Boo Who

by Rene Gutteridge

  “Some joke.” She sighed.

  “Perhaps it was the mayor. He isn’t in his right mind today,” the sheriff said.

  Ainsley moped into the kitchen, where she fixed herself and Wolfe cups of hot cocoa. Handing it to him after sprinkling slivers of chocolate on top, she shook her head. “Seems like every major holiday ends up with some crazy event occurring, some crisis.”

  “I guess it does kind of seem that way, doesn’t it?” he said.

  “What’s the next holiday? Valentine’s Day?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well thank goodness, there’s already a major event scheduled.”

  “Melb and Oliver’s wedding.”

  “Let’s just pray that’s enough for fate to leave that holiday alone.”

  CHAPTER 11

  MELB CORNFORTH WAS HURRYING along Fourth Street on her way to the deli, trying to convince herself if she took the long route and burned some calories, she might be able to eat a bearclaw and still lose weight.

  It had been two weeks since Christmas, since she had discovered that not only did she have no willpower, but she actually had negative willpower. If the thought even entered her mind that she shouldn’t eat something, her desire for that food tripled. Except reverse psychology didn’t seem to work. She’d tried thinking of how much she didn’t want to eat raw carrots. She still didn’t want to eat raw carrots.

  And the more she thought about not fitting into her wedding dress, the more stressed she became. And the more stressed she became, the more she ate. It didn’t help that she still hadn’t told Oliver she’d gone over budget. Secretly, she was hoping she might be able to save money some other places.

  She’d spent the morning practicing how to spell Oliver’s last name correctly, and then practicing her new signature. She once thought “Cornforth” was a long last name but now realized she had nothing on Oliver. For about fifteen minutes she wrote it over and over, and once she got the hang of where all the vowels went, she finally nailed it, even though she had to make up a little song about it. Oh, well. Whatever worked.

  What wasn’t working was her plan to lose four dress sizes. And that was exactly where her mind was when she found herself on top of a man in the middle of the sidewalk.

  “Oh! My! I am so sorry!” Melb climbed off the man and stood to her feet. She watched as the man slowly stood up, and saw on his face the most horrible grimace. Her whole life flashed in front of her eyes, and she imagined she was about to be murdered in the middle of Fourth Street. She hoped they would find her body soon.

  But then the man sneezed. Melb screamed. It’s amazing how much a sneeze and a gunshot can sound alike. The man looked at her after wiping his nose. “Are you okay?”

  Her whole body was trembling, but she managed a smile and a nod. “Again, I’m so sorry. I was in deep thought.”

  She looked at the old house in front of them, one she knew had been abandoned for over a year. “Do you live here?”

  “Just moved here. Dr. Hass.” The man extended a hand.

  “Doctor?”

  “But I’m not a medical doctor, I’m—”

  “A psychologist?!” she gasped and then jumped up and down in excitement. “That’s exactly what I need! Why didn’t I think of it before?”

  “Ma’am, listen, I—”

  “You just moved here. I understand. You probably don’t even have your office set up. But listen, I’m willing to pay high dollar for your services. Doctor, I am desperate.”

  The man stood there, looking flabbergasted. Melb decided to sweeten the deal. She pulled out a wad of cash from her purse. “Look, I’ll pay you in cash right now. I need someone to talk to. I was going to use this as a down payment for a caterer for my wedding, but I think it will be better spent with you.”

  He looked down at the money in her hand and cupped her shoulder. “Tell me about your problem.”

  Reverend Peck could hardly contain his excitement. Since before Christmas, he had been working out his plan, and now he was just a few days from completion. As far as he was concerned, this was divinely inspired. He’d thought of every detail. Now he just had to implement it.

  As quickly as a man his age could work, he unbolted every pew from the floor.

  “There. Perfect. Just the right amount of squeeze. Try it one more time.”

  Wolfe tried not to sigh with boredom as he shook Oliver’s hand, squeezing it firmly but gently.

