Diced

by Deany Ray

  Marge frowned dramatically in a way that showed off the Temptress Red lipstick she’d just reapplied. “Such a sad state of affairs. The poor woman is just distressed.”

  Affairs? That might be the perfect word. Only Marge had made Deborah sound like the most delicate of flowers instead of a hurricane.

  Alex pointed at me, then spoke in a whisper. “Just keep this one from getting knocked out or tripping into an open grave until I can come to save her.” Both were references from true-life misadventures starring me as klutz extraordinaire and Alex as rescuer.

  “Fair enough,” I said, red-faced. Why did our cases, few as they had been, always bring us face to face with Alex at my exact worse moments?

  “It’s not dangerous police stuff,” I tried to reassure him.

  “She’s absolutely right,” Marge said, standing up to go. “And we’ll look out for your girlfriend.”

  I gave her a look.

  She responded with a giggle. “Alex, you be careful too.” She looked around and whispered, taking into account, for once, the need to keep our work confidential. “If you need some backup, you know we have mad skills. If you need rescuing one day, then we’re your girls right here.”

  We were interrupted by the waitress, who looked at Alex with a bashful smile. I guess I was not the only one who’d noticed those blue eyes.

  “What can I get you, sir?” she asked.

  Alex smiled back at her. “Cheeseburger to go, and hold the pickles please. I’d like some fries and a coke, too.”

  “Bon Appetite,” Celeste said, standing up. As she turned to go, she ran straight into…my mother.

  “Well, if it’s not my favorite girls!” my mother cried, pulling the three of us into a hug. Then she kept her arm around my shoulder. “I missed my Charlie so much. I don’t like it when she’s gone.”

  “Mom! I lived ten minutes from your house. And I didn’t live there long.”

  She waved my remarks away with one sweep of her arms, which that day were draped dramatically in a maroon and purple scarf. “Too far!” she cried. “Too long! Now everything is set to rights. Did the move go okay this morning?”

  “Charlie’s all moved in,” Marge reported proudly.

  My mother smiled at me and pushed some of her long curls from her shoulder. “I wish I could have been there to help you get settled in.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “But Mrs. Horton’s in a bad way. They had to move her into what they call a home for active seniors.” She made air quotes with her fingers. “I didn’t see a soul who I’d describe as active. I swear! Even the caretakers looked like they were half asleep.”

  My mom not only taught exercise classes for the over-eighty set, but she took an interest in their lives. She continued with her story. “I just had to get her out of there for a little while. We decided to come out for lunch.” She turned to wave at an older woman at a corner booth. She smiled cheerily at Mrs. Horton – who, by the way, looked to be about one hundred and seventeen – then turned the smile on us. “So! What’s new with my girls?”

  “Well,” I said, “I’m glad not to have to cook my own dinners anymore.” I smiled in anticipation of my mother’s gourmet meals, which appeared on the table every night, no matter how frantic her schedule had seemed to be that day. “What are you making today, Mom?”

  She kissed my cheek. “I thought we’d have spaghetti casserole. I know that’s your favorite.” She turned to Marge and Celeste. “And how are you two doing? Anything exciting happening in your lives?”

  Marge thought about the question. “Well, of course, there’s work. Then I thought I might hit up the bookstore. I’ve never been a reader, but there’s always time to start. I love a good romance, don’t you? And I think that while I’m there, I’ll buy a book about computers – on how to fix one quickly when you have no idea what’s wrong.” She frowned. “Such a mystery, those machines.”

  My mother looked confused. “But aren’t you girls the experts?”

  “What she meant to say,” Celeste said, “is that we’re getting manicures! Electronics work can take a real toll on nail health.”

  Beside me, Alex laughed. He held up his hand to study it. “Oooh. So can chasing crooks. Just look at these fingers. Whatever will I do?”

