Soap on a Rope

by Barbara Silkstone

  “Olive, do you have any tricks up your sleeves?” Lizzy said, a mischievous smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

  I shook my head. The only mystic stuff I knew had to do with Nonna’s magical cold cream.

  “You don’t have to know anything about magic,” Grams said. “They’ll hire you as window dressing. Pretty assistants are the real secret to magic. While all eyes are on you, the magician pulls the rabbit from his jacket.”

  “It could be fun.” I said. “As long as we don’t have to wear skimpy costumes—I prefer slacks and a blouse—dressy casual.”

  Pam chuckled. “Dressy casual will really pack the house. You’ve got to show some thigh or at least some glitz.”

  “I can assure you these thighs have not been exposed except on the beach.”

  “There was that time at the Billow’s Hotel—you wore a bathing suit then,” Lizzy reminded me.

  “That turned out real well. I almost drowned.” I looked at the Dingler ladies. “No thighs.”

  Lizzy gathered her hair in two hands, piled it on her head, and held it there with one hand. She puffed out her chest. “I could pull it off.”

  “You won’t need costumes or thighs,” Grams said. “Lizzy, some of your jumpsuits are pretty flashy—no offense, dear. They’re not racy but they’re definitely glitzy. You and Olive are about the same size—you’ll work it out.”

  I was warming to the idea. Or maybe I was trying to convince myself that for Grams’ sake, it wasn’t as harebrained as I thought. However, our lack of hocus-pocus knowledge might be dangerous. My personal liability insurance didn’t cover strapping someone into a straightjacket and sinking them in a dunk tank. Could we find the killer before anyone got hurt including us?

  “Why not Pam, too?” Lizzy asked.

  “Because your sister’s a phobic fibber and besides she’s built like me—low to the ground. You and Olive aren’t tall but you’re not shorties either. Much better stage presence,” Grams said. “Besides I need Pam’s muscles with me.”

  “I must tell Kal—just in case.” I said.

  “Heck no!” Grams grumbled. “Bad enough you and Lizzy already blabbed to him. You can handle this. You’ve investigated before. Just avoid knife throwers or being shot from a cannon—”

  “A cannon!” Lizzy and I yelped simultaneously.

  Our cry was followed by the sound of breaking glass downstairs in Nelson’s apartment.

  “Who?” I barely got the word out before WonderDog jumped into action. He ran like his tail was on fire, taking the stairs at a gallop.

  Nurses really are fast on their feet—Pam ran two steps ahead of me.

  Lizzy and Grams brought up the rear.

  We clambered down the stairs and into the apartment.

  A woman dressed in a pale blue caftan with a gold chain around her neck stood in the open space between the living room and dining room. She flashed a laser-white smile at us.

  The intruder had dark eyes, longish brunette hair, and a pleasant expression. There was an aura of calm about her. It was as if our collective adrenalin had run into a pillow.

  Lizzy gasped.

  “I’m sorry if I frightened you.” The lady in blue pointed to the pieces of a crystal vase that lay on the floor. “I heard a yell and turned around too fast. My sleeve caught the budvase.”

  She extended her hand first to Pam and then to Lizzy. “It’s a joy to see you!”

  The Dingler sisters each took a step back. Neither one spoke. The tension in the air crackled.

  “Irma? What the deuce are you doing here?” Grams said, hands on her hips, black orthopedic shoes covered in dust. She didn’t make a move towards the woman, who seemed to withdraw from Grams’ angry glare.

  “This is Irma, my father’s most recent ex-wife,” Lizzy said to me. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what last name you’re using. Are you still a Dingler?”

  The brunette smiled. “As the new leader of the Seven Planets I’m known only as The Irma—but you can call me Irma.”

  “Who’s the dude on the floor?” Grams pointed to a man in a matching caftan and long blond hair, sitting cross-legged under the chandelier. The guy was spinning seven ping pong-sized balls each mounted on a spindle. Chanting something unintelligible, he didn’t look up and managed to ignore WonderDog’s efforts to grab the balls.

  “He’s my assistant—my strength, Cosmos. We came immediately when I read about Nelson. It was the least I could do.”

