by Lizz Lund
“This just in: breaking news about the burning Buy-A-Lots,” she beamed. “What do you have, Cecily?”
The TV screen shifted from the polished looking anchorwoman in the air conditioned studio, to another, much slighter version of herself, standing glumly in the middle of a rainy cow pasture. The rain drizzled off the top of her rain jacket hood and flowed steadily down in a mini-waterfall that drained between her face and her microphone.
“Thanks, Barbie. Just moments ago, Howard Blech, 45 of E-town, was arrested as an apparent suspect in this, what appears to be yet another arson attempt, at burning down a new Buy-A-Lot store. As fate would have it, Nature came to the rescue, ahead of the Adams County fire department,” she said brightly, tipping her hood and showering her feet with fresh rainwater. The girl grimaced. “Live to you from Adams County, I’m Cecily Barns.”
I gulped.
“Isn’t Howard Blech your boss?” Auntie asked.
“Ex-boss,” I corrected.
“Right. Well, maybe EEJIT will rehire you now?”
I looked at Auntie and rubbed my neck.
I left the various brunch booty and containers at Auntie’s. After all, I’d be back tomorrow morning to let Massage Man in, right? I sighed. That was going to be embarrassing. I just hoped I hadn’t talked in my sleep, or worse. What if I snored?
Outside, the late afternoon air was almost bearable. A wind picked up. I watched some dark clouds roll in. Apparently we were due for the same storm Auntie and I had just watched on TV in Adams County. Well, that’s Central PA weather for you. If you don’t like the weather now, just wait a few minutes and it will change. I got into Vito’s car and headed home, back through the maze of upscale streets that led to my normal scale neighborhood.
I pulled back up Vito’s side of Mt. Driveway and shut the car off. It looked like all was quiet at the OK Corral of my house. And Vito’s. I wondered how long I could sit in the driveway. Probably not long. I opened the door, and clambered out. I felt a little stiff. Funny.
As I walked up my front path, I saw my door was open with only the screen door closed. I leaned my face against it until my forehead waffled. Again. I sniffed: no smoke. I peered into the living room windows. The TV was on. Vito lay on my sofa with Stanley curled up on the sofa arm, sleeping on his back, his belly rising softly up and down in time with Vito’s snoring. Vinnie lay on the floor with his belly up and legs splayed in front of the TV. Marie screamed from upstairs. Another usual evening in my unusual household.
As I stepped inside, Vito sat up and yawned.
“Hey, Toots,” he said, rubbing his eyes and patting Stanley. Vinnie rolled over and yawned at me. “Hey, did you see the news? Did you hear about your old boss?” Vito asked, wide-eyed. “Who’d of thunk it, right?” I shook my head.
“How was your massage?” he asked.
I told him the broad strokes polite description, careful to omit my passing out on the massage table part.
“Hey, you got a message from Appletree on your answering machine,” Vito said when I’d finished.
“Really?” I asked.
“Yeah, he said you can pick up the Doo-doo anytime tomorrow; yous just gotta have a photo ID.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, of course I’m happy to drop you off to pick up your van tomorrow morning.”
“Great. Thanks. Might be kinda early though.”
“Really? That’s great! I mean, why?”
I gave Vito the thumbnail sketch about having to be at Auntie’s house in time to let James pick up his gear.
The phone rang. It was K..
Vito waved at me. “I’ll let yous have your privacy, Toots,” he said, Stanley yipping in tow behind him, chasing his trouser cuff.
“Aren’t you EX-CITED!?” K. cried.
“Sure,” I lied.
“Alright, now what time did you promise to pick me up tomorrow?”
“Huh?”
“Tomorrow! The Supper Club!” K. yelped.
After getting chastised and then forgiven by K., we rearranged that I’d pick him up no later than one o’clock tomorrow afternoon, so we’d have more time to spring Ida from her tower and hoist Walter into the van.
I hung up the phone, and proceeded to take care of my pets. I gave Marie some water, seeds, and ‘The Sound of Music’. Then Vinnie led me back downstairs. “Alright,” I said, offering two cans of Finicky Fare. “Chicken Lips or Fishy Feets?” I asked. Vinnie put a paw on top of the can of Fishy Feets. I grimaced. “I hope you realize that I know that fish do not have feet,” I said. “I don’t name or make the stuff. So I make no guarantees.” I shuddered to think what animal parts the pet food industry considered fish feet worthy.
