by Amy Vansant
Darla took it and winced as Mariska pushed herself between the bushes.
“Ow, ow, ow, ow.”
Safe on the other side, they hustled through the grass, unsure what might be hiding in there at night. Finding the sidewalk, they headed for the hoarder’s house.
Mariska leaned toward Gloria and did her best to whisper. “What are you going to do? Put it in her car?”
Gloria opened the canvas tote bag she’d brought with her and retrieved what looked like a family-pack of ground beef.
“Where’d you get that?” asked Darla, worried she knew.
“From your freezer.”
“That’s my pack of backup beef?” Darla frowned. She’d bought the family pack for the hurricane. It had been the last big pack available after the hoarders picked everything clean, and snatching it from the case, she’d felt like she won the lottery.
Gloria picked up her pace and made hard right into the hoarder’s side yard. Darla and Mariska followed.
“That’s fifteen dollars’ worth of hamburger,” hissed Darla at the back of Mariska’s head.
Mariska spoke over her shoulder. “This was your stupid idea. I told you we never should have let this crazy lady back into the neighborhood.”
“But I was so mad—”
“And look where that got us.”
They joined Gloria in the hoarder’s back yard, the little woman staring up at the tightly woven metal grid of the pool cage as if she were about to leap on it like a squirrel and scurry to the top.
Gloria poked holes in the clear beef wrapping with her fingernail and thrust the package at Mariska.
“You look strong. Throw this up there.”
“What?” Mariska looked at Darla for help.
“Give it to me.” Darla took the beef and felt her mood darken again. She didn’t know which was worse—shoveling raccoon or throwing away good beef.
She peeled back the plastic and gave the pack a quick mental eulogy. Like a human catapult, she cocked back her arm with the Styrofoam tray of burger balanced in her palm, and flung it into the air.
It sailed straight up and tilted to rain hamburger on her head.
“Incoming!” Darla scream-whispered. She covered her head to duck and run, only to smack directly into Mariska. Her head bounced off of Mariska’s bosom and she bounced back on her butt in the grass as the package of meat sideswiped Mariska’s head and landed in her lap.
“Ow.”
The center was apparently still frozen.
Gloria, who’d been smart enough to take a few steps back, remained unmoving, her arms crossed against her chest.
“Did it spill?”
Darla picked a piece of hamburger out of her hair and glared at the package, surprised to find it largely intact.
“It didn’t lose much.”
Gloria heaved a breath. “Good. Pick up what you can and try again.”
Darla took the pack in one hand and held up the other to Mariska, who pulled her to her feet.
“I think you broke my boob,” said Mariska, rubbing her chest.
“Sorry. It’s been a while since I last threw a pack of beef.”
Darla prepared her human catapult again as Mariska wandered off to stand next to Gloria, safely out of the Hamburger Zone.
Concentrating, she heaved the package skyward again. This time, the package traveled in a beautiful meaty arc to land with a thud-rattle on the cage. It bounced once, though it wasn’t half as loud as Darla feared it would be. A little spilled through the grate and into the woman’s pool.
Darla grinned, pleased with her throw. She looked at Gloria.
“How about that?” she asked Gloria.
Gloria remained emotionless. “Fling the racoon up there,” she said, as if asking Darla to slide a plate into the dishwasher.
Darla gaped in horror.
“How in the name of Paul Bunyan’s bunions am I supposed to do that?”
Gloria shrugged. “It’s part of the plan.”
“No one cleared this plan with me,” said Darla through clenched teeth.
Mariska picked up the trash bag. “It is sort of shaped like a Frisbee now.”
“Are you suggesting I touch it?”
Mariska grimaced. “We should have brought gloves.”
“I guess they weren’t in the plan.”
Mariska upended the trash bag and shook the pancaked critter to the grass.
Darla stared at it.
“Hurry up, we don’t have all day,” said Gloria, without looking at her. Her gaze remained locked on the top of the pool cage, as if imagining the raccoon there would transport it to the spot.
Darla poked a finger at her. “Write this down in your plan—I’d like to be the mastermind next time and you do all the dirty work.”
Gloria looked at her. By the light of the moon, Darla thought she detected pity in the little woman’s expression.
Does she feel bad?
No.
Gloria didn’t regret asking a friend to toss a dead animal on a pool cage. She pitied Darla for thinking she could ever come up with a plan as brilliant as her own.
Jaw clenched, Darla looked back at the raccoon and then at her own hands.
I don’t think I can do it.
Her attention pulled toward the shovel she’d dropped on the grass.
Hm.
Maybe Gloria wasn’t the only genius.
Darla squatted to grab the shovel and then scooped up the raccoon. Balancing it, she eased it back and over her shoulder. Mariska scurried out of the way to avoid being touched by the shovel.
“What are you doing?”
Darla pressed her lips tight, readying.
“I’m going to fling it up there, pumkin chunkin’ style.”
She counted to three in her head and then heaved the critter in what she hoped would be a perfect arc.
Instead, she slapped it right to the ground in front of her.
Darla swore as the vibration of the shovel hitting the ground rumbled up her arms.
