Cloud Nine- When Pigs Fly

by Margaret Lashley

  “No. Just scrubbed it off sitting in that Barcalounger all day.”

  “Oh my word! She’d be mortified to know that.”

  Goober started to say something, but was interrupted by a round of sneezing that sounded like an asthmatic donkey.

  “That would be my mother. She’s prone to sneezing spells.”

  “Is she allergic?” Goober asked.

  “Yeah. To cleaning, I think.”

  Goober looked around. “Well, from the looks of this place, I think that’s a true story as well.”

  I TOOK MY TIME GETTING dressed while Mom and Winky sat at the dining room table drinking coffee. The three of us were waiting on Dale and Goober to get back from IGA. They’d taken the golf cart there to get donuts.

  As I walked back into the dining room, Winky was finishing up a story I was kind of glad I’d missed.

  “But that’s the honest truth, Mrs. Short,” he said. “I didn’t bite the feller. I just closed my mouth and his ear was in it.”

  “It could a happened to anyone,” Mom said in the conciliatory tone she usually reserved for the elderly folks at her church.

  “So, how’s yore momma?” Mom asked Winky.

  “She ain’t been the same since she lost her false teeth in that leaf-blower incident.”

  “Is that a fact,” Mom said, shaking her head.

  “Yeah, she loved them choppers. She got herself a new set, but they wasn’t never the same. After that, she kind a lost her confidence, you know? The spunk went out of her like a fart out of a whoopee cushion.”

  “It’s a hard thing when a woman’s looks start to fade,” Mom said. She shot me a look. “Ain’t it, Val?”

  I felt what was left of my self-worth implode. “Absolutely,” I said, and wished I had some gin to pour in my coffee.

  The sight of the golf cart pulling up in the front yard made me nearly jump for joy. Until I saw Goober, that is. He was wearing that yellow pantsuit and that darned Mohawk. He made it to the door before I had time to stop him.

  “Elmira?” Mom asked as he came through to the dining room. “What are you doing here?”

  Winky laughed. “Goober, you sure make one ugly woman.”

  “Goober?” Mom asked. “You? You’re Elmira? From the beauty shop?”

  Oh, crap! Now Mom’s going to think he’s a cross dresser.

  “Yes, I am one and the same,” Goober said. He set the box of donuts on the table and bowed with a flourish.

  “Are you leaving today with Val?” she asked, a horrified look on her face.

  “Yes, ma’am. Tiny said he can tow the RV back to St. Pete for me.”

  I closed my eyes. Oh, no. Here comes the judge....

  “Well, I sure am sorry to hear that,” Mom said in a tone that sounded genuine. “I hate to see you go.”

  My eyes flew open with surprise.

  “Why, thank you, Mrs. Short,” Goober said.

  Mom opened the box of donuts, picked out a cruller, and took a huge bite. “Goober, darlin’,” she said sweetly, “could you do me a favor and tease my hair up real good one more time before you go?”

  THE TV WAS BLARING out The Price is Right at ten million decibels, but Mom actually got out of her Barcalounger to see us off this time. She and Dale stood with me on the front porch and we watched Goober and Winky help Tiny McMullen secure the Minnie Winnie to Tiny’s tow truck. The fellows had already said their goodbyes to Mom and Dale.

  “Well, I guess we’ll be going,” I said.

  “It was great to see you again,” Dale said.

  “You, too, Dale.” He gave me a hug and went back inside.

  “Why you got to run off?” Mom asked.

  “I told you. I’ve got that luau party tomorrow.”

  “You and your fancy city life. Whoever heard of giving a luau for a pig?”

  “It’s not exactly for a pig,” I said, then realized it actually was. The whole stupid thing had been concocted to save Randolph’s hide.

  I’m living my life around the needs of my neighbor’s pet pig! Geeze! I need to start setting better priorities!

  “So long, Mom.” I started to step off the porch. Mom grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to one side.

  “I just want you to know something, Vallie. I liked Tom better’n Goober. Even though I got to admit, that man can tease hair like nobody’s business.”

