Pineapple Hurricane

by Amy Vansant

  “Oh you have. And all the rest of us, too.”

  Now, with a clearer head, Darla remembered she’d been a little horrified by Gloria’s tricks.

  What have I done?

  Gloria’s front tires bounced against the curb, her trunk slanted into the street. She didn’t adjust. Instead, she parked and hopped out of her car to jog around the back, still waving. She popped the trunk and hefted out a giant cube of toilet paper rolls, more than half her tiny body hidden behind the tissue.

  Darla gaped.

  Well, there’s an upside.

  Mariska and Darla hustled forward to grab the cube before Gloria toppled over. She looked like a squirrel trying to carry a basketball.

  “I thought you’d like this better than a bottle of wine,” she said.

  Darla nodded. Strange as it was, she did.

  “Though I brought wine, too!” Gloria jerked a bottle from the trunk and held it up as if she’d just won the Tour de France.

  Gloria lowered the bottle and motioned at her trunk until Mariska and Darla peered inside at a case of wine. Gloria moved to the front of the car to grab her suitcase from the passenger seat, making it clear she expected the other ladies to carry the wine.

  “I’m surprised you were free to come visit,” said Mariska, trying to wrestle the box out of the trunk. “Charlotte told me you have a boyfriend now.”

  Gloria rolled her buggy eyes. “We’re having a disagreement. I thought I’d give him some time to think about what he did wrong.”

  “God help that man,” mumbled Darla.

  Mariska hefted the case of wine from the trunk and waddled it toward Darla’s porch. Gloria opened her passenger door and then walked away from it. Interpreting the message, Darla grabbed the suitcase from the back seat, groaning as she lifted it out of the car.

  “Is your boyfriend’s body in here?” asked Darla.

  Gloria laughed. “No. I’d decompose him in the tub with acid if it came to that.”

  Darla and Mariska exchanged a look.

  Gloria shrugged. “You can never overpack.”

  Darla dragged the suitcase toward the door. “Oh, I think you can...”

  Gloria twisted her expression into a tight squinty ball in the middle of her face. “So where are these awful snowbirds?”

  “You already told her?” asked Mariska.

  Darla swallowed.

  Oh boy.

  She set down the suitcase to get a better grip. “Well, I drove around this morning and I think I’ve located a particularly bad one over in Silver Lake.”

  Mariska’s worried expression relaxed. She hated Silver Lake people. They all did.

  Snobs.

  Pineapple Port had been in a simmering war with Silver Lake ever since the latter erected sale signs claiming the new community was better than their neighbors across the street. Penny Sambrooke, owner of Pineapple Port, had retaliated by spreading rumors Silver Lake tricked residents with hidden fees and that their community pool temperature ran ten degrees lower. She refused to call Silver Lake’s owner, her twin sister, Tabby, by any other name than Pussy Galore.

  “Show me,” said Gloria.

  Darla pointed toward Silver Lake. “It’s right across the street. We can walk.”

  Leaving Gloria’s gifts and suitcase inside the door, the women headed for Silver Lake. As she walked, Gloria held out her arms so her upscale, flowy caftan fluttered in her self-generated breeze.

  Darla noted the undeniable spring in her old friend’s step.

  This woman loves revenge.

  Gloria grabbed Darla’s shirt, her eyes wide, her pupils rimmed with white, her overall appearance reminiscent of a Pomeranian dog who’d asked a genie to turn it into a sixty-five-year-old woman.

  “It is so good to see you both,” she said, giving each of them a spontaneous hug as they stopped to wait for the light.

  “You too.”

  Gloria rubbed her hands together. “Tell me more about the snowbirds.”

  Mariska shook her head.

  Darla moved past her disapproval.

  No reason to fight it now.

  “They beat us to everything. Toilet paper, batteries, eggs—”

  Gloria clucked her tongue. “That’s terrible. People like that oughta be shot.”

  Mariska gasped. “Gloria, you cannot shoot anyone.”

