by Deany Ray
Pickled
by
Deany Ray
Copyright © 2017 Deany Ray
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real names, characters, places, events and incidents is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise without prior consent from the author.
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Chapter One
First day at work! I wedged my old Corolla into the first space that I found, although the fit was tight. Someone’s pickup truck was encroaching on my space. Can’t you see the line, dude? Learn to drive, I thought.
Parking, I could see, was gonna be an issue but we’d known that all along. The busiest laundromat in town was just to the left, and Bill’s Grab and Go was a few buildings to our right. Come to think of it, our little corner might have been the hottest spot in Springston, Massachusetts. What was not to love? Just about everyone in town craved a good orange slushy (which came free with a foot-long hot dog), and there was just no getting around the need to wash your undies.
Marge said that our prime location would save us a lot of time. “Throw your blouses in the wash, grab a taquito for a fast lunch, then head off to your desk to finish your reports.” It sounded like a good plan except some of those taquitos looked a little old and I could throw my laundry into the wash at my parents’ house. Because – yes, it was sad but true – I, Charlotte Cooper (who was trying my best not to be a loser) lived with my mom and dad at the age of twenty-nine.
But it was starting to look like (Fingers crossed!) that might change real soon. Celeste and Marge, my best amigos, were hopeful that CMC Services would be pulling in the big bucks within the first six months. To the outside world, we worked as technology consultants, but that was just a ruse. I didn’t know a hard drive from a four-wheel drive. I didn’t know a download from a downpour. What exactly was a megabyte? I didn’t have a clue.
But that was not a problem because – are you ready for the secret? – we were undercover investigators. And hopefully our first case would come rolling in at any minute. Any day now….
Although today was the official start of our new endeavor, my girls had been putting feelers out for business while I moved my things from Boston. We’d hoped to start our first day with a case so we’d feel like real detectives, but we’d had no luck.
“Good morning, super spies!” With my arms wrapped around a small box, I used my hips to swing the door wide open. I put my purse down in a chair, set the box down on the floor, looked around and smiled. The place was pretty small, but we didn’t need a big space. We’d be out and about most days, not behind a desk – hopefully.
“Hey, Charlie. How’s it going?” Marge was on her knees, putting together a three-tiered shelf. All I could see of my friend was her ample rear as she bent down to tighten a screw. She straightened up and giggled. “The gang’s all here. I guess we’re officially in business.” Her voice always rose to a squeak when she got excited – and she got excited quite a lot.
The office seemed to be taking shape. The week before, we’d loaded my oldest brother’s pickup with all manner of supplies, both practical and fun. Marge had picked out three large posters in black frames for the walls. Colored blobs blended together and swirled into shapes that, at least to me, could be most anything – or perhaps they were only meant to be a sea of abstract green and yellow. We knew less about art than we did about technology, our supposed specialty.
Of course, Marge saw all kinds of things she loved when she stared up at the posters. Now she walked over to study one. “I see elephants!” she cried. “Oh, and I see apples too. And can’t you see the little pears on the right dancing above that squishy shape that looks like a flying saucer?”
Celeste scowled at the pictures. “They must carry some funky kind of fruit at your grocery store.”
I didn’t see a thing, but the colors were nice; they brightened up the room.
“Now, all we need is that sign they promised.” Celeste put both hands on her hips and stared out the window as if it might somehow magically appear. “They promised me a sign. You can never trust a single thing that comes out of the mouth of any man.” Some guys from the Springston Police were supposed to have put it up before our opening day. It was an odd assignment for police, but Celeste’s ex-husband, Bert, was the brand-new chief, and she had some goods on him. I was hoping that one day, after too many rum and cokes, she might tell me what was up with the new top cop in town. But I didn’t think I’d ever find out. The girl could hold her liquor.
Celeste pointed to a desk in the back-left corner of the room. “Charlie, there’s your desk.” She grinned. “And you might just find a little something siting there on top.”
“Celeste made cookies!” Marge squeaked. “Because it’s our first day.”
I looked eagerly at the cellophane package tied in a pink bow. Cookies were my favorite way to celebrate – or to do most anything: to sooth myself, to help me ponder big decisions, or to answer the age-old question, what should I do now? And the answer was always easy: I should scarf down more cookies.
“Thank you. You’re the best.” I gave Celeste a hug. I could smell the hairspray that held in place the bright red tower of hair that meant you could always spot Celeste in any crowded room. I knew she had a drawer full of scarves that she would put to good use when we went undercover. With her jeweled belts, copious charms and bling, and stiletto heels (in every hue), there was nobody who stood out more than my vibrant friend Celeste. There was nobody seemingly less-suited for a life undercover. But I noticed she’d toned things down today with a light blue blouse and khaki pants and a pair of simple flats.
