Pineapple Pack III

by Amy Vansant

  “I think I see something moving in there.”

  “Leave it for Bob.”

  “Oh come on. Wouldn’t it be nice to do it ourselves?”

  Mariska’s lip curled. “Not really.”

  “We can’t just leave it in there overnight. Something might come and attack it.”

  “It would serve it right.”

  “Well if you thought it was noisy before, just wait until a panther is rolling its cage around trying to figure out how to get to the chewy center.”

  “Oh for the love of—” Mariska put down the hose and tottered down the side of the house to join Darla. As she turned the corner, movement caught her eye. Something furry was definitely in the cage.

  “That was fast,” said Mariska.

  “It’s the tuna we put in there. Probably stunk to high heaven after ten minutes in this heat.”

  The ladies crept towards the cage.

  “At least it isn’t that big,” said Darla.

  The creature’s round ears flicked and its head swiveled to face them, beady black eyes staring at them. The women froze. The mouth of the possum’s needle-sharp snout hung open as if it were panting, revealing rows of pointy teeth.

  The standoff continued for another ten seconds, and then the possum’s eyes rolled back in its head and it stiffened, flopping on its side.

  Mariska put her hand to her mouth. “I think we killed it.”

  Darla blinked. “Think it had a heart attack?”

  They moved in closer, eyes never leaving the animal. It remained on its side, unmoving, eyes closed.

  Darla held up a hand. “Wait, I think I see it breathing.”

  “Maybe it just passed out from fright,” suggested Mariska.

  Darla patted her own ruffled coif. “It might have. I didn’t have time to do my hair this morning.”

  Mariska gasped and slapped her friends arm. “Oh we’re such idiots. It’s playing possum.”

  Darla’s expression expanded like a soaking sponge and she put her hands on her hips. “Oh, duh. You’d think I’d know that growing up in Tennessee. I think the possum is our state bird.”

  “What do we do with it now? Can we ship it to Tennessee?”

  “I don’t think we need to go that far. We need to get the critter in a car. We’ll take it ten miles away and let it out in the wild.”

  “How are we going to do that? I don’t want to touch that cage with that thing in there. What if it wakes up and pounces?”

  Mariska peered into the cage. One tooth hung out the side of the creature’s mouth. The pink nose twitched and she yelped, jumping back into Darla, who yelped herself in surprise even as she began patting Mariska on the shoulder, pretending her outburst was moral support.

  “It moved,” explained Mariska by way of apology.

  Darla leaned in to inspect the animal. “That lady fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.”

  “It could be a boy.”

  Darla shook her head. “No. This one’s a girl. Remember?”

  “Is it the pink nose?”

  “Maybe. Plus she seems relatively reasonable.”

  “Well, thank goodness she’s not a looker or I might have fifteen babies living under there with her.”

  Darla shook her head. “No, I think you’re safe with this one. She’s a spinster for life for sure.”

  Darla took a few steps back and stared down the side of the house to the driveway. “Let’s put the cage in my car and drive it away.”

  “How are we going to pick up the cage?”

  “With our hands.”

  Mariska crossed her arms against her chest and shook her head like an obstinate child. “Not a chance.”

  Darla looked up and to the left, as if she were formulating a plan. “What if I tilt up the cage and you slip a sheet under it and then we’ll drag it around the house to the car and scoop it up in the sheet to lift it in?”

  Mariska wanted to find a problem with the plan, return to watering her plants, and forget about the giant furry rat in her backyard. She took a moment to find a way to poke holes through the idea and then huffed. “I hate to admit it, but that sounds like a good plan.”

  “Do you have an old sheet?”

  Mariska nodded.

  “Okay, you go get that and I’ll get my car.”

  Mariska glanced back at the possum. “I hope she doesn’t wake up.”

  The two of them split. Mariska went inside and grabbed an old flat sheet from the laundry room. She enjoyed her air conditioning until she heard Darla pull up in her driveway and then the two of them walked to the back of the house.

