Bloodsuckers and Blunders

by Poppy Inkwell

  Then Judge Debnham made one last attempt to assert her authority. Weren’t there a hijacked mango and a stolen car the women had to answer for? At which point Ling Ling reminded the judge in a whisper of her son’s weekend political activities and a certain tattoo as proof, should it be required. Aloud, Judge Debnham assured them smoothly that it wasn’t necessary. Mangoes went missing all the time and it was easy enough to choose the wrong car in the dark. Public funds were better spent elsewhere.

  “We should go free Tibet together, some time,” Katriona purred in an aside to Arnie. The bodybuilder leaned into the wall away from her.

  ...

  It would be nice to say that that was the end of little old ladies turning up dead in this story, but it wouldn’t be true.

  Fok Wee Mung was still hot on Ling Ling’s heels, and it was a debt she decided to collect in person...

  CHAPTER 49

  Love triangle

  A thumb, gnarled and knotted with arthritis, stroked a black and white photograph with tenderness. Nobody would have recognized the sweet face in the picture to be Fok Wee Mung, wedged between a much younger, handsome darkhaired boy and an Italian beauty. Fok Wee Mung had known love firsthand, but for her there had been no happy ending. The boy had dumped Fok Wee Mung for the Italian beauty in the photo (!) and then left the Italian for a different girl months later. But not before giving Fok Wee’s present to him, to his Italian girlfriend. Fok Wee Mung was so hurt she felt as if he’d knocked her down with a bus and then reversed over her with a semitrailer. That was Fok Wee’s leather jacket, embroidered with her nickname. She was the “Crazy Mother,” not the Italian! Fok Wee Mung resisted the urge to crumple up the snapshot as a familiar wave of hatred washed over her, feeling a sense of triumph for not doing so. She was strong.

  When Fok Wee Mung’s driver and lackey finished parking the black, vintage Jaguar opposite The Beauty Bar on King Street, he expected to be sent out to do his “duty” without delay. That was what usually happened. He was the family’s only heir after all, and it was part of the family’s business to steam buns in the morning and collect debts in the afternoon. Truth be told, Fok Jun Mung preferred molding dough to mashing faces, a fact he hid from his mother, who he always thought of as, well, a bit crazy. Nobody was more surprised than he when, without warning, his mother jumped out of the car and rushed out in the middle of King Street’s traffic.

  Fok Wee Mung’s heart was in her mouth when she spotted the boy in the leather jacket through the tinted glass of the car. The boy made his way toward The Beauty Bar with a slouch and a swagger she instantly recognized. Was it him? Could it be? But no, she thought. He would be in his sixties by now. Whoever he was, he was the spitting image of him. Fok Wee Mung reached out her hand to the love of her life as if in a dream. She stepped forward. Her vision strained in her +4.0 lens tortoiseshell glasses as she struggled to read. It’s...

  The Imbécile??!

  ...

  “Cardiac arrest” was the official finding of the coroner who presided over the post-mortem of the seventy-eight-year-old female known as Fok Wee Mung. This was of great comfort to the bus driver who thought it was because he’d knocked Fok Wee Mung over. But it was of less comfort to the softhearted driver of the semitrailer truck who had followed through.

  Boris the Imbécile had no idea his father had been the love of Fok Wee Mung’s life, or that his dad’s departure had been the source of Fok Wee’s life lived in bitterness. After all, Boris’ father had left him too, well before he’d been born. All he had to remember him by was an old leather jacket with the words “Crazy Mother” embroidered on the back. Boris felt proud of the new name he’d had embroidered. “The Imbécile” sounded much more macho than the original.

  Of even greater interest to the hundreds of people in debt to the late Fok Wee Mung was that Fok’s Bakery changed its name to Big Money, and thereafter dedicated itself to a life without crime and a new product line: fortune cookies.

