Scareplane

by Elise Sax

  “I bet we can find someone to love you, who wants to go to Puerto Vallarta, too,” I told Larry.

  It turned out that the goat lady didn’t just uncurse people. She also had a standing garage sale, three-hundred-and-sixty-two days of the year. She was closed for Christmas, Thanksgiving, and National Potato Day. The sale spilled out of her garage, onto her driveway and into the cul-de-sac where she lived.

  Since I had had run-ins with animal rights activists in the past, I was nervous about the goat ritual. If it entailed hurting the goat in any way, I would have to stop it. Either way, I was anxious about the whole thing, so I had asked Bridget to meet us there. She said she knew where it was because she had bought her coffee grinder and pasta pot there.

  Bridget’s car was already parked by the house when we drove up. I spotted her combing through inventory on a folding table on the street.

  “Here we go,” I told Larry.

  “I hope this works,” he said.

  “How could it not?”

  It could not in a million ways. First off, it was an old lady with a goat. Second off, maybe Larry was just danger-prone like Ruth’s grandniece, Julie. But I hoped the goat worked, not only because I didn’t know how much more Larry could take, but also because I didn’t know how much longer I could be Larry’s escort in life. He was a nice guy, but I didn’t look forward to him being my shadow for the rest of my life.

  Bridget wasn’t the only familiar face at Moses Rathbone’s garage sale. Half of the uniformed police force was there, too. “Hello, Underwear Girl,” Fred greeted me. He was holding a Wonder Woman cookie jar, and he was considerably more relaxed than the last time I had seen him.

  “Hello, there, Fred.” I made the rounds, saying hello to everyone. “Are you all on your lunch break at the same time?”

  “We’re hiding from Detective Williams,” Fred explained. “She scares me, and I need a break from butts.”

  “How much is this TV?” Officer James asked, pointing at a large screen on the lawn.

  Everyone was loading up with used, discount goods. It was a free for all, and it was contagious. I found myself looking at knick-knacks, and suddenly I had the conviction that I couldn’t live without a flashlight-can opener combo for seven dollars.

  “Are you Moses? I’m Larry.” Larry was introducing himself to the goat lady on the lawn, and I reluctantly pulled myself away from the tables. I grabbed Bridget on my way to join them.

  The goat lady gave Larry a once-over. “That’s a doozy creeper curse, Larry,” she said, looking at him from the corner of her eye, while she took a wad of cash from one of the cops, who was buying enough stuff to fill a dorm room. He paid and put his shopping in the trunk of his police car.

  “I’m running out of digits,” Larry told the goat lady.

  Moses nodded. “You didn’t come too soon, that’s for sure. The good news is that the goat is ready.”

  “The thing is,” I interrupted. “Nothing bad will happen to the goat, right?”

  “That depends,” she said. “The last creeper curse put him off his feed for two days. He would only eat popcorn and Milk Duds.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” Bridget said. She was right. Milk Duds sounded good.

  “Okay. Just checking,” I said.

  “So, it really works, right?” Larry asked. “I’m going to be uncursed?”

  “Yep,” the goat lady said. “The goat chews your clothes and poops out the curse. Presto chango.”

  “That doesn’t sound very scientific,” Bridget told me.

  I shushed her. “It’s very scientific,” I assured Larry. “Jonas Salk was the first one to use the method.”

  “I don’t know what she’s talking about,” the goat lady said. “My grandmother taught it to me.”

  “And then Jonas Salk cured polio, but really, he’s mostly known for his goat uncursing technique,” I continued. I was desperate. We were down to the wire. Larry was almost uncursed. Then, I could match him and focus on showing up Detective Lady Pissant and revealing who killed Mike Chantage. If Larry didn’t believe a goat could chew up his clothes, poop it out, and leave him free of more mishaps, we were screwed and that would be a major wrench in my works. Luckily, Jonas Salk’s name still carried some weight.

  “I can’t wait,” Larry said. “I have plans once I’m free.”

  Bridget patted Larry’s back. “I hope you’re free, soon.” She sniffed and wiped a tear from her face. “Hormones,” she whispered to me.

