by Elise Sax
“First of all, you’re already freaking. Don’t worry about my mom. We saw the marriage counselor, and you’ve been very good about not finding any dead people, so I think that you’re swaying her to your side.”
I gnawed at the inside of my cheek. It was a good thing that Fanta didn’t turn out to be a murderer. If she had been, I’d be an assistant dictator and a dead person finder. Spencer’s mother Lily would have never gotten past that.
I blasted the air-conditioning in my Cutlass Supreme and took my hat off. But as I drove past Fussia, the dictator spotted me and waved down my car. I stopped and opened my window.
“Hello,” I said.
“No, you say, ‘Hello, my sovereign leader’,” he corrected.
“Hello, my sovereign leader,” I said and scratched at my collar.
“Why aren’t you wearing your regulation Fussia Minister of the Coin cap?” he demanded.
“Well I was in the car, and…”
“No, no, Madame Minister. The cap stays on all the time, unless you’re sleeping at night. When you eat, you wear it. When you go to the toilet, you wear it. If you break your end of our deal, I’m going to throw all of you donkey stealers in jail, including the little baby, and I’ll make a big scene at the Founders Day celebration. Do you hear me?”
I put the hat back on. “Yes, my sovereign leader.”
The lake was already packed with picnickers. The grills were lit and warming up, and there was an entire area dedicated to football fans who were complaining about the Chargers’ move to Los Angeles while they drank beer.
I found Ruth by the shore in a prime spot. She was yelling at a couple who were trying to take the spot for themselves.
“I don’t care that you were here first,” Ruth yelled at them. “My shirt is older than you. I was getting Social Security when your grandfather was still using pimple cream. Do you know what that means? That means that I was here before you. I was here a million times before you. I’ve been everywhere before you. Everywhere. So, I’m going to take this spot. You can walk a little further and do your picnic over there. I’ve got a wedding happening here. And no, I don’t want any part of a wedding. I’ve got better things to do. I’d like to be in my shop, selling tea in the air conditioning. Instead, here I am under the sun, getting skin cancer, and forced to barbecue pig meat all damn day. So shut your piehole and stop your griping. You’re going to get the hell out of here, or I’m going to take my Louisville Slugger to your ass. Do you understand me? Huh?” She took a breath and saw me. “Holy shit! Gladie, is that you? Did you get drafted?”
“It’s a long story,” I said, tugging at my collar. “Is there a problem here?”
The young father looked at me in horror. “Did you call the cops?” he asked Ruth. “What kind of person are you? The world doesn’t belong to you, you know.”
“I lived through the Depression and two terms of Ronald Reagan,” Ruth snapped. “I know the world doesn’t belong to me. But this spot does, so get the hell out, or I’ll sic my friend the general on you.”
The young father called Ruth all kinds of names, and Ruth gave it back to him as good as she got. Nobody could out-swear Ruth, as far as I knew.
“I’m not a general. I’m the Minister of the Coin of Fussia,” I told her after the young couple left.
“I don’t have time for your crap, girl. Help me set up for this cockamamie July Fourth Founders Day wedding.”
I was dying to take off the uniform. It was sweltering under the sun while I set up chairs and tables and decorated them with crêpe paper and tulle. But Ruth told me she had heard that the maniac dictator had spies everywhere, and I didn’t want to jeopardize the deal. So, I stayed in uniform.
“I only have to wear this for three days,” I said more to myself than to Ruth. “I get to go back to myself for my wedding.”
“Have you ever noticed that you get yourself into an enormous amount of trouble? I mean, like much more than your share.”
“Shut up, Ruth. You have to barbecue an entire wedding, and you know that Julie is probably going to set the whole thing on fire, anyway.”
“Joke’s on you, Gladie. Julie’s dress is made out of asbestos. I bought it on the dark web. It’ll probably kill us all, but I don’t relish the idea of burning alive.”
We lugged the rest of the wedding supplies to our spot on the shore. Everything was plastic and nothing had sharp edges. Ruth had planned well. Still, I half expected the wedding to be a total disaster.
