Jammed

by Deany Ray

  “Well. Isn’t that wonderful?” Then her expression turned from pleased to worry. “How’s your stomach, darling?”

  “I feel fine today.” I shrugged. “I don’t know what was up with that.”

  “You should let me rub your foot! If you rub circles counter clockwise in the center of the arch, it makes your tummy better!”

  Odd.

  “And you need some ginger tea.” She opened a cabinet door.

  “No need for tea or foot rubs. But coffee, please. And cookies?”

  She fixed me a plate and set it on the table. “Jam-filled butter cookies,” she announced with pride. “Made with the wonderful jam that Donald brought last night. Wasn’t that so kind?”

  I cringed at the name. Time for a subject change. “Do you have a class to teach today?” I poured a cup of coffee and sat down at the table.

  She settled in across from me with an eager smile. “Isn’t Donald just so dreamy?”

  I should have run away right then. But I wanted cookies. I tried to see the bright side. She was only trying to help in her strange, misguided way. “Mom, I appreciate it. But Donald’s not my type.”

  “What is your type, sweetheart? Describe him to your mother, and I will keep an eagle eye out until I find him. I meet lots of people.”

  “Mother, no!” Had my life come to this? With my mom out cruising Springston to reel in a man for me?

  “I don’t have a type,” I said.

  If I did, he’d be tall and muscular. Athletic. Dark brown hair. Gorgeous deep blue eyes. And he’d have this sexy way of running his hand all through his hair. And sometimes I’d catch him watching me. And he’d watch me with a devilish grin that would make me kind of melt. Then it hit me. That was Alex. I’d described someone I despised. Who was not my type at all. My type was most definitely not an asshole jerk.

  I stuck a whole cookie in my mouth.

  “Theeth are guh,” I told my mom.

  She looked at me, concerned. “You know that I just want the very best for my only daughter. Donald is a nice young man from a fine Springston family. And he called this morning! To ask how you were doing!”

  Why was she acting thrilled to death about a stupid call? As if hitting numbers on a phone made the man a genius.

  I wrapped some cookies in a napkin. I’d have breakfast in the car; I had to get away. “Mom, I need to run. I’ve got to meet the girls.”

  “What are you three up to at this time of the day?”

  “Oh, we’re just…you know.” How should I explain? “We’re…going to see some guy. He’s kind of a friend of a friend.”

  That got her attention. “How interesting! A guy! Tell your mother more about this nice young man.”

  “It’s not that kind of visit. I’m not going on a date!” With a drug dealing friend of Hector Elkins? That would be…well, yuck.

  My mother grabbed my hand. “Honey, I’m just concerned. I don’t want you to be lonely.” Then she got that look that meant she had an idea. And that usually signaled trouble. “You know!” She grabbed my hand. “Cooler weather’s coming soon.” Then her voice grew softer. “It’s nice to have a man to keep you warm in bed.”

  I leapt up from my chair. “Thank you for the cookies.”

  “You know, Donald mentioned to me that he was free tonight,” she trilled in a sing-song voice.

  Why was I not surprised that some other lucky girl had not already snatched him up?

  “And tonight’s a full moon. You know what that means!”

  “He turns into a werewolf?” That might be an improvement.

  “Things tend to get more playful when the moon is full. Couples enjoy each other more.” She giggled. “If you get my drift.”

  “Man, I am so late. I need to leave right now.” I frantically looked around. Where did I put my car keys?

  “Why, one night just last month when the moon was full, your father and I…”

  “Mom! I do not want to know.” I looked in my purse and on the counter. I needed to find those keys.

  Just then my father came into the kitchen, yawning.

  “Your mother’s right,” he said. “There’s nothing like a full moon.” Then he danced my mother around the room. “Boom Chicka Boom Boom!” he yelled.

  Keys or not, I fled.

  In the blessed quiet of my car, I suddenly remembered why I couldn’t find my keys in any of the likely places. Celeste had given them to Gil. And now they were underneath the floor mat just as Celeste had promised. I quickly picked them up and sped away to safety. Although safety was a weird word for a meeting in a graveyard with a likely criminal.

