Windfall: An Otter-Body Experience

by Tempe O'Kun

  The dog nodded, thoughtful.

  “There are ways to maximize the odds of getting what you want out of a day of writing. I’ve been doing this for a while.” Laura shrugged. “I can teach you if you want.”

  The massive canine straightened. “As your…protégé?”

  Kylie clasped her hands together under her chin. “Aww, look at him, using words.”

  “It’s good you recruited some outside talent, Kylie…” Her mother chattered a laugh. “…or this never would’ve made it as a family business.”

  “He’s good to have around.” The younger otter ran her paw over his ears.

  “To answer you, yes, I’d be your mentor.” She extended a paw.

  His head tilted at the gesture.

  “What?” She shrugged, paw still halfway between them. “You like making things official.”

  His massive white paw closed around hers and shook it. He wagged, glanced to Kylie, then wagged some more. This was actually going pretty well.

  Something Big

  Max was used to strangers staring. Sometimes they took pictures. Sometimes they whispered and giggled. Mostly they asked if he was “that shirtless guy from that show with the monsters.” And he’d say yes, even though he was only shirtless in a few scenes in that one time travel episode, no matter how many times they showed it in the opening credits. Those interactions embarrassed him, sure, but he’d had years to get used to them.

  Since coming to Windfall, though, the stares had sharpened and the whispers had lost much of their mirth. Most of them were directed at Kylie: his co-star, his best friend, and now his girlfriend. The whispers always stopped when she got close, which made her tense up.

  With a huff of concern, the husky settled into a booth at Pinchy’s Diner and worked his tail into the bench’s slot. “We may need to throttle back a little.”

  “On what?” His otter lover crashed into the seat across from him, poking at her phone and muttering. Her round little muzzle never diverted from its screen. She never stopped making tiny, anxious motions and noises as she searched for clues. Never exactly an easygoing little thing, Kylie had been growing more and more tense over the past few days. The two of them had run into one dead end after another while chasing down local legends and weird rumors in an attempt to prove what they already knew: that Windfall’s tacky paranormal tourism industry was at least partially based on truth, and that her family’s history of chasing monsters wasn’t as wacky as it sounded.

  He’d have loved to help her unwind, but her focus seemed unshakeable, each disappointment only adding to her resolve. She hadn’t wanted to play old video games or take him for a walk. She’d barely slowed down for a smooch or two from him in the last few days, let alone anything more intensive. He’d probably been too subtle in his flirting, but not everybody could be as bold as an otter. Plus, being twice her size, he didn’t want to come off as pressuring her for sex. No, better to just let her usual horniness catch up to her. Typically he didn’t have to wait this long. “Our more obvious supernatural investigations. The direct approach hasn’t really done much for us.”

  She crossed her arms over her vest. “I can’t prove my family wasn’t crazy without evidence.”

  “True.” His paw pads traced over the worn corner of a menu.

  Her paw swept at the window, finger webs aglow in the sunlight. “Plus, the whole town is full of paranormal crazies. They’re just weird about actually handing over the proof.”

  “Also true. Acting sane would help our case, though.” Under the table, he bumped a sneaker against hers. “At least where people can see. You know I’m on board, but it looks bad to climb around inside sinkholes in residential neighborhoods at midnight. Or to buy all the butter in town.”

  “That wasn’t even for anything paranormal!” She chittered in objection and flung her arms in the air. “We had a lot of crabs to cook.”

  “Right, but it looks like the kind of rich-person crazy that made people think your ancestors were nuts.” His eyes scanned the seafood restaurant. The various patrons chatted and ate, mostly done staring. A pair of foxes yapped back to lapping up gossip. Some teenagers stuck napkins on their deer friend’s antlers without his knowledge. A twitchy mongoose emerged from the backroom, accepted an envelope from the manager, and waddled over to slip into a booth. Out the windows, autumn sunlight painted a pleasant view of the sea. His stomach growled. In an effort to drag her from her phone, he tapped the table. “Are you going to look at the menu?”

