by Lizz Lund
“Really?” K. turned around for a better look.
I made the left onto Good Drive, but the car continued past us up Harrisburg Pike. It was a green Crown Vic.
After depositing K. and his treasure, I trundled on home. It was getting dark and a fine, icy mist came swirling down. The windshield wipers slipped in and out of time with the radio, the driver’s side wiper smearing a big icy blotch over my side of the windshield. Great, another thing to buy/replace. Feh. I was thinking a night home with Vinnie sounded a lot cozier than meeting James at the Darn Boor.
I pulled into the garage. Vinnie was waiting for me inside the front hall, as usual. “Anyone interesting call?”
“Mgaw-ooomph.”
“Really?” I checked the voicemail and found nothing. I could have sworn he said Ma called. Also, no word from James, so I figured we were still ‘on’.
I changed sweaters for something that could double as date-worthy, without being too obvious: a semi-scoop-neck red cashmere pullover. I threw on a grey blazer at the last minute; so I wouldn’t look too much like a date (in case this wasn’t) and more like a business meeting (which it probably was.)
I fed and petted Marie, went back downstairs and did the dinner thing for Vinnie. While I waited for him to finish, I indulged in a sip of mug o’Merlot.
“You be good. I’ll see you later.” I patted Vinnie on the head, and went back out into the tundra.
I found the Barn Door after passing it by and re-circling several hundred times. No wonder it was a local watering hole. You couldn’t find it unless you were a cow.
But inside it was cozy and warm and had a good share of patrons. I looked around for James.
I found him sitting at a table by himself, with a newspaper. “Well, there you are, Kitchen.”
Kitchen? Hmm. Definitely not a date. “Sorry to be late. Wow, it was tough finding this place!”
James folded his paper. “Yes, I forgot the first time can be somewhat geographically challenging. My bad. Beer?” He poured me a glass of beer from a pitcher that sat on the table.
“Thanks.” Well, beer was a nice change, right? I noticed that at least it wasn’t Krumpthfs.
A petite blonde with red and green streaked bangs bounced up to our table. “Hello? My name is Heather, and I’ll be your server tonight. Would you like to hear our specials?”
“Please,” James answered.
And so on. The specials consisted of a lot of items I suspected were headed toward a dumpster. I stuck with standard fare: cheeseburger and fries. James ventured on the adventuresome side and chose the Chef’s plate: a thick-cut pork chop stuffed with chicken liver, mushrooms and kale.
“So, how are the new clients coming?” I asked, attempting at some business-like small talk.
“Swimmingly! I never dreamed holiday stress could be so profitable.”
“That’s great.”
“And the catered gift cards are selling like hotcakes. You’d better be prepared to be very busy after the first of the year.”
“That’s wonderful!”
James nodded. “It seems like we’ve found quite the niche.”
Heather came back with our orders. “Anything else?”
James looked at me. I shook my head.
“Great. Enjoy your meal!”
I looked at my dish. It was completely pedestrian: an overcooked frozen burger with a side of soggy fries. I looked at James’ plate: his pork chop looked fried.
We ate our meal somewhat awkwardly, amidst the usual pleasantries about the weather and more talk about his clients, yada, yada. And of course, with James continuing to outline the coming months’ calendar of events. Which, while not date-worthy, provided more than a glimmer of hope work-wise.
Heather returned. “Anything else?”
James nodded. “Just the checks.”
Checks?
“Sure. Two?”
“Yes, please.”
Well. Decidedly not a date.
After some more awkward banter, Heather returned with our checks. “Gee, it’s too bad you didn’t come tomorrow night.”
“Why’s that?” asked James.
“Wednesdays are BOGO nights. Buy one entrée, get the other free.”
James raised his eyebrows. “Well, we certainly will take that under consideration, won’t we Mina?”
“Umm… sure.” I wondered how many times I could wash my hair on Wednesday nights.
We paid for our meals, with James insisting he leave the tip. I have no idea what that was all about. Then we walked out to the parking lot.