  ***

  I looked for the tall monument by the north gate that Elkins had described. Then I parked close by, keeping an eye out for a man who might be Mickey. But Resting Acres Cemetery was quiet and seemingly deserted with only me and concrete angels and the occasional concrete lamb. Given the fact that someone kind of scary wanted to run me out of town, I felt very nervous, even in the light of day. I sat back and ate my cookies.

  A little while later I was glad to see Marge’s car jump wildly over a curb and come to a screeching halt.

  As she hopped out, she looked serious. “Let’s do this thing,” she said.

  Celeste got out more slowly. “Hey, girl,” she said to me. Then she looked at me and frowned. “Is that a pajama top?”

  Crap.

  “I left in a hurry,” I said. I ran my hand over my head. Had I even brushed my hair?

  “Well never mind,” Celeste said. She glanced over the fence at the graves. “Most of the people in this place don’t care much what you wear.”

  We began to walk. And we hadn’t gone very far when we came up on a wooden hut that had seen much better days. It was half hidden behind tall bushes. Through the filthy windows, I could just make out the tops of some shovels and a rake.

  “Shhh.” Marge held up a hand. “Listen. Do you hear something? I think somebody’s there.”

  Sure enough, someone was moving around inside. That was good, I guessed; it meant we were on to something. But a chill ran through my body. This could be very bad.

  My friends plastered their backs against the wall, and I did the same. They seemed to know what they were doing. Somehow – in the Laundromat or nail salon or waiting tables at the diner – they’d learned a little something about being super sleuths. But how? And why? It was a mystery to me.

  Very conveniently, the hut had three small windows, perfect for three spies. So, without moving from our places, we cut our eyes toward the windows to try to take a peek inside. Through the caked-on dirt, I could just make out a tiny man. He was squatting on the ground, hard at work on something. A big barrel sat beside him.

  He stood up and walked over to a large box. Did he take out a…jar of jam? Was this a tea party or a drug deal? What was going on?

  He emptied the jar into the barrel, then went back to the box for more. He pulled out an armful of jars and made his way back to the barrel where he emptied them as well. I glanced over at my friends. Celeste shrugged her shoulders. Marge just looked confused.

  The guy looked kind of angry. And what was that tall, slender thing leaning against the wall? Oh. He had a rifle. I scooted further from the window. I hoped I wouldn’t throw up like I did when I got really nervous. Because I guessed the barfing sounds would kind of tip him off.

  Then, hellacious hazelnut creams! A phone went off. Oh yeah, it was my phone. My stupid, stupid phone went off! With their crime-fighting instincts still intact, my friends ever so slowly and quietly began sneaking toward the bushes. And me? Well, I just froze.

  The famous Charlie Cooper! Who works for the cops in Boston was too scared to even move. I stood there like a target. I looked left and right and then I was eye to eye with the jam-jar dude who was glaring at me through the dirty window. He didn’t seem pleased at all to have an unexpected guest. I fumbled through my purse until I found the phone with its incessant buzzing. Just shut up, I thought. I
meant to reject the call, but in my nervous state, I must have hit the answer button.

  Then oh, hell. The short guy grabbed his rifle while the captain’s voice from Boston droned on inside my purse. Hello! Hello! Cooper! Cooper, where are you? I hope you’re not in Springston.

  Oh, man. I couldn’t breathe.

  Mickey burst out of the hut like an explosion. Or I presumed that it was him. There was no time for introductions. A flash of movement caught my eye as Celeste and Marge ran by. They had not been fast enough to hide behind the bushes. Great. So my new friends might die too because of my dumb-ass cell. What kind of detective doesn’t know to turn off her stupid phone when she’s trying to be sneaky?

  Marge and Celeste headed deep into the graveyard, and I followed close behind. Mickey shot the rifle in the air and then ran toward us, screaming “You better run, you damn broads! You mind your own damn business!”

  I ducked behind a gray stone mausoleum. Frantically, I looked around. Which way had Marge gone? I couldn’t see Celeste.

