by Tracey Quinn
It was lunch time when Mayor Pumphrey came into the diner. Howard Pumphrey is a short round man, 5'5” tall and weighs about 300 pounds, which is why some of his constituents call him Mr. Five-by-Five. He is a mediocre mayor but he keeps getting re-elected because no one else wants the job. I noticed that he had an egg yolk stain on his tie, which was nothing unusual, but he also had a flat-top haircut. Harry Morrison strikes again.
“How are you doing today?” I asked, as I led him to a table. Booths didn't work out very well for the Mayor. He could squeeze into one, but getting back out was always a challenge.
“Not good, not good,” he said, shaking his head. “My wife Velma's gone off to take care of her grandmother, which leaves me without a secretary. She doesn't seem to realize that she has responsibilities here.”
“I'm sorry to hear that,” I said. “What happened to her grandmother?”
“Nothing much, just a broken ankle, but, for heavens' sake, the woman is 92 years old! Why does she always need Velma to take care of her? How old do you have to be before you learn how to take care of yourself? Why just last year when she got hit by a car, wouldn't you know she called Velma again! I went to the hospital myself to see her and she had nothing wrong with her at all except a little lump on her head about the size of a baseball. People can be so selfish, Dani. Speaking of selfish, this Lloyd Duval creature is causing chaos in this town!”
“Oh, you mean with his Courage lectures? Is it causing too much traffic?” I asked.
“No, I don't care about traffic as long as I'm not in it,” he said. “That yahoo challenged me for the mayor's office! He wants me to agree to debate him at the city fair! When is that thing anyhow?”
“It starts this weekend,” I replied. “It's always the first week of October. What on earth makes Lloyd Duval think that he could win a race for mayor? He just got back to town and the election is only about five weeks off.”
“He just got back to town? Where's he been?”
“Don't you remember? He's been in jail for the past six years?”
“Good Lord! That's great! Maybe I can use that against him. I hope it was for something serious, not just jaywalking or something like that.”
Mayor Pumphrey never ceases to amaze me. Six years for jay-walking?
“No, it was for killing a man in a bar fight.”
“All right then, that's good. You can see now why I need Velma to come back, can't you Dani? She tends to remember things like that. Also I need her to set up my booth at the fair. I hope you're going to have a one at the fair this year.”
“Yes,” I replied. “When Jesse owned the diner he always had one, so we will, too.”
“That's good. Jesse's food at the fair was usually instant mashed potatoes and gravy in a Dixie cup and the Ladies Auxiliary served fish sticks and tater tots on a stick. I always brought a sandwich with me. Speaking of food, what's the lunch special today?”
“We have grilled bratwurst Reubens on rye buns, the choice of sides are roast sweet potato hash with caramelized onions, french fries or bacon mac and cheese, and for dessert we have chocolate fudge pie or caramel layer cake.”
“Okay, I'll have that.”
“All right,” I said, noticing that the egg yolk on his tie wasn't dry yet. “Which side and dessert do you want?”
“Just bring all of them. With Velma gone I never know what to choose.”
So Lloyd Duval was running for Mayor! What on earth was he up to? Whatever it was, the idea of Mayor Duval didn't exactly fill me with joy.
After I got off work at two o'clock Mark came by the diner and asked if I'd like to go jogging with him by the lake for about a half hour. I was tired, but I could stand to burn a few calories and I had determined to actually stick to a fitness routine for once, so I said okay.
It was a nice afternoon, not too hot with a pleasant breeze wafting off the water, and pretty soon I wasn't regretting the decision as much as I had been when we started. I still found my mind returning to Lloyd Duval and his bid for the mayor's office, and we had been jogging for almost ten minutes before I noticed that Mark had fallen behind.
“Why are you jogging behind me?” I asked.
“Obviously it's hard for an older person to keep up with someone who's so much younger and...”
“And you're ogling my buns.”
