It only took me 2 years, 3 months and four days to finish it. What, with being a stay-at-home (ha!) mom to three kids. My kids.
I sighed and glanced at the clock. 3:13 a.m. What else could I get done, I thought, now that I had some time to myself? I brushed the hair away from my face and felt something sticky. “Hmmm. Wonder what that is?” I tasted it. It was YoBaby! Vanilla crème yogurt. “That’s pretty good,” I thought. “I wonder if there’s any left?” I reached again for my hair, but then thought better of it and negotiated my way to the fridge. One more container left. “Me or the baby? Me or the baby?” I asked myself before giving in and ripping off the lid. It was gone in 2 bites. “Hmmffph. Who the hell ever thought to make such small containers?” I asked the empty room. “Oh, yeah. It’s for the baby.”
“Well, I better get baking,” I thought, “so little miss perfect and her mini-me don’t get their panties in a wad thinking I’m not bringing anything to the Halloween Hoedown this weekend. Chocolate chip pumpkin muffins aren’t fancy, but they’re going to be devoured. Much more quickly than whatever fancy-schmacy delicate delight she brings.”
(Propietaria de Casa Amarilla)
______________________
An hour later, not a creature was stirring, especially my spouse. I smiled to myself. The timer on my oven just beeped and I opened the door and inhaled deeply. The smell of the muffins nearly caused me to swoon with delight. A moment later with a mouthful of the sweet treat and a steaming latte warming my hands I sat contemplating the day ahead.
Apparently, I had dozed off without realizing it. A low wail disturbed my dreams. The volume increased exponentially and I jumped to consciousness realizing that the baby was awake. I stood abruptly spilling the now cold latte in my lap. No matter. The spreading stain coordinated with the yogurt still in my hair as well as the recently acquired muffin crumbs.
I dragged myself upstairs, trying to avoid the toys the twins had left strewn about with care. I knew that one little squeak and they would be up competing in a volume competition with their baby sister. I made it up twelve stairs, past every noisemaking toy we own when I suddenly stepped on a piece of Lego. Even though I bit back every expletive that came to mind and emitted only a quiet hiss and a guttural "CRAP!", the boys sensed my misery and simultaneously bolted from the room they shared knocking each other over in the process. I simply shoved them in the direction of the stairs and went to rescue their 9 month old sister. My dear sweet husband snored on, oblivious to the chaos. "How the heck did I get here?" I wondered.
My name is Daisy Campbell and I know exactly what led me to this place in life. Hank. Hank and I met in college, fell in love and married soon after graduation. He pursued a career with the fire department and I taught elementary school. Seven years later we decided that we needed to stir things up so we indulged in our favorite extracurricular activity, sans safety gear, and got pregnant. Okay, I got pregnant. With twins! Boy twins! Cool Hand Luke and Dirty Harry... cute, huh? A few years later, wanting again to spice things up again, we wound up with a little girl! We christened her Janie Sue but we call her Sparkle. Hank and I believe in the value of having a stay-at-home parent which is how I got this job. I had previous experience with kids and Hank didn't think he was up to the task. As I reflect on my life while I watch my beautiful, darling children sleep, a glass of wine in each hand, I think, "Of course I am up to this job. I am WonderMom! I have been blessed with the most amazing children on earth." It's when they are all awake that I have second thoughts.
Up half the night I felt a little bleary eyed but what was new? I made it downstairs, corralled the twins, put Sparkle in her high chair and started the breakfast proceedings. Soon Sparkle had gummed half a blueberry waffle and the boys had mowed through several bowls of Froot Loops. As I gazed, half-awake, lovingly at my children, I felt something wet and cold drip into my lap. At the same time my right cheek was on the receiving end of a very gummy waffle chunk. Not two seconds later I heard Hank yell, "Honey! Where's the toilet paper?" I, of course, had forgotten that the boys had used all the remaining toilet paper the day before to turn each other into mummies. Then, the cat began to yowl and then puke in a dramatic and protracted manner. "Oh, boy," I cringed. "It's only 6am. What next?"
[Mommy Hawk]
_________________
I was at my wits' end, torn between courses of action. Disarm Sparkle, who was turning the kitchen into a sticky disaster, grab the cat to see if it was in the throes of death... and if it wasn't, call the vet... or take the new roll of Cutrite wax paper upstairs to Hank as a substitute for the Charmin the kids had used up. As I hesitated there was a flash of blue light, a crackling sound and the smell of ozone. For an instant, I thought it was some kind of electric short and my heart plummeted into my Nikes. Another domestic disaster! The lights stayed on, however, and the refrigerator continued to hum. No cries of alarm from the bathroom upstairs. Just as I regained my equilibrium I was startled to see a strange figure standing in the corner of the kitchen. Alarmed, I cried out, "Who are you? What are you doing in my kitchen? Hank! Hank!" I confess that I was a little bit alarmed.
Before I could grab the phone and dial 911 the odd figure spoke. "Hang on a minute, Daisy. No need to panic. I'm your fairy godmother."
"Yeah, and I'm the Dalai Lama, you freak! Out! Out!"
In fact, she looked a little bit like the Dalai Lama in drag, if you can picture him in a blond stretch wig, an ankle-length tutu covered with sparkly stuff and a tiara. She was holding a wand with a star on one end. I wondered if it could be used as a weapon. I grabbed a spatula, raised it in a threatening manner and shouted, "Scram!"
She rolled her eyes and said, "Why do I always get this kind of reaction? You'd think no-one had ever heard of fairy godmothers. Boy, is this a thankless job. Hey! I really am your fairy GM."
"Prove it!" I challenged, gauging the distance between me and the telephone and playing for time.
The person in the corner sighed, pointed her wand at the poor cat who was staggering in circles after having just evacuated her entire gastro-intestinal tract, and said, "Epizootics!" There was a puff of smoke and in the cat's place stood a penguin. "That do it, Hon?" I could only gape mutely. "Okay, then," she went on, "I'll tell you why I'm here." The penguin pooped on the floor. I mustered up a feeble, inquiring look. She continued, "I need your help. I need your unique problem-solving abilities, your stamina, your bravery in the face of fire."
"Me?' I asked. "Why me? I don't have any of those qualities. Where would I get those qualities? I'm only a full-time mom with three children and a husband who need a firm hand."
"I think you just answered your own question. You are intrepid, and I need intrepidness. Intrepidity? Intrep-whatever. I need you to go on a special mission. Specifically, a mission that will take you through time, back to the early 1940's, back to Nazi-occupied Romania, to rescue a key nuclear scientist from the Nazi swine and smuggle him across Eastern Europe to the Allies. You'll be given a code name: Danger Woman."
"What about my family?"
"Suspended animation will do the trick until you get back."
"I dunno." I hesitated. "I have a pedicure on Wednesday."
[Dear Old Dad]
__________________
"Hon? Hon!!"
It sounded like Hank was very far away. I looked up and my eyes cleared a little. He was standing in the corner with not a wand, but a pee stick in his hand.
"What's wrong with you? he asked. "You got your meds mixed up again, didn't you? You're supposed to take one happy pill and two blood pressure pills in the morning. It scared me when you started shouting for me. And, what's Harry doing in his Halloween costume from last year? He doesn't want to be a penguin again, does he? I thought we were dressing the kids as Moe, Larry and Curly. We agreed on it. By the way, it looks like he got his diaper off again. Whew! You gotta get that cleaned up!"
I slumped into a kitchen chair. "I really do need to be more careful with my meds," I thought. "The happy pills are great, but they can go a little far when I get the dose wrong. Geez."
I glanced over at Hank and my heart did a little flip-flop. Not because he was so handsome, standing there trying not to gag at the poop on the floor, but becuase of what he held in his hand. I had forgotten all about taking the test last night. Afraid of the results, I had set it aside and kept my mind busy with finishing my book. That never-ending quest. That's what caused me to forget about the test. (Dammit, there's that rhyming thing again.)
"What?" Hank said. "Why are you staring at me like that?"
"I'm not staring at you. I'm staring at that," I responded.
He looked down at the pee stick in his hand. "Oh, yeah," he said. "You're pregnant again and you don't even bother telling me? I have to find the test lying around? Or were you trying to surprise me like you did the first time? 'Cause this is definitely a surprise!"
"Oh, my God! It's positive?!?" I shouted, not exactly, um, thrilled. "Well, it's got a pink line here," Hank said.
Grabbing it from his hand, I looked for myself. "Geez, Hank! You'd think that an award-winning fireman with a PhD would at least be able to correctly read a pregnancy test. TWO pink lines is a positive. This is definitely negative. See? Just one line. That's the control line. And, I wouldn't even be taking the test if you handn't got so frisky with me after the Fireman's Ball last month."
"Whew," I thought as my heart slowed. "Not that I don't love my darling little babies (when they're sleeping), but another right now wouldn't exactly have me doing the happy dance. But, then again... Do you want another baby?" I asked Hank?
With a somewhat frightened look in his eyes, Hank simply started backing out of the kitchen.
[Fertile Myrtle]
___________________
It sounded like Hank was very far away. I looked up and my eyes cleared a little. He was standing in the corner with not a wand, but a pee stick in his hand.
"What's wrong with you? he asked. "You got your meds mixed up again, didn't you? You're supposed to take one happy pill and two blood pressure pills in the morning. It scared me when you started shouting for me. And, what's Harry doing in his Halloween costume from last year? He doesn't want to be a penguin again, does he? I thought we were dressing the kids as Moe, Larry and Curly. We agreed on it. By the way, it looks like he got his diaper off again. Whew! You gotta get that cleaned up!"
I slumped into a kitchen chair. "I really do need to be more careful with my meds," I thought. "The happy pills are great, but they can go a little far when I get the dose wrong. Geez."