  CHAPTER 50

  Drop-dead gorgeous

  Shall we take a final look at the body? Sequins, frills, feathers, rhinestones. It is the grandest ensemble of Corinne Löfgren's career. And The Beauty Bar's hair, nails, and makeup are the perfect compliment. Moira Cronenberg shimmers and shines as she stands - stands! - like a Greek goddess, one knee bent slightly, chin tilted imperiously as she stretches out an arm, waiting for an invisible dance partner. The sight of her makes some funeral guests catch their breath... and others choke on their puff pastries.

  The funeral parlor is stripped of all references to religion. There are no crosses, no angels, no hints of an afterlife. The stained glass windows are abstract slivers of sparkling color that allude to roses, violets, and lilies. At the oak door entrance, Vlad Löfgren welcomes each guest with a solemn shake of the hand. A conciliatory bow. His eyes are warm with sympathy. He is careful not to smile. He knows his teeth make people feel uncomfortable. Vlad accepts the compliments for Moira's final "look" with grace and humility. The decision to allow Moira to remain standing to honor her final memory and true spirit is a bold and unconventional one. He hears one guest murmur, "Moira looks like she belongs in a wax museum." Her partner disagrees, "No, she looks like she belongs on the stage."

  Vlad Löfgren is no stranger to unusual requests. Last week he presided over a dead clown. The clown was buried in full costume, from the red nose to the oversized boots (this was a problem when they tried to put the lid on). The makeup took Vlad two full days to get right. When they arrived, the family was dressed as clowns. The guests dressed as clowns. In keeping with the family's request, Vlad and his colleagues were clowns too. A tiny, blue teardrop was painted beneath everybody's eye.

  Over fifty sad clowns, each marked with a solitary tear.

  After shaking Vlad Lofgren's hand, the guests pay their respects to Judge Debnham who in contrast to her mother is dressed in a black veil and Trent Nathan suit. Her son, Arnold - no need to change his nickname - is in Valentino. Arnold pulls at his collar as if he is choking. His bodybuilder's frame stretches the fabric so that he looks like Bruce Banner seconds before he turns into The Hulk. People mistake him for his mother's bodyguard and they look past him to comment on the flower arrangements and the weather. Judge Debnham welcomes her mother's friends with a straight back. Their kind words and sympathetic cooing reminds her of pigeons. She nods as she accepts their condolences. The mood is fittingly somber.

  Judge Debnham glances over at her mother and feels her heart tighten. Sequins, frills, feathers, rhinestones. Moira Cronenberg is a glittering monument to a life lived passionately through dance. No, she realizes. This is not how it should be. This is not how Moira Cronenberg, nee Zsa Zsa Demure, would like it to end.

  Judge Debnham, to the astonishment of the celebrant, the guests, her own son, Arnold, and herself most of all, makes an announcement:

  "My mother used to say, 'Dance is to touch. To move. To inspire'. Dance is what made my mother happiest, and boy, could that woman dance." The guests give a low, appreciative chuckle. " 'Never miss a chance to dance, Martha,' she told me, and it was a philosophy she herself lived by. Even when she could no longer perform on stage, she kept dancing and passing on her love of dance to a younger generation." Judge Debnham looks at Alana and her classmates who have come to pay their respects. Her eyes soften. "I cannot imagine anything which would make her smile more than us taking this chance to dance at her funeral. So," Judge Debnham says, holding out her hand to her son, Arnold, who takes it, completely bemused, "this one is for you, Zsa Zsa." And Martha Debnham and her son, Arnold, lead the others in a waltz, and then a jig, as Maddie picks up the tempo on her violin.

  CHAPTER 51

  Thinking big

  The Year Ten Formal or spring dance was all the middle school of Gibson High could talk about and the buzz of excitement made it impossible for students to concentrate on work. Not that work was a major concern anymore. The mid-year exams were over and the promise of warmer weather chased the final g
houls of winter and solemnity from the classrooms. To Alana, it felt as if everybody was going to the dance except her. Khalilah, Maddie, and Flynn were in the classical orchestra to perform, and even Sofia was going to go as Jefri’s “date.” Sofia was thrilled, even though they were being chaperoned by Mrs. Madzaini and a visiting aunt arriving from Brunei.