  My mother burst into a fit of girlish giggles. “Charlotte, isn’t this the nice young man who was so sweet to sit beside you at the hospital that day?” I’d been injured pretty badly in the last investigation, and Alex had stepped right up to make sure I was okay. That had been the moment when I saw him in a new way, this tall, well-built detective with the disarming grin. Despite his man-sized ego, he was really kind of sweet. He made me feel…well, safe. He also set my fantasies to spinning in all kind of fun directions. Which I couldn’t think about right then with my mother standing there.

  Now he’d turned back into the kind of man who’d propose a date, and then just drop the idea altogether. Like it had never ever happened. I knew all about that kind of drop-dead gorgeous man. They knew how it made you feel when they looked at you with those eyes. Those eyes were a weapon. It was just a game to them, to play with your affections. From now on, as much as possible, I’d stay away from him.

  My mom reached out her hand to him. “It’s so nice to see you again. You took such good care of my daughter. I want to thank you for that.” She thought about it. “I’ll cook you dinner! Some delicious lobster tails maybe.”

  Noooooo!

  “I’d be honored, Mrs. Cooper,” Alex said.

  Thanks, Mom. Thanks a lot.

  My mom looked at me and smiled. “He has lovely manners, Charlotte.” Then she turned to Alex. “Please, won’t you call me Barbara? Are you free to come to our house on Saturday? We’ve got the whole family gathering. Of course, being young and handsome, you might have plans already.”

  Sheesh. Was my mother really blushing? She must be under the spell of those Alex Spencer eyes. Then, hey! I thought of something. I was also young. Why did my mother just assume that I was free to come to her lobster dinner? Because my mother wasn’t stupid. Because my dating life was kind of non-existent.

  “Oh, lobsters. Really? Lobsters?” Marge clasped her hands together. “Do you dip them in butter?”

  “Oh, yes. Jack makes the most delicious garlic-butter sauce. Marge, you should come on Saturday. And Celeste, we’d love to have you, too. I do love to have a crowd. It can be a party!” She clapped her hands together as her plan took shape.

  “Oh, I absolutely will,” Marge said. “Tell me what to bring. I can get my hands on a recipe for some lovely lima beans. But I don’t suppose that goes so well with lobster…”

  Celeste interrupted. “Oh Barbara, we’re so sorry, but Marge and I have plans. She must have just forgotten.” She shot Marge a look.

  Something seemed to dawn on Marge. She blushed and winked at me. “Oh yes, that’s right. We do have plans already. We’ll come another night for sure. Alex and Charlie, I just know, will have a lovely time.” She gave me a not-so-subtle wink.

  Great. I finally got my date, if you could call it that. And now – big surprise – it would include my mother.

  “I will look forward to it, Barbara.” Alex nodded his goodbyes.

  “Seven o’clock,” she said. The fingers of her left hand did a little dance that was her special wave.

  “Well, this is absolutely lovely,” she said as she watched him walk out the door. She stared at him as he left. “Did you girls notice that young man has a very nice behind?”

  “Mother! Please. Just stop,” I said. Sometimes moving back to your hometown could kick you in the gut.

  “His behind is okay,” Celeste said. “His attitude is not.”

  My mother stared, transfixed, at the empty place that had recently been occupied by Alex. Was she going into some trance, channeling some enchanted spirit who could turn an old-maid daughter into someone’s wife? And maybe add two children dressed in fresh-pressed clothes who loved their grandma best of all? My moth
er believed in strange things. You never knew what she was thinking.

  “Girls.” She finally spoke. “Let me ask you a question.”

  “Shoot it to us straight.” Celeste tilted her head to wait.

  “If this Alex were a beverage, would he be a rum and coke? A martini, dry? Or just a frosty glass of beer?”

  I stared at her. Say, what?

  Marge leapt up in glee. “Me first! Me first! What drink would I be? Can I be a Mai Tai? With a little green umbrella? I collect the umbrellas from everybody’s drinks. I have every single color.”

  Celeste looked at Marge first and then at my mother. “I don’t understand. Why in the name of the Tuesday Pork Chop Special would Alex be a drink?”

