by Deany Ray
“But we have to job to do.” Celeste was getting angry once again. “And to find a panda, you need to search a lot of trees. The parks, the woods, the countryside – that’s where we need to be.”
“And pandas get more active when the sun goes down,” I said, hoping to sound smart. “That means that we’re nocturnal too. At least until the case is solved.”
He sighed, exasperated. “I’m telling you it’s not safe.”
I was getting pissed off. “Hey pal, we’re detectives. We can’t just run and hide anytime we think we might get hurt. Do you also have a curfew?” I looked up at the clock. “Oh, Alex, better hurry home. Look how dark it is. Are all police officers off duty after daylight hours until further notice because the dark has gotten way too scary?”
“Okay, Charlie, chill. I’m just trying to protect you. And things for me are about to get real busy. I can’t go running off to save you if you get in trouble. You seem to have a knack for…uh…unfortunate incidents.”
Well. The guy had a lot of nerve. I never once had asked this jerk to come and save me. Not one single time! He just seemed to be on hand to see me at my worst.
“Thank you for the warning,” Celeste told him smoothly. “I know that there are some here who’d rather we get lost. But we will do our job.” She looked him in the eye. “And we will kick ass.”
Alex held both hands in the air. “Hey, lady, I’m not taking sides between you and your ex. I’m keeping it real, that’s all.”
Marge opened her purse and fished out her little notebook. “You spoke of developments and danger. What exactly did you mean?”
He just shook his head. “You know that’s confidential.”
Celeste stared him down. “Unless you happen to be discussing it with people who are colleagues on the case.”
“I wasn’t talking about the panda. The things I’m talking about don’t fall into the Department of Lost Bears.”
I pulled her away toward the door before things could go downhill even more. Then I turned to Alex. “Will you at least just let us know if you get an info on our finger?”
“We found the finger, after all!” Marge squeaked.
He looked up to the ceiling as if to say “what did I do to deserve this?”. Instead he said “I will be in touch.”
But he did not look glad about it.
Outside, a mild evening breeze was picking up. I took in a long breath and let it out.
“I think we each have earned a coffee,” Celeste said.
That sounded good to me. We all knew just where to go.
Chapter Five
Things were busy at Jack’s, almost every table filled, despite the lateness of the hour. I found comfort in that fact. If I never found a job where I could make real money, at least my dad would always have the funds to keep his only daughter fed. People would always have a taste for the world’s best meatloaf, cheeseburgers and hash browns too. People knew that every Tuesday there was a soup and sandwich special, and that every Friday there was peanut butter pie.
First, we headed to the restroom where Celeste washed her hands three times. So did I, even though I hadn’t touched the finger. It was bad enough to have stood within a few feet of someone’s body part. And then there was that panda…
Then we settled into a corner booth and scanned the menu for ideas. That was just a habit, really. As former waitresses at Jack’s, we all knew the food by heart.
“Nothing with pickles, please,” I said. “Nobody else can fart on me today.”
The snorts from Celeste and squeaks from Marge startled a young waitress, who rushed up to our table. We ordered three large mochas. Hey, we had more than earned huge quantities of both caffeine and chocolate.
The waitress reached into the pocket of her apron to take out her pad and pencil. Her nametag identified her as Amy. She looked as exhausted as I had sometimes felt when I would help my dad by waiting tables and refilling drinks on extra busy days.
“So,” Amy said nervously. “That will be four…no, three…lattes? Coffees? Medium? Or extra-large? No, wait…” She looked like she might burst into tears right then and there. “I am so absolutely sorry. This is just my second day. And all day it’s been so busy, I can’t even remember the simpler orders…”
“Oh, don’t worry about it one bit. That’s fine,” Celeste said in a soothing voice. “The first thing that you need to do is to stop and breathe.”
“All together now,” Marge chirped. “Breathe in deep.” We all inhaled. “Now, slowly let it out,” Marge said.
Four people exhaled all at once. Already I felt better.
“Just write each order down, slowly,” Celeste continued to instruct. “And if you forget, just ask! Customers here are happy; customers at Jack’s are the forgiving kind. After all, you’re the hero. You’re about to bring them a plate of something extra fine.”
Amy smiled. “I never thought of it like that. Three cappuccinos – no, three mochas – will soon be on their way.”
Celeste nodded in approval. “See? You’re getting it already.” She still sounded like Celeste, although her tower of hair was mostly hidden and her nails no longer blue.
We watched Amy walk away.
“That was nice, Celeste,” I said. “Now, I wish you could give us a pep talk on how to catch a panda. And how to solve the pinky-finger mystery before that butthead Alex does.”
Celeste gave my hand a pat. “We’re learning, girls. We’re learning. It’s didn’t take us long to find that panda, after all.”
I frowned. “A lot of good it did us.”