“Good heavens, you might be right,” he said as he jogged up beside me. “I'm embarrassed to tell you that I am the victim of a rare condition that causes my eyes to involuntarily go into ogle-mode when I see an attractive girl. The medical community both here and abroad has worked diligently through the years to rid me of this dreadful affliction, but alas, to no avail. I've had acupuncture, hypnotherapy, ear wax analysis, deep pore cleansing, but nothing works. I guess I'll just have to live with it.”
“It's very impressive that you can shovel all that crap while jogging and not lose your breath,” I said.
“I work out.”
“Speaking of working out, I noticed the other evening when you were on the treadmill in the basement that you have a scar on your left side. I assumed at first that it was from man-scaping gone wrong, but on second look it seemed like it was from something, shall we say, a little more aggressive than that.”
“Don't know what man-scaping is but the scar is just a souvenir from when I was in the Middle East. So you were checking out the hot bod when you were sitting down there pretending to crochet?”
“Excuse me, I was crocheting! I'm making a blanket for my bed. I want to have it done before it gets cold this winter.”
“A blanket? The thing is about the size of a coaster. I almost sat my soda can on it.”
“Well it's a complicated pattern.”
“You left your notes on the washer. Chain stitch, three double crochet, repeat.”
“You don't crochet so you may not be aware that those are very intricate stitches, and I certainly was not checking out the hot bod, as you say. Naturally I looked up when you made a major production number of whipping off your shirt like some matador's cape.”
“Pardon me for not wanting to have heat stroke.”
“It was 65 degrees down there. My toes were turning blue.”
“Oh, I thought the thermometer said 95 degrees. Must be my dyslexia kicking in. And just a bit of advice. You'll get more benefit out of jogging either here or on the treadmill if you wear spandex shorts instead of those baggy ones you have on.”
“Really?”
“Yes, the spandex holds the gluteal musculature more firmly during exercise so that the muscles become toned more rapidly.”
“And you're an expert on gluteal muscles?” I asked.
“You might say it's been an area of interest.”
My phone rang and I saw it was Charlene, my ditzy 16 year old waitress who works the afternoon shift. I would have ignored it but Charlene is supposed to be working now, so I answered.
“What's up, Charlene, aren't you at work now?”
“Oh yes, I am, Miss O'Shea,” she replied. “I just wanted to call and let you know about the baby. Jimmy and I are so excited.”
I stopped jogging. “The baby? You mean you and Jimmy-”
Jimmy, who is also 16 years old, works as a busboy at the diner.
“Yes,” she said, “We just found out about it last night and we wanted you to be the first to know about it!”
“But have you told your parents?”
“No, they wouldn't be interested. That's why Jimmy and I thought we should call you.”
“Don't you think you should go see Dr. Bill just to be sure?” I asked.
“Oh, no. I know Dr. Bill is interested in this kind of thing, but Jimmy and I know all we need to know, and besides he might tell our parents. We talked it over and decided that you're the only one we'll tell about it.”
My knees went weak. Why did I hire teenagers? Because they were cheap, of course. I was remembering an old saying “The cheap sometimes turns out expensive.” It seemed like th
is was going to be of those sometimes. I mentally strapped on my seat belt and plunged right in.
“Okay, we'll talk about it some more later, but what can I do for you right now?”
“Well, Mr. Hurley said you were going down by the lake and I thought if you saw it you could take some pictures. We couldn't see it too well last night.”
“Take pictures?” I asked. “Of what?”
“The baby lake monster,” she replied. “The lake monster we saw last spring must have been female and she's had a baby. Jimmy and I saw it last night; it had such cute little flashing eyes and all! It's all so exciting! It was too dark so the pictures we took didn't turn out, so if you see it could you take some pictures while it's still daylight? We want to sell them to TV stations and newspapers. That is, if you have your phone with you.”
In that moment I discovered that a person can be both relieved and infuriated at the same time.
“You and I are talking on my phone right now, Charlene,” I said through what I think were gritted teeth. “I'll be sure to take pictures of the baby lake monster if I see it. Would you mind waiting on customers now?”
