by Lizz Lund
“Oh!” I cried. Trixie looked at me. “I forgot to tell you, he got some kind of a detective promotion recently,” I said.
Trixie shook her head. “That explains it. He kept babbling about Eve driving him around, because his car was in the shop. I thought that was weird since he wasn’t in uniform, coming directly from work and all. And in a suit, no less.” She sighed.
“His wife’s name is Eve?”
“Yeah.”
“But isn’t Appletree’s first name Adam?”
“Yeah, so… oh!”
“You never thought of that before?” I asked again, incredulously. “You tried to break up Adam and Eve?”
Trixie grinned wildly. “Hey, I never thought about it like that!” she exploded and we both collapsed.
We stopped gasping and sat grinning stupidly at each other.
“You know, I think you could actually find a single guy, of normal stature, that you might actually like,” I offered.
Trixie shrugged. “I know. I guess it’s just the uniform thing,” she answered.
“You liked Mike, the U.S. Marshal guy, until you found out he was gay,” I suggested.
“Yeah, but U.S. Marshals are a whole other bag of wax. I mean, the suit is their uniform.”
“Oh.”
“But you’re right. I’ll try better next time. Especially about the not married thing and all.”
“Well, if you found a guy that was more normal, and single, and had a job and all, couldn’t you just ask him to dress up? Like, maybe try it out around Halloween or something?”
Trixie seemed happier with that thought. “It’s not quite the same thing as a real uniform. But I like the idea of finding someone single and solvent,” she agreed.
“RentalRama’s right on Prince Street,” I suggested.
“Yeah,” Trixie replied, with a far off look in her eyes. I sighed. I began to worry about the poor unsuspecting cubicle working dolt who would soon find himself in for tricks or treats, no matter what the season.
Trixie took a final drag from her cigarette. “Cripes, even menthol doesn’t help this swill,” she said, finishing another swallow of the Krumpthf’s. “You got any weeds out back you want killed? I’ll pour it on them.”
I nodded toward one of the zillion thistles crawling up the hill that I’d yet to outsmart. Trixie walked toward them and poured. I swear I thought I saw them tremble as she approached. They soon wilted after she poured the remaining contents of her can on them.
“I’ve still got some Box O’Burgundy,” I offered.
“Anything’s better than this,” she said. “Besides, it’s stinking hot out here.”
We wandered back inside to find the fellas watching ‘Guys! Cook! Now!’ They sat transfixed. Even Jim sat upright. Trixie and I looked at each other and shrugged, wondering what cooking show could capture the attention of four non-culinary males.
After a few seconds, we got it.
“The Cowboy Special, huh?” I asked.
“Geez, would ya look at the size of those steaks?” Bauser asked. Jim panted. Norman nodded. Vinnie stared. The ‘Guys! Cook! Now!’ dude was rubbing some kind of chili salt and sugar rub onto what looked like the size and thickness of Mastodon steaks. “And don’t forget the homemade coleslaw,” he added hypnotically.
The camera panned onto a family size serving bowl piled high with shredded green, red and Savoy cabbage, along with shredded carrots, fresh green peppers and pineapple chunks. The highlighted single serving looked like, roughly speaking, enough fancy coleslaw for thirty.
I stared at Norman. He was texting notes on his Crackberry to himself.
“I do all the cooking at home,” he answered automatically.
“Shhhh, he’s getting ready to actually cook the steaks directly on the coals!” Bauser hushed.
Vinnie scrunched down and watched the screen transfixed, too.
I shrugged and went to the freezer and took out two of the eight London Broils I’d bought. Then I began to rustle Trixie up a three-egg Greek style omelet with some fresh spinach, feta cheese, mozzarella, sliced black olives, green onions and tomatoes.
Trixie and the fellas were back in the kitchen as soon as they heard sizzling. They all looked at me. “For Trixie,” I replied.
“Oh,” Norman, Bauser and Jim sighed dejectedly. Vinnie muttered something derogatory and sauntered downstairs to the basement.
“You guys are hungry?” I asked, getting ready to thaw out the steaks in the microwave.
“Well, it’s just the damn cooking show. All they ever talk about is food,” Norman answered.