  She patted her hair, which, thanks to Goober, was the size and shape of a honeydew melon.

  “Mom, like I told you. I’m not with Goober. I’m still with Tom.”

  “Good. ‘Cause I like to think of you settled Val. In your own place and all.”

  “Thanks, m –”

  Mom turned and yelled inside the house. “Dale! Keep yore hands off my crullers! You hear me?”

  She turned back to me. “You should be with somebody you love and respect, Vallie. You know. Like me n’ Dale.”

  “Right, Mom.”

  “That Tom feller. You better hold onto him. You ain’t getting’ any younger, Vallie. And that behind of yours ain’t getting any smaller.”

  That’s like the sow calling the piglet fat....Just how much of this was I supposed to take?

  “Well, you know what Mom? You’ve got a bal–”

  Mom’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What, Vallie? I’ve got a what?”

  “You’ve got a bunch of family that loves you.”

  Mom blew out a breath and shrugged. “Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  As always, it was an odd, mashed-up feeling to watch my mom as she stood on the front porch, shrinking down to the size of an ant in the rearview mirror. Or maybe, in her case, to the size of a dung beetle.

  The child in me was leaving home. The adult in me was escaping prison. I was sad. I was happy. I was turned inside-out from confliction.

  I guess it showed on my face.

  “Nothing feels quite as double-edged as cutting your losses,” Goober said to me from the backseat of the hearse.

  My furrowed brow released its pensive grip. I turned in my seat to face Goober. “That’s it exactly. How did you know?”

  Goober grinned and shrugged. “Like I said, I’ve got relatives, too.”

  I smiled, then sighed and looked past Goober out the back window to the cloud of orange dust rising up from the road. It nearly obliterated the view of Tiny McMullen’s tow truck as it followed behind us, pulling the old RV.

  “I guess nobody’s all good or all evil,” I said.

  “Tell that to my preacher,” Winky said, elbowing me. “He’s always askin’ us, ‘When Jesus comes, you want to be in the smoking or non-smoking section?’”

  I grinned at Goober, then turned back around in my seat, content to watch the countryside as the hearse wound its way toward the interstate.

  “SHOULD WE STOP FOR lunch in Lake City?” I asked when we were about twenty miles from the junction of I-10 and I-75.

  “We could go to Taco Schnell,” Goober said.

  “Don’t you ever get tired of tacos?” I asked him.

  “Negatory.”

  I thought about the broccoli salad Tom was probably preparing for tonight’s dinner. “Taco Schnell sounds good to me.”

  “Why not,” Winky said. “The hearse needs gas. If we go there, we can kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Nice one, Winky,” I said.

  “What?” he asked. “I been meanin’ to try Taco Schnell. To tell the truth, I think Winnie might be addicted to it. She picks up lunch for us nearly every day. She gets me KFC but she always eats Taco Schnell.”

  “Why do you get KFC instead?” I asked.

  “I ain’t too big on ethnic food.”

  “Right.”

  “But if my gal Winnie likes it so much, maybe I should try to like it, too. That stuff must be good for your digestion. After lunch, Winnie goes directly to the toilet. I hear her flushin’ it three or four times.”

  “You really haven’t eaten at Taco Schnell
, have you?” Goober said. “It’s tasty. But they do put the ‘schnell’ in gastric momentum.”

  “And they got parkin’ for tractor trailers,” Winky said.

  “Yes,” Goober said. “And there’s that, too.”

  “I AIN’T EAT HERE IN a coon’s age,” Tiny said as we grabbed our bags of tacos and headed for a table. “Not since my Aunt Vera got herself arrested in the one in Dothan.”

  “Arrested?” I asked. “What’d she do?”

  “They accused her of shoplifting a pile a hot sauce packets, but they was trumped-up charges. Downright ridiculous, really. Anybody could a seen the nightgown she was wearin’ at the time didn’t even have any pockets.”

  And I thought Winky was a hick....

  Desperate to change the subject, I blurted out something I’d been saving for the second half of the trip back to St. Pete. I slid into the booth beside Goober.

