by Elise Sax
Bruce took a deep breath, and we both looked at Terri. She was drugged to the gills, but she moved her head from side to side, as if she was still locked in battle with Petunia.
“It lasted forever,” Bruce continued. “Until I finally came to and offered Petunia a bowl of Half-n-Half. That’s her favorite, you know.”
“I like Half-n-Half, too,” I said.
Bruce nodded. “I filled up her saucer, and Petunia jumped off of Terri’s face like she was happy as a clam and went for the cream. That’s when Terri fainted, and I got a good look at her.” He shuddered and covered his eyes with his hand. “Oh, Gladie. Terri didn’t look like Gisele, anymore.”
“What did she look like?”
“She looked like my grandmother’s meatloaf.”
“This isn’t your fault, Bruce,” I said, truthfully. Fear crawled up my spine. Terri was going to kill me when they took the IV out. “Does Terri know that I set you two up?”
“No, ma’am. I kept that under my hat, just like we discussed.”
“You might want to keep that a secret forever,” I said. It was bad enough that she was going to kill me for giving her the perfume. I didn’t want to take any more blame than that. “Anyway, I’m sure they can fix her up,” I said. “Modern medicine is miraculous.”
“I don’t care,” Bruce said, taking Terri’s hand in his. “I love her. I want her to be my bride. I don’t care if she looks like my grandmother’s meatloaf. Do you think she’ll forgive me about Petunia?”
From my experience, Terri wasn’t the forgiving type. But chemistry was chemistry, so it was possible Terri would forgive him. “Maybe you can keep Petunia under your hat, too. Blame it on the aliens.”
Bruce’s face brightened with hope. “That’s a genius idea, Gladie. Aliens!”
“Aliens,” Terri moaned.
It was probably not a good thing to base a relationship on lies, but since I had lied to Spencer at least five times in the past couple of days, who was I to judge? Besides, I had made a match and saved Fred. I also wasn’t going to get any more tickets at least until Terri was discharged.
It was a good day.
I left the hospital and walked back to my car. There was a nasty smell in the parking lot. Griffin was still in the car where I left him. I got in and sat down. The smell was worse, and I opened my window all the way.
“Not feeling any better?” I asked Griffin. I started the motor and drove out of the parking lot. “Is there somewhere I can drop you off? Somebody you want to see? Maybe you just need some rest. Where do you live? You’ve been working so hard, lately. You probably need a day in bed. Would you like that? A day in bed?”
We went over a speed bump too fast, and I hit my head on the ceiling. Griffin took that moment to put his head in my lap.
“Whoa, buddy!” I yelled, and the car swerved. I tried to push Griffin away from my crotch, but he was big and wouldn’t be moved. “When I said, bed, I didn’t mean my bed. This isn’t the way to make yourself feel better. I’m engaged. Didn’t you see my ring? It’s an engagement ring. I don’t have the same feelings for you, Griffin!”
I got control of the car and pulled to the side of the road. “I mean, it Griffin! Get off me.”
That when I saw the blood in my lap. And that’s when I realized the bad smell was coming from Griffin, and it wasn’t body odor or gas. “Griffin?” I asked and heaved him off of me.
That’s when I saw more blood. Lots and lots of blood.
CHAPTER 14
Matches make themselves meshugi, trying to be perfect before they find love. So, they exercise. Exercise! What mamzer invented exercise? It used to be that we walked in order to get somewhere. Now, we’re walking on a fakakta machine, walking, walking, walking and getting nowhere. What’s the purpose of that, bubbeleh? Call me crazy, but a gap between your thighs doesn’t sound like a reason to walk for miles without actually moving. So, tell your matches to relax. Sure, take a walk. But make it count. Get somewhere.
Lesson 5, Matchmaking advice from your
Grandma Zelda
I slept until it was Friday and the stink of dead body was off of me. I was thankful for the sleep because being awake had sucked balls.
On Tuesday, when I had finally figured out that I had been driving around a corpse, I started to scream, and I didn’t stop until my voice was gone.