I glanced over at Hank and my heart did a little flip-flop. Not because he was so handsome, standing there trying not to gag at the poop on the floor, but becuase of what he held in his hand. I had forgotten all about taking the test last night. Afraid of the results, I had set it aside and kept my mind busy with finishing my book. That never-ending quest. That's what caused me to forget about the test. (Dammit, there's that rhyming thing again.)
"What?" Hank said. "Why are you staring at me like that?"
"I'm not staring at you. I'm staring at that," I responded.
He looked down at the pee stick in his hand. "Oh, yeah," he said. "You're pregnant again and you don't even bother telling me? I have to find the test lying around? Or were you trying to surprise me like you did the first time? 'Cause this is definitely a surprise!"
"Oh, my God! It's positive?!?" I shouted, not exactly, um, thrilled. "Well, it's got a pink line here," Hank said.
Grabbing it from his hand, I looked for myself. "Geez, Hank! You'd think that an award-winning fireman with a PhD would at least be able to correctly read a pregnancy test. TWO pink lines is a positive. This is definitely negative. See? Just one line. That's the control line. And, I wouldn't even be taking the test if you handn't got so frisky with me after the Fireman's Ball last month."
"Whew," I thought as my heart slowed. "Not that I don't love my darling little babies (when they're sleeping), but another right now wouldn't exactly have me doing the happy dance. But, then again... Do you want another baby?" I asked Hank?
With a somewhat frightened look in his eyes, Hank simply started backing out of the kitchen.
[Fertile Myrtle]
___________________
Days later, after my chocolate chip muffins trumped little miss perfect's fancy-schmancy delicate delights at the Halloween Hoedown, after I stocked the closet with a buttload of toilet paper (we're talking Costco size buttloads), after I finally broke down and bought one of those weekly pill organizers to help me keep my meds straight, after I double and triple checked to make sure that our family was not unexpectedly expanding, I found myself alone enjoying a strong cup of coffee and the delicious sounds of silence, no kids, no husband, no cat, just me and the dawn. "Life is good," I thought.
Or so I thought.
I decided to stretch the moment. "Should I go and enjoy a hot shower in my newly remodeled bathroom or retrieve and actually read the newspaper?" I wondered. After using several precious moments deliberating, the newspaper won.
I grabbed one of Hank's old jackets which were hanging on a coatrack by the door and put it on over my pajamas. I was glad I did as there was a definite bite in the air this November morning. I flipped on the porchlight and stepped outside glancing around for the newspaper. The carrier was inconsistent at best and seemed to enjoy sending subscribers on endless hunts for the paper. After a moment or two of searching the porch and walkway without luck I wandered over toward the car. As I rounded the front end of the van, a silver Honda Odyssey, my foot made contact with something soft. "Finally!"
I reached down to pick up the paper and expected to feel the frosty plastic bag encasing it. Much to my surprise my fingers closed around something more akin to fur. I jumped back in disgust. Fred, our feline hunter, must have left his latest kill on the driveway. Not wanting the kids to see his prize, I went back inside and retrieved the flashlight. "I might as well dispose of the kill before the children wake up," I decided.
Armed with the flashlight (darn these dark November mornings) I approached the car and aimed the beam toward the dead animal. Only it wasn't a dead animal. It was a dead leg, a dead furry human leg... attached to a dead man! Not knowing what else to do, I screamed.
[Caroline]
__________________
No sooner had I let out a shriek than there was a flash of blue light, accompanied by a crackling sound and the smell of ozone. I jumped back reflexively and stared. There in the glow of my flashlight was the Dalai Lama again, replete with her tiara, sparkly tutu and wand with a star on the end. This time I noticed that she was wearing Converse All-stars with skulls and crossbones all over them. I felt my forehead to see if I was feverish.
"Beat it!" I said. "You're just a figment of my imagination."
"Well, maybe so, dear," responded the fairy godmother person, "but I only show up when I'm called."
This was irritating. "Funny," I said, "I don't remember calling you. And even if I were demented enough to want to call a fairy godmother I have no idea of how to go about it. So clearly you are mistaken or are up to something. Scram!"
"Tsk, tsk," said the fairy godmother. "You can't call me on a cellphone! No, I respond to stress. And Daisy, honey, you are a prime candidate for my help." There was an unmistakable low squeak and the fairy godmother blushed. "Oops! Too much fiber!"
"Help?" I gritted between clenched teeth. I could feel the muscles in the back of my neck bunching up. "Who needs help? I have everything under control. Stress? Me? I'm a poster girl for cool! Go away!"
"You ignored me last time. Whassa matter? My offer of a secret mission not good enough for you? Maybe you didn't like the name 'Danger Woman.' No biggie, I guess, but had you taken me up on the offer it would certainly have been a change of pace. But I have other irons in the fire. Things that need a person of your caliber to tackle them and wrestle them to a conclusion. These kinds of adventures will redirect your stress big time. No time to ponder whether the plumber will show up before the basement floods or if the exterminator will be able to zap the possum-size rat in the attic before it chews the electric cable or gets into the Froot Loops. What do you say? I can come up with a better nom de guerre!"
"Hit the road!" I responded. "By the way, I don't know if you noticed but I have a dead body in my yard. Pardon me while I go call 911."
"Ooh! An adventure! Don't call 911! You can solve this crime yourself!" the fairy godmother exclaimed, hopping up and down and clapping her hands together. "I've got your back! It'll take your mind off your domestic tribulations, your familial angst! You go, girl!"
"I hate that phrase," I answered. "Vamoose." The fairy godmother receded into the gloom. I wondered if and when she would reappear. If stress conjured her up, then I needed to stay calm, cool and collected at all times. I took a deep breath, counted to ten and looked around. She seemed to be gone. Good. I looked toward the car and the leg that protruded from under it. "I wonder who it could be?" I whispered to myself. "Hmmm..."
[Confused]
___________
"Good morning!!!" I heard, as the scent of some (probably very expensive) perfume engulfed me.
"Oh, no," I groaned to myself. First a figment of my imagination and now someone I desperately wish was just a figment of my imagination.
"Well if isn't Miss Creme Brulee," I said. "Trying to get some fresh air before the sunrise sends you back to your coffin?"
"Oh, Daisy!" She laughed brightly, completely oblivious to my well-aimed venom. "I was just stepping out to get the paper when I heard a strange screech. I was thinking one of Mr. Jenson's cats is in heat again, but then I saw you standing out here with a flashlight. Was that actually a scream I heard?"
"Yes, it was a scream you heard," I answered through clenched teeth. "What would you do if you discovered a dead guy lying on top of your morning paper?"
"Daisy! Such jokes at such an early hour! Certainly you can't be serious," she said as her eyes followed the beam of the flashlight.
"Oh! You are serious! Oh! Oh... my... God!" she stammered, her gaze locking onto an ankle tattoo I had missed during my first glance. "I know him," she whispered.
"That's... that's..."
[Frumpy]
_______________________
"Alexi! Alexi Groshenko! He moved into the house next door about six months ago. I'd recognize that tattoo anywhere!"
"Does he have a family?" I asked.
"No, he was alone. He didn't talk much about himself. I don't know if he has relatives elsewhere or not. And he didn't socialize much... I never saw anyone coming or going at his house. I don't think he was local. He had an eastern European accent, so he might have been foreign."
"Were you friends?" I was curious to learn what else she might know.
'Not really. He and I... that is, we occasionally... er, sometimes he'd come over, we'd have a few drinks and then... I mean to say, uh, we didn't converse much."
I wondered what, beyond the obvious, she wasn't telling me. "How do you suppose he died?" I asked, as much to myself as to Ms Brulee. I looked at the body more closely. I had a feeling that the odd tattoo Creme pointed out was a clue to the dead man's origins. The victim was dressed as if he were going on safari. He was wearing sturdy hiking boots, khaki shorts with large patch pockets on the sides and a hunter's vest with lots of pockets and loops for ammunition. Suddenly, that song from the old Marx Brothers movie jumped into my head: 'Hooray for Captain Spalding, the African explorer...' I was so puzzled by the fact that he had one hairy leg that I almost didn't notice the obvious. He also had a large, olive drab, military style knife protruding from his chest. "Oops! Scratch that last question," I said, then added, "Wow! Who'd a thought he had so much blood in him!" As the approach of dawn began to provide more light I could see that a large pool had formed in the driveway. "What do you suppose he was doing here, at my house, in the middle of the night?"
[Arf]
________________
"Daisy? Hon? You out here? Hello?" I turned around to see Hank and the two ambulatory kids approaching from the house. I stepped forward to block their view, but I was too late. Hank stopped in his tracks, did a double-take, and paused. His face reflected the shock he felt upon seeing the body in the driveway. "Holy ca-rap!" he exclaimed. "What happened? Who's that?"
"Well, according to Creme, his name is Alexi Groshenko and he lives... er, lived... in the house on the other side of her. I found him when I came out to get the paper. We have no idea of what happened, except that he was stabbed in the chest. I was just going to come in and call the police."
"Oh, man!" Hank responded. "Don't call the cops! They'll be here all morning and I have to get to work. I need to be in the office early. I have to do a big presentation to one of our most important customers. Black Ops Anonymous. You remember... they're the military contractor, think tank, skunk works and weapons developer I told you about. I have to be there. No ifs, ands or buts!"
I looked at Hank. "OK, smart guy, what else can I do? We can't just ignore the body. We have a murder on our hands, for Pete's sake!"
"I have an idea," Hank said. "Let's haul him down to cranky old Ms Crotnik's yard. We never have liked her anyway, not since the way she yelled at our kids."
My first reaction was that Hank was nuts, but then the thought began to have some appeal. That old bat! "What about all that blood?" I asked. "Surely the police will see it when they check the neighborhood." I glanced over and to my unhappy surprise the kids, unfazed by the dead body in the driveway, were splashing in the pool of blood and giggling.
