That sparked a hearty laugh. “Good grief, no. I don’t need that complication at my age.”
“Might be fun. How old are you, Nina—if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I’m eighty-seven. And a half. Other than a few minor aches and pains, I feel pretty darned good.”
I caught Ruby giving me the stink eye. “Uh-oh. Gotta go. She looks like she wants to strangle me.”
“That’s a good-looking young man sitting at your table.” Nina cocked her head. “Are you being set up?”
“Yes we are. However, he’s gay. But the scheming grandmas don’t know it. So we’re going to have some fun with them.”
She picked up her mug. “I’ll get a refill and stick around to watch the show. Oh! I almost forgot! When I move, I want to give you my stove. I remember how much you liked it.”
“Like it? I love it!” It’s a 1951 O’Keefe & Merritt Aristocrat Town & Country in mint condition. I have an old O’Keefe that came with my house, but Nina’s stove is the Cadillac of vintage stoves. Two ovens, two broilers, six gas burners, and a griddle. It’s a beauty.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “It’s probably worth a fortune.”
“Yes, I’m sure. I doubt the buyer of my house would appreciate it like you do.”
“Nina, I will cherish that stove forever. If I move, it’ll go with me. How can I ever thank you?”
“You can cook me a good dinner on it. The poor thing hasn’t been properly used in ages.”
“It’s a date!” I pecked her cheek and returned to my seat, feeling giddy about my new old stove.
“Katy, Royce expects to make partner in his firm this year,” said Ruby. “Isn’t that wonderful?”
I nodded. “Yes, it is. Congratulations, Royce.”
He set his cup down and laughed modestly. “It just means I have no time for a personal life.”
“Royce, you’re not getting any younger, you know,” said Betty. “Tick-tock.”
It was time for me to rescue the poor guy. “Royce? Do you like pizza?”
“Love it. Who doesn’t? Do you know a good place?”
I propped my elbows on the table, looking like I wanted to devour him. “As a matter of fact, I do. Are you free tonight?”
Ruby choked on her coffee, coming very close to doing a classic sitcom beverage spew across the table.
I patted her back. “You okay, Granny? Coffee too hot?”
She coughed a few more times, sputtering, “I’m fine.”
“Maybe we can go to the movies, too.” Royce arched a brow, winking seductively. “You know… Make a night of it.”
When I got home, it was quiet across the street. I went over anyway. I’d rather state my case when I’m not fuming. No one answered the door. I wrote a cordial note and put it in their mailbox. With hope, they’ll get the message.
Chapter Three
Tuesday • June 2
Posted by Katy McKenna
Guess who called first thing?
“How did your date go?” asked Ruby, without even a “hello.”
I moaned. “Ooo. It was magically romantic.”
“Tell me everything.”
“We shared a pizza. Turns out, we both love vegetarian pizza.”
“Ooo. How romantic,” she said, sounding snarky. “Then what?”
“He loves kids and so do I. He wants to have at least five or six.” I was gushing at this point. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have that many kids?”
“It costs a lot to raise a child these days, you know.”
“Not a problem. Royce makes like half a mil a year, and will make even more when he makes partner.”
“Really?”
“Yup.” I sighed. “It’s amazing how much we have in common. We both drive Volvos, although his is new. And here’s something really funny. Wait—hold on a sec. It’s really noisy here. The jerks across the street are disturbing the peace again.” I went into the hall bathroom, shut the door, turned on the fan, and sat on the toilet lid. “That’s better. Where was I?”
“You said, ‘Here’s something funny.’”
“Oh, yeah. You’ll never guess what else we have in common.”
“What?”
“Men.”
“What? What did you just say?”
“You heard me. Today he’s coming out to his Nana.” Before Ruby could muster a reply, I said, “Gotta go. Someone’s ringing the doorbell. Bye!”
I peeked through the peephole and saw Nina, looking summery in a yellow dress. I opened the door, hollering, “Wow! Can they turn up the music any louder?”
