Doggone Disaster

by Margaret Lashley

  “But....” My heart skipped a beat. I took another step back and nearly tripped. I lost my grip on Buster. He leapt out of my arms. “I...I thought...you said you weren’t...the new owner.”

  “I’m not, technically,” he said. “Not new. You see, I’ve owned this place for over twenty years. It was tied up in some legal disputes, but I took care of that recently.”

  A chill ran down my spine despite the heat. I wondered who he’d “taken care of” recently, and if Buster was now bringing me body parts as evidence. Aaarggh! I took yet another step back, trying to calculate how many more I would need to reach my back door. I tried to smile, but my face was locked in place, my eyebrows frozen somewhere up near my hairline.

  “Well...uh...in that case...welcome to the...uh...jungle,” I stuttered, trying to sound casual.

  The hair-covered bald guy glanced from side to side at the overgrown plants surrounding him. “That’s funny,” he said. But he didn’t laugh. Instead, he stepped back into the bushes and disappeared.

  I stood there for a few moments, too stunned to move. I caught a whiff of charcoal lighter. Then, dark gray smoke began billowing from above the bushes in ape man’s backyard. I turned and fled into my house, Buster hot on my heels.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Goober, you’ve got to come spend the night with me. Tom’s out of town!”

  “I didn’t know you cared,” Goober sneered.

  “Argh!” If I wasn’t already scared out of my wits, I’d have lost them right then and there. “Goober! It’s not...That’s not...ugh! It’s my neighbor. I think he’s a murderer!”

  Goober’s tone shifted from sarcasm to mild interest. “Why? What’s he done?”

  “He’s in the backyard. Barbequing. In a Speedo!”

  “Val, if that made a person a murderer, half of Florida would be incarcerated by now.”

  “No! I mean...that’s just.... Listen, I’ll explain later. Can you come over or not?”

  “I’ll check my schedule.”

  I waited on the line and listened as Goober shuffled through some papers.

  “You’re in luck. I had a cancellation.”

  “Gee. Lucky me.”

  “But Winky has to come, too.”

  “Argh! Why?”

  “He’s got a cold.”

  “So?”

  “Winnie’s paying me five dollars a day to keep him from calling her every three minutes.”

  “Argh! I’ll pay you twenty to leave him there.”

  “Tempting. But I’ve already made my deal with the devil.”

  I ground my teeth for a moment. “Ugh. Okay. Both of you can come over.” What the hell. My couch is already ruined, anyway.

  “Thanks, Val. You’re all heart.”

  Great. Goober was on his way over with Winky, and the freckled little redneck had a cold. Gawd! Just what I needed. Men were such babies when they were sick. I didn’t know which had me worried most – Winky with a cold or my psycho neighbor grilling gawd-knows-what next door.

  To top it off, Buster still hadn’t let go of my diamonds.

  “Sorry. No lunch for you. Dr. Goober’s orders,” I said to the reddish-gold ball of fur that looked like Charmine, but, thankfully, didn’t have her vicious vendetta against me. “Besides, you didn’t do your job, Buster. I was talking to a murderer a few minutes ago and you just stood there looking cute. You’re supposed to be protecting me!”

  Buster didn’t seem phased at all by his dereliction of duty. Instead, he positioned himself at my feet and drilled me with his beggar eyes every time I took a bite of leftover tuna casserole. When I called him on it by staring back at him, he let out a yip, then jumped up on his hind legs and twirled around.

  I laughed. “Maybe Tom’s right. You do know a few tricks.” I picked a smoked oyster out of the noodles with my fingertips and suspended it over Buster’s head. He twirled around again and then put his paws together and pumped them up and down like a kid left alone with a foaming soap dispenser. I giggled and dropped the oyster. It never hit the floor. Buster snapped it up mid-air, licked his chops and danced around for more.

  I was dangling a second smoked oyster when an unpleasant thought occurred to me. Considering the current unfinished business at hand, feeding smoked oysters to Buster was probably not one of my better ideas.

  “Let’s go, boy.” I stood up and lured Buster toward the back door with the oyster. “Let’s go make mama some earrings.”