"We can toss them in the tub and while you scrub them down I'll hose off the driveway. But let's hurry! I have to be out of here in twenty minutes.
"OK," I responded, against my better judgement. "It's getting light and we don't want to be spotted. I'll grab the hairy leg. Creme, you take the other one. And, Hank, you grab his shoulders. We need to be quick." On the count of three, we lifted Creme Brulee's erstwhile neighbor. "Holy moley!" My voice cracked. "This guy weighs a ton! I'm going to ache for a week!"
"Hey!" Hank gritted. "I have the heavy end!"
Grunting and panting we wrestled the body across the streets and deposited it a couple of doors down on the front steps of Crotnik's house, then ran back home like kids who'd just played a Halloween prank. Hank grabbed the garden hose and I tucked a kid under each arm and headed inside to toss them in the tub. Just as I did so, Creme announced that she was feeling a bit peckish, what with the exertion, and was going home to have a cup of tea and a shot or two of peach schnapps. When I passed through the kitchen I was relieved to see that my youngest was still safely bolted down in her high chair. The tray in front of her was as clean as a whistle but she'd textured the room with baby food. It looked like a crime scene of a different sort. Mentally, I dared the police to come into my kitchen.
[Beta Dog]
__________________
I got the bathtub started and plopped the boys in with a stern warning not to splash. Then, I ran back to Sparkle and the mess in the kitchen. Good. The cat was already taking care of it. "No wonder he barfs so much," I thought. "We really should think about getting a dog. The cleaning would probably go a little quicker."
I wiped Sparkle down as best I could and went back to check on the boys. I had already left them longer than is prudent. Actually, they couldn't be trusted for five seconds, but I do have a daughter, a cat, a husband and now a dead body I had to worry about, too.
"Boys!" I shouted when I walked into the bathroom. No response, just continued splashing and hilarity. "Helllloooooo!" Nothing. "Okay. I'm turning on the cold water now," I said in desperation.
"Nooooo!" they yelled in unison, suddenly able to hear and completely attentive.
"What happened?" I asked again.
"Luke was pretending to be Batman," said Harry, "and I was pretending to be Darth Vader with my light saber and Peter Pan with my dagger. He kept driving his batmobile at me, trying to run me over and-"
"Enough!" I said. "Forget I asked." Heaven help me if those CSI guys decide to come in here with their luminol and black lights. It'll look like... like... well, like there's blood all over the place. What was I going to do? Surely the cat couldn't help me out with this mess.
Shit.
[Batmom]
__________________
I wiped Sparkle down as best I could and went back to check on the boys. I had already left them longer than is prudent. Actually, they couldn't be trusted for five seconds, but I do have a daughter, a cat, a husband and now a dead body I had to worry about, too.
"Boys!" I shouted when I walked into the bathroom. No response, just continued splashing and hilarity. "Helllloooooo!" Nothing. "Okay. I'm turning on the cold water now," I said in desperation.
"Nooooo!" they yelled in unison, suddenly able to hear and completely attentive.
"What happened?" I asked again.
"Luke was pretending to be Batman," said Harry, "and I was pretending to be Darth Vader with my light saber and Peter Pan with my dagger. He kept driving his batmobile at me, trying to run me over and-"
"Enough!" I said. "Forget I asked." Heaven help me if those CSI guys decide to come in here with their luminol and black lights. It'll look like... like... well, like there's blood all over the place. What was I going to do? Surely the cat couldn't help me out with this mess.
Shit.
[Batmom]
__________________
And show up they did. It was only an hour or so later that the doorbell rang. I peeked out through the beveled glass in the front door and saw a man in a blue uniform. Obviously not the UPS delivery person... UPS wears brown. I opened the door a crack and said, "Yes?"
"Officer Togglebolt. Police. I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind stepping outside for a few minutes."
I put on my most nonchalant expression and hoped it didn't just make me look goofy. "What's up, officer?" I asked, staring at his badge to let him know that I had his number and wasn't going to cut him any slack.
"Step outside, please."
"Look, I have three children who may be running amok even as we speak." I stepped out and pulled the door toward me so it just remained ajar. Then I paused and cocked an ear toward the door. "Do you hear anything, officer? No? Thank goodness! Now, what is it?"
"We're canvassing the neighborhood to find out if any of the residents may have seen or heard anything out of the ordinary last night or early this morning. Your neighbor, Dorcas Crotnik, called 911 this morning at 0700 hours to report finding a deceased person on her front steps. It appears that the victim wasn't killed at that location but was deposited there by a person or persons unknown. Did you see anyone, neighbor or stranger, out and about early this morning? Did you see an automobile you didn't recognize, or hear any unusual sounds?"
"Not a thing," I answered, maintaining eye contact (I've read that the first sign of a lie is averted eyes) and smiling what I hoped was a relaxed, winning smile... and not a grotesque grimace. "Do you know who the corpus delicti is?"
"I assume you mean the victim. The Latin term corpus delicti means the body of the crime; not the individual." Officer Togglebolt looked at me as if to say, "Civilians!" Then he went on, "We can't release the name until we've located next of kin. We'll need to take a look around your yard, just as we will your neighbors', to see if there is any evidence that someone may have come through to the street from the alley behind you. It's unlikely that anyone could have done that carrying a body, but stranger things have happened."
"Help yourself."
With that, the police officer left, apparently headed toward Creme Brulee's house. I crossed my fingers and said a prayer that Creme would play dumb. Unless she blabbed, how were the cops to know that Alexi... whatzizname... Groshenko had gone feets up at my house? There was no visible sign of blood in the driveway, and probably none in the bathroom where I'd laundered the kids. I'd already tossed all our bloodstained clothes in the washing machine. Besides, if I declined to let them in the police couldn't enter the house without a warrant, and to get a warrant they had to have probable cause. I was still uneasy, though. I wondered what the penalty was for tampering with a crime scene.
An hour or so later, with the kids ensconced in the family room raptly watching the Backyardigans, I was in the breakfast room with a cup of tea, fretting. First, I was dying of curiosity to know who Groshenko was and what he was up to when he bought it, and second, it occurred to me that if I were able to identify the killer the appreciative authorities would probably stop poking around the neighborhood. "Sounds good," I said to myself, "but how in the heck do I go about this?"
[Dog Star]
___________________
I took another sip of tea and wished for something a little stronger but with the kids in the other room I couldn't afford to. Who knows what havoc would be wreaked with me passed out on the sofa. I stood up and went in search of something to accompany my tea, maybe a healthy slice of whole grain toast. Without thinking I opened the cookie jar instead of the the bread box. What the heck? Cookies go with tea even better than toast!
Sixteen Oreos later I had a serious sugar buzz going and was ready to tackle the problem at hand...the dead man. Now where to start? I didn't have any serious detecting experience (unless you call locating lost toys and keys experience) but I had read a fair number of murder mysteries in my time. Surely I had gleaned something helpful from them. Let's see...if I were the detective/private eye/meddling woman (neighbor, wife, chef) I would probably start by snooping around and asking questions. I decided to start with Creme. She denied knowing much about Alexi but something told me that she was holding back.
I figured that since the cops had gone in the direction of Creme's house I would give it a little more time before I started investigating on my own. I tidied up the kitchen and checked on the kids. Fortunately, today was a preschool day so I got the boys fed, dressed and in the van. I scooped up Sparkle and the diaper bag and shoved her in the van as well. We motored over to the preschool which was located just a few miles from our house. I was so eager to start investigating that I barely came to a full stop when I shoved the boys out the door with a wave. Belatedly, I rolled down the window and hollered a quick, "Mommy loves you!" as I raced away. Knowing I had just a couple of hours Sparkle and I headed back home. As I turned down our street I looked to see whether the cops were still around. I didn't see any patrol cars so I parked quickly, grabbed Sparkle and started in the direction of Creme's house.
I always felt a little self conscious when in Creme's presence. She looked like she was dressed by the famed Stacy and Clinton and she made homemaking an art form a la Martha Stewart. I, on the other hand, wore oversized tops and elastic waist pants courtesy of Target and could barely keep up with my children's extensive experience redecorating with various food stuffs.
Oh, well. I shifted Sparkle further up on my hip, plastered on a smile and knocked on Creme's door. A few seconds later the door opened and Creme stood there, eyes darting about nervously. Without warning she grabbed my arm and yanked me and Sparkle inside. She shut the door, locked it and then led us silently into her perfect kitchen. The only thing that seemed out of place was the giant bottle of peach schnapps she had sitting next to her delicate flowered china teacup.
After we sat down Creme whispered, "Are they still here in the neighborhood?"
"I didn't see the police when I came back from the preschool so I guess they are gone for now," I said.
Creme breathed a sigh of relief. "Schnapps?" she inquired.
For someone who claimed to have barely known the dead man Creme was certainly acting strange. I busied Sparkle with some non-valuable looking knickknacks from the living room shelves, prayed I could afford to replace them and that they weren't lead based, and returned to Creme.
I decided that the best detective/p.i/meddlers simply got straight to the point so I struck a casual pose, looked at Creme and said, "I find a dead guy in my driveway, a guy you knew, sort of, as he was your next door neighboor with whom you boinked from time to time. What did you tell the cops about our pre-dawn operation and what are you not telling me about Alexi?"
[Caroline]
______________________________
"I didn't tell the police anything. And, look, Daisy, I really don't to be involved with whatever it was that Alexi was into. I really didn't know him very well. One night, when he'd had quite a bit to drink, I asked him where he was from and what he did for a living. He gave me a kind of crooked smile and didn't say anything for awhile. But later, after we had... er, uh, you know... made love..."
"Love?" I interjected.
"OK, maybe love isn't the right word," she responded. "But what would you call it?"
"Boink."
"Boink?"
"Yeah. Go on. Sorry to have interrupted."
