“How did he do it?” Melinda asked before stirring her carrots and potatoes together.
Frank smiled. “Well, he used an old navy trick.”
“You mean he made him walk the plank?” Matt chirped and grinned.
Frank reached over and patted Matt’s head and chuckled. “No, not exactly.”
“Did he dress up like a girl peacock and wink at him?” Susan asked with a laugh.
Frank grinned and looked around the table at them one by one. “Gene had the greatest idea,” he said then sipped his water. He hitched his chair closer to the table. “He put a slice of bread in a dish and soaked it in gin.” Frank tipped his head back and grinned at the ceiling. “Then he put the dish in the yard, and it wasn’t long before that peacock came over to see what it was.” He laughed out loud. “He gobbled it up like he hadn’t eaten in a week. It only took a few minutes for that gin to start working on that old peacock, and before long he was exceptionally docile, and Gene just walked right over and picked him up.” Frank emitted short bursts of laughter between wheezes.
Joan remained stone faced. “Isn’t that how he met Helen?” Joan shook her head critically.
Frank stopped laughing abruptly. “I don’t think Helen likes bread.”
“And the cat? Did he take that cat back?” she asked.
Frank cleared his throat and squished butter between two halves of his brown ‘n serve roll. “That’s what we need to talk about later,” he said before chewing off a bite.
“All I want to know is if he got rid of that flea bitten cat,” Joan replied with frustration.
Frank rubbed his mouth hard with his napkin. “Not yet. He’s trying to find a home for him.”
“So he’s still here?”
“The cat is on the back porch. Gene’s in the hospital.”
“The hospital?” Joan’s eyes widened.
“The doctor wanted to keep him one night to make sure he wouldn’t develop an infection.”
“Infection from what?” Melinda asked.
Frank squirmed in his chair. “I told Gene what you said this morning about the cat having fleas.” Frank nodded at Joan. “He said he couldn’t take the cat back to the shelter or it would be euthanized.”
“What’s that?” Matt asked innocently.
Melinda leaned toward Matt with a hard look in her eye, held her index finger up then made a throat cutting gesture. “Crreek.”
Susan gasped. “Daddy, you’re not going to let that happen are you?” Her hazel eyes bulged out with fear.
Frank held up a hand. “Don’t worry, don’t worry we’ll find a home for Blackie before we let that happen.”
“Blackie?” Joan sent him an admonishing glare. “How did Gene end up in the hospital anyway?”
“Cat scratches,” Frank said in a low tone.
“Excuse me?” Joan dipped her head to establish eye contact with Frank.
Frank’s shoulders slumped, and his head rolled back. “Okay, this afternoon Gene took the cat upstairs to give him a flea bath while I worked on my jingle.”
Joan looked at him and cut him off in mid sentence. “Remind me to tell you something after you finish your Gene story.”
Frank frowned a moment then continued. “Blood curdling screams snapped me out of my creative mode, and I ran upstairs to see what was wrong.” His lips formed a hard line, and he shook his head slowly as he remembered. “Gene had decided that a bath would take too long, and he didn’t want to get a ring around the tub so he undressed and took the cat into the shower with him.”
It was the first time Frank noticed Joan smile all evening. His expression turned confused but he continued. “When I went into the bathroom, all I could hear was that cat throwing itself against the shower door over and over. He had turned Gene into a human claw post.”
Joan threw her head back and laughed uncontrollably. Frank waited until she was somewhat composed before he went on. “I opened the shower door a crack, and that cat burst out like a wet bullet ricocheting off the walls all the way down the stairs.”
Joan laughed louder and harder. She pounded her fist on the table and tapped her toes against the floor as if she were doing a dance. Silverware jingled and glasses jiggled. The kids stared at her with spellbound expressions on their faces.
“Joan, some of those scratches were very deep,” Frank said seriously.
Joan laughed harder.
Frank huffed. “Anyway, I took Gene to the hospital to be treated for shock, and that’s when the doctor said he wanted to keep him overnight.”