“Let me get this straight,” Spencer said to me in his office at the police station, after a passerby called the police and I had been brought in to see why I had a murdered person in my car. “You drove a stiff all around town.”
“And I talked to him. I had a whole conversation with him,” I told Spencer, my voice still hoarse.
It was quiet in the police station. After the big drug bust the night before, I was the only action in town. While I sat in Spencer’s office, facing him across from his desk, with a lap full of Griffin’s blood, the hallway was crammed with police loitering and straining to listen in.
“Did he talk back?” Spencer asked me.
I heard light giggling in the hallway.
“No. I rambled on and on, giving him advice on how to reduce his stress, and he just listened to me.”
Spencer nodded. “I see.”
“Is that odd? I mean, that’s happened before, right?”
He scratched the side of his head. “What? A dead guy listening to you or driving a dead guy around town?”
“The second one.”
“Nope. That’s never happened.”
I squinted at him and gave him my meanest look. “I’m reasonably sure it’s happened. I remember hearing something about Julia Roberts and a dead guy in her Land Rover.” I didn’t know what I was saying. I had chunks of Griffin’s face on my lap, and I wasn’t feeling well.
“I must have missed the story about Julia Roberts. Didn’t you notice that he wasn’t breathing?”
“Excuse me if it didn’t occur to me to check his breathing. Do you normally check my breathing?”
“I don’t have to. You never stop talking.”
I gasped. “Why are you being mean to me right now? I have dead person on me. Oh my God. My car. My car has dead person in it. How am I going to get that out of the leather? And poor Griffin. You don’t care about Griffin.”
“I care about Griffin. A man was murdered in my town.”
No lie, he was sounding like John Wayne, and I was getting turned on. I looked at my ring. Somehow it had escaped the blood and gore. But it wasn’t the moment to think about Spencer’s sexiness or my jewelry.
“Was Griffin stabbed like Brad was?” I asked.
“Looks that way.”
“I think the Essex couple are your main suspects,” I said. “I’m pretty sure that Brad was Ford’s partner in his drug business, and Liz told me that there was a body buried in Buckstars.”
“Griffin Rose was murdered at around six-thirty this morning. The Essexes have been in a federal holding cell about two miles away since 2:00 AM.”
“Oh.”
“Interesting about the dead body, though, considering their whole shop was dug up.”
“Yeah, interesting,” I muttered. “You know Alice is strong, and she mentioned that if she killed someone, she would…”
“Let me stop you right there, Miss Marple,” Spencer interrupted. “We’ve arrested Bridget.”
I stood up. “You what?” I screeched. “She had nothing to do with this. She was looking for eggs Benedict when this happened.”
But I wasn’t sure of that. I had left Bridget in the front yard when I went back into the house. It was possible that she was still there when Griffin had stormed out. But there was no way Bridget could have murdered him or anyone else. Murder was not in her makeup. It would have been impossible.
“Poor Bridget,” I said. “She’s pregnant, you know. You can’t let her rot in jail.”
Spencer shook his head. “We’re giving her a monitoring bracelet, and she’s moving in with Lucy and Harry for the time being.”
>
That was a relief. At least she would be taken care of. “I need to help her,” I said.
“You need to go home and rest.”
“And Grandma. I need to help Grandma,” I said.
“She’s home with Meryl. Last I saw, they were watching an old movie on my television and eating fried chicken for breakfast.”
At the mention of fried chicken, my stomach roiled. “I think I’m going to be sick,” I said.
And I was. I threw up three times and made a mess out of the women’s bathroom in the police station. With my statement complete, Spencer drove me home. He was keeping my car as evidence. After checking on my grandmother, I took a long shower and went to bed. I didn’t get up until Friday morning, totally skipping Wednesday and Thursday.
“Fred? Is that you?” I asked when I finally woke. He was sitting in the chair next to my bed staring at me.
“Hey there, Underwear Girl. You took a mighty big nap. Gee, you look pretty when you sleep. And when you’re awake, too. Even with the drool and your hair like that.”
“Thank you. What are you doing here?”
“I’m on the seven-to-eleven shift. I’m guarding you.”