Well, after we had made boink, he did say, as if to get it off his chest, something about having been with the Bulgarian state intelligence apparatus before the end of the cold war made the agency superfluous. Later, apparently he and some others like him decided to capitalize on their professional skills and went into business for themselves. I didn't ask him what that business was. I didn't want to know."
"That's interesting, kind of," I said. "But that's it? You get a hint of something that sounds like it could be sneaky, secret, slimy, skulduggerous (is that a word?) and you didn't grill him? Jeez, Creme!"
She looked crestfallen. Thank goodness I happened to glance to my left barely in time to see Sparkle tugging on a lace table cloth covering a delicate mahogany table on which sat a collection of what appeared to be small, antique Chinese figurines. I snatched her up just as the first of the objets d' arte reached the edge of the table. Esthetic value aside, all I could think of was how it would probably take all my future earnings, and Hanks, to pay for the damage. My heart pounded. As I caught my breath I caught a movement in the shadows of the next room. It was my fairy lama. "I don't need this!" I thought.
"Stress!" the fairy godmother whispered, making a tsk, tsk sound.
Ignoring the FGM, I turned back to Creme. "Sorry," I said. "It's just that if we knew more about the victim... Alexi... we might have a better chance of figuring out why he was killed. And if we knew why, we might have a chance to noodle out who killed him. And, by the way, it makes me nervous..."
"Nervous!" said the fairy godmother from the next room.
"... to think of him being killed right here in front of my house. Practically in front of your house," I added for effect.
Creme grew pale. "Oh, my," she said. "To think that the killer could still be in the neighborhood! It's frightening. But why would he or she stick around? Didn't they get what they wanted when they stabbed poor Alexi? His death, I mean." She frowned and her eyes clouded. I could see the wheels turning. "Or maybe they are after something more! Oh, damn!"
"What is it, Creme?"
"A few weeks ago Alexi brought a briefcase to my house and asked if I would store it for him. He said that it was just personal papers but that he didn't want to leave it in his own house as he travelled often and was afraid that his house might be burglarized. I agreed, and put it in the basement."
I started to respond, but caught sight of my watch. "Ohmygod!" I exclaimed. "I almost forgot to pick the boys up from preschool! I gotta run!" As I dragged Sparkle out of the door I called out, "Creme! Just sit tight! I'll be back later!" Glancing back, I didn't see any sign of the FGM.
[Old Dog Trey]
____________________
As usual, preschool pick-up was chaos. Cars were stacked up, waiting to get to the pick-up point and mothers were milling around waiting to get a word in edgewise with their little darlings' teachers. Kids were running, jumping, yelling and chasing each other in the explosion of energy that comes with release from the classroom. I managed to reel in those I thought were mine, buckled them into their car seats and headed home. I pulled into the driveway just as Hank arrived. "What are you doing home early?" I asked. He usually didn't turn up until suppertime.
"I managed to sneak out after my presentation," Hank responded. "I have to go back later, after I grab a bite. I'll probably have to babysit our clients this evening... take them out to dinner or something."
"I liked it better when you were a fireman," I commented. "It was a hazardous job, and the twenty-four hour shifts were the pits, but at least it was a regular schedule. And you had several consecutive days off every week. Now, however, you're always rushing off or coming home late. There may not be many falling, flaming timbers in your office, but otherwise - for me, at least - your corporate job is a pain in the ol' bew-tocks. I could use some help with crowd control around here. And this murder thing needs attention that, without your back-up, I'll have to spend on our three rodents." I gave Hank my best exasperated stare and stamped my foot.
Hank looked chagrined and replied, "I'm sorry hon. Look, these clients will be leaving tomorrow and I have some time off coming. Why don't I take a couple of weeks off? I'll be here to help out, and maybe we can even get a babysitter and go out, you know, like on a date. A nice dinner, a little vino, then maybe we could..." he wiggled his eyebrows.
"Sounds good," I answered, "but that doesn't fix the problem of your schedule. But maybe we can figure something out later. Wine, an expensive dinner at Chez Poulet... you sure know how to charm a girl. And afterward?" I wiggled my eyebrows back at him.
"That reminds me," interjected Mr. Wet Blanket. Perhaps you ought to think about changing your brand of birth control pills. I read in the Wall Street Journal that the one you use, Ova-Nix, has been found to sometime cause hallucinations if the user is stressed about something."
"You can't call me on a cellphone. I respond to stress." Those words rang in my ears.
[M. Dogg, poet laureate]
_______________________
As usual, preschool pick-up was chaos. Cars were stacked up, waiting to get to the pick-up point and mothers were milling around waiting to get a word in edgewise with their little darlings' teachers. Kids were running, jumping, yelling and chasing each other in the explosion of energy that comes with release from the classroom. I managed to reel in those I thought were mine, buckled them into their car seats and headed home. I pulled into the driveway just as Hank arrived. "What are you doing home early?" I asked. He usually didn't turn up until suppertime.
"I managed to sneak out after my presentation," Hank responded. "I have to go back later, after I grab a bite. I'll probably have to babysit our clients this evening... take them out to dinner or something."
"I liked it better when you were a fireman," I commented. "It was a hazardous job, and the twenty-four hour shifts were the pits, but at least it was a regular schedule. And you had several consecutive days off every week. Now, however, you're always rushing off or coming home late. There may not be many falling, flaming timbers in your office, but otherwise - for me, at least - your corporate job is a pain in the ol' bew-tocks. I could use some help with crowd control around here. And this murder thing needs attention that, without your back-up, I'll have to spend on our three rodents." I gave Hank my best exasperated stare and stamped my foot.
Hank looked chagrined and replied, "I'm sorry hon. Look, these clients will be leaving tomorrow and I have some time off coming. Why don't I take a couple of weeks off? I'll be here to help out, and maybe we can even get a babysitter and go out, you know, like on a date. A nice dinner, a little vino, then maybe we could..." he wiggled his eyebrows.
"Sounds good," I answered, "but that doesn't fix the problem of your schedule. But maybe we can figure something out later. Wine, an expensive dinner at Chez Poulet... you sure know how to charm a girl. And afterward?" I wiggled my eyebrows back at him.
"That reminds me," interjected Mr. Wet Blanket. Perhaps you ought to think about changing your brand of birth control pills. I read in the Wall Street Journal that the one you use, Ova-Nix, has been found to sometime cause hallucinations if the user is stressed about something."
"You can't call me on a cellphone. I respond to stress." Those words rang in my ears.
[M. Dogg, poet laureate]
_______________________
But not for long. No. My fairy godmother was going to have to work a little harder if she wanted my attention. Before I could even begin to dismiss her words I heard wailing. Oh, brother. Where did Hank go? He had time to suggest some between the sheets action but convienently disappeared when chaos reigned. I ambled down the hall toward the kitchen to find Sparkle and the cat covered in five pounds of flour and a sprinkling of chocolate chips. In response to my withering glare the boys made noises about making cookies. I simply reached into the cabinet for a glass and a bottle of wine. Stress? What stress? Boo to you, my so-called Fairy God Mother, I thought.
Later that night, with Hank fed and gone and the kids tucked in bed, I started thinking more about Alexi and the few tidbits that Creme revealed. What had she said? Bulgarian state intelligence apparatus? Capitalizing on his professional skills and going into business for himself? What kind of business? These questions made my amatuer detective/meddler antennae tingle. I suspected something sinister was afoot and I needed to learn more about the dead man. As I sat there thinking in the unnatural silence of my home I remembered that Creme mentioned Alexi's briefcase. The briefcase! It must hold a clue or two!
I ran to the kitchen and slugged back two fingers of Hank's Wild Turkey to diffuse any stress that might arise in the near future, checked the kids, locked the door and ran across the street to Creme's house.
I pushed the doorbell several times but no one answered. This surprised me as Creme's house was lit up like a Christmas tree. Where the hell is she? I wondered. I raised my hand to pound on the door when suddenly the door swung open. My heart began to pound rather intensely. As I wondered what to do next I heard an eerie sound, the sound of someone saying "Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo..." I turned around slowly scared by what I might find.
"I told you that stress summoned me. This counts don't you think?" My fairy godmother winked at me. Oh, brother. I rolled my eyes. And then I remembered. Creme! Where was she and what was going on?
[Caroline]
__________________
I crossed the threshold and tiptoed to the living room. I peered in and immediately saw Creme sitting in a straight-back chair in the middle of the room. The first thing I noticed was that she was nude and that her arms and legs were firmly duct-taped to the chair. Almost immediately, a man in black clothing came into my field of vision. He was holding what looked like a butane fireplace lighter. His expression was grimly anticipatory. "Alright, Babykins," he said in a gutteral, heavily accented voice. "I think you will tell us everything we want to know in just a minute. In fact, I think you'll be singing a whole aria. We may have to shoot you to shut you up when we finish our little interrogation." He seemed to relish the prospect.
It must have been the Wild Turkey, but I was slow to pick up on the "we." Then it dawned on me that there must be more than one intruder in the house. Before I could act, I heard a voice behind me. "Do not move, or I will blast your pretty head off of your shoulders. Now, step into the living room." I didn't dare turn to see who was speaking, but he, too, sounded foreign.
As I entered the room, Creme rolled her eyes at me and croaked, "Daisy! Help!" Of course, I was in no position to do so. I didn't know how to respond. I think I muttered something clearly inadequate for the situation. The man who caught me turned me over to his accomplice and went into the kitchen for another chair; clearly he was going to truss me up as he had done Creme. The first man, in turn, pulled a pistol from his pocket and pointed it at me. His back was to the living room door.
Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice. "Daisy, hon, are you in here? Where are you? I saw you leave the house just as I came home. C'mon back to the house! I have my hands full! Sparkle has the heaves and...." Both my captor and I spun around. I wanted to tell Hank to run get help but I wasn't fast enough. He had blundered into the room and was only a couple of feet away, with Sparkle in his arms. The man in black reacted by raising his weapon.