  “Perfect!” Oliver said. “That’s exactly how you want to greet every customer. That says you’re not overbearing, but you’re confident. Look ’em in the eye, too. Give ’em that killer grin. But remember, don’t squeeze too tightly. That freaks people out. They think you know too much about ’em. They think you’re out to sell them a car and nothing else.”

  “What else would you be out for?”

  “You want to build trust with the customer, Wolfe. It’s all about trust. Any of these people can drive fifteen miles down the road to Gordon MacNamera’s place. They gotta believe that they are not the only customer who has been to your lot that day. Your handshake has to say, ‘Glad you’re here, but I’m not desperate.’ And listen, don’t hold out on the ladies. They like the firm handshake too. Nothing grosses a woman out like a limpy-noodle handshake.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, once you’ve closed the deal—and not to discourage you, but it’s going to be a while before I’ll let you close a deal—then you firm up that handshake, and you place your other hand on top of theirs. It’s the we’ve bonded for life’ handshake, and they’ll remember that the next time they need a car. All right, let’s try that one.”

  Oliver held out his hand, but Wolfe shook his head. “You know, Oliver, maybe we could take a break. This is a … a lot of information to process.”

  Oliver slapped his head. “Of course, I’m sorry. I forget sometimes, you know? It’s as natural to me as breathing. But hey, don’t get discouraged. You’re doing great on the secret language. I’m real proud of you on that.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Tell you what. Why don’t you take fifteen minutes, get some air? And then we’ll go over some of the trade secrets I’ve been hinting about.”

  “Terrific.”

  Wolfe walked out of Oliver’s office, his head pounding from all the effort it was taking him to pay attention. It had been two solid weeks of training. Oliver had yet to let him even talk to a customer, for fear he might make a mistake and blow the whole deal.

  What deal Oliver was talking about, Wolfe wasn’t sure. So far, in two weeks, Oliver had sold one car. And Wolfe had seen only a handful of other customers come on the lot. How did this man make a living?

  He’d watched Oliver talk to the customers. He was quite good with his body language. They always seemed at ease. And he admired that Oliver took great care in how he approached the customers. Wolfe had been trained in everything from how to dress to look professional but not uppity, to the secret handshake.

  And as fascinating as all this behind-the-scenes car selling was, Wolfe had to admit to himself he was feeling quite empty. But maybe it was because he’d been sidelined. As soon as Oliver let him get in the game, maybe things would look up.

  He didn’t miss writing, at least what he used to write. But what he did miss were those early morning hours when his mind would wander to the faraway places he created, where journeys began, characters were birthed, emotions within him and his new world merged. Now his mornings consisted of a quick cup of coffee and a straightening of his tie, which Oliver indicated was of utmost importance, since “a crooked tie could indicate a crooked tie owner.” Or something to that effect.

  But where emptiness lingered from his former craft, not so far away in his soul was the unbelievable joy he felt for Ainsley. Every day he grew to love her more, which amazed him, because every day he didn’t think it was possible to love someone more. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was what God had for his life.

  “Wolfe!”


  He turned around from where he’d been leaning on the front of the building. Ainsley was running up to him, her face shining with happiness.

  “Hi!” He embraced and kissed her. “What are you doing here?”

  She handed him a paper sack. “I baked up some blueberry muffins and thought I’d drop you by a couple, in case you got hungry later. I have a feeling you are not packing yourself a proper lunch.”

  “Bologna doesn’t count?”

  She made a grimace, and he laughed.

  “You look good,” Wolfe said, brushing her hair away from her face. “Are you on your way to work?”

  “Actually,” she said, her voice full of excitement, “I just quit work!”

  “What? Really?”

  She nodded. “I did. I can’t believe it. It was very hard, but I did it.”

  He hugged her. “That’s terrific news! Now you’ll have all the time in the world to plan the wedding.”

  “Well …”

  “What?”

  “That will give me more time. But that’s not why I quit. I’ve been meeting with Alfred this morning.”