“I hope not.”
“You want a cup of coffee? I have a fresh pot on the stove.” In the kitchen, I brandished the glass Pyrex percolator. “This was my Aunt Edith’s pot. I brought it home from England.”
“I haven’t had real, honest-to-goodness percolated coffee in ages. You know, I used to have a pot like that way back when.” She laughed. “I think everyone did.”
I poured our coffees, cleared the mail off the kitchen table, and we sat.
After a few sips, Nina sighed. “Sure beats coffee pods.”
I told her about the note I left in Randy and Earl’s mailbox yesterday. “Obviously no one read it.”
“Or they don’t give a hoot.” She set her mug down. “I just tried to talk to them before I came here, and they told me to—” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “F-off.”
“Are you kidding? That doesn’t sound like something Randy or Earl would say to you.”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t them.”
I topped off our mugs, and then peered out the window over the sink. “I don’t know who those guys are. Did Randy and Earl move out while I was in England with Ruby?”
“No, they still live there. I have no idea who those ruffians are.”
“Well, I’m going to have a little chat with them.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t, Katy. No telling what they might do if you rile them up.”
“We can’t be afraid to live in our own neighborhood. If you want, you can stay with me until you move to Shady Acres, so you won’t be alone. I have a spare bedroom.”
“What a thoughtful girl you are. But I’ll be fine. In fact, my niece, Donna, is coming on Tuesday from Ketchikan, Alaska for a few days.”
“Isn’t that where your sister, Linda, lived?”
“Yes, Linda, and her husband had a business way back when—sightseeing plane rides.” She pressed her lips, looking solemn. “Bob and their younger daughter died in a plane crash in the early seventies. Donna was one of the few survivors.” She stopped, shaking her head. “His body was never found, and little Trudy’s washed ashore a day later.”
“That is so heartbreaking. How old was Donna?”
“Ten. Luckily, she has no memory of the crash. The last time I saw her was at Linda’s funeral. Ten years ago. She had emphysema. When it got bad, Donna moved in to take care of her. Donna is widowed, but that’s a story for another day.” She sighed. “This will sound awful, but I was relieved when Linda passed away much sooner than expected.”
“I don’t think it’s awful. You didn’t want your sister suffering. Has your niece ever been here for a visit?”
“Not since she was twelve. I took her to Disneyland and Knott’s Berry Farm. Oh, my goodness. We had such fun! That was at least fifty years ago. Where does the time go? These days, she’s so swamped with her writing that it’s hard for her to take time off. I am really looking forward to her visit. She’s the daughter I never had.”
“Donna is a writer? How exciting. What does she write?”
“Murder mysteries. The Ketchikan Kulinary Kapers.” She tilted her head, lifting her eyebrows. “They’re an interesting read, to say the least. To be honest, they’re not really my cup of tea.” Nina took her mug to the sink. “I need to go home and let you get on with your day.”
I walked her to the door. Before I opened it, I said, “Sounds like things have quieted down across the
street, but I’m walking you home anyway.”
“I won’t say no.”
I opened the door and she slipped her arm through mine.
Warning to Mom if you’re reading this post!
I know you hate vulgar language.
So you might want to skip the rest!
It’s bad!
We were on the porch when loud, offensive language erupted in the house across the street. “My fucking old lady is so fucked up. I’m fucking going to break up with that fucking bitch.”
“Hey!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Close your damned windows. Nobody wants to hear your foul language.”
They didn’t, and several more lines seared our ears. I couldn’t help marveling at how many clever ways they could insert the “f” word into a single sentence.
“I fuckin’ hate your fucking guts, you big fat fuckbutt.”
“That’s it!” I stamped my foot. “Nina, why don’t you sit on the porch swing while I deal with this? It may get ugly.”
“Katy, we’re in this together!” She looked expectantly at me. “What’s the plan?”