Still, if I was honest with myself, despite the sweltering heat and the fact that I was dressed like a dictator, I was tickled to death that I had made a match that was now getting married. Fred and Julie were a true love match. It took a lot of convincing to get them together, but once they were, they were a forever couple.
Fred had recently rented a small apartment for them over a pie shop in the historic district, and he and Julie had decorated it with some of Ruth’s old furniture that she kept in storage. Now that they were getting married, they were already talking about having a family. They were truly happy.
And I had a part in that.
My grandmother showed up with Spencer, and Ruth’s sisters were not far behind. Everyone helped with the decorations, and a couple hours later, our wedding setup didn’t look half bad. Actually, it looked more like a Fourth of July picnic, but in my book, that was a hell of a lot better than a wedding, anyway. With the casual atmosphere, everyone was relaxed and ready to have a good time.
Unlike other weddings, we ate before the ceremony because Fred and Julie wanted to make their vows while the fireworks went off at the end of the evening. There were about thirty guests, mostly family. Fred’s police colleagues were all on duty at the lake, but they stopped by in rotation to congratulate him and give him a gift. Spencer was attending, but he was in constant contact with his men on his cellphone and walkie talkie.
Fred was wearing a suit that fit well around his skinny frame, but it was six inches too short everywhere. The sleeves barely made it to his elbows, and his pants legs didn’t reach his ankles. He was poorly dressed, but his face was ebullient and glowing. Julie was glowing, too, possibly because she was as hot as I was dressed in a gigantic asbestos wedding gown that made her look like she had been trapped in a taffeta tornado. The rest of the guests were dressed for a Fourth of July barbecue. Because the fashion choices were odd for a wedding, nobody commented about my uniform, even when I handed out the official Fussia coins and told them, “All hail the sovereign leader,” as I had been instructed by the maniac dictator.
“The ribs need to be turned,” my grandmother told Ruth at the grill.
Ruth pointed her fork at Grandma in a threatening manner. “Don’t tell me what to do, old woman. I know what to do. You’ve never cooked a meal in your life.”
“How’s the tea shop, Ruth?” Grandma asked her, changing the subject.
Ruth turned the ribs. “What does that mean?” Ruth looked at my grandmother and squinted her eyes, as if she was trying to read something off Grandma’s face. “What’re you getting at, woman? Are you trying to bore into my brain and dig something out?”
My grandmother moved her purse to her other arm and touched her hair, nonchalantly. “I don’t bore into brains, Ruth. I’m just feeling something.”
“Well, don’t feel anything, Zelda. I don’t want your feelings anywhere near me. Are you listening to me?”
“The ribs look good,” my grandmother said, changing the subject, again.
“Okay fine. Tell me what you’re feeling,” Ruth said. “What are you hinting at? Is Tea Time doomed? Is it going to get flattened in an earthquake? A drive-by shooting by an apple orchard gang? What? What? Tell me, Zelda. You’ve always been the voice of doom, you know that? You’re a dark cloud that follows everyone around.”
“I’m seeing boredom,” my grandmother said. “Boredom. Burnout. Ruth, I’m seeing you go on a vacation.”
“Shut up.”
Grandma threw her ha
nds up. “I can’t help what I see, Ruth. I just see it. I don’t make this stuff up, you know. Just like I didn’t make up the Bay of Pigs.”
Ruth pointed at her. “I still blame you for that.”
Grandma shrugged. “I see what I see. I feel what I feel.”
She went to mingle with the people at the chips and dip table. Spencer was screaming at one of his cops on his phone. Fred turned on his boom box, and Queen started to play.
“You’re burned out?” I asked Ruth. “This isn’t going to change our latte relationship, is it?”
“I’m not burned out. Tea is my life. Tea Time is who I am. I’m not me if I’m not pouring tea. Burned out? I’ll give you burned out.”
“How’re the ribs coming?” Spencer asked, coming to my side. He put his arm around my waist and then dropped it, quickly. “What’s that uniform made of? It feels like sandpaper.”
