Six Pack of Sleuths: Comedy Mysteries

by Barbara Silkstone

  I followed Mr. Big Mouth into the plane. Now that the international mummy thief and everyone within shooting distance knew we weren’t carrying guns we were definitely dead meat.

  My eyes adjusted to the dim light in the aircraft and my breath caught in my throat. Mace Kelly was slumped unconscious in the pilot’s seat. I scanned the cockpit but she was alone. I fell on my knees in front of her and checked for a pulse. She was alive. I smacked her twice and she came around. I was getting good at smack-revival.

  Saucy must have kidnapped both Mace and Kit. He had to be carrying a gun.

  Roger cursed and bounded down the aisle into the cabin.

  “Is Kit back there?”

  “No!” he yelled.

  “Where am I?” Mace looked out the windshield her eyes two green eggs. “Am I a pilot?” Her orbs went buggy as she fought to focus.

  “Where’s Kit?” I shook her again.

  She peered over my shoulder toward the rear of the plane. In the very back of the eight-passenger jet sat the two Peruvian child mummies, seat belts across their chests, ready for flight. They provided a slightly different take on being stuck too long on the tarmac.

  “Where is Kyzer Saucy?” Roger stormed into the cockpit swinging his fists. I was afraid he was going to pop her. I stood between Mace and Roger. “It’s not her fault!”

  The redhead tried to stand and tumbled in the seat. She rubbed the back of her skull. “I followed Gary Grant here. Someone must have whacked me on the head.”

  I elbowed Roger. “Mace is an activist cleaning up politics in Florida.”

  Roger smirked.

  “I’ve got to find Kit.” I scanned the length of the plane. My buddy was too tall to be stashed in the leather-upholstered cabin.

  Mace pointed to the hanger. “I heard someone scream right before I was hit. Maybe I was in that building and they dragged me here!” She stumbled from the seat and fell to the floor.

  There wasn’t time to slog her behind us. I resettled her in the pilot seat with her head flung back against the headrest.

  Roger was pumped. “You check out the hanger. I’ll stay on board the plane with what’s-her-face.” He made a shooing motion. “Kyzer Saucy is setting his getaway. He’ll be here and I’ll be waiting. I have him right where I want him.”

  It wasn’t a good time to correct Roger. His testosterone glistened but his common sense was a little on the dry side. I stumbled toward the door, hesitant to leave my love waiting for someone who had sworn to kill him. “Saucy could be in the hanger. Maybe you should come with me?”

  Roger’s eyes grew to twice their size. “Go! If that crook is headed anywhere it’s here to the plane. Those sitting mummies aren’t waiting to be served peanuts.”

  Roger fought like a hamster, all punch and no delivery. He needed some sort of weapon against a vicious international smuggler. No way was I going to leave my man unprotected. I gave the cockpit a once over looking for something heavy. Not an ashtray in sight. Figures.

  A bottle of Dom snuggled in an ice bucket behind the pilot’s compartment. Bizarre but doable. “Grab the bottle!”

  “Not now, Wendy.”

  “Doofus. Use it as a weapon.”

  Roger picked it up by the neck and turned it upside down, water dripping along his arm. He swung the bottle over his head coming close to whacking himself. “I’m okay!”

  With my hands on either stair rail I leaped to the ground sending a shock wave through my injured back and splitting the silk pants which were now a child’s size four.

  I dashed to the hanger. The flight door was wide open like an unhinged snake’s mouth. The main bay, which could have accommodated three airplanes, was empty. To the right sat a small glass-walled front office, a short hallway ran between it and a row of closed doors on the opposite side. I headed down the hall calling Kit’s name and throwing open the doors on the left. Surprisingly they were all unlocked but on second look, not so surprising. Long thin boxes stood against the far walls. Coffin crates for shipping. I shivered thinking of her slogan. You clip ’em; we ship ’em.

  I screamed Kit’s name into the first room, paused to listen and then kept on running, repeating the peek and yell until I was out of rooms.

  Half my mind was in my frantic mode, the one where I can’t handle a clear thought. The other half was stewing over something not adding up. I slowed my pace, leaned against the corridor wall, and took a deep brain-organizing breath. The pieces were coming together like one of those crazy pictures that require crossed-eyeballs in order to detect the image.

