It's a Wonderful Knife

by Elise Sax

  It’s a Wonderful Knife

  book ten of the matchmaker mysteries series

  elise sax

  It’s a Wonderful Knife (Matchmaker Mysteries – Book 10) is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Elise Sax

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1719143059

  Published in the United States by 13 Lakes Publishing

  Cover design: Elizabeth Mackey

  Edited by: Novel Needs

  Formatted by: Jesse Kimmel-Freeman

  Printed in the United States of America

  elisesax.com

  elisesax@gmail.com

  http://elisesax.com/mailing-list.php

  https://www.facebook.com/ei.sax.9

  @theelisesax

  For my brothers, who are always there for me.

  Also by Elise Sax

  Matchmaker Mysteries Series

  Road to Matchmaker

  An Affair to Dismember

  Citizen Pain

  The Wizards of Saws

  Field of Screams

  From Fear to Eternity

  West Side Gory

  Scareplane

  It Happened One Fright

  The Big Kill

  It’s a Wonderful Knife

  Ship of Ghouls

  Goodnight Mysteries Series

  Die Noon

  Five Wishes Series

  Going Down

  Man Candy

  Hot Wired

  Just Sacked

  Wicked Ride

  Five Wishes Series

  Three More Wishes Series

  Blown Away

  Inn & Out

  Quick Bang

  Three More Wishes Series

  Forever Series

  Forever Now

  Bounty

  Switched

  Moving Violations

  Also by Elise Sax

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  Epilogue

  Also by Elise Sax

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER 1

  My grandfather died when I was a little girl. I don’t remember much about him, but he was a big man, and he never came downstairs before he was fully dressed in a pressed suit, tie, and pocket square. And then he was dead. The day after his funeral, I was in my grandmother’s bathroom, which is my bathroom now, and there he was. Big and dressed in his best suit, he was staring back at me in the mirror. As you can imagine, I didn’t say a word to him, and he didn’t say a word to me. Probably because he was dead. But even when he was alive, he didn’t say a word to me. So, it wasn’t a big, loving reunion scene or anything, bubbeleh. He stared at me in the mirror, and after a few seconds, I turned around to see if he was in the room. Bupkes. He wasn’t there. When I turned back to the mirror, he was still watching me with a blank expression on his face. He was probably as surprised to see me as I was to see him. After all, I had no business being in my Grandma’s bathroom. I was pretty stoic as a little girl, but sharing a bathroom with a dead man blew through my calm demeanor. I screamed like a meshuganah. Grandma came running, and so did my mother. My grandfather disappeared before they arrived, but my mother and grandmother believed me when I told them that I had been visited by an apparition. They both spit to ward against the evil eye, and then they told me the secret of love, right there between the toilet and the tub. They explained that only love can make spirits move between worlds, because love isn’t part of the physical world or the spiritual world. Love is its own world, a mystical force that adopts us or leaves us on a whim, like a cat. The more we open our hearts, the more chance we have of possessing love in our lives. There was also this, and it’s probably the most important thing: The more you give, the more you get. It’s the karma of love and it’s not always immediate, but eventually—eventually—love comes to the loving. Be loving. Promote love. Be loved. I love you, dolly.

  Lesson 3, Matchmaking advice from your

  Grandma Zelda

  So, this was how it happened when everything was going right. Love life… right. Career… right. Hair…right. Deluxe super fancy latte maker machine in new custom-built house… right. Rockabilly band for impending wedding… right. Everything, every aspect of my life, was going right. And what normally happens in cases like this when everything a person has ever wanted—and even the things she didn’t know she wanted—have come true, is that they become a serene, enlightened, sublimely happy person who can out-cool the Dalai Lama and even give up blinking.

  So funny. As if.

  In reality, I had everything I wanted and everything I didn’t know I wanted, and I was freaking the shit out.

  It might have been because I was in charge of the Sunday Singles meeting, since my grandmother was MIA, but I was betting it was more likely worrying about Eileen the street sweeper singing Ave Maria at my wedding.

  My. Wedding.

  It never dawned on me that what I thought was my happily ever after was only a transition to my real happily ever after.

  “Where’s Zelda?” Sally Salken asked. We were sitting on folding chairs in a circle in the parlor, and I was sensing a certain amount of doubt in my abilities from Cannes’ singles.

  “I think she’s ice skating,” I said. Since Grandma had started leaving her property line, she was never home. She had been a shut-in since my father died years ago, but since we discovered the truth about his death, she was undergoing a rebirth. She had always been a social butterfly, but now the butterfly was flying all over the place.

  “It’s July. Who goes ice skating in July?” Sally Salken said.

  “She said something about a rink in San Diego next to a churro stand,” I said.

  “Soon there’ll be no ice skating because the earth is getting closer to the sun,” Jenny Jackson explained. “That’s called global warming.”