Before the would-be torturer and assassin could react, however, Sparkle made an all-too-familiar sound. In a nanosecond I realized what was coming. With a gurgling roar, Sparkle threw up. And not just threw up. I mean she THREW UP! I'd never witnessed projectile vomiting before but I sure knew it when I saw it. Wow! The sour blast hit our captor in the face, covering his weapon and his chest in the process. Boy was it foul! The man acted reflexively, gagging and staggering back to get out of range. As he did so, his accomplice stepped into the room holding a chair from the breakfast nook. The two collided and both went down.
I didn't know I could move so fast. I grabbed a large objet d'arte from one of Creme's end tables and swung it with all my strength at the man with the gun. He had just begun to get off the floor when the heavy vase struck him in the head. He went down like a bag of rocks. Simultaneously, Hank had stepped forward and kicked the stranger's partner just above the ear. Neither showed any sign of consciousness. I turned to Hank and said, "Thanks, Sweetie. That wasn't exactly a typical rescue but it was a rescue nonetheless. I'm glad you showed up when you did! Holy cow!" Hank smiled a shaky smile. I continued, "Put Sparkle down a minute and help me wrap duct tape around these two guys. I don't know how long they'll be out." Hank started binding the unconscious strangers and I ducked into the kitchen for a knife. Then I went to to Creme and began to free her. As I peeled the tape off I glanced at Sparkle. She was an unhealthy greenish color. "You know, Hank," I said, "you'd better get Sparkle home quick. Projectile vomiting is often accompanied by explosive diarrhea." Then I asked, as much to myself as Hank, " What do you suppose made her sick?"
"She got into some left over cat food, I think, Hank answered. "Tender Morsels. Fancy Feast, maybe. Look, Hon, are you going to be OK?"
"As soon as Creme's had a chance to throw on a robe we'll call the police. These two are good for breaking and entering, aggravated assault, and false imprisonment at least. I don't think we'll see them again. We'll be OK."
At that moment ominous sounds of liquid under pressure began to emanate from Sparkle. "Oh, no!" Hank exclaimed and turned and sprinted for our house. As I watched his back draw away, I could hear him saying, "Lordy, Lordy, Lordy!"
Moments later, as Creme picked up the telephone to dial 911, I asked her, "What do you suppose those two bozos wanted?"
"The briefcase," she responded.
[Morton the Miracle Dog]
______________________
While Creme wandered into another room, relaying her story in grand detail to the 911 operator, I heard a sound behind me and a chill ran down my spine. Was there a third intruder? Crap! I scooped up a heavy candlestick and spun around ready to protect myself and Creme. I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized that I was not face-to-face with some foreign- tongued thug but my not so dearly beloved fairy godmother. It's a good thing that she stepped back when she did or I would have brained her but good.
I looked at my FG crossly and said, "Where the hell were you? When you first appeared you said to me, 'I've got your back!' So much for that!"
FG gazed back at me coolly and responded, "Who do you think made the tainted cat food available to Sparkle? That child gets into everything! I know it wasn't a conventional approach to fending off bad guys, but it got the job done, didn't it?"
At a loss for words I just stood there staring at my FG. If this was her version of "getting my back" I couldn't wait to see how she helped the next time, God forbid there was a next time.
[Caroline]
_______________________
"Who are you talking to?" Creme asked me. Shit. How long had she been standing there?
"I think this whole mess is making us all delusional," Creme added, before I could think of anything to say. "Here," she said, dragging me into the kitchen "let's have some chocolate while we wait for the cops."
Creme pulled out a 5 pound bag of dark chocolate M&Ms, a pan of double fudge brownies, a few chocolate bars and a wedge of cake. "Sorry there's not much cake left. I've been a little stressed," she said. As we sank into a couple of kitchen chairs and started popping M&Ms she glanced around the room and said, "you know, I think I need a change. What color do you think I should paint my kitchen? Despite all those tricycle motors you have running around your place, it always looks so nice. As you can see, I don't exactly have a knack for decorating."
I couldn't believe we were sitting here, eating chocolate and discussing Creme's lack of decorating skills while waiting for the cops. However, she did have a point. Her walls were horrible. It looked like Sparkle had been at them - with the front end or back, I wasn't sure.
Before I could comment, we heard a pounding at the front door.
[Susan]
__________________________________
"I think this whole mess is making us all delusional," Creme added, before I could think of anything to say. "Here," she said, dragging me into the kitchen "let's have some chocolate while we wait for the cops."
Creme pulled out a 5 pound bag of dark chocolate M&Ms, a pan of double fudge brownies, a few chocolate bars and a wedge of cake. "Sorry there's not much cake left. I've been a little stressed," she said. As we sank into a couple of kitchen chairs and started popping M&Ms she glanced around the room and said, "you know, I think I need a change. What color do you think I should paint my kitchen? Despite all those tricycle motors you have running around your place, it always looks so nice. As you can see, I don't exactly have a knack for decorating."
I couldn't believe we were sitting here, eating chocolate and discussing Creme's lack of decorating skills while waiting for the cops. However, she did have a point. Her walls were horrible. It looked like Sparkle had been at them - with the front end or back, I wasn't sure.
Before I could comment, we heard a pounding at the front door.
[Susan]
__________________________________
The pounding took me aback. It was too soon for the cops to have arrived. After what Creme and I had just been through it didn't seem likely that it would be another thug (unless he'd been held up going through the drive-through at the Taco Cabana and had just now managed to get here) and what self-respecting crook would pound on the door? He'd just break in... wouldn't he? I tip-toed to the door and peeked out of one of the tall windows that flanked the door.
It was Hank. I opened the door and exclaimed, "Hank! What are you doing here? You should be at home with the kids! What about Sparkle? Is she still blowin' chow through both ends? She could become dehydrated! Maybe we need to take her to the clinic! She could lose too much potassium or something dangerous like that! Maybe we need to give her something with electrolytes in it! Maybe we need some kind of prescription stopper-upper! Maybe we need a lot more diapers! Maybe..."
Hank looked as if he'd just put in a 24 hour shift in a salt mine. He looked exhausted, dispirited and bedraggled. He looked like he had the mother of all hangovers. "Daisy!" he said. "You've got to come home! I need help! I thought I'd clean Sparkle up so I put her in the tub. But she wasn't through yet so she let go again. I've never seen such turbulence in a bathtub! I think her little innards have calmed down now, though, but before I could change the bathwater I heard a scream from the other bathroom. It was Harry. He's gotten his arm caught in the toilet. He said he was trying to retrieve his blankie which he'd tried to flush but then then realized it would be gone forever. He panicked and tried to grab the corner just as it was disappearing down the toilet. He got a tight grip on the corner, but the toilet now has a tight grip on him. I had to leave Harry to run back and check on Sparkle but as I passed the kitchen I heard a kind of a hissing sound and saw Harry's twin sibling spraying a liter bottle of Big Red at the cat. The cat disappeared into the living room. I don't know where it is, but we can probably find it by following the sticky red paw prints it left on the carpet and furniture. Somebody's going to have to bathe it and confine it to the laundry room to dry off." He winced. "I still have scars from the last cat bath! But there's no time for that right now, anyway. And there's an alarming smell coming from somewhere upstairs but I haven't had a moment to locate it."
My heart sank. What a disaster! As if being threatened by a couple of foreign, low life, leg breakers wasn't enough, now this! "OK, Hank," I answered. You run on home and I'll be there in a minute. I just want to do one thing before I leave."
"I'll wait for you," he answered. "I locked myself out of the house when I came over here. I'll need to hoist you through a window."
I wasn't capable of a coherent response. I only snorted. But, after a few deep breaths I was able to say, "Let me grab something." I ran back into the house, told Creme that I was leaving and to sit tight for the police, and asked her where Groshenko's briefcase was. After a few moments of desperate searching I found it where Creme had put it... in the basement in a space behind the furnace. I grabbed it and rushed out the front door. By God, I was going to find out what was so important about the damn thing once and for all, just as soon as everything at home had settled down and I had a chance to pour three fingers of Wild Turkey and go through it.
[Papacito]
____________________
As it turned out, I didn't have to wait for things to settle to discover the contents of the briefcase. After Hank shoved me through the kitchen window (thank goodness we haven't fixed the latch yet) I tumbled in, ran to the front door, threw it open and grabbed Hank and the briefcase and pulled them in.
In my panic over the kids and enthusiasm over the briefcase, I pulled a little too hard, backed up to regain my balance and completely lost it when I stepped on Harry's SuperDuper Grand Mega Loader Scraper Backhoe truck. The truck went flying, I went flying, the briefcase went flying and somehow, Hank managed to land with a thunk on top of me.
"How about a quick boink?" he asked.
"Looking to have another Sparkle?" I asked. "Or did you forget that's where she came from?"
Hank suddenly looked a little green and rolled off of me. I jumped up and ran over the the briefcase, which had fallen open when it crashed to the ground.
"Holy crap!" I said.
[Birthday Girl]
______________________
In my panic over the kids and enthusiasm over the briefcase, I pulled a little too hard, backed up to regain my balance and completely lost it when I stepped on Harry's SuperDuper Grand Mega Loader Scraper Backhoe truck. The truck went flying, I went flying, the briefcase went flying and somehow, Hank managed to land with a thunk on top of me.
"How about a quick boink?" he asked.
"Looking to have another Sparkle?" I asked. "Or did you forget that's where she came from?"
Hank suddenly looked a little green and rolled off of me. I jumped up and ran over the the briefcase, which had fallen open when it crashed to the ground.
"Holy crap!" I said.