He held the van door open for me. “Well, goodnight. Thank you for meeting me for dinner.”
“Oh, sure. Thanks for inviting me.”
And that’s when James leaned over and kissed me on the forehead.
I’m so confused. It wasn’t a date, was it? We talked only business, right? And we split the bill, no? Yeeshkabiddle.
I sang at the top of my lungs and hot-footed it home, determined to make it all the way without incident. My wake-up call from Chef was going to roll around pretty quickly, it was already close to seven-thirty.
At home, I opened and closed the fridge a half dozen times searching for a beverage. I’d had enough beer and didn’t want any wine. And considering the evening’s fare, was seriously considering going to the store for Tums. I settled on distracting myself with the news. Vinnie settled on snuggling next to me on the sofa.
An extremely flustered post office manager squinted at the camera lights shining on him.
“So, you’re saying, that the counterfeit stamps did not originate from the post office?”
“No, sir. That’s why they’re counterfeit.”
The reporter looked like he wanted to palm slap himself and/or the post office manager.
“What should people do, if they find they’ve purchased bogus stamps?”
“Well, the first thing, is you should always buy your stamps from the post office. Or online at usps.com.”
The reporter rolled his eyeballs. “That’s true. But if someone is unlucky enough to have purchased them elsewhere, then what?”
“Report it. The first thing you should do is report it to your local post office.”
“What will you do then?”
“We’ll ask the person where they bought the stamps, if they have any left, and still have the returned mail bearing the counterfeit stamp.”
“What happens to the shop owners who sold the counterfeit stamps?”
The man shook his head. “Nine times out of ten, these guys think they’re buying discounted stamps they can turn around for a profit. They have no idea.”
“But the stamps help you to track down the counterfeit operation?”
“Eventually. Sometimes. It’s a steady problem. It sure does give us a lickin’.”
The reporter stared at the manager. He nodded back energetically.
He turned and faced the camera. “And that, my friends, is how counterfeit stamps are giving the post office a licking.”
Vinnie and I exchanged groans, and the phone rang.
“You’re finally home! Didn’t you get my message?” It was Ma. I frowned at Vinnie, wondering if he’d figured out how to erase my voicemails. Then again, maybe he just forgot to write down the message. Ha, ha.
“Sorry. No, I didn’t. How’s Ethel? And Ike? And Aunty?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m hiding.”
“Huh?”
Ma sighed. “It’s getting a bit chaotic. I’m holed up at Wired Coffees.”
“Internet coffee house?”
“Yep.”
“Well, at least you can work a little while you’re away. You won’t be so bogged down when you get back to the office, right?”
“I suppose. Right now it feels like those little brats are never going to see the light of day.”
“But she’s not due for another week or so, right?”
“Week. Year. Whatever.”
“Is
Ethel getting a little emotional?”
“Ethel’s fine. It’s Ike. He cries at the drop of a hat. And your Aunt has OCD. She’s re-folded and re-sorted the baby clothes and toys a thousand times. And every time, she says the same thing over every blessed one of them. ‘Isn’t that sweet?’ ‘Wasn’t that thoughtful?’ ‘Why in the hell did someone buy this?’ You know, the usual.”
I took a breath, and wished I’d eaten some Tums. A bottle of them. “Well, it won’t last forever.”
“Thank goodness for that.”
I opted for a change of subject. “How’s the coffee shop?”
“Café. And it’s actually rather sweet. Even if it is work. Speaking of, how’s your work going?”
Insert frozen-deer-in-headlights stare here. “Oh, great.”
“Please don’t tell me your still doing Santa’s Sidekick shifts?”
“Umm… a few. But I met with James and it sounds like he’ll have some catering jobs for me. And I had a temp job.”
“A temp job, really? In an office?”
“Yes.”
“That’s wonderful. How did it go?”
I counted a beat. “It was kind of a dead end.”
“Well, that’s too bad. How about Squirrel Run? Don’t they have any work for you?”
