the bus is the bumpiest part. But she didn’t seem to mind at all. She was very pleased with her progress on her whatever-it-is, her hands looping
and directing the yarn with probably misplaced confidence. The rest of us watched the city of Rochester as we moved through it. The sky above, as promised, was cloudy and gray. Rows of middle class housing dotted with laundromats and fast food sped past the windows. Sylvia, sitting behind me, leaned forward. “My butterflies are swarming,” she said quietly.

  “Deep breaths,” I told her, twisting my head around. My eyes fell on Miss Chiff seated a row in front of Roxy looking out the window with her carpetbag on the seat next to her. Slowly, she reached in the bag with one hand and brought out the silver flask, keeping it low so it was hard to see. Only my previous knowledge and a brief twinkle of reflected light gave it away. She twisted the cap off, took a sip, closed the cap and slipped it back into her bag in a practiced, smooth motion. I forced my attention back to Sylvia. I was probably at least as excited as she was about the prospect of meeting Banana Harris, but somehow I felt relatively calm. Maybe Sylvia was freaking out enough for the both of us. “Remember the job we’re here to do. Focus on that. She’s just another person in trouble that we’re going to help.” Sylvia nodded and sat back in her seat. Her one green eye lost its focus on me and I turned my head back to the front, lost in thought about what to do about Miss Chiff. It was just a small sip, but how many had she had? The idea of what might be in that flask made me sad, and a little scared. It wasn’t like the Miss Chiff I knew to jeopardize a mission. I wondered if any of the others had seen her drink and what we might have to do about it. If a situation came up, I might have to speak out, but for now I decided to keep it to myself.

  The Mayo Clinic is a huge complex of several buildings, ranging from old and historical, to new and ultramodern. Some of the newer buildings are even connected with skywalks. As with any such complex, the parking is just as confusing. We took a couple of wrong turns trying to find the lot for the research building, but finally got the right one. Driving by the front door to verify the building identification, we noticed a press corps already gathering at the entrance. Knobby parked the bus toward the rear of the lot, out of the way, and opened the folding door. “All ashore that’s going ashore!” he called. The ten of us exited the bus, Knobby detoured around to the driver side window and reached in to close the door, and we headed toward the clinic entrance. Anyone from inside watching would either recognize us as CURDS or think that the authorities had declared martial law. Three news vans were parked toward the front of the lot, in a haphazard fashion that took up far more space than they needed. Several other cars were in the lot as well.