[Birthday Girl]
______________________
As a result of it's sudden contact with the kitchen floor, the contents of the briefcase were strewn about. I didn't know which was more startling to see...the folder entitled "Plans for World Domination" or the scores of lollipops. Before I could even begin to clean up the mess, I heard the pitter patter of little feet, two sets to be exact. I looked up to find my two young sons ogling the candy the way a teenage boy would a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. In fact, they were drooling. There was nothing they liked better than lollipops.
Hank was nowhere to be seen and I wanted to get a quick look at the folder from the briefcase. What to do with the boys? The lollipops! I told Harry and Luke to take a couple of lollipops and go watch some t.v. After a few moments I checked to make sure that they were settled in front of Cars, a movie they had seen maybe 300 times already, and I returned to the kitchen.
I had just grabbed a Diet Dr. Pepper from the fridge and settled myself at the table when I heard that familiar wail. "MOOOOOOMMMMM!" I ignored it, hoping the problem would simply go away. Ha! Then I heard it again. I returned to the family room to find Harry in tears. "What happened?" I asked, trying to muster as much sympathy as I could given that I was dying to return to the kitchen and actually open and examine the folder.
Harry was pointing to his mouth. After a little motherly detecting I concluded that Harry, impatient to get to the next lollipop, had tried to chew on the lollipop instead of licking it. As a result he wound up with some very sore teeth. Upon closer inspection of the candy I realized that he had managed to crack the hard, sugary treat and reveal a glittery substance within. Curious, as most lollipops are solid or have a tootsie roll type center, I looked more closely. Hmmm!? "How odd," I said to myself.
After a lot of protesting I managed to extract the pops from the boys and substitute the treats with popcorn and m&ms and leave them to their movie. I took the candy back to the kitchen and started opening drawers looking for a hammer. I couldn't find a hammer but did manage to locate a meat tenderizer. I put a cutting board on the counter and laid the lollipop on top and gave it a good whack!
The candy cracked apart to reveal a large diamond! Knowing this was not some freak occurence but wanting to be sure anyway, I rounded up more of the candy and had at them with the tenderizer. Sure enough, each lollipop contained a large diamond. I stepped back, puzzled and more than a little alarmed. Groshenko, owner of the briefcase, was dead. Now I had it and it's contents. Obviously someone felt the contents were worth killing for.
"Hank!" I yelled, maybe a little hysterically. "Hank! Where are you? We need to talk!"
[Caroline]
___________________________
As I waited for Hank to come into the kitchen I went to the cabinet above the dishwasher and took out a bottle of Ronrico 151. I added a healthy slug to my diet Dr. Pepper. It occurred to me, too, that I could use a little sugar for energy... to get the old brain cells working in high gear... so I added some maple syrup. (Granular sugar would have caused the carbonated drink to fizz over.) I took a big slug. My taste buds went numb and my ears tingled. I felt as if my whole face puckered. My eyes teared up and the left one twitched a couple of times. It was possibly... no, not possibly but actually... the most startlingly wretched drink I'd ever concocted.
Just then, my other half, my knight in shining armor, the love of my life and co-parent in training, Hank, entered. "Er, yeah?" he asked in his customary suave, romantic and incisive manner, scratching his derriere. "You called, ma cheri?"
"Have a sip of my drink. It's really delicious!" My mouth felt as if I'd been to the dentist and the novocaine hadn't worn off yet. Hank must have noticed that my lips didn't move; he declined. "What are the kids doing?" I asked, hoping that we had time to talk about the contents of the briefcase.
"Sparkle is napping and the boys are in thrall to the 42 inch electronic brain washer, losing neurons even as we speak."
"Good. Look what I found in the briefcase. A fortune in diamonds, hidden inside lollipops (don't ask why they were inside lollipops... I haven't a clue) and what looks like a plan to do something really bad on an international scale. I'm glad the document's title is in English, 'cause the rest of it, including the schematics and notations to the engineering drawings, are in the cyrillic alphabet. What do you think? What do we do now?"
Hank stood, stunned, as he tried to get his mind around what I'd just told him. After he'd digested the situation for a few moments he responded. "OK, we eat the candy, sell the diamonds, tear up the document, and move to Hawaii."
"No, seriously."
"Well, I could call my buddy with whom I used to drink beer before I met you and fell hopelessly, madly, in love." Hank wiggled his eyebrows at me. "His name is Jack Armstrong, and he's with the FBI. I could put it to him as a hypothetical, you know, just for the sake of supposing, what would you do if you found a briefcase that used to belong to a murdered foreign guy and it was full of diamonds and had a document labeled, 'Plans for World Domination.'"
"He'd probably think you'd gone looney and that it was a crank call, or that you'd gotten stuck in some video game. Either way, he'd probably get off the line as quickly as he could hit the disconnect button."
"Maybe, but have you got a better idea?" Hank asked. "No? Then I think I'll give ol' Jack a call and see what happens."
[Rin Tin Tin]
___________________
Hank promptly sat down and dialed up his old buddy Jack while I went back to the briefcase and began to read the plans for world domination. Hmmmm… I thought to myself. This is just like a recipe.
I could hear Hank's end of the conversation. “Jack, it’s your old buddy, Hank. I know… it’s been too long since our last beer. You know how it is… you fall in love, have three kids and suddenly there’s no time for beer.”
I couldn’t hear Jack’s response but it was something that made my snuggle-bunny laugh.
Hank continued, “My bride has taken it upon herself to write a mystery novel, where she finds the time I don’t know, and she wanted to make it as realistic as possible. So I told her I would give you a call and get your input.” Again Hank laughed. That Jack must be a funny guy.
“Okay,” Hank said. “The story involves a housewife, three kids, a neighbor, a mysterious dead Russian and a briefcase full of lollipop covered diamonds and a document labeled “Plans for World Domination.” Where she comes up with this stuff I don’t know but if you have any suggestions as to who the villain should be my bride has promised she will let me out one night for that beer.”
This time there was no laughing from Hank. In fact, it seemed too quiet in the house. I stared at Hank as he listened intently on the phone. Was it possible Jack knew of the dead Russian? Hank thanked Jack and gently hung up the phone. He turned to me and said…
[Madly in Love]
______________________________
"Ummmm. Hon? We're in some deep doo-doo. Got any babysitters up your sleeve? Jack's on his way over. Turns out our dead guy isn't exactly who we thought. He's CIA."
"A babysitter? No, I don't have a babysitter! Who in their right mind would be willing to watch our three little terrors? Did you say CIA?"
[Snowgirl]
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"Ummmm. Hon? We're in some deep doo-doo. Got any babysitters up your sleeve? Jack's on his way over. Turns out our dead guy isn't exactly who we thought. He's CIA."
"A babysitter? No, I don't have a babysitter! Who in their right mind would be willing to watch our three little terrors? Did you say CIA?"
[Snowgirl]
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"Yeah, you know, the Crefflebagger Institution for Agoraphobics. Groshenko must have had an unnatural fear of open spaces. I guess he must've sought support and therapy by joining the Institute. Poor guy. Who'd a thought?
"Hank? Hank! Hello! Do you really think Groshenko was an agoraphobic, or does it seem more likely that your pal Armstrong had something else in mind, like the CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY?"
"Oh, that CIA. Not usually what one thinks of when one hears those initials. It's the Crefflebagger that jumps to mind, after all. But I guess you could be right. Say our dead guy was an American undercover agent masquerading as a Bulgarian ex-spy working freelance as an international mercenary up-to-no-good-nik. Now what?"
"Now we wait for Jack. We'll see what he has to say. And now that I think of it, maybe I do have a possible babysitter, after all. She's my aerobics teacher. A large woman. Very fit. Used to be in the Navy Seals. Our workout class calls her Helga the Hammer. Does a little baby sitting on the side. I'll give her a call. I have the feeling we're going to want to give Mr. Armstrong our full attention when he arrives."
Fortunately, Helga was available on short notice and thirty minutes later the doorbell rang. It was The Hammer. As she entered the house, I was struck again by her physique. I could see her muscles bunch and relax with every movement. Her biceps threatened to rip the thin material of her sleeves and the legs of her sweatpants were taught across the thighs and calves. Her jaw muscles looked as if she could crush rocks in her teeth. She fixed me with a steely, level gaze and stuck out hand that, when I shook it, felt as if it were made of iron. "Hello, Daisy. Good to see you. Where are the little darlings?" Just then there was a scream from upstairs, followed by a crash. Before I could react, there was a hair-raising yowl and the cat burst down the stairs as if she'd been fired from a cannon.
I smiled at Helga. "I'll introduce you," I answered.
[DOD]
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It didn't take long for me to get Helga and the kids acquainted. My three babes looked a little shellshocked after meeting their "babysitter," in fact I don't think I'd ever seen them all so quiet at once. Even the cat was on it's best behavior. Given all that had happened over the course of the past few days (or has it been weeks?) at least I felt confident that my children were in good, safe hands. I waved good-bye and walked slowly down the stairs apprehensively. What could possibly happen next?
I arrived at the bottom of the stairs to find Hank and a man I had never seen before, who I quickly concluded must be Hank's FBI friend Jack Armstrong, talking in low tones. Hank saw me and motioned me over. "Daisy, hon, this is my friend, Jack. Jack, this is my wife, Daisy." With introductions out of the way we settled on the sofa and began to talk. I was a little anxious about telling our story to the FBI. Even though we weren't responsible for Alexi's demise, we did choose to move his body rather than immediately contacting the police. What possessed us to take such steps I don't recall but I do know that it was not standard behavior for upright citizens.
Trying to calm myself I stood up, fetched the bottle of Wild Turkey and poured myself a couple (okay maybe several) fingers, slammed the drink, wiped my mouth and told Jack everything. Jack, for his part, simply listened without comment or emotion.
"So, Jack, what can you tell us?" Hank asked speaking for the first time in a long while.
