by Marc Jedel
Meghan suggested we go to the mall so I could pick up a get-well gift for Laney. My objection that I’d already given her the gift of going to the Girl Scout campout in the wilderness in her place earned me a brief, withering look. Meghan observed that I had lasted only four hours in the wilderness and hadn’t even slept in a sleeping bag. By putting air quotes around “wilderness,” she gave the distinct impression that she didn’t find my fears of wild animal attacks in the Santa Cruz Girl Scout campground credible. Deciding not to push the issue, I didn’t bring up the horrors of the B.I.F.F.Y., seeing as I had never used it. Meghan squeezed my hand anyway as she noticed me avoiding any mention of Larry again.
We walked past one of those mall tea stores. Not a tea shop that served tea in a cup that normal people drank, but a tea enthusiast’s store with tea cups, barrels, tea kettles, and other unusual supplies. I merely drank tea. Maybe I wasn’t enthusiastic enough.
“Let’s see if there’s a nice tea for Laney. I’m sure she’d like something calming.” Without waiting for a reply, Meghan turned into the store.
I followed her around the store for a few minutes while she picked up what seemed like each individual tea cup in the whole place. Shopping bored me, and this store was the definition of boredom. I was more of a “go straight to the item, buy it, and leave as fast as possible” kind of guy. In other words, a guy.
Leaving Meghan to her own devices, I wandered over to the other side of the store, where clerks holding plates and decorative paper fans stood near barrels. I was hungry. Perhaps they had snacks.
I walked up to a clerk wearing a black apron imprinted with the store’s logo and reached out to select a snack from the plate. My hand stopped in mid-air when I saw that the plate contained a small pile of green leaves, twigs, and dirt. She must have just swept up. Definitely not crackers.
Still holding the plate in front of her, the clerk greeted me with a pleasant smile. “Hello, sir. What kind of tea do you like?”
“Green.” I pointed to the plate of debris. “What are you doing with that?”
“It’s Peppermint Ginger Ginseng tea leaves. You buy them by the ounce and then put them in an infuser.”
I had no idea what an infuser was. Wrinkling my nose at the plate’s odor, I gave her a polite smile and turned to the next clerk to look for crackers or cheese, or even both if I got lucky.
The second clerk was holding a plate too. Now much more sophisticated in my tea appreciation, I asked, “Is that Peppermint Ginger Ginseng tea also?”
She answered, “It’s Monkey-Picked Oolong tea.”
I distrusted the sanitary nature of allowing monkeys to pick tea. Sometimes even the human baristas didn’t measure up to my sanitary expectations.
“Would you like a sniff?” she asked, and, without waiting, waved her fan to waft the odor of the tea leaves in my direction.
A strong, woodsy smell mixed with jasmine enveloped me.
I sneezed.
“Oh my!” The clerk jerked back, spilling some of the tea on the floor.
The other clerk gasped and stepped over to us. “You sneezed? On the tea?” She wrinkled her nose and grabbed a broom and dustpan.
“It wasn’t my fault,” I started to justify myself, then blushed as the other customers looked at us. After all, she’d wafted without warning.
My explanation that sneezing was an involuntary bodily function usually caused by foreign particles irritating your nasal mucus didn’t help matters. The snickering around us didn’t help matters.
The clerks had heard enough. They wafted me out the door. Despite my protests, I didn’t much mind, as I’d been in the store too long anyway.
A few minutes later, Meghan found me waiting for her outside the store. “Where’d you go?” She tilted her head to the side as she handed me a package.
“It seemed better for me to wait outside.” Changing the subject, I asked, “Did you know they’re charging a hundred bucks for a small container of tea?”
“Yes. What’s your point?” Meghan shrugged and widened her hazel eyes.
Before I could comment on how pretty her eyes looked today, my mouth ran ahead of my brain and I blurted out, “Well, that’s ridiculous. You can get a box of tea bags at the grocery store for just a few dollars.”
“It’s special tea.” Meghan spoke like she was addressing a child.
