For Crying Out Loud

by Cathie Wayland

  Bernie smacked her lips, ran a tongue over them, and cleared her throat. “Okay…but I also remember seeing their picture flashed on the TV screen, and they didn’t look anything like Amanda. Those little girls had long, blond hair and neither one had a mole on her chin, if I recall.”

  I wasn’t about to be thwarted. “Okay…well…yeah, I remember seeing their pictures, too, but…well, jeez, Bernie…hair can be cut and dyed a darker shade—you know that. And, as for the mole, well…maybe…maybe the photographer digitally removed them when he spruced up the picture. I mean, you could tell it was a formal shot and not one just taken at home in the back yard.”

  Bernie mulled that over, still playing idly with the salt shaker, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger. “Okay…I’ll buy that…although I believe it’s less common nowadays to alter photos like you said, preferring to depict people as they really are. Besides, a mole like that is still considered a ‘beauty mark’, isn’t it? Her little mole certainly isn’t unattractive, and I’m sure nobody would cover it up. So?”

  “So…so, what do you think about my theory?”

  “I think…oh. Here comes our food. I think we should put your ‘theory’ on the back burner and enjoy our dinner. Okay with you?”

  It wasn’t but I acquiesced anyway. I may be impatient, and a little too creative and intense, but I was a good sport.

  * * * *

  By the time we returned to the condo, both of us were too full, too warm, and too tired to reflect over something as silly as a mole. Or, at least, that’s what we told ourselves, having exhausted the subject over dessert.

  “I’m going to—”

  “—Remove your brassiere—”

  “—Take off my bra—”

  “—And get comfortable,” we finished simultaneously. I made a face at Bernie and hurried to my bathroom, while she shuffled down the hall toward her own. It really irked me sometimes how much she enjoyed toying with me and my emotions. She took fiendish delight in magnifying my petty eccentricities. It annoyed me, yes, but it also made me laugh, so I had to give her credit for that. Laughing really is the world’s best medicine. Whenever we got to laughing over something, the troubles and grievances just evaporated.

  I couldn’t forget the time our parish priest—head of the small, parochial school where we’d taught—had taken the faculty out to dinner to celebrate the culmination of an especially long month, due to the ever-changing accreditation process schools must endure in order to maintain some semblance of equilibrium. A stuffed shirt with little or no humor running through his veins, he was a constant source of amusement for us. Bernie and I took special delight in playing practical jokes on the poor creature.

  The afternoon of the dinner at an up-scale but trendy restaurant, I phoned in a request for a birthday cake to be presented to the Reverend Pastor at the end of the meal. Knowing that this schmaltzy yet chic establishment made a huge fuss over patrons celebrating any kind of anniversary, I couldn’t wait until the cake, ablaze with candles, was placed before him. Of course Bernie was in on the brazen caper, and it was all we could do to keep our poise throughout the long, drawn-out meal, chatting with our peers as though we two innocents hadn’t a thing suspect up our sleeves.

  When the waiter, accompanied by three others, appeared with a cake, sizzling sparklers shooting off a thousand seeds of dazzling colorful light stuck on top, our dear boss nearly had a seizure right there on the spot. The poor man turned a delicious shade of purple, but maintained his dignity and hoity-toity-ness to near perfection as the four employees sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to him. Since it wasn’t even close to his birthday, I’d say the man earned a Congressional Medal of Honor for keeping cool under fire. He knew right away who’d been responsible. Our reputation was such that there was no question as to who the culprits were. Of course, our flushed and triumphant faces hadn’t helped either. Lucky for us the pompous old blowhard had been a good sport. It’d taken months for us to live down that prank, but we’d all had a great laugh at his expense, and that had been our goal. We’d been supremely satisfied.

  Still laughing to myself over my trip down memory lane, I joined Bernie in the living room. She made a face at me and said, “You know, dear, if you continue to wear that silly, vacant, half-baked expression, your face will freeze like that, and we’ll have no recourse but to send you packing to one of those mountain retreats. You know, where they are experienced in helping those who cannot help themselves.”