  “Who sent you here?” Mickey yelled.

  “Cooper, are you there?” asked the voice on my phone.

  “Where did you fools run to? Show your stupid faces!” the little man screamed.

  Even my purse seemed mad at me. “Cooper, are you okay? Cooper! Pick up the phone!”

  Finally, I answered in a whisper. “This is not the best time, sir. Can I call you back?” Note to all clueless detectives: don’t take a call while being chased.

  “Why are you whispering? Oh, never mind! But let me hear from you. And Cooper? You stay safe.”

  From my hiding place, I watched Mickey run by with his rifle, a wild look in his eye.

  “Yes, sir. Safety first.”

  When Mickey was out of sight, I ran the other way, hoping to catch up with my friends. Safety in numbers, I thought. Man, but I was out of shape! I needed to work out. And it didn’t help that I was clumsy. I tripped over a thick tree root, sending my glasses flying into a pile of leaves. And now my day was perfect. A mad man was chasing me, and I was nearly blind.

  I got down on all fours and felt around to see if, by some stroke of luck, I could find my glasses. As I crawled forward, my knees touched something that didn’t feel like dirt. It wasn’t ground – but air. What? Air? And then I was falling, falling, falling. I landed with a thud about six feet below the ground. Oh, no. Had I landed in a grave?

  I wanted to call out to my friends. But I had to keep quiet, of course. Because what if Mickey heard? Then my little hole in the ground would suddenly become the perfect spot for me. Leave it to Charlie Cooper, they’d say. She fell into her grave before she was even dead.

  If I ever got out of there, I thought, I’d do anything at all except hunt down criminals. I’d be a garbage person! A dog poop picker up! Anything that didn’t bring me face to face with angry men who carried rifles.

  I tried to pull myself up, but the dirt walls were way too high. I dug a shoe into the dirt, but couldn’t get a foothold. Plus, I’d landed on my arm which kind of hurt like hell. And my ankle was so sore. I was absolutely stuck.

  I tried to calm myself by looking on the bright side. Could there be a bright side? Hey! I didn’t think that Mickey would think to look down there in an open grave. It was the perfect hiding place! Unless no one ever found me. Then it would be an awful hiding place. The worst!

  And whose grave was this anyway? Surely in a day or two, someone would be stopping by – some mourners, perhaps, or the funeral home. Then I would be saved. But what would I say then? Never mind me. Excuse me! Could you give me a hand up? Sorry for your loss.

  If I had to fall into a grave, I wish I’d thought to grab my purse. Like my mother always said, always have your phone nearby for emergencies. If I only had my cell, I could call 911.

  And then it hit me: I’d blown the perfect chance to try and help myself. All the time that I was being chased, I had a cop right there! Right there in my purse, yelling out my name. I should have whispered to him that I was still in Springston behind the mausoleum and that I needed help – I needed help right then! The captain could have put in a call to Patrick Snow.

  Of course, he would have fired my stupid self for staying on the case. And I needed the money bad. But I should have told him to help me. Cause fired is better than dead. Being broke is way better than being gone at twenty-nine. I could have saved myself. And saved Celeste and Marge.

  I cringed when I thought about the danger that I’d put them in by not taking just two seconds to turn off my phone. Had they gotten away from Mickey?

  But wait! Did I hear something? I did. There were footsteps coming closer. I heard someone breathing. Then a shadow moved across the grave. It was much too tall to be Mickey. It must be Celeste or Marge. Thank goodness! I’d been found. But how did they know that I was there? They really were amazing.

  “I love you!” I cried. “You’re the absolute best! The best detective ever!” And then I thought Dunderhead! You shouldn’t talk so loudly.

  “Is the little man gone?” I whispered.

  But the voice that answered didn’t belong to either of my friends. It was way too deep. It was way too masculine.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I don’t see the little man. But this big guy right here is pretty pissed. Damn it, Charlie. What the hell? How can I do my job when you keep screwing around in my business?”

  Alex? Why was Alex there?

