It Happened One Fright

by Elise Sax

I nodded. “No sudden movements.”

  To my relief, she holstered her gun. To my consternation, she pulled out her ticket book and started writing. I sighed while I kept my hands up. At this rate, I would have ten thousand dollars in tickets. At some point, I would have to show them to Spencer and try to get them taken care of, but I knew that he would blame me for antagonizing Terri.

  Damned Spencer. First Hitler and now Terri. Where were his priorities?

  “Jaywalking,” Terri said, ripping off a ticket and handing it to me. Then, she kept writing. “Annoying the morning,” she said, handing me another one.

  “Annoying the morning? Is that a thing?”

  Terri lifted her gorgeous head, stared at me with her gorgeous eyes, and flipped her gorgeous hair. “It is with you. You. Are. Annoying.”

  Served me right to wake up early. I would never do it again.

  “Fine. I’m annoying,” I said, putting my hand out to get my second ticket of the morning.

  But she didn’t give it to me. She was distracted by a car driving down the street at a snail’s pace, swerving from side to side.

  “A drunk driver at five in the morning. What’s this world coming to?” she asked, staring at the car. At least it wasn’t a couch. So, it was just normal police stuff.

  “People are so irresponsible,” I agreed, trying to get on her good side.

  “Don’t move. I’m not done with you,” she ordered and went into her car and turned the siren on. The meandering car slowed and ran up on the sidewalk in front of the pharmacy. The driver opened her window and stuck her head out.

  “Leave me alone! I’m on my way to work!” Then, she hiccoughed, and I got a whiff of the booze on her breath from half a block away. It was Merry Ferry. She worked in the orchards, doing something with manure. I wasn’t sure what because I didn’t know a thing about agriculture. But I did know that she was one of my grandmother’s unmatchables, a person she had tried to match more than ten times without any luck. Grandma liked to say there was an ass for every seat and a hat for every head, but it didn’t look like there was a love match for Merry Ferry, and maybe that’s why she was so aggressive about being pulled over.

  “Turn off your motor!” Terri barked over her loudspeaker. She was waking up the town, and people were coming out of buildings to see what the hubbub was about.

  “I have trees to take care of!” Merry shouted at her. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you like trees?”

  “Turn off your motor, or I’ll shoot you!”

  Terri was a real winner. At this rate, she was going to shoot up the whole town. I felt a duty to Merry and Cannes to diffuse the situation. And I wasn’t giving up on getting Terri to like me, either.

  “Don’t worry, Terri. I know her. I’ll get her to listen,” I told her and walked toward Merry’s car.

  “Freeze!” Terri shouted at me.

  “Don’t worry, Terri. I’m glad to help,” I told her smiling at her.

  When I got to Merry’s car, she blinked at me, as if she was trying to focus, and she probably was. “Is that you, Gladie? Zelda’s granddaughter?”

  “Yep, it’s me. How are you doing?”

  “You know. Same ole. Same ole. I mean, besides the egg thing. I hard-boiled four dozen eggs last night.”

  “Hey, thanks a lot,” I said, surprised. It was nice to see the entire community coming together for the egg hunt.

  “I told you to turn off your motor,” Terri yelled, walking up to the car. “And I told you to mind your own business!” she yelled at me.

  “It’s not a problem, Terri. I love to help. This is Merry. Hey Merry, would you turn off your car?”

  Merry turned it off, and I threw Terri an I-told-you-so look. Terri gave me a shove, and she bent over and got into Merry’s face.

  “You’ve been drinking,” she barked at Merry. “You’re driving drunk.”

  “No, I’m not,” Merry insisted. “The cocaine totally sobered me.”

  It wasn’t a good start.

  “Get out of the car,” Terri shouted.

  “I can’t. I have to get to work.”

  “Get out of the car!”

  “Merry, I think you have to get out of the car,” I said, gently.

  “Stay out of this!” Terri yelled at me.

  “Don’t be mean to Gladie!” Merry yelled. “Gladie’s nice. Gladie doesn’t care if I drink Jack Daniels before I drive to work.”

