by Logan, Kylie
That day, I was fully prepared to do it all over again. After all, that’s what a routine is all about.
I would have fallen right back into the comfortable habit if a couple things didn’t happen the moment I stepped outside.
Number one: I caught a glimpse of the hindquarters of Jerry Garcia, Chandra’s cat, just as he leapt over the front porch railing—and out of the flower box where he’d no doubt been continuing his lowdown dirty ways by peeing on my pink geraniums.
And number two . . .
Well, number two left me stunned and frozen in place just outside my front door. Otherwise I would have made at least a symbolic stab at chasing Jerry and reminding him (as I did every morning) that he was one very bad pussycat.
“There’s a guillotine on my front porch.” Yes, this was me talking to myself, but let’s face it, it’s kind of hard not to say something when you suddenly find yourself staring at a six-foot-tall instrument of death.
I edged around the dangerous-looking thing, checking out the honed-to-a-deadly-edge blade that hung at the top and the ghastly red wooden frame that held the stocks where a victim’s head could be locked into place.
“There’s a guillotine on your front porch.”
When Chandra spoke from down on the front lawn, I shrieked and pressed a hand to my heart.
“Sorry.” Her sandals slapped against the front steps. “I was just coming to say good morning and—”
“Hey, there’s a guillotine on your front porch.”
Out on the street, Kate beeped her car horn. Since it was a beautiful morning, she had the top down on her BMW convertible.
“A guillotine!” As if I wasn’t capable of seeing what was three feet in front of me, Kate waved and pointed. “There’s a guillotine on your front porch!”
I gave her the thumbs-up to make it perfectly clear that I realized this, and when she drove off, I took the time for another once-over of the guillotine.
As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t take my eyes off the head chopper. “Coffee?” I asked Chandra.
“I brought some tea. Japanese red glossy ganoderma.” She stuck her mug under my nose and I sniffed and made a face. “It’s great for detoxing,” Chandra said, “and I figured after what happened last night, that couldn’t hurt. I mean, at this point, the detoxing is only for me, but at least that’s a start. First me, then the rest of the island. I need to find a way to dissipate the prevailing aura.”
It wasn’t easy, but I forced myself to look away from the guillotine. “And which prevailing aura would that be?”
“The one of impending doom, of course!” Chandra took a gulp of tea and I guess it didn’t taste any better than it smelled because she made a face, too. “First there was the storm.”
“A perfectly natural occurrence, especially at this time of year.”
“Then there was the attempt on Richie’s life.”
“Which may or may not have happened but probably didn’t.”
“And now this?” With her mug, Chandra indicated the guillotine. “You don’t think it’s coincidence, do you?”
“I think I need to figure out what this monstrosity is doing on my front porch. And how to get rid of it.”
Alas, I didn’t have the chance. Because two vans pulled up and stopped, and suddenly the street in front of the house was filled with women in miniskirts and fishnet gloves.
“Uh oh.” Chandra said what I was thinking. “The fan club is back.”
I watched the women unload signs.
I you, Dino!
Jesse for President!
Scotty, Paul, and Nick Forever!
“Whatever they’re up to,” I called back to Chandra, automatically starting down the front steps, “they sure aren’t going to do it at my B and B.”
I intercepted the bad fashion posse just as they were coming up the front walk.
“Excuse me?” Remember, I used to live in New York. Like every Manhattanite worth her (or his) weight in salt, I was perfectly capable of giving those two little words all the oomph of a full-out rant. “Where do you ladies think you’re headed?”
Leading the way, a woman with bright blue eye shadow and very big hair looked at the woman next to her, but before that miniskirt-clad woman could speak, a lady in a pleated cheerleader skirt stepped out from the middle of the pack.
“I’m Tiffany Hollister.” She said this in a way that made me think it was supposed to mean something, and when it was obvious I didn’t get it, Tiffany tugged at the ponytail she wore over her right ear. “I’m president of the International Boyz ’n Funk Fan Club.”
“That’s . . .” I searched for a word and came up with, “terrific,” even though I was pretty sure I didn’t sound like I meant it. “What are you doing here?”
“What are we doing?” Tiffany snapped her gum and raised her voice to a decibel level that hadn’t been heard on the island since the night before when thunder rattled the rafters. “What are we doing here, girls?”
They all started up on cue, chanting to a singsong beat.
We’re here because we love Dino,
and Scotty and Paul, too.
We’re here ’cause Nick is awesome,
and Jesse’s awesome, too.
We love them to the max,
they’re totally tubular hunks.
We’re here because we love ’em,
Boyz ’n Funk!
Honestly, I think they would have started up again if I didn’t hold out both hands like a traffic cop. “That’s enough.” I emphasized my point by shooing them toward the street. “This is private property and if you want to conduct a protest of some kind—”
“Did you hear that, girls!” Tiffany squealed with laughter. “She thinks we’re here to protest!”
“What we’re here to do is worship at their feet,” the woman with the blue eye shadow said, and sighed.
“And to let them know they’ll always be number one in our hearts,” another one crooned.
“We love them to the moon and back!” Tiffany assured me.
