Cloud Nine- When Pigs Fly

by Margaret Lashley

  “No...no heart attack,” J.D. panted. “Food poisoning. Laverne’s....need men’s room. Now.”

  “There’s not another exit for five or six miles. Can you make it?”

  “I don’t have much choice,” he groaned.

  J.D.’s gut gurgled loud enough to hear over Maggie’s rumbling glass-packs. Having been a victim of Laverne’s cooking myself, I knew we’d never make it in time.

  “I’m pulling over,” I said, and maneuvered Maggie into the emergency lane. I slammed on the brakes.

  J.D. let out a flappy fart and a moan.

  “Awgggh! I can’t hold it in. What have you got that I could...you know....”

  “Hold on.”

  I jumped out of the car, popped the trunk and scrounged around for something. My hand landed on Cold Cuts’ yellow casserole dish. I grabbed it and handed it to J.D.

  “Here. Use this,” I said.

  J.D. didn’t blink twice. He grabbed the pot and started unbuckling his pants. I ran over to the driver’s side, hit the ignition and then the switch to raise the convertible top on the car.

  “Good luck,” I said, and left him to it.

  “Nearughguh,” J.D. replied.

  I walked to the back of the car and tried not to look as Maggie’s top slowly rose up in the air, then fell down onto the frame, mercifully shielding me from the view of J.D., pants down, squatting in a casserole dish on the passenger floorboard.

  I waited by the roadside a few minutes, being windswept by vehicles as they flew past us on the US 19 overpass. Finally, I yelled, “There’s a box of tissues on the floorboard somewhere.”

  “Found ‘em,” J.D. said weakly.

  “Should I –”

  “Just give me another minute, please.”

  “Okay.”

  I waved off a truck full of construction workers that stopped to help, and tried to look cheerful and un-needy to others passing by. Finally, J.D. emerged from the passenger side of the car holding the yellow casserole dish in his hand.

  “What should I do with this?” he asked.

  If only Finkerman hadn’t moved his office I’d have the perfect plan for it....

  “Uh...I vote we just leave it here on the side of the road.”

  “Right.”

  J.D. set the dish on the pavement behind Maggie and climbed back into the passenger seat. I got in and started to fasten the clips to secure the ragtop, but a certain odor stopped me in my tracks. I glanced over at J.D.

  “Mind if I put the top back down?”

  J.D.’s face was the mottled greenish-red of a half-ripe tomato. He kept his eyes on the road straight ahead and said, “I think that’s a judicious idea.”

  “MAY I USE YOUR RESTROOM?” J.D. asked as Jorge answered the door.

  “Uh...sure. Come on in.”

  Jorge’s place was a modest, 1950s ranch house like mine, only larger. It had a master bed and bath suite on one end, and two bedrooms and a bath on the other. The kitchen and living room were located in the center of the house.

  I’d only been there twice before. Once was to celebrate Jorge’s fortieth day of sobriety. The other was to celebrate his six-month mark without a drink.

  Back then, Winnie and Winky had been living in the master suite. Jorge had taken one of the smaller bedrooms on the other end, next to Goober. He’d furnished the room with family mementos and a heart-flinching collection of photos of his wife and kids who’d been killed in a traffic accident. Mixed in among them were a few photos of Jorge and his buddies during his former glory days on the police force.

  It reminded me that, not too long ago, it had seemed that Jorge’s best days were behind him.

  But sobriety and Sherryl had changed all that.

  The photos of Jorge’s deceased wife and children were still around the house, but now they were joined by happy photos of him together with Sherryl and her family. The whole house had a much lighter vibe.

  “So where’s Goober’s room?” J.D. asked when he emerged from using the facilities.

  “Look for the one with the ‘Keep Out’ sign,” I joked.

  “Oh. We took that down,” Jorge said. “Come on, I’ll show you.” As he led us to the room, he added, “I don’t think you’ll find much of Goober left in here. Sorry, but we’ve been doing some renovations.”

  When he opened the door to Goober’s old room, it was apparent that Jorge and Sherryl were in the midst of plotting some diabolical plan. Either that, or they were putting together something from IKEA.