“Ooh,” moaned Mariska. “That looked like it hurt.”
“Him or me?” snapped Darla.
Gloria put her finger to her mouth. “Shhh!”
They crouched there, frozen, waiting to see if a light turned on.
Nothing happened.
After a moment they all heaved a sigh and straightened.
“That could have gone better,” said Darla, finding her composure.
“Try again,” suggested Gloria, ever helpful.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to try this time?”
Gloria shook her head. “You were so close.”
Darla squinted at her.
Lies.
“Hasn’t he suffered enough?” asked Mariska.
Darla scooped him up again. “It’s not my fault he stuck to the shovel that time.”
She lifted the raccoon and crouched into pumpkin chunkin’ position again.
“Here goes nothing.”
She flung.
A piece, Darla couldn’t see what, flew off and she heard Mariska yip behind her.
Wincing, she peeked through one eye to watch the racoon, stretched out like Superman, sans one limb, silhouetted against the moon. It flew in an arc to land on top of the cage not far from her beautiful hamburger.
She took a deep breath and stabbed the shovel into the ground.
“I think it pawed me,” whined Mariska, pointing to a raccoon foot on the ground not far from her.
Darla chuckled. “Put it on your keyring. Might be your lucky rabbit’s foot.”
“Perfect,” said Gloria, though Darla sensed she meant the plan more than the throw.
“Now what?” she asked.
Gloria smiled. “Now we come back in the morning to enjoy the show.”
She headed toward the sidewalk.
Mariska glared at Darla. “She’s a psychopath. How did you forget that?”
“I am so sorry.” Darla hung her head and then looked back up. “
That was a heck of a fling though, huh?”
Mariska nodded as they started after Gloria. “Pretty impressive.”
Gloria spun and strode back towards them with such purpose it stopped them in their tracks.
Darla felt her heart sink. “Oh no. Now what?”
“Almost forgot something,” mumbled Gloria as she opened the unlocked outer door of the cage.
“Okay, let’s go,” she said as she passed them on her way back to the street.
“Is she on drugs?” asked Mariska.
“She should be on something,” said Darla as they hurried after her.
***
“Hey Darla, we have to go.”
Darla opened her eyes to find Gloria’s face almost touching her own.
She jumped and jerked the sheets to her neck. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”
“We have to go,” said Gloria, tapping her watch. She was already dressed and smelling like lavender after her hard night of bossing people around. Darla had taken a shower, but she felt confident she still smelled like warm raccoon.
“What the—” Frank cracked open an eye. “What time is it?”
“It’s daylight,” said Gloria.
“Gloria? What are you—”
Darla put a hand on his stomach. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”
Half asleep herself, Darla swung her legs out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom, holding up a finger to let Gloria know she’d be right there. She washed her face, put on the bare minimum amount of clothing and scuffed into the kitchen, where she found Mariska trying to make coffee with her ancient Mr. Coffee machine.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Gloria called my phone about sixty times,” said Mariska, her tired eyes swollen into slits. “I’m going to hire her to get you back for this.”
“This was such a bad idea.” Darla finished the coffee setup as Gloria appeared from the guest bath.
“Okay, let’s go girls. Isn’t this exciting?”
“But the coffee—”
“No time, have to go.”
Gloria circled her upward-pointing index finger in the air as if directing a wagon train to circle.
“But—” Mariska tapped the coffee machine, trying to burp the coffee out of it faster.
Darla tugged on her arm. “Let’s go and get whatever this is over. Then you can have your coffee in peace.”
Like zombies, they followed Gloria to her car.
“Get in,” said Gloria, sliding into the driver’s seat.
They piled into the Mercedes and Gloria drove them across the street and through the Silver Lake gate to park in front of the hoarder’s house. Above them the sky darkened with the bodies of circling buzzards.
“Look at them all,” said Darla, straining to see through the window.
“Looks like she’s not up yet,” said Gloria. “Want to take a quick peek?”
“At what?” Mariska’s eyes remained shut, her head propped on her hand, her elbow pressed into the arm rest.
Gloria was already out of the car.
“We might as well go look,” said Darla, tapping her friend.
Mariska cracked open an eye. “You are killing me.”
The two of them followed Gloria to the hoarder’s back yard.
Darla gaped.
“It looks like a vulture disco.”
A dozen ugly, leather-headed birds sat on top of the pool cage, fighting over the meat they’d tossed the night before. While the flattened raccoon remained on the roof, trapped in a tug of war between two of the largest birds, much of the burger had fallen through the holes in the grate and lay scattered around the pool. Thanks to the door being open, other vultures and a dozen crows had found their way inside the cage. The feathered scavengers ran around squawking at each other, trying to scarf up bits of meat as they fell through the grate.
The pool water glowed a repulsive green-brown. White and black splashes of bird poop covered the area like pop art. The entire patio area beneath the dome looked like a hairband’s hotel room after a rock concert.
“What did we do?” asked Darla in awe.
Gloria shrugged. “Live by the poop, die by the poop, I always say.”
“You’ve found that saying useful before?”