  Moses positioned Larry on the lawn next to the goat and took some money from Fred, who had finished shopping. His arms were bursting, and I took a few items to help him to his car. While we walked to the car, the goat started to chew on Larry’s pants.

  “I feel it working, already,” Larry announced, excitedly.

  “The lady police captain was looking for you,” Fred told me, as he opened his trunk.

  “Leah?”

  “No. The skinny one. She wanted to tell you something. Something about roses?”

  My skin prickled, and I gasped. “You mean daffodils?”

  “Maybe. She was bossing me around, too, but at least I didn’t have to look up a butt for her.”

  There was a police siren, and all of the policemen at the garage sale looked at their cars, but the siren wasn’t coming from them. The noise got louder, as a car turned into the cul-de-sac.

  Uh oh.

  It was Spencer’s squad car. He screeched to a stop by the table of Adam Sandler bobble heads. Spencer stepped out, and so did a middle-aged woman, who was madder than spit.

  “That’s my television!” she shouted, as Officer James carried it to his police car. “And that’s my entire living room set! And that…that’s my goat!”

  All eyes turned to the goat, which was halfway up Larry’s pants leg.

  “It’s working! It’s working!” Larry shouted. “I’m almost free!”

  Officer James approached Spencer with the television in his arms. “I paid for this fair and square, Chief.”

  “You bought stolen goods?” Spencer asked. His face was bright red, and I was worried about him having a stroke. “You’re all here, buying stolen goods? My police force is buying stolen goods? Stolen? Stolen?” Spencer’s voice rose in pitch and level with each question.

  Everyone looked at the ground.

  “Larry, you think you’re cursed? Buddy, I’m the one who’s cursed,” Spencer yelled. “I’ve got a big curse! An entire police force worth of a curse.”

  “I can take care of that curse, if you forget about this whole thing,” the goat lady offered.

  The woman who had arrived with Spencer, marched up the lawn and grabbed the goat’s collar, yanking it away from Larry’s pants. “You’re a sick woman,” she spat at Moses. “Taking an innocent goat to do immoral things.”

  “Wait,” Larry pleaded. “My creeper curse.”

  But his pleas landed on deaf ears. The woman took her goat away, and the police packed away the stolen belongings. It turned out that Moses’s garage sale was made up entirely of stolen goods and was part of a burglary ring, which was run out of the next town over. So, the good news was that Spencer’s police force did six arrests, but the bad news was that in addition to the fact that one of his conference participants was murdered, Spencer had a police force decorating their homes with stolen goods.

  Things weren’t going well for Spencer. He was overwhelmed with bad news. Disoriented. It was the perfect moment for me to get involved and butt in where I wasn’t supposed to.

  Meanwhile, poor Larry Doughy was standing on the lawn, looking like Robinson Crusoe in his torn clothing and distraught.

  “Maybe it was enough to fix the curse,” I told him, trying to make him feel better.

  The goat lady cackled, as she was being handcuffed. “Not a chance,” she said. “No creeper curse can be cured when a goat only eats one and a half pants legs.”

  “Maybe she’s wrong,” I whispered to Larry.

  “Pow
er to the people!” Bridget shouted. “Down with police brutality!”

  “Are you kidding me?” Spencer said.

  CHAPTER 8

  Danger, Will Robinson! I loved that show. Robots. Aliens. So much fun. Wouldn’t it be nice if real life were like that? Actually, it might not be good to actually be lost in space. Not a lot of fried chicken in outer space. At least, I assume there’s not a lot of friend chicken in outer space. But anyway, dolly, what I mean is danger. I mean, danger is dangerous. I mean, danger, bubbeleh! Danger! You’ll understand when your match loves a man who’s wrong for her, and you have to tell her. You’ll understand when another match wants a woman known as, “the bitch of the southwest,” and you have to tell him no. Be very careful is what I’m trying to tell you. There’s a crapload of meshuganas out there. My friend Doris is permanently bald because she wasn’t careful. Emmes, my hand to God, I’m telling you the truth.

