Emboldened braggarts hugged the walls whenever the kangaroo made a foray in their direction. Armed only with musical instruments and butter knives, they quivered like Chihuahuas in a New Hampshire winter. There would be much to talk about in the post office Monday morning. All tales of past glory were negated as men with bear heads mounted over their fireplaces leapt onto the countertop where they habitually enjoyed morning coffee to remove themselves from the dangerous clutches of a mother kangaroo and her tiny offspring. In a singular act of courage, Mindy Collins, the church organist and an experienced den mother, opened the main door to the Stack Shack. The kangaroo took the hint and bounced out through the opening. Graham followed in hot pursuit. My only sorrow was not having seen him do the same the night before when I informed him about the mountain lion.
I caught Piper’s eye over the disheveled heads of the other Griddle and Fiddle participants. We had known each other since she taught me how to squirt milk through my nose the first day of third grade. We both got sent out from snack time into the hall in order to think about our behavior. We had enjoyed getting into trouble together ever since, but I don’t think either of us had ever imagined trouble quite like this. I know I never had. If our third grade teacher could have gotten ahold of that kangaroo, something a whole lot more drastic than time-out in the hall would have been on her mind. I don’t think that mammal would have gone out to recess for the whole school year.
Everywhere I looked, there were sticky spots and broken china. Flatware and ruined meals carpeted the floor. This did not even begin to address the condition of people’s clothing or their stricken expressions. Anyone who had had the misfortune of holding a cup at the moment the kangaroo appeared was invariably wearing its contents of that cup. Grease and syrup and even ketchup spattered shirtfronts and sweaters. People who may not have ever been the snappiest of dressers but who never would appear in public with things sticking to their faces looked like kids in need of a hot bath.
Piper looked crazed. The Stack Shack was her life. Ever since we were kids, she had known she wanted to own the place. She had saved her birthday money, allowance, and even lunch money she chose not to waste on eating from the age of nine on. Many of her first customers at the Stack had been early supporters of her lemonade stand, the proceeds of which had also rolled into the Stack savings fund. By the time she graduated from high school, she was positioned to make an offer to the elderly owners. I’m sure they never would have envisioned this sort of crisis in their beloved restaurant either. Piper kept swiveling her head from side to side, shaking it in disbelief.
Tansey, always one to take charge, hoisted herself onto the top of the breakfast counter, the burnt orange laminate groaning under the strain. She dinged a spoon against a water glass and attracted even more attention than her attempt at athleticism had.
“All right, people, pull yourselves together. Does anyone have any idea where that animal came from or what it was doing here in the Stack?” People on all sides of me looked to others for an answer. As far as I could tell, I was the only one with anything close to an explanation.
I wasn’t sure it was my place to pass along a message on behalf of the Fish and Game Department, but from the way that kangaroo had taken off, it didn’t look like Graham would be available to do it anytime soon. And I was sure information about a loose kangaroo would whip through the town faster than a bout of the flu. I didn’t want people going around saying out-of-control exotic animals were taking over the town. Someone would be sure to take matters into their own hands, and Knowlton would be posing an entirely new taxidermy exhibit.
“I do,” I said, stepping toward the counter and scrambling up alongside Tansey, who wisely slid down to take a seat on a stool. Who knew how much strain the old counter could take? I may not weigh much, but who wanted to chance a collapse on top of everything else that had happened that day?
I went on to explain about the released animals and how Graham was hoping townspeople would help to round them up safely by reporting sightings and even corralling them when possible. “No one is in any danger here except the animals themselves. You know you wouldn’t let your kids out in this weather in the evening without a jacket. So you can imagine what it must be like out there for a bunch of monkeys and a couple of parrots.” People had a lot of questions and some expressed a desire to try lemur stew. But most were excited at the prospect of helping with something so out of the ordinary. Some people stuck around to help with the cleanup at the Stack, but most headed out the door as soon as I finished speaking, to follow tracks and to look for scat.
Piper got over her shock pretty quickly when she realized the animals were in a lot more trouble than she was. By the time we had righted the last overturned chair and mopped the last bit of sticky from the floor, she was all for joining the hunt.
“What about leaving some food out near the back door of the Stack? We could wait behind the Dumpster and then throw a net over them or something.” Piper rubbed her hands together excitedly then clapped them like a little child.
“Do you even know what kangaroos eat? Do you have a net big enough for that thing?” I didn’t want to show it, but I was feeling a little intimidated by the idea of trying to corner that creature in a darkened back alley. Not that the space behind the Stack was really at all like the average idea of an alley—gray and dark and narrow with more shadows being cast than light by the streetlamps overhead. No, the space behind the Stack, just like most other stores in Sugar Grove, looked out onto some bushes and a generous parking area. In sight of which were dense stands of trees. More leaves littered the ground than trash ever did. No one in my life had ever been assaulted in an alley in Sugar Grove. But then, kangaroos never roamed here either. Nor had anyone died under suspicious circumstances at a public function. Or any other way for that matter.
