“Oh?” I asked noncommittally, my voice scratchy.
“It came to me last night. I need to get this camper to Omaha to my cousin Ralph’s brother’s son’s house. His neighbor is going to buy it.”
I sniffed. “Isn’t your cousin Ralph’s brother also your cousin?”
Goldie pondered for a moment. “Huh, you’re right. I guess I could say then that we’re taking it to my cousin Ralph’s nephew’s house.”
I was really, really sorry I asked because either way, it was still in Omaha. “Why doesn’t he come here to pick it up himself?” Sounded like a long way to make Goldie to go to sell her own camper.
“He was going to, but then Velma and I realized it would be a perfect writing assignment for you.”
Okay, they were starting to make plans for me, so I perked up. Propping up on my elbows, I gave them the evil eye. “Me?”
They had deflector shields or something because they didn’t pick up on my wary tone. “You need something to write about for that travel magazine. What better than a road trip across the West?” Aunt Velma asked. “It’s perfect! There’s so much to see and people will love to read about our trip.”
“Our trip?” I asked. This wasn’t good.
Goldie nodded. “You, me and Velma. We’ll pick up Esther Millhouse on the way. You need to brush your teeth.” Goldie fanned her face.
I sat up, propped my back against the wall, my feet still in my sleeping bag. “You guys woke me up,” I grumbled. I could feel the fur coating my teeth. “Let’s keep on topic here. You want me to go on a road trip, in this camper, with you, Aunt Velma and Esther Millhouse?”
I couldn't remember who Esther Millhouse was but if she was friends with Lucy and Ethel here, it wasn’t going to be good. “Who is this woman?”
“She’s our dearest, oldest friend.”
Did Goldie mean that literally, like she was really, really old?
“Velma knows her from their time in Fargo with the Roller Dolls, but she lives here now. She’s been in Billings visiting with her daughter and family but wants to go with us. So we’ll pick her up there.”
“Omaha is a long way. It’s even in a different time zone, right?”
“I looked it up on that map program on the computer. It’s only fifteen hours of driving. We can be there in two days. Imagine, we can see Mt. Rushmore and all the other great things along the way!” Aunt Velma exclaimed.
“We can see the world’s largest porch swing in Nebraska too. I love those kinds of things,” Goldie added, clearly excited about the prospect of a road trip.
“I’m not so sure the magazine is going to be interested in this,” I countered, considering this could be the demise of my career.
Aunt Velma frowned. “Why not?”
“Because the largest porch swing isn’t what people want to read about.”
“How would you know?” Goldie asked. “Besides, that candle thing in Thailand doesn’t sound that interesting.”
“Look, I haven’t had my coffee yet. Let me at least get some caffeine in me before I make any crazy decisions.”
“Fine,” Aunt Velma said. “Perfectly understandable. Caffeine is a requirement for good judgment, but we have to get going.”
My eyebrows went up. “Going? Now?”
“If we’re going to meet Esther in Billings, we do.”
I shook my head. “Thanks, ladies, but I’m going to pass.”
Goldie patted my leg through the Scooby Doo sleeping bag. Yes, someone got a kick out of the whole Velma and Daphne thing when I was in fourth grade and got it for me for my birthday. “Listen, sweetheart. There’s a little problem.”
Oh crap. When Goldie said there was a little problem it meant the sky was falling.
“Someone posted on Facebook that Silky Tangles was at the store last night and handed out autographs. It even went out on Twitter.”
“It’s a small town. No one reads that stuff,” I countered.
Goldie just gave me a look that screamed Seriously? “I’ll have you know I have over twelve thousand followers on Twitter and have my own hashtag. When I searched last, my hashtag and Silky’s hashtag were both going viral.”
I had no idea Goldie knew what viral meant other than getting sick; it was important never to underestimate her.
“Since it’s a small town, people are going to be hounding you,” she added.
I wasn’t so sure about that, but I kept it to myself. I was not popular, in no way had double D’s and definitely not that limber. I was not Silky Tangles in any way.