  “I’ll just have the chowder, like always.” She grumbled at the device. “Ugh, why do aliens have to be so hard to find?”

  Max glanced around the dining area. His gaze returned to her with a question.

  “Don’t give me that look. Everyone in this town talks like a crazy person.” Her webbed fingers flicked through a series of images for the tenth time. “Most of them are.”

  The heavily-built husky interlaced his fingers. “You told me to warn you if you were obsessing.”

  “An alien trashed my living room, Maxie.” Those hazel eyes flicked up to him. “An alien who convinced the town my family was crazy.”

  He steepled his index fingers under his chin. “Yes, I know. I was there. And acting like a weirdo in a public place will clear their name?”

  An argument bottled up inside her chest as she tried to come up with a rationale. A second later, it rolled out over the table as a sigh and stirred the napkins. “Fine. You’re right.”

  A lynx waitress padded past and set down a basket of rolls between them. Before she could say anything, though, a splash and a clatter sent her trampling off toward a pack of wolf cubs, their two tired-looking parents, and at least one spilled soda.

  The scent of fresh-baked bread drew in Max’s nose immediately. With his girlfriend still diving into her phone, he lifted the undyed sailcloth, revealing a half-dozen dinner rolls, shiny with glaze and steaming. The dog swallowed to keep from drooling. He plucked one from the basket and nibbled at it with delicate teeth. The stretchy, wholesome texture dissolved into a burst of heady slow-risen flavor on his tongue. The roll felt exquisite to chew, luscious to taste, and warm to swallow.

  Kylie arched an eyebrow at him.

  Halfway through his second roll, the canine slowed his chewing.

  “Hungry?”

  He swallowed. “I guess so.”

  His girlfriend eyed the rolls, then leaned back to where the lynx server had finished mopping up beverages. “Did you guys change something in the bread?”

  “Nah, the good stuff is just usually gone by now.” Putting the mop and bucket back behind the counter, she inclined her tufted ears at the far booth. “The delivery came late today. All-natural, stone-ground: good stuff.”

  A few booths over, the wiry mongoose unlocked a small case handcuffed to her wrist, which opened with a pressurized hiss. She unshackled the cuffs and cooed at a lump of dough within. “Are you hungry, my pet? I bet you are…” She uncorked a glass flask and anointed the blob. “A little water first? You must be parched. Wouldn’t want you to dry up, would we?” With great care, she opened another vessel and shook pale powder onto the object of her affection. “A new version of the Mother Flour, yes. No more coarse grounds wreaking havoc with your gluten.” Snap! Snap! Two rubber gloves stretched over her quick paws. Her digits caressed the dough first, then kneaded the layer of fresh material into it. “Oo-hoo-hoo! You like it already; I can tell.”

  Transfixed, the otter stared. “Weird…” She snapped a picture with her phone. “And she’s like this whenever she drops off bread?”

  “I guess.” The waitress shrugged fluffy shoulders. “Doesn’t always massage the starter dough on-site, but whatever. She’s a bit eccentric, but you can’t argue with the results.” She took out a small notepad and pencil, sharpening the lead of the latter on her paw pad. “What can I get ya?”

  Kylie didn’t even look at the menu, still studying the mongoose. “Fried clams.”

  Max dug thr
ough the menu and found the tiny sandwich section in the back. “Cheeseburger. Could I get it on one of these buns?”

  “So long as the cooks haven’t eaten them all since I was back there, sure.” The lynx tossed them a toothy smile and slunk back to the kitchen.

  The otter’s tiny ears perked toward her boyfriend, even as she kept spying on the baker. “Maxie, do not tell me you’re still eating it.”

  With a shrug, the husky obeyed and continued eating the rolls. “Thought you were getting the chowder.”

  “Soup doesn’t travel well.” Her whiskers hung with nonchalance, though her keen hazel eyes peered with interest at the baker.

  With a jolt, the mongoose finished massaging her sourdough starter. Max turned his muzzle to the window, wondering if their staring had caught her attention. But then she jolted to digging in her purse and smacking on some lip balm. Apparently, she always moved like she was being slightly electrocuted.