  I sent Bernie one of my most scathing looks but she just laughed. That irked me. “You are insufferable.”

  “I am, aren’t I?” she admitted. “And very good at it, too, I might add.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  I was up the next morning before the sun. I was so excited I just couldn’t sleep. And of course this was the morning that Bernie decided to sleep in later than usual. It was all I could do to keep a lid on my percolating emotions. Three times I went as far as her door, hand raised to knock, then thought better of it and went back to the living room to sip my coffee and pretend to read my novel.

  Seventeen minutes past eight—an indecent time for an ex-teacher to arise—Bernie made an appearance. I bit my tongue as she shuffled into the kitchen, found a can of Diet Dr. Pepper, popped the lid, poured it into a glass, grabbed the bagel bag and container of whipped cream cheese and settled in her chair. One glance my way and a crease puckered her forehead.

  “My God…you look as though you’re about to break out in hives. What’s the matter now? Finally decided to burn the brassieres and be done with them forever?”

  I bounced a little in my seat. “Bernie, I thought a lot about our mystery last night and am convinced that there are two Amandas upstairs. I would swear on a bible that the kidnapped twins are living upstairs.”

  Bernie took a bite from her bagel, chewed, nodded, swallowed, then muttered, “Oookay…”

  I brushed aside her lack of enthusiasm. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

  Bernie licked a glob of cream cheese off a finger and just stared at me.

  My excitement deflated like a popped balloon. “Gee, Bernie…I really expected more get-up-and-go from you.”

  Bernie smacked her lips, drank from her glass of soda, put everything down on the floor beside her chair, and stood. “That just about clinches it, doesn’t it?”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Well, what are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that you had a cocktail at dinner, read another chapter in your mystery novel, went to bed all keyed-up and dreamt an elaborate and bizarre sequence to boost your already too lofty imagination.”

  “What?”

  She grimaced. “Now don’t get all bent out of shape, Mike. I’m not saying that your conclusion or deduction or whatever is all hot air. We know for a fact that two little girls were kidnapped from a town not too far from our little resort haven. I’ll give you that. But. We’ve been here over a week and have actually only ever seen one little girl. One, Mike. One very adorable, pixie-haired darling.”

  My balloon of excitement shriveled into nothing. “I know, I know, but what about the mole that changes places? That can’t be just our imaginations and you know it. That blasted little mole has been seen on her left side and on her right side. How do we begin to explain that phenomenon? Huh?” When I only received an unblinking stare, I gave up. “Okay…okay…maybe I’m just being overly dramatic.” I closed my eyes, drew in a cleansing breath then looked up at my friend. “But…what if there are two little girls upstairs, and we ignore the possibility and the kidnappers escape? We’d be like accessories to the crime, wouldn’t we?”

  “I’m not throwing out your suspicions, Mike. I just don’t want to go off half-cocked. Today, we’ll listen and watch and see if we can come up with something more substantial than perceived misplaced beauty marks.”

  “Okay…but we’re running out of time…”

  “
Running out of time and sanity. By the time I get back to Missouri, who knows what senses I’ll have left? Jack will probably have me committed.”

  THIRTY

  After allowing a brief time for digesting breakfast, I dragged Bernie outside with the announcement that we should take a walk while the temperature was bearable. I knew walking was the very last thing she wanted to do, but I was so hyper she agreed to walk as far as the kiddie playground and back. Good enough.

  We’d no sooner reached the parking lot, however, than Bobby, Brenda, and little Amanda appeared around the corner. “Bernie,” I hissed, jabbing her for the hundredth time with my pointy elbow.

  “I see them. Hush,” Bernie replied from the side of her mouth. She slapped on her most ingratiating smile as the Teals approached. “Good morning.”

  Bobby grinned. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? You guys out for a walk?”

  “Just a short one. This ol’ body can’t take too much exercise in this humidity.”

  “Don’t you know it. The report is for occasional thunderstorms today, and it sure feels like a storm is brewing. Steamy as heck out here.”