“We’ll split up the tasks for the trip,” Goldie continued. “I’ll get the food, because you know I’ll get the good junk food unlike Velma.”
True, Aunt Velma would get some kind of twigs and berries and health crap and call it a snack. Besides diet soda, she was a health food freak. Aunt Velma lifted her chin and sniffed. “In the spirit of friendship and a lengthy road trip, I will agree to that.”
Goldie just shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Velma’s going to get packed and coordinate with Esther Millhouse. You,” Goldie pointed to me, “you need to take the camper to get gas and while you’re at the convenience store, pick up a couple bags of ice.”
I climbed out my sleeping bag and nudged the ladies aside so I could get out of the bedroom. “Coffee,” I said, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Then I’ll go and fill the RV for you, but I’m not committing to anything until I’ve had caffeine.” I grabbed my keys and left the ladies sitting there.
***
An hour later, I stood at a pump at the convenience store on East Main filling the old RV with gas. I’d been able to head home to get my coffee, brush my teeth and get a shower. I’d thrown on an old T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops and put my wet hair up into a sloppy bun. No way was I going with the ladies on this trip. It was one of those kamikaze missions where you knew going in you wouldn’t come out alive. But if I helped them gas up the old RV and get the ice they needed, the faster they’d be off and out of my hair. Then I could be back in my old bedroom once again, without the sex noises coming through the walls.
The auto shut off clicked after about four million gallons and I put the gas nozzle back on the pump. I climbed into the pickle, cranked the engine and put it in gear. Of course, a big SUV with out-of-state tags pulled up and parked, blocking me, a woman hopped out, grabbed a little girl from the back and made a mad dash into the building. Ah, emergency pee break. Unfortunately, the RV was too big to wedge between the pumps and the back of the SUV. I looked in the side-view mirrors. It was all clear so I could just back up far enough past the pumps to turn out. Putting the RV in Reverse, I slowly backed up.
No big deal. I could drive the space pickle. It wasn’t hard. Sure, it didn’t have a rearview mirror, but it had great side ones. It was a little taller than a car and definitely longer, but I was a great driver, even going ninety. I just had to be sure to make wide turns. Piece of—
Crunch.
The RV shook and a horrible metal-on-metal sound had me slamming on the brakes, even though I was only going less than five miles an hour. Somehow the back left corner seemed to be higher than before. I yanked the gearshift up into Park and hopped out, working my way around to the back to see what I’d hit.
Oh shit. A beautiful motorcycle was on its side, the front wheel caught beneath the back tire of the RV. It was all shiny chrome pipes and wide handlebars with a black leather seat. A shiny turquoise gas tank sparkled and shimmered like a bowling ball. This wasn’t a dirt bike and this definitely wasn’t a moped. This screamed testosterone-laden, red-blooded, all-American male. I ducked down, making sure I hadn’t crushed the red-blooded male like the Wicked Witch of the West. Fortunately, no dead body, no testosterone dripping all over the ground. My stomach dropped out of my throat but my adrenaline still hummed through my veins.
“Hey!” a guy shouted, running toward me, holding a black helmet in one hand. “What the fuck?”
I looked up from my crouch and low
and behold, there was Detective McHottie. I stood and his anger morphed into surprise.
“You! Are you kidding me? Jesus, you ran over my bike!” He ran his hand over his hair, his jaw clenched tight. “Pull forward and get that…that space ship off the front tire.”
His words snapped me out of my trance. I was freaked out that I might have killed someone, then relieved that I hadn’t, then wished that I had all within about thirty seconds. Since I had no idea what to say and I was completely in the wrong, I hopped in the RV and slowly eased it forward until I felt the back end even out.
Returning to the back, we were able to see the damage. McHottie knelt down in front of the motorcycle like I’d run over his dog. He looked sad, dejected and royally pissed. We’d drawn a crowd. All of the men were practically crying by the damage I’d caused. I didn’t know much about motorcycles—I knew nothing about them actually—but I could tell by the way people were reacting that I might have run over the two-wheeled version of a Rolls Royce.