I hadn’t had a chance to take as much as one sip of my morning coffee, so in an effort to kick-start my brain, I glanced toward my house. I looked back at the so-eager-I-thought-they’d-burst middle-aged ladies. And I had to ask. “Guillotine?”
My perfectly logical question was greeted with even more shrieks of laughter.
I closed my eyes, and prayed for strength.
When I opened them again, Chandra was beside me. “Boyz ’n Funk,” she said, as if this was supposed to make things clearer. “Come on, Bea. You’re a baby, sure. But even you must have heard of them.”
Some distant memory stirred in my brain, along with a vision of a girl named Jennifer, my long-ago babysitter who these days would be about the same age as the women on my front lawn. In my pre-pubescent eyes, Jennifer was the epitome of teenage glamour, leg warmers and all. When she showed up at my house, she always had her boom box with her, and the way I remember it, her boom box was always playing the latest and the greatest by the hottest eighties group this side of New Kids on the Block: Boyz ’n Funk. The pieces clicked into place, even if they didn’t quite mesh with the five middle-aged, overweight, and very tired-looking guys who’d piled into the B and B the night before. “The boy band?”
“The boy band!” Tiffany assured me. “Still going strong after all these years!”
“But if they’re still going strong,” I pointed out, “why are they—”
“Guillotine?” Tiffany had an endless supply of giggles and she threw them around with abandon. “It’s a charity thing. Didn’t you hear? Dino and the boys, they wouldn’t normally do a gig like this in the middle of nowhere. I mean, why would they when they used to sell out stadiums all over the country? They’re doing this for charity. Because—”
“They’re wonderful!” the woman behind Tiffany said.
“And so giving and caring,” another one put in.
“They’ll always be number one in our hearts
,” a third assured me, and she emphasized the point when she jumped up and down.
Pretty soon, the rest of the ladies joined in. Oh, it was a sight, all right. Especially when a couple of the women needed to stop mid-squeal to catch their breath. Bad enough, but the noise only got worse when the front door popped open and the man who’d introduced himself as Dino Lucci when he checked in the night before stepped outside.
“Dino! We love you!” Tiffany screamed and waved the sign she was holding. “Come on.” She waved him to the front lawn. “Pictures! Please. Pictures!”
Dino started down the steps and I knew if I didn’t take things in hand, I’d never have a chance. I herded the women out to the street.
“Public property!” I pointed down at the pavement. “And I can’t do anything about what you do out here. But that . . .” I pointed back at my front lawn and the house beyond. “You don’t step one foot there or I call the cops. You got it?”
I think maybe they did. But then, the closer Dino got, the more intense the swooning. I left them at it, and more anxious than ever for coffee, not to mention a little peace and quiet, I turned back to the house just as Richie Monroe pulled his beat-up pickup truck into the drive. He was right on time with the delivery of fresh croissants I’d had flown over from the mainland for this morning’s breakfast.
Croissants, café au lait, brioche, fruit.
After all, this was the week of the Bastille celebration and I was all for joining in the fun. Besides, Luella’s daughter, Meg, who usually took care of breakfast at Bea & Bees, was on vacation. Having the food brought in from a reputable—albeit expensive—bakery on the mainland was the most logical choice.
I said good-bye to Chandra, waved to Richie, and told him to bring the food around the house to the back door. When I headed inside to set the table, Dino and I passed each other in the middle of the lawn. What with the waves of adoration coming from the curb, I thought for sure he’d look as smug and puffed up as he had the night before when he realized his fans were waiting at the ferry dock, so I was surprised to see him glance toward the driveway and stop dead, his face folded into an expression as grim as a thundercloud.
I stopped, too, and turned to find Dino with his fists on his hips and Richie opposite him. And what with all the uncontrolled—and very loud—screaming coming from the Boyz ’n Funk fans, I couldn’t hear what Richie said. I could not, however, fail to catch on to the fact that he was angry.
Richie’s jaw moved up and down like the pistons on an engine going full throttle. His fists were clenched. His cheeks were the color of flame. I heard snatches. “You gotta lot of nerve!” “. . . scumbag, no good—”
And Dino? He listened. For maybe half a second. Then he tossed that glossy black mullet, turned, and strutted out to the street where he was instantly enveloped by his adoring fans.
• • •
There were two things I wanted to talk to Dino about, but with the five members of Guillotine (aka Boyz ’n Funk) munching their way through a dozen and a half croissants and what seemed like a couple gallons of coffee and juice, I didn’t have a chance.
Have no fear, I wasn’t about to let Dino disappear right after breakfast the way his bandmates did. Not until I had some answers.
He’d just downed the last of the brioche and there were crumbs on both of Dino’s chins, but I didn’t bother to point this out. Instead, I started to gather the dirty plates and eased into what I thought might turn into an uncomfortable conversation. “When Richie came over this morning to bring the croissants . . .”
Dino gulped down the last of his coffee. “Who?”
“Richie. Richie Monroe.” Not that it would explain anything because Richie was long gone, but I looked out the dining room window in the direction of the driveway. “This morning when you were going out to talk to your fan club. He brought—”
“Oh, the delivery guy.” Dino pushed back from the table. “What about him?”