  “Goober, I’ve been meaning to ask you. I found the note you left me.”

  “Huh?” Goober asked, his mouth already full of taco.

  “The note in the dreamcatcher. The one you duct-taped inside the Skoal tin.”

  “Oh.”

  “I figured it out and sent you a letter.” More like a nasty-gram, actually. “When you get it, you can just toss it. Tear it up, even. It’s probably better if you don’t read it at all.”

  Goober eyed me curiously. “What are you talking about?”

  “The post office box. Number 3799?”

  “That’s not my number.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No. It’s 1113.”

  “Then what was the note for?”

  “Note?” Goober’s left eyebrow went up. “What did it say?”

  “PObbLE.”

  “Oh. Yeah. That was the name I was going to suggest for that new puppy of yours.”

  “What?” I nearly screeched. “That’s the stupidest name I’ve ever heard.”

  Goober shrugged. “So what’d you end up calling it, anyway?”

  My face heated up like a gas stove. “Uh...Sir Albert Snoggles.”

  “The third,” Winky added with a beaming smile.

  “Oh really?” Goober said, his left eyebrow forming a sharp right angle. “You’re right, Val. That’s so much better than Pobble.”

  “She calls him Snogs for short,” Winky said.

  It was time to change the subject again before I burst into flames of humiliation.

  “What do you think about what’s happening to Caddy’s?” I asked Goober. “Can you believe some idiot developer’s going to tear it down and build condos?”

  “All good things must come to an end,” Goober said. He turned to Winky. “Does that include the donut shop?”

  “Pro’lly.”

  “What will you do then?” Goober asked.

  “Thought I might start me a spare parts and handyman business for folks in my neighborhood. You know, I could get me a warehouse built like Betty Jean’s Beauty & Feed. Picture this: a big ol’ sign over the door that says, Winky’s Trailer Fixin’s.”

  “Riveting,” Goober said. “But the name makes for an unfortunate acronym.”

  “A misfortunate what?” Winky asked.

  “I wish you every good fortune,” Goober said. He shot me a look and changed the subject. “So Val, you said Greg and Norma are missing. What kind of intel have you dug up so far?”

  “Me?” I asked, feigning innocence.

  “Yes, you,” Goober said. “Don’t forget. I know you. There’s no way you’re just letting this run its course.”

  “Tom’s been filling me in with bits and pieces,” I confessed. “I think this developer guy Amsel has something to do with Greg and Norma’s disappearance. But Tom’s hands are tied when it comes to the guy.”

  “Why?”

  “The mayor doesn’t want anything ruining the condo deal. The cops were told to make Amsel a low priority suspect. But like me, Tom feels in his gut that he’s involved somehow.”

  “I feel something else in my gut,” Winky said. He patted his belly full of tacos.

  “Me, too,” Tiny said.

  “What do you have on Amsel?” Goober asked, turning back to me.

  “Nothing, really. Looks like he’s bought Caddy’s from Greg. But that in itself I find strange. I would have sworn Greg would never sell Caddy’s.”

  “Amsel must have met his price,” Goober said.

  “Or had something on him,” I said.

  “Like what?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “So that’s all you’ve got?” Goober asked. “A bill of sale? If that was evidence for murder, Val, every property owner on the planet would be guilty.”

  “It’s not all,” I argued. “Last year, another guy Amsel bought property from went missing in Boca Raton.”

  “Mouth of the rat,” Goober said, and crinkled his upper lip. “Never saw the allure in that name.”

  “Me either. Anyway, they never found the guy. Amsel had worked out the contract so he got total possession of the deed.”

  “Now that’s compelling info,” Goober said. “Any solid evidence?”

  “No. Just footprints in the sand. And the signs of a struggle. Tom said it looked like someone had been dragged away on their heels by two women in size ten Birkenstocks.”

  “Huh,” Goober said. “The old lesbian hat-trick.”

  “Is that a thing?” I asked.

  “I dunno. But it’s got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

  “Goober, I’m trying to be serious here.”