I fed Vinnie, poured myself another glass of water, and sat down on the sofa to watch the remainder of the food show Vito and the boys were watching when I came home. Apparently, we were in the middle of something called ‘Real Men Eat This!’
I watched in horror as some guy walked about various villages eating various forms of dung bugs. Yick. It seems they’re called dung bugs for a reason. They looked like mushrooms on legs. That said, I considered where mushrooms grow. YICK.
The phone rang. I flipped the flipper before I sidled out of my chair. I didn’t want to leave Vinnie with the dung bugs and spoil his Fishy Feets dinner.
“Hello,” I answered, gulping my water in the hopes of washing away images of dung bugs.
“Hi, Mina, this is James,” the voice on the other end said.
I swallowed hard down the wrong pipe, coughed and sprayed water across the sink backsplash.
“Hold on,” I gasped.
I coughed into the sink. Well, at least it hadn’t been wine. Burgundy splatters across my Anita Bryant orange kitchen would have looked like a deranged French child’s first painting of a sunset. I looked at Vinnie. He glowered at me pointedly, indicating a faint rain of drizzle on his forehead. I wiped at it. “Sorry, buddy,” I apologized. Vinnie responded with emphatic comments about stupid is as stupid does, and humans are much too aggrandized regarding thumbs. Then he resumed his meal.
A few thousand years after putting the phone down, I picked it back up.
“Are you still there?” I asked.
“Are you alright? Did I call at a bad time?” James asked.
“Oh, no, everything’s just great,” I fibbed.
“Okay. Hey, look, I left my stuff over at your aunt’s today, and need to pick it up tomorrow morning before I see my next client. But your aunt said she’s not able to be there; she has to get her hair done or something. She insisted I call you, to let me into her house tomorrow morning. Can you meet me over there and let me in?”
Clever Auntie. Made sure James had my phone number for purely business reasons. Right.
“Sure, I just have to pick up the Doo-doo in the morning,” I said.
“Huh?”
“My van,” I explained. “It’s a long story. Sort of. Anyway, I’m planning on picking it up first thing in the morning from the police impound.”
There was another long pause. Then, “How about you call me as you’re leaving for your aunt’s house?”
“Okay, what’s your number?”
James gave me his cell phone number, admonished me not to be late because of his morning client, and we hung up. Well.
I no sooner hung up the phone when Bauser called.
“Hey, Mina, did you see the news? It was How-weird after all!”
“I know. Somehow, it just doesn’t make sense. I mean complete sense,” I said.
“Sure doesn’t explain the IP address or the Packet Sniffers,” Bauser mused. “Whatcha doin’?”
“Not much. Spitting into the sink,” I answered.
“Want to get a pizza and watch some sci-fi?” Bauser asked.
“Yeah, okay. You coming over?”
“Sure. Hey, any word from Vito about his niece lately?” Bauser asked. Aha.
/> “No, why, you interested?” I asked.
“No, just curious.”
We hung up, and I dialed PizzaNow! and ordered a Meat! Meat! Meat! & More Meat! Personal Pie for Bauser and Jim, and a thin crust veggie white pie for me. And some garlic sticks. And salad. And hot wings. And a cheesecake. After all, I wasn’t sure how long they’d be here, right? And Jim might be hungry.
Bauser showed up in tandem with the PizzaNow! delivery guy. Really. There was a vehicular stand-off at the bottom of my driveway. I went out, waved Bauser up and then the pizza delivery guy. This turned out good because Bauser paid. But then I felt guilty. This is bad because guilty pizza is not tasty pizza. But free pizza is.
Bauser took the pies and walked toward the house. I pulled some cash out of my pocket.
“No problemo, Toots,” Bauser said ala Vito. “I’m still rolling in Norman cash.”
“Did you make him lose another bet about another one of his step-daughters?” I asked.
“Wasn’t much of a bet,” he said, shrugging.
We went up the front walk, and I was about to go inside when I heard hissing from the bushes.
“Psss! Psss!”
I looked around.
