But ask him to get a toilet to flush properly, and he'll stare at it in a stupor as if viewing some unrecognizable object brought back to Earth from a mission on Mars. Watching this man stand hopelessly boggled in front of the ill-functioning commode with a can of WD-40 in one hand and a roll of duct tape in the other, one would never guess he'd utilized the object, and other ones just like it, many thousands of times in his sixty-eight years of life.
It was frustrating at times but I couldn't fault the guy for not being handy around the house. After all, for the majority of his life Rip's main focus had been to make it through each eight-hour shift without becoming a statistic while enforcing law and order within his jurisdiction. Somehow, he'd managed to get through all thirty-seven years on the force without sustaining a major injury, either accidental or intentional, in the line of duty. When he'd retired at sixty-two, he'd felt as if he was pushing his luck and the odds were against him.
Unlike my previous job at the ice cream factory, where all I took home with me was a tummy ache, a few extra pounds on my tall frame, and abundant chocolate stains on my blouse, his wasn't the kind of job you could leave at the office after you clocked out at the end of your shift. This was especially true after holding a tiny child in his arms as it succumbed from injuries sustained in a head-on collision caused by a drunk driver, or after having to kill a misguided teenager who'd pulled a handgun on him when Rip stumbled onto the young boy selling meth in an alley.
I was thankful my dear husband could put both of these heart-rending events, along with many other horrendous incidents he'd been involved in, behind him and enjoy his retirement away from all the stress and turmoil. Rip seldom watched the news on television after he retired. It wasn't because he didn't care what was going on in the world. He just didn't want to revisit old memories evoked from the overwhelming negativity of your average evening newscast.
I thought about these things as I watched Rip describing the eerie sound emitting from the air conditioner unit in our travel trailer, the eye-burning odor radiating from the refrigerator, and the water gushing from the pipes underneath the sink every time I washed the dishes.
From my line of view, as I leaned against a greasy concrete wall, Rip's balding head was barely visible over the hood of our pick-up truck as he conversed with the mechanic. At five-foot-seven, he was an inch shorter than I was but made up for his height deficiency with a doughnut-induced spare tire around his waist. Yes, it's true. Some cops really do rely on long johns and apple fritters for sustenance. My husband may have given up his job of maintaining the peace, but he'd yet to turn his back on a cream-filled doughnut.
I continued to watch as Paul, the older mechanic, nodded his head frequently while Rip went into way too much detail about each issue. Paul's eyes eventually glazed over, as he'd no doubt tuned out the non-stop blabbering by Rip and started calculating in his head how much money he'd make at his hourly rate before my husband even finished working his way through the extensive list. I could see our bill growing with each faulty item Rip told the mechanic about.
"Hey, Chatty Cathy, over there," I finally shouted. "Could you kick it up a notch? He doesn't need to know every single item in our icebox. That stench smells more like burning rubber than that moldy chunk of head cheese I should have thrown out two weeks ago."
Without stopping to take a breath or even acknowledge I'd spoken, Rip launched into a long-winded story about the time he'd cut the cheese during a somber funeral service in Rockport. That anecdote cracked him up every time he told it. I still don't know how the man could turn on a dime mid-sentence.
Before my rising temper could begin to steam like the radiator the younger mechanic was working on in the other stall, I went outside and sat impatiently on a wrought-iron bench until Rip finally unhitched the trailer and motioned for me to get in the truck. He had already transferred Dolly to the truck, and she was carrying on as if a sewer rat had a hold of her tail.
* * *
Later, after a strenuous evening of sniffing and checking out every square inch of the building, Dolly snarfed up her eight o'clock meal and was snoozing at the foot of our bed in one of the nicest suites in the inn. When guiding us to the suite, Lexie had assured us no one had died in it.
While Dolly was no doubt dreaming about her ten o'clock "go to bed" snack, Rip and I were relaxing on the back covered porch of the inn, enjoying some apple tarts and a couple of cups of stout coffee with our hosts, Lexie and Stone. We were discussing the events following the death of a snooty author at the campground in Cheyenne, Wyoming, a couple of weeks prior.