Wallace Coombs was thought to have bopped off his wife and hidden her body under the floor of an old icehouse back in the twenties, but that was before my time. And she turned up alive and kicking a couple of years later, having sown her wild oats by running away with a food vendor she met at the county fair. People had gossiped about Wallace when she left and even more when she came back.
But today had been different. Alanza was well and truly dead. She wasn’t going to show up two years later, whatever had ailed her worked off by many moons spent slaving away as a fried dough maker or lemonade squeezer. She wasn’t going to see any more kangaroos, and I was worried about either Piper or I sharing her fate.
“They’re herbivores, I know that much. Maybe a big bowl of tossed salad would do the trick. I’d hate for that little joey to go hungry. He was awfully cute with his dark eyes and pert ears.”
“Joeys only require milk, so long as they still fit in their mother’s pouch.” I said this with a lot more authority than I felt. I had no idea if they were like human babies and supplemented their caloric intake by hopping out now and again and having a nibble of some shoots or leaves. I wasn’t even sure she was right about the herbivore thing. From the way the mother kangaroo thrashed the Stack to pieces, I had no doubt she could hunt down a bit of meat for her baby’s dinner if she set her mind to it.
“So salad for the mother and a saucer of milk for the baby.” Piper yanked on the door to the walk-in and fetched a glass bottle of milk from a local dairy. Rummaging around on a shelf under the counter, she found a metal mixing bowl and filled it with vegetables. The salad looked like something fresh from the farmer’s market. Even when she was serving wildlife, Piper was a food artist first. If someone told me she baited rat traps with triple-cream Brie, I’d believe it. Before I could complain any more, she hurried out the back door. I followed her—there’s safety in numbers—and watched while she placed her offerings carefully on the ground in front of the Dumpster.
“You know the frost is just going to reduce that to a soggy mess by morning, don’t you?” I pointed at the heaping serving of mesclun, grated carrots, and ruby-colored grape tomatoes.
> “With any luck, it won’t last until morning.”
“We won’t last ’til morning. It’s already near freezing and there are hours and hours ’til dawn. I’m not planning to spend all night out here.”
“Be a sport. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“That still leaves you with the problem of a net,” I said, hoping to knock her off track.
“I know just what to use.” Piper hurried back inside and headed for the employee bathroom. I followed her and watched her grab at a rope dangling from the ceiling. The tugging swelled the outlines of her beanstalk tattoo and made the plant look like it had received a hearty helping of fertilizer. Down came the ladder to the creepy Stack attic.
When the Stack was built, it was meant only to serve as a summer eatery. There was no original attic since there was no need for insulation if the pipes were properly drained before cold weather. The restaurant was open all the way to the curved underside of the roof. The people Piper had bought the place from had converted it to a year-round business by dropping in a ceiling and adding insulation. The townspeople got a year-round eatery, and Piper got a place to store everything that didn’t fit in her camper. I mounted the creaking stairs behind her, wondering what she could possibly have up there that could be used.
She pulled on a string that looked like the malnourished younger brother of the rope hanging from the stairs and tugged on the light. The bulb was as pikerish as Scrooge with his piggy bank.
“Aren’t you worried about mice or even squirrels?”
“What do you think all those boxes of Mouse Be Gone are for?” Piper gestured impatiently around the attic at some paper cartons and then reached for a large, cardboard box.
“Here it is. Just what we need.” She spun around, clutching a ropy mass.
“What is it?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer.
“My hammock. You know the one I hang out in front of the camper all summer and tell myself I’ll get to use one day when things slow down around here?”
“I love that thing. I go over to your place and use it when I know you’re working a double shift and won’t be able to.”
“Well, now I will be able to finally get some use out of it myself. It’s perfect, don’t you think?” Piper’s gleaming white gigantic smile glowed even in the low light.
“I guess if that’s what you want to do with it, it is your hammock.” I was a bit worried about my leisure time in the upcoming summer. What if by some miracle Piper managed to net the kangaroo with it and it struggled free, tearing a huge hole right through the side? Somehow I didn’t think it would be right to take it back to L.L.Bean and ask to use the money-back guarantee under the circumstances. And I didn’t think Piper would be inclined to lay out the cash for a new one since she never got time to use the original. All in all, the hammock seemed like it might be in danger, and there was little I could do to stop it. I felt the warm summer breezes and gentle swaying slipping away from me with each step she took toward the ladder and the back door of the Stack.
“Don’t you want to leave this to the professionals? The guy from Fish and Game seems like he knows what he’s doing. I think we should let him handle it.”
“I noticed you going over to talk to him just before the kangaroo stirred things up. He is pretty cute.” Piper winked one of her false-eyelashed eyes at me and blew me an air kiss so loud it filled the air between us with vibrations that would have rung a bell if there were one up in the attic.
“I hadn’t really noticed.” This lying thing was starting to get out of hand. If I kept it up, untruths would begin to cling to me like a second skin. I’d need to get one of those little voice-activated tape recorders to make memos of all the stories I was telling in order to keep them straight.
“Fortunately, I care about you enough to know when you just want me to coax something out of you. He was cute. You did notice. I saw you do your thing.” Piper tossed the hammock through the opening and began descending after it. “Turn off the light, would you?” Piper was scooping the hammock up and rushing toward the back door before I even hit the floor.
