by Nic Saint
We were all silent for a moment, as we took a quick peek into our hearts.
“And let’s not forget our most important job,” Strel continued. “Taking care of Gran. You guys, I can’t imagine life without her. We need to fix this snake business and we need to fix it now. Sam can catch the Slasher—or not—but, like I said, we have other fish to bake.”
“Fry,” Stien said.
“Whatever!”
Stien turned to me. “Strel’s right. Nothing is as important as Gran. Sam and Pierre will handle this Slasher thing—no sweat, but Gran needs our help now more than ever.”
I nodded. They were right, of course. Then again… “Look, the Slasher is challenging us. He wants us involved for some reason. This is not something we can walk away from. And even though Renée is ready to launch the Slasher fan club and become its president, I don’t think vigilante justice is what we need in this neighborhood. What happens if tomorrow some lunatic starts killing people who don’t clean up after their dogs? Or murders bank tellers because he doesn’t like bank tellers? Or litterers? Or graffiti artists? It’s just not right.”
Strel shrugged, as if to indicate, ‘Not my problem.’
Just then, a familiar figure came hurrying up. It was Fonzie, and he seemed particularly excited this morning. “You guys! Is it true there’s been another murder?”
“Yes, Fonzie, it’s true,” said Strel. “The Slasher is at it again.”
“Oh, goodie!” Fonzie said, eagerly snapping pictures of the crowd. “I love this American hobby of murdering people. So deliciously gruesome! Kill, baby, kill!”
I raised my eyebrows as I watched Fonzie take pictures of the alley. I was pretty sure he would be taking selfies with Sam and Pierre next. Or at least give it his best shot.
“Maybe we should recruit him for the watch,” Strel suggested. “He’d be a great fit.”
“He’d be a better fit for Renée’s Slasher fan club,” I said.
“Oh, I don’t think Renée meant it like that,” said Strel. “She’s just sick and tired of boorish men—just like the rest of us.”
“Well, it would appear that boorish men as a species are going to be extinct soon,” said Stien.
“Good riddance,” said a purple-haired woman who’d overheard us. “As far as I’m concerned, the Slasher is a hero. That man should get a statue and the Medal of Freedom.”
“Hear, hear,” another woman said—clutching a bulky burlap bag of groceries.
I groaned inwardly. “Look, I don’t care what you guys say,” I told my sisters, “but I’m going to catch this killer. To my mind he’s neither a hero nor a star. He’s a common murderer and he’s got to be stopped before this whole thing gets horribly out of hand.”
My comment drew irate looks from the two women, but they didn’t comment. And as I began to stalk off, Strel said, “Hey, where are you going?”
“I’m going to catch this guy! Even if I have to do it myself!”
Chapter 27
I left my sisters and set foot for Brown’s Better Bread Bakery. As I walked, though, the nagging feeling kept haunting me that Strel was right. Our first priority was taking care of Gran, slashers of this world be damned. And then there was her touching speech about pursuing our hopes and dreams. I had to admit she was probably right about that as well. I never wanted to become a flower shop girl. Or a neighborhood watch member. I had desperately wanted to become a pastry chef ever since I blew up my first kitchen.
I heaved a deep sigh as I joined the millions of pedestrians who flocked to the sidewalks all across the city, while taxis hooted and bike messengers weaved their way through the sea of cars, and midmorning traffic predictably ground to a complete halt.
I passed a construction site, and underwent the catcalls and shrill whistles with stoic indifference, as every New York woman is trained to do from an early age. Then, suddenly, one of the construction workers bellowed, “Hey, fatty! Yo ass as big as yo boobs?!”
“Yeah, show us some skin, whale woman!”
“Don’t listen to those idiots. You’ve got a beautiful smile, babe.”
“Beautiful? She’s a blubbery biatch, dude. Have you seen the ass on her?”
They all laughed and I flipped them the finger, suddenly starting to warm to the Slasher’s mission of removing as many of these idiots from the face of the earth as possible.