“Over here, Toots,” Vito said. He was perched behind a holly bush. “Hey, Toots, ya think we can pick your van up extra early tomorrow?” he asked. “I got an, uh, errand to run over at Mrs. Phang’s,” he explained, wiggling his eyebrows. And his ears. Apparently they were connected.
“Uh, sure. What time?”
“Seven-thirty,” Vito answered.
“Yikes.”
“Sorry, Toots. You got big plans tonight?”
“Nope. We’re just eating pizza and watching some science-fiction thingy,” I answered.
Vito looked hopeful. I sighed. “Wanna come over?” I asked resolutely.
“Hey, sure! But I’m not so sure about leaving Stanley home alone again.”
“Why?”
“Because when I was out, uh… visiting this afternoon, he gnawed a big hole right in the middle of the kitchen floor.” I stared at him. He shrugged. “It’s okay. He pretty much did me a favor.”
“Why?”
“It’s orange and olive plaid,” he said.
Somewhere in heaven, Marie hung her head.
Vito brought over Stanley, and a blender full of cocktails, this time with an Asian theme. I identified Vodka and something ginger-ish. Bauser brought in his twelve-pack of Krumpthfs. Jim sniffed Stanley. Stanley snipped at Jim. Vinnie watched from an elevated position on the top of my head.
“Hey, Mina, c’mon, it’s on!” Bauser said, flipper in hand, with Vito next to him on the sofa.
I sat down to ‘Ghosts R US’, our usual fare for spectator ghost hunting.
Vinnie tiptoed off of my head and onto the back of the sofa, keeping a watchful eye on Stanley
A little while later, and a few real (or unreal?) ghost stories the wiser, I said goodnight to the boys, and got myself ready for an uneventful evening’s slumber. I actually went upstairs to bed. Maybe things were looking up.
CHAPTER 15
(Saturday)
The sleep I got was fitful, and interspersed with dreams of kidnapped Ratties, flaming feces, my pregnant sister (who gave birth to a litter of yapping Hansel and Gretels) and pierogies. Eventually I woke up, covered in a film of perspiration, and sat bolt upright. It was five-thirty. I sighed. I’d set my alarm to go off at six so there was little point in lying back down. So I lay back down.
I looked at the pillow next to me. Vinnie lay fast asleep, mumbling. I patted him and he chirped back at me. I yawned, stretched and lay flat on my back. Then I smelled bacon.
I opened my eyes. I still smelled bacon. Vinnie headbutted my chin. Apparently he smelled bacon, too.
I crept downstairs, flip-flops in hand, ready to clobber whatever bacon cooking intruder I found with foam rubber.
Looking in my kitchen, I saw bacon frying simply in a pan. I shook my head. Maybe I hadn’t really gone to sleep? Was I sleep cooking? Maybe I had my very own sleeping disorder? I began to fantasize about hearing people murmuring about me in hushed tones, “Did you hear about what happened to her? She’s got MinaKitchens!”
I looked around. Not only was bacon sizzling, but I also smelled and heard coffee brewing. Then a crash came from the basement. I heard growling. Then swearing. Vito came shuffling up the basement stairs with a laundry basket full of prescription samples, dragging Stanley along while he hung onto Vito’s pant leg, as usual.
Vito got to the top of the steps and put the basket down. “Morning, Toots,” he said sheepishly. Stanley growled hello at me.
Vito leaned so close toward Stanley I was afraid he would get his nose bit again, so I put my hands over my eyes. Vito gave Stanley a directive – in Polish – and Stanley let go of Vito’s pants and lay belly up, in contrition. Huh. I’d hafta ask Vito what he said. It might come in handy someday. Then again, maybe his past lifetime with the Moils had a legitimate use, after all.
“Sorry, Toots. I figured you’d be up to get your van and all. Just thought it’d be a good idea for you to start your day off with a nice breakfast,” Vito said.
I shrugged and yawned.
“Okay, thanks. Hey, what happened to your crumb bun connection?” I asked.
“Hey, a fella’s gotta watch his girlish figure, ya know,” Vito said, cracking an egg into the pan.