  “We’re just friends,” Jefri kept reassuring Miller.

  It didn’t help Alana’s mood that her mom was involved in the preparations too. Alana suspected she’d been shamed into it by their neighbor, Corinne Löfgren, who had let slip that she was organizing the decorations, in between running her shop and volunteering at the local hospice, and would Mrs. Oakley like some home-baked apple pie?

  No, Emma refused with a tight smile, and then set about organizing the entertainment for the dance after putting a call through to James. He has a million and one contacts, Emma assured Alana, and if he doesn’t, she faltered, thinking about the Elvis Convention she covered every year, I know a couple of people.

  And so the ball was sent rolling...

  Have you got a picture of the ball in your mind?

  Make it bigger.

  Now make it bigger again.

  Keep making the ball bigger until it gets Raiders of the Lost Ark big and it’s chasing you, Harrison Ford and the little kid, Short Round, down. Now you’re in the right frame of mind for what is about to happen, because even if you or I have forgotten, and maybe even Alana, Emma still has plans for her daughter’s 15th birthday. According to her, it’s the Best One Yet.

  CHAPTER 52

  Cinderella

  On the first of September, Alana’s home was a flurry of makeup and underwear and hair product as Khalilah, Maddie, and Sofia rushed from bathroom to mirror to bedroom to get ready for the dance. Khalilah and Maddie were dressed in ruffled white shirts and black trousers for the classical orchestra, and were fussing over Sofia. Sofia had bought her outfit from Revamped, a floor-length dress cut on the bias with thin shoulder straps and long flowing lines. A silk scarf in orange trimmed with tiny brass medallions was the perfect foil for Sofia’s electric blue dreads which were now almost to her knees. She was so happy with what Corinne Löfgren had designed; the strategic cuts in the fabric showed off her belly piercing perfectly! Alana put her new skills into play and expertly retouched Sofia’s eyeliner which had smudged.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to work at The Beauty Bar full time?” Maddie asked with a cheeky grin after inspecting Sofia in the mirror. “You’d get a job, for sure.”

  Alana shook her head. Their “success” at the funeral had revived The Beauty Bar’s reputation and they were busier than ever. Alana had been recruited to do Thursday nights and Saturday mornings on top of her holiday work, but that was more than enough for her. She didn’t want another talk with Mr. Turner about failing to meet scholarship requirements, and if she was right about the mid-term exams, she shouldn’t have to. Alana couldn’t help feeling a little bit like Cinderella, though, as everyone got ready for the “ball.” Although the thought of dancing in public was utterly abhorrent, she would have liked the chance to hang out with her friends. That the dance coincided with her birthday made it suck even more. Everybody was so busy getting ready that her friends hadn’t even remembered. Even her mom was too preoccupied to make the usual fuss. Maybe her birthday wasn’t going to be a disastrous extravaganza this year? Maybe, it wasn’t even going to happen!

  But it was too much to hope for, Alana realized, as soon as everyone yelled, “Surprise!” and handed her a present, eyes gleaming with excitement: a necklace from Khalilah, a bracelet from Sofia, hair accessories from Maddie, a pair of high heels from Katriona and Ling Ling (absent because they were fully booked that night), and a dress from Revamped from her mom, who was grinning in that crazy way that showed her gums and made her eyes disappear. Alana noticed a distinct theme to this year’s birthday presents...

  Was Cinderella going to the ball after all?

  Alana recalled Emma’s note from months before: PS. I’ve sorted out that problem you were telling me about and the new neighbors are ecstatic to help. I wont say anymore because I don’t want to spoil the surprise but I can’t WAIT for your birthday! The debacle with Mrs. Cronenberg had proved that Emma had not asked the Löfgrens to help get rid of Alana’s ballroom dancing teacher, as Alana first assumed, which could only mean that ...

  Blart! Blart! Blart!

  What could be a worse birthday present than having to kickbox your P.E. teacher or for your hair to catch fire?

  Will “Fangs” Löfgren.

  The Year Ten Formal.

  Will’s dad’s company car.