  Buster yipped and danced around me until I opened the back door. I flung the oyster out into the yard. He leapt into the air and snatched it before it hit the ground.

  “Geeze. What are you? Some kind of circus performing pooch?”

  Buster yipped again, as if to say “yes,” then began circling in the grass. I knew what that meant. I snatched the aquarium net leaning against the wall just outside the backdoor. I was trailing behind Buster, about to nab some doggie Tootsie Rolls, when I heard Laverne yell.

  “Dad blame, egg-sucking son of a hockey puck!”

  I looked over at her. She was on her knees, a spade in her hand, shoveling dirt into a hole.

  “You okay over there?” I asked.

  “Val, that dog of yours is still tearing up my yard!”

  “Sorry Laverne.” I walked over to her. “How do you know it’s Buster? It could be a possum or something.”

  As if on cue, Buster ran under the fence and started helping Laverne excavate. She looked up at me, her left eyebrow an inch higher than her right.

  “Buster! No!” I yelled. Buster yipped, licked Laverne’s face, and wiggled back under the fence. I grabbed him up in my arms. “Sorry, Laverne. I’m doing my best to keep an eye on him until we find his owner. I promise he won’t do it again.”

  “He better not, or I’ll bean him with my shovel!” Laverne pursed her lips. “I got enough man problems as it is, Val. That dog of yours has just about killed my prize-winning Princess Margaret rose bush.” She looked mournfully at the wilted rosebush. “Thank goodness some rain is on the way to wash in the dirt back in.”

  I looked out to the west where Laverne had nodded. The bruised sky over the Gulf of Mexico portended a nasty-looking thunderstorm on its way. My cellphone pinged. It was Tom.

  “Sorry!” I said to Laverne again. “Listen, I’ve got to get this.” I grimaced apologetically, let go of Buster and the net, and stuck a potted plant in the hole under her fence. I fished around in my back pocket and, for once, I managed to click on the phone before it went to voice mail.

  “Hey, Tom.”

  “Hey!” he said cheerily. “How are things going?”

  “Fantastic.”

  “Is Buster eating okay?”

  Buster began circling again. “No problem there.” I found the net in the grass and angled it under Buster’s haunches.

  “Good.” Tom switched to his sexy voice. “So, are you wearing your new earrings?”

  “Uh...of course,” I lied.

  “Take a picture. I want to see you in them.”

  Crap! “Uh...I can’t right now, Tom.”

  “Why not?”

  “Uh...I’m outside...Buster’s uh...doing his business.”

  “His what?”

  “I’ll send you a picture of that, too. Listen. Someone’s at the door, Tom. Gotta go. Bye!”

  I clicked off the phone before I got myself in even more trouble. Geeze! The world was squeezing in on me. I looked to the left toward Laverne’s place. She was mad as a three-fingered banjo picker. I looked to the right at the unkempt bushes concealing the new psycho killer next door. Then I looked down at Buster. His back haunches were still crouched over the net.

  “Come on, boy! Drop the goods. I got a hot cop looking for those diamonds.”

  As if on command, Buster released a few more nuggets like a fuzzy Pez dispenser. I scooped them up in the net. “Good boy!” I walked over to the garden hose, turned it on full blast and pulverized the contents of the aquarium net. The turds disintegrated, leav
ing nothing but a bottle cap and a chewed match stick. I slumped back on my heels.

  Geezy Pete! Is this what my life has come to? Sifting through dog poop, dodging an angry Vegas showgirl, and hoping two dim-witted derelicts can save me from a murderous Sasquatch in a red banana hammock?

  “Why don’t I take a picture of that for you, Tom,” I muttered.

  Funny. Why was it Tom was never around when I needed him? I mean, Goober and Winky were more reliable than he was! The doorbell rang. Awesome. I was livin’ the dream.

  “Come on, Buster,” I said, and headed toward the house. But he kicked up some grass and took off around the tiki hut. “Buster!” I yelled. The doorbell rang again. I gave up my chase and sprinted through the sliding glass doors, across the living room and to the front door. I opened it to find Goober looking a little worse for wear, and Winky looking a little green around the gills. Still, my gut unclenched. I was relieved to no longer be alone with the nutcase running lose next door.