  He peered down into the hole. And although I was half blind, I could still see that he looked scary mad. But I didn’t care. It was Alex! I was saved!

  “You got lucky this time. Cause it’s me and not that little dude who was chasing after you. So you can come out now.”

  “Well. The trouble is…you see, I’m kind of stuck.”

  The scowl turned into a know-it-all grin. “And that’s why you should leave the big job to the experts.”

  I stared up at his blue eyes. Well, glazed doughnuts and a muffin! Those were some amazing eyes! Why did he have to look so crazy sexy while he was being such an ass? And that was with my fuzzy vision. I wished I had my glasses on to take in the view.

  “Careful where you walk,” I called. “I dropped my glasses somewhere.”

  “Too bad, how sad. Boo hoo! And now look at you, Miss Super Sleuth, stuck in a great big hole.” The jerk was cooing at me in a baby voice. “So did The Daring Girl Detective see something big and scary? Did she stop having fun? Did our little hero learn that solving crimes is hard?”

  Well, yes! In fact, I had indeed learned that very thing. Not that I’d tell his stupid self. “Can you please just get me out of here?” I called.

  He raised a brow in mock concern. “But I can’t just reach in and pull you out. What do you propose? Or do you need a real cop to figure out a plan?”

  “Yes, you win!” I shouted. “Just get me out of here.”

  “Well, as luck would have it, there’s a step ladder in my car. I’ve been helping my brother on the weekends with some painting jobs. Hang on. I’ll go grab it.” He paused. “If you say pretty please.”

  Damn.

  “Pretty please. And quit being such an ass.”

  He grinned and pointed at me. “Don’t run off while I’m gone.”

  During the five minutes it took him to get back with the ladder, I had time to wonder: What was he doing here? How much had he seen? At least enough to know that a mad man with a rifle had been coming after me. Where was Mickey, anyway? I hoped Alex hadn’t gone far. And had he been following my friends and me? Could he possibly be scared that we might solve the case before he could get all the glory for himself?

  When my hero returned to the scene, he gently tumbled the ladder down one side of the grave while I stood on the other, far back against the dirt wall. Then he was able to lift me out by grabbing hold of my waist (which – darn it – felt really good).

  Then he had the nerve to laugh. “Well, look what I just found. I’d better call the coroner and tell him he messed
up! Because I just reached into a grave and pulled out a live one. She’s kind of pretty too.” He cocked his head and studied me. “Do you have on pajamas?”

  “Long story. How will you get your ladder back?”

  “Oh, the people here can get it out. I’ll come by later for it.”

  He still hadn’t put me down. And I didn’t mind. I could feel the hard, warm muscles of his arms through the thin fabric of my top.

  “So,” he said. “Have you ever tried a gym? A much safer way to exercise than running through a graveyard. And the gyms, they keep the riffraff out. You won’t see a single rifle-toting fool running on the treadmills. No chance of bullets raining down on the very sexy legs of wannabe detectives.”

  “Instead of being mean, could you help me find my glasses?”

  Gently, he put me down. And soon he handed me my glasses. “Think about contact lenses. Since you seem to be intent on playing chase with criminals and tumbling into graves and doing the world’s most amusing limbo.”

  “My corneas are too sensitive for contacts.”

  “Charlie!” It was Celeste, who was walking slowly with an out-of-breath and red-faced Marge.

  My tall-haired friend looked startled to see me standing side by side with Alex. She reached out to touch my arm. “Thank goodness you’re okay,” she said.

  “We looked for you all over!” Marge squeaked.

  “This one knows how to hide,” Alex grinned at me. “You have to look high and low for her. Emphasis on low.” The guy was having too much fun.

  But his mood soon changed. He gave us all a stern look. “Listen up, you three! Don’t you know that this is an official investigation of the Springston and Boston police? And messing with that kind of thing is against the law. As well as dangerous. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” we said in unison.

  “How did you even find us?” I rubbed my leg, which had started aching. “What are you doing here?”

  “And that little guy,” Marge whispered, “what happened to him, anyway? Is he still around, you think?”