“Oh, I think we’re doing great,” Marge said. She leaned forward and spoke in her official investigative voice. “We spotted the fugitive panda. We picked up on some suspicious happenings out there in the woods. Most importantly, we retrieved key evidence in the case.” She made a face. “Disgusting evidence. Although who knows what it means…” Suddenly, she turned bright red and fell completely silent. She stared off toward a point somewhere behind me, then burst into a fit of giggles.
I looked at Celeste, confused. “I don’t get the joke.”
Celeste grinned. “Oh, I don’t think it’s a joke. I think it’s that fry cook!” She pointed her head to indicate the spot where Marge was looking.
I turned to see Ralph, my father’s newest hire, peeping from the window between the kitchen and the dining room. He looked to be somewhere in his forties, with a round and weathered face and an extra happy grin.
“A hard worker, that one is,” my dad had said the week before. “I hope this one stays a while.” Fry cooks were notoriously hard to keep around; it was not an easy job.
He pointed at Marge and winked. Once again, she blushed, then she winked back at him. There was a shyness there, combined with a surprising sense of confidence in her ability to hold this man’s attention. It was delightful, really, to watch this temptress side of Marge. Then she primly brushed at her long skirt and smoothed down her dark blond hair.
I started at her, open-mouthed. “Bouncing butter cookies! What the heck is going on?”
“I think the two of them are about to be an item,” Celeste said in a low tone.
That sent Marge into another fit of giggles, this time mixed with squeaks. It was like Minnie Mouse getting high.
Celeste leaned back in her seat. “They met on the last day that we worked here. Our last day was Ralph’s first.” She sighed. “The course of true love never did run smooth. Shakespeare got that one right.”
Well, that was a surprise. “Shakespeare? Really? I thought you’d be more into modern romance. Or maybe paperback true crimes.” I hadn’t been able to finish Macbeth back in my high school English class, although I’d somehow earned a B on my final paper.
“If you want romance and murder, Shakespeare’s your guy,” Celeste said. “Have you read Shakespeare? Someone’s always killing someone. Or falling helplessly in love, just like you and Marge.” She shook her head. “What is it, anyway, with you girls and
the fry cooks?”
Alex had gone undercover as a fry cook at my father’s diner the last time I’d gotten mixed up with an investigation. I guessed Ralph was his replacement. Hmm. This might be good – or great even. The next time that Marge dared to tease me about that obnoxious Alex, I could hit her right back with some observations about her own romantic prospects.
Celeste finished with her story. “These two lovebirds here haven’t even exchanged one word with each other, except when your father introduced them. I keep telling Marge he’s shy, and that sometimes a modern woman of the world must make the first move. Once that happens, bam! It’s fireworks all the way!”
Marge turned red again. But she was saved from further teasing by the arrival of three mochas and three large bowls of cinnamon ice cream.
Amy studied the table with its arrangement of cups and bowls. “I think I got it right.”
We didn’t bother to correct her. Who could argue with ice cream?
“Okay,” Marge said as Amy hurried off to take another order. “Let’s get down to business. How should we investigate this bloody-pinky thing? Because I want to solve this case as well as find the missing panda. Double victory. Someone needs to catch the hacker dude before he strikes again. That’s one badass dude right there. And who loses their little finger and doesn’t go to the hospital? At least we’ll know the victim if we run into him.” She gazed around at the crowded restaurant. “Should we have a look around? See if someone’s missing something?”
Celeste rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure that’s be the best way to investigate. In that kind of situation, a person would go after some medical attention and not the meatloaf special.”
“But first things first,” I said. “You girls have to remember that, officially, our job is to find the panda and return him to the zoo. That’s the thing we’ve been assigned by the guy who’ll sign our check. And I need a paycheck bad.”
“Okay, let’s have brainstorm session.” Marge fumbled in her purse and got out her notebook, which she put down on the table.
“Eww! I said, staring at the little cardboard book.
Marge looked startled. “What?”
“Don’t put that on the table.” I glanced over at her purse. “Did the notebook touch the…you know?” This could be a problem. I might not ever be able to eat another meal in the presence of The Purse.
“No!” Marge said. “It’s fine. The…” I could tell she was trying very hard to sound official. One mark of a good investigator, after all, is not to get freaked out by the yuckiness that sometimes was a big part of the job. She took a long, deep breath, and then she began again. “The recently retrieved personal item of an unknown person in distress was wrapped up in a napkin I had left over from the last time I ordered a churro special with hot sauce from the convenience store.”
Yikes. That did not go a long way in making me feel better. I looked down sadly at my ice cream. I’d lost my appetite.
Marge pulled a pen out of her purse and set it near my coffee. Ewww!
“Now,” she said. “Let’s make a list of all the places we could go to look for a cutie patootie little panda.” She paused. “Or a person with one less finger than they had the day before.”
Suddenly, a sick feeling filled my stomach. What if there wasn’t a live person who matched up with the finger? What if, instead, there was a body? But I didn’t share that thought with my friends. The day had been so full of so many awful things. I’d save that scary thought for another time.
Nobody could think of anything for Marge to write down on her list, so we just enjoyed our mochas. I could drink a little coffee, but I still couldn’t