  “What is all this?” I asked.

  “Well, I was going to tell you next time we all got together,” he said. “But...well, it’s a crib.”

  “A crib?”

  “Sherryl’s pregnant.”

  “Oh my goodness!” I cried out. I gave Jorge a huge bear hug. “Congratulations! You know, I should have guessed when I saw the new minivan out front.”

  Jorge rolled his brown eyes. “We kind of eloped last week.” He showed me his wedding band. “Do me a favor, though. Keep it a secret for now. I haven’t told my mother yet.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be absolutely thrilled,” I gushed.

  “You think?” he asked hopefully.

  “Absolutely.”

  Jorge sighed with apparent relief.

  “Congratulations,” J.D. said. He cleared his throat and asked, “So, Jorge, tell me what you’ve done to alter the room.”

  “Well, pretty much everything. We scrubbed it, painted it, put up new curtains.”

  “Did you find anything unusual when you were cleaning out the room?”

  “Nada. Nothing.”

  “That’s disappointing,” J.D. said. “Has Goober had any mail delivered since he’s been gone?”

  “No. But He never used this address. He had a post office box downtown.”

  “Right,” I said. “I’m going to check that out tomorrow, when the post office opens.”

  “Did he ever mention anything about traveling?” J.D. asked. “Any hobbies? Clubs? Professional associations?”

  “Oh! He once told me he used to be a sociology professor,” I said.

  “Where?” J.D. asked.

  “Who knows?” I said. “Goober told me teaching public school was the hardest time he ever did.”

  “So you think he might have been incarcerated at one time?” J.D. asked.

  I shrugged. “Or he could have been joking. He loved to joke.”

  “Listen,” Jorge said. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go pick up Sherryl.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Let me know if you think of anything else.”

  “I will.”

  “You ready to go, J.D.?”

  “Yes. Thanks for your time, Jorge. Good luck to you and Sherryl.”

  “Thanks.”

  J.D. took me by the elbow and led me toward the front door.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but I want to go home and get a shower. Immediately.”

  “I totally understand.”

  As we climbed back into the car, J.D. turned to face me. “Val, promise me you won’t mention a word of this to Laverne. It may be the difference between her choosing me or Randolph.”

  “J.D., Randolph is a pig.”

  J.D. pursed his lips. “Most men are.”

  “No I mean he’s a hoof-footed, snout-faced pig.”

  J.D. nearly fell out of his seat. “What?”

  I shook my head. “Laverne really didn’t tell you? Randolph’s her pet pig. She’s got it in the backyard. We’re hiding it so nosy Nancy won’t turn it into pork chops.”

  “I would never allow that to happen,” he said.

  I smiled. “Look at you, coming to Laverne’s rescue! You really have changed, J.D. You’re a prince!”

  “No,” J.D. said tiredly. “I’m just Jewish.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Just when I thought my day couldn’t possibly turn out to be crappier than J.D.’s was, the universe had to go and prove me wrong.

  After our vis
it to Jorge, I’d dropped poor J.D. off at his ugly orange house on Sunset Beach so he could “freshen up” before he caught a taxi back to Laverne’s place. So, he was out of the picture when I arrived home.

  Lucky him.

  That made me the lone witnesses to the three-ring circus of stupidity playing out in front of my house on Bimini Circle.

  As I drove up, I spotted Laverne running full-tilt along the sidewalk like an ancient praying mantis in heels. She was chasing a squealing, frolicking Randolph, who appeared to be having the time of his life.

  Hot on Laverne’s heels was a huffing, red-faced Nancy Meyers, swinging a fishing net attached to a ten-foot pole. Ape-man Jake brought up the rear, galloping along behind Nancy, half-heartedly twirling a rather limp-looking lasso.

  It was a conga line of lunatics being led by a pig in aviator goggles.

  Nearly every molecule of my being begged me to just keeping on driving past the scene.

  But Nancy was gaining on Laverne, and I just couldn’t leave the poor old gal to handle the wrath of the Knick-Knack Nazi all on her own.

  I jammed Maggie into park in the middle of the street, jerked open the door and bolted out to join the maniacal chase. As I ran toward the unfolding disaster, something bounced up and down in the breast pocket of my shirt.