  “Oh, is that so?” Terri asked, looking at me, as if I had shoved the whiskey bottle in Merry’s face this morning.

  “No! I mean, I would never tell anyone to disobey the law,” I insisted.

  “Get out of the car,” Terri shouted. Her beautiful face was bright red and splotchy. She was furious.

  “Merry,” I started.

  “Stay out of it!” Terri shouted and gave me a strong shove that sent me flying against the door to the pharmacy.

  “Police brutality!” Merry yelled. “Attica! Attica!”

  “Shut up,” Terri said and touched Merry’s arm.

  And then it happened. In a speed of light, Merry bent over and clamped her teeth into Terri’s forearm. Like a pitbull, her jaw locked and no amount of tugging, slapping, or screaming by Terri would get Merry to let go.

  Across the street, Ruth was standing outside of Tea Time, shaking her head at me, as if it were my teeth sinking into Terri’s flesh. She had a point. I should have stayed out of it, like Terri commanded, and now for the second time in two days, I had escalated a traffic stop until Terri was injured.

  She probably didn’t like me any better, and now I would be doomed to a series of new tickets. Somehow, I would have to fix the situation.

  But not now. Now, Merry was still biting Terri, and Terri was screaming, her voice so high-pitched that I thought it could break glass.

  “I guess my work here is done,” I muttered and walked past them toward home.

  CHAPTER 6

  What’s the perfect age to get married? I hear that debate a lot. Some say older because it takes a certain maturity to be married. Some say younger when a person isn’t stuck in their ways, yet. So, what do I say? I say, when you’re ready, you’re ready.

  Lesson 52, Matchmaking advice from your

  Grandma Zelda

  I turned onto my grandmother’s street and was surprised to see Spencer standing in front of the house across from Grandma’s house. He was talking to a man who was wearing a tool belt and holding a tablet, pointing at different places on the tarp-covered house. I stopped in my tracks, scared to go on. Spencer froze, too, and as if he sensed me, turned and looked my way.

  He shrugged his shoulders and smirked. I melted, and our fight disappeared from my memory. Spencer was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. His hands were hooked in his pockets, he was barefoot, and his hair was mussed. He was the sexiest man on the planet. He would make ice melt. I walked to him.

  “Gladie, this is Urijah,” Spencer said. I shook the man’s hand.

  “Thank you for trusting me with your house,” he said. “I can’t wait to get started.”

  “You’re welcome?” I said like a question. My house? Did I have a house? I felt Spencer’s eyes on me, but I didn’t dare look at him.

  “We can start tomorrow and be done by the beginning of July.”

  July. The house would be done in July. I didn’t know what that meant or what it had to do with me. Spencer and I were overdue for a serious discussion.

  Spencer reached out and put his hand around my waist. “Sounds perfect, Urijah,” he said.

  “Cleanup is going to take a while, and then we can sit down and go over specifics. Are you going to use the interior designer we talked about?” Urijah asked.

  “We’re going to talk about that,” Spencer said.

  We were going to talk about an interior designer? Was I in the Twilight Zone? I had never had an interior designer. I had never even had an interior before.

  My heart pounded in my chest, but I definitely should ha
ve had a third latte because I thought I might be dreaming. Spencer and Urijah talked about retaining walls, drywall, and other kinds of walls while I drifted.

  I drifted far away from thoughts of houses and commitment and even past thoughts of Spencer and his naked body. My brain moved on to safe things to think about, like Bridget’s problems and the mysterious murdered girl in the hotel room.

  And Oreos. I was having lots of thoughts about Oreos.

  Spencer walked home with me after the contractor left, and we didn’t say a word about “my house.”

  “Clear your schedule tomorrow so I can take you out for dinner,” Spencer said, as we walked up the driveway.

  “You’re taking me out to dinner?”

  “Yep.”

  “But Grandma. But the eggs.”

  “Tomorrow for dinner, Pinky. Six o’clock just like regular people. Dress in that little red dress you have. You don’t have to wear underwear, in case you were wondering.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said.

  He pulled me close and looked deep into my eyes, taking my breath away. “I love you, Gladie Burger.”

