WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies: Viva La Valentine Edition

by Scott, D. D.

  I flipped the lid and stared in the box. A heart-shaped Key lime pie with a black raspberry and dark chocolate topping stared back at me.

  The clock struck twelve. We dropped our robes and slow walked to the bed. He put his arms around me. “I’ll give you your real present in the morning, sugar.”

  “This is my real present.” I hugged him harder and thought about my need to get rid of my LGP. Technically we’d taken care of QT’s business problems as we’d been hired to do. I didn’t think that was going to satisfy Gregor. But he didn’t care about QT, just the pies.

  Maybe I could learn to bake.

  ABOUT BUCK BUCHANAN

  For twenty-seven years Buck Buchanan conducted major investigations for the state of Florida. His cases ranged from homicide and narcotics smuggling to white-collar crime and official corruption. When he started spending more time fighting the system than the criminals, he hung up his badge. Today he maintains a small law enforcement consulting practice but devotes most of his time to civic works and writing. He conducts popular writers’ workshops in South Florida, edits books for several published authors, and writes crime fiction based on those cases he worked. He also writes zany prize-winning short stories such as the one in this anthology.

  THE VALENTINE GRINCH

  By Sheila Seabrook

  One

  Twenty-nine year old Amanda Goodwin felt like a Valentine Grinch. As she pointed her car north to make the drive from Spokane to her parents’ house, the commercialism of the holiday blared from the radio.

  Spend one hundred dollars and enter your name to win our Valentine’s Day thousand dollar shopping spree!

  This Valentine’s Day, give the one you love the most expensive piece of jewelry on the market!

  Blah, blah, blah.

  Outside the car, fog swirled through the darkness and dimmed the glow from the headlights. By the time she turned off the highway into the tiny west coast village of Cranberry Cove, enormous snowflakes had drifted down from the sky and covered the ground with a white blanket of snow.

  Cranberry Cove rarely got snow in mid-February, but a cold front had settled in the region to give the residents one last blast of winter.

  Amanda inched the car over the slippery streets and turned left at the Community Hall, where three days from now, on Valentine’s Day, Grandma Elvira was getting married. The hall’s front yard had already been decorated with heart shaped ornaments and cupids holding bows. Her grinchness reacted to the decorations with a mean and grumpy, “Bah humbug.”

  At the end of the street, she pulled the car up to the curb in front of her parents’ house and sat there, arms braced against the steering wheel, her frown so tight she was sure a smile would crack her face. With a grumbly grunt, she shouldered the car door open and stepped out onto the street.

  The next thing she knew, she was flat on her back with fat snowflakes landing on her face. Her ears were ringing with — was that laughter? — and something glided out of the fog and floated right above her face.

  “Grandpa?” She blinked against the throbbing pain in her head and stared up at the swirls of fog and snow.

  “Get up, bumpkin.”

  Amanda pushed up on her elbows and scrambled to her feet. “Who’s there?”

  But the street was empty, she was alone, and there was only one explanation for what she’d seen. Wishful thinking. She’d inherited the family grinchness from her Grandpa George, so it seemed appropriate she’d want to see him at this time of year. He’d hated Valentine’s Day as much as she did.

  Carefully stepping along the slick ice beneath her feet, she pulled her suitcase out of the trunk of the car, slammed the lid down, and headed toward the front door of her parents’ house. A gust of wind hit her in the face and sucked the breath from her lungs. She bent her head and shivered against the cold.

  Along with the decidedly anti-cupid-like mood, now she had a headache. She stepped carefully up the cement steps so she wouldn’t fall again, set her suitcase down beside her, and rapped her knuckles against the front door. Through the etched glass window on the door, she heard sixties music blaring, and saw the distorted figures of her parents dancing.

  Another shiver went through her and she reached into her coat pocket for her keys.

  “Pssst.”

  Amanda jumped back from the door and peered through the fog toward the front flowerbed. “Who’s there?”