  Did I misunderstand Mace? She said she followed Grant here to the airport. But the police had him in custody since his attempted murder of Tippy. That was this morning so Mace couldn’t have followed Gary Grant. Was she really passed out in the pilot’s seat or setting Roger up to be taken down?

  My face flushed, fear and anger fighting for first position. Roger was in danger and I’d been blind to the threat. I would have kicked myself but not even Uma can run and butt-kick at the same time.

  I returned to the main bay walking in a zig-zag crabwalk in case I was in someone’s gun sight. Roger was alone in the plane with Kyzer Saucy aka Mace Kelly, the mummy thief and master of disguises. Clever stunt, pretending to be knocked out so she could remain alone with Roger. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

  I glanced back over my shoulder. Kit might be seconds from death, how could I leave my best buddy? Torn between two loves. Giving it one last try I belted out the chorus of our song, Que Sera Sera, sounding like Lucy Ricardo with a sinus infection. My singing voice carries further than my screaming.

  As I finished the last Sera, a jet engine began to whine. A cold chill ran from the back of my neck to my heels. Roger wouldn’t fly off voluntarily! Kyzer Saucy must have taken over the plane! Roger probably blew it with the champagne bottle weapon. I spun on my tired heels and headed to the hanger door.

  Oh my God! I heard the muffled hum of Que Sera Sera below the noise of the jet engine. Freezing in my tracks I held my breath and tried to separate the song from the ambient noise. Easing back down the hallway I sang my Lucy-loudest Que Sera, Sera!

  The muffled melody seemed to be coming from the third room on the left. I dashed to a travel coffin at the back of the room and put my ear to the lid. The box was nailed shut with tiny finishing nails but the chorus of Que Sera Sera continued and it definitely wasn’t Doris Day.

  I wedged my fingers under the lid and pulled.

  The box responded with a little wobble and a soft mutter; while the jet engine became louder and drowned out any sounds from the travel coffin.

  My bare hands were useless with splinters poking under my fingernails. My fingertips bled on the bare pine box. I spotted a dainty little hammer on the windowsill. I grabbed the tool and using the prying end I pulled on the stubborn little pinhead nails one at a time. Tiny, frustrating little suckers. Who thinks of these things? After the third nail I lost my world famous patience, put my fingers under the lid and yanked breaking three really nice nails. Damn.

  The wood lid splintered and gave way in shattered pieces one of which bopped me on my skinned nose. I pushed a section of plank to the floor, it fell with a carpenter’s thud.

  Kit lay in the box, his green feathered boa a gag in his mouth, his wrists and ankles bound with duct tape, and his sequined gown jacked up around his thighs. His pancake makeup outlined craters on his laugh lines and mascara moons hung under his tired blue eyes.

  I untied the boa gag freeing his mouth. He moved his jaws and squinted. I used the end of the hammer to work the duct tape loose from his wrists. He pushed himself into a sitting position and between us we freed his ankles from the melted tape. My heart was about to break through my chest with the thought of Roger on the body-toting jet ready to take off, the engine whining louder and louder.

  Kit’s eyes blinked anxiously “She—”

  “Roger’s in trouble!” I yelped.

  He popped from the box and swung his feet to the fl
oor. “Your friend Mace…”

  “She’s not my friend, she’s going to kill Roger!”

  I helped him find his balance on his platform heels. He wobbled, braced on me, and poised to run. Weaponless is not my favorite self-description, but there we were two unarmed crusaders. The hammer! I stuffed it handle first in the back of my waistband. It hurt like hell what with the silk pants having shrunk to toddler size and the waistband chewing into my skin. Cops must have gun-calluses on their backsides.

  We darted down the hall and into the yawning snake’s mouth of a hanger. I peeked round the doorframe in time to see Mace headed toward the jet’s stairs, wheeling a catering cart with the Miami mummy strapped in the clear plastic bags. Mace was wearing the same Chanel pink mini-skirted suit she’d worn when we stashed the mummy in my garage.

  The handle of the hammer had worked its way between my butt cheeks and the metal head was eating at my waist. I thought my back hurt before but this was pure hell.