“Oh, sure, there's a whole bunch of them but they all seem to be just looking at menus. I also need to tell you that Pearl from the beauty parlor said there's some kind of bug going around that gets on a person's scalp and drills holes in the skull and eats brain tissue. It's really scary. She said it escaped from some science lab where they were studying it. She sells some special shampoo that can kill them, though.”
Bunches of customers all waiting to order. My only waitress talking about baby lake monsters and skull-drilling bugs. Give me patience, Lord.
“Thanks for the information, Charlene. Now here's the thing; customers look at menus and then they want to order food. Go take their orders now because if they get tired of waiting and walk out I won't have enough money to pay you and that would be a bad thing, wouldn't it?”
“That's a good point, Miss O'Shea.”
“And tell Jimmy to refill the towel dispenser in the men's room. People are using up a lot of my napkins.”
“Okay, but please don't forget about the pictures.”
“Don't worry, I'll certainly remember this conversation.”
Mark and I sat down on a bench overlooking the lake.
“So I assume the baby in question belongs to the lake monster and not to Charlene and Jimmy?” he asked.
“Yes, and she wants me to take pictures of it,” I said. “She also warned me about a new kind of bug that drills through the scalp and eats brains.”
“Well, if it makes it through her scalp, it'll starve. By the way, the beach on the other side of the lake at Pumpkin City is great. Why didn't they make a beach on this side of the lake here in East Spoon Creek City? It wouldn't be that hard to do.”
“Probably for the same reason that we don't have street signs, crosswalks or stripes on the roads. I would have asked for roller skates for my birthday when I was a kid but we didn't have sidewalks on our street. You know, Lloyd Duval could actually beat Mayor Pumphrey if he runs any kind of decent campaign.”
“Probably,” Mark said. “When is your birthday?”
“Valentine's Day,” I replied. “When's yours?”
“The Fourth of July.”
“You're joking! Born on the Fourth of July; isn't that a movie?”
”Yes, it's a movie, but some people are actually born on the Fourth of July and I'm one of them.”
“Oh, but I missed your birthday,” I said. “I didn't know about it and I didn't get you anything.”
“Well,” said Mark as he put his arm around my shoulders, “when my brother Dave and I were kids instead of buying a present for my Mom we would do something special for her. She said it meant more to her than if we had bought something for her. Maybe you'd like to think of something special you could do for me.”
“Absolutely. There's a sale on men's polo shirts at the mall. I'll go there tomorrow.”
Chapter 4
The next morning when I opened the Breezy Spoon for the day, I saw Zeke and Kristi Constable among the early crowd, but fortunately there was no sign of Roger with them. Zeke wore a woolen hat and gloves, as well as a scarf tucked under his bristly gray beard, in spite of the weather being warm even at this early hour. Kristi tottered along beside him on her ridiculously high heels, her much jewelry clinking as she walked.
Kristi is plump and peroxide blonde and about half Zeke's age; I suppose it's flattering to old Zeke's ego to have a trophy wife of sorts, but judging from the scowl on his face, he wasn't enjoying it much at the moment. I showed them to a table, and then to a second one as Kristi thought the first one was too drafty for Zeke, and gave them menus.
“Let me take your hat and scarf and hang them up on the rack for you,” I offered.
“The garbage can's closer,” Zeke grumbled. “Just stick 'em in there!”
“Now cupcake, if you don't wear your hat outside, your head will get as sunburned as a little ol' tomato!” Kristi clucked. “You're just grumpy 'cause of your blood sugar. Let's get you something to eat. What's the special today, Dani darling?”
“Huevos rancheros with beef chili and fresh guacamole, served with a side of potatoes O'Brien and flaky cheddar biscuits. Your choice of strawberry parfait or chocolate chunk muffins for dessert.”
“We'll have two of those,” Kristi replied. “Only leave the chili off of Zeke's; it makes him toot. Oh, and guacamole is too spicy for him; just a few avocado slices will do. No potatoes for him, but I'll have extra. I'll have the chocolate chunk muffin, and give Zeke the strawberry parfait.”
