Life, Love, & Laughter

by S. L. Menear

  “Don’t worry, I found the handbag. I guess the perp didn’t know its value, or it was too big to hide, so he threw it away. Oh, and I called Black Stallion Publishing and explained what happened to you. They were very understanding and send their best wishes.”

  Tracie’s eyes welled with tears of joy as she smiled at the good news.

  “I also found your author business card and called the phone number but only got your answering machine. Is there anyone you want me to notify?”

  “No.”

  “No?” He raised his eyebrows. “No parents?”

  “No, not living”

  “I’m sorry. What about a husband or boyfriend?” Why was he hoping she’d say “no?” Am I falling under her spell?

  “No family, husband, or boyfriend.” She blushed. “Still looking for Mr. Right.”

  He exhaled. “Did you have any valuables in the handbag?”

  “Just fifty dollars in my wallet.”

  “That’s it?”

  “My credit cards are in the hotel safe.”

  “I found your handbag where you told me to look. How did you know it was there?”

  She looked away as she fingered the binding on the blanket. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. It’s ... it’s ... unbelievable.”

  He pulled up a chair and perched on the edge. She looked confused, uncertain. He’d seen that look before ... a mixture of skepticism and wonder. The way people looked when watching a magician perform feats of magic.

  His deep voice softened. “Miss Scott, since I’ve been on the force, I’ve seen lots of things I thought were impossible. Tell me, what do you think is unbelievable?”

  She shook her head, still avoiding his eyes. “No, you’ll have them transfer me to the psychiatric ward.”

  “That’s not my call, and I wouldn’t do that anyway.”

  She gazed into his eyes. “Please ... I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “All right, we’ll let that go for now. Can you describe your assailant?”

  She took a deep breath. “He was white, skinny, about six-two, and had a scraggly brown ponytail and bloodshot eyes.” She bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling, trying to recall more. “And he had a dagger tattoo on his neck below his right ear.”

  “That’s a pretty good description. When you’re up to it, I’d like to bring my laptop and show you some mug shots. You might recognize his photo.” He pulled out his card. “Oh, the hotel staff and my Uncle Harry, who’s head of hotel security, said to tell you to get well soon. Harry checked you out of the hotel and stored your luggage in his office.”

  Tracie’s eyes glistened. “That’s so kind of him to do all that. Please tell him I appreciate it and thank all of them for caring about me.” As she took his card, she grasped his hand in both of hers. “I want to thank you for all your trouble ... finding the handbag and calling my editor.”

  His heart raced as he felt her hands tighten. A smile creased his face as he left her room.

  Mark visited her over the next three days. Tracie looked forward to seeing him and began to feel more at ease as they shared their life stories. He told her he’d been shot once during a robbery and experienced a weird feeling of floating above his body.

  Her green eyes widened, and she gasped. “That’s what happened to me after he stabbed me! I seemed to float behind him as if running after him, but I felt weak and so odd. I saw everything he did after he ran away. I tried to pick up my handbag behind the dumpster, but my hands went right through it.”

  Spellbound, he leaned forward. “Go on, what happened next?”

  “I was whisked back to the sidewalk where I floated above the crowd, but I didn’t realize it was my body lying there. When I saw all the blood and my face, I couldn’t make any sense of what was happening. I heard everything that was said and wondered if I had died. When the medics started the IV, it pulled me back into my body. That’s when I felt the pain and told you where to find my handbag. It’s still hard to believe it really happened.”

  He took her hand in his. “Believe it. I had a similar experience.” He smiled. “It seems we have a lot in common, Tracie. Both my parents are deceased, and I live alone. The only family I have is my Uncle Harry and Aunt Grace. You’ve made quite an impression on my uncle. He wants me to bring you home to meet my aunt as soon as you’re released from the hospital.”

  “Your uncle is very kind. I’d love to thank him and meet his wife.”

  The next morning, Mark carried Tracie’s suitcase and his laptop to the hospital. After thirty minutes of searching, she found the picture of the man who stabbed her. In fact, he’d been arrested for a robbery earlier that day. Her charges were added to a long list of his crimes and bail was denied.