We'd recently picked up some tidbits of interesting news from my cousin, Emily, who owned the campground we'd all been staying in at the time of the murder. I had recognized Lexie's curious nature as being very much like my own, and I knew she'd want all the juicy details. As expected, she absorbed the information like a sponge.
The only good thing to arise from the tragedy was that we were becoming acquainted with our two new friends. After a few minutes, I noticed I was getting uncomfortably warm. I didn't want to complain to these nice folks, but I was sweating like a prizefighter and Rip was constantly wiping his brow with an old stained handkerchief he'd pulled out of his back pocket. Having gotten accustomed to the cooler, dryer climate of Cheyenne, it felt like it was a hundred and ten on that porch and as if I were trying to breathe through a soggy throw cushion. And drinking hot coffee hadn't helped the matter much.
When Lexie finally noticed a rapidly expanding wet splotch on the front of my shirt from perspiration trailing down between my breasts, she said, "Oh, heavens, you two must be sweltering. It took us a couple of days to re-acclimate to this muggy weather, and we were only in Cheyenne for a week."
"Yeah, this humidity is like a slap in the face after you've gotten used to not being able to work up a sweat if you tried. Right now I'm sweating like a call girl in church." I pulled my damp shirt away from my body and fanned it to emphasize my point. Lexie flashed me a warm smile while nodding her head in agreement.
"Let's retreat to the parlor inside. Stone usually keeps it like a meat locker in there." After she finished speaking, Lexie picked up the now empty coffee carafe and opened the French door that led into the kitchen.
With a couple of days on the road under our belt, Rip and I were both yawning and struggling to concentrate on the conversation. Rip spoke for both of us when he said, "We're kind of wiped out. If you two don't mind, I think we'd like to call it a day so we'll be fresh for the party tomorrow."
"You're right," Lexie replied. "We probably need to get a good night's rest too. We have a lot to get done tomorrow before all the guests begin to arrive at seven-thirty in the evening. Andy's going to tell Wendy he's taking her out to eat for her birthday and that I'd asked them to stop by here on their way to the restaurant to pick up a gift we'd gotten for her. When she opens the front door, the lights will flick on, everyone will shout 'surprise', and her thirtieth birthday party will commence. We'll be serving a catered dinner soon after they arrive, and there'll be plenty of refreshments on hand to satisfy everyone's appetites."
"I have underwear older than Wendy. In fact, I think I bought the pair I'm wearing right now during the Revolutionary War. And, according to Rapella, they've still got a few good years left in them. But, seriously, what a wonderful surprise to celebrate Wendy's milestone birthday," Rip said.
"Yes, and that's not even the biggest surprise awaiting her," Lexie responded with a sly smile and a twinkle in her eyes.
"Then what is?" Rip and I asked in unison.
"Once the party is in full swing Andy's going to hush the crowd to announce he wants to make a toast. Then he's going to get down on his knee in front of all their family and friends and ask her to marry him."
"Oh, what an exciting evening it's going to be!" I exclaimed. "As Rip said on the way here, it sounds like it's going to be a rip roaring good time. It'll be a night your daughter will never forget."
Little did
I know at that moment my statement could not have been any more spot on.
Chapter 4
The coffee I'd ingested before hitting the sack had me tossing and turning all night. Wendy had warned me about Lexie's caffeine addiction. I realized then that if I drank a cup of her robust brew every time she offered me one, I'd down enough of the powerful stimulant to keep a small village awake for a week. I vowed to increase my water intake while I was at the Alexandria Inn instead of my coffee consumption.
Listening to Rip snoring contentedly as he relaxed in a deep sleep next to me made me want to kick him in the shin, or pull the pillow out from under his head. Misery loved company and I wanted that company to be as wide-awake as I was. I squashed my temptation and didn't disturb him, however. He had driven the entire way from Cheyenne while I worked on a wooden figurine I was carving into the shape of a goat. I had wanted to finish it in time to give it to Wendy as a birthday gift.