  CHAPTER 53

  The ball

  Alana agreed to everything - unwillingly and ungraciously - everything, except the heels.

  “I’m already going to fall flat on my face,” she grumbled. “I don’t need help from these.” She held the dainty slippers that winked and sparkled in the light, as if they were covered in manure. Khalilah whipped them off Alana’s fingers and wailed when they didn’t fit. What kind of diet helped you lose weight on your feet?

  “You look really gorgeous, Lala,” Emma sniffed, tears making her dark, brown eyes appear glassy. “So grown up. And the boots give it some real —”

  “— edge,” said Sofia. “You look perfect.”

  Alana snuck a look at her reflection in the mirror. Khalilah had used a straightener to tame the natural kink in Alana’s hair. Maddie’s chocolate eyeliner made Alana’s eyes look smoky and huge. Sofia touched up the lip gloss which made Alana’s lips look full and shiny. The dress Corinne Löfgren had made for Alana was fashioned from T-shirt and tulle. Corinne was given a couple of old outfits that Alana had outgrown and reworked it in a new style with velvet, silk, and leather. It shouldn’t have worked. None of it. And yet it did.

  “Not everyone can rock that look,” Khalilah said. Her two friends nodded in agreement.

  Alana turned to face her 15th birthday with squared shoulders and a glint to her eye that would have made any firing squad think twice.

  “Bring it on!” she said.

  Everybody laughed. “Take it easy, Drama Queen,” mocked Maddie, “it’s only the Year Ten Formal.”

  CHAPTER 54

  A dance to remember

  Everybody admired the decorations for the formal which sparkled and shone. Corinne Löfgren had done a spectacular job with this year’s theme of a “Star-Studded Occasion” and Gibson High’s Hall on the top floor glimmered like the cave of a dragon’s hoard. A plush, red carpet strip led guests to a compact dance floor of polished timber. To the left was a large stage for the classical orchestra and to the right was a sumptuous buffet table smothered in tempting goodies.

  “Not for us,” Maddie warned Khalilah when her feet took off in the wrong direction. “Not yet, anyway.” The two of them joined the others on stage to tune their instruments. Flynn was already there but jumped down the minute he spotted Alana.

  “Save a dance for me, Oakley,” he said, to which Alana could only manage a garbled reply. She was still recovering from the ride in the hearse. Sofia, Maddie, and Khalilah had shot into the rear of the car without hesitation, lying down where the coffin would have been, all three of them in a fit of giggles. That’s weird, thought Alana, until she noticed them doing a pantomime through the window with gruesome masks and gory Halloween props. No wonder passersby had given her such odd looks!

  A harried-looking Emma startled Alana out of her day-mare. “Have you seen James?”

  “No,” Alana said. “Why?”

  “He said the Stars were confirmed for tonight, but they still haven’t arrived,” Emma moaned. “It looks like we’ll have to improvise.”

  “Mooooom!” Alana said, fear lacing her voice, but Emma was already gone. The first notes of the waltz began.

  Alana was thankful to Flynn for his impromptu dance lessons, as was Will who secretly wore three pairs of socks under the steel-capped shoes bough
t especially for the occasion. Alana stepped lightly - or as lightly as she could in her boots -to the sweeping sounds created by her friends in the orchestra. If she turned her head quickly she could see them on stage. Flynn winked as he blew on his saxophone, gray eyes watching her every move. Maddie’s grin was huge. She had scored her precious “chair” and Alana had never seen her so happy or proud. Khalilah swung her flute excitedly, to the dismay of Miss Beatrice who was conducting, and on the dance floor, Sofia waved as she whirled past.

  And then it was over.

  Nine months of stress for four measly minutes! Alana thought sourly. Maddie was right. You had to be careful what you wished for. Alana couldn’t wait to get back to “normal” P.E.

  “James?” Emma’s frantic voice cut through the excited babble as Alana and her friends clustered around the buffet table cradling brightly colored mocktails and plates of finger food. Emma disappeared for a second time, speaking frantically on her phone, before Alana could finish shaking her head.