  Tracie was discharged at 5:00 p.m., and Mark drove her to his uncle and aunt’s house for dinner. Aunt Grace, who was slender with short blond hair, was a talented cook. Tracie raved about the delicious steak Diane. They enjoyed a lively conversation and Harry’s stories about his unusual cases.

  Tracie stifled a yawn and glanced at her watch. “Sorry, I haven’t recovered my stamina yet. I enjoyed spending time with you, but it’s getting late, and I have to get a room at the hotel.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Grace said. “We have a nice guest room. We’d enjoy your company and want to hear all about your book.”

  “You’re too kind. I couldn’t impose like that. We just met.”

  “I’m a good judge of character,” Harry said. “We feel as if we’ve known you a long time. Please stay.”

  Grace nodded. “Please, say yes.”

  Mark raised his eyebrows, waiting for her reply. “You’ll feel right at home here, and Aunt Grace will take good care of you while you recuperate. She’s a retired nurse. Why don’t I go and get your luggage out of the car?”

  Tracie blushed. “All right, if you’re sure I won’t be too much trouble.”

  “Actually, I’m looking forward to having a real live author in the house,” Grace said.

  “Thanks, but I need to go to the hotel first to pay my bill and thank the hotel staff for their help.”

  “Okay, but we won’t stay long,” Mark said. “You’ve had a busy day, and you need rest.”

  “Dear, your room will be ready when you return.” Grace hugged Tracie.

  Grace and Harry watched through the window as their nephew helped Tracie into his car.

  “Did you notice Mark couldn’t take his eyes off her all night?” Grace said. “I think he’s falling in love with her.”

  Harry nodded and turned to his wife. “Yep, she seems perfect for him, and I deserve all the credit.”

  He grinned and puffed out his chest. “Mission accomplished.”

  What’s Going On Here?

  Something always went wrong when my husband, Don, was out of town on business.

  Today my washer wouldn’t go into a spin cycle. Don wouldn’t be home for two days, so I looked online and called Big John’s Plumbing Service. It was a rainy day, and my five-year-old son, Bobby, was playing with his three-year-old sister, Annie, upstairs. I was explaining my problem to the plumber on the phone when Bobby wandered downstairs and tugged on my blouse.

  “Mom, Mom, Mom, I don’t want to play house with Annie anymore. It’s too boring. I want to watch my favorite cartoons.”

  I heard Annie crying upstairs and gave Bobby a stern look. I blocked his persistent hand as I continued my conversation with the plumber.

  “Yes, that’s my address. When can you be here? Thirty minutes? Great.” I hung up and walked upstairs with Bobby to see why Annie was crying.

  “Bobby, you know you’re the man of the house when your dad is away. I need you to stay with Annie until the plumber gets here. Then you can watch your cartoons.”

  “It’s no fun being man of the house if I only get to boss her. Dad watches football games whenever he wants. If I’m the man of the house now, why can’t I watch cartoons?”

  “I don’t have
time to argue with you. Stay with Annie until I show the plumber the washing machine and breaker box.”

  I picked Annie up, dried her eyes, and hugged her. She snuffled. “Bobby’s bad. He won’t play with me.”

  I stroked her long blond curls. “Don’t cry. I’ll play house with you in a little while. Be a good girl and play with your dolly. Bobby will stay here until I come back.” I walked past Annie’s five-foot-square plastic playhouse and handed her one of her dolls.

  After locking the expandable security gate on the playroom, I walked downstairs. I was making lunch when the doorbell rang.

  A burly giant of a man held out a hand almost the size of a frying pan, smiled, and said in a deep voice, “I’m big John, the plumber. I can fix anything that needs fixin’.”

  I looked up at him with awe and shook his callused hand. “Thanks for coming. I’ll show you the utility room. My washer is near the breaker box.”