“I think it’s made of sandpaper.”
“I’m going to find you a Gatorade. You’re wilting like lettuce. You want to sit down?” he asked, concerned.
“I’d like to sit down.”
He helped me to a seat and mopped my face with a paper napkin. “I’d say it’s not worth it, but it would suck to visit you in prison, Pinky. So, keep it up. You can do it. And the uniform is starting to turn me on. Perhaps it’s the authority angle. Maybe after this is over, you could try the whole dominatrix thing.”
“Gatorade.”
He gave me the bottle, and I started chugging. “You won’t believe what’s going on here,” Spencer said. “They’ve got a whole float-load of fireworks in the middle of the lake, but the fireworks guy didn’t show up. There’s no one to set them off.”
I belched. “No way. What about Fred’s wedding? They want to do their vows under the fireworks.”
“There’s going to be an uprising. Everyone’s baking in this heat because they’re waiting for the damned fireworks.”
“What’s going to happen?”
“The mayor is asking around to see if anyone else knows how to work the fireworks.”
“Uh oh,” I said, getting a bad feeling.
“Right?”
The Gatorade made me feel better. There was a lull in the wedding celebrations, so I got up and walked around to other picnickers, handing them Fussia coins and telling them, “Hail to the sovereign leader.” By that time, most of the townspeople had sucked down so many beers and had been under the hot sun for so long, that they didn’t seem to think it was odd at all to be approached by me in a dictator’s uniform.
Ahead, I was surprised to see Matilda walking with Fanta. Fanta looked pleased as punch, but Matilda looked like she was being held captive. She caught my eye, and she threw me a desperate look.
Without a word, I knew that Matilda was asking me to save her.
Just like my grandmother, I got a feeling. And just like my grandmother, I couldn’t get rid of it, and I was pretty sure that my feeling was right on target.
“Hello Matilda. Hello, Fanta,” I said. “Happy July Fourth Founders Day.”
“Hello there, Gladie,” Fanta said. “Beautiful day, right?”
“Beautiful,” I agreed. “Where’s Rockwell?”
“He had some last-minute business calls,” Matilda explained. When Fanta turned her head, Matilda squeezed my arm. I nodded at her, and I hoped that she got the message: I was there for her. I would help her. And I also thought that we needed to do a little more snooping. But it would have to wait. Matilda and Fanta said their goodbyes and walked away.
With my coin supply given away, I went back to the wedding party. Ruth was sitting next to my grandmother, and they were eating potato salad and talking about seasickness and the power of ginger to help against nausea.
Spencer spotted me and brought me another Gatorade. “Did they find anybody for the fireworks?” I asked.
“No, and I heard something about the mayor’s friend bringing in another load of fireworks in his BMW.”
“Is that legal?”
“No. But I’m up to my eyeballs in arrests. I’ve had twenty-three public intoxications, sixteen indecent exposures, and a range of other misdemeanors. Three of my men are in the hospital from heat exhaustion, and I’m ready for this whole day to be over.”
The afternoon passed into the evening. We finished off the barbecue and cut into the wedding cake, which was a Costco special and delicious.
With the sun down, I finally got some relief. The mayor arrived to officiate the ceremony, and the end was near. I was counting down to getting home and taking the uniform off.
“Don’t worry about the fireworks, folks,” the mayor announced. “They’ve gone off without a hitch since I’ve been mayor, and this year isn’t going to be any different.”
“You can’t bring fireworks in a BMW,” Spencer told him. “Don’t you know how dangerous that is?”
“Now, now, Chief. Let’s not be dramatic. I hate drama. Wedding guests of Cannes!” the mayor bellowed in his best Orson Welles impression. “Let us congregate by the caressing, beautiful blue waters for this amazing moment of the greatest love in the universe on the most beautiful spot of the world on the most patriotic day of the year,” he announced.
“Not dramatic at all,” I whispered to Spencer.