  Lesson 116, Matchmaking advice from your

  Grandma Zelda

  “Maybe you’re partially uncursed. Enough uncursed to keep your digits. Maybe you’re just cursed enough now to get the middle seat on planes or never win the lottery. That kind of thing.”

  Larry sniffed. “You think so?”

  After watching the arrests, I coaxed Larry back into my car with the promise of lunch at Saladz. Bridget was following us in her car. Larry had cried on and off since we left the goat lady’s house. I had tried everything to cheer him up, including singing songs from the Disney classic Dumbo. Nothing worked except for lying.

  Lying took the edge off.

  “Yes,” I assured him. “Before the goat chewed one and a half of your pants legs, you had the creeper curse aura. Now it’s only about one-quarter—I mean, one-tenth—of the creeper aura. You’re practically aura free. Creeper curse aura free, I mean.”

  Larry wiped his nose on his sleeve. “My aura does feel a little lighter. Maybe the goat really helped.”

  “Saladz has a killer turkey and cranberry sauce sandwich that I’m sure will lift your spirits. And fries. Unless you prefer potato chips.”

  Killer turkey and cranberry sandwich. Killer. The word reminded me that I was getting nowhere closer to finding Mike’s killer. Usually at this point, I was following a trail, and I had major inklings. But, I had no inklings. I was inkling-less. Everyone wanted to kill Mike. Now that I knew more about him, I was wondering if maybe I had killed him.

  He wasn’t a nice guy.

  Still, the suspects weren’t shy to divulge their motives to me. All except for Joyce Strauss and Cynthia and Detective Booty Bitch. They were closed-lipped, but even without them, there was no shortage of suspects. Sidney had been wrongly accused, Leah’s nephew had been beaten, and Frank’s wife had been laid. All reasons to lace Mike’s food with daffodils.

  Food.

  Food.

  Hmm…

  The food at lunch hadn’t been poisoned, so the caterer Arthur Fox was out as a suspect, but maybe he was back in as a suspect if he fed Mike something before then. Had he served a snack? Maybe coffee cake or gourmet cookies? Or breakfast? Was there breakfast? Did Arthur hate Mike, too?

  Was I kidding? Anyone who spoke to Mike hated him.

  Saladz was hopping for lunch. The three of us found a table in the center of the restaurant, surrounded by diners.

  “What happened to your pants?” Jean, the real estate lady, asked Larry as she approached our table. She was wearing a hot pink power suit and was carrying a large briefcase.

  “I was partially uncursed,” he told her.

  Jean arched an eyebrow at me. “I didn’t curse him,” I said. “It wasn’t my fault.”

  She didn’t look convinced. “Whatever,” Jean said. “I came over here to tell you that the house across the street has almost reached a resolution. The government finally gave the okay for the plane to be hoisted out of the house. You know what that means?”

  It meant that the tourist season across the street would be over. I didn’t know what else it meant. “Of course, I know what it means,” I said.

  “So does your honeybunch,” Jean said. “He’s been keeping tabs on the whole process. That means we have to have that talk again. You got to tell me if you’re interested in moving into that house. Even though it’s cursed.”

  Bridget and Larry stared at me, as if I had grown an extra head. Jean waved at a man at a corner table. “Gotta go,” she said. “I’ve got a big fish hooked on for a McMansion by the pear orchards. Let me know what you decide.”

  We watched her plaster a phony smile on her face and saunter to the corner table. Then, Larry and Bridget returned to ogling me. “I’ve got a hankering for the turkey and cranberry sauce sandwich,” I said, studying the menu. “How about you guys?”

  “Are you marrying Spencer?” Larry asked. “I think you make a very nice couple.”

  “Or the BLT with avocado looks good, too,” I said, still studying the menu.

  Bridget put her hand on my shoulder. “Gladie, are you and Spencer getting married?”

  I put the menu down. “Uh,” I said.

  “Is that what the vacation is about? You’re eloping?” she asked.

  “No. That’s just a vacation. And I don’t know if I’m going to go. I’m sort of off airplanes.”