Suddenly they heard the loud engine of a car pull up outside.
The kids ran, leaped on the couch by the front window and pulled back the curtains. It was an old yellow taxicab. They strained to see who was getting out of the back seat. By the time Frank and Joan walked to the window, Susan started to scream. It seemed to be contagious because Melinda and Matt began to scream, too.
“What is it?” Frank asked in a panicky voice.
“It’s a walking dead zombie!” Susan pointed to a bandaged figure making its way up the path leading to the front door.
Frank pushed his face up to the window as the kids scrambled off the couch to get out of view of the trespasser. Frank remained silent watching the figure struggle up the path. Burglars didn’t make their rounds in taxis did they? He looked back at the children huddled around Joan for protection. Mass hysteria was an interesting phenomena, he could practically see the vibrations of fright radiating from them. Frank felt a surge of adrenaline, the tightening of anticipation. He quickly went to the coat closet and grabbed Matt’s baseball bat. He held it high above his right shoulder as he reached out for the doorknob with his left.
The door swung open, and the figure stood staring at him with fear struck eyes. Arms rose up in a defensive position. “No!”
Frank lowered the bat and stepped forward. He released a breath and smiled. “It’s not a walking dead zombie, it’s Uncle Gene.”
Joan rushed forward. Her hands were clenched into fists causing her knuckles to turn a yellowish white. Frank dropped the bat, threw his arms around her and held her tight.
“I thought you were supposed to be at the hospital tonight,” she growled.
Gene braced his body protectively. “I don’t have medical insurance, and I didn’t want Frank to get stuck with the bill. Besides, it’s just a few scratches.”
Joan’s eyes slid down the myriad web of gauze wrappings. She shook her head.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Gene said as he sidestepped her. “I have to get back into my kilt.”
They stood looking at one another. Frank seemed to be fighting a grin.
Joan’s face had returned to stone. “I hope you were capable of returning to your creative mode after all of your escapades today and able to meet your deadline.”
Frank shrugged. “Why?”
Joan wriggled from his arms and walked over and began clearing the dishes from the table. “I invited your boss to the barbeque tomorrow night.”
Chapter Eleven
Frank was glad he polished his shoes. It would be easier to tell his boss he didn’t have the jingle ready if he could brag about the product. He tucked his powder blue polyester shirt into the waistband of his black slacks and gazed in the full-length mirror. He ran the tops of each shoe down the back of his pant legs and smoothed his hair. Not bad. But the moment of satisfaction was brief.
It came to pass, how could it not have? His worst fear. The day he would miss a deadline. The first time. He couldn’t explain to his boss that he was battling black evil forces falling on him in the form of a Brazilian gardener. He walked to the window facing Robert’s house and pulled back the curtain to check his backyard. He relaxed. There was no sign of Tito Tortuga today.
He could explain to his boss that he was caring for his injured brother though; there was certainly proof of that with Gene’s skin snagged out like the threads of a cat clawed couch. He winced. That must have hurt like the devil.
Matt barged into the bedroom and jumped up on the bed. “Mom wants to know when you’re coming down to help her.” His voice jerked as he bounced up and down.
Frank slinked an arm around Matt’s waist and wrestled him onto his back. “You go tell mom I’ll be right there,” he said as he tugged Matt off the bed and threw him up in the air and caught him. Matt giggled and hit the floor running. Frank straightened the bedspread and headed downstairs.
Joan was in the kitchen preparing the meat for the barbeque.
“Wow,” Frank said as his eyes scanned the smorgasbord. “Is there any kind of meat you don’t have?”
Joan flashed him a defensive look. “I want to make sure all of our guests are satisfied.” She grunted as she cut a rib bone in half.
Frank stepped up behind her and put his arms around her waist. He bent and kissed the side of her neck then nibbled his way to her ear. He suddenly frowned. “What’s that you’re using?”