Ruth pushed the button on Fred’s boom box, and the Wedding March began to play. We all took our places, and Julie walked up the sandy path toward her groom.
We could barely see the action because the sun had gone down and the fireworks hadn’t gone off yet. When Julie reached Fred, the mayor paused as we waited for the fireworks to start. But they didn’t. There’s wasn’t even a spark, so Julie and Fred couldn’t say their vows.
“I thought Mel was going to get them going, but I guess he’s having trouble,” the mayor said, finally.
“Mel the arsonist, who just got out of prison?” Spencer asked and slapped his forehead.
“Rehabilitated arsonist,” the mayor corrected.
There was a splashing noise, and a man walked out of the lake and up to our wedding party. He was holding a shotgun under his arm.
“Speak of the devil,” the mayor said. “Hello, Mel.”
“Congratulations on your wedding day,” the arsonist called. “I couldn’t get the fireworks going on the lake, but I’ve got an idea. This should do it.”
He knelt down and aimed the shotgun at the float in the middle of the lake, which held the fireworks.
“Is he going to shoot the fireworks?” I asked Spencer. “Is that safe?”
“Only if you want World War III,” Spencer said. He leapt at Mel the arsonist and fought him for his shotgun. In the dark, I couldn’t make out who was winning, but there was a lot of grunting.
The mayor’s cellphone rang, and he answered it. “Good news, everyone,” he announced. “New fireworks are on the way. Do you see a white BMW? That’s our fireworks. I told you the day wasn’t a bust.”
As Spencer battled for the shotgun against the arsonist, the BMW turned the corner into the parking lot, shining its lights on us. Just then, the shotgun went off and a shot flew through the air before Spencer took control of the gun.
Luckily no one was hit by the bullet. That is, except for the BMW.
CHAPTER 12
Did you know that dogs have three-hundred million olfactory receptors in their noses? A customs officer once told me that. I don’t know what it means, but his dog found drugs in a septic tank, so I guess that dog had some kind of shtick. I haven’t a clue how many olfactory receptors we have, bubbeleh, but we know how to sniff around, too. Sometimes we smell something bad but think nothing of it. But trust your nose. If something stinks in Denmark, there’s probably a reason. Although, it might just be dog farts.
Lesson 79, Matchmaking advice from your
Grandma Zelda
The shot went right into one of the car tires, throwing it out of control. The BMW drove onto the shore. It careened around picnickers, making them run screaming for their lives.
Spencer held up the shotgun and shouted orders on his walkie talkie for his men to come quick. “Pinky, come get this,” Spencer called.
“Me? You want me to hold a gun?” I asked.
“Pinky! There’s a man drowning!”
I jumped into action and grabbed the weapon from Spencer. He ran into the lake to save the driver. It was hard to see what was going on because the car lights had turned off, but luckily, someone held up a blazing branch, which illuminated Spencer’s heroism as he dove into the lake and pulled out the driver. The man held onto Spencer, thanking him for saving his life.
The other man with the blazing branch moved closer to the lake in order to see the action. Something about him made me nervous. I walked back to Fred and Julie, who were still waiting for the fireworks and their wedding vows.
“Maybe we should take cover,” I told Fred, even though I didn’t know why.
Then, I knew. As Spencer made it back to shore with the driver, the man’s blazing log crackled and several sparks flew through the open windows of the BMW toward the pile of fireworks on the front seat.
Then, it was just a matter of time for Armageddon to begin. But one person’s Armageddon was another person’s happy accident.
When the first firework exploded through the BMW’s open window into the sky with a bright blue light, the mayor jumped into the wedding ceremony, just like Fred and Julie had wanted. “We’ve gathered here to join these two people,” he began, practically screaming to be heard over the fireworks.
As he spoke, a second firework went off. This time the sky turned green. “Do you, Fred Lytton take Julie Fletcher as your lawfully wedded wife?” he shouted.
“Huh?” Fred asked.
A third firework went off. “Do you?” the mayor shouted, again.
“What?” Fred and Julie shouted in unison.