Gloria shrugged and headed back to her car. Darla watched her go and then looked at Mariska.
“She’s an evil genius.”
Mariska walked away. “I just want coffee.”
Back in the car, they waited for Gloria to start the engine, but she didn’t. She rolled down the window and put her head against the head rest.
“Aren’t we going home?” asked Darla.
“Not quite yet.”
“What are we doing?”
“Waiting.”
“Waiting for—”
A scream ripped through the morning quiet.
Gloria held up a finger, looking very much as if she were about to announce, Eureka!
“There it is.”
“She found the birds,” said Darla.
Gloria shook her head. “That’s not the important part.”
“Everything we did and that’s not the important part?”
“No. The important part is she didn’t scream a man’s name.”
Mariska popped open one eye. “Huh?”
Gloria twisted to look at her. “If you saw a dozen vultures dirtying your pool, what’s the first thing you’d do?”
Darla nodded. “I’d call for Frank.”
“Exactly. She didn’t call for anyone. She’s alone. Stay here.”
With a pop, the trunk of the car opened.
Gloria jumped out, slipping something out of her pocket as she ran around the vehicle.
The garage door of the hoarder’s house began to open.
Gloria slipped underneath it and returned a moment later, jogging as athletically as she could with a twenty-four pack of toilet paper in each hand.
“Get out! Get out!” they heard the woman screaming in her back yard, oblivious to the thievery in the front.
Gloria tossed the toilet paper into the trunk and then appeared at Darla’s window to tap on the glass, popping up as if she’d risen from the ground.
Darla jumped. “Where the hell did she come from?”
“Is that enough? You want more?” Gloria asked through the glass.
“That’s plenty,” said Darla.
Gloria jogged back toward the house, closing the garage door with the clicker as she moved. She opened the door of the Cadillac, tossed in the door opener, and then returned to close her trunk and slide into the driver’s seat.
“Ta da,” she announced, pushing the car into gear. She made a U-turn to head out of the neighborhood.
“That takes care of the toilet paper,” she said in a sing-song voice. “What else did you say you needed? Water? Eggs?”
“Nothing,” said Mariska and Darla in unison.
Gloria shrugged. “I’ll let you think on it. What do you want to do today? You wanna go to lunch?”
Chapter Twelve
Spotting Frank’s cruiser in front of his house, Charlotte walked up his driveway as the skies pelted her with a sprinkling of rain. She needed to talk to him about Jamie Moriarty’s escape before the hurricane hit.
She had the hurricane to thank for her autonomy. It had taken her most of the morning to convince Declan returning to Pineapple Port alone wouldn’t end in her certain death. He’d wanted to be her bodyguard, but in the end, they agreed he’d go lock up his shop for the storm and she’d come back home to pick up a few things and run a couple errands. She doubted Jamie would try and take her out before the storm in broad daylight. She needed to pick up Abby and warn Frank Jamie might be on the loose.
Secretly, she suspected the whole story about Jamie’s escape was Stephanie’s attempt to hold Declan’s attention.
As she approached Frank’s door, she noticed a shovel leaning against the side shed and did a doubletake as a strange re
d smear on the blade caught her eye.
Is that blood?
Darla’s face appeared in the kitchen window before she could investigate. She waved and Darla disappeared inside, only to reappear at the door, staring at her from above dark circles.
“You look terrible,” said Charlotte.
Darla opened the door for her to enter. “Thank you. You can thank Gloria for that.”
“She’s here already?”
“She is, though not at the moment. She went shopping at the outlets.”
“So were you up late...?” Charlotte planned to ask if they’d been up late catching up with Gloria, but the expression on Darla’s face told her parties had nothing to do with the bags under her eyes. “Oh no. What happened? What did she do?”
“You don’t want to know,” said Darla.
“Oh, but I do want to know.”
“No, you don’t. And it will probably be years of therapy before I can tell you.”
Darla led her into the kitchen and pulled a pretzel from a container on the counter. She proceeded to eat it, even though an untouched ham sandwich sat on a plate on the island beside her.
“Can I guess?” asked Charlotte.
Darla laughed. “Guess what Gloria did? Oh please. I’d like to see that.”
Charlotte squinted at her, thinking. What was the last thing she’d talked to Darla about?
Hoarders.
She’d been angry. Really angry. So angry she’d invited Gloria, Queen of Revenge, to come ride out the storm.
Child’s play.
“You goaded her into lashing back at hoarders, didn’t you?”
Darla blanched.
“Did Mariska tell you?”
“No. You did. Remember? You came into Mariska’s doing a happy dance about it.”
Darla frowned. “Oh right.” She looked at her watch and then reached into her refrigerator. “Do you want a beer? I need one at this point.”
“No, thank you. I’ve got troubles of my own early cocktailing won’t help.”
“What troubles?”
Charlotte waved her away. “Let’s finish with yours first.”
Darla huffed. “Fine. I admit I may have made a mistake. I didn’t remember Gloria being quite so...enthusiastic about her art.”
Charlotte chuckled. “You opened Pandora’s box.”
“I did. But you knew that. You’re supposed to guess what she did specifically.”