  Grams grunted at the irony.

  “We’re Cosmic Travelers here to send Nelson’s celestial being to Trappist-1, our mother planet. It’s what he would have wanted.” She steepled her hands and bowed her head.

  I witnessed Nelson’s hissy fit when he discovered Irma took all his possessions and ran off to join a cult. What he would have wanted from her was something a bit more retaliatory rather than a spirit sendoff.

  WonderDog jumped as Grams growled. “You’re not sending Nelson anywhere! My poor son is in the morgue. Now get your cultish butt out of here!” She advanced on Irma, her tiny fists clenched.

  The woman in blue maintained her tranquil air as she appealed to Lizzy. “We’re running late—a celestial transition should ideally be done at sunrise. We hit traffic on the Turnpike and it delayed our arrival. Cosmos and I need only one thing, one item of Nelson’s—and we can complete his journey.”

  “You’ve got his Remington painting. Use that!” Lizzy snapped.

  I’d never witnessed Lizzy’s anger before. The worst thing she’d done was to call her father a rotten egg. Her bubbly persona morphed into a heated boil. The smile gone from her face, her eyes glowed like those of a tiger. “You robbed my father of some of his dearest possessions! Just get out of here and take what’s his name with you!” Her nostrils flared. “You have a lot of nerve!”

  Lizzy’s bottled up emotions came spewing out—all the hurt she felt over losing her father now became Irma’s fault. It was bound to happen. A distraction was needed before they came to blows.

  It was time for me to roll up my family therapist sleeves. Never one to belittle a person’s beliefs I phrased my distraction question as kindly as I could. “What kind of crazy cult are you running?”

  Chapter 21

  There was serenity in Irma’s eyes even as she nervously fiddled with the charms on the chain around her neck. Her reply was slow in coming. “Take my words to heart. The Seven Planets is hardly crazy. Someday earth will no longer be habitable. We are preparing to transition. The planet Trappist-1 is only thirty-nine light years away. Think of it—our next home is within touching distance.”

  She raised an index finger pointing to the ceiling. “Seven planets circle Trappist-1, a star in the Aquarius Constellation. They’re the size of the earth or smaller. The third planet is capable of sustaining life and celestial spirits. We’ve started with the spirits first—sending them to that planet which we call Karma.”

  I felt a charley horse in my left eyebrow.

  “We transport celestial beings everyday. Within a few years we’ll begin our own pre-celestial journey—uniting families with those who have gone before.”

  “This is bull-puppies!” Grams elbowed past me, coming nose to neck with Irma. “Get out of my sight and take the guy with the balls with you. Pronto!”

  Irma drew herself up to her full height. She had two inches on me. “I have every right to be here. I’m still married to Nelson Dingler—he never served the final papers on me.” She took a deep satisfied breath.

  “That’s because he couldn’t find you!” Grams snarled.

  “Legally, you have no right to my father’s possessions including his celestial being.” Pam spoke in a controlled tone made all the more menacing by the softness of her voice.

  Irma nodded a benign smile gracing her face.

  “Before you leave,” I put a hand on the cultist’s shoulder. “How did you get in here? I locked the door behind us.”

  “The door was open—ajar as a matte
r of fact.” Irma motioned to Cosmos to stand. He stopped his spinning balls, pulled a white cloth bag from under the hem of his caftan and carefully placed each ball in the bag.

  “We’ll be back!” She snapped her fingers. Cosmos rose and floated after her as she exited the apartment.

  I closed and locked the door behind them.

  “What do you think, Grams?” Lizzy said.

  “She read about Nelson’s passing and swooped in for a second haul,” Grams eyes were cold, flinty. “But what’s with the guy with the balls? My son would have a stroke if he knew Irma was messing with his celestial being!” She knotted her face. “Whatever that is.”

  It sounds like she believes that mumbo-jumbo she spouted. I’ve read about the star Trappist-1 and the possibility that one of its planets is earthlike.”

  “The Irma,” Lizzy corrected.

  I checked my watch. “Geez! It’s eight-forty-five. Grams can you drop Lizzy and me off at the shop?”