“What thing?” I wasn’t being coy. I had no idea what she was talking about. Piper is a great cardplayer, and every time she says someone does something unconsciously, I’ve noticed she’s right.
“You tip your head to one side so hard you scrape your ear on your shoulder. You’ve been doing it ever since the day Brice Dayton moved to town.”
“That was almost twenty years ago.” Why hadn’t she ever mentioned it before? Had anyone else ever noticed?
“At least you are consistent. Besides, it’s adorable. You look vulnerable and sweet.”
“Vulnerable and sweet?”
“Yeah, like a Pomeranian with an itchy ear.” A cold blast of air drove a ribbon of leaves and sand across the pavement toward us, but I was feeling heated up by my burning cheeks.
“A Pomeranian? With ear mites? And you never told me? In all these years you never told me? No wonder I’m still single.”
“I didn’t say ear mites. You said ear mites. I said itchy. Lots of things can cause ears to itch. You should ask the Fish and Game guy. He might know.” Piper placed the hammock on the closed lid of the Dumpster and squeezed in behind the metal bin. She slid in easily with room to spare. It must be the long hardworking hours at the Stack because she eats like a teenage boy and considers exercise to be filling in a sudoku puzzle.
“I’m not asking Graham to check me for ear mites.”
“His name is Graham?”
“That’s right.”
“Like the cracker? I bet he’d be good with chocolate and marshmallows. Like a big cuddly s’more.” Or butter. I loved my graham crackers slathered in butter, and I nibbled them a tiny bite at a time. What was I thinking? Piper needed to stop and I needed to go home and get some sleep. Maybe I was just hungry after all the excitement. The fluttering in my stomach didn’t mean I thought a guy who specialized in insulting the public he was supposed to be serving was at all attractive. No, it certainly did not. I probably wouldn’t even see him ever again, and I could go back to eating graham crackers any which way I liked without feeling naughty about it in the least.
“Exactly like a cracker. What were his parents thinking? Did he have a sister named Saltine?” Not that I was one to judge with a name like mine. Dani got me by but it wasn’t the whole story and it was unlikely Mr. Fish and Game was destined to hear it. No matter how much he looked like the man of my dreams, he was here for a short, busy visit, punctuated by rudeness and aggravation.
“Maybe he has a brother named Animal and we could double date.” Piper nudged me in the ribs with a bony elbow.
“I think you mean single date. I never expressed any interest in the first cracker in the barrel.” I rubbed my side where she had poked me and tried to remember why we were friends. Being called a dog and then being shoved around was not dredging up any positive memories of our friendship.
“You like him, teacup doggie, I know you do. Would you rather have coffee or hot chocolate while we wait for the kangaroo to pick up her dinner?” Now I remembered why we were friends through thick and thin. She may be insulting but her hot chocolate is worth a five-mile trudge on your knees through sleet-covered pucker bush. World peace could be achieved if only someone had the sense to express flasks of the stuff to any warring regions of the world. Heads of state would take one sip, develop a swooning rosy glow of good humor, and commence slapping each other on the back. I’ve seen it work at budget committee meetings. I am certain it is the real reason our teachers have gotten a new contract and the fire department received funding for its new ambulance.
“Do you have to ask?” I followed her inside and waited more or less as patiently as any other grown-up as she slowly and carefully heated a pan of the magical concoction over a low flame on the stove. The smell of it was driving me over the brink by the time she poured us each a mug. We reached the back alley once more just in time to see
the outline of something small and furtive dragging away the bowl of salad.
“Grab the net.” Piper dropped her cup in the excitement. I liked to have cried at the waste of hot chocolate but, as I still had a grip on mine, was able to hold off the waterworks. And I wasn’t about to lose it scrambling to put my favorite hammock in harm’s way either. Piper could become an exotic animal wrangler all on her own. I was just here to make sure nothing made off with my friend.
“I think it’s gone,” I said, blowing on my mug. The clattering of the metal bowl against the ground faded away into the other night sounds. Whatever had started dragging off the salad had done so. And the hammock sat safe and unused on the top of the Dumpster. It looked like next summer could proceed much like the past had, swinging and swaying, lost in a book.
“Well, that’s just great. I try to help and end up out one large salad bowl. Now what? I’m not sure I want to lose another one tonight.” Piper stood there, her fists balled up on her slim hips, booted foot tapping impatiently.
“We should head home for tonight. Whatever took that salad will have gotten something to eat and won’t likely be back before early tomorrow. You can send one of the weekend kids out to tromp round the countryside looking for your bowl if you like. For all you know, there won’t be anything for them to do other than chase down salad bowls. Once word gets out that the Stack is popular with wildlife, people may be a bit leery about eating here.”
“No way. Anyone who wasn’t here tonight to see the kangaroo will be hoping it returns tomorrow or at least will want to see with their own eyes where it all went down. I’ll be lucky not to run out of supplies.”
Drizzled with Death (A Sugar Grove Mystery) Page 5