Alpaca My Bags

by Violet Patton

  I’m gonna kill him, for killing Dan.

  Fuming, I fixed myself up. Dotted on lipstick and combed the hair over my bedhead spot. I wouldn’t let that hussy steal my husband not without a showdown. I needed exercise to blow off my building steam, and I didn’t mean sweat.

  I would sign-up for water aerobics even if it killed me—no I don’t want to die, I want to get even.

  He left the Caddy’s keys on the bureau in the bedroom.

  I had wheels.

  The car took up most of the carport. If it wasn’t for the oleander bushes next the driver’s side, I wouldn’t have been able to get in. As it was, I had to push through the bushes and fight off the oleanders to open the car door. I got into the Caddy, backing out wasn’t as easy as an enema either, but I got out of the carport without taking off the side mirrors.

  Philly worshipped his Caddy. Back in San Fran, I took a taxi instead of getting the car out of the garage. So, driving this morning required a learning curve.

  I drove around the streets and felt like a munchkin looking over the steering wheel. Several times I had to slam on the brakes to keep from hitting a golf cart, but arrived unscathed at the community’s shopping area—arena. There wasn’t a single horse or cowboy. Golf carts drive up to the business’s front doors, but vehicle parking was in the back. I needed a llama to carry me back to the storefronts. Thank goodness, I had the forethought to grab Madonna’s visor, and believe me, it wasn’t enough shade.

  Oasis Insurance occupied the first space in the strip center. Lettering on the office’s window proclaimed its services in alphabetical order. Top service—BURIAL POLICIES. That’s a welcome sign, if I ever saw one. Along with the insurance company, the short strip mall had a smallish grocery store, a laundromat, a cell phone shop and a golf cart repair center. There were also two dress shops and an art supply store.

  Oasis residents were everywhere, and they stared at this lost newbie munchkin.

  I window shopped at the art supply store dreaming of painting Philly’s final sunset, browsing along, pretending to be calm, until I found the swim shop. Ten o’clock was too early to shop for a bathing suit, especially if you haven’t owned or wanted one in decades.

  The doorbell buzzed and a seventy-year-old stood up from behind the counter.

  “Hey you? How can I help you?” She sounded entirely to dang happy.

  “I’m interested in a suit.” I glanced at the overwhelming racks of suits. Swimming must be a wet fashion show from the looks of the sequined and splashy fabrics.

  “I knew you’d be in. Judy said. You’re Bunny Winters, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” There was no hiding from that fact, but I’m also the soon-to-be Ex-Mrs. Bunny Winters. As soon as I catch my man and Wanda together again, I’ll make him wish he hadn’t been so sly. A spatula wallpaper scraper wasn’t good enough for him. Too bad he sold my BB gun; I’d burst her double life preservers with pellets.

  “Let me see, my guess is you’re an extra small. By the way, I’m Lanette. I’m in three sixty-two, over by the koi pond.”

  “Three sixty-two? Where’s that? Yes, an extra small.” I prided myself in keeping my figure, but as the years waned past, my bosom fizzled out. Wanda’s jiggling buxom breasts flashed across my thoughts. “You got something padded?”

  “Yes, padded. I do.” She prattled on. “On Nevada Street. I forget everyone doesn’t know where I live. I’ve got a Travelocity gnome in my yard.”

  She worked her fingers through a rack of bikinis.

  I nodded. “Gnome, eh? No bikini, please, I have a scar.” She moved to a rack of one-piece suits. “Judy said you’re signed up for water aerobics?”

  “Not officially.” Obviously, Dan’s death had fazed no one. In San Fran, that pool would be closed, packed-up and filled in, if someone had died in it. There would be no aerobics class the next morning. Although, the thought of Yonna’s puke felt especially icky this morning.

  She picked a suit off the rack, and reading my mind she said, “The pool hasn’t ever been closed, barring snow.” She didn’t laugh, but held up a shimmering red number with big cutouts on the side. “How about scarlet?”

  “Did you say harlot?” My brows lifted at the horrendous color.

  “Ah... no. I said scarlet. Is red too loud for you?”

  “Yes. No red. I need blue or green. Something with a bra.”

  “Oh, right?” She nodded, flicking through the suits.