Wendy had showed me a photo of an ornery goat that lived on her boyfriend, Andy's, farm. She'd told me some humorous anecdotes about the temperamental critter she referred to as Precious. It had given me the idea to carve a replica of the animal to give her for her birthday instead of wasting money on something she already had or didn't want. As a young girl, I had learned to whittle and carve wood from my pappy, who could while away an entire afternoon turning a small log into a toothpick. It beat the hell out of working, he used to tell me.
With four older brothers, I leaned toward being a tomboy, so they'd let me go with them when they went to town to look for small jobs, or to talk strangers into giving them enough change to buy chewing tobacco. I tried some of the Beechnut they'd talked an old farmer out of one day. Not only did it taste like Wintergreen gum dipped in cow manure to me, it also had me puking my guts up for the rest of the day. After that, I didn't try quite as hard to be like one of the boys.
I was pappy's only daughter and he called me his little princess, even though instead of fancy dresses, I usually wore stained hand-me-down britches and tattered shirts my brothers had outgrown. But I stuck to pappy like a stamp and learned a lot of time-wasting skills from him.
Reminiscing about my childhood helped me to finally doze off around three and sleep fitfully until six. While I was clearing the cobwebs out of my mind, I decided I'd pull out something more appropriate to wear to the party that evening, but for now, I'd just slip on some old holey jeans and an aquamarine shirt with a sunflower on it. The jeans had come back into style. Even though the holes in my jeans were from wear and tear, I'd seen a pair just like them on a rack at Penney's for sixty-five bucks. The shirt, which I'd found at a garage sale for a quarter, had inspired me to paint our travel trailer in a similar design.
I think the old mechanic at Boney's garage had been impressed with our paint job too. I'd seen the younger fellow point at the trailer when we pulled into the station, and say something to him. Paul had responded with a huge smile and nodded in agreement. I knew when I'd talked Rip into painting it that it'd be a big hit. And to think, Rip had thought it would look ridiculous.
* * *
I reluctantly rolled out of bed to get ready for the day. Fifteen minutes later I had dressed, put my teeth back in after having let them soak in a glass jar on the bathroom counter all night, and pulled a comb through my naturally wavy salt and pepper hair. My hair looked just a touch saltier with each day that passed, and I'm not sure what it says about my character, but I really didn't give a rat's ass if it turned the color of a field mouse overnight—no pun intended.
I set Rip's hearing aids on the counter so he wouldn't forget to wear them while we were here. It wasn't a big deal whether or not he heard what I had to say, he'd told me, but he didn't want to miss out on the conversation with Stone and Lexie. How rude, I thought. I had half a notion to take the batteries out of his hearing aids and not tell him I'd done so.
Finished with my morning routine, I went down to the kitchen to have some coffee with Lexie. I needed to get rid of the fog enveloping my brain after such little sleep. As expected, she was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup in her hand.
Lexie looked a bit harried as she sorted through a conglomeration of lists and receipts on the table in front of her. She'd been muttering to herself when I'd entered the room.
"Good morning, sunshine," I greeted her. She was such a sweetheart, and the thought flitted through my mind that she looked young enough to be my daughter. But then I realized she could've been had I got knocked up at seventeen instead of eighteen. We hadn't seen our own daughter since we'd gone home to Texas for her fiftieth birthday in the late spring. But Regina had been so tied up in some real estate deals she was involved in, she'd hardly had time to visit with us. Reggie, as we've always called her, and her husband, Milo Moore, made a living "flipping houses" in town, whatever that means. Even though their livelihood sounded somewhat sketchy to me, they seemed to be doing well financially, so I kept my nose out of their business.
"Grab a cup of coffee, Rapella," Lexie suggested.
"Sure thing, but I'm limiting myself to two cups a day while I'm here. I didn't sleep so good last night. If I tried to keep up with your caffeine consumption, I'd be buzzing around here like the queen bee hepped up on fermented nectar. But if you can handle a boatload of it, more power to you. Speaking of which, would you like a refill while I'm pouring mine?"
"Yes, please. I need another boost of energy to get all these details taken care of today."