  “Let’s be sure Irma’s left the building,” Pam said. She tiptoed out into the small lobby and zipped back in. “The elevator light reads G. They must be on the ground floor. Looks like they left.”

  “Lizzy you take the bedrooms. Pam and Grams can you secure the garden door? I’ll check the other rooms,” I said. “Let’s be sure we’re not locking any cultists in the apartment. Watch out for the broken glass. No time to clean up.”

  Kal was bound to spot the fragments.

  Lizzy and I exchanged the all-clear sign by yelling, “All clear!”

  The Dinglers, WonderDog, and I left the apartment, adjusting the yellow tape. It drooped on one side—blame it on the humidity.

  Grams locked the apartment door. “You test it Olive.”

  I jiggled the knob, then pushed and pulled. “Locked.”

  We were off to the shop. Cutting it close. Late opening again.

  I hoped nobody was waiting for us.

  Chapter 22

  “No…” I groaned as Grams slid the Edsel into our parking lot.

  A sleek black sedan sat close to the entrance right under the sign that read Nonna’s Cold Cream. The lights were on in the shop and the window display was illuminated.

  “I didn’t hit anything,” Grams said. “What’re you whining about?”

  “That’s Myron car. The shop is open. Ivy still has the key. I’m not ready to deal with her—them!”

  Grams kept the engine running. “Out you go. I’ve no time for Ivy’s know-it-alls and Myron’s Godfather routine. Pam and I are going to the Yacht Club for brunch and snooping.”

  “Have fun. Wish I could go with you.” She had no idea how much I wished it. I stepped reluctantly from the car.

  “Just apply your psychology,” Lizzy said. “You’re good at tough love. I’ll be right behind you.”

  WonderDog leapt out of the car, ears and tail erect sensing our tension.

  “Remember your assignment!” Grams called. “After work get over to the arena in your snazziest jumpsuits and theatrical makeup. Don’t come back until they hire you.”

  Thinking of that didn’t help the Ivy-induced knot in my stomach. Before I could evict Ivy from our business I had to lather a description of the soap buyer from her. Also, there was Myron’s nose to consider—he had a snoot for crime.

  The bell over the door jangled as Lizzy, WonderDog, and I walked into the shop. It was our place and yet I felt prickly all over—as if wearing a linen dress.

  “You’re late!” The crumpled tissue paper voice came from behind the counter.

  My jaw locked—probably a good thing as it kept my tongue in place.

  Myron and Ivy stood side-by-side—the sight of them was enough to turn away our most devoted cold cream customers. They looked like Starfish Cove’s version of American Gothic sans pitchfork.

  “If we’re going to make changes—and we need to make changes—then you gals have to put in the hours!” Ivy said, tapping her fingers on the countertop. Her hands resembled a pawnshop window with rings on all of ten of her fingers.

  I ground my teeth so hard I thought I’d cracked a molar.

  Other than a nod, Myron didn’t greet us. I could see what side of the bed his bread was buttered on. He was helping Ivy move in on our territory. I gave the anxiety-ridden mobster the best counseling money could buy and this was the thanks I got.

  Lizzy kept a doggy bed near the front windows. WonderDog circled the mat twice and then settled in for a snooze, evidently exhausted by our tension.

  “Let’s get to work—” Ivy took a notebook from Myron and plunked it on the counter.

  Bad news is best served with an appetizer of compliments. “You’ve been a wonderful help, Ivy. We do appreciate your efforts. Let’s visit the backroom. Show me what supplies we need.” Privacy was required in order to retire Ivy from Nonna’s Cold Cream with her dignity intact.

  Lizzy directed her charm to Myron. “So tell me what you’ve been up to? I’ll bet the ladies who lunch in Manhattan are missing you.” She twirled her hair and licked her lip. Being a typical male Myron fell into the trap—they all do.

  Ivy and I slipped behind the curtain. I escorted her to the far side of the room to avoid being overheard. Before I alienated her I needed to pluck a description of the soap buyer from her little gray cells.

  “This is where our stock of lavender soap was.” I pointed to the spot on the floor where the two cartons of forty-eight bars of soap had been. “It’s great that you sold them all but tell me a bit about the buyer. Just curious.”