  The top of a camouflage colored toque popped out. A snort came from deep within the greenery, and then the rest of the toque appeared, followed by a familiar grizzled and worn face. “It’s been so long since you visited me, bumpkin, it’s no wonder you don’t recognize your own grandfather.”

  “Gramps? What the hell?”

  “Don’t swear, bumpkin. You know how your grandma hates blasphemy.”

  Amanda stumbled backward on the porch landing, nearly slipping on the ice coated surface, stopping only when her back end hit the wrought iron rails.

  This wasn’t possible.

  She closed her eyes, shook her head, felt it throb from the knock on the ice. But when she reopened her eyes, the apparition had floated out of the shrubs and, hovering in the air like part of the fog, peered through the living room window.

  Amanda pressed against the railing. “No, no, no. You’re dead. I was at your funeral.”

  “Tell me something I don’t already know.” He cupped his hands around his eyes, pressed his nose to the window, and peered inside.

  “Seriously dead. Dead as a doornail dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.”

  “I agree, I’m dead. Now can we get past this, bumpkin?” With a sigh, he dropped his hands to his sides and turned toward her, the ghostly vision slowly settling into something more solid. Tall. Broad shoulders slightly stooped. Definitely her grandfather. “I need your help.”

  Amanda shifted against the railing. “It’s the stress. The holiday stress.All of the cupids and cherubs. And Grandma’s wedding —”

  “That’s why I’m here.” Grandpa stretched to his full six-foot-one height, and shuffled out of the bushes and on to the sidewalk without leaving a mark in the snow. “To stop the wedding.”

  “You’re just in my imagination.”

  “Here, I’ll pinch you.” He was suddenly on the landing before her, reaching one bony hand toward her, thumb and index fingers in the pinch position. Amanda skittered to the side and out of his reach. He let his arm drop. His bushy eyebrows lowered into a frown. “Are you afraid of me?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Amanda let out a nervous laugh and kept her gaze fixed on the vision before her, while her mind raced, backtracking through the last few hours of her road trip, almost positive that nothing had gone wrong. Until she’d slipped on the ice. She stopped cold. “Am I dead, too?”

  “No, bumpkin. Now about your grandma —”

  “Am I in the hospital? Unconscious?” She took a step forward and reached out one hand. “Maybe I’m fast asleep and when I wake up, you’ll be —”

  He reached out and pinched her cheek.

  Freaked out, Amanda jumped back and rubbed the side of her face. “Ouch. That hurt.”

  “Real enough for you?” A smirk obliterated the scowl. “But you know you’re awake, right?”

  She hedged, still uncertain. “Maybe.”

  “Bumpkin, I don’t have time for this nonsense. We have to stop the wedding. We can’t let that weasel Morty marry your grandma.”

  “What?” Amanda blinked, yanked out of her stunned state and back to — she glanced around her, then back at him — reality? She leaned forward and spoke slowly. “Gramps, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but you’re dead.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m dead. I’m not an idiot.” He started floating back and forth across the tiny area in front of her, forcing her to press against the front door so he wouldn’t accidentally touch her again. “Elvira is still my wife and I need to protect her.”

  “From what?”

  “Morty Weatherby is a con-artist. He wa
nts her money.”

  Amanda instantly thought of the state of her overdue credit cards. “Grandma’s got money?”

  Grandpa got this calculating look in his eyes. “If you help me out, I’ll make sure she leaves you a little money in her will.”

  “Hard to do when you’re dead.” She leaned forward and squinted through the fog at him. He looked exactly like her grandfather. If it wasn’t for the fog swirling through his body, she could almost believe he was really there. Still, he was up to something, she just knew it. Valentine’s Day brought out the worst in her grandfather. “I know for a fact that Mr. Weatherby was born in Cranberry Cove, eighty-five years ago, just like you.”

  Grandpa stopped pacing, bent at the waist to lean toward her, and seemed to grow six inches. “I’ve known that weasel since we were in the crib and I tell you, he can’t be trusted.”