  “Maintenance will clean the pool. It’ll be good as new. Check the water aerobics schedule on the wall next to the hamburger bar.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Bob’s Burger Bar. South of the pool area. Go past the woodworking shop. Turn left at jewelry... you’ll smell burgers cooking. You can’t miss it. You wanna try on the suit?” She held up two one-piece suits, one solid sky blue one, the other a green mottled splashy design. “What’ll it be. Blue or green?” The blue suit looked almost decent.

  “I’ll take both.”

  “Wonderful. You’ll look great in them.”

  “Ah hmm. Can you put them in a bag? Don’t want to try anything on.”

  “On your account?” She warbled twice as loud.

  “Huh?” I asked, looking dumb.

  Lanette cocked her head. “You know, your Oasis account? Everyone has one. You don’t need money—until the end of the month. What’s your member number?”

  That’s the first I’ve heard about an account or number. Where was Amelia in this misstep? Did she say something about a charge account during orientation? How about Philly? Did he know I didn’t need money in the Oasis? That concept would thrill him.

  In his rush to live in Arizona, Philly had left off a few minor details—no need for money, and the biggest detail of them all—Wanda.

  “Uh? I don’t know.”

  “Not to worry. I’ll fix everything.” She sacked the suit and passed it across the counter.

  After charging the suits to my non-existent Oasis’ account I shopped at the grocery store for basics—milk, eggs and butter. I wasn’t interested in planning Philly’s next meal. He can eat at the pickleball snack bar for the rest of his life.

  I paid cash for the groceries, not pushing my luck with that fishy sounding Oasis account business.

  After leaving the shopping center, I drove around getting a lay of the land—which meant I was hunting for my man. He wasn’t at the pickleball courts, the tennis courts or the putting green. Good thing, because he doesn’t play golf or tennis.

  Philly wasn’t at the park model which I refuse to call home, and I was ready for a showdown. After putting away the groceries, instead of scraping wallpaper, which reminded me of Wanda, I paced outside the trailer, half-cocked and pistols loaded, when Madonna buzzed up the street.

  She stopped beside me and turned off her golf cart. “What’s up?”

  “Have you seen Philly?” Did my anxiety show?

  Madonna smiled. “No.”

  She thinks I’m man-crazy, always hunting him. I paced a few inches, any further I would be off our property line. San Fran had been confining with towering skyscrapers, noise pollution and trash, but this asphalt jungle was limited with a capital L.

  “Why are you so miffed?” she asked.

  “Nothing. It’s nothing.” I put my fingers to my lips, pretending to smoke an invisible cigarette. What wouldn’t I give for a long one? “He’s missing.”

  Madonna grinned. “Men do that. Spect he’s playing dominos.”

  Dominos? Heck, he adores dominos. Amelia hadn’t included dominos in her two-dollar tour. “Why didn’t someone tell me about dominos?”

  Madonna shrugged. “Guess with Dan dying and all, nobody thought too much about the ongoing domino game.”

  “Ongoing?”

  “Yeah. Back when, the men started a game.” She nodded at no place in particular, which I took to mean an immeasurable span of time. “Can’t say how long they’ve been playing... but with Dan dead? There was an empty chair
at the table. I can’t figure out how he got in so fast. There’s a waiting list...”

  I smoked my invisible cigarette, blowing pretend smoke away from Madonna’s face. “Waiting list, eh? Where’s the domino hall?”

  There were shenanigans happening at that domino table. I suspect Wanda sprinkled magic fairy dust to get my husband into this illustrious game.

  “Hall? Room, don’t you mean?” Madonna asked.

  In Texas men played dominos in a hall, a room was too small to contain their high testosterone levels.

  I shrugged. “Hall... room whatever.”

  “Over at the clubhouse. You had lunch?”

  I shook my head in rhythm with my growling tummy. I might be skinny, but I ate regular. Philly meeting Wanda right underneath my nose put a crook in my breakfast schedule.

  “Bob Cornish makes a mean bacon cheeseburger. You aren’t vegan, are you?”

  “No, of course not.” Texas is the beef capital of the world, I’m not vegetarian anything.

  “C’mere. Get in. I’m starving. It’s too hot to cook.”