  His tool belt clanked as he swaggered down the hall. He reminded me of a confident gunfighter on his way to a showdown as he grabbed a wrench and twirled it like a gun before holstering it without a glance. When he knelt at the washing machine, his weighty tools pulled down the back of his pants and revealed more than I wanted to see.

  I backed out of the room. “If you need me, I’ll be upstairs.”

  Annie was crying as Bobby shouted, “I told you not to put your doll in the kitchen cabinet! Mom, she doesn’t do what I tell her. Can I watch my cartoons now?”

  I knew he wasn’t talking about our real kitchen cabinet. Annie’s playhouse was equipped with built-in cabinets and a mock stove and refrigerator.

  “Yes, Bobby, I’ll take care of this,” I said after climbing the stairs. I turned to Annie. “Come out of the dollhouse, and I’ll get the doll for you.”

  She walked out, and I got down on my hands and knees to stick my head through the Lilliputian door. My shoulders barely fit.

  After backing out, I rolled onto my back and squeezed inside up to my waist. The cabinet door wouldn’t budge. I gritted my teeth and pounded on it so hard that I smashed a hole and cut my hand.

  The hole wasn’t big enough for the doll, and every time I tried to retract my hand the jagged plastic cut it. Blood trickled down my wrist. I tried to pry away the plastic with my other hand.

  Nope. I was officially stuck.

  I yelled for Bobby, but he couldn’t hear me over the loud TV.

  I guess the plumber will rescue me when he wants to be paid.

  “Mommy, come out and play with me.”

  “Annie, I’m stuck in here. Look at your picture books while you wait.”

  “I don’t wanna look at books. I wanna play house with you. I’ll climb in the window.”

  “No! There isn’t room.”

  Annie peeked through the window. “Where’s my dolly?”

  “She’s in the cabinet.”

  “You couldn’t get her out?” She started to cry again.

  “We’ll get her out when Daddy comes home. Now be a good girl and use your crayons to draw a picture for Daddy. You can surprise him on Saturday.”

  She snuffled. “Okay.” She walked to the desk.

  I heard heavy footsteps and John’s voice in the upstairs hallway. “Missy, your washer is fixed.”

  “Help me!” I yelled. “I’m stuck in the playhouse.”

  He walked into the room. “Stay calm. I’ll get you out in a jiffy.”

  I heard him circle the playhouse. “I can’t see where you’re stuck from out here or through the little window. I’ll have to stick my head inside.”

  He knelt at the open door, straddled my legs, put his hands on the floor, and leaned forward.

  As he eased his head inside, he looked dizzy. “My blood sugar—I forgot to eat.”

  He collapsed on me with his face over my breasts.

  Don Mason smiled. He was happy his business trip had gone so well that he could return home two days early. He missed his lovely wife, Judy, and his two children.

  When he grabbed his suitcase from the car, he noticed a plumber’s truck parked at the curb between his house and the neighbor’s. He planned to yell surprise when he walked in, but no one would be able to hear him over the TV blasting in the living room. He went to turn it down and saw Billy watching cartoons. “Bobby! Turn the volume down. Where’s your mother?”

  “She’s upstairs playing house with the plumber.”

  Don frowned. “What did you say?”

  “She’s upstairs playing house with the plumber.”

  He raced upstairs with his suitcase and threw open the master bedroom door. Empty. He dropped his suitcase and ran to the children’s bedrooms. Empty too.

  From the doorway of the playroom, he shouted, “What’s going on here?”

  Those were Judy’s shoes! The uniformed plumber, complete with tool belt, was straddling his wife on the floor with his head atop his wife’s breasts inside the playhouse.

  “Don?” she yelled. “Thank God you’re home! Bobby didn’t hear me because of the loud TV. Call 9-1-1. I’m stuck in here. The plumber tried to free me, but he passed out from low blood sugar.”

  Don grabbed the plumber’s ankles. “I’m not calling anybody until I haul his ass off you!”

  Cruise Capades

  S.L. Menear

  I used to be a competent and sharp-witted person—exactly what one would expect from one of the world’s first female airline captains. When I retired from flying airliners, I assumed nothing would change.