  It was one of Winnie’s peanut-butter bombs. I’d filched it from J.D.’s sackful while he was otherwise indisposed.

  Wait a minute! I’m packing a pig lure!

  I pulled the donut from my pocket and waved it in the air. Randolph’s little snout went up. He stopped dead in his tracks, sniffed the air again and locked in on me. Laverne took a flying leap at him, but Randolph scrambled away just in time, and made a beeline right for me.

  Great, Val. Now what?

  Before I could answer that burning question, Randolph plowed into my shin and bowled me over in the middle of my lawn like a lone nine pin.

  “Arrggghh!” I bellowed as I tumbled sideways onto the ground.

  Randolph pounced on the donut. I pounced on him.

  “You got him!” Laverne screeched. She added to her announcements of the obvious with the classic, “Don’t let him go!”

  “I wasn’t planning on it,” I grunted as I wrestled with Randolph in the grass, trying to maintain a grip on his round, porcine belly.

  Laverne was panting like a chicken in a hot house as she skittered to a stop next to me. Her gold high heels glinted in the grass mere inches from my face.

  High heels? Again? Really, Laverne?

  “Why is he wearing goggles?” I asked, for lack of a better conversation starter. The effort caused me to nearly lose my grip on Randolph. I squirmed around until I was lying on the lawn sideways, spooning with a squealing pig in spectacles.

  “He likes goggles,” Laverne said with a proud grin.

  She looked up and spotted Nancy heading toward us. Laverne’s doe eyes doubled in size. “Oh Val! Now Nancy’s gonna make me get rid of him!”

  As if on cue, Nancy’s ugly, mannish feet in ugly, mannish sandals appeared in my peripheral vision.

  “Hush, Laverne,” I said. “Let me do the talking.”

  “What’s going on here?” Nancy demanded. “This is against every city ordinance in the book! You can’t have a pig here!”

  “Darn. You found out,” I said, trying to look cheerfully outsmarted while lying in the grass with my arms around a pig. “It was supposed to be a surprise...for you.”

  I rolled over and pulled Randolph onto my lap. To my surprise, he grunted and nestled there peacefully. Maybe the sugar from the donut had kicked in and given him some kind of high.

  Nancy eyed me suspiciously. “A surprise? For me? What are you talking about, Fremden?”

  “Why, Spiff-Up September, of course,” I said, trying to buy myself time to come up with a better lie.

  “Spruce-Up September,” Nancy corrected. “What about it?”

  “Well...,” I looked to Laverne and Jake for help, but from the expressions on their faces, I was totally on my own. “We...uh...we all thought we’d celebrate it with a...with a...Hawaiian-style luau.”

  I shot my sketchy, less-than-dynamic duo a look. “Didn’t we?”

  Laverne and Jake looked at me, then nodded at Nancy as their gaping mouths morphed into weak smiles.

  “That’s right,” Jake said, apparently snapping into coherence. He hung his head dramatically. “But now the pig-roast surprise is ruined.”

  “Pig roast?” Laverne gasped. She gulped and stared at me wide-eyed.

  I looked into Laverne’s eyes, shook my head almost imperceptibly, then turned to Nancy.

  “You were going to be the surprise guest of honor, Nancy. Laverne was raising the pig herself so we could have the best meat available. But if you don’t want a luau in your honor, we’ll get rid of the pig today.”

  Nancy looked as if she’d just swallowed a bratwurst whole. “Oh,” she coughed. “Well, there’s no need to be hasty.”

  “No, you’re right,” I said, and made a show of petting Randolph, who grunted contentedly. “Let’s forget the whole thing.”

  “No!” Nancy nearly shouted. “I mean, when were you planning on having this...surprise luau?”

  “Uh...Tues –” I began, but Jake shook his head. “I mean Thurs –” Laverne shook her head. “Friday?” Both of my accomplices nodded.

  “Friday night,” I said.