“I'll put that order in for you right now,” I said.
“Thank you, dear, and leave the strawberries off the parfait. They make Zeke's little ol' allergies kick up something fierce.”
Zeke looked ready to kick up something fierce himself, so I took the order back to the kitchen window rather than stay and witness a murder. That was when I noticed a grizzly bear in overalls sitting at the counter. Okay, it wasn't actually a grizzly bear, but it was a man who was the size of a grizzly bear with shaggy black hair and a bushy beard. He wore a cap turned backwards on his head and smudged white overalls with “Belcher's Towing” written across his huge back.
“Gimme a coffee and one a' them muffin things,” he grunted as I approached the counter.
He had the manners of a grizzly bear, too. “Sure, how do you take your coffee?” I asked.
“Four sugars.”
Menacing, rude, and four sugars in his coffee; yep, he was definitely a homicidal maniac. If he was going to be towing cars around town, that would mean great business for McGarity's Garage, since everyone would be getting their cars into tip top shape to make sure they never needed to call the tow truck.
Apparently I had been worrying about the wrong homicidal maniac though, for suddenly I heard shouting from the back of the dining room: “What can I do?! I can kill him, that's what I can do! That's what I will do!”
“Gene, no!”
The second voice was Kitty's, and I hurried around the counter to see what was going on. Kitty had just come inside the back door and I could see that her face was pale and her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Gene McGee, still wearing his McGee's Market apron, was standing in the doorway, looking as mad a I've ever seen him.
“That no-account bum isn't going to lay one finger on you!” Gene shouted. “I'm going right home and get my hunting rifle! It wouldn't be the first time I've shot a skunk!”
Through the window I saw Bob running up to the door. “Gene, take it easy! I'll handle this,” he called. “Where's Kitty?”
“I'm here, Bob!” Kitty cried. “I'm okay!”
“She's not the one you have to worry about, deputy!” Gene snapped. “Just wait til I get that rat in my sights!”
Customers had left their seats and were gathering by the counter to get a look at the cause of the commotion. Bob took Gene by the arm and led him outside
. “Simmer down, Gene,” he said. “I don't want to have to arrest you for disorderly conduct.”
“Stick around for a few minutes and you can arrest me for murder!”
I closed the door and returned to where Kitty was standing. “Kitty, are you okay?” I asked. “What happened?”
“Lloyd happened,” she sniffed. “I don't want to talk about it out here.”
“Of course. Let's go into my office.”
Once inside, Kitty slumped into a chair and wiped her eyes. “I had just gotten Timmy ready for school and as soon as I opened the front door to walk him to the bus, there was Lloyd! He walked right up to me and put his face just a few inches from mine and said he heard that I had been saying bad things about him around town! I told him to go away or I'd call the police, but he just laughed; he jabbed a finger right at me and told me that he's got a good thing going and if I ruin it for him I'll be sorry!”
“That bastard! He hasn't changed a bit! What did you do?”
“Laurie was inside the house and heard what he said and she told him she was calling the police and Gene, and he'd better hope the police got there first. Well, Lloyd left but not before telling me to keep my mouth shut or he'd shut it for me. Then Laurie did call Gene, and you can see what that led to.”
“I don't blame him,” I said. “I've half a mind to join his hunting party myself! Now listen, Bob will handle this, but I don't want you going home alone at the end of your shift. I'm sure Brendan will be glad to drive you home and make sure you get inside safely, and I'll pick you up in the mornings-”
“Why did Lloyd have to come back?” Kitty cried. “And now he's going to stay in town and he's going to be the mayor and ruin our lives!”
“There's no way Lloyd is going to be mayor,” I said. Inside I wasn't feeling so confident; I could picture the debate with Lloyd looking handsome and dressed as if he just stepped off the cover of Gentleman's Quarterly, making an impressive speech to the crowd while Mayor Pumphrey wiped gravy off his tie and tried to remember what year it is. I wondered how much it would cost to move a diner to another town.