  Roger was nowhere in sight. I took an uneasy breath. I needed a plan to outwit Mace Kelly, I mean Kyzer Saucy.

  Kit tapped me on the shoulder. “You keep her busy. I’ll come up behind her.” He slipped off his platform heels and barefooted into the interior office. I could see him through the glass partition and then through the office window as he galloped out a side door headed to his Escalade parked sideways at the nose of the plane blocking its takeoff.

  “Yoo-hoo Mace or should I say Kyzer Saucy!” I waved walking slowly toward her hoping to draw her attention. Stepping like a baby with a full diaper to keep the hammer from slipping any lower and totally eliminating my sex life, I minced closer.

  Mace looked up at me with an evil grin. “I was worried you wouldn’t show up for the grand finale. I almost squished you and your lover boy in the veggie fields but a Lear is a classier way to go than that old crop duster, don’t you think?”

  “Where’s Roger?” I said, taking subtle little steps that would put me in lunging range.

  Kit finished the fifty-yard dash in his tight sequined gown and giantess bare feet. He threw himself down on the far side of his Escalade out of Mace-Saucy’s view.

  Once he was hidden I openly advanced on the bitch.

  Saucy pulled a gun from the catering cart and pointed it at me. “Do back off Wendy, I am so bored with your antics.” She waved the gun in the air. “I got what I came for, the Miami Mummy. I bet two mummies in order to steal the third. God, I’m brilliant!”

  She twirled the gun in an Annie Oakley spin.

  I took advantage of her showing off and ran two steps.

  She pointed the gun at my chest and I backed off.

  “It’s been a good week. Time to enjoy the fruits of my labor. Maybe spend some time at a spa. But first I have a little personal task to tend to. I’ve grown tired of looking over my shoulder. Your archaeologist is a pain in the neck. How do you tolerate him? I’m going to do away with Roger Jolley.”

  “No!” I came at her.

  She fired her gun chipping the tarmac at my feet.

  “That was a warning shot.”

  Aiming her gun at me with one hand, she banged the cart up the stairs with the other, the mummy bouncing and jiving. She braced the catering cart at the top and disappeared into the cabin. She sure wasn’t careful with antiquities. Some freakin’ expert. Bet she sells only dented inventory.

  Kit slipped under the belly of the plane on the left side of the door. Saucy couldn’t see him but with the element of surprise on his side, he might be able to yank her out the door the next time she appeared… if she appeared. He gave me a thumbs-up and a big grin.

  I took a few more steps toward the plane before Saucy returned holding a gun in her left hand. She leveled it at my heart. I tried not to telegraph Kit’s movements by following him with my eyes.

  The sun reflected off Kit’s sequins into Saucy’s eyes. She reached behind her then lashed out with a bullwhip in her right hand. The whip coiled around Kit’s neck and snapped into a noose. She yanked pulling Kit onto his tiptoes. He clutched at the whip and his face turned an alarming shade of red.

  I threw myself into a mad dash at his body. “Let him go!” I grabbed the hammer from the back of my pants and flung it at her head but banged it off her right shoulder. She dropped the whip. I pulled Kit away from the plane loosening the leather from his neck. His knees buckled and he fell, gasping and rubbing his skin.

  “You get to keep the drag queen and I get to send Doctor Jolley skydiving without a chute.”

  She reached into the cabin and dragged Roger to the doorway with her gun to his head. He was wrapped in mummy rags from head to toe. A bloody spot showed through the bandages on the side of his head. Evidently, Saucy had used the champagne bottle instead of Roger.

  “Since Doctor Jolley can’t keep his nose out of my mummy business, I’m wrapping up his career.”

  The only thing Roger had ever feared was Kyzer Saucy and now Saucy had mummied him.

  Saucy slammed his body against the gangway handrail. “Doctor Roger Jolley is officially off the Henman case. He’ll be dropping by. Catch him if you can!”

  “No,” I screamed. “Please don’t. He’s going to be a father.” I lied. It was the only thing I could think of. “He’s retiring from archaeology and going into real estate.”

  “And this is good how?” she snarked.

  “He’s giving up mummies to become a daddy. Aren’t you dear?”