  The light changed. As they crossed, an ugly leather-headed black vulture flew by so close it made Mariska whoop with surprise. It landed next to a dead raccoon in the road, not far from the crosswalk. More flew overhead, lacking the first’s courage.

  “Boy, you have a lot of vultures here.” Gloria made a shield with her hand and stared into the sky to watch them circle.

  “Well, we are a retirement community,” said Darla.

  The women entered the Silver Lake neighborhood unimpeded, the man sitting in the guard box nodding his head as they walked by. Darla led them toward the house she’d seen during her earlier reconnaissance drive, thrilled to see the garage door opened as it had been when she’d visited before.

  “Look at all that toilet paper,” she said stopping to point at a mountain of toilet paper packages stuffed against the wall of the open garage. Mariska stopped beside her to stare as Gloria’s eyes bulged even wider.

  “There’s got to be a dozen twenty-four packs in there. Unless she has the Brady Bunch living with her, there’s no excuse.”

  “This is why none of us can get any,” said Mariska through gritted teeth. It seemed the sight of all that hoarded toilet paper made her forget how frightened she was of Gloria’s revenge schemes.

  “You onboard now?” whispered Darla in her ear.

  Mariska nodded. “I think I am. That’s enough toilet paper for every Catholic family in Boston.”

  Gloria nodded slowly, letting fertilizer sink in around the man-eating plant growing inside of her. With a flourish, she threw out her arm to point as if she were stabbing someone with her fingernail. “And look at their license plate.”

  All gazes dropped to the back of the Cadillac in the driveway. The plate said Michigan – Water Wonderland.

  “Snowbirds,” they said in unison.

  Gloria’s tiny fists balled. “Oh that makes me so mad.”

  Darla grinned, feeling a little better about her plan.

  Sorry, Michigan, but you brought this on yourself.

  “Well, I say we just help ourselves,” said Mariska.

  Darla squinted at her. “Since when are you gung ho to steal from people?”

  “It isn’t stealing when they’re hoarding. That’s a war crime.”

  Darla had never seen Mariska so mad.

  “How many rolls do you have left?”

  Mariska’s face pinched into an expression hovering somewhere between anger and fear. “Two.”

  Darla nodded.

  That explains it.

  Before any of them could find the gumption to storm up the driveway and claim the spoils of war, the inner garage door of the home opened and a posh, older woman walked out. Spotting the ladies at the foot of her driveway, she stopped and stared at them, followed their gazes to her mountain of toilet paper. A moment later, she slapped the garage door button and the door began to fall.

  “Don’t let her see your face,” said Gloria, spinning on her heel and walking away. Darla and Mariska ducked their heads and started after her. No sooner had they caught up, than Gloria spun again and headed back to the house.

  “Where are you going?” asked Mariska, sounding exasperated.

  Gloria pointed to the side of the hoarder’s house. “Is that a pool cage?”

  The modern, single-level home had what looked like a jail cell on the side attached to an even larger cage in the back, presumably covering a pool so the family could enjoy the outdoors without being eaten alive by mosquitos and no-see-ums.

  “Yes,” said Darla. She felt giddy, sure she could hear the gears in Gloria’s vengeful little head grinding.

  She had no idea wh
y Gloria had zeroed in on the cage. It was like watching the big finale in a movie when she had no idea what was going on, but could feel this was the moment.

  “Stay here a second,” said Gloria.

  She turned and bolted to the side of the Cadillac, skittering much faster than a woman of her size and age should be able to move. She opened the passenger side door and Mariska gasped.

  “What is she doing?”

  Darla shook he head. “I have no idea.”

  Gloria flopped inside for a few seconds, stretched out across the seat, her tiny feet kicking in the air. A moment later she pulled out, closed the door and jogged back toward Mariska and Darla with something in her hand.

  “Move, Move, move!” she said.

  Startled by the urgency, Darla broke into a jog and Mariska hustled beside her, both of them giggling like school girls who’d just stolen a beer from their daddy’s garage fridge.

  “What did you take?” asked Mariska.

  Gloria held out her hand. “Garage door opener.”