“It wasn’t even green tea,” I whined.
She rolled her eyes at me, a move patented by Skye. Perhaps Meghan and Skye had been spending too much time together. “How much did you spend on that bottle of wine at dinner last weekend?”
“That was different. This is a silly gift for my clumsy sister.”
“Why? Wasn’t it special too?” she asked, a dangerous glint in her eyes.
I swooped in and kissed her. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to see that trap coming and avoid answering.
The aroma of more tea wafted over me from the store. Turning my head to the side to avoid Meghan, I sneezed again. “I must be allergic to oolongs or monkeys.”
“What?” Meghan laughed, holding on to my arm as she tried not to trip over me after my sudden change of direction. She seemed amused at my change of topics.
In a flash, I remembered the last time I’d seen Larry. Last month, he came to our poker night at another guy’s house. He’d sneezed again and again until he went into the bathroom for a tissue.
“Larry was allergic to cats.”
“Cats? What?” Meghan pulled on my arm to grab my attention.
“Sorry. My sneezing reminded me that Larry was highly allergic to lots of things. At our poker night, he had an allergy attack from the guy’s cat.”
Meghan shrugged. “Okay. I’m sorry for him, but what does that matter?”
“I don’t know. I should tell the police.”
“You’re going to tell them he was allergic to cats?” When Meghan said the words aloud, they sounded silly.
“Maybe you’re right. The cops didn’t like me much anyway.” I told her about my encounter with the two deputies.
Meghan worked hard to keep her grin from turning into laughter at my expense. “You do seem to have a way with the police, don’t you?”
I didn’t respond, because something about Larry’s allergies was bothering me. I wanted the police to know everything about Larry in case it could help them explain his death. As we walked back to the car, I pulled out my phone, mentally composing what I’d say to Mace.
*****
“He’s a big problem.” Fortunately, Laney was referring to her new dog, Buddy, rather than me.
Laney, Meghan, Skye, and I had just finished our dinner at some salad place near Laney’s house. I was still hoping a burger would appear. At her worst, Laney still ate heathier than me. With her newly-enforced idleness from her broken ankle, she’d decided to ramp up the healthy-eating effort. No one had consulted me. Dinner felt incomplete.
“Come on, you’re still training him,” said Meghan.
Buddy weighed almost seventy pounds and came up to my waist. I hadn’t liked dogs ever since one jumped at a six-year-old version of me and chased me across three lawns back to my house, barking the whole way. That dog probably thought I was an awesome pace car for his Nascar training. He may not have wanted to do anything more than lick my face, but young me feared I was about to become a chew toy. Since that traumatic moment, I kept away from dogs. If I had to own a pet, I preferred a fish tank, like Laney had. Fish didn’t lick people on the face, although one did touch me when I was snorkeling. I could do without that.
“You wouldn’t say that if you saw what he did last night.” Laney pulled out her phone and leaned over to show it to Meghan, who took a look and burst out laughing.
“Right?” Laney asked. “He’s always getting into the laundry and chewing our clothes. Since I haven’t been able to get around as well, I didn’t get all the clothes put away last night.”
Meghan struggled to catch her breath, then took the phone and handed
it to me. Buddy lay asleep on his back on a bed, presumably Laney’s, with his front legs stuck through a hot pink bra that was stretched across his chest. He looked like a drunk college kid, half undressed and out cold. Meghan recovered enough to say, “Looks like Buddy had quite the evening,” before letting out another burst of laughter. This time, Laney joined her.
Skye flushed nearly as pink as the bra. I guessed that she was embarrassed that her uncle saw a bra and her mother was laughing loud enough for other tables to look at us. I remembered my own days as a twelve-year-old, always embarrassed by my parents. I rolled my eyes at Skye, pleased that, for once, I beat her to it. She returned the gesture, only more exaggerated. Skye won the eye-roll contest. That girl had talent.
We paid the bill and were waiting outside for the Rover car when Laney’s phone buzzed. She looked down and gasped. “Oh my God, we have to get home right away.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“My smoke detector just alerted me to a gas leak in the house and called 9-1-1.”