“Guarding me from who?”
“The Chief doesn’t know. It could be a lot of people. You have more than a few who want you dead, I guess. How do you feel?”
“Thirsty. Hungry.”
“You want me to make breakfast? I know how to make French toast.”
“Really? I wouldn’t mind a slice of French toast.” I swung my legs off the bed, and I got dizzy. “Or five. Who am I kidding? Just make the whole loaf, Fred.”
“All right, Underwear Girl. Stay away from the windows, just in case.”
I looked at the window. “Is Spencer worried that Griffin’s killer is going to come after me?”
Fred shrugged. “I think he’s more worried about Terri coming after you.”
“Excuse me?”
“You want powdered sugar or maple syrup with your French toast?” he asked, leaving my room.
“Yes,” I said.
I was worried about his Terri comment, but sweet, fried bread was my priority after not eating for more than twenty-four hours. I went to the bathroom and peed a gallon and dressed in jeans and a cotton sweater.
Slipping a pair of Spencer’s socks on my feet, I padded down the hall to my grandmother’s room, but she wasn’t there. I walked downstairs and found her in the kitchen with Fred.
“Hi, Dolly. There’s coffee in the pot. Fred’s making us French toast. Isn’t that nice?”
“More than nice. Hey Fred, what did you mean about Terri? Is she out of the hospital?”
“She escaped yesterday,” my grandmother answered, putting her hand on mine.
“She’s got cat scratch fever,” Fred explained, cracking eggs into a bowl.
“What do they do for that? Tylenol?” I asked.
Fred seemed to think about that for a minute. “I don’t know if they tried that.”
“She needs more than Tylenol,” Grandma explained. “She’s got a dose of crazy. It’s going to last a few more days.”
She was already more than slightly crazy. I wouldn’t want to cross her when she was even crazier.
Fred dipped bread into the egg mixture. “The Chief has half of the patrolmen out looking for her. There was a Terri sighting at the pharmacy yesterday. She was looking for an aliens vaccine. But the last sighting had her saying she was going to get ‘Stinking Gladie.’ I don’t know what she’s talking about. I think you smell real nice, Underwear Girl.”
I wasn’t happy to hear that Terri was after me. She had already been after me, but that was before she was scratched by a cat and turned into some kind of crazed supervillain. Who knew cats had such power?
Fred dropped the bread into a pan, and it sizzled. My stomach growled. I got up and poured myself a cup of coffee and added some milk.
“How are you feeling, Grandma?” I asked, taking a sip of the coffee and sitting back down next to her.
“I’m feeling more and more like myself. Uh oh. The mayor’s here.”
“Huh?” I asked, just as I heard the front door open.
“Hello, there! Anyone home?” the mayor called and then laughed at his joke because my grandmother never left her property line. He walked into the kitchen. “Hello, townspeople,” he gushed. “I have big news. Big! You don’t mind if I help myself to some coffee, do you, Zelda?”
“Go ahead. The pot’s fresh.”
He poured himself a cup. “Fred, are you making a couple of slices for me?”
“No, sir.”
The mayor laughed and slapped Fred on his back. “Good one, Fred! Good one! Just give me a plate when it’s done.” He sat down across from me. “Wonderful egg news. Our Easter egg hunt is going as planned. All boiled and accounted for.”
“Really? All five hundred and one thousand?” I asked, surprised that I was actually excited that the town had managed to boil all of the eggs for the world record.
“Yes, miss. We’ve moved on to the painting phase of the process. Mr. Jones from Paramount World Records is very impressed with our little town, I have to tell you. This is going to put us on the map!”
My grandmother smiled at me, and I blushed. My first official town decision had worked. Sure, the co-chair had been murdered, but otherwise, it was going without a hitch. I had almost replaced Zelda Burger. I was a success. Sort of.
“What’s your news?” Grandma asked him.
“We got a big celebrity for Sunday. Guess where he’s flying in from?”
“Alcatraz?” I asked.
“No. England. A celebrity from England! We were very lucky to have him. It’s a good thing you voted for a mayor who had international contacts. Just think of it! A celebrity from England coming here for our Easter egg hunt.”