  “Let’s talk about my ideas. With my experience we could save this little shop and make it a success.”

  Ivy’s suggestion that we weren’t doing well stung. The cold cream business was our baby and it was growing at a nice pace. We didn’t need her Manhattan Macy’s ideas. The shop was mom and pop or in this case Olive and Lizzy. Period.

  Instead of responding I redirected. “Can you recall what the soap buyer looked like?”

  “Of course I remember. Macy’s trained us to retain details in case we were ever robbed. I mean…he wasn’t a robber. He paid. But here you go.”

  She began to count off on the fingers of her left hand. “Build—slight, your height. Race—white. Age—not more than thirty. Hair—shaved head. Eyes—bluish-green. I’ve run out of fingers but I’ll keep on going.”

  I sighed a noisy gust of air.

  Ivy looked over my shoulder as if the guy was standing behind me. “He had full lips. I’ve always thought that kind of girly for a man. I can’t say there was anything fishy about him—I mean he didn’t smell fishy. Most folks around Starfish Cove have a sea breeze-fish odor. So he wasn’t local.”

  I bent my head taking a whiff of me. I hadn’t thought about that before. The sea breeze odor wasn’t offensive and at times it mingled with suntan oil and gave off a pleasant piña colada aroma. But I still sniffed. I didn’t smell fishy but I still detected a trace of Eau de WonderDog.

  “He was wearing a blue and white striped polo shirt, baggy white trousers and those leather slip-on shoes they wear on boats.”

  “Did he have an accent?”

  “He just sounded cheerful. Like I told you the soap was for his sister’s wedding shower. Asked where he could get ribbon and empty goodie bags.”

  “Besides being cheerful was there anything else about his behavior?”

  “He acted nervous like he was rushed. Got the soap, paid, and then carried the cartons out to his car. I offered to help but he said no.”

  Imagine that, a young healthy guy refusing help from an octogenarian. He seemed normal enough. He liked our distinctive soap that contained hand-crushed lavender blooms. The question that niggled at me was how a non-local male happened into our little shop.

  “Let’s get on to business,” Ivy said. “Every morning we had department meetings at Macy’s. We need to start doing that.”

  “About Macys.” I took a deep breath and reached into my bag of tricks for disappointing people without hurting them.
“Ivy, we really appreciate all the thought you’ve given to our shop.”

  “But…?” Her dark eyes flashed. “I hear a but coming.”

  No matter what I said this was going to end badly. “Part of the joy of starting a new business is learning from your mistakes. It’s about having a partner who can take up where you’re weak and vice-versa. Lizzy could sell the Sunshine Skyway Bridge to camel drivers in the Sahara. I’m not a salesperson, but I have business sense and training in understanding human nature.”

  Ivy’s bottom lip popped out like a Pez dispenser.

  “It’s not to say your ideas don’t have value, because they do—you do. But Lizzy and I are special friends and confidants as well as partners. Very often a partnership works with two people but not three. From the beginning we agreed to take this journey alone—together.”

  “I understand.” She threw her head back and dashed from the room.

  One step behind her I watched as she flung herself against Myron. He wrapped his arms around her, his heavy gold cufflinks locking together. He jiggled and yanked unable to free his wrists. Ivy was locked in his arms.

  “May I?” I approached despite his look to kill. “Hold still.”

  The corner of one cufflink was hung on the other. I jiggled them free. He released Ivy and she stood back sniffling. She was a woman used to getting her way. Sometimes the more you get to know someone, the less you wish you did.

  Lizzy shot me a now what look. I gave her a slight shake of my head.

  Careful not to utter anything that would give Ivy or Myron encouragement I said, “We treasure your friendship—both of you. But we just can’t add a third partner.” I didn’t add, “Especially one who comes with a pet mobster.”

  Myron dropped his voice to noir. “You might want to consider taking out insurance on your little shop.”

  “After all we’ve been through, you’d strong arm me?” I said.

  He blushed. “You’re right. You’re right!” He threw his arms in the air. There’s no reason this should get out of hand. You’ll always be my little shiksa but now I’ve got a responsibility to Ivy. There’s only one thing left to do.”