She noticed me checking her outfit out. “Oh, I know! I thought the same thing.” She sighed. “This just isn’t me! It just about killed me to come out of the house looking like the dullest plain jane in the world. No red lipstick, no rings, no bracelets, not a sparkle to be found. And would you look at this?” She held out her hands for my inspection. The long nails were pale instead of their usual bright green or red or pink. “I’m sure people were talking about me,” she said. “Didn’t that girl’s mama ever tell her to put a little color on her face before she goes out in public?”
“Well, the real Celeste can still come out and play at night,” I said. “The real Celeste lives on!”
“Girl, you got that right.” She began loading some paper and folders into the top drawer of her desk, which sat across the room from mine.
Although her shelf was still a little wobbly, Marge began to fill it with supplies: binoculars, pepper spray, a child’s pink tape recorder, then she opened a bag, and out came the sharpest knives that I’d ever seen. Marge had the demeanor of a favorite aunt, the kind who’d sneak you extra cookies when your mother had said no. But there must have been a ninja inside my giggly friend and if Angry Marge ever got set loose on some bad guy, I’d advise him to stand back. Despite the impressive display of weapons that she’d set out on the shelves, I knew she had something else in store for anyone who meant her harm: the little pistol in her flowered purse. She liked to call it her persuader. And persuade it did.
I’d seen Marge in action just the month before, when we’d run into a little spot of trouble that involved some real bad dudes. At the time, I was a secretary for the police in Boston, and my boss had talked me into
a little bit of spy work in Springston, my hometown, that almost got me killed. Then, just when things got really bad, Marge morphed into a superhero who made my attacker beg for mercy. And I’d thought she was just a giggly waitress from my father’s diner.
We’re good at this, we thought. So, we went into business.
The case last month had been really something. Before that, I’d never imagined my clumsy, awkward self as the undercover type. My adventures all began when the police in Boston linked a drug case to a cell phone they traced to my hometown. So my captain sent me back to Springston to see if I could pick up on some useful hometown gossip. As it turned out, I solved the case, thanks to a little luck, but mostly thanks to my new friends, Celeste and Marge, who – at the time – were waitressing for my dad. It turned out they had lots of skills that didn’t have a thing to do with grabbing extra ketchup or refilling cups of coffee.
They were ready for something new. And I was tired of writing reports on crime without getting in on all the action. That’s how CMC Services was born into the world. It stood for Charlie, Marge, and Celeste (or Celeste, Marge, and Charlie, depending on who you asked).
The Springston police chief had promised he’d put us on some cases, and hopefully other agencies would decide to do the same once we had a solved case on the books. It helped, of course, that the new chief in town was anxious to keep Celeste from telling what she knew. Luckily, we had more going for us than that. My new besties and I had exactly what it took to get to the bottom of any case they could throw at the three of us. We were three smart women. Not to mention, we didn’t look like cops, so nobody would suspect us.
We looked like any group of girlfriends out and about the town: one of us soft and round, clasping her hands in delight at every little thing; the other tall and serious, with a cigarette clamped between her lips; and the other (that one would be me) trying not to trip over her clumsy feet and to keep her glasses from slipping off her nose.
Marge was the sweet and innocent type that people loved to tell their troubles to. And if one of those persons happened to be the bad guy we were after? Then – Bingo! – the case would be solved and in the books. She sometimes seemed flustered and, well, a little bit naive. But you never knew when a stroke of brilliance would come bubbling out.
As for Celeste, she was the perfect partner in solving the mysteries of an unjust world. Packed into the deep furrows of her brow was the wisdom that came from many years of taking names and kicking ass. Anything we might run into in the world of crime would not surprise Celeste. “I have seen some stuff,” she liked to say. But she wouldn’t tell us what – or not much, at least.
I’d asked my dad about her, but he knew less than me.
“We all loved her at the diner,” he said, “but she didn’t talk about her life. Asked lots of question about other people’s lives, and gave them great advice. She’s lived in town her whole life, but nobody seems to know a lot about Celeste.”
She was an enigma in Coiffures Par Excellence, Red, Number 8. I’d seen it on her bathroom counter.
Perhaps one day Marge and I – ace detectives that we were – could solve the mystery of our co-worker. All I knew was that she hid a big heart behind her ever-present scowl. That was good enough for now.
And then there was me. 5’6”, light-brown hair – shoulder length – gold-green eyes hidden behind glasses with a black frame. Very average and very non-spectacular. I wasn’t sure exactly what I had to offer. Experience answering the phone for the police in Boston and writing up reports? The number of burglaries in the month of March, the increase in violent crimes from 2014 to 2015. Would those skills really help us? I wasn’t sure. I just knew I needed a big change. The change needed to include excitement and challenge and – most of all – a paycheck. And so here I was.
I tasted one of Celeste’s cookies. Peanut butter. Yum. I liked working here already.
Marge handed me a flier. “What do you think of this one, hon? I thought I’d ride around and hand it out to the police and sheriffs in Billington, Dolton and some other little towns. I thought a radius of twenty miles might be a good place for us to start.” She winked at me, then glanced over at Celeste. “Got any exes in those departments? Any incentives for those guys to send some business our way?” Celeste had lots of former boyfriends, plus more than one ex-husband.