  Bob’s Burger Bar had a walk-up window, and I got the works. We chose a shady spot near the swimming pool. Inside the compound, a uniformed police officer walked around snapping photos of random stuff.

  “Looks like the police are doing a thorough investigation, this time.” Madonna cracked open a soda. Bob’s didn’t have soda fountain drinks, only can soda, and you picked your own out of the washtub filled with ice.

  “This time?” I popped the top off my frosty can and soda fizzed out the opening. I sucked off the fizz and ran the cold can over my forehead.

  Several residents passed our table and stopped. Madonna introduced me. I read their names printed beside their faces. When they walked away, I instantly forgot their names.

  I must remember to get my ID after we finish eating.

  “What, don’t they investigate every time someone dies?”

  “Mostly not. People are...”

  “Right, dying to get out of the Oasis.” Underneath the table, my leg jiggled, and I grabbed it make it stop.

  A man slid onto the bench next to Madonna and across from me. “Well, lookie-here.”

  “Jimmy,” she said, looking peeved by his interruption.

  The man rested his chin on his palm and grinned at me. “Married?”

  “Very,” I said into my soda can. He was cute. Dare I mention I would soon be available?

  Was there a shortage of eligible men here at the Oasis? I should get his number.

  “So are you, Jimmy,” Madonna said. “I’m gonna tell Tina.”

  He grimaced. “Don’t be a party pooper. It doesn’t hurt to ask. Around here, you gotta keep your dance card open. You never know when you’ll become single.”

  “Stop wishing.” She glanced at another picnic table in the shade. “Tina.” she yelled. “Come get your toddler.”

  Tina waved Madonna off. She was nose deep in a paperback.

  “Ain’t it a shame about Dan,” Jimmy said in a more somber tone.

  “Shame,” Madonna said, tucking her chin. She seemed too stoic for just losing a friend.

  Death seemed ordinary to the Oasis’ residents. All around the burger bar, people carried on like there wasn’t a cop taking photos of a crime scene only a few feet away behind the iron bars of the pool deck.

  “Later,” Jimmy said and left to harass someone else.

  “NUMBER 42.”

  “That’s us. I’ll go.” I hopped up, tiptoeing and daydreaming about the green belts, slivers of grass, hanging potted plants and lovely trees which dotted San Francisco.

  At the window, a woman looked out and asked, “You want ketchup?”

  She ruined my fantasy about my former life.

  “Ah… yeah.” I didn’t know if Madonna used ketchup, but I did. Back at the picnic table, she wasn’t alone. I slid the tray full of red-checked paper lined burger baskets along the table and climbed onto the bench seat.

  I pointed at the squeeze pack ketchup. “Ketchup.”

  Madonna nodded and grabbed her burger basket.

  I noticed the new addition to our table. “Hey you.”

  “Hey you back.” A younger looking woman sat with her elbows on the table—staring at our food.

  Madonna didn’t bother to introduce me, but instead took two huge bites of burger. She ate two French fries, wiped her mouth, chewed and swallowed, and so did I. The woman sitting with us watched us eat. I copied Madonna’s eating style, even if I looked like an idiot.

  Madonna took an eating break. “Gale, this is Bunny Winters. Bunny... Gale Williams.”

  Mid bite, I only nodded. “Uh-uh.”

  Gale nodded back. “You sew?”

  “Nope.” I chewed around the word.

  “Paint?” How dare this stranger ask me if I paint? I bet she’s friends with Wanda.

  I took another bite. Food felt fabulous. My cellulite cells cheered. Yes, I have cellulite but in all the right places.

  “What do you do?” Gale asked.

  I stopped chewing. That’s a good question.

  What do I do? Nothing. I do nothing. “Dunno.” I used to take care of Philly, but that’s now Wanda’s job.

  Gale wiggled, doing nothing made her antsy. I can’t blame her; I’m antsy trying to figure out what I’m doing. Eating a burger was doing. Figuring out how to catch my man red-handed in Wanda’s bosom was doing something.

  I opened my big mouth and out fell. “I’m a spiritual counselor.”

  Down the street from our house in the ghetto—I lovingly referred to our neighborhood as the ghetto—a sign hung in an abandoned storefront window: Spiritual Counselor.