  I was wrong.

  Now fatigue affects me in ways it never did before. After a late night of packing and leg cramps that disturbed what little sleep I might have enjoyed, my octogenarian mother and I embarked on a fourteen-day cruise through the Caribbean.

  We boarded the Constellation at 11:30 a.m. in Miami and dived into the lunch buffet while waiting for our cabin. Our three previous vacations on Celebrity Cruises were aboard their new ultra-luxurious Solstice Class ships. We were assured this older Millennium Class ship had been refurbished to be in line with the newer ships. Maybe we would’ve agreed if the new ships hadn’t spoiled us. We booked it because of the two-week itinerary available only on this ship.

  When we entered our so-called suite, we were dismayed by the tight quarters and tiny bathroom. There was barely enough room to stow our belongings. I couldn’t walk around without banging my shin on a bed corner or bumping into something. My coordination wasn’t at its best after a sleepless night, so the bruise count was mounting.

  We somehow stowed everything away by 3:00 p.m. and decided to enjoy siestas before the 4:30 sail-away party. My nap in our balcony deck chair was interrupted by a loud persistent announcement. In my exhausted stupor, I couldn’t understand the heavily accented voice. I managed to catch a few words: mandatory drill, muster station, and life jackets. It was 4:00 p.m., and my foggy brain recalled doing this on every cruise before departure. Too bad I didn’t remember the salient details of previous musters.

  I studied the plaque on the door, located our muster station on the map, and noted pictures of passengers wearing life vests. Mother and I dutifully donned our life jackets. The stiff design clamped around us like neck braces for crash victims.

  I stepped into the hall and learned something interesting about people for whom English is a second language. If what you say to them doesn’t match the situation and how you look, they focus on what they see and tune out your words.

  I encountered a steward and reminded him to separate our beds. He looked confused, so I made hand gestures. He fixated on my straitjacket life vest and assumed I was asking how to remove it. I assumed he didn’t speak English because even though I kept saying, “Beds. Separate the beds,” he kept saying, “Yes, pull apart front and lift above head.”

  I gave up, and Mom and I headed for the stairs. We were greeted by laughing crew members who cheerfully informed us life jackets were not required for the drill. So Sharon Stupid and Dottie Dimwit dashed back to our cabin to stow t
he life vests before reporting to the muster station. By the time we arrived, the only unoccupied seats were tall bar stools.

  My mother loses all coordination when she’s tired, and I seem to be headed that way. Sitting on the barstool should’ve been a simple maneuver, but Mom looked like a two-year-old trying to climb into a big girl’s chair. She succeeded on her third try. By then, the crowd was staring.

  Mom and I get the giggles when we’re tired. We looked at each other, remembered the stupid stuff we’d just done, and giggled uncontrollably. Fortunately, it was New Year’s Eve, and everyone assumed we were harmless drunks rather than incompetents.

  We attended the sail-away party on the top deck, followed by dinner, a show, and the countdown-to-midnight party and New Year’s celebration with plenty of the Paso Robles Midnight merlot for moi.

  Back in our microscopic cabin, we collapsed into our separated beds, which I had finally arranged with an English-speaking crewmember. We planned to skip breakfast and sleep in.

  That didn’t work out.

  Even though a Do-Not-Disturb sign was displayed on our door, I heard persistent knocking early in the morning. I opened the door and smelled smoke. A crewmember said we must evacuate the room and proceed to our muster station. I stumbled to Mom’s bed and told her to get dressed quickly. Silly me, we couldn’t do anything fast in such tight quarters.

  I wish I could say that I took command of the situation and made sensible decisions, but no. Apparently my brain only switches to pilot mode when I'm in an airplane, and my airline captain days are long gone.

  I’m a writer now. So is Mom.

  Did we grab our diamond jewelry and warm clothes for the life boats? No. Did we take our money, passports, water bottles, or life vests? Nope. We threw on shorts and T-shirts, slipped on sandals, and grabbed our laptops.

  We were almost out the door when Mom said, “Wait! We forgot our Kindles!”