  “Why?”

  “Shit if I know.”

  I loved him, too, but I felt out of control and overwhelmed, like my life was two steps ahead of me at all times since the first time Spencer had kissed me. I was disoriented, unbalanced, freaking out.

  “Who killed the woman with the ice bucket?” I asked.

  Spencer smirked his little smirk. “I’ve been wondering when you would get around to that. I thought you were broken.”

  “Just distracted. Who was she?”

  “Mamie Foster. She was on vacation with her new husband. He’s been arrested. They found the murder weapon in his shaving kit.”

  “They found the murderer?” I asked, disappointed. That had been the first time that had happened. Normally, it was a mystery, and I would butt in and solve it.

  “Disappointed, Miss Marple?” Spencer asked.

  “Of course not,” I lied.

  He opened the door, and waited for me to walk in. “Although, it’s a little too pat, a little too neat, finding the murder weapon in the husband’s shaving kit.”

  Spencer closed the door behind us. “Pinky, don’t start.”

  “I mean, why would he hide the murder weapon where it would definitely be found? Why didn’t he toss it somewhere?”

  “Maybe a man who kills his wife on his honeymoon isn’t thinking too clearly, Pinky. Most killers aren’t criminal masterminds, you know.”

  “And why would he kill her in our bed?” I asked, walking to the kitchen. Spencer followed me.

  “Again, not a genius. Not thinking clearly.”

  I put the coffee pot on for Grandma. It was almost seven, and she probably wanted a cup. “Let’s think about this a moment. We saw her. She had an ice bucket and was happy, skipping down the hallway. So, what happened? Her husband got a sudden mood swing and ran after her in the ice room and then chased her into our locked room, where he killed her? Did anyone check the ice room for clues?”

  I cut a bagel in half and put it in the toaster. Spencer was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. His mouth was open slightly and his eyes weren’t blinking. “I’m sure law enforcement has done its job,” he said finally, but he didn’t sound totally convinced.

  The toaster dinged, and I put the bagel on a plate. “You’re probably right.” But while I smeared cream cheese on the bagel, all I was thinking about was how to find the time to get back to the hotel and check out the scene of the crime. I also needed to talk to the husband.

  “You have that look on your face again,” Spencer told me, handing me a coffee mug. I poured coffee into it and added sugar and milk.

  “What was the murder weapon?” I asked him.

  “A steak knife.”

  “Did they have room service? A steak dinner?”

  Spencer and I locked eyes. “Pinky…” he said, like he was a car changing gears. It was all the answer I needed. No steak dinner. No reason that he would have had a steak knife.

  I put the food and the coffee on a tray and picked it up, shrugging at Spencer. “I’m sure that law enforcement is doing what it’s supposed to,” I said and rolled my eyes.

  Spencer’s phone rang, and he answered it. “I’m on vacation,” he said after a few seconds. I walked upstairs, and he followed me as he talked on the phone. “I don’t care if she got bitten. I’ve gotten bitten more times on the job than anyone in California. Tell her to get a rabies shot and a tetanus shot and stop complaining. What? Say that again. Well, fine, so she only needs a tetanus shot. I don’t think Merry has rabies.”

  He clicked off the phone. “Merry Ferry bit one of my cops.”

  “Really? That’s weird.”

  At some point, Spencer was going to get wind about the terror that I had been inflicting on Terri, and boy was he going to give me hell, but I was hoping that I could win her over before that happened.

  I knocked on my grandmother’s door, and she told me to come in. I found her sitting on the chair next to her bed, and she was freshly showered and wearing her blue housedress and click-clack plastic slippers. From the sound of it, Meryl was in the bathroom. The television was on to a Claudette Colbert movie, and I caught Spencer looking longingly at his TV.

  “You better get ready for the egg people, dolly,” my grandmother told me as I put the tray down on her nightstand. “They’re on their way, and they’re panicking.”

  “Uh oh,” I said, took my bagel, and ran out of the room. Spencer ran out, too.

  “I’m out of here before they arrive,” he said, as I stripped down and turned on the shower. “I’m running to Harry’s. I never want to see an egg again.”