“Oh, yes. Actually, tomorrow morning. I’m helping with breakfast.”
“Breakfast? Goodness that sounds early. I suppose you’ll have to be there before eight.”
“Actually, more like four-thirty.”
“In the morning?”
“Yep.”
“Well. I better let you go then. I’ll call you tomorrow. What time do you think you’ll be home?”
“Hmm. The breakfast is at five so I’m not sure.”
“Good grief, what are they, farmers?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll call you around nine. Not before.”
“Okay.”
“And Mina?”
“Yes?”
“Your Aunt’s going to quiz you about some paint swatches she sent you.”
“Thanks for the heads up.”
“You’re welcome. Besides which, I sent you some I’m sure you’ll like much better.”
I pounded my noggin gently against the kitchen cabinet. Then we said our bye-byes and hung up.
I went upstairs, tucked Marie in, washed up and headed for my jammies. The phone rang again. I considered not paying that bill just to shut the darn thing up.
“Sorry, Toots. Miriam and me’s got a question for you.”
“Shoot.” Well, at least Vito had called and not invited himself over to ask my advice dans le boudoir, ha ha. Sheesh. I’ve got to start cutting back on reading French cookbooks…
“The thing is, Miriam and me realized we can’t enter the peanut butter, pretzel and bacon thing, on account of bacon’s not so kosher.”
“You don’t say?”
“Yeah, it should’ve been second nature for us. We got too caught up in the moment, getting excited about the Concord glaze and all.”
“At least you realized it now, before you entered.”
“Are you kidding? Boy, would that have been humiliating.”
“I’m not so sure about humiliating, but you definitely would have been disqualified.”
“We figured hanging around with the St. Bart’s gang got us immune to bacon, what with all the breakfasts and all.”
“I can understand that.” And I could. I once worked my way through “The Joy of Butter” and eventually became so accustomed to using copious amounts of the stuff that cooking with a couple of sticks butter became de rigueur. That was, until Auntie’s eyebrows flew off her head once she understood how much I’d infused in a béchamel. I was then instructed to keep the butter to my brioche and not much else, as far as her consumption was concerned.
“So, the thing is, we’re trying to figure out something else. Keeping the kosher food in mind, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But the other thing is, Miriam’s got the Concord glaze thing down. And it goes great with ham, bacon, shellfish – all the food that’s not kosher!”
“That’s a problem.”
“I’ll say! We were hoping you could suggest some substitutes?”
“Hang on.” I headed downstairs to quickly check my cookbooks. I cringed at the idea of assisting, but winced more at the thought infusing lifelong repentance onto some unsuspecting orthodox judges, through no fault of their own.
After discussing the pros and cons of turkey bacon, imitation crab and the like, we decided the safest route would be for Vito to purchase his supplies at Kosher City, a retail grocer in Lebanon.
“That’s great, Mina! It’s a swell idea! Miriam will love it! We can even buy some Lebanon baloney while we’re there!”
I’m pretty sure the Lebanon baloney Central PA knows and loves is not prepared in a kosher fashion. But who knows? I was impressed that Vito was becoming a one-stop shopper.
I headed back upstairs, jumped into my jammies, and settled into bed with Vinnie and my “Dictionary of Culinary Substitutions” book, now that my interest was piqued. I set the alarm clock, flipped the pages toward, “bacon” and hunkered down for a good read.
Someone sneezed.
“Bless you.”
Another sneeze. I looked at Vinnie but he was sound asleep with his paw over his nose.
A third sneeze.
I leaped out of bed and a hand grabbed my ankle, hard. I went crashing down.
“Ow!”
“Quiet! I’ll hurt you a lot worse if you don’t shut up!” Dexter struggled out from under my bed, pulling at my ankle with one hand, and holding a gun in the other.
I stared at the gun and feared I would tinkle. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? When the hell were you going to be here? Does your phone ever stop ringing? I’ve been lying under your bed rolling around in cat fluff since five-thirty, waiting for you to get home.”