I shrugged. “I took some steaks out. Do you want them now or later? Or omelets? Or subs? I picked up some rolls and cold cuts and stuff.”
“Subs! With Krumpthf’s! Wow!” Bauser said. Jim whoofed.
Trixie dumped out her Burgundy and poured some coffee. I served up Trixie’s omelet while the fellas plunged into a free for all sub frenzy. They all stood around, chewing happily while Trixie explained to them about her sizzling seniors shift. They explained to Trixie and me about their new Burning Buy-A-Lots’ clue.
“So what is it?” Trixie asked.
“Well, I started running the packet sniffer at home,” Norman started.
“How could you do that? Haven’t they shut you out of the system yet?” I asked. “I mean, wouldn’t it make sense for EEJIT to lock you out of their data systems after you quit?”
“Apparently that hadn’t dawned on them until early this morning. I was in all last night,” he yawned. “Anyway, I set off another run after I launched the Pocket Snatcher.”
“Pocket Snatcher?”
Bauser nodded emphatically. “Norman came up with it on his way home last night,” he said.
“Basically the Pocket Snatcher gets activated anytime a Packet Sniffer starts to nose around. It not only follows the activity of the Packet Sniffer, but it snatches its unique location ID – kind of a pick-pocket rogue.”
“Did it work?”
“Theoretically, yes,” he said. “I got a unique internet address tied to a specific computer. But the best I got from cybering around my usual haunts, and not being a Fed or something, is that we’re getting packet sniffed from a user somewhere in Bangladesh.”
“Well, that narrows it down,” Trixie said.
“Now what?” I asked.
Norman shrugged. “Don’t know, because now I am locked out of EEJIT’s systems.”
Bauser swallowed some Krumpthf’s and looked worried. “But whoever’s doing this was probably the one who konked Mina on the noggin,” he said.
Norman shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“I don’t get it,” Trixie said. “What does this have to do with the burning Buy-A-Lots?”
Norman sighed and ran a hand over his head. “Buy-A-Lots will blame EEJIT for damaging their company and associated insurance costs, not to mention lost revenue from the delays in opening the new store locations. So they’d cancel the current and future contracts and probably also sue EEJIT.”
“Right, I get all that,” Trixie gulped. “What I don’t get is the why.” Norman, Bauser and I looked at her blankly. Trixie shook her head. “Boy, you all would make lousy cops,” she said. “First, the obvious question is: who stands to profit by Buy-A-Lots – and EEJIT – losing?”
The three of us ex-EEJIT types looked at each other blankly.
“Yikes, who wouldn’t profit by it?” Norman asked. “I mean, any time a Buy-A-Lots opens, a lot of other smaller stores are displaced. There’s usually not a lot of benevolence toward a new store,” Norman asked.
“Well, if these fires are all connected to new store openings, why don’t you just use the software you have now to predict where the next fire is going to happen?” she asked.
Bauser nodded. “After the very first fire, EEJIT worked with the Lancaster police to launch a pretty high tech security system over the entire construction site. But the only thing caught on
tape was when a rabid squirrel that gnawed through the wires and got zapped.” He grimaced.
“Well, I sure would like to know why a bus load of senior Episcopalians all got burned barbequing last night,” Trixie said. “And I’d especially wish I knew what the heck was on the news that got them banging each other with their walkers,” she added.
“Oh, I remember what was on last night’s news,” Bauser piped up. “A whole bunch of fires got started at a bunch of Buy-A-Lots.”
“What?” the rest of us asked collectively.
“Yeah, you know how they have lots of barbeque grills sitting around outside the store entrance for people to gawk at?” he asked.
“Yeah?”
“That’s where all the fires happened; lawn and garden,” he said, then shrugged. “I guess it’d be pretty easy to do. People are always driving up and waiting to unload passengers or load up merchandise, so a waiting car really wouldn’t be too noticeable. Anyway, no one thought the fires were too weird at first because they were all in the grills. Until they realized they were new grills that were for sale. Then some of the grills exploded. Luckily no one got hurt. The police were actually chalking it up to some lousy publicity stunt. But the newscaster was speculating about tying the fires to the new store arsonist.”
“Why?” I asked.