Walking on, I ignored more comments men occasionally lobbed in my direction, some of them whistling, others giving me lascivious glances, while still others turned and fell into step beside me, calling out, “Hey, beautiful. Wanna go out with me? What’s your number?”
Shaking my head, I ignored one and all, until I finally arrived at Brown’s, and ducked inside, glad to be off the street. What the heck happened to the men in this town?
I caught sight of Skip, and when he came over and said, “I’ll be your server today, Miss Flummox,” I laughed. At least some men were still okay.
He gave me a wide grin, and we both sat down at a table near the window.
“So your dad decided to open the shop, huh?” I asked.
“Yeah, and I’m sure glad he did. Beats sitting at home driving myself crazy.” He followed my gaze as I looked around. “Though we’re only doing a fraction of our usual business. Normally around this time the place is packed. Now? Well, you see what I mean.”
Glancing around, I saw there was a short line of customers at the counter, and I noticed not many were seated in the dining room either. A few elderly ladies enjoyed a pancake and a cup of coffee, and a few men ate in silence, devouring pieces of pie. But apart from them, the place wasn’t exactly bustling.
“So did you talk to your dad? About your uncle Gus?”
“I did, actually.” Before he could tell me more, a middle-aged woman with a pencil behind her ear walked up to us. She had a kind face and an engaging smile.
“Is this your friend, Skip?” she asked.
“This is Edelie Flummox, Mom,” said Skip. “Edie—my mom.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Edelie. What can I get you guys?”
I ordered a waffle with whipped cream and hot cocoa—also with whipped cream—and Skip got up. “I’ll get it.”
“You sit down and take a load off,” said his mother. “I’ll get you your orders.”
“Dad didn’t have a lot to say about Uncle Gus,” said Skip once his mother had left to set up our orders. “But Mom did. She said Gus was a creep. She told me that at parties and family gatherings she always had to fight him off. He would touch her bum, or hug her way too long or even try to kiss her on the lips. She’d told him off many times, and even told Dad about it, but apparently no one wanted to confront the family’s star baker.” He shook his head. “So it looks like the Slasher was right. Uncle Gus was not a nice man after all.”
“How did you know about this morning’s murder?”
“See those guys over there?” He gestured at the group of men making short shrift of their pies. “They work for the Post. They were in here first thing this morning, asking all kinds of questions about Uncle Gus. They were the ones that told us about the Slasher’s latest victim. Wanted to know if Uncle Gus and this Carl Rove guy were acquainted.”
Skip’s mom brought over my waffle and cocoa, and a cappuccino and jelly donut for Skip. I thanked her profusely, but when I tried to pay she refused, saying the treats were on the house.
“I like your mom,” I said as I bit into my waffle and closed my eyes with relish. The crust was light and crunchy, the inside warm and gooey, just the way I like my waffles. Skip’s mom had added strawberries to the cream on top, and chocolate sprinkles. Yummy.
“Mom is actually the one who keeps encouraging me to join you guys again. She said she never saw me happier than when I worked for Flummox, Inc.”
“Yeah, those were fun times,” I said as I mixed the cream into my hot cocoa. My face sagged a little when I thought about Gran, and when Skip asked what was wrong, I told him about the snakes and G
ran collapsing that morning.
“Again? You have to stop this, Edie. I adore your grandmother. This can’t go on.”
He was genuinely worried, and his concern warmed my heart. “We are going to stop this,” I promised him. “Most probably, Tisha Lockyer is behind it, with the help of a witch.”
“That’s it,” he said resolutely. “I’m going to help you put a stop to this nonsense.”
“Don’t you want to catch your uncle’s killer first?”
“Sadly, Uncle Gus is gone—but Cassie isn’t. Our priority should be to protect her.”
I nodded. He was right. Gran was in danger—and as long as this person was out there, things could only get worse. “Thanks, Skip,” I said. “You’re a true friend.”