  “The wedding is in three days, Gramps. Even if I was inclined to help you out, heck, even if I believed you were really here, there’s not enough time. Besides, I don’t want to break Grandma’s heart.”

  He shrank down to his regular size, his shoulders slumped. “What if I could prove to you that Morty’s not really in love with her? That the fricking bastard is just trifling with her heart? And after he has his way with her, he’ll discard her, like he’s discarded his past three wives?”

  A noise at the front door caught Amanda’s attention and Grandpa disappeared, jumping off the steps like he was forty years younger, slipping through the azalea bush, hiding behind the cedar tree, reminding Amanda of those spy penguins in the Madagascar movie. Except they were only animated and her grandpa was … most definitely dead.

  Behind her, the front door squeaked open, revealing her mom’s worried frown. Dora Goodwin had a reputation for getting the job done, which was why she was in charge of Grandma’s wedding. “Honey, what are you doing on the porch? Where’s your key? Is the front light burned out again? Come in, come in, before you freeze to death.”

  Amanda glanced back at the flowerbed. The fog had lifted and she could see quite clearly now. There was nothing there but the bushes covered by the new snow. Not a single footprint on the sidewalk, except for hers. Not a whisper of her grandpa’s voice in her ear, only the wind.

  With goose bumps spreading across her body, she grabbed her suitcase by the handle, and stepped into the warmth of the house.

  “Tom, Amanda’s here. And the front porch light is burned out again,” Dora called as she closed the front door behind her. “Oh, honey, you have snow all over your back. What happened?”

  Amanda plunked her suitcase on the rug. “I fell on the ice. Nothing to worry about, Mom.”

  “Did you hurt yourself?” Dora asked as she took Amanda’s coat and shook the snow off onto the front rug.

  “A little bump on the head. Nothing serious.” Except for the throbbing pain in her head and the vision of her grandpa. As she heard the soft soled sound of her dad’s slippers approach from the kitchen, she pushed away the thought.

  “Babycakes,” she heard him call out. “I found the whipping cream.”

  “Oh dear,” her mom sighed as she hung up Amanda’s coat and called out again, with more emphasis this time, “Tom, Amanda’s here.”

  He came around the corner, stopped when he saw her, and thrust the bright yellow can of whipping cream into his sweater pocket. Recovering quickly, he opened his arms and approached her. “We were getting worried about you. How are the roads?”

  Amanda stepped into his arms and hugged him back. “A little icy, but I still have my snow tires on.”

  “Good girl.” As he pulled back, the can fell out of his pocket. He picked it up and handed it to her mom, who set it on the ledge beside the front door.

  “What’s the whipping cream for?” Amanda asked as she peered into the living room, only to see her grandpa’s face pressed through the large glass window so it was half inside the house and half outside. She stepped back and bumped into her mom.

  “Nothing,” her dad said. He picked up her suitcase. “Come on. We’ve got your room ready.”

  Dora gave her a quick hug and released her. “Are you hungry?”

  “No.” Amanda watched Grandpa vanish in a poof of white light. “This may sound weird, but have you seen Gramps lately?”

  Tom chuckled and kept on walking, past the hallway and into the kitchen. “That’s my girl. Always the joker.”

  “Seriously, you haven’t seen Gramps hanging around?”

  Her mom wrapped one arm around Amanda’s shoulders and urged her toward the back porch. “What’s this about, honey?”

  “Has Grandma mentioned Gramps lately?”

  With the suitcase bumping the wall, her dad headed down the stairs and into the basement. “She talks about your Grandpa so often, I’m surprised Morty still wants to marry her.”

  Amanda peered over her shoulder, but her grandpa was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Grandma?”

  “Already asleep,” Dora said as Tom flipped on a light and Amanda got her first view of the room she’d be sleeping in for the next three nights.

  Cement walls. A single cot set up in the corner. An old ratty armchair that her mom had wanted to toss and her dad had wanted to keep. And Valentine decorations. Lots of Valentine decorations. There were red cardboard cutouts of Valentine hearts and grotesque cupids with bows. Enough for a massive wedding or a massive headache.