  Meanwhile, the husky had reached the bottom of the basket of rolls.

  The mongoose trotted past. Her suitcase said “Yeast India Company – All-Natural Breads” on the top in an ornate script. She zipped out the door, scooted to a moped with a massive bread box on the back, and locked the briefcase inside.

  Kylie vibrated in her chair, beaming.

  With a sigh, Max waved to get their server’s attention. “Could we get those to-go?”

  On a deserted stretch of backroad, Max crouched in a ditch, fighting back the urge to slink back to the car for his cheeseburger. Under an overcast sky, the husky watched a lone figure totter and curse her way down a rocky path to the ocean. She scampered along the shore using a small strainer pail to fill a larger bucket, maybe fifty meters downhill.

  Beside him, Kylie rolled over in the grass, her cream-colored middle exposed as her t-shirt rode up. “Ugh! Is she still messing around?”

  A low woof of confirmation escaped his muzzle.

  Her webbed hands stuck up toward the color-washed sky. Her sneaker heels scuffed dry autumn grass. “We should get some camouflage clothes.” She brushed some of the dust from her pastel purple Sugar Gliders band t-shirt, which she’d had since middle school. What little growth she’d gone through since then made it tighter in interesting ways. “You know, for our spying.”

  “Few things are as conspicuous as camouflage.” He flattened his ears to his skull as the mongoose peered around, oblivious to them. “It makes people ask questions.”

  The lutrine fished the takeout container from its plastic bag, opened it on her stomach, and began eating fried clams. “Questions more awkward than ‘why were you two laying in that ditch?’”

  “I can think of a good lie.” He looked her up and down. “Or at least a good eyebrow waggle.”

  She stuffed another fried clam in her muzzle. “You can’t just wag your way out of every situation.”

  “It’s worked on you so far.”

  The otter chittered at him, then popped yet another fried clam into her mouth. She wiggled in contentment, scooting closer to him against the evening chill. Her body lay along his, a warmth he couldn’t ignore.

  He felt the familiar pumping of primal hormones through his veins. It didn’t help that she’d waded back into the deep end of paranormal research, meaning he’d been running around with a sexy otter for the last few days with little or no time to lend his libido a paw. Jumbled fantasies filled his head: play-wrestling with her, tossing her on the bed, tearing her clothes off…but she was such a tiny little thing. Acting on those canine impulses could hurt or scare her, so he always let her take the lead.

  For the moment, she seemed to have no intention of leading him to the bedroom. She’d rolled to her stomach and watched as the mongoose hauled the sloshing bucket of seawater back up the path to her moped. The scrawny female slapped a lid on the container and chucked it into the storage box on the back of the vehicle, then hopped on and puttered off.

  “She’s making a break for it!” Kylie popped up and raced back toward her own car, juggling fried clams. “C’mon!”

  Max followed her around the bend of the road and wedged himself into the passenger seat of the otter-sized car. He carefully avoided sitting on the still-wrapped cheeseburger. He took her container of fried clams so they wouldn’t spill.

  With a chatter of pursuit, the otter cranked the ignition. The tiny aquatic car sputtered to life and trundled off after the vanishing moped. They bounced down the uneven road as gray clouds rolled up the coastline toward them. She whipped down a turnoff, the box on the back of her moped at a wild tilt.

  Undeterred, the otter tailed her at an inconspicuous distance. The Amphicar bounced along the uneven gravel. The harpoon gun tumbled from the back seat to rattle around with a pawful of ancient pull-tabs and oyster-shell shards. He’d never met her great-uncle who’d owned this car, but the guy could’ve at least vacuumed under the seats before vanishing from the face of the Earth.

  Another bump in the road smacked the canine’s head on the rods of the ragtop roof. His ears lowered as he slunk down, only to have his knees whack against the dashboard. A quiet whine trailed from his muzzle. “Could we slow down?”