There was an altercation at the counter, and suddenly a very large man with a very large belly took a skinny man in a suit by the scruff of the neck, and half-dragged, half-carried him to the door, then simply threw him out on the sidewalk. “And never come back, you hear!” he yelled, and slammed the door in the surprised man’s face.
Skip grinned. “Dad sure doesn’t like reporters.”
“Is that your dad?”
“Yep.”
Skip’s dad walked over, his face beet red and steam practically pouring from his ears. “How dare he!” he cried. “Calling Gus a molester of women!” He balled his fist and shook it at the other reporters, still gathered nearby. They looked a little frightened now, keeping their heads down. “My brother was a good man. A decent man. A family man, you hear?! Write one more bad thing about him and I’ll show you what us Browns are made of!”
His message delivered, he walked off and disappeared through the swinging door behind the counter, which led into Brown’s inner sanctum, where the magic happened.
“I guess Dad is in denial,” said Skip, shaking his head.
“Maybe he should talk to your mother.”
“Yeah, maybe he should. Though Mom says she’s going to wait until after the funeral. No sense in adding to Dad’s grief. He’s cut up enough as it is.”
“Wise woman,” I said, finishing my waffle and cocoa. I wiped my lips with the napkin, which featured decorations of dancing muffins and bagels under the Brown logo, and got up. “Time to open up the store,” I told Skip. “And launch Operation Save Gran.”
He got up, too, and gathered our cups and plates. “If you need me, just holler, Edie. You know I’d do anything for Cassie.”
“Thanks, Skip,” I told him, and gave him a hug. “That means the world to me.”
I left the store and set foot for Floret & Bloom. Time to take Tisha down a peg or two.
Chapter 28
Walking back to the store, I was lost so deeply in thought I didn’t notice three men intently staring at me until I was passing them.
“Edie, darling—yoo-hoo!” one of the men was saying.
I was ready to dismiss him as just another creep when I saw to my relief it was the Moreskins—Erick and Flavio. They were chatting with none other than Jerome, on the sidewalk in front of the Moreskins’ place, located across the street from Safflower House.
Erick, a blue-eyed Adonis, and Flavio, who could have been Antonio Banderas’s twin, are great supporters of the neighborhood watch as well as two of my favorite neighbors.
Erick was holding one of the couple’s Labradoodles on a leash, while Flavio was holding the leash of the other one. Max and Minx were sniffing excitedly at my legs and I crouched down to give them a cuddle. The dogs yapped happily and gave my nose little licks.
“Oh, darling, look at that,” said Erick. “Isn’t that a sight for sore eyes?”
“Let me take a picture for our Insta,” said Flavio, taking out his iPhone and snapping a picture of me with the dogs. “Big smilez,” said Flavio, giving the right example by flashing his perfectly white teeth. “That’s it, Edie, darling. You look like a regular movie star.”
“Which movie star?” asked Erick.
“Um…” said Flavio, placing a finger to his lips and taking on a pensive expression.
I planted a hand on my hip. “Now this I need to hear.”
“Jennifer Lawrence,” Erick suggested.
“No way. Edie is the spitting image of… Shailene Woodley!”
“I think she looks more like Joey King,” said Jerome, who’d remained quiet until now.
Both men turned to him in astonishment. “Oh. My. God,” said Flavio, placing both hands on the sides of his head. “Spitting. Image. Jerome, darling—you’re so clever!”
“And so handsome,” Erick added. “So very handsome.”
“Though you should lose the glasses.”
“And you simply have got to do something about the hair.”
“Yeah, combovers are so eighties. Get a weave.”
“Or a transplant.”
Flavio pointed a finger at his partner. “I like your idea, darling. Transplant it is.”
Jerome patted his overcomb. “You guys really think I should get a transplant?”
“Of course you should!” Flavio cried. “It’s going to be a life-changing deal for you, Jerome. Trust me.”
“Trust us,” Erick corrected him. “And you need to work on that tan.”
“And that belly. Potbellies are so nineties. Gym subscriptions are not expensive, Jerome, no matter what they say. They are so worth the price of admission.”