Vito was blotting off the bacon with a paper towel while Stanley sat pretty. Vito pulled a doggie biscuit out of his shirt pocket, and held it out to Stanley. He took the biscuit, trotted off happily into the living room and began to crunch crumbs into the carpet. Vinnie came running down the hall and stared at me, appalled.
“I know he’s a dog, but he’s a guest,” I explained. Vinnie shook the back paw at me and sauntered toward the basement stairs. “Okay, how about breakfast?” I asked.
“Grrrrraht! Fwnks!” Vinnie trilled.
I got him his breakfast and threw some Tweetsy Weetsy treats on top, just to keep the peace.
“I’m just gonna make a couple of deliveries here, and I’ll be back to take you to your van later, okay?” Vito asked, sipping his coffee carefully.
“Yip,” I said, drinking my coffee and wishing it wasn’t so very, very early.
Vito left, so I figured it was as good a time as any to get ready for the day and start running around like an idiot.
I washed and changed into a cute outfit and matching jewelry, and headed downstairs. A couple of game shows later, Vito was back and actually knocking at the front door. I answered.
“Hey, Toots! Wow, you look swell,” Vito said. “You don’t even look like yous has a tick or nothin’!” He paused, then smacked himself in the forehead. “Sorry, Toots; I know how sensitive and all yous are about your epidural challenges and such,” he said.
“Huh?”
“Epidural challenges. Impressive, huh? Miriam made me a present of a vocabulary calendar.”
“Epidural challenges?”
“Yeah, you knows. Challenges with your skin and such.”
My eyes did a tumblesault in their sockets of their own volition.
“Hey, Vito… I think you might mean epidermis,” I said.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Epidermis means about your skin. Epidural is the anesthesia you get in your spine.”
Vito blushed. “Sorry, Toots. Geesh. Hey, hows about I run some of my new words by you before I use them next time?” he asked.
I pictured a bleak Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary future in front of me, and suppressed a groan.
“Sure,” I lied. After all, I really do want to fit into Lancaster, right? It just seemed like the nice thing to do.
“Great! Hey, we gotta get going! I’m running late!”
Vito and I tumbled out into the hundreds of degree heat and humidity and quickly found our way into the air-conditioned Towncar. I looked over at V
ito. Even the few moments of walking from my front door to his car had made his collar turn orange. I was going to have to talk with Auntie about the political correctness of discussing fake hair mishaps with Vito. He might be a pain in the butt. And some kind of fugitive. But no one wishes social humiliation on anyone. Except for maybe an ex-husband or two. That is, according to Auntie.
Vito pulled into the Prince Street parking garage and found a spot after we helped a Crown Victoria full of seniors from Saskatchewan navigate the parking ticket conundrum. We also advised them that it was best to travel in the same direction that the arrows pointed, and not the opposite.
After we helped the confused Canadians, Vito and I parted company. I looked over my shoulder as he exited onto Orange Street.
“Hey, Vito, umm… you gonna need any help bringing your, umm… dry cleaning… back to the car?” I asked.
Vito shook his head. “I got it all taken care of, Toots. I’m not expecting any new dry cleaning coming my way anymore, if yous knows what I mean.” I sighed gratefully. Then coughed. “You okay, Toots?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I choked. “Carbon monoxide kinda chokes me up sometimes.”
“Hey, me too! Every time I have Pasta Carbonara it always backs up on me the next day.”
I hung my head.
Vito toddled off to Madam Phang’s. I toddled off across the street toward the fancy Marriott-style police station to claim my unfancy van.
I walked up to the Police Department of Oz desk. A policewoman peered down at me. “Who goes there?” she asked. Or at least that’s how it sounded.
I replied, “It is only I, Mina the Meek.”
It must have been the height of the desk.
“State your business,” the policewoman instructed, ignoring my Wizard of Oz flashback.
“I’ve come to fetch the Doo-doo,” I said, and kind of curtseyed. I couldn’t help it.
“It’s alright, Hazel,” Appletree offered up, from just about Hazel’s belly height.
“Uh,” she grunted and hopped down off the imperial stool. “I got to go on break anyhow,” she said, and sauntered her 3-foot wide girth toward what I guessed housed a break room. I wagered a bet with myself that the break room probably had a state-of-the-art cappuccino and espresso maker as well as a full-time barista. What else would fit in with the alabaster walls?