“Hey, you’re Silky Tangles,” a middle-aged guy said, pointing at me.
The woman standing next to him frowned. “Who’s Silky Tangles?”
“She’s…oh shit,” he muttered, clearly caught knowing who a porn star was.
“Yeah, it is her. I’d recognize that body anywhere.” This came from a kid in his early twenties. He was smiling at me in a way a lounge lizard scoped out women at a singles bar.
McHottie gave me the look that screamed See?
I ignored the porn-loving men and knelt down across from McHottie, the bike between us. Even with the strong gas fumes, I could pick up his clean, spicy scent. I bit my lip, afraid to ask. “Will…will it still ride?” I asked cautiously.
His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched tight. It probably wasn’t the right thing to say. He pointed to the front wheel, which was all mangled and bent. “The tire’s popped, the rim’s dented and the fork’s bent.”
Yeah, it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I felt like crap. If someone hit the Rabbit, I’d be pretty mad, too. And my Rabbit was nowhere near as nice as this motorcycle. “I’m sorry. Really, I didn’t see it there.”
“You are a menace to society,” he growled. “Did you even look?”
He was mad, but still. I felt insulted. “Of course I looked, but it was in the blind spot.” He kept staring at me as if he wanted to lunge across the dead bike and strangle me. “You don’t have your Taser, do you?” I asked warily.
“Lady, what I want to do to you doesn’t involve a Taser,” he replied, an artery pulsing at his temple.
My body heated at those words, even though I was sure he didn’t mean anything carnal. It was hard to keep my thoughts from going that way when his jeans were stretched taut over very muscular thighs and his black leather jacket was…wow. He hadn’t shaved yet and his dark stubble made him look a little dangerous. Okay, a lot dangerous. I could only imagine what he looked like riding that bike. Thankfully, he wasn’t wearing his gun, or at least I couldn’t see it, and I didn’t know where he’d hide it.
“Dude, your bike got totaled by Silky Tangles. Cool. I know how I’d make her pay for damages,” the college kid’s friend told McHottie.
McHottie’s jaw clenched…again, and he stood to his full height, much taller and broader than the college kid. This was the look of doom he gave me yesterday on the side of the road right before he Tased me. Obviously it hadn’t scared me since he’d had to fry my brain cells, but college kid looked really freaked out. He practically peed his pants and slinked off in his car with his buddy and left. Others backed away slowly and went about their day.
“I’ll pay for the damages.” I stood and held up my hands in surrender. “Let’s just get it to a mechanic and it will be as good as new.”
He just shook his head as if I were an idiot. “You can’t just take this bike to a mechanic. It needs to go to Bob, a guy who fixes Harleys. But he’s in Sturgis. I’d be there too in about eight hours if you hadn’t backed into the bike.” He placed his hands on his hips. His narrow hips that looked very nice with a pair of low-slung jeans about them.
Sturgis, South Dakota, hosted an annual motorcycle rally, famous among the motorcycle crowd. I knew nothing about motorcycles and I’d heard of it. Bikers migrated there like monarch butterflies year after year for a week of fun. I’d never been, so I had no idea what actually happened, but most likely it included a lot of leather and definitely involved a crap load of motorcycles. A bike was pretty much a requirement. And, it seemed, it was happening now. Because of me, without McHottie.
I licked my lips nervously. “I’m really sorry.” I felt terrible. I didn’t have to like the guy to feel bad that his plans had been messed up. My phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket. Goldie.
“Where are you? We’re at the house waiting,” she said.
“Oh, um. I ran into a little trouble at the gas station.” I nibbled on my lip and glanced at McHottie. He rolled his eyes at my pun. Of course I hadn’t meant it. Right.
“Where are you?”
“On East Main.”