  Darla laughed and then suffered what felt like a wave of disappointment. “So you’re going to go back and steal her toilet paper?” She’d been expecting more creativity.

  Jeeze. I could have done that.

  “Not exactly,” said Gloria. “Do you have a trash bag and a shovel back at the house?”

  Mariska looked at Darla and Darla grinned.

  Here we go.

  Chapter Ten

  “I need a favor.”

  Jamie waited for an answer, but, after hello, the person on the other side of the line remained silent. She frowned.

  “Vince? I know you’re there. I can hear you breathing, you fat bastard.”

  “What the...hold on.”

  Jamie chuckled. On the line in the background she could hear the sound of music and kids screaming. She imagined Vince near a pool, flipping burgers for the neighbors.

  Ugh.

  Maybe she should swing by. Maybe dress like a clown and tie balloon animals.

  Hey kids! Did you know your parent’s friend used to be a hit man for the Chicago mob? He could blast a hole through your skull from five hundred yards away!

  The caterwauling top forty hit in the background muffled as Jamie heard what sounded like a car door slamming shut.

  “Jamie? Is that you?” asked Vince, sounding more composed.

  “Yep. I need a favor.”

  “Where are you? I don’t have a lot of contacts in prison anymore. And a women’s facility...”

  “I’m not in prison. I’m here.”

  “Here here?”

  Jamie could almost see him pointing to the ground as he said the words.

  “Yes. As a favor. Like I said.”

  Vince sniffed. “How’d you get out? I thought they got you for life.”

  “That’s not important. What’s important is that I need a favor.”

  Honestly, it’s like talking to a child. Concentrate, Vince.

  “Right. I got you. Whaddya need?”

  “Two people killed.”

  Jamie heard what sounded like a yip of surprise. “Aw, jeeze, Jamie. You call me, using my real name, and you want me to…” he paused and lowered his voice to a whisper “…to kill someone?”

  “Someones. Two people. And I’d appreciate a package deal. And by deal I mean you’ll do it for free or I’ll tell the world where you are and give them addresses of your grandkids.”

  “I have grandkids?”

  Jamie winced. She’d forgotten he’d lost all touch with his family.

  “No. I don’t know. I’m kidding. But seriously, I need two people dead, like yesterday.”

  Vince sighed. “Come on. You know I don’t do that no more. I’m an old man now.”

  “You killed Timothy Packard outside his home in Grand Rapids two months ago during a blizzard.”

  The phone went silent again.

  “Vince?”

  “Mother of—will you stop sayin’ my name? The phone could be tapped for all I know.”

  “I will if you stop disappearing.”

  “Fine. Sorry. What do you want me to say?”

  “Am I lying?”

  “No.” Vince chuckled. “It was a hell of a shot. The winds were in the teens. How’d you know about that?” He stopped and then muttered a quiet string of curses, no doubt realizing he’d just admitted to a murder on the phone. “I’m out of practice with all this coat and dagger stuff.”

  Jamie resisted the urge to correct his idiom. “I can see that.”

  “But seriously, how did you know about Grand Rapids?”

  “You know I keep track of all my little runaways.”

  “Even in prison?”

  “Minor inconvenience.” Jamie slammed on her brakes, realizing she needed to stop for a red light. The last thing she needed to do was break out of prison and then get picked up for running a red light.

  “Why don’t you do it yourself?” asked Vince.

  Jamie tilted back her head, embarrassed. “Because I promised my daughter I wouldn’t.”

  Vince laughed, as she’d feared he would.

  “Laugh again and I’ll kill you for fun.”

  “I’m sorry. You gotta admit—” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Anyway, doesn’t hiring me to do it count?”

  “Not in my book.”

  Vince sighed. “If I do this, this is it. You can’t keep comin’ back and holding WITSEC over my head no more.”

  “Can’t I?”

  “Come on, Jamie. What’s fair is fair.”

  Jamie locked eyes with a woman crossing in front of her car, who apparently didn’t like how close she’d crept to the crosswalk before stopping. She flipped her off and the woman gasped and looked away.