  “Gotta keep her in sight.” Kylie double-checked that the propeller weren’t engaged as the underpowered little car struggled with a modest hill. The center console consisted of chrome levers and knobs shaped for webbed paws. Her fingers danced over them with obvious relish. Otters liked gripping things, and his girlfriend was no exception. Pleasant memories about what she liked gripping distracted him for a lovely instant.

  Then his shin whacked the glove compartment. Old maps and scrawled notes spilled onto the floor. He growled. The ocean sparkled to their left as he strained to pick up the various dry pens and yellowed documents. The maintenance log stated the car was thirty years past due for having its propeller sharpened.

  With another reckless turn, the mongoose motored around a bend. Kylie revved the Amphicar as much as she dared, but arrived at a four-way stop with no sign of the baker. The woods around them lay silent. The roads snaked around hills, obscuring any view they might have had of their quarry.

  The cheeseburger sat, faintly warm, in his lap.

  “Stubborn, spikey crab carapace!” The otter whipped her head around looking for any track or trace of the moped. “Where’d she go?”

  Quietly, the husky unwrapped his cheeseburger. Best to take advantage of the stopped car before she picked up the scent again.

  She flashed him a look of frustrated desperation. “What’re we supposed to do now?”

  Stopping a millimeter away from his first bite, he cocked an ear at her. “I just wanted lunch. You’re the one who wanted to follow the bread lady.” He handed her back the box of fried clams.

  “She’s seriously suspicious.” She popped open the box, placed it between her thighs, and munched on the breaded mollusks. Her sleek paws fished the little binoculars from her fishing vest pocket as she surveyed the woods. “What’d ya think? Alternate wheat dimension? Secret grain cult? Ghost flour?”

  He sniffed at the cheeseburger bun. It smelled tasty. Weren’t ghosts supposed to not have a smell? Or be just a smell? He didn’t remember, probably because he was too hungry. He bit into the cheeseburger. It was as delicious as expected: succulent beef, balanced condiments, fresh lettuce and tomato, and of course a nice springy roll.

  “And now she vanishes?” The binoculars never left her eyes, even as she neared the bottom of the oyster pail of clams. “Pretty weird, right?”

  “Yesf.” The husky took another bite of his burger. It really was very good, even if it was going cold. Juices and sauce had soaked into the bun. Wasn’t soggy yet, just mingling flavors. He wagged. He might be in a cramped car on some back road outside a supernatural tourist trap, but at least he was with an otter who loved him—and eating a really good hamburger. “Mmm.”

  “We need more info.” She poked around on her phone, finding few damnations of the Yeast India Company beyond its limited produc
tion. “Internet’s not turning up much. Even in Windfall, ‘uses supernatural ingredients’ isn’t something you put on your website.”

  “Well…” He chomped another bit of the vanishing burger. He really had been hungry. “Unless you can think of a better idea in the next five seconds, I say we call Karl.”

  She took a breath to object, halted halfway through it, and rolled her eyes. “Fine…”

  He wagged and wolfed down the last of the hamburger.

  Max knocked on the heavy steel door, where a coat of cheery paint obscured years of dents. Beside him, Kylie groaned, arms crossed.

  Footfalls vibrated through the concrete stoop. The door opened to reveal a burly rhino in a well-worn fleece shirt blocking all light from the interior. His beady black eyes sized Kylie up, which didn’t take long, then locked with Max’s gaze. A stoic moment ground away. “Ain’t you those kids from the TV?”

  Max nodded, in the unusual position of having to look up at someone.

  He shorted an unreadable huff, then jabbed his horn toward the living room. “Better come in then.”

  A matronly rhinoceros with tiny horn-rimmed glasses stomped in from the kitchen. “Oh! Hello! Can I help you?”

  “We’re just here to see Karl.”

  “He’s downstairs.” She offered a thick, gray hand. “I’m June, his mother. Are you two staying for dinner?”

  “No-o-o-o-o.” The little otter vibrated as her paw was vigorously shaken. Once released, it opened and closed a few times. “We just had a couple quick questions.”

  Karl’s dad snorted. “You kids these days and your questions. Don’t know when to leave well enough alone. I was friends with Joe for twenty years and he never asked me a damn thing.”