  As I geared up for a whopper of a meltdown, having glued my eyes to little Amanda’s chin and noting the tiny mole on the right side of her chin, Bernie shoved me forward. I got her message. We said good-bye to the Teals and started walking.

  We trudged up the tree-lined street to the playground, pausing long enough to allow the Teals time to get into their car and drive off, then headed back to our complex. When the rattletrap disappeared around a corner, I let my shoulders relax. “Well. That’s it. I made a point to look at Amanda’s mole, and it was on the right side of her chin. This time, that is.”

  Bernie grunted. “Yes. I made a note, also. So, next time we see her, we will know whether you need meds or I need meds or the whole damn world needs meds.”

  “Yeah. So, what did you think about Bobby and Brenda? Brenda sure didn’t look like she was having a good time. Hasn’t from day one. Bobby, now, he’s different. He acts like he hasn’t a care in the world. I kept my eyes on him to see if he’d reveal any nervousness, but he handled himself like a pro. And that is suspicious in of itself.”

  “Yes, well I’ve always said they make an odd couple.”

  Seven minutes later we were back on our deck, dying for some AC. Bernie headed straight for the fridge, grabbed a Pepper, then collapsed onto a dinette chair with a weary sigh. I, of course, headed straight for my room to remove my undergarment. So adept at springing my girls, I was back in the kitchen, had fetched a lemonade, and was sitting across from my pal at the table in less than four blinks of an eye. She raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t start, Bernadette. This thing has hardly any alcohol and you know it.”

  That received a dry chuckle, which, of course, made me squirm with annoyance.

  I knew she was enjoying the slide show of emotions playing across my face when a sound overhead—faint but discernible—snatched the chuckle right out of her throat. Bernie clamped her mouth shut and held her breath, while my eyebrows shot up and I whistled. “Did you hear that?” She nodded. “Well, shouldn’t we go up and check that out?”

  Before Bernie could utter a word, I scrambled to my feet, dashed to the back bedroom and peered out at the parking lot. “My green Neon is the only car in sight,” I called back. “That battered old brown van of the Teals’ is gone.” I sprinted back to the living room. “Bobby and Brenda are still out. Let’s hurry.”

  With a grunt, Bernie capitulated.

  This time, Bernie led the way up the wooden staircase, and I trailed behind, my breaths coming out in little pants. I was allowing my imagination full rein, while Bernie, of course, was only seeking some answers.

  “We’re going to learn something. I know it,” I said in a stage whisper.

  “Hmmm…all I know is your inflated suspicions have tainted my own usually common sense to the degree that now even I am seeing bogeymen—or should I say, boo-daddies—under every bush and tree. You’d think I’d learn to take you with a grain of salt. But, oh, no…I don’t seem to learn.”

  I marched straight over to the Teals’ door and knocked. I sure as heck didn’t want to discover that while we were in our unit, they’d returned and Brenda was inside with Bobby just out on another errand. I pounded on the metal door but no one came to answer it.

  Bernie pressed her face to the sliding glass door and peered through the blinds, again to no avail. Since there were no other windows, we were stymied at further exploration. It was frustrating as hell.

  “I can’t stand this,” I moaned. “This whole thing is just about killing me. They might’ve just gone to The Pig and could be coming back any minute, and we haven’t learned a thing. And our vacation is almost over. And for a whole week, we’ve toyed with innuendoes and half-baked suspicions and now clues are running around all over the place. And everyone is as suspicious as heck, and I don’t trust any one of them as far as I can throw them—even Jorge. And we’ll leave never knowing the end to the story. Or worse, rescuing kidnapped babies.”

  “Sweetie, are you sure your degree was in English?”

  “Hush, Bernadette. You know what I’m trying to say.”

  “And that’s what unnerves me the most.”

  “Just hush.”

  “But you’re right. We did hear something…”

  “I know.”

  “So maybe, if we keep quiet, we’ll hear the noise again.”

  I crossed my arms against my unshackled bosom and rocked on my bare heels. “Ohh, the suspense is killing me.”

  “Well, one thing’s apparent.”

  “What?”