  It had been there since the New Age crystals phase ended and cobwebs formed around it. I always wondered who was the spiritual counselor, not how they went about the job.

  Madonna swallowed her next bite too soon, choked and washed it down with soda.

  When she could speak she asked, “A what?” Her eyes twinkled with delight.

  Gale grinned. “She’s a psychic.”

  “Oh, I won’t go that far.” Boy, I have royally screwed up.

  Gale leaned closer across the table. “Who killed Dan?”

  Boy, I’ve royally screwed up royally.

  Madonna grinned. “Yes, do tell. Do you have a crystal ball?”

  “No. I can’t see things.” If I could see things in a magic crystal ball, I would’ve been able to know what Philly was up to. I wouldn’t be sitting here eating a Bob’s burger, dreaming of wringing Philly’s skinny neck, telling the entire Oasis population, I am a fortune teller.

  Gale’s face drooped. “You can’t read cards?”

  “Cards?”

  “Tarot cards,” Madonna said, wiping grease from her chin.

  “Oh, heavens no. Those silly things are all wrong. I don’t need them.” I shoved burger into my mouth to crowd out my lies.

  Madonna mumbled, “Oh, hell. Here comes Amelia.”

  Saved by Amelia. Who would have thought that? Maybe Gale will forget that I’m a wannabe spiritual counselor. I wouldn’t take my advice if I were me.

  “There you are. I stopped by your place, but no one was home,” she said.

  In dry clothes, she looked decent.

  I gritted my teeth and smiled over them, trying not to show too much tooth. No one was home. Philly is... no telling... pickleball, dominos or shackin’ up with a floozy.

  “That’s right. I’m hanging out with my girlfriends.” I included Gale in the group to flesh out how many friends I had already made. Little white lies can’t hurt that much. I didn’t dare ask ‘have you seen my hubby’. It was beyond embarrassing to have lost my man within only a few days of living in this paradise... hellhole.

  She sat close, crowding me. “I wanted to apologize. Things didn’t...”

  I scooted over an inch. “No need. Listen, these things happen.”

  Gale and Madonna shared a look I recognized. Things like drowning
in a fifty-five plus community pool didn’t just happen. Somebody got Dan good.

  “I mean... ah-hm. Yeah.” I hunkered over. I had talked myself into a corner sitting at a round table.

  Her gaze glazed over. “Dan was my best assistant. Now I must find another volunteer.”

  Whoa. She moved on fast.

  Gale and Madonna didn’t volunteer. One thing was sure, Amelia wouldn’t want me as an assistant.

  “Do they have any clues?” Madonna asked.

  “Mum’s the word. Nothing so far.”

  “What about the security cameras?” Gale asked.

  “We’ve uploaded them to the police. Our security is pretty tight-lipped about what’s on them.”

  Madonna nodded. “You didn’t keep a copy?”

  Amelia tapped her chest. “Me? I never look at security’s stuff. Not unless they ask me to. That’s only happened once. The night of the 4th of July parade... remember last year?”

  Gale and Madonna nodded in unison.

  All three blinked, but she said, “Unfortunate incident with Mrs. Coker’s cat.”

  Gale hunched over. “Terrible, wasn’t it? Hacked to pieces.”

  Amelia chuckled. “Security didn’t think it was very funny.”

  “Nobody else did either,” Madonna added.

  A question burst from my mouth. “What happened?”

  “Let’s leave it. Too much visual info you won’t forget.” Amelia squirmed.

  “Okay.” Until I uncover what happened to the 4th of July cat, I wouldn’t rest.

  “Can I finish your tour?” she asked. “You didn’t see the sewing room or library. There’s so much more here than what meets the eye.”

  Again, I smiled over my gritted teeth. She got that right. Murderers and seductive man-stealers frolic freely inside the Oasis’ prison walls.

  “I’d like to tag along,” Gale said.

  “Sure,” I said, trying to pull neighborly from my hidden resources.

  “Ready?” Amelia stood.

  “Oh, right?” I didn’t understand she meant right that minute.

  Madonna asked, “Can you see she makes it back? I’m her ride.”

  “My carts over there,” Gale said, nodding toward the row of identical golf cars.