We scrambled into the Rover car as it pulled up. I’d like to think I used my special Rover engineering team status to shift it into emergency mode to help us rush home, but our lawyers still wouldn’t let us launch that feature. I couldn’t even convince them to permit my idea of keeping it as a pilot only for the engineering team.
When we pulled up to Laney’s house, three fire trucks stood outside with their lights flashing and firefighters milling around. A crowd had gathered nearby as Laney’s neighbors took advantage of the commotion to check out their own local community reality show. We argued our way past a few firefighters to reach her front door.
Buddy lay on his side in the middle of the living room, seemingly fast asleep. He wouldn’t let a squirrel run on the backyard lawn without barking at it, so I couldn’t understand how he’d sleep through this home invasion.
A firefighter approached us. Tall and well-built, he had a sparkle in his eyes as he took his helmet off and unbuttoned his heavy fireproof jacket. “This your house?”
“Yes,” answered Laney, her eyes wide as she looked at the veritable army of first responders.
“Well, ma’am, your dog is quite, uh, enterprising,” said the firefighter.
Laney’s eyes narrowed as she focused on his words. “What did Buddy do now?”
“Well, ma’am, as best we can tell, he broke out of that crate.” He pointed to the large dog crate where Laney kept Buddy whenever she left him alone. “And then we think he jumped up and turned on the gas on your stove. Eventually it knocked him out.”
“How’d he open the crate? I know I secured it before we left,” Laney insisted.
“His paws must be quite dexterous. I’ve heard of dogs that can use their paws almost like hands.” The firefighter pointed to Buddy, who had started moving a little. “He’s pretty clever, for a dog.” He shot an admiring glance at Buddy, who took up half the living room floor.
Laney’s mouth had dropped open.
The firefighter continued, “One of your gizmos called in the alarm. Pretty slick, if you ask me. It called us, unlocked your door, and even told us it did that so we wouldn’t break down the door. I might have to get me one of them.” He looked ready to jot down the product specs or do a commercial endorsement.
A second firefighter, following the direction of Laney’s glare, didn’t seem as impressed with Buddy. “If it were me, I’d get a new dog before you need a new house.”
Skye stepped toward him to defend Buddy. “This is our new dog. Uncle Marty got him for us.”
All heads turned toward me.
Feeling the pointy tips of the daggers that Laney’s eyes were throwing my direction, I took a step back.
“You! I blame you. You did this. You should take that … that dog.” Laney avoided cursing in front of her daughter, although not by much.
“Hey, it’s not my fault he turned on the gas,” I defended myself.
“I didn’t say it was your fault, I said I was blaming you. You can take him home.” Laney tried to step toward me before remembering that her foot in a cast made her less mobile.
Judging the distance between me and the crutches under her arms, I took another step back.
“No, Mom!” Skye cried out. “We can’t get rid of Buddy.” She knelt down to hug the overgrown puppy, who was starting to revive. He tried to get to his feet but settled for a hug.
I agreed. I didn’t think the pet delivery service accepted returns. And my apartment didn’t allow pets. At least, I hoped it didn’t.
Laney took another look at all the people in her home, sucked in a deep breath, and said, “We’ll talk about this later.”
Accepting this reprieve, I grabbed Meghan’s hand and waved goodbye to Skye. It would be safest for me to leave while there were witnesses around. Buddy was on his own.
5
Monday Morning
“Dead?” asked Scott, the fourth member of our poker group that I’d reached already this morning.
“Yeah. It’s hard to believe, but I found him on a hiking trail in the Santa Cruz Mountains on Saturday.”
“You found him?” Scott’s voice sounded like he found this as unlikely as I had. “Larry went hiking? Wait, you were hiking too?” Scott sounded even more surprised to hear this.
“Yes,” I sighed. “It’s a long story. The cops didn’t want me to tell anyone until this morning …” Fighting my sense of déjà vu, I proceeded to tell the story of finding Larry yet again.