  “Hey guys,” I said. “Thanks for coming.” I looked past their shoulders. “I half expected Jorge to come along for the ride. What’s he up to?”

  “On a date.” Goober said.

  “A date?” I asked, incredulous.

  “A hot date,” Winky rasped. “Paid us two dollars apiece to clear out.”

  Goober fingered a few bills in his shirt pocket. “Well aren’t we just a pair of good Samaritans today,” he said to Winky.

  “Yeah. Killing two bird-brains with one stone,” I sneered.

  “So, what’s with the net, Einstein?” Goober asked.

  I looked down, surprised to find I still had the poop net in my hand. “It’s for the dog.”

  Winky coughed. “No offense, Val, but ain’t no kind a dog gonna fit in that.”

  I sighed. “It’s not exactly the dog I’m trying to catch with it.” I lowered my eyes. “He ate my diamond earrings this morning.”

  Winky scratched his buzz cut above his left ear. “Well, how you think yore...?” A knowing smile crossed his freckled, red-nosed face. “Oh. I get it.”

  Goober twitched his bushy moustache. “Lovely. So is that why you called us over? To scrape through dog scat?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “So, what’s the deal, then? You a’feared of this new dog, too?” Winky asked.

  “No,” I said, realizing the fact for the first time myself.

  “Then what’s going on?” Goober asked.

  “Well, two things,” I said, and shut the front door behind them.

  “So?” Goober asked.

  “I need a picture of me in the earrings. For Tom.”

  “Ever heard of a selfie?” Winky sneered.

  “Yes. But, if you recall, the earrings aren’t exactly available at the moment.”

  “Oh yeah,” Winky said, and collapsed onto the couch in a heap of wrinkled, thrift-store clothes. “You could always get you a fake pair at the Dollar Store.”

  The thought must have amused Goober. He grinned. “So, where is the little diamond thief?”

  “In the backyard.” I yelled over my shoulder out the open back sliders. “Buster! Come here, boy!”

  The fuzzy golden ball of fluff came bounding in. He pranced around Goober, then jumped on top of Winky. He sat up on the couch and grinned as he petted the squirming pup. “This little feller’s happier’n a dog with two tails.”

  “Good thing he’s only got one,” I said, and held up the net. “Because I’ve only got one of these.”

  The guys laughed. Suddenly, the air crackled with blue energy. The hair on my arms stood on end. A second later, thunder boomed like a cannon shot, rattling the windows. Buster yelped and leapt out of Winky’s arms. He shot under the couch like a furry missile.

  Winky put a stubby finger to his chin. “Huh. Just like my cousin Fred.”

  “He’s afraid of lightning?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Winky said, shaking his head. “He’s always hiding under the couch.”

  Goober and I exchanged glances.

  “Storm’s coming,” Goober said. “What say we order pizza and battened down the beer hatches?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I agreed.

  “And take that poor old dog out on the poop deck a’fore the rain hits,” Winky said. “Maybe Mother Nature’ll scare the diamonds out of him.”

  “Leave poor Buster alone,” I said.

  Goober smiled at me and wagged his bushy eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you actually like the little pooch.”

  “He’s okay,” I shrugged. “But I’ll like him even more when he gives me back my earrings.”

  Goober grinned. “Well, that’s a change of heart. What brought all this about?”

  “I dunno. I guess he likes my scurf.”

  “My granny always liked scarves,” Winky said.

  “I said scurf. My dead skin cells. I think Buster likes them.”

  Goober and Winky looked at me as if I’d just confessed to eating turds and whey.

  I ground my teeth. “Anyway, you’re not here to help with the dog. You’re here because of my creepy next-door neighbor.”

  Winky shot upright on the couch. “Ah woo! I’m tellin’ Laverne!”

  “Argh! I’m not talking about Laverne. I’m talking about the new guy who just moved in next door.”

  The guys stared at me blankly.

  “Who?” Goober asked.

  Rain began to pelt down on the roof.

  “Let me call Fat Jack’s Pizza,” I said. “And then I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “...and they never found a trace of her...except for a charred foot.”