“Wait here.” I high-fived her, then went into the house, and grabbed my dictionary off the bookshelf. The big old Webster’s Dictionary. Hardback. Four inches thick. Over six pounds of glorious words that makes an ideal toddler’s booster seat.
I took her arm, and we marched across the street, halting midway in the front yard weeds. Another vocal stream of vulgarity assaulted us, and then I let loose. “Hey! We are fucking sick and tired of hearing the word fuck! And all your other bad words, too.” Then to my sidekick, I said, “I’m sorry.”
She grinned at me, and then yelled, “Is fuck the only fucking word you lowlifes know?”
The screen door creaked opened, and a paunchy slob in a sleeveless dirty white t-shirt stepped onto the porch. “You bitches gotta problem?”
That knocked the air out of me for a moment, and then I exploded. “Oh, yeah! We gotta problem, all right. A problem with you! You and your friends use the f-word as a noun, a verb, and an adjective. And you share it with everyone on the block, whether we like it or not. And believe me, we don’t like it! There are kids in this neighborhood. There are sweet old ladies on this block. I’m on this block! And we are all sick and tired of listening to your fucking, foul, filthy language.”
Nina shook her fist. “Yeah! Sick of it!”
We were on a roll and it felt so good! I climbed the wood steps and got in his face. “You must be the big, fat fuckbutt we all heard about earlier.” I slammed the giant dictionary into the man’s flabby gut, and he doubled over. “Here, take this. You obviously need it more than I do. There are thousands of words in this book. Try learning a few.” Fearing he might clobber me, I hastily retreated to Nina’s side.
“And another thing,” said my friend. “You can’t repair motorcycles in a residential neighborhood. It’s against the law. So stop that, too, or we’re calling the cops, you mother-fu—”
“I think we’ve made our point, Nina. Time to vamoose.”
Like the bad-asses we are, we swaggered over to Nina’s house and had a nice cup of tea.
After dinner
* * *
I got on Amazon to hunt for Donna’s mystery series. I searched “Ketchikan Culinary Capers,” not realizing it all started with a K. How “klever.”
There are nine books in her series, and she has thousands of five-star reviews. Her name is Donna Baxter, and she’s drop-dead gorgeous. I ordered the first one—The Kupkake Kaper. I’m excited to meet a real author—so I thought it would be nice to say I’m reading her book. Too bad she can’t autograph an eBook. I would’ve ordered the paperback if she were staying longer than a few days.
I poured a glass of wine and got cozy on the couch with Daisy to begin the book.
The Kupcake Kaper
Chapter One
Patsy Kramer was a very pretty, petite young woman with thick wavy brown hair that she was always tucking behind her pixie ears, and she had been in love with her husband Larry since the first time she set eyes on him in freshman chemistry class.
* * *
The doorbell rang. Daisy scrambled to the entry, woofing.
I checked the peephole and saw Randy and Earl. Great. Not in the mood for another confrontation. “Daisy! Quiet! Sit.” I opened the door to two very shamefaced brothers. Randy, the older and taller of the two, held out a pretty bouquet of orange and yellow gerbera daisies, and Earl gave me a bottle of white wine and my dictionary.
“We heard what happened this morning, and we want to apologize,” said Randy. “We didn’t realize how bad things had gotten when we’re at work. It won’t be happening any more. Right, Earl?”
Earl shoved his hands in his pockets, looking downcast. “Yeah. It’s my fault. I let a friend hang out because his parents kicked him out of the house, and I guess he took advantage of the situation.”
Randy jabbed his arm. “Cody isn’t a friend. He’s a freeloading slacker and so are all of his loser friends.”
“Randy’s right,” said Earl. “Anyway, we told them they aren’t welcome anymore.”
I set the gifts on the entry table, and gave them both a hug. “That’s good to hear.”
Earl knelt to give Daisy a love, then glanced up at me. “If you ever need help with anything. You know, like lifting heavy stuff.”
Randy pointed at Veronica, my 1976 Volvo wagon sitting in the driveway. “We can do car work, too. No charge, except for, you know, parts.”