[Caroline]
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Jack looked thoughtful, as if weighing his response. As we waited for him to say something it occurred to me that I was a little woozy. My ears buzzed as if I had just left a rock concert. I pondered the wisdom of having followed my diet Dr. Pepper laced with 151 proof rum and maple syrup with enough bourbon to fell an ox. Thank goodness I had declined Creme's offer of schnapps. I wanted to belch and began to giggle under my breath when I recalled how, when we were little, my brothers and I used to see who could recite the most letters of the alphabet with one belch: BrrA, rrB, rrtC, bruD, brrrD, urp!
Thinking of Creme made me wonder what happened at her house when the police showed up. Why hadn't they come here? After all, I was involved; it was Hank and I (and Sparkle) who had overcome the bad guys. Surely, they would want to question us. Why hadn't they? I needed to call Creme.
I snapped out of my reverie when Armstrong began to speak.
"Let me tell you a little bit about what I do," he began by way of a preamble. "As you know from watching television, the FBI is an organization of noble, clear-thinking, analytical, indefatigable, altruistic, patriotic, empathetic, uncannily intuitive stalwarts, with Star Wars technology readily available to meet our most fanciful needs twenty four hours a day. Or, alternatively, we're a bunch of scheming, underhanded, treacherous, self-serving, territorial, uncooperative, hostile, bureaucratic rats who like to step on local law enforcement. Well, TV is guilty of a bit of hyperbole and more than a little fabrication. After all, no-one wants to watch paint dry, right? Programs have to be exciting, with lots of action and characters you can root for or loathe. A little moral ambiguity never hurts, either, and stories that tug at the heartstrings are always a hit. Futuristic crime labs and improbable analytical feats like solving complex crimes with a few math formulas are big, too." Armstrong smiled an avuncular smile and shook his head at the thought. Then he continued, "We're really just a bunch of guys and gals who're slogging our way through the swamp. Me? Well, I'm in anti-terrorism unit. Our particular slog is to eradicate the threat of terrorism not only in this country but, in cooperation with the CIA (those out of control bastards), anywhere in the world. Terrorists know no borders, after all. As for the rest of it - truth or TV - I'll let you decide for yourselves what the FBI's like as you work with us to get to the bottom of this whole nasty Groshenko - or should I say Freddie Farnsworth, poor guy - affair."
"What do you mean, 'as you work with us...'" Hank interjected. "We just told you everything we know. End of story. Time to get back to what - for us, at least - is a normal existence. Hit the erase button and remove everything between finding the body and now. The monkey has been passed. He's now on your back where he belongs. None of this eez our yob. Thanks for stopping by, with the emphasis on the bye! Sayonara! Don't let the door hit you in the butt on your way out. Adieu. Adios. Auf wiedersehn.
Before Armstrong could speak again, I jumped in. "Whoa! Hang on! Hol-dit! Hank, I think we should listen to what Jack has to say. Go ahead, Jack."
[DOD, Ace of Spies]
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"Well said, Hank!" Armstrong exclaimed. "Your rant had just the right amount of fervor and the level of volume you used was right on the mark. I must say, too, that the timbre of your voice and your body language were excellent. Kudos are in order, man. I'm afraid, though - however praiseworthy your heartfelt soliloquy may have been - we can not butt out. But before we continue with the case at hand," Armstrong went on, "forget Groshenko/Farnsworth for a moment and let me bounce something entirely different off of you. You're both intelligent, college-educated people." Hank and I waited expectantly. He continued, "Tell me, when did the word pants lose its s? I frequently hear sales people tell shoppers that 'this is a nice pant.' My father didn't wear the pant in the family! He wore pants! How does it sound to say that Mary chose to wear a pant instead of a skirt? Did Daniel Boone wear a buckskin pant? Would one say of an important person, 'he may be the Director but he puts his pant on one leg at a time just like everybody else?'" He began to look agitated. "And," he asked in a rush, "where does the Sunglass Hut get off dropping the es from the end of sunglasses? I wouldn't want to buy a sunglass! By God, I want a pair of sunglasses! Frames with two lenses! I don't want a tinted monocle!" Armstrong relaxed a bit. "I know that English is an evolving language. That it must be flexible to keep up with technological, political and societal changes. That neologisms are an essential part of a robust idiom. But I must say that some words just seem to be a stupidfication (oops! did I just make that up?) of our mother tongue. It makes me weep. What do you two think?" He looked at us expectantly.
"I think," responded Hank, "that it's a concern that occupies a lot of your brain cells THAT COULD BE BETTER SPENT ON FIGURING OUT WHAT TO DO ABOUT ALL THIS GROSHENKO STUFF!"
Armstrong looked a bit crestfallen. "You, too, Daisy?"
I nodded, but then, to make him feel better, said encouragingly, "But I'll bet 'stupidfication' will be in the OED in no time."
"Crum!" he exclaimed, obviously fighting his disappointment. Then, returning to business he said, "OK, here's what we know about the shadowy group that committed the murder of a CIA agent and the role we want you - no, insist - that you play in bringing the organization down."
We waited with bated breath for him to continue.
[Weird Dog]
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"First, though, I really need a drink of water. This is going to take a while and my throat does tend to get a little dry."
[Blocked]
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[Blocked]
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Armstrong looked a little bit vexed at the interruption, but he said, "OK. Sorry to have rambled on so... I tend to dry people out a bit. My shrink says that a session with me is like a trek across the Atacama. Please, go ahead. I'll wait.
As I entered the kitchen, preoccupied with speculation about what the FBI might require of us, there was a blood-chilling scream from upstairs. Now, I've pretty much become immune to childish screams, but this was different! It was an adult scream! What the hell? It was Helga! I raced up the stairs!
As soon as I entered Harry and Luke's room I saw The Hammer, backed up against the far corner, eyes wide, trembling like a leaf. "Get it away from me!" she stammered. She gestured at the floor at her feet. I looked down. Sure enough, there was Ambrose. Apparently, one of the boys had taken him out of the terrarium and he'd gotten away, only to reappear at Helga's feet. I'll admit that tarantulas aren't everyone's cup of tea, but Ambrose was awesome. He was a dark red color with black bands around his legs. He was large for a Salvadoran tarantula and the stiff hair that covered his body made him look even bigger. He was a sweetheart, but his prominent fangs did give him a truculent look. The kids were crazy about him.
"Helga!" I exclaimed. "Are you all right? My goodness, it's only a spider!" I glared at the boys, who were just visible, hiding under the bunk beds. They couldn't contain themselves and had begun to giggle. I scooped Ambrose up, dropped him back into the terrarium, and secured the top. "Golly," I went on. "I'm sorry about the scare but it was only the kids' pet crawly. I wouldn't think someone like you, who takes 'buff' to a whole new dimension, would be afraid of a little spider! But not to worry. He's back in his house."
Helga was still trembling. "I'm arachnophobic!" she said. "I can't stand spiders! I can't stay here! I have to go!" She stumbled toward the door.
"But, Helga!" I began.
"But Helga, nothing!" she interrupted. "I'm out of here. Now! Sorry. I have to go. Goodbye Daisy." And with that she was gone, leaving me with the boys and a sleeping Sparkle to compete for my attention just when Hank and I needed to focus on whatever life-altering plan Jack Armstrong had up his sleeve. Ca-rap!
I dragged my little darlings out from under the bunk beds and sat them down in front of the TV. I flipped through the channels. Gray's Anatomy? No. The characters were all a bunch of whining fornicators. Desperate Housewives? No. The characters were all a bunch of scheming, backstabbing fornicators. Sex and the City? No. The characters were all a bunch of fashion-happy fornicators. I sighed. I decided that the number of brain cells the boys might lose from watching Cars for the fortieth or fiftieth time was a minimal penalty for them to pay compared to the risk of any psychological damage that might be inflicted by watching so much teleboinking, so Cars it was. "Stay put!" I commanded, and went back downstairs.
I guess Armstrong and Hank had gotten tired of waiting for me because as I entered the living room I heard Hank exclaim, "You want to use us bait to lure the bad guys out of the shadows?We're supposed to be, like, a Trojan Horse? You want them to turn up HERE to retrieve the briefcase so you can nab them? Do you think I just fell off of the turnip truck? I have a family! Kids! Daisy! We can't take the risk! That's just nuts! It's too much to ask!"
Hank and Armstrong looked up when I came in, unaware that I had heard Hank's outburst. "Daze!" Hank exclaimed. "I'm glad you're back! You won't believe what Jack here just proposed!"
[The Crazed Canine]
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"Actually, I heard. You have GOT to be kidding me. Have I fallen into an episode of Numbers or something?" I asked Armstrong.
He gave a self-conscious chuckle and said, "No. This is real life. I wasn't kidding. I know it's a little extreme. We don't usually use civilians as bait. But we're really short-handed right now. Most of our agents are tied up in Chicago busting the Illinois governor."
[Resident of the Corrupt State]
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"Actually, I heard. You have GOT to be kidding me. Have I fallen into an episode of Numbers or something?" I asked Armstrong.
He gave a self-conscious chuckle and said, "No. This is real life. I wasn't kidding. I know it's a little extreme. We don't usually use civilians as bait. But we're really short-handed right now. Most of our agents are tied up in Chicago busting the Illinois governor."
[Resident of the Corrupt State]
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"As a matter of fact," he went on, "there are several things going on here. First, the genie is already out of the bottle when it comes to the people we're trying to catch. If they don't already know that you have the briefcase they'll figure it out soon enough. After all, Freddie, alias Groshenko, had it. They killed him to get it back but he'd already passed it to Creme Brulee. When they discovered that he'd been seeing her they turned up at her house to get it. You walked in just in time to foil that effort, but now they know who you are. QED. I don't know when they'll turn up, but turn up they will."
"Who's going to turn up?" I asked. "The cops arrested those two rats who were at Creme's, didn't they? And by the way, why didn't the police come over here to interview us?"