"Can I help in any way?" I asked. "I have nothing else to do."
"Actually," she replied with a grin, "I was hoping you'd volunteer."
"What are all these lists you got here?" I asked as I pulled out a chair and sat down. "I hate to use a cliché, but you need to get all these ducks in a row."
Before Lexie could respond, a knock at the door startled both of us. After Lexie hollered for the visitor to come in, a young gal about Wendy's age walked in, and danged if she didn't have a fistful of lists in her hand too. Probably a darned good thing I am here to help, I thought. I said, "Good Lord! You gals must have ducks running amok all over the place!"
They both looked at me like I'd just spoken to them in Mandarin Chinese. Lexie introduced us, and the blonde young gal replied, "Nice to meet you Mrs. Ripple. I'm Wendy's best friend, and I'm helping her mom with the surprise party."
"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mattie. Just call me Rapella, dear. Mrs. Ripple makes me sound old."
Lexie invited Mattie to sit down and asked, "Okay, dear, have you got a final count for me?"
Mattie nodded and replied, "As close as I'm apt to get, I think. I invited all of Wendy's friends who live in the area, of course. I knew the parlor here could handle a pretty big crowd. I factored in the people who definitely plan to come, the people who can't make it due to other obligations, and the people who will be here if at all possible. Then, assuming most guests will be bringing a spouse, boyfriend, or friend, along with them, I'm estimating between thirty-five and forty will be attending the party tonight."
"Okay. Thanks, honey!" Lexie said, looking at Mattie as she spoke. "That sounds perfect. I ordered enough cake to feed fifty and told the caterer to be prepared to feed dinner to that many as well. I also bought enough snacks, drinks, and refreshments to feed all of Rockdale. I knew the leftovers would not go to waste with the inn full of guests."
Lexie glanced at me with a smile and continued speaking to Mattie. "Every room in the inn is reserved for the weekend. Most of the guests are here to attend the party tonight. The Ripples will be visiting for a few days too. I'm sure the food will all get eaten one way or another."
"Cool," Mattie replied. "Did you think of anyone else I should invite that I overlooked?"
"No. I don't know whom all you invited, but I'm sure you know better than I who Wendy would want to come help her celebrate her thirtieth. I'm sure you covered all the bases. You did invite her boss, Nate, and her other co-workers at the county coroner's lab, didn't you?"
; "Yes. Nate, his wife, and two other co-workers will be here for sure, and one plans to come if the seminar she's attending is over in time. Although it sounds grotesque to me, she was excited to go hear a renowned pathologist discuss new techniques in the art of dissecting cadavers."
"I'm glad Wendy had already heard that lecturer speak at an earlier event or we wouldn't have been able to pull her away from that seminar either. I don't know what these young people find so fascinating about carving a human body up like a Thanksgiving turkey to discover what caused their untimely demise. But I guess somebody has to do it."
"Better her than me, 'cause it grosses me out," Mattie said. She laughed and added—for my benefit, I was sure—"As a nurse in the neo-natal department at Wheatland Memorial Hospital in St. Joseph, our occupations are on opposite ends of the spectrum. I help them come into the world and Wendy tends to them after they depart. Sometimes I have to beg her not to go into detail about one of her latest cases. The one regarding the elderly woman who swallowed a cat food can lid was particularly gruesome."
"Yes, I remember her telling me about that one too," Lexie said with a dramatic shudder. "The old gal just lived a couple of blocks from here. No one knew she'd gotten to the point of having to eat cat food just to survive. They found her two Persians dead in the basement, one rotting and full of maggots, and the other one already reduced to a pile of bones."
"Egads! Those poor kitties didn't deserve to suffer such a terrible death. So what happened to the old broad after that?" I asked.
Mattie's head turned and she looked at me with an odd expression on her face, but I didn't have time to wonder why before Lexie answered my question. "The sharp-edged lid sliced Erma Digg's digestive tract up as if it were a razor blade, and she bled out on the way to the hospital. If we had only known Erma was in such dire straits, we'd have made sure she was taken care of and well fed."
A Rip Roaring Good Time Page 3