  “Still dead?” asked Mariska, as Darla made the turn first.

  Darla nodded. “Still dead.”

  They stopped in front of the cage and watched the side of the critter rise and fall with her breathing.

  Mariska gripped the balled sheet to her chest. “I don’t know about this.”

  Darla patted her on the arm. “It’ll be fine. I’ll tilt up the one side of the cage and you slide the sheet under, and then I’ll lift up the other side.”

  Mariska thought on it. “I’m not sure that works.”

  “It will work fine.”

  Mariska grunted. “Except the part where I have to lean over for all of this nonsense.”

  “Get on your knees.”

  “Are you crazy? If I get on my knees I’ll be stuck there. And if that thing wakes up in the meantime I’ll be a sitting duck. She’ll tear my face off.”

  Darla rolled her eyes. “Do you want to be the one who lifts the cage?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Fine. I’ll lift the cage and help you as we go. Ready?”

  “Hold on.” Mariska laid out the sheet flat next to the cage and then leaned over and grabbed the corner.

  “I’ll do this side,” said Darla.

  “But you’re tilting the cage.”

  “I can do both.”

  “Okay.”

  Darla gingerly curled her fingers into the top of the cage and lifted it, tilting it to one side. Mariska wrestled the sheet as far under the cage as she could. With her other hand, Darla did the same.

  The possum slid to the side of the cage, but remained stiff as a board.

  Darla set the cage back down. “That wasn’t so bad.”

  “No, it didn’t turn into a tornado of teeth and claws like I thought it would.”

  “See? This is easy. Now the other way.”

  They got in position and Darla tilted the cage in the other direction. Mariska gave the sheet a tug. Nothing moved.

  “That doesn’t work. The cage is on it now. I knew there was something off with your math.”

  “Just pull it harder.”

  Mariska yanked on the sheet and it jerked three feet past the end of the cage. The possum slid slowly to the opposite side of its prison, like a fat, furry, slow-motion Frisbee.

  “I should get one of these for my kitchen,” said Darla.

  “A possum?”

  “Yep. I could push it around all day with my foot and sweep up.”

  Mariska giggled. “Like a possum Roomba?”

  “A Possumba.”

  The two of them collapsed into laughter. When they regained control, they took a step back to admire their work.

  “Now what?” asked Mariska.

  “I’ll take this side and you take that side and we’ll walk it around to the car.”

  Mariska wiped her brow. “I’m really starting to regret not hiring someone for this.”

  They each took a side and, using the sheet as a sort of hammock, hefted the cage. Mariska was surprised to find the creature was much lighter than she’d feared. She was pretty sure possums came in larger sizes. She’d lucked out with Scratchy.

  They walked the caged animal from the back of the house to the side of Darla’s car. There, they set it down.

  “At least she’s a petite little thing,” said Mariska panting. “One more can of tuna in her
and I might not have made it.”

  Darla opened the trunk. “I don’t think it’s going to fit. I’ve got too much junk in here.”

  “So we did all of this for nothing?”

  “No, we’ll just put it in the back seat.”

  Mariska rolled her eyes. “This might be the dumbest idea you ever had.”

  Darla snorted. “Don’t put your money on that.”

  Darla entered the opposite side of the car and crawled across the back seat. Mariska handed her one side of the sheet and she took the other. Together, they lifted the cage and twisted and tugged it into the back seat.

  Darla crawled back out of the car and clapped her hands together. “There, done! Now all you have to do is take it to the woods and let it go.”

  Mariska slapped her hand to her chest. “Me? You’re coming.”

  “Actually I have some things I need to do right now, but you tell me how it goes.”

  “Darla, please tell me you’re kidding.”

  Darla laughed. “You should have seen your face.”

  “So you’re coming with me?”

  “Of course I’m coming with you.”