  “Fine. This is it. One last big favor,” she said.

  Vince sighed. “Thank you. Who is it?”

  “Do you want the information over the phone?”

  “You might as well at this point.”

  “I’ll text you the names and addresses. I’d like them at the same time please.”

  “Are they in the same place?”

  “Often. And it’s right here in town.”

  “In Charity? Jeeze. I know a lot of people around here. I hope it isn’t anyone I know.”

  “I doubt it. Oh, and it needs to look like an accident.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  Vince grumbled. “That’s not my thing.”

  “I know. Sorry.”

  “Okay. Whatever. I’ll figure it out. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

  “Thank you. Later, Edward.”

  Jamie hung up and tossed her phone on the passenger seat, smiling.

  This has to work.

  This was Stephanie’s last chance. Jamie was getting old and she needed to train the next generation. If The Puzzle Killer continued, even with her gone or in jail, she’d have a legacy. She wouldn’t be a prolific serial killer.

  She’d be a legend.

  Her daughter had all the raw materials. She just needed molding.

  But first, Stephanie had to let go of her ties to Declan and Charity. She had to say goodbye to the part of her that still felt things.

  It made life so much easier.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mariska looked away, covering her mouth and nose with a hand. “This is disgusting.”

  Darla, Gloria and she stood in the middle of the intersection hunched around a dead raccoon like hungry scavengers, no cars coming because it was three in the morning.

  “You’re not the one shoveling,” said Darla, forcing down a gag reflex. The smell only told half the story. Shoveling a dead critter from the asphalt following its day in the Florida heat felt like peeling a Band-Aid off a raw wound. “Gloria, you have to have a better idea than this?”

  Gloria ignored her and handed Mariska a trash bag. “Hold this open.”

  Mariska looked at the bag as if Gloria had offered her a sheet of human skin.

&n
bsp; “I don’t know...”

  Gloria released the bag and Mariska grabbed it from the air before it could flutter to the ground. She mumbled what sounded like a prayer and rubbed the edge of it between her thumb and forefinger until she was able to open it. Snapping it out once, she let the bag swallow enough air to billow.

  Darla offered her best I’m so sorry face, but as the cloud of funk rising from the raccoon wrapped around her head like a scarf, she felt her expression morph through fifteen different phases of revulsion.

  Mariska opened the mouth of the bag as wide as she could and held it out, her head turned away. “If one hair on that thing touches my hands, I will kill you.”

  Darla tensed, feeling as if she were playing high-stakes Operation. Touch the edges of the bag with the Frisbee-like raccoon and instead of a buzzer and glowing red nose assaulting her senses, Mariska would kick in her shins.

  She raised the shovel, the raccoon’s leg dangling over the edge as if it were waving goodbye. Holding her breath, she slid the body inside the trash bag.

  Mariska heaved a sigh of relief and gathered the top tight. She tested the weight, seeming pleased. “It hardly weighs a thing.”

  “He’s on the new vulture diet,” muttered Darla, eyeing her shovel and considering leaving it in the middle of the road. She’d have to buy a new one.

  Darla felt lightheaded as they wandered away from the scene of the crime, though she couldn’t tell if it was her mood lifting or her brain breaking over the horror of shoveling dead critter.

  Gloria marched toward Silver Lake, the other two ladies following, Mariska holding the trash bag as far away from her body as possible.

  “Did you see the way its arm was waving?” Mariska whispered.

  Darla heard the giggle in Mariska’s voice and it set her off.

  Yep. Broke my damn brain.

  Soon, both of them were cackling.

  “Shh.” Standing outside Silver Lake, Gloria pointed to a gap in the hedge before the guard gate.

  “I noticed this earlier. We can slide through here instead of passing the guard.”

  Mariska stopped and eyed the gap. “Maybe you can slide through there. You’re built like a bird.”

  Gloria disappeared through the hedge and Darla followed, sucking in a breath and cursing as a branch tore at her arms.

  “Take this,” said Mariska, thrusting the bag through first.