  Roger nodded chewing on the gag over his nose and mouth. The rags made it impossible for him to move. It was nasty-looking cloth. The super-thief must travel with a trunk of authentic mummy accessories.

  Kit leaned on his elbow, silently struggling to get to his feet.

  She pushed Roger over the handrail. I sucked in a breath so sharply it hurt my lungs. He didn’t fall. He was suspended by the mummy bandages, the main shred of fabric around his waist was rigged along his shoulders and through his head wrap.

  I jumped as far up the gangway as I could and launched myself at her. She kneed me in the side of the face. I bit her shin. It was boney and sweaty. I slid off and banged my chin on the metal stair. She kicked at me, I grabbed her foot and we rolled down the gangway entangled in a four-legged, four-armed ball.

  We rolled under the plane. I heard her gun slide on the tarmac. It lay two feet away from the wrestling knot that was us. Kit kicked it toward me but it spun to the right and landed in her hand. Damn.

  She stood, dabbing at her bleeding mouth. “This is going to go harder on you.”

  Motioning with the gun she had me move to the foot of the stairs. She backed up the stairs and stood next to the dangling Roger.

  She waved the gun between my head and Roger’s mummy-wrapped skull. I could see the end of the mummy cloth wrapped around Roger’s waist was hooked somewhere above the door. He was destined to be dragged into the sky when the jet took off.

  Saucy aimed the gun at my head. “A fatal fall has so much more panache than a mere gunshot.”

  A hydraulic motor kicked in and the gangway lifted. The bandages holding Roger raised him as the gangway went up. By the time the door closed Roger dangled ten feet off the ground. The bandages holding Roger to the plane stressed. I saw holes appearing in the material. I fought every instinct to let go.

  The jets got louder. But I had Saucy pinned by an SUV. Goody for me except the image of birds caught in jet engines, nothing but feathers and beaks spewing sent a chill through my bod. Would we be sucked into the jet engines?

  The bitch put the plane in reverse and eased it away from the SUV. We were still standing not being confettied out of the engine.

  Kit rolled out of the way and staggered to his feet.

  The plane backed far enough from the Escalade to clear it. The legendary mummy thief might make her getaway with Roger swinging from the side of the jet until he broke loose and fell to earth. I jumped trying to grab his feet but he was too high for me to reach. The holes in the bandages grew. Holes or not I had an
idea.

  I yelled to Kit, “Get your car. The keys are under the seat! Get me close to the plane!”

  Kit scrambled into the driver’s seat, fired up the engine and backed toward me. I jumped on the running board and using my momentum swung to the roof. I white-knuckled the roof rack and went into a crouch. Thank you, Uma Thurman!

  We ran side-by-side in reverse. I yelled to Kit, “Get me even with the door but don’t go too far or the wing will scimitar us.”

  Kit lined me up with Roger’s body as if he’d been doing movie stunts all his life. I took a deep breath and threw myself into the air praying my timing and my aim were good. I crashed into Roger’s body and wrapped my arms around his neck and held on for dear life.

  The additional weight of my body caused the bandages to tear in plug-ugliness. The holes touched my face and sent shredded pieces into my open mouth. It would take countless facials and lots of scotch to restore my sanity.

  With a Tarzan yell I kicked off the side of the plane and Roger and I crashed onto the tarmac.

  The jet engines roared, threatening to break our eardrums or blow us both to Key West. We rolled behind the Escalade. The jet took off with three mummies, but I saved the best one. I hugged him, holes and all.

  Kyzer Saucy disappeared into the blue Miami sky.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The next morning Roger and I spooned in my bed. I’d been up all night grinding my teeth thinking of the holes that had touched my face. I slipped out of bed without awakening Roger and called the Jag dealership. They delivered Goldie to me.

  I took my phobia-freaked body to the Elizabeth Arden Red Door Salon in Fort Lauderdale and placed myself in their sympathetic hands.

  Swathed in a fluffy white robe and slippers I made the facial rounds with a kindly dermatologist and part-time shrink. She held my hand while my face underwent a microdermabrasion facial. In a comforting tone she explained the process, which I heard to mean the first layer of holey skin would be removed. I was relieved to learn I wasn’t her only client with a hole-a-phobia.