"We think your visitors will be the man who's been pulling the strings and his most trusted assassin . His two worker ants are in the slammer. He doesn't have time to import more muscle so he'll have to do the job himself. Once we have him it'll be over... at least as far as you're concerned. Then you can resume your life of domestic chaos. Oh, yes... and the reason the police didn't follow up with you and Hank is because we asked them to leave it to us as that incident was part of an ongoing federal investigation."
"What is this all about, anyway?"
"Now that we've arrested the governor I can tell you that he was part of the conspiracy. He was on the bad guys' payroll. He wasn't in it for any ideological reasons... it was strictly the money. He was willing to do anything for the dough: selling political favors, taking kickbacks from state contracts, accepting bribes. And in this case, it was going to be a briefcase full of candy coated diamonds in return for protection for an unscrupulous gang that planned to import illegal aliens, drugs, and antique French Twinkies.
"What about the plan for world domination?"
"World domination was just a bonus. A fall-back in case the other thing didn't work out."
Hank and I shook our heads in amazement. "Who'd a thought!" we exclaimed in unison.
"OK, I guess we have no choice but to wait. But who's going to protect us? You?" I asked Armstrong.
"Well," he smiled, you already have one of our best people on the job. She's undercover as an aerobics instructor and baby sitter. You hired her! Her name is Helga."
"You mean Helga? As in no longer here Helga? As in afraid of spiders Helga? As in cut and run Helga?" I didn't feel so good.
[Lassie's smarter brother Lars]
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Apparently Jack didn't feel too good either. He paled a bit when he heard about Helga. I sensed there was a problem.
"So what?" I said. "Why don't you just put in a call and get someone else to protect us? That's what they do on t.v. Wait a minute! Why don't you just protect us?"
Jack swallowed and said sheepishly, "I can't protect you. They won't even let me carry a gun. There is some wacky section in the FBI code that says that if you fail the situp test while you are in the academy you are unfit for field work which requires gun-toting. See, I am here really as more of a messenger of the Bureau. As for getting someone else there is no one else. The Bureau put all remaining local agents on the situation with the governor. You'd think there would be a lot of us, but the economy coupled with the low wages and placements in areas with high costs of living has taken a toll on the agents and many of us have left in search of other careers."
Hank and I looked at each other not knowing what to say. This nut wanted us to put our lives and those of our children on the line without protection. Hank opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. Instead, his eyes grew wide and fear etched itself on his handsome features. Jack and I simultaneously turned to see what got Hank's attention. To my horror I saw two heavily armed men standing just inside the front door.
The two men looked liked a pair of bad guys straight from a weekly crime show on television. The one on the left was tall and distinguished looking. He had thick, wavy hair, dark with a touch of gray at the temples. He wore a camel colored cashmere coat over an Armani suit. It was obvious that he was a man who liked the finer things in life. He was smooth shaven andhis skin looked accustomed to regular exfoliation treatments. His right hand, the one holding the gleaming gun, showed nicely manicured nails. The guy on the right was clearly the guy that did the dirty work. I could tell this not from his lack of style or attention to personal hygiene but rather from the array of weapons he had either in hand or strapped to his body. This guy was serious.
I was taking all this in when cashmere guy said, "Where is the briefcase?"
If I learned nothing else from watching t.v. I at least knew that if you gave up the object of desire the bad guys would kill the good guys no matter what they said. I decided that the best option was to stall as long as possible especially since I wasn't getting any help from Hank or Jack.
"Briefcase? What briefcase?" I responded innocently. "Oh, and by the way, we have a no shoes in the house rule. Would you and your, uh, friend, please remove your shoes?"
Cashmere and his assasinating cohort complied. "Daisy," Cashmere said calmly. "May I call you Daisy?"
I nodded and plastered on what I hoped was my most winning smile.
Cashmere man continued, "Daisy, my dear, don't waste my time. I know you have the briefcase. You saw what happened to Freddie. Now if you don't want that to happen to your precious little rugrats upstairs I suggest that you hand over the brief case now."
Hearing the man refer to my children filled me with fear. I would do anything to protect my children. Not knowing what to do next I indicated that the sock-footed seekers of diamonds and domination follow me. "Okay, you win. You can have the briefcase."
I walked toward the playroom with the two bad guys behind me. As I did I looked back at Hank, who seemed to have gone unnoticed by our visitors. I had no idea what happened to Jack, the guy who helped suck us further into this mess. I gave Hank a look hoping he would interpret it correctly.
"Okay, gentlemen, the briefcase is in here." I swung open the door and ushered them inside. Immediately I heard a loud wail and a simultaneous expression of disgust. I flipped on the light to see that Cashmere had stepped on a pile of little Legos, the bane of my existence, much to his misery. He was hopping around and whimpering. At the same time the assasinator was mucking around trying to wipe of his socked feet. Apparently the cat had gotten into something again and barfed its little brains out in a big, glorious pile on the playroom floor. In the mayhem both men had dropped their assorted weapons. As I was accustomed to removing objects that could cause death and dismemberment (okay, more like choking, cutting or stabbing hazards, but hazards all the same), I grabbed the weapons off the floor and out of reach of our visitors.
Just as the men seemed to recover I took a deep breath and yelled, "Kids, Santa Claus is here." Fortunately, my children are young, have no sense of date and LOVE Christmas. That's all it took. Suddenly, I heard wild pounding as the boys ran from their room, down the stairs toward the playroom. They came around the corner, through the door and literally bowled over the two unsuspecting men. "Boys," I explained, "Santa and his elf are in disguise since it's not quite Christmas, but I know they have something for you in their pockets. Probably lollipops." Furiously, the boys began frisking Cashmere and his cohort looking for the candy (I silently prayed they hadn't stashed more weapons in their coat pockets). The men swatted at the children but that just seemed to motivate them further.
A moment later Hank walked in holding Sparkle, a puzzled look on his face. "Hon," he said. "I think Sparkle has gotten into the cat food again. I hear odd bubbling sounds coming from her tummy."
As I was standing behind the men I said, "Hank, hand her to me." Just as he was extending his hands toward me so that I could take her, Sparkle made a strange sound. Hank tipped her down slightly and Sparkle, with perfect timing, projectile vomited all over our guests just as Ambrose, the tarantula, began crawling up Assasinator's leg. I don't know if the howling was due more to the vomiting or the spider but it was quite the racket.
Ten seconds later the playroom was filled with FBI agents, SWAT dudes and assorted law enforcement personnel, all of whom had guns drawn and focused on Cashmere and Assasinator. (I learned later that Jack had slipped away just after our guests had arrived and used his cell phone to round up the troops.) The law enforcement folkds didn't have much to do, however, since the two men practically begged to be taken into the safety of custody and promised to make full confessions if they could just get away from my house and family.
[Snowbound in Oregon]
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It was late afternoon. The excitement had abated and I was enjoying a rare moment of peace and quiet. The boys were parked in front of the TV, playing trains while waiting for a cable channel to show Shrek (they especially like the scene where the princess sings a duet with a pretty bird and she sings so badly that the bird explodes like a crystal goblet) and Sparkle was in her crib. The cat was confined to the laundry room and Ambrose was in his terrarium. Hank was at the grocery, picking up a few things for supper. I decided to just sit down, have a Negra Modelo, put my feet up, and enjoy the silence.
I took a pull on the chilled brown bottle and savored the rich taste of the amber beer. As I did, I heard the sound of static and caught a slight flash of blue light out of the corner of my eye. "Guess who?" said the fairy godmother/godlama/goddammit. "I'm glad you made it through that little rough patch. And you did it without my help! I'm proud of you, Babe!"
"You want a beer?" I asked.
"Don't mind if I do," she answered. I popped another cap and we sat down together.
I had gotten used to seeing the fairy godmother, and she did seem to have good intentions even though she picked the darndest times to turn up. But it made me nervous that I had seen her at all. Was I drinking too much? (Naw, I pour a lot of drinks but with all of the mayhem and rioting that goes on around here very few of them actually make it past my teeth.) Was I going a bit nutso? I was worried, so I asked. "You're a figment of my imagination, right? How come I keep seeing you? Am I OK?"
The FG knocked back a big slug of cerveza and answered, "You're OK. I usually show up in response to stress, and with all that goes on around here I thought you might need a hand. But clearly you don't, so when I finish this brewski I'll be off. Nice to know you, by the way."
"No hard feelings, but I hope nothing happens to bring you back."
"No, everything's back to normal. The TV people will be here tomorrow. They want to tape a show called Survivor-Elmhurst. And you know those bushes around the house that you tore out? It turns out that they were a rare, endangered species of North American Bare-limbed Juniper. They're supposed to look dead. Anyway, the Sierra Club is planning to picket your house. Oh, and by the way, Harry's blankie made it all the way into the sewer line, so somebody (Hank, perhaps?) is going to have to did up the front yard to get to the pipe and extract it. Otherwise, none of your fixtures will drain. Lessee... anything else? Well, Hank ran into Chef Curtis (The Take Home Chef) from the Food Channel at the store. He'll be here in half an hour to fix a gourmet supper, but wouldn't you know? The kitchen power went out again. It's black as a mine in there. So, really, it's just business as usual around here. No need for me."
"Is that all?" I asked, thinking about fortifying my beer with a little Ronrico or Wild Turkey.
"Yeah, except for the animal control folks who want to talk to you about the proliferation of squirrels that live in your pumpkin patch. The neighbors all have squirrels in their attics now."
"You know what?" I said to the fairy godperson. "That's all a piece of cake. Nothing I can't handle." I felt good. I started to hum a happy tune. "Thanks for the tip. See you around. Not. Have a good trip to someone else's life."
And with that the fairy godmother disappeared. I wiggled my toes and had just put my feet back on the floor to go get another beer when I heard a call from upstairs. "Mom! Mom? Mom!" Ah, everything indeed was as it should be.
FINIS
[DOD]
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