“We’ll be there in five minutes.” Goldie clicked off before I could tell her not to come, but she lived just down the street and wouldn’t steer clear of trouble if it was about to run her over. Maybe when Goldie and Aunt Velma showed up I wouldn’t look quite as crazy. It was a long five minutes, McHottie getting on his cell and talking to someone, gesturing with his hands in ways that indicated several different options for my demise. For once I was thankful to see Goldie’s car squeal into the lot practically on two wheels. The windows were rolled down and the latest Coldplay song blasted. She and Aunt Velma hopped out and assessed the situation, hands on hips.
“Hey, we know you,” Aunt Velma said. “You’re Detective McHottie.”
Oh my god. I should just reach into the guy’s jacket pocket, pull out his gun and kill myself. It would be less painful than the mortification of this moment.
“McHottie?” He shut his eyes and just shook his head. Yup, at least now he knew crazy was hereditary. He sighed. “Yeah, I know you, too.”
Clearly yesterday’s debacle wasn’t forgotten by anyone.
Goldie shouldered her way into the group and looked down at the motorcycle. “I’ll get Bob on the horn and he’ll fix that right up.”
McHottie glanced at Goldie. “You know Bob?”
Goldie looked surprised. “Sure. Everyone knows Bob.”
I didn’t know Bob.
“He’s my brother-in-law’s nephew on his wife’s side’s neighbor,” Goldie explained.
McHottie froze, processed. And now I knew why I didn’t know Bob.
“I’ve got him on speed dial.” She whipped out her cell and dialed him right up. “Hey, Bob, it’s Goldie. No, that movie hasn’t come in yet. You’re first on the waiting list.” She listened. “Yes, I know it’s got Silky Tangles in it.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Look, I need a new front wheel for a Harley Softtail Fat Boy pronto. It looks like—” she leaned in toward the bike to get a better look, “—a new front fork, too.” She listened. “Uh-huh, I see. You’re there now, huh? ’Til when? Right.”
We all stared at her, including McHottie, stunned she could name a Harley model just by looking at it. She never ceased to amaze.
“Yes, it JT’s bike. Is that so?” She continued her conversation with the infamous Bob, but turned to look at McHottie. “You arranged that for JT? Are you sure that’s a good idea? Oh, right, that makes sense. He is on vacation.”
Goldie grinned and looked at JT—I couldn’t call him McHottie anymore since I knew his real name—in a new way I couldn’t interpret. Bob said something that piqued Goldie’s curiosity, and it had to do with JT. And it had to have a story. Goldie loved a good story.
“All right. That’s not a bad idea.” She nodded her head. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll get back to you. Thanks, Bob.” Goldie hung up, waggled her eyebrows. “So, JT, I guess you really want to get to Sturgis?�
��
JT just looked at Goldie for a moment, then muttered a bad word under his breath. “He told you?”
She nodded slowly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, but you should remember, everyone tells me everything.”
Aunt Velma and I looked between the two completely clueless. It was as if they spoke in a foreign language.
“Bob’s in Sturgis for the rally like JT said,” Goldie added.
“Yeah, that’s the problem,” JT replied, pointing down at the broken bike.
“We’re actually headed to Omaha in that.” Goldie pointed at the pickle, which now that my heart rate had returned to normal, I saw a nice big dent in the back bumper and undercarriage. Great. Hopefully Goldie wouldn’t notice it since she was selling it. “I’ve got a trailer in storage we can put your bike on and take it…and you, to Sturgis. It’s on the way. It’s the least we can do. Bob said if we call him when we get there, he can arrange to get the bike fixed.”
JT looked surprised. “Really?”
“Really. You don’t believe me,” Goldie countered archly.
He held up a hand in front of him. “No, ma’am. I believe you.” He scratched the back of his neck, clearly unsure of what to say. “It’s just that it’s Sturgis and there are going to be thousands of Harleys. I figure Bob will be too busy having fun to take on a fix while he’s there.”
Goldie cracked her knuckles. “That’s most likely true, but people just seem to want to help me.”
“Is it perhaps because you know if someone likes to watch girl-on-girl porn or purchased the triple donger for a anniversary present?” Aunt Velma clarified. “Or in Bob’s case, the new movie starring Silky Tangles?” She turned her gaze to me.
Home Sweet Gnome Page 4