Fred served the French toast, and we dug in. “Delicious, Fred. Thank you,” I told him.
“I’ll tell you this is the biggest event this town has ever seen since Barbra Streisand’s second cousin judged the apple pie eating contest back in seventy-seven,” the mayor said with his mouth full of French toast. “Now, Gladie, can you tell me if you’re going to find any more dead people before the event or, heaven forbid, the day of the event?”
Everyone looked at me. “It doesn’t work that way,” I said. “I mean, I don’t know ahead of time.”
The mayor’s face dropped. “Oh, I thought you were like your grandmother.”
Grandma shrugged. “Gladie’s got the gift.”
“I don’t know who’s going to die or when, but I do know that Bridget is innocent,” I said. “She didn’t kill Brad, and she didn’t kill Griffin.”
“That’s good because she does my books, and I don’t want anyone else to know how much I spend on satin sheets and laser hair removal,” the mayor said.
The four of us chewed our French toast. I was happy that the mayor believed me about Bridget’s innocence. Pouring more syrup on my plate, I realized that I knew Bridget was innocent, and it wasn’t just because she was my best friend and I wanted her to be innocent. Somehow, I was absolutely certain that she wasn’t the killer. Unfortunately, I had no idea who actually was the killer, however. Perhaps my Miss Marple really was broken inside me.
“So, Griffin didn’t give you any hints before he died?” Fred asked.
“He was already dead, so our conversation was one-sided.”
Conversation. Conversation. The word tickled my brain, waking a memory, but I couldn’t remember which memory. Conversation. Conversation with Griffin. Griffin talking. Griffin killed. Griffin stabbed to death. Conversation.
Hmmm…
I used my last piece of French toast to sop up the maple syrup. Then it hit me. “Holy shit!” I shouted, jumping up from my seat. “Griffin was the voice!”
It came to me like a bolt out of the blue. Griffin’s voice was the voice I heard in Buckstars about murder. Griffin must have killed Brad. But who killed Griffin?
“You all right there, Gladie?” the mayor asked.
“Maybe she has cat scratch fever, too,” Fred suggested.
“I’m getting closer to solving this thing,” I said to no one in particular. “It’s a town-wide conspiracy. Everyone’s involved, or almost everyone. I have to get to work. Will you be all right here, Grandma?”
“I’m fine, bubbeleh. I have to finish that fakakta needlepoint.”
“Don’t forget that I’m guarding you, Underwear Girl,” Fred said.
“Good. We’ll use your car. My car has chunks of brains in it.”
“Drive faster,” I ordered Fred.
“It’s a thirty-mile-an-hour zone. Safety is a police officer’s top concern.”
“Step on it! Lives are on the line!”
Fred’s mouth dropped open. “Yes, ma’am!” He revved the engine until we were going forty in the thirty-mile-an-hour zone. “Holy cow, I’m going to save lives. Am I going to shoot someone, too? ‘Cause I probably should warn you that I’m not great on the firing range. Not that I’m allowed to go there anymore, after the incident.”
“You probably won’t have to shoot. Just wave your gun around like you’re going to shoot.”
“Awesome idea, Underwear Girl. Normally, pretty girls like you aren’t smart, too. Have you had plastic surgery? Is that your real nose?”
We passed Buckstars, which was closed. There was police tape on the front door, weaved between the dozen dildos.
“We tried to get those off, but Superglue is a good product,” Fred said. Next door, a steady stream of customers were going in and out of Tea Time. Not only had her competition disappeared, but now her customers got to gawk at the dildos on their way for a pot of tea. Ruth was a retail genius.
“Here!” I shouted, pointing at a small house. “Park here!”
Fred slammed on the brakes. I opened my door and hopped out. “Hold on, I have to protect you,” he ordered. I ignored him and stomped up the steps and pounded on the door like it was a police raid.
“Keep your pants on!” I heard from inside the house.
Josephine opened the door. Her hair was back to normal, but her hands were blue. “Have you come to help with these damned eggs?”