Erick waved his hand. “You know what? Why don’t you put us in charge of your makeover? We’ll set you up with transplants, workout routine, tanning salon, contacts, the full package. When we’re through with you, even your own mother won’t recognize you.”
“Which is a good thing,” Flavio added. “Because she’ll be too busy gushing.”
“Gushing and fussing!”
“I-I guess,” said Jerome hesitantly.
Flavio leaned in, sniffed, and winced. “And let’s throw in a good deodorant.”
Erick also took a whiff and wrinkled his nose. “One of those twenty-four-hour protection ones.”
At this, they gave me air kisses, gave Jerome lingering hugs, and stalked off, Max and Minx in tow. Then Flavio turned. “Oh, and when you have one of those nice watch meetings, Edie, please let us know, darling. We’re always in the market for a fun watch meeting.”
“Yes, it’s been far too long,” Erick added. “We have a few neighborhood improvement ideas we’d like to discuss.”
“Like pink sidewalks.”
“And flower carpets.”
“And street furniture.”
“And sun lounges!” they both exclaimed, then erupted into a burst of giggles.
Jerome turned to me, looking slightly sandbagged. “Edie?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Um—can I ask you a question?”
“Sure. Shoot.”
“Erick and Flavio invited me for dinner tonight—and mentioned something about an after-dinner soak in their private Jacuzzi. Do you…” He inserted a finger between neck and collar and tugged. “Do you think that’s a good idea? In light of what your grandmother told me at breakfast this morning?”
I smiled. “I think it’s a great idea, Jerome. Erick and Flavio may come on a little strong, but they’re great guys. The best, in fact. You’re in good hands with them.”
Jerome nodded, looking relieved. “Do you think they’re going to… try something?”
“Oh, yes, they will,” I said with a wide grin. “You can count on it.”
Jerome smiled. “You know what? I think I’ll take them up on their invitation. They do seem like nice people. And Cassie’s right. I need to stop living a lie and accept myself just the way I am. I think I might even do the whole makeover thing.” Suddenly, he burst into tears.
I gave him a hug, patting his back consolingly. “It’s all right, Jerome. Everything’s fine.”
“I love your grandmother so much. She’s the most wonderful person I ever met.”
“She’s the most wonderful person I ever met.”
I watched him return to Safflower House, still swiping at his tears. But his back was straight, his combover was mussed up, and he very much looked like a new man.
Yep. Gran was an amazing person. All the more reason to get Tisha off her back.
Chapter 29
I arrived at the store, and saw that Stien and Strel had done all the work already. I felt a little guilty as I stepped inside. Then again, I hadn’t wasted my time either. I’d talked to Skip, helped Jerome come to terms with his true nature, and had chatted with my neighbors.
The moment I walked in, Strel hissed, “Close the door! Quick!”
I did as I was told and saw to my surprise that both Strel and Stien were ensconced behind the window display, intently staring across the street. Stien was even holding up her smartphone, and I saw she’d used the camera to zoom in on Pretty Petals. Both my sisters had a serious look on their faces, fully focused on catching Tisha doing… what exactly?
“So far we’ve got nothing,” Strel intimated. “No persons of witchy interest entering or leaving the store.”
“She’s doing great business, though,” Stien remarked. “While we still have to get our first customer of the day.”
It was something that had struck me as ominous: Tisha was doing increasingly great business, while we only saw a trickle of customers—lately almost none. Highly suspicious, especially since it used to be the other way around.
“I think Gran’s magic is faltering,” I said. “Her powers are diminishing.”
“Which means that it’s Gran’s powers that created this store and its success,” said Stien while she still frowned intently at her smartphone.
“Yeah, looks like,” I admitted. It was a little disheartening to realize that the success of Floret & Bloom wasn’t our doing but Gran’s. Then again, I’d always thought as much. The three of us were lousy flower shop girls. Heck, we didn’t even like flowers all that much!
Strel suddenly uttered a startled cry and both Stien and I looked up in surprise.