  “There’s no such thing as global warming,” Millicent Lane spat. “Everyone knows that when the earth gets closer to the sun, the sun backs up. That way the earth stays the same, temperature-wise. We’re just at the time right before the sun takes a few steps backward.”

  “That doesn’t sound right to me,” Jenny said.

  “I saw it on PBS,” Millicent insisted.

  “Since when do you watch PBS?” Sally demanded.

  “Ruth Fletcher made me put it on the TV when she came in for a cleaning.”

  Millicent was the town’s new dental hygienist, and Ruth Fletcher was the ornery tea shop owner, who would have flailed Millicent alive if she had heard her theory about global warming.

  “Anyway, today’s talk is about preparing for happiness,” I said.

  “Preparing? I’m ready,” Sally announced, and everyone laughed.

  “Sometimes, we don’t know what happiness is, what will actually make us happy,” I said. “We’re trying for something, going down a path toward it, but it’s not the thing that will really make us happy.”

  “This is depressing. Zelda never makes us depressed,” Jenny complained.

  My forehead broke out in sweat, and it got pretty wet between my breasts, too. Flop sweat. I knew it well. Grandma w
as having fun, eating churros while she ice-skated, but in her absence, I had to take up the slack and was stuck with every group meeting and volunteer organization committee. And I wasn’t the best at any of it. Sure, I had gotten better since I had moved into town to help my grandmother with her matchmaking business, but I was no Zelda Burger. There was only one of her, and I wasn’t it, no matter how many times she told me I had the gift.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to depress you. What I mean is that we have to prepare for happiness and really understand what’s in our heart.”

  “How do we do that?” Sally asked.

  “Vision boards,” I said.

  Millicent clapped her hands. “I love arts and crafts!”

  I hated arts and crafts. I couldn’t even draw a stick figure. But I had to make a showing with the vision boards, or nobody would come to me to be matched. I refused to be the downfall of Zelda’s Matchmaking while she was having fun in San Diego. So, I had woken up early in the morning and drove to Walley’s, where I bought poster boards, arts and crafts supplies, and a pile of magazines to use for pictures. Luckily, my grandmother had left me with a debit card for expenses. I had never felt so rich in my life. I even bought Crayola brand markers instead of the generic kind.

  “Crayola,” I announced and pointed to them, like I was wearing a spangly dress on The Price is Right. I laid out all the supplies on the dining room table, and the women went right to work.

  “This is great,” Sally said, cutting out pictures of Chris Pine from People magazine. “I know someone who did a vision board, and three weeks later she won the lottery.”

  “I’d love a George Clooney lottery,” Millicent said. “He gets my juices flowing.”

  They cut and pasted. They drew little flowers and glittered everything. My vision board was blank. I didn’t know what to do with it.

  “Look, Gladie’s board is blank,” Sally said. “Of course it is. She already has the perfect man, and he’s building her the perfect house.”

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s true.”

  But I still felt like my vision board needed something different. Something new. My grandmother had planned most of my wedding, but it was up to me to pick Spencer’s wedding gift. He was the best dressed man of our town, Cannes. He had a designer wardrobe, and he now had a designer house, which was almost done. What could I get for him? What item would illustrate my love for him?

  I picked up the special edition Burnt Sienna Crayola marker and drew a large question mark in the center of my board.

  “Oh, that’s deep, Gladie,” Jenny said, studying my question mark. “What do you think about my Mercedes? Too much?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “I mean, if you think a Mercedes will make you happy.”

  She studied her glittery vision board. “It wouldn’t make me unhappy.”

  She had a point. I didn’t think a Mercedes would make anyone unhappy. My friend Lucy had a Mercedes with seat warmers, and she was very happy.

  Fifteen minutes later, the class was over. “No class next Sunday,” I announced. “I’ll see you all in two weeks.”

  “You mean you’ll see us in one week,” Millicent corrected. “We’ve all been invited to your wedding.”

  “You have?” I asked, surprised. Her face dropped, and I cleared my throat. “I mean, of course you have.” It was a sad attempt at covering my slight, but she accepted it.

  “I’m wearing a blue and white sundress,” she told me, excitedly. “I love that you’re having an outside wedding. You’re going to have single men there, right?”

  “Of course.”

  I had no idea who was going to be there. I suspected the whole town was going to be there. I didn’t even know it was an outside wedding.

  My stomach growled. There was leftover lasagna in the refrigerator, but desperate times called for fries and a chocolate shake. “I’ll walk you out,” I told the women and grabbed my purse.

  They left the house holding their vision boards, imbued with renewed optimism that their fantasies and wishes would come true. A blast of hot air hit us when I opened the front door.

  Sally groaned. “One-hundred-two today.”

  “We’re in a pineapple, that’s why. I heard it on the news,” Millicent explained.

  “The pineapple is the rain. We’re in a pocket,” Jenny said. “A pocket with a zipper that’s closed tight, so the heat can’t escape.”

  We were back to a scientific conversation that had no basis in reality. But one thing was certain. It was hot. I was wearing cutoffs, a tank top, and flip-flops, and I was sweating two seconds after I left my grandmother’s air-conditioned house.