  “You wouldn’t make a good spy.”

  “Oh, I don’t know…the very fact that I don’t look like a spy is the reason I’d be perfect for the job. Just like Mrs. Pollifax.”

  “Who?”

  “The heroine in a delightful mystery series by Dorothy Gilman. Love ’em. Great stories. She’s older than I and manages to work as a spy in very convincing situations, since she literally stumbled into her new vocation when she—”

  “Michaela. Please. Focus.”

  “Oh, pooh to you, Bernadette. Get that rusty ol’ imagination of yours out of storage and put it to good use. I’m having a heck of a good time with this-this surveillance of ours. Enjoy the moment.”

  “If you’re finished with your ‘Carpe Dium’ moment, I will.”

  “About time.”

  Glancing left and right over our shoulders and peering through the deck slats, we determined that nobody was around—not even Jorge. We were safe to snoop about some more, stare through the blinds into the darkened interior, press ears against the front door, all the while pantomiming to each other wildly. We were a ridiculous composite sketch of Hercules Poirot and Magnum P. I and who? Lucy and Ethel? Very cool, from our perspective, but ridiculous to anyone else who may have observed our less-than-agile stumbling over cheap plastic patio furniture, and the inevitable head-bonking on the hummingbird feeder suspended mid-air by the front room window.

  Confident that we were on the verge of a major discovery, we were stunned and mortified, therefore, when Vicki’s lilting ‘yoo-hoo’ stopped us dead in our tracks.

  “Hey, y’all, what’s up?” Vicki demanded, hands on what were once hips, tapping her glitzy sandal. “You lose something? Lookin’ for that sweet, little family? They’ve gone to Charleston…saw them leave—”

  “Charleston? We assumed they were going to the ice cream shop again,” Bernie bellowed.

  “Or The Pig,” I added.

  “Well, honey, not this time. I saw them leave when you two started on your little walk. Then as soon as you two gals rounded that corner, they came toodlin’ back. Brenda went up to their apartment with little Amanda. She came back, draggin’ that poor lil’ darlin’ after her, bawlin’ her eyes out, got back in the car, and they were off. Course, I was out doin’ my daily Tai Chi and so was right there. As they were gettin’ in
to the car again, I hollered, ‘Where y’all goin’?’ And they told me, ‘Charleston’. ’Bout time they did somethin’ fun.” Vicki wriggled her hips and frowned. “So, what are you two up to? Whatever did you think you’d find up there? Seems mighty strange to see you, all stooped over, peerin’ into their window like that…what’re y’all lookin’ for?” Vicki fired her questions, non-stop, smiling but disgruntled.

  And as if that wasn’t enough, Lionel lumbered onto the scene, crashing through the hedgerow as though a man on a mission, beer in hand, cigar dangling from the side of his mouth. “What’s going on there, sweet pea?” he inquired of Vicki, all the while riveting his gaze on the two of us—guilty as sin and looking the part. Rarely had we been on this end of a scheme. Bernie and I had spent half our lives breaking up fights, disassembling student plans for pranks and machinations, and were successful in catching culprits in the act. Our record spoke for itself. We were gold-medal achievers. Being on the receiving end of unwanted microscopic attention was disconcerting, to say the least.

  Summoning my very best ‘I am in control’ posture, I returned Vicki’s penetrating gaze, eye to eye, all the while keeping my arms crossed against my bra-less chest. Managing to control a tremulous voice, I smiled down at the two neighbors who’d botched our snoop session so effectively.

  “Well…you see,” I explained, a little out of breath, “I’m out of Diet Coke,” It sounded ridiculous even to me. I saw Bernie flinch and knew she’d been as startled by the words as everybody else present. I tried to recoup. “You see…Bernie and I have just returned from-from a walk, and it’s so steamy and, uh, humid, and…” I swallowed, grimaced, cracked my neck, then hugged myself tighter. “And we’ve had such a tedious morning, doing odd jobs, here and there, you know, tidying up the condo and what not, and so, well, I’m just too tired to go to The Pig and…and…a Diet Coke would be nice.”