  He tried not to let the irritation he felt become apparent in his features. He smiled. “Oh?”

  “Wolfe, this is so exciting. I can’t begin to tell you. Alfred has this entire plan for me. He’s been really thinking this through. And honey, it’s … it’s everything I’ve ever wanted to be.”

  He swallowed down the words he wanted to say and tried to listen. “Tell me more.”

  “Well, he’s got this idea that I will start small, just doing some small catering jobs around Skary and nearby towns. We’ll get the local papers to give me some coverage on those things. He said as I gain more exposure, we’ll need to come up with some big event for me to do, and he’s going to bring out a film crew and basically make it like my first show. I think he called it a pilot. Once we get that edited, he’s going to show it to some TV execs, see if they like me. He’s also got a photo shoot lined up for me. He’s says it is as much about the look as the cook. He says I have this way about me where I seem nice but knowledgeable.” She clasped her hands. “Isn’t this exciting?”

  “Honey, um, what about the wedding?”

  “What about it? I’ll have plenty of time for both. Now that I’m not working, I have all the time in the world. Oooo, which reminds me, I gotta run. Alfred wants me to stop by the local hardware store and see if they’d let me put on a bake sale outside while teaching the finer points of woodworking.”

  “You know woodworking?”

  “Not really, but Alfred says Martha doesn’t know everything either, but she has a lot of experts helping and teaching her, so then she can teach us. Okay, gotta run. See you at my house for dinner tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Bye.” Wolfe watched as she rushed to her car and then drove out of sight, giving him a quick wave as she left the parking lot. He didn’t have much time to think about it, though, because he glanced over to find Oliver tapping his watch and beckoning him back with a fatherly wink.

  It was not even noon yet.

  Dr. Hass was pleased he’d at least gotten part of his office assembled. A few books and knickknacks lined the shelves. He’d even lined his desk with office supplies. He had yet to hang his many awards of excellence. Apparently, this woman who’d run into him didn’t need any credentials. She already thought he could solve all her problems.

  Stuffing the wad of money in his pocket, able to smell it even from within the dark fabric of his pants, he invited her in and offered her the chair that had come with the house. He was a pretty good judge of character, but this woman, “Melb” she called herself, wasn’t so easily sized up. She had a jovial smile and a gentle demeanor, yet her eyes sparkled with passion and determination.

  “Don’t you have a couch?” she asked, settling herself into the plush leather chair.

  “Um … that’s on its way.”

  She chuckled. “I guess I shouldn’t be hard on you. You haven’t even opened up for business! Besides, I’d probably fall right into a deep sleep if I stretched out on a nice couch. Hey, that’s an idea! Do you hypnotize?” “No.”

  “Okay, just asking. I thought that might be a good solution to my problem.”

  “What problem is that?”

  “Oh yeah, right. The problem. You work by the hour, not the word count, eh? Anyway, I’ve got to lose weight. Four dress sizes. By Valentine’s Day.”

  Dr. Hass remembered the new person he’d decided to become. In the old days, he would’ve laughed and made a wisecrack about the middle of the earth freezing over. But that was not who he was now. And surprisingly, without making that kind of wisecrack, he was really having a hard time coming up with anything else to say.

  “Doctor?”

  “Yes, um, sorry. Well … how much weight have you lost so far?”

  “I’ve gained five pounds.”

  “I see.” He decided he’d better get out a pad and take some notes. “Well, what kind of diet have you tried?”

  “Um, I’m not sure what it’s called, but it’s where you try not to eat as much as you did before. I think it’s low carb, medium protein, a little fat. Or is it low protein, high carb, and medium fat? I’m sure it’s got some fancy name, but I can’t think of it.”

  “Okay. Let me ask you this. Why do you want to lose the weight? Are you unhappy about how you look?”

  “Heavens no! I’m a big-boned woman, and I always have been. Melb Cornforth wouldn’t look right in a size two pair of jeans. I’m voluptuous, and that’s how God created me to be. Nobody is more secure about who they are than Melb Cornforth!”