“There were burnt up bags of doggie doo-doo in all of the fired up grills. Along with baby food jars filled with gasoline. Which I guess explains the explosions. And the smelly entrances.”
Trixie gritted her teeth. “Did the news mention the store locations?” she snarled.
“Yeah, probably. It’s probably in the papers this morning,” Bauser answered.
“Why?” I asked.
“If the fires were at various Lancaster County locations, it would be very unusual if my senior burn victims lived near all the locations, right?” she frowned.
“Unusual, but circumstantial,” Norman said thoughtfully.
“Besides, it was probably just a fluke thing; probably some kids doing dare-you mischief,” Bauser added.
Trixie shook her head. “You better hope so. And you better hope your newly appointed Detective Appletree doesn’t come to the same conclusion I do.”
“But why would a bunch of old folks want to burn bags of doggie doo-doo inside barbeques at a bunch of Buy-A-Lots?” I asked.
“Are you kidding? You should hear the way they go on. Last night their major complaint was that their four hour wait in the E.R. took less time than checking out of a Buy-A-Lots.”
Ah. Well, that was a good point.
The doorbell rang. I thought about issuing a secret password, but I answered it anyway. It was Ethel and Ike, with Hansel and Gretel sporting another new his-and-her matching bowtie and hair-bow accessories, this time in coordinating fushcia and orange polka dots.
“We thought we’d stop by and take you out to breakfast. Ma and Aunt Muriel are on their way over, too,” Ethel said.
I hugged Ethel, above Gretel’s growls, and let them both inside. They put the Ratties down and Jim hopped over to greet them.
Ethel sniffed. “You’ve been cooking!”
“Just breakfast kind of thingies,” I replied defensively.
She went over and sniffed at Trixie’s plate. And sighed. “The good old faux Greek omletey thing.” She sighed again.
Ike rolled his eyes. “You just had some bagels. And a yogurt. And a banana. And cereal. And a not so mid-morning breakfast pastry snack,” he said. Ethel focused her newly acquired maternal death beam directly onto his forehead. Ike winced. “Maybe we should feed her now. After all, she’s eating for two. Or a litter. Or something.”
We went back into the living room, where Bauser and Norman and Jim tried to talk me into cooking the steaks while Trixie tried to talk them into going to a beer distributor and buying a case of anything but Krumpthf’s.
The doorbell rang. I went to answer it. Forget the password idea. At this point I needed a toll booth.
There stood Vito with a bandaged nose, holding a small, snarling terrier in front of him. “Thmanks, Twoots,” he said nasally. “I whud of yuthed my key, but got my awms full here.”
I looked at Vito, who was smiling ear to ear. I looked at Stanley, who was baring fangs from ear to ear. I kept the storm door closed.
“Uh, sure. Uh, just a minute, huh, Vito?” I said, making sure Vinnie was still in the basement. I gave Bauser and Ethel the high sign. “Uh, you might want to hold onto the pooches for a few minutes,” I said. While I appreciated Vito’s Swiffering, I really didn’t want too much blood on my kitchen floor.
I went back down the hall and let Vito and the rabid looking terrier inside. Vito put the dog down, who immediately seized Vito’s trouser leg between his jaws and began snarling and pulling.
Vito shrugged. “I thwink he’th a widdle upset about gedding put in duh pound,” he said.
“Are you sure this is the same dog?” I asked.
Vito nodded. “Him wath vewy, vewy good to Tatchi, whathn’t him?” he asked Stanley’s third person. Stanley growled back at him from his trouser cuff and shook it vigorously up and down. Vito shrugged. “We wuth fine until we got inside the cawh. Then he godda widdle exciteable,” he explained. “I think he thwinks car wides are bad things now, poor bubby.”
He stooped down to pet the terrier. Stanley snarled back. Vito snatched his hand away and put it in his pocket.
“Did he do that to you nose?”
“Yeah,” Vito sighed. “I thwink he did not wike his wabbies shot,” Vito said. “Good thwing I had sample gauz pads and tape wid me.”
I shook my head. Stanley growled some more.
“Can you whatch him sos I can ged set up at home for him?” Vito asked.
“I could, if you could detach him from you. And if he doesn’t bite.”