“Right. Sorry. I mean, huh?”
“Shut up and stand up. Careful like.”
I did as I was told. “How did you get in here?”
Dexter gave me a dirty smile. It was dirty. It looked like he hadn’t brushed his teeth in a month. Yick. “Through the garage, of course.”
“But I didn’t leave it open!”
“You didn’t need to. I have my own garage door opener.”
“But I never had another opener…”
He waved me off with his pistol. “Let’s just say I got a universal remote. After I watched you drive off and close your garage door a few times, I finally got the entry code. All wireless. Sometimes it takes a few tries. But eventually I get in and out of anywhere I want.”
Vinnie came up behind him on top of the bed, and head-butted Dexter’s side affectionately. Just my luck to have a cat who likes psychos.
“What the?” he swung around and slapped Vinnie soundly across the jaw. Vinnie went flying to the other side of the room.
“Stop it! He was only being friendly!”
“I hate cats.” Dexter took aim at Vinnie, while Vinnie shook his noggin and tried to get his bearings.
“Don’t shoot him!”
He pointed the gun at me. “You scream one more time, the kitty will get it, understand?”
I nodded and gulped and tried to keep from crying. I’d comply. But I doubted Dexter was a man of his word. I prayed Vinnie would get back to his normal self and scram.
“That’s better.” Dexter took aim again at Vinnie.
“NO!”
“You scream again, and he gets it, got it?” Dexter kept his gun on Vinnie. Vinnie, in his usual style, sat in the corner and began grooming his whiskers.
“What do you want from me?”
Dexter grinned. “You’re real excitable like. That’s fun. It’s a shame I can’t off your cat in front of you, it would be fun to watch. But you’d make too much noise. We’re going to make this look like an accident.”
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“Accident?”
“You’ll see.”
I felt a little faint and leaned on the dresser.
“Oh, no you don’t. Downstairs, sister.”
I headed down the stairs in my bare feet. Marie shrieked from her bedroom.
“What’s that? Not another one that talks, right?” Dexter demanded.
“No, she’s just a cockatiel. She doesn’t talk. She just lays eggs. Sometimes. But that was a long time ago. Mostly she just watches musicals.”
“You’re nuts, you know that?”
“I don’t dictate viewing preferences.”
We got to the landing and he pointed the gun in my face again. “Get your coat and shoes on, slowly. Don’t get cute.”
I shoved my feet in my loafers and pulled on my coat.
“Now, allow me.” Dexter pushed the gun in my back, and me into the garage ahead of him. He shoved me out of the garage and into my driveway. Then he reached into his car – the dark green Crown Vic – and remoted my garage door closed. He opened his trunk.
“Hop in.”
“You want me to ride in the trunk?”
“It’s easier this way. Trust me.”
“Look, I won’t say a word. Promise. I could ride in the back?” I stalled. Being locked inside the trunk wouldn’t exactly help a last minute get away. Besides which, trunks aren’t heated and it felt like it was about five degrees. All right, it was probably thirty; but I was in my jammies, you know?
“Nice try. Get in.”
I reluctantly climbed in, and crawled into a fetal position toward the back. The trunk door slammed shut. Then I heard Dexter start the ignition and pull away.
A cell phone rang. “Yeah, I got her. Finally. Looks like we’re on our way.”
The conversation on the other end must have relayed something he didn’t like. “I understand you. We’re coming.”
Even after a short distance, I couldn’t tell where we were. Except that Dexter was obviously finding every bump in Lancaster County to God knows where. I tried very hard not to cry. Getting upset wouldn’t help me get out of this jam. Besides, my nose would only get stuffed up, and frozen boogers are the worst.
I had to think of something – but what? I racked my brain as to how to smooth talk Dexter into letting me inside the car. Maybe that way, I could make a break for it later. I was pondering my somewhat limited options when suddenly, the car veered onto what felt like a dirt road, and rolled to a stop.