  Goober, Winky and I were sitting cross-legged in a circle like campers around a fire – only the woods was my living room and the fire pit was an empty pizza box. Winky stared, wide eyed, as I relayed the harrowing tale of the murderous man next door and his unfortunate mother.

  “Gaul dang it, Val,” Winky gulped. His forgotten pizza hovered next to his mouth like a greasy UFO. “Then what happened?”

  “He went to jail for twenty years. He just got out last week.”

  “That’s the guy living next door?” Goober asked. He whistled and smoothed his moustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Are you sure?”

  “Who else could it be?” I asked. “They say his father was a werewolf!”

  Goober sneered. “Come on, Val.”

  “Not like a real werewolf. He was one of those hairy people that pretends to be one – for the circus.”

  “A freak show carny!” Winky said, his eyes as big as boiled eggs. “Like my cousin Whitey, ‘The Man with No Brain.’”

  Goober grinned out of the side of his mouth. “Obviously a close relative.”

  I tried not to smirk, but failed. “Look. You have to see him to believe it, guys. I swear, the man is as hairy as a chimpanzee. I’m talking missing-chromosome hairy!”

  Goober shrugged, unimpressed. “That still doesn’t prove he’s a murderer, Val. Besides, how do you know how hairy he is? You couldn’t have gotten that good a look at him through all those bushes.”

  “That wasn’t my first sighting. I ran into him the other day at Davie’s Donuts. He had a hound dog with him.”

  “You mean that guy?” Winky interrupted. He took a moment to shift the cough drop in his mouth to one side. “She ain’t lyin’, Goober! When he come through the door, I tole Winnie to call the National Enquirer!”

  “Okay,” Goober said dryly. “We’ve established the guy’s hairy. So what? Lots of people suffer from hypertrichosis.”

  “Hyper tricky what?” Winky asked.

  “Hypertrichosis. Overgrowth of body hair.”

  “How do you know what it’s called?” I asked.

  “My circus days, remember?”

  I groaned. “Okay, Mister Fartiste, then how do you explain the fact he was carrying a shovel? And that his hound dog was nowhere to be found? And then Buster starts digging up bones? I’m telling you now, I thin
k the guy’s barbequing bodies in his backyard!”

  “Well, I mean, who hasn’t?” Goober argued. “Meat of any sort, Val, came from a body.”

  “Yeah,” Winky said. “Or he could be crematin’ pets, like we used to.”

  “A valuable public service, I might add,” Goober said, and took another slug of beer.

  “Guys, you don’t get it. The bone that Buster dragged up. I think it might have been...human.”

  Goober spewed his beer. Winky farted.

  “Human?” Goober gasped. “That’s a whole different situation.”

  “Right,” I agreed. “When I talked to him, he told me that he ‘took care of somebody.’ That’s how he got the house!”

  Goober whistled again.

  “I need another beer,” Winky hacked, holding his throat. Judging by his expression, he’d swallowed his cough drop whole.

  “Sorry, Winky. That was the last one.”

  “What else you got?” he choked.

  “Gin. Or red wine.”

  “Wine,” he wheezed.

  I got up and poured him a wineglass full, then thought better of it and poured the booze into a paper cup. I handed it to Winky, who was still cross-legged on the floor. He took a gulp and finally got the cough drop down his throat.

  “You okay?” I asked, and sat back down on the floor beside the pizza box.

  “Yep.” Winky raised the paper cup in a toast. “To the winos that I knows,” he said and grinned.

  I burst out laughing.

  “It wasn’t that funny,” Goober said.

  “No. Look!” I said, and pointed at Winky’s mouth. The red wine had stained the cough-drop residue coating Winky’s teeth, turning them blackish-blue. Every time he opened his mouth, it looked like he had a mouthful of rotten choppers. The absurdity of it was too much for my frazzled nerves. I burst out laughing again and couldn’t stop.

  “What?” Winky asked, and hitched up one side of his mouth.

  Goober laughed and I lost it all over again.

  Winky’s eyes danced between me and Goober, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Every time he asked, “What?” he flashed his ugly teeth, and Goober and I cracked up again. After the third or fourth “What?” Goober and I were on our sides rolling around on the floor, squealing and holding our splitting sides.