  Mariska took a deep breath as Darla fished the keys from the pocket of her loose faux-denim shorts. “Do you want to drive or keep an eye on Scratchy?”

  “I’ll drive.” As they switched sides Mariska took the keys from her.

  They slid into the car and Mariska pulled out of the driveway. She sniffed.

  “Something smells.”

  Darla nodded. “Our girl could do with a bath.”

  “She’s a little ripe.”

  “The tuna can in the cage that’s been sitting in the sun all day probably doesn’t help.”

  They rolled their way out of the neighborhood, Mariska driving as if she were in a giant china tea cup, terrified any bump or rattle might spring her passenger to its feet.

  “Still asleep?” asked Mariska as they pulled out on the main road passing through Charity.

  Darla turned. “Yep. We’re good.”

  “I’m thinking I’ll go to that patch of wood up past the outlet mall.”

  “Sounds like a plan. See? This is easy.”

  They drove in peace for several miles, with Darla glancing into the back seat every few minutes to make sure their captive remained asleep.

  As they waited at a light and Darla fiddled with the radio, something about the truck stopped on the opposite side of the cross street caught Mariska’s attention. She squinted.

  I can’t be seeing this right.

  Mariska blinked and rubbed her eyes.

  It looked as if the car across from them was being driven by giant gingerbread men.

  The light changed and Mariska hit the gas, eager to get a better look. As the gingerbread man car passed them Mariska’s head turned to follow it. There appeared to be at least one other cookie in the backseat.

  “Darla, did you see—”

  “Mariska!”

  At the same moment, Darla screamed and Mariska felt the car lurch as her wheel caught in the soft ground off the right side of the road. She’d accidentally tugged the wheel right while turning her head left to track the gingerbread car.

  “Oh no!”

  The car lurched and slipped farther to the right. Mariska stomped on the gas, attempting to fight gravity and keep two wheels on the blacktop. A clatter rang out in the back seat as the cage flew upward and slammed into the ceiling.

  Still accelerating, Mariska wrestled to keep half the car on the road as the other side bumped and jerked through the rough grass.

  “What are you doing?” screeched Darla as the car rattled along the ditch. She braced herself against the ceiling with her palms.

  “If I stop we’ll tumble sideways!”

  They bumped over something hard and, for a moment, it seemed time had slowed. The face of a startled possum floated past Mariska’s vision, hanging suspended in the air between the two women. The creature’s eyes were open now, blinking at her, wild with fear. The mouth had followed the eyes’ lead and hung open, a slash of bright pink and pointy white teeth gnashing. The little claws worked the air, clutching nothing.

  Mariska gasped.

  It’s out of the cage.

  Mariska gave the wheel a mighty yank to the left, as much to right the car as to take herself as far away from the flying rodent as possible.

  The possum bounced off her shoulder and flung in the opposite direction toward Darla. Its butt pointed at Darla’s face like a bullet. Darla’s hands flew up to block too late, and the creature smacked her in the face before landing in her lap.

  Released by the rut, the car came to a stop.

  Both women froze, staring at the possum on Darla’s lap.

  It grunted.

  Darla and Mariska screamed.

  Darla clawed at the door and rolled out of the car, dumping the possum with her. By the time Mariska had jumped from the vehicle, Darla was on her feet, still screaming and running around the back of the car. Mariska opened her arms to catch her friend as she collapsed to her.

  “It’s tail went in my mouth!” Darla couldn’t stop screaming. Mariska shook her.

  “You’re okay! Are you okay? Calm down.”

  Darla caught her breath and pulled back to look down at her toes.

  “I think so. I think I’m okay.” She pushed out her tongue. “I swear I can still taste possum ass. That thing was alive.”

  “I know.”

  “On my lap.”

  “I know.”

  They peered over the hood of the car. Mariska spotted the possum’s tush waddling towards the forest where they’d planned to take it all along.

  “It’s gone.”

  The women braced themselves against the car, panting.