  “But you’re getting married?” Larry asked.

  Sweat broke out on my forehead, and I struggled to find an answer. “I’m not going to get married until gay people are allowed to be married,” I said, finally.

  “Gay people are allowed to be married,” Bridget said. “Don’t you remember my hunger strike?”

  “Was that before or after the town hall sit in?”

  “Before the sit in but after the Facebook protest and signature collection.”

  “Oh. So, gay people can get married, huh?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “So, who can’t get married?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on. Someone must not be allowed to get married,” I said. “There’s got to be injustice out there, somewhere.”

  “Married people can’t get married,” Larry announced with glee. “You know, because they’re already married.”

  I pointed at Larry. “There! There! I’m not going to get married until married people can get married.”

  Bridget sighed. “I’m sensing some adjustment problems, Gladie.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I don’t blame you, though,” Bridget said. “Marriage is no more than a father’s need to sell off his daughter so she’s not an economic burden.”

  “Really?” Larry asked. “That makes me look at marriage a whole new way. Marriage is really an archaic, misogynistic ritual, which imprisons a woman to a life of servitude and breeding against her will.”

  At the tirade against marriage, Bridget’s eyes grew bright, and she smiled wide. “I’m Bridget,” she gushed and flipped her hair. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and gave Larry her best come hither stare. Uh oh. I had to save Bridget from getting involved with Larry, even if he was only one-tenth cursed. After all, she was bringing a new life into the world.

  I put the menu in front of my face and leaned over to Bridget. “He’s a log cabin Republican,” I whispered, and her face dropped in disappointment. Outside of a hippie commune in Humboldt, there weren’t a lot of men who shared Bridget’s worldview. Now she was preparing to be a single mother, and I imagined she would have liked to have a partner in her life for this momentous event, even if marriage was an archaic, misogynistic ritual.

  I shuddered. As a matchmaker, I didn’t have anything against marriage. It was just thinking about my possible marriage that gave me hives.

  “I think I’ll have dessert before the sandwich,” I said. Larry and Bridget thought that was a brilliant idea, and we all started our meal with pie a la mode.

  After we finished our lunch, Bridget had to get back to tax season, so we parted ways. I hugged her goodbye.

  “B
y the way, I got a weird text from Lucy,” she told me, as we stood on the sidewalk. “Something about a plane, a boat, and murder.”

  “She mentioned to me that she might be coming home early,” I said.

  “I hope nothing’s wrong.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “She doesn’t want to miss anything with the murder, but this is the most boring murder I’ve ever come across. Everyone’s a suspect. Poison is boring, and nobody cares that the murder victim is dead.” I shrugged. “I really should start matching Larry instead of dealing with this investigation.”

  “It’s sounds like a dud of a murder. Like stale cereal.”

  “Exactly,” I agreed. “Just like two-week old Corn Flakes.”

  Larry and I drove away in my car. “That was a nice lunch,” he told me. “Relaxing. And I didn’t burn myself or even bite my tongue. I even went to the bathroom without incident. That goat’s amazing.”

  I sighed in relief. Finally, Larry was coming around to himself again. He felt so much better that he decided it was all right for me to take him home. He lived up further in the mountains, and it was a beautiful spring day. We opened our windows and enjoyed the fresh breeze and the scent of wildflowers, as we drove on the highway just outside of town.

  “I have a feeling, Larry, that you’re going to be totally fine. No more curse. No more bad luck. Just smooth sailing for a while. You’ll be able to live your life, go to work, and find a special someone.”

  “That sounds really good. I could use my Jacuzzi again without fear.”

  “I’m glad we got you to the goat before it was confiscated.”

  “It was a light dose, but it seems to have done the trick,” he agreed. “How long do you think it’ll take you to find me my true love? I wasn’t looking before, but all this talk about love and marriage has given me a hankering.”

  “I don’t think it’ll take that long,” I said, and I was telling the truth. Without the curse, Larry looked good on paper and not so bad in real life, once his hair grew back in. There were scads of single women in town who would have been happy to date him.