  “Then why do you want to lose weight?”

  “Well, I found this fancy little wedding dress on sale, and in my haste to buy it, I didn’t—what’s the word?—acknowledge it was four sizes too small.”

  “Can’t you return it?”

  “It was on clearance. I got a good deal on it though.” She smiled at that thought. “So anyway, what I’m realizing is that this is all in the head.” She tapped her cheekbone. “And that’s why I believe you’re the perfect man for the job. Dieting isn’t about eating right! It’s about thinking right!”

  Dr. Hass nodded, fairly impressed with her catchy phrases and smooth clichés. But concern grew inside him as he realized that he might not be able to help this woman. Yet he also knew there wasn’t too much he couldn’t sell, especially to a woman willing to listen.

  “What’s your favorite food, Melb?”

  “Oh, that’s easy. Pimentos.”

  “Pimentos?”

  “Yes, I’ll eat them on anything, which is my second-favorite food.”

  “What is that?”

  “Anything.”

  “Okay … well, Melb, it seems to me that you are a very driven woman. What do you do for fun? What’s your hobby?”

  Melb shrugged. “I guess reading.”

  “Reading. Okay, Melb, it’s time for you to find yourself a new hobby!”

  “A new hobby?” The woman’s eyes grew wide as if he’d announced she should try out for the swim team.

  “Certainly. Right now your fixation is on food. Or rather, food you can’t or shouldn’t have. You need a new fixation.” In the short time he had known Melb Cornforth, he had assessed that she was a woman easily fixated.

  “A hobby …” He could tell by the way her eyes warmed that this idea was growing on her. “Why didn’t I think of that? A hobby! Of course!” She looked at Dr. Hass. “What should I do?”

  “Anything that you’ve never done before. Painting. Knitting. Writing. Jogging. Bird watching.”

  “Bird watching!” she shouted. Dr. Hass grabbed his heart, which had frozen in time momentarily but luckily started beating again. “That’s perfect! I love birds! I have two of them. And there’s been this old owl outside the house the past few nights. I’ve never seen an owl around these parts, to tell you the truth. And this bird just sits up there and says whoo whoo’ ove
r and over and over again. Why not pull out some binoculars and watch him?”

  “Yeah … um … that sounds good.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Hass! You’ve been so helpful! Definitely worth the money.”

  “Oh, well …”

  “No, really. It’s great to finally find someone who knows what he’s talking about.” She stood and shook his hand heartily. “You’re a godsend.”

  Dr. Hass smiled meekly as he escorted Melb out the front door of his home. She waved as she walked off, a cheerful grin easy to spot even at a distance. He just hoped he’d helped the poor woman. And that he never had to see her again. He had a lot of work to do, but it did not include helping the pimento-ly challenged.

  CHAPTER 12

  THOUGH THE LONGTIME MAYOR of Skary, Indiana, sat at his desk in Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt in the middle of January, Martin Blarty tried not to let that distract him from the task at hand, which was figuring out, one, the history of Skary, Indiana. And two, where that history could be. Why would anybody steal Skary’s history? Certainly he could talk to residents, see what they knew of their family history. But how accurate that would be, he didn’t know. And he had to admit, his drive to uncover the town’s origin was only intensified by his suspicion that someone was trying to hide Skary’s history.

  Admittedly, his first suspect was Mayor Wullisworth. If that man was capable of shorts in January, he was capable of anything.

  “Martin!” the mayor called. Martin removed himself from the storage room where he’d been rummaging around for clues and went to the mayor’s office.

  “Yes sir?”

  “Listen, I was thinking,” the mayor said authoritatively, “we need some pep around this town. It’s looking very bleak. Don’t you think we need to start a city beautification program? Get some wildflowers growing. Have a nice landscape design somewhere in the town, maybe the city hall. Perhaps a fountain. You know, perk things up a little. My stars, by the looks of things around here, you’d think it was the dead of winter.”

  Martin didn’t know what to say, so he stood there.