  “It’s my brand-new hobby,” my mother said with a smile. “I’m taking a cocktail class. Our teacher said that mixing drinks is more than just a matter of choosing the ingredients and measuring just right. He said the best bartenders, the most delightful hosts, know how to match the perfect drink with a personality.”

  For this she was paying money?

  “Not to burst your bubble,” I said, “but wouldn’t it work better just to ask them what drink they’d prefer? What if you decided they were a pineapple margarita, and they were allergic to pineapples? What if they were really in the mood to just have a nice merlot?”

  I stopped myself. Why was I even having this stupid conversation? What kind of person looked like a pineapple margarita? And if you met that kind of person, would you make them a drink, or would you run the other way?

  “Oh, Charlie,” my mother said. “Don’t be so serious. Have a little fun.”

  “That sounds fascinating.” Celeste leaned against the counter. “What made you decide to take the class?”

  My mother lowered her voice to a whisper. “It’s this thing with Mrs. Horton. It made me determined to stay as youthful as I can, to do the things that young folks do.”

  Celeste looked skeptical. “You don’t think that old folks drink?”

  “Well, yes.” My mother thought about it. “But they just drink the same old things. They don’t try new drinks with every meal. They don’t try the new and the exciting. They stick with the old and boring.”

  Celeste nodded to herself. “Makes sense to me, I guess. I’ll have to drop by one day. You can pour me a surprise.”

  “I’ll look forward to it. Well, I guess I better go order up some food before Mrs. Horton needs her nap. Toodle-oo. It was so much fun to see you girls.” She returned to Mrs. Horton, who, indeed, was napping at the table.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said, “And hurry. Before we run into someone else.”

  ***

  Stanley’s store was located in a busy part of town. The sign out front was flashing bright despite some missing lights. Busy Bee’s, it said. Tobacco, Food and More. A small lighted cartoon bee danced above the words.

  There were cars in every space in the tiny parking lot. Marge circled the block five times before a truck pulled out of a space along the street just across from the Busy Bee. We had a perfect view. I looked at my cell to check the time. It was just past three. We could be here a while. I stretched out in the back seat and watched people come and go. Cars idled in the parking lot, their drivers hoping for a space.

  I checked my email and played the mouse game on my phone. Then I ate two cookies. Hmm. Time was passing slow. I watched people go into the store and guessed what they might be buying. Then I Googled alien sightings in Massachusetts. Nothing interesting came up.

  Marge and Celeste were talking about people they had known when they worked as waitresses at my father’s diner. I halfway followed the conversation, but lost interest. Most of them were doing boring things, like moving to Vermont to work in medical transcriptions. I Googled Do Cops Make Bad Boyfriends?

  I still had more cookies. I opened the bag and took a bite. So sweet. I kicked off my shoes and shifted my position. The button for the window pressed into my back. For my next undercover mission, I would have to bring a pillow. Or a blanket even. Hey, I’d make a list.

  “Marge,” I called up to the front seat. “Could I have a sheet of paper? And a pen?”

  “Sure thing, hon. Will do.” She took a bite of her sandwich, then set the wrapper on the seat to dig into her purse. She tore a page out of her notebook and handed it back along with her silver pen.

  “Thanks.” Hmm. What to bring the next time? I wrote down magazines and brownies and fuzzy socks. Then I crossed out the first entry. Magazines could be distracting. I had to stay alert. Should I look out of the window more? What should I be watching for?

  “Hey, could you hand back Stanley’s picture?” I asked.

  Celeste handed me the photo Deborah had left with us. “Keep this face in your mind,” she said. “We need to make sure this guy doesn’t slip away unnoticed.”

  “Right.” I stared at our mystery man. He was short, stocky and bald and had on the olive-green vest that Deborah hated; she said he wore it all the time. That was good at least. Most people on a stakeout have absolutely no idea what their target might be wearing. Yay for bad fashion sense.

  “Okay,” Marge sighed. “This is super boring. Why don’t we drive around for a while and then come back before it’s time for him to leave?”