Stanley wagged his tail at me. Then he looked up at Vito and growled and chewed on his pant leg some more.
“Thur, thur, thur, Twoots,” Vito said. “Him will be a good ogey-wogey.” He bent down, patted Stanley’s head and put the leash to his collar. “Just take the weash and walk him inthide,” he directed.
I took the lead and really wished I was wearing something more than slippers and my bath robe. I pulled gently and started to walk toward the kitchen. Stanley looked up, stopped snarling and trotted over and sat pretty for me.
“Thee?” Vito said. “He just hath a widdle grudge. He’ll ged over it.”
And he went back out the door to get Stanley’s supplies from his car, gingerly fingering his nose.
I looked at Stanley and shrugged. “Maybe you’re just hungry?” I asked the terrible terrier. He yipped a yes, and we went into the kitchen to join the rest of the crowd and scrounge up some goodies for him, too.
After a bowl of instant oatmeal and some deli roast beef, Stanley was a far less terrifying terrier. Vito came back over and sat on the sofa, with Stanley panting happily by his side, and nuzzling, not nipping, at his hand. I’d finally made it back upstairs, while everyone else kibitzed, to put some clothes on and brush my now strangely dried hair.
The doorbell rang, and I heard Vito and Stanley answer it. “Well, hi there, Muwiel!” Vito shouted above Stanley’s yaps and Jim’s baying. Hansel and Gretel yipped the chorus.
“Nice to see you, too, Vito,” Aunt Muriel shouted back.
“How’s it going Lou-weese?”
“GREAT, THANKS,” Ma hollered back.
I sighed and joined the din.
“Well, dear, we didn’t think we were interrupting anything,” Aunt Muriel said. “We thought we’d all go to breakfast, before Ethel and Ike go back home today.”
“We’re going to the Canine Cafe,” Ethel said, smiling. She looked around at my pals. “Your friends can bring Jim and Stanley, too.”
“Ah’d wuv too, Twoots,” Vito said. “Bud I dunno about Thanley gedding bag inthide a cawh any time thoon,” he added. I nodded. Bauser and
Norman grimaced.
Trixie yawned. “I’ve had enough breakfasts for one day, thanks,” she said. “And actually it’s time for me to get some shut eye. Especially working these vampire hours they got me on.”
Vito waved bye-bye to the rest of us and took Stanley back to his new forever home. Trixie beeped her Jeep goodbye at us as she sped down the street. I let Vinnie back up to tell him the coast was clear.
I stood in the driveway, contemplating the consequences of sitting the backseat with the Ratties, versus sitting in the backseat of Auntie’s Lexus and getting lectured about paint swatches. So I wound up in the backseat of Bauser’s car with Jim on my lap.
The last breakfast was nice, too. We all had our assorted pancakes, breads, omelets, layered bagels and fruit salads arranged in front of us. Hansel and Gretel and Jim dove into their Doggie Ice – a sort of ice cream for doggies that I’m pretty sure is mostly frozen lard.
Afterward, Ike and Bauser gave Hansel and Gretel and Jim their walks before their respective car rides to their respective homes. And Ethel took her fourth potty break. Then, we all made sure Hansel and Gretel were strapped into their puppy protective car straps correctly, and waved bye-bye. Ethel and Ike pulled out of the Canine Cafe parking lot and out of my current tense. I sniffed. I always miss my sister before she’s gone. Jim pawed my butt in sympathy, then fell over.
I tumbled back into the back seat of Bauser’s car with Jim, where my eyes watered a little.
“You and your sister are really, tight, huh?” Norman asked.
“Yeah,” I answered. “And Jim should never, ever have Doggie Ice again. Phew!”
It took a few minutes with the windows rolled the entire way down – and my hair looking slightly more Bellevue than I’d wished – for Jim’s aromas to dissipate.
Heading back down Orange Street, I asked Bauser, “Hey, you think you could drop me off at the parking garage? I still need to get my car.”
“Sure, I can drive you up, if you want,” he said.
“It’s okay, you really don’t need to,” I replied.
“Yes he does,” Norman chimed.
“Why?”
“Your car’s been parked for a few days now, and you don’t own an active EEJIT card pass anymore. But you do have an affluent friend to ransom your car back for you,” he said.