  “Okay, save yourself. I’ll take one for the team.” I took a thirty-second shower and braided my wet hair. I swiped some mascara on and dressed in slacks and a pink t-shirt. I checked on my grandmother to see if she needed anything. But she didn’t need me. Grandma was back in bed, and Meryl was sitting on the chair. The television was blaring the CBS Sunday Morning show. And, oh yeah, there was a parrot sitting on Meryl’s shoulder.

  “Meryl, you have a bird sitting on your shoulder,” I said.

  “Gladie, it’s a tragedy. Ishmael disappeared two years ago, and he came back this morning. He just flew through my kitchen window like nothing had happened,” Meryl explained.

  “And you didn’t want him to come back?”

  “Not like this! Not like this!”

  I looked at my grandmother. “Meryl’s bird came back changed, dolly.”

  The parrot looked like a normal parrot to me: Green. Feathers. A beak.

  Then, the bird started to talk, but I didn’t understand one word. “See?” Meryl said. “When he left, he spoke English. Now, I have no idea what he’s saying.”

  “What language is that?” I asked.

  “No idea,” Meryl said.

  “No idea,” my grandmother repeated.

  I heard the door open and shut downstairs. I didn’t have time to worry about a bird who had left the country for two years or had taken some kind of intensive Berlitz course. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I told Meryl, handed her my bagel, and went downstairs.

  Josephine was setting up the chairs in the parlor. She had brought a coffee cake, and I went to the kitchen to get the coffee pot and plates for the cake. “You’re staying for the meeting, right?” Josephine asked me, walking into the kitchen. I nodded. “Because Cannes is going to be ground zero for World War Three. This egg thing has already made people psychotic. I know one woman who hasn’t slept for twenty-four hours. She just keeps boiling eggs and repeats ‘Eggs, eggs, eggs’ over and over.”

  I hadn’t boiled one egg, yet, and I was feeling guilty about it. “How many eggs have they boiled so far?”

  “Fifty thousand. We’re never going to make it.”

  By the time that I brought the coffee into the parlor, it had filled up with ten committee members and
the two co-chairs. There was a lot of talk about how impossible it would be to prepare five-hundred-and-one thousand eggs within one week. And it wasn’t just boiling. The eggs had to be dyed and hid.

  “I was up all night, making the egg map,” Griffin, the co-chair, announced, holding up a giant map, drawn onto brown butcher paper. He laid it out on the coffee table after we cleared away the cake and coffee. It was a crude representation of Cannes with little X’s marked in red all over it.

  “We’re going to hide eggs in the orchards?” one of the committee members asked. “Normally, we only hide eggs in the Historic District. Actually, just the park.”

  “It’s over five-hundred-thousand eggs,” Griffin said, as if that explained it all.

  Josephine studied the map. “You’ve got eggs on the roof of the pharmacy.”

  “Pretty much every roof. Kids are going to be falling off roofs like it’s raining children,” someone pointed out.

  “Again, it’s over five hundred thousand eggs,” Griffin said.

  “The gas station? The lake? How does that work with the lake?”

  Griffin whipped the butcher paper off the coffee table and ripped it in two. “Everyone’s a critic! Fine! You find five-hundred-and-one-thousand places to hide a goddamned egg!”

  At this point in the breakdown of any town meeting, my grandmother would calm the masses and force everyone to make nice. Since I was her replacement, it was my job to turn down the tension. How could I do that? Xanax would work, but the only person I knew with Xanax was Lucy, and she wasn’t there. And how could I force feed a group of elderly townsfolk to consume Xanax? I mulled it over, trying to figure out what elderly people did to relax. Buffets were good. And knitting. Actually, wasn’t all of the Greatest Generation booze hounds? Didn’t they like to drink sidecars and gimlets?

  What the hell was a gimlet?

  What the hell was a sidecar?

  Oh, geez, I was out of ideas.

  Griffin continued to rip the map into tiny pieces. Josephine was standing, screeching, and throwing her hands up. Various other committee members complained to each other that this was the dumbest thing the town had ever done.

  That was saying a lot.