  “No way,” I told her. “When a client’s interests are at stake, we don’t make decisions based on whether we are bored. What if he decides to slip off early? What if he’s been lying about when he gets off work? Maybe the mistress will decide to show up. Or the mob boss or the secret second family. Or whoever or whatever this guy’s big secret is.”

  “Charlie’s right,” Celeste said. “We’re here on a stakeout, not a fun girls’ day out.”

  Because that would just be pitiful – a girls’ day out at the Busy Bee.

  The time stretched out very slowly.

  ***

  3:42.

  “What time is it now?” Marge asked.

  “Do the math,” Celeste said. “Six and a half minutes later than the last time you asked.”

  “My whole body’s getting stiff,” Marge said. She wiggled her shoulders in a little dance. “Is anybody thirsty? I think I’ll go inside, see what they’ve got to drink.”

  “Can’t do that. Remember?” I asked her. “We said that we weren’t going in. We don’t want to show our faces.”

  “Right.”

  ***

  4:02.

  Why did Marge have to mention drinks? Now I was absolutely parched.

  I turned around to look behind me. “We aren’t too far from the mall,” I said. “It might feel good to stretch my legs. Why don’t I go for drinks?”

  “Soda, please,” Celeste said.

  “Make that two,” Marge said.

  I opened the car door and gratefully stretched my legs out onto the pavement. The fresh air felt good against my skin. As I began to walk, my knees felt kind of creaky from my time in the back seat.

  Soon I was back with sodas for my partners and a caramel latte with whipped cream for me. Because caffeine! And cream!

  ***

  4:22.

  “I know some songs,” Marge said. “Let’s have a sing-along.”

  Celeste leaned back in her seat. “Here’s my idea: let’s don’t.”

  ***

  4:45.

  “I have to pee,” Celeste said.

  “Me too,” Marge said.

  “Me three.”

  Celeste turned around to face me. “You too? Couldn’t you find a bathroom at the mall?”

  I shrugged. “That was a while ago. I didn’t need a bathroom then.”

  Once they’d mentioned the, um, problem, I had to go real bad; I had to go so bad it hurt. They never showed this in the movies. The cops in the movies were always on surveillance. And never – not one single time – did they need to pee. What were they, robot cops? In real life, this surveillance stuff was brutal.

  “Well, you know what’s down the street, right?” Celeste lo
oked at her phone to check the time. “I hope that Pete’s is open. You both have been there, right? Pete’s Uptown Sombrero.”

  Oooh, I knew the place. Their tacos were superb.

  “I’ll go first,” Celeste said. “I know the guys at Pete’s.” Well, of course she did. “They’ll let us use the bathroom. They owe me a favor.”

  It was Celeste, so I knew not to ask. I was just happy for a potty.

  ***

  5:15.

  We played I Spy. Which was kind of funny. Because we were…well, we were spies. We played word games on our phones. Then we sat in silence for so long that I wondered if one or both of my friends might just be asleep. I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. I could keep watch while they napped. I ate another cookie.

  ***

  5:45.

  Marge began to sing in a sleepy voice. “The little green frog went hopping by…”

  “No,” Celeste and I said together, my mouth full of cookie.

  ***

  6:03.

  “What time is it now?” Marge asked.

  No one had said a word for twenty minutes. I was out of cookies.

  “If I were a drink, what drink would I be?” Marge asked.

  ***

  6:10.

  Celeste sang in a high-pitched, quiet voice. “Hop, hop went the froggy…”

  Hmm. Who knew Celeste could sing? She was pretty good.

  Marge and I joined in. “The cat said ‘Can I come along, come along, come along?’ The cat said ‘Can I come along to the big green meadow?’”

  We remembered the movements too. Pointed fingers to make cat ears, waving hand motions for the snake…

  ***

  6:22.

  “I’ve got to get out of this car,” Marge said.

  She walked three times around the car. I wondered what kind of cookies they sold in the Busy Bee.

  ***