  Her head throbbed again, reminding her that she already had a headache. As she turned to face her parents, she rolled her neck a couple of times with hopes of releasing the tension. “Why am I sleeping here instead of my room?”

  Innocence replaced the guilt on their faces and her mom finally said, “Did we forget to mention we put a hot tub in there?”

  “A hot tub?”

  Her dad shuffled his feet and glanced at her mom. “Sorry about that.”

  “Why a hot tub?”

  Her mom said, “We thought you might bring a date for the wedding.”

  “Uh uh, Mom. No changing the subject until you answer my question.”

  “Not even a boy that’s a friend?” Her mom frowned. “Your father and I aren’t getting any younger, you know, and it would be nice if we had grandchildren before we died.”

  Amanda groaned. “Please, not the grandbaby lecture. I’m so tired, I could fall asleep standing up.”

  Thankfully, her parents took the hint, kissed her goodnight, and left her alone.

  Still fully clothed, she climbed between the sheets, pulled the covers up to her chin, and turned off the light. Darkness enveloped the room. She shivered beneath the heavy down quilt and waited for her grandpa to appear.

  Nothing, only the sound of her parents upstairs, getting ready for bed.

  Rolling onto her back, she stared into the darkness and tried to relax. But with every breath she took, her anticipation grew until she could stand it no longer.

  “Gramps, are you there?” she whispered into the dark. A flash of white lit up the center of the room and she bolted up in bed, the covers clutched to her chin, her heart thundering in her chest.

  “So you finally believe I’m real?” the ghost of her Grandpa George asked as he dragged the old armchair over to her bed and sat down.

  Certain she was awake and not hallucinating, she stared at him.

  “Close your mouth, bumpkin, and let me tell you the story of how Elvira and I met. Back in 1933, I was just a wee boy of six….”

  Two

  Amanda woke to a knock at the bedroom door and the sound of her dad’s voice. “Amanda, it’s your father.”

  Sheesh. It felt like only a few moments since Grandpa had left and she’d finally fallen asleep.

  Gramps?

  With a start, she sat up and looked around the room, her rabid gaze landing on the armchair. Sure enough, it was beside her bed instead of over in the corner where she’d first seen it.

  Her dad knocked again. “I’m opening this door, so make sure you’re decent.”

 
; With a groan, she pushed the pillow against the headboard, scootched back on the bed, and when the door swung open, the light from the hallway shone into the room. “What time is it?”

  “Almost noon. I didn’t want to disturb you, but your mom insisted. She’s making your grandma’s wedding cake and she’s got a list of things she wants us to do today.”

  Amanda forced enthusiasm and a smile into her voice. “Great. That’s why I’m here.”

  “I’ll make us a nice lunch —”

  “Don’t bother, Dad. I’m not hungry.”

  Tom glanced over his shoulder toward the staircase. “Don’t let your mother hear you say that. She always worries you’re not getting enough to eat.”

  “I gained ten pounds when I was here at Christmas. I hardly think she needs to worry about whether or not I eat.”

  “Then come upstairs and eat so I don’t worry.”

  “Let me just wash my face and brush my teeth first.”

  “Don’t take too long. Your mother is running in twelve different directions at once and she’s got me spinning in circles after her. There’s no rest with that woman.” The frustrated tone of his voice softened and he huffed out a sigh. “Don’t make me come back down here to get you.”

  “I won’t.”

  As he shut the door behind himself, Amanda forced herself out of bed and looked down at the clothes she still wore from yesterday. They were wrinkled from sleeping in them, but until she found out what was on her mom’s list, there was no point in a shower and fresh clothes.

  One glance in the mirror confirmed she looked as bad as she felt.

  “You’re insane anyway so who cares?” she muttered at her reflection.

  “You should care, bumpkin.”

  Startled, Amanda whirled around. “Gramps?”

  He came through the wall like it wasn’t even there, the fuzzy image of his camouflage colored toque catching her attention first.