Joan hunched her shoulders and giggled as Frank continued to nibble. “I think your brother is trying to get on my good side. He gave me these rib cutters.” She proudly held them up. “They look like pruning shears don’t they?”
She demonstrated. “See?” She placed a rib between the blades and then pushed the handles together with a grunt. The rib fell in two pieces onto her cutting board. “Now it’s easier to handle, and it looks like you have more meat.”
Frank’s face drained of color, and a tiny sweat mustache formed on his upper lip. “Did he give you a pair of large scissors, too?” he asked reluctantly.
“As a matter of fact he did,” she said excitedly and turned to grab them from the counter. “These are perfect for cutting chicken breasts.” She manipulated the handles making snipping sounds with the blades.
Frank sucked in a lungful of air. “Joan, you know how Gene likes to take samples of wares when he gets fired?”
Joan stiffened and nodded.
Frank looked nervously at the scissors and shears. “Well, did you know he used to work for the coroner’s office?”
The scissors made a loud clatter when Joan dropped them on the floor. She stood frozen staring right through him. “How could he?” She looked around dazed and amazed. “I’m going to kill him!”
Frank reached out to put a hand on each of her shoulders. “He meant well, he just doesn’t think sometimes.”
“But,” Joan’s whole body protested.
“I’m sure they’re clean,” Frank continued. He smiled. “You thought I forgot didn’t you?” he asked to quickly change the subject.
“Forgot what?” Joan looked confused.
“Happy Anniversary,” Frank said and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a smell red velvet box and held it out.
Joan smiled and quickly turned to wipe her hands on a dishtowel. She turned back with tears brimming in her eyes. “Yes, I thought you forgot.” She took the box and gave him a warm glance. She flipped the top open exposing a set of beautiful heart shaped diamond earrings.
“Oh Frank, they’re absolutely beautiful.” She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. “A diamond is forever,” she whispered in his ear then kissed him on the cheek and again on the lips.
Just like the payments, he thought. He placed a hand on each side of her face and gazed into her eyes. “I’m glad you’re my wife and the mother of my children,” Frank whispered and kissed her lips back.
“Nothin says lovin like something from the oven,” Gene said as he came into the kitchen. He stopped abruptly. “Oops, didn’t know this was a private moment.”
Frank and Joan stared. Frank walked slowly toward Gene and made a complete circle around him.
“Where are they?” Frank asked.
“Who?” Gene’s face wrinkled in puzzlement.
“The scratches.” Frank lifted Gene’s wrist and inspected his arm.
“Gone. Every last one of them,” Gene said. “I used the oil that woman gave me, and it healed them right up.”
“Great,” Frank said as he dropped Gene’s arm. His last excuse. Gone. Now he would have to tell his boss he was blocked and probably lose the account.
“Gene, why didn’t you tell me these were trophies you collected from the coroner’s office?” Joan’s eyes blazed with anger as she held up the shears.
He waved a hand through the air. “Aw, they were hardly used. Maybe two autopsies, three at the most. No diseases, they were just murder victims. I cleaned them real good before I took them.”
Joan’s mouth dropped open. She turned clutching her small velvet box and stomped out of the kitchen.
“She’s mad isn’t she?” Gene looked at Frank.
“You think?”
Frank faced off with Gene. “Look, if I need you to put your bandages back on would you do it?”
“Do I have to wear the kilt, too?”
Frank frowned. “No, I just need an excuse when my boss asks me why I don’t have the jingle finished.” He ran a hand over the side of his short-cropped hair. “If I tell him I was taking care of you, it will be more believable if you look like you’ve been injured.”
Gene grinned and placed a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Frank you’re not going to need that stupid job!” Gene turned to pace. “You know what we have here?” He dug the vial of oil from his pocket and held it up. “Pure gold!”
“I happen to like my job,” Frank replied. “I have fun doing it, and most of the time I get it done when I’m supposed to.”
Gene gave him an incredulous look. “You’re not going to stand there and tell me you can’t recognize a once in a lifetime opportunity when it’s staring you right in the face are you?”