  “I know. But it’s hard when you have an orange taco-grease moustache.”

  I wiped my lips with a napkin. “Do you want to hear what I know or not?”

  “Sure. But wait until we get in the car. I’ve got an urgent pit stop to make.”

  I felt my stomach gurgle.

  “Me, too,” I said.

  Thank goodness we’re not at my mother’s.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “I think Norma did it,” Winky said as he turned the hearse onto I-75 southbound.

  “But Greg and Norma are both missing,” I argued. “She could be just as much a victim as Greg. Remember that fake life alert bracelet Norma gave him? The one he always joked around with customers with?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tom pulled one up out of the Gulf of Mexico on his fishing trip last Sunday.”

  “Lucky him,” Winky said. “Best I ever caught was a rusty tin can.”

  “Sounds like a pretty suspicious coincidence,” Goober said.

  “So you think Norma might have gotten rid of Greg?” I asked.

  “She’s strong enough to,” Winky said. “Norma’s done beat me at arm wrastlin’ more times than I care to admit.”

  “Okay, yeah. She’s tough,” I agreed. “But she’s also kind-hearted. I remember she was so generous and helpful when Glad passed away. She put on a brave face, but I know she went in the ladies’ room and cried after I left.”

  “Anybody what goes in that Taco Schnell mens’ room today’s gonna cry, too,” Winky said.

  “Winky!” I barked, and elbowed him in the ribs. “We’re talking about life and death here!”

  Winky laughed. “Well, so am I.”

  “Ugh!” I looked to Goober for support. His silly face wore an amused, contented look.

  “So you don’t want to think Norma had anything to do with Greg’s disappearance,” Goober said. “Let me just remind you, the woman’s got big feet. When was the last time you saw her?”

  “The day Greg disappeared.”

  “How’d she seem to you?”

  I grimaced. “Well, she seemed kind of off.”

  “Off? How?”

  “I don’t know. Grumpy. Or jumpy. Something like that.”

  “What time was it?” Goober asked.

  “I dunno. Late morning. Elevenish.”

  “So when you saw her, no one was aware yet that Greg wasn’t going to show up for his three o-clock
shift.”

  “That’s true.” I was losing confidence in my convictions. “But it could have been that Norma was upset because she knew Caddy’s had been sold.”

  “How would she know that?” Goober asked.

  “She’s been working with Greg since day one. He tells her everything.”

  “He trusts her, then?”

  “Yes. At least enough to run the cash register and make the bank deposits.”

  “Good friends, then.”

  “Sure. Like family, even. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was in his will.”

  Goober’s left eyebrow ticked upward. “So, then, the plot thickens. Maybe Norma decided to swipe what was in the cash register and get out of town. Or, maybe by getting rid of Greg, if she was in his will, she could keep the whole enchilada.”

  “Don’t say enchilada,” Winky said, then belched loud enough to rattle the windows on the hearse.

  “Follow the money trail,” I said, remembering Finkerman’s advice.

  “Speaking of money trail,” Goober said, “is Tiny still behind us?” He turned and looked back to check on the RV.

  “Yep, it’s still there,” Winky said.

  “What’s that broken-down RV got to do with money?” I asked.

  “Nothing. Except my life savings are stashed in its walls.”

  “How much you got?” Winky asked.

  Goober shrugged. “Just five or six million, tops. Wouldn’t fit in the trunk of the Chevette anymore.”

  Winky whistled. My gut flopped. Either Taco Schnell was launching a second attack or Goober really was right when he’d said that people acted funny whenever money was concerned.

  “Tell me more about this Amsel guy,” Goober said.

  “I already told you what I know.” I peeled my eyes from the shabby RV tagging along behind us. “He’s your typical jerk-wad developer. He doesn’t give a rat’s about Sunset Beach. He just wants to cash in on the project and leave us with nothing but another beautiful view shot to hell by another lousy building.”

  “Why do you think he picked Sunset Beach?” Goober asked.

  “Because it’s my favorite place in the world,” I said angrily.

  “I doubt that. Has he got connections here?”