  “Five days from now,” Nancy said. “Well, I guess it won’t be too much against the rules to keep the pig a few more days. And since it’s not a surprise anymore, I have a most excellent idea. Why don’t we have the luau at my place? I just got the shuffleboard court resurfaced and put new cushions on the patio furniture.”

  Nancy eyed us like a drill sergeant. No one dared speak.

  “It is settled then,” she said. “My place. Eighteen-hundred hours. Sharp.”

  “That’s a lot of hours!” Laverne said.

  “She means six o’clock,” I said, then looked to Nancy for confirmation.

  “Precisely,” Nancy said. “So it is our plan, ja?”

  I gave Jake and Laverne a hard stare. “Sure,” I said. “We’d all be happy with that.”

  I didn’t see how we were in any position to argue. Me especially, since I was sitting cross-legged on the ground with my arms wrapped around the belly of a pig wearing aviator goggles.

  Besides, with any luck, the luau would never happen anyway.

  TOM CAME HOME FROM his fishing expedition empty handed – except for a sackful of Big Bobby’s barbeque. It smelled like hog heaven. And, because it wasn’t on our healthy menu, it had me salivating like one of Pavlov’s mangy dogs.

  The thought of a meal without broccoli in it made my soul smile. I kissed Tom on the lips as he walked into the kitchen, and snatched the bag from his hands.

  “Sorry, no fish,” Tom said.

  “We’ll make do,” I quipped, and opened the bag.

  Tom touched my arm.

  “Val. I did catch something. And it’s kind of concerning.”

  “What? The flu?” I joked, my mind blurred by thoughts of juicy spare ribs.

  “No. This.”

  I turned to make a joke, but stopped when I saw the concern on Tom’s face.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Tom set a clear plastic baggie on the counter. Inside was what looked to be a man’s silver I.D. bracelet. I noticed a red Caduceus medical symbol etched into the left side of the smooth name plate.

  “It’s a life-alert bracelet,” Tom said. “I snagged it trolling the bottom for flounder.”

  “I guess that’s better than an old boot,” I said.

  Tom’s face went deadly serious. “Val, I could have pulled up an arm with it. This bracelet was around someone’s wrist at some point. It has saw marks on it. Like someone’s been dismembered. A dead body could be out there in the Gulf right now.”

  The thought made my nose crinkle. “Maybe, but I doubt it.”

  “Wh
at? Why?”

  “I think those twinkling green eyes of yours may finally need some cheater glasses, Tom. That’s a novelty bracelet.”

  “What do you mean, novelty?” Tom asked, and picked up the baggie.

  I handed him the eyeglasses I bought off a rack at a drugstore. “Take a closer look at the medical symbol. The staff has two L’s wrapped around it instead of snakes. The L’s stand for ‘loser.’ The script on the bracelet says, ‘Notify authorities in case this person ever gets a life.’”

  Tom shook his head. “You’re right. It’s a joke bracelet.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen one?”

  Tom shook his head. “I haven’t.”

  “You need to get out more. They’re all over eBay. It’s a favorite tourist joke at Caddy’s. Whenever he gets in one of his joking moods, Greg pulls this prank where he –”

  I stopped myself mid-sentence and stared at Tom.

  “Greg!” I grabbed the bag from Tom’s hand. “Oh my word! This could be Greg’s! He wore it a lot. It was like his standing joke.”

  Tom’s eyes locked on mine. “And now he could be lying in a watery grave.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “When was the last time anyone saw Greg?” I asked Tom as he got ready for work. As usual, Monday morning had struck too early yet again.

  “Not since early Thursday morning,” he answered, and checked the fastener on his gun holster. “Parsons closed the bar down at two. The bartender working that night said he left around two-thirty. He was supposed to return for the afternoon shift around three that afternoon, but he never showed up.”

  “That’s what Norma told me, too. I mean, that Greg was supposed to be in at three o’clock. And now you say no one can find her, either.”

  I eyed the baggie still on the kitchen counter. “What are you going to do with the bracelet?”

  “Well, with Greg’s case upgraded to a missing person report on Saturday, I’ll file the bracelet as potential evidence.”

  “Potential evidence?”

  “It’s a novelty bracelet Val. Like you said, they made millions of them.”

  “But....” I argued.