Celeste rolled her eyes. “Very funny. No.”
Marge put some fliers in her large purse. “Charlie, come and ride with me. Let’s see what kind of crime is brewing out in the world today. Let’s see who might need the three of us to go check something out.”
I looked down at the paper that she’d handed me. CMC Services – For When You Want to Hire the Best. We Blend in with Any Crowd While Keeping Our Ears Open to Get the Info that You Need.
“Thish looks exshellaa,” I said, my mouth all full of cookies. The snickerdoodles were delicious. And I couldn’t wait to try the pecan sandies.
Celeste studied Marge’s stash of weapons and supplies. “You know, Marge, if someone peeped into our window on their way to put a load of clean clothes into one of those dryers over there, we might not exactly look like technological consultants. Not with all of this stuff sitting right here by the door for anyone to see.”
Marge thought about it. “Hmm.”
Celeste frowned. “Now, I’m no computer guru but I don’t think pepper spray or binoculars would do a darn thing to get a laptop up and working. People might get an inkling that we’re up to something else,” she said.
Marge nodded. She seemed happy to have a decision to ponder on this first day on the job. “I think perhaps the bottom drawer of my desk would be a better place.”
“Exshellaa,” I repeated. I really should save some cookies for my coffee break.
Celeste began unloading more supplies. “Marge, I think you had a good idea about distributing those fliers. Maybe head to Brownsville too. I know their department is short staffed now, two officers out with mono. And Charlie, you go with her, see if we might be able to drum up a little business.”
“Surely there’s some crime that needs solving somewhere,” Marge said. “It can get mean out there on the streets of Springston.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said. Oh! That sounded bad. Not that I wanted to wish some horrific crime on our pretty little corner near the coast of Massachusetts. But I hoped something was going on somewhere that required the services of three very nosy, highly resourceful women. I needed money fast before my parents drove me crazy. My mother thought the answer to anything was a séance, a cleansing of my aura, or a yoga class with some of her ancient students who always seemed in danger of getting stuck in some beginner pose. She taught classes at our house – often right outside my window, and with the music turned up loud.
I never knew when she might run after me to warn me about my horoscope or – even worse – to ask about my sex life. Not that I had a sex life. But still…some subjects should be way off limits with your mother. Just…absolutely ewww!
My whole family was bonkers. My father was the world’s oldest fan of awful jokes. I could hardly ever make it out the door without having to guess the answer to the latest one that some customer had told him. The knock-knocks were the worst.
And my youngest brother, Brad…well, my brother hadn’t moved off the couch except for bathroom breaks and meals since…hmm, I don’t know when. Oh, wait, I know when. Since last week, when he landed a job at the post office sorting out the mail. He should be given a medal for holding on to a job for that long.
So, trust me – I had to get some funds and quick. Maybe I’d been foolish to quit my job in Boston. But I had gotten so darn tired of doing the same old boring things every single day. I was trying hard to be a grownup, to have a career and not a job. Plus, my cool factor had just been amped up in a major way, from administrative assistant to undercover detective.
Marge and Celeste had both offered me their guest rooms. But we’d be working together all day
and, as much as I loved my friends, we might need a break from one another when we weren’t solving crimes.
Although I would have felt like Springston’s own Kardashian living with Celeste. She had quite a place: a sprawling white brick two-story with a big back porch and an in-ground swimming pool. Kind of fancy, you might say, for someone who’d ended up serving customers at the diner after a string of businesses failures. I wondered if her ex had paid her through the nose when they got divorced. Or was it family money? The Diaz clan was kind of shady, per the whispers on the streets. Nobody really knew what Celeste’s brothers and uncles and grandma did to make their money.
Celeste wasn’t telling. She was good at keeping secrets. Her standard answer to nosy questions was a simple wink. But one thing I knew for sure: there wasn’t one darn thing shady about Celeste.
And however she got the money, it helped to pay our rent on the first floor of the three-story building in the heart of town.
“Thanks for getting the rent,” I said as I unpacked a few things onto my desk: a plant that was almost dead (I could not afford a new one) and a picture of a cat I used to own before she ran away. I needed to find more friends, go out and do the kinds of things that people do in pictures that they put into frames. I had to get a life. My new life in Springston might just be the beginning of it. Baby-steps, I told myself.
“I’ll pay you back as soon as possible,” I said as I stuck some gum and candy bars and pens into my drawers. Celeste and Marge were splitting the rental payments until we got some work to pad my bank account.
“Oh, don’t feel bad about it, hon,” Marge squeaked. “We couldn’t do this without you. It gives us a certain savoir faire – to be associated with someone from the police in Boston.” She whispered the last five words with a kind of reverent awe. Marge was easily impressed.
“And besides,” Celeste chimed in, “we’ll all be making money soon. Because I have some news! The chief promised me last night that we’d get a case today from the PD here in Springston. And hopefully, Marge’s fliers will bring in some cases too.”