Frank looked over Gene’s shoulder to see Tito Tortuga standing at the window on the side of the house. He flinched and yelled out in surprise. Gene’s head snapped around.
“What is he doing so close to the house?” Frank asked as he rushed to the window and slid it open.
“Can I help you Mr. Tortuga?” he asked through the screen.
“I believe you have something that belongs to me,” Tito said.
“No Mr. Tortuga, I do not have anything that belongs to you.” Frank turned to look at Gene and shook his head.
“I think you have a piece of my shoe,” he said in his Brazilian accent almost too thick to understand.
“I don’t have any part of your shoe, and I would appreciate it if you would stay off my property.”
Tito’s stare was as sharp as a stiletto and seemed to carve him to the bone. “Pins of pain will bring you an ache in the head, you weel regret what you’ve done and said.” He turned and left.
Frank watched until he was out of sight. There was something in the air, and it didn’t feel right. He wondered if fighting voodoo with voodoo was the best course of action to take. After all, he and Gene were amateurs, fledglings of the black art next to Tito Tortuga, master of the deadly chicken head, snail shell wreath that they were yet to experience the results thereof.
“Call the woman at the shop,” Frank said. “Things are getting worse.”
Gene patted Frank on the back. “Don’t worry. I went to pay her this morning. I hope you don’t mind but I invited her to the barbeque.”
“As long as she doesn’t dress like a gypsy,” Frank said. “What’s her name anyway?”
Gene grinned. “It’s Tilly.”
“Tilly, what?”
Gene shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” He placed a finger over the mouth of the vial and tipped it upside down. “If this stuff grows me some new teeth, we’ll make a million bucks.” He made a sour face as he rubbed the oil along the tough ridge of his gums.
The guests began arriving just as the coals in the barbeque were turning from ebony to ashy white. Frank raked them out evenly along the bottom of the barbeque with the tip of his fork. He was glad Joan had planned a barbeque. It gave him an escape from the obligatory conversations with neighbors and colleagues. He gazed through the sliding glass door as they bega
n to drink and chat, showing each other snapshots of their families. He arranged the first layer of chicken onto the grill and brushed them with barbeque sauce.
Joan opened the sliding glass door and stepped out carrying a platter of marinated ribs. She sniffed at the fragrant smoke.
“I love to smell chicken on the barbeque, make sure you cook it thoroughly but not too long.” She set the platter on a small table next to the barbeque.
“Don’t worry about me,” Frank said. “Everything is under control.” He waved away the smoke as he turned several pieces.
Joan stood on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder. “I know how easy it is to cook the juice right out of it…”
Frank held up a hand. “It takes a tough man to make a tender chicken,” he said with his best Clint Eastwood impression. “And I’m a tough man.”
Joan giggled. She patted Frank on the shoulder. “Next time you go into the house, look towards your piano. You’ll find your anniversary gift there.”
Might he hope? Joan knew he wanted a new piano. Yes, the payments would be a struggle but it could be just the thing to vault him out of the slump he was in. He had been using the same old rundown upright for over ten years. Just the thought of sitting in front of the slanted lid of and baby grand sent a chill rolling down his spine.
They turned as the sliding glass door opened again. It was Joan Roberts. “Hello you two,” she said as she approached. “It was so nice of you to invite Rex and me to your little barbeque.”
“Are you kidding? We wouldn’t think of having one without you,” Joan gushed and stepped forward to give her a stiff hug.
“How nice,” Joan Roberts said as she gazed back through the glass door at the large cluster of guests laughing and nibbling on cheese and crackers. “But, no one is here yet.”
“Excuse me?” Joan said blinking around.
“I don’t see any other members of the country club.”
“We don’t belong to the country club, Joan,” Frank said as he slopped a spoonful of barbeque sauce onto several pieces of chicken. Billows of smoke belched out from the spattered coals. Frank fanned and coughed.
Mixed Nuts Page 7