“Thank you, guys. Your apology means a lot. One of these days, I might take you up on your offers.”
“We apologized to Mrs. Lowen, too,” said Earl. “I mean, Nina. She told us to call her that.”
“She said it sounds like we’re turning over a new leaf,” said Randy. “I’ve never heard that before, but I think it’s a good thing.”
Bedtime
I climbed into bed, propped myself up with pillows, and opened my iPad to start The Kupcake Kaper again.
The Kupcake Kaper
Chapter One
Patsy Kramer was a very pretty, petite young woman with thick wavy brown hair that she was always tucking behind her pixie ears, and she had been in love with her husband Larry since the first time she set eyes on him in freshman chemistry class.
Patsy’s grandmother had taught her to bake when she was just a little girl, and she was always joking that that was the reason that Larry had fallen in love with her.
One day, a few years after they were married, while making a batch of chocolate-coconut cupcakes in the kitchen of their cozy cottage up on a hill overlooking the quaint town of Ketchikan, Alaska, she told Larry that she had always wanted to open a bakery, and he thought that was a great idea. So great, in fact, that he decided he would quit his job at the grocery store that very day, and be partners with her.
* * *
“Oookaaay. Is it me, Daisy? Or is this bad?”
Daisy lifted her head and gave me her solemn, wise Yoda look.
“Listen to this. Patsy Kramer was a very pretty, perky, petite young woman with thick wavy—”
My astute pooch scratched her ear, and then settled her head back down with a long sigh.
“So it’s not just me.”
I read the Amazon reviews for the book and was shocked at all the four and five-star reviews. 1,294 reviews—and most were five stars.
•I can’t wait to read the other books in this new series!
•If I could give this book 10 stars, I would.
•Already bought all the books in the series!
•My new favorite author! And the chocolate-coconut cupcake recipe in the book is yummy!
Chapter Four
Wednesday • June 3
Posted by Katy McKenna
Did you know you can lose a pound of fat a week just by walking 10,000 steps a day? I’d like to shed about ten pounds, so I bought a FitTrim Step Tracker. I figure I can easily knock the weight off in about ten weeks�
��no sweat. That’s seventy days times 10,000 equals 700,000 steps. There are approximately two thousand steps in a mile, so that’s 350 miles. No sweat!
After a shower, I tousled my layered bob bedhead with a blast from the hairdryer and dressed in my everyday uniform—jeans, T-shirt, and canvas slip-ons—and strapped on the FitTrim.
I cleaned up the kitchen, didn’t make my bed, watered the limp houseplants, then checked the step tracker. “517 steps? Is that all?”
My phone tinkled a text alert. My heart flipflopped when I saw it was from Josh. I feared it was bad news about Nicole.
Hi Cookie. Have you met my cousin, Dillon, yet? He’s a college student and is housesitting for me. Let me know if he’s throwing wild parties. Everything the same here. Miss you more than I can say.
I sank into my big comfy chair by the French doors feeling flummoxed. I was relieved it wasn’t bad news. However, it is amazing how a few words can tank a good mood. As if on cue, my dog sauntered into the room and nuzzled my legs.
“Hey, Daisy. Wanna go for a walk?”
She dashed to the basket by the front door where I stow her harness.
“I take it that’s a yes.” On the porch, I commanded, “Daisy, sit.”
Clearly not pleased with the command, she took her own sweet time setting her rear end down. I inhaled a deep breath, willing my lousy mood to fade away. The sky was a brilliant blue, and the air was perfumed with honeysuckle. A soft breeze caressed my face like butterfly wings. How could I be gloomy on such a beautiful, sunny day?
“Okay, let’s go.” She catapulted off the porch and dragged me to the sidewalk where we hung a right. I’d been avoiding that direction for a while, but if Josh and I are going to be friends, then I need to be a good neighbor and keep an eye on things for him.
While She Slumbered: The Murder Blog Mysteries #5 Page 2