  “I told you this was the dumbest idea you ever had,” said Mariska.

  “Now I think you might be right.” Darla turned and slapped Mariska on the arm. “What were you doing?”

  “There were cookies.”

  “You can’t be that hungry.”

  “No, there were cookies driving the truck that passed us. Didn’t you see them?”

  Darla huffed. “No, I didn’t see cookies driving trucks. What are you talking about? Do you have some sort of mad possum disease?”

  “There were gingerbread men. Driving the truck. I swear.”

  Darla cocked her head. “Gingerbreads like at the parade?”

  Mariska gasped. “Yes. That’s where I knew them from.”

  “It took you this long to place where you’d seen giant truck-driving gingerbread men?”

  “Oh shut up. I just nearly had my face clawed off by a giant rodent, thanks to you and your stupid ideas.”

  “At least you didn’t get a tail up your nose.” Darla frowned and forced her way into the driver’s seat of her still-running car.

  Mariska rolled her eyes and stormed to the other side. In a moment, they were back in the car and headed for home.

  “Dumbest idea, ever,” muttered Mariska.

  Darla snorted. “Worst driver, ever.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Declan stood in front of Stephanie’s office door, wondering if he should knock or just walk inside. It was one thing, living in the same town as his crazy ex. He couldn’t do much to stop her when she swung by his shop to taunt him. But it was a whole other thing to walk into her lair.

  On purpose.

  She knew he was coming. She’d had time to prepare.

  Other people had crazy exes. It was practically cliché to have one. But not everyone’s crazy ex used to be a black ops soldier. Not everyone’s had a serial killer for a mother. Not everyone’s flashed that strange little smile whenever chaos descended...

  Declan’s hand hung in the air, poised to knock, when the door opened and Stephanie stood before him, smiling, the arm of a pair of glasses inserted between her lips. She wore a spaghetti-strap camisole and a tight, short, suit skirt. No pantyhose. Trademark high heels. Her blonde hair pe
rched sloppily, pinned to her head with what looked like black chopsticks.

  Declan mentally indexed the chopsticks as what they really were.

  Potential weapons.

  With her tousled look and professional-yet-revealing outfit, Stephanie resembled a naughty librarian, pulled from the pages of a nudie-magazine like the one he’d found under his father’s mattress as a kid—

  Wait.

  Did I show her that magazine?

  As a child, Declan had shared all his secrets with Stephanie. She’d been his best friend. When he’d found his father’s magazine...

  I did. I did show it to her.

  He remembered now Stephanie jealously ogling the size of the model’s breasts, her own body still pre-pubescent.

  Same color skirt. Same color camisole.

  Declan sighed.

  I shouldn’t have told her I was on my way.

  A mere half an hour warning and she’d managed to transform herself into the physical manifestation of his young sexual awakening.

  “You don’t have to stand there like an idiot,” she said. “You’ve been there three minutes.”

  He lowered his hand. “No, I haven’t.”

  “I have cameras. I timed you.”

  Declan grimaced.

  Have I been here that long?

  He wiped his hands on his shorts. His palms felt sweaty. “I’m here for the fingerprint book.”

  “I know. Come in.”

  Declan glanced behind him at the sun, nervous he might never see it again.

  The faint scent of alcohol teased his nostrils as he passed her.

  Strange.

  He scanned the reception area as she closed the door behind him. “No receptionist?”

  “Briefly. Paul got himself fired.”

  “What happened? He walked in on you spinning a victim in your web?”

  “He wasn’t quite handsome enough to make up for how incompetent he was.”

  Declan nodded. “Unforgivable.”

  With a sweeping gesture of his hand, Declan paused and allowed her to lead him into her office.

  Never show fear.

  He followed her into the room.

  If Stephanie was a dragon, and the building was her cave, her personal office was the treasure room. As he entered, Declan inventoried items of interest.

  Antique gun mounted on the wall, probably working.