by CeeCee James
Anyhow, they say the strangest things happen in hotels, and I’m here to say they’re right. Let me tell you what happened when we had only been living at the Oceanside Hotel for two weeks. It started like this.
It was lunchtime, and I headed home to the suite. My stomach made a loud unladylike noise, picturing the meal Momma had prepared. She could cook the meanest roast beef, butternut squash, and French-cut green beans that you’ve ever seen. That was one of the many good things about moving in together.
Opening the door, I took a big sniff. Immediately, I started coughing. What the heck was that smell? A cross between hellfire and burnt broccoli.
“Momma?” I yelled, slightly horrified to see smoke hanging in thick swirls near the ceiling. I rushed through the suite and opened the sliding glass door. Spotting a towel, I grabbed it and started waving. “Momma? Where are you? Are you okay?”
First to greet me was Bingo, the Basset. He meandered over, tongue lolling and tail wagging.
Momma walked in next, shuffling in slippers and a pink housecoat and carrying a bag of microwaved popcorn. Her hair was a brassy red—she called it strawberry blonde—and came from the salon down the street by a hairdresser named Genessa. Momma liked to say that Genessa was a far better listener than her own daughter and would make her a grandma before I do. I never knew what Momma was saying with that statement; was she threatening to adopt Genessa and replace me? Or was it just digging at the fact that I didn’t have a husband or even a prospect on the horizon yet?
Momma grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bag and put a kernel in her mouth. Half the bag sported black scorch marks.
“What on earth is going on here?” I started out slow, still waving my towel.
“I made myself a snack to eat while I watch my stories.”
Stories was what Momma called her soaps since I was a little girl. There was a wide-eyed innocent look in her eye. I didn’t fall for it.
“You’re just eating popcorn? I thought you were making lunch?” My stomach rumbled to underline that thought.
“Darlin’, I’m on a diet. Swimsuit season is coming up in just a few more weeks.” She shuffled back into the living room with her charred bag.
Bingo quickly passed me when he realized the food had left the room. How can she eat that? I followed them, confused.
“Why on earth is the popcorn bag black on one side?” I asked, almost scared to hear the answer.
“I saw this lovely craft on Pinterest I was going to make for the hotel convention tomorrow. Earn me some pocket money. But something’s wrong with your microwave,” she answered with a dismissive wave. She popped another piece into her mouth, her eyes glued to the TV set.
Inwardly, I groaned as I headed back into the kitchen. Visions of a plate of roast beef, gravy and potatoes disappeared before my eyes as I saw the disaster awaiting me. What on earth has she done?
Dirty measuring cups and bowls towered in the sink. I felt something crunch under my foot and glanced to see sugar sprinkled about like deranged fairy-dust. On the counter were two empty bottles of Elmer’s Glue, bits of leaves and flowers, and one of her recipe cards. I picked it up and read the recipe, smiling a bit at the smudged fingerprint.
Homemade Fake-Acrylic Pendants.
Looking farther down the counter, there were several used spoons, three dirty towels, and a frying pan. I had to admit, the pan alarmed me. What did a pan have to do with necklace pendants?
First things first. I shook my head and mentally girded my loins as I opened the microwave. Still, as prepared as I was, I gasped.
Baked-on streaks and splatters covered the interior. I covered my eyes, trying to figure out what she could have done to have caused this mess. How long had she melted the glue? To lava temperatures? I peeked through my hand. And then she microwaved the popcorn on the mess left behind.
I was more than a little worried. Momma was a character, but she generally didn’t do things this nutty. I grabbed my cell and quickly dialed my closest friend in the area, Ruby.
I’d met Ruby in junior high, during those awkward years when braces and zits defined me. She’d traveled from Florida to Tennessee that year for a summer camp, and we’d hit it right off. We’d joined the camp’s fast-pitch team and played baseball with the other camps in the area. The next few summers we continued to meet up. Even in high school, we managed to work together as camp counselors. And, I have to admit, I became a champion pitcher.
Ruby answered on the third ring. “Hey, lady. What’s cooking?”
“Funny you should ask,” I reached for a sponge to scrub out the microwave. “Right now, I’m cleaning Momma’s attempt at making diamonds in the microwave.”
Ruby clucked her tongue. “That bad, huh? What was she doing?”
“I think she may have had it in mind that she would be the great bling proprietor for the Comic Convention tomorrow.”
“Oh, that’s funny. You should have taken her up on it.” Then, hearing my frustrated huff, she quickly changed the subject. “Have you ever overseen anything like a Comic-Con before? Are you nervous?”
“No, and no.” My phone vibrated softly, alerting me to a message. “Hey, I better get going. I’ll talk to you later.”
“You better believe it! I want to hear all about it!”
I pushed the end button and squinted to see the text on the screen.
Inside the little green bubble were the words—What are you wearing?
A groan wrenched out of me. The text came from my boss, the owner of the Oceanside Hotel, Mr. Timothy Phillips. Despite the dubious wording, he was asking if I was planning to wear a costume to the convention tomorrow.
My answer was—Not a costume.
I rolled my eyes and walked into my room. There was my dress suit, pressed and hanging in the closet. I sure hoped tomorrow wouldn’t be too weird.
Booked for Murder
Thank you again for reading! Have a great day.
CeeCee James