  “It is called a pineapple,” Millicent insisted. “And it’s going to get worse. A super pineapple. That’s what we’re going to have. Sorry, Gladie. I hope your wedding won’t be ruined.”

  Watching the Sunday Singles get in their cars and drive away, I worried that my wedding would be ruined. I pictured walking down the aisle with big fat sweat stains under my arms and my hair frizzed out, just like it was now. I had tried to tame it with a lot of product and a ponytail, but my hair had a life of its own, and it was escaping the ponytail elastic in long frizzy tendrils.

  Across the street, a couple of workers were walking in and out of the house. The renovations were almost done. Spencer had pulled out all the stops to make it gorgeous, and I still couldn’t believe that I was going to move into it after my wedding on Sunday. There was a Jacuzzi attached to the pool in the backyard, and there was another Jacuzzi tub and steam room in the master bath.

  With all of those Jacuzzis, I would never have to worry about a sore muscle again. “How the hell did I get here?” I asked aloud and opened my car door.

  Luckily, my Cutlass Supreme had killer air conditioning. I blasted it and turned on the radio to the oldies station. I drove through the historic district on my way to Burger Boy. The town was pretty quiet, and I assumed that most of the townspeople were hiding from the heat.

  Then, I saw a ruckus on the sidewalk on Main Street, next to the pharmacy. The mayor was waving his arms at a man in a military uniform. I couldn’t hear them, but I could tell that it was a screaming match.

  The mayor was wearing a white linen suit, and he seemed no match for the military guy with thick epaulets and a chest covered in medals. I didn’t have time to wonder what the argument was about because I had a milkshake with my name on it, waiting for me.

  Even though it was hotter than hell, it was a gorgeous day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the mountain was lush and green. Burger Boy was by the lake, and if I had been at all athletic, I would have rented one of the paddle boats or kayaks they offered at the lake and made a day of it.

  But I wasn’t athletic.

  I turned into the Burger Boy driveway and stopped at the large Burger Boy plastic head to order. Opening my window, I shouted into the head. “I’ll have the double Burger Boy with cheese, large fries, and chocolate milkshake, no whipped cream. Oh, what the hell. Yes, I’ll take the whipped cream. Hello? Hello?”

  Nothing. And the window was open, bringing gusts of hot air into the car.

  “Hello?” I tried again.

  “The head don’t work, like, you know?” a voice said. I craned my head to see a familiar-looking skateboarder.

  “Oh, dude, it’s you,” he said. “Hey, dudes, look, it’s the babe!” he shouted.

  There was the sound of wheels on pavement, and then his three skateboarding friends rolled up to the car.

  “Did you ever get away from that harsh killer bitch?” one of the skateboarders asked me.

  They had helped me when I was running away from a killer nearly a year before. “Yes, that was almost a year ago.”

  “Cool.”

  “Yeah, cool.”

  “Cool, dude.”

  “How have you been?” I asked them.

  “Like, you know,” one of them answered. He was wearing board shorts and a t-shirt with What country would Jesus
bomb? written in purple neon on it.

  “Hangin’,” another clarified.

  “Hangin’,” the others repeated.

  “Can you spare a buck for a milkshake?” one asked me. Grandma’s debit card burned a hole in my pocket. They were a bunch of potheads, but they weren’t bad guys. It was the least I could do to buy them milkshakes.

  “Sure. Let me park.”

  I parked by the door to the restaurant and got out. The skateboarders hopped onto the sidewalk and flipped their boards up and caught them.

  “Cool,” one of them said.

  “Cool,” the others repeated in unison.

  “Cool,” I said because I didn’t know what else to say. They were all high, or they had smoked so much pot in their lives that they were permanently stoned.

  “Oh, dude, look at that,” one of them said pointing to the telephone pole over Burger Boy. There was an owl flapping its wings, but it was attached to the pole and seemed distressed. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  “It’s plastic,” I explained.

  “Cool. It’s like a real kind of plastic.”

  “Yeah, real kind of plastic.”

  “You know, pot isn’t good for your brain,” I said.

  “Weed is life. Weed is legal.”

  “Weed is legal.”

  “Like, it’s a plant, dude.”

  “Like, a plant.”

  “Cool.”

  “Yeah, cool.”

  “Oh, dude, the plastic bird. Dude.”

  “Dude.”

  I looked up, again. The owl was flapping in obvious distress. “I think it’s a robot,” I said, gnawing at the inside of my cheek.

  About a year ago, I had mistaken a plastic owl for a real one at this very spot, and the result was humiliating and life-threatening. There was no way I was going to fall for that, again.

  The owl started to screech, loudly.

  “Cool robot,” one of the skateboarders said.

  “I’m not falling for this, again,” I said. “Somebody go up there and help it.”

  They stared at me and didn’t say anything. I figured their drug-addled brains were trying to figure out what to say.