“He said something to you.”
As if trying to remember, Dino scrunched up his eyes. “Did he?”
“He didn’t look happy.”
“Poor sucker!” He trotted around to my side of the table. “The sun is shining, there’s a beautiful woman in the room with me, and Boyz ’n Funk are back together again for what’s going to be a kick-ass concert. What’s not to be happy about?”
“I thought maybe you could tell me.”
He took a moment to think about it. “You mean about the delivery guy.”
“He was angry.”
Dino’s left eye twitched. “He said something about something.” Another pause for thinking. “Blah, blah, blah. It didn’t make sense. None of it. If you ask me, he must have had me mixed up with someone else.”
“I am asking you.”
Dino grinned. This close, he smelled like cigarettes and I hoped he remembered I had a strict rule about not smoking inside the house. “He had me mixed up with someone else.”
Maybe I wasn’t getting answers because Dino was right and he didn’t know who Richie was or what he’d been blathering about. Or maybe . . .
I thought about the night before and the way Richie had disappeared the moment Guillotine got off the ferry and showed up in the park.
“You didn’t used to live around here, did you?” I asked Dino.
“Never set foot on the island before. Though if I’d known there was a chick as cute as you around . . .” He sidled closer.
I stepped away.
If ever there was a time to change the subject, I knew this was it. “There’s a guillotine on my front porch,” I told him.
“Isn’t that the coolest thing you’ve ever seen!” Dino’s eyes lit. Apparently, there was nothing like head-chopping mayhem to make a guy forget his lame come-on. He strolled out to the front porch and, ignoring the new squeals of adulation that started up out on the street, he waved a hand at the guillotine like Vanna at the letter board. “It’s for the act. You know, the concert on Saturday night. What do you think? It’s a killer, eh? Killer? Get it?”
I got it.
“But what’s it doing here?” I asked. “And when will it be moved?”
Dino groaned. “Oh man! I thought a babe like you would be way cooler about something this awesome.”
I reminded myself that he was a paying customer. “I’m plenty cool with it, except . . .” A couple golf carts—the island’s preferred mode of summer transportation—whirred by and I saw drivers and passengers point and stare. “This is a quiet neighborhood,” I said, in spite of the fact that with Tiffany and her troops out on the street, it was anything but. “Well, it’s usually a quiet neighborhood, and I don’t want to cause a commotion. And you . . .” I glommed onto an idea and rode it like a Kentucky Derby winner. “You don’t want to ruin the surprise for Saturday night, do you?”
It was obvious Dino was so excited about his toy, he hadn’t thought of this. He started out slowly and, little by little, his nod picked up steam. “I was thinking it would start a buzz, you know? I never figured—”
“As if you need buzz!” Yes, I could sound sincere, even when I didn’t mean it. Remember all those cocktail parties and all that schmoozing I talked about? Schmoozing is good practice for dealing with once-upon-a-time rock stars. “Besides . . .” As if it were a snake, coiled and ready to strike, I gave the guillotine another look. “It would be terrible if something happened and someone got hurt. My insurance rates are already through the roof, and if somebody was injured—”
“Not going to happen, honey!” I guess the pat on the back Dino gave me was supposed to make me feel better. The way his hand lingered on my shoulder definitely did not. “It’s a gag. You know, a toy. The whole guillotine thing, it’s a magic trick. I can prove it. Go on.” He gave me a nudge. “Kneel down. Put your head in there. I’ll show you.”
I locked my knees. “No way. You can talk magic all you want, you’re not going to get me to do that.”
“Come on.” Another nudge from Di
no. “You’re not scared, are you?”
“Yes.” And I wasn’t afraid to admit it. “Even if you’re right and this thing can’t hurt me, just putting my head in it . . .” I shivered and took a step back. “Sorry! My imagination’s way too good, and what I’m imagining scares the bejabbers out of me. I’d never get close to that thing. Not in a million years.”
“Spoilsport!” If Dino expected this assessment of me to change my mind, he was wrong. “Hey, I’m going to do it, baby, and if I’ve got the guts, you should do it, too. On Saturday night right before intermission at the concert. I’m going to kneel down, and ol’ Jesse’s going to pull this. Here, just like this.” He reached for a lever at the top of the contraption and gave it a tug, and the blade flashed down.
I gasped.
Dino laughed. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. That’s exactly when all the lights are going to go out at the park. Just for a minute. Just to get people all worked up. And then when the lights come on again . . . get this, this is going to be so freakin’ cool! When the lights come on again, there’s going to be this basket here at the front of the guillotine, see. And inside it is going to be a dummy’s head!”
Yes, it was on the tip of my tongue to mention that if Dino’s head was in the basket, of course there would be a dummy involved.
But remember what I said about being the hostess. And about Guillotine paying for a week’s stay.
“So how does the dummy’s head—”
“I’m going to slip out of the guillotine,” he answered even before I finished the question. “You know, when the lights go out. And that’s when we’ll throw the dummy’s head in the basket. It’s great, right? People are going to love it!”