I’d caught the earliest flight to Portland this morning so I could crash Raj’s meeting with Doug Samerson. Meghan had flown off on her own business trip to New York for the week, so at least that timing had worked well. Yesterday, Raj told me he hadn’t been allowed to talk about the meeting. Apparently, Samerson had asked to meet with a star engineer from Rover. Not a surprise that Raj had been selected, everyone knew Raj was one of our rock stars.
As I finished catching Scott up to date, he asked, “When’s the funeral again?”
“There’s a short memorial service tonight at his next-door neighbor’s house. I don’t know when the funeral will be. It’s at 7:00, okay?” I was tired of repeating the same conversation over and over.
“Oh, tonight?” Scott paused. “I can’t make it tonight, but let me know when the funeral is and I’ll be there.”
“Scott, come on. It’s for Larry. Skip your other thing,” I said as I got out of the Rover car in front of Sirius Innovation’s Portland offices.
“I can’t. Sam got us Warriors tickets for tonight.” He added, “Second row,” as if that justified skipping out on his friend’s memorial service.
I didn’t tell Scott that he just nailed Sam for lying to me about having a customer dinner tonight that he was obligated to attend. Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised me. I rarely saw most of the guys in the poker group outside of our games. I wasn’t going to beg Scott. “Okay, catch you later.”
All the guys had been shocked and saddened to learn of Larry’s death, but only Drew told me he’d join me tonight at Larry’s shiva.
Shaking my head, I tried to put the rest of them out of my mind. I needed to focus on today’s meeting at Sirius. Larry had worked with these people, or at least they all worked at the same company. Perhaps someone would know why Larry had gone hiking. Or if Gloria had threatened him recently?
Raj was waiting for me in the lobby. I was glad he’d apologized and had a good excuse—I didn’t want to lose him as a friend. I didn’t have that many at work, which wouldn’t have surprised Meghan. She’d learned I only knew the names of a handful of my coworkers despite working at Rover for almost two years. Yet I only found out last month that they celebrated each month’s birthdays in the break room. With cake. For everyone. But no one had ever invited me. They weren’t an outgoing bunch.
“Good morning, Marty. I hope we do not have to peel any pineapples today.” Raj smiled as he pointed at my shirt.
I had started our friendly competition by
using as many wacky idioms as possible when we talked. Over time, I’d had to work harder to stay one step ahead of Raj’s growing mastery of colloquial American English. He delighted in throwing crazy expressions back at me and seemed to spend more time researching unusual ones than I did.
I looked down at my shirt in confusion. The pineapples on it were already split in half, shining golden yellow against the blue background. I raised an eyebrow and looked sideways at him, a bit dubious.
Pleased with himself for stumping me with a bizarre saying, Raj said, “It is from Brazil. It means to tackle a problem or solve an issue.” He grinned in triumph.
It wasn’t enough that Raj beat me with American idioms. Now he had to go international.
Raj’s clothing choice today—a navy-blue blazer with a light blue, long sleeve dress shirt and beige slacks—surprised me. Like most engineers, he almost always wore jeans. At most, long sleeve shirts or sweaters only made their appearance in winter. His fancy business attire made me a bit self-conscious.
Since I was joining Raj at this meeting without permission, I’d put a little effort into selecting one of my special Hawaiian shirts and making sure to wear clean jeans. I wanted to shine for my new bosses. They already might complain about me crashing their meeting with Raj, I didn’t want them also annoyed at my clothing.
The shirt wasn’t too ostentatious, more of a repeating pattern of pineapples on a dark blue background. The pineapples were bright, just like me.
We gave our names to the receptionist, who told us someone would be down soon for us.
I was surprised to be looking forward to meeting Samerson. It was probably envy. Along with some friends, Samerson had started his first company, an augmented reality software company, and sold it for a mint before he was thirty. He launched Sirius not even two months later as the venture capitalists in the Valley threw money at him. The company started as some robotics software effort before recently adding a new biotech division, where Larry had worked.
