“Sure, Dad.”
Mary said, “How sweet. Dessert, everyone?” She was still pushing those brownies—literally pushing the platter in Tommy’s direction.
His eyes widened.
Before he could reach, Glee snatched the platter and replaced it with the plate of her signature cookies with chocolate chips and whole giant cashews. “I think the brownies are sort of bitter. You might not like them, Tommy. How about these instead?”
With an eager nod, Tommy helped himself to one of Glee’s fabulous cookies. I took one, too. Marson chose a brownie, and I didn’t say a word.
By the time we helped ourselves to seconds, the pitcher of milk on the table had run dry. I asked Berta, “Is there more in the kitchen?”
She nodded, wiping her mouth. “I’ll get it.”
“No, stay put,” I said. “You’ve done way too much already.”
“Suit yourself.”
So I moved Mister Puss from my lap to the floor. Grabbing the pitcher, I got up from the table and walked to the kitchen. Mister Puss followed. With a whoosh, the swinging door closed behind us.
The cat jumped up to the countertop near the refrigerator. When I set the pitcher down, he stuck his head in it. “Stop that,” I said. “You’ll get plenty.” Checking inside a cupboard, I found a saucer, which I set on the counter. The purring began as I removed the milk from the fridge; the rumbling grew to a pint-sized roar as I poured milk into the saucer, then filled the pitcher.
I leaned with my hip against the counter, watching Mister Puss polish off the puddle of milk. When he pawed my chest and reached his face to mine, his purr smelled like baby’s breath. I lowered my ear to his chin.
Nice job, kiddo. Mystery solved.
Getting into the spirit of things, I said, “Know what, little guy? I couldn’t have done it without you.”
The damp velvet of his nose tickled my ear. His purr spoke to me.
Let’s do it again.
•
Acknowledgments
Although writing fiction is largely a solitary pursuit, I could not have brought FlabberGassed to publication without the help of many friends and associates, including David Grey, Pamela Johnson, Wayne Quimby, and Jennifer Thiel, for their guidance with various plot details; Nancy Cunningham and Larry Warnock, for their attention to the words on the page; and Palm Springs photographer Tim Courtney, for such a flattering author’s portrait. As always, my agent, Mitchell Waters, was generous with his enthusiasm and wise counsel. And my husband, Leon Pascucci, has been a steady font of patience, support, and good cheer. My sincere thanks to all.
— Michael Craft
About the author
Michael Craft is the author of fifteen novels, including the acclaimed “Mark Manning” mystery series, three installments of which were honored as finalists for Lambda Literary Awards: Name Games (2000), Boy Toy (2001), and Hot Spot (2002). In addition, he is the author of two produced plays, and his prize-winning short fiction has appeared in several anthologies.
Craft grew up in Illinois and spent his middle years in Wisconsin, which inspired the fictitious setting of this book. He holds an MFA in creative writing from Antioch University, Los Angeles, and now resides in Rancho Mirage, California.
In 2017, Michael Craft’s professional papers were acquired by the Special Collections Department of the Rivera Library at the University of California, Riverside. A comprehensive archive of his manuscripts, working notes, correspondence, and other relevant documents, along with every edition of his completed works, is now cataloged and made available for both scholarly research and public enjoyment.
Visit the author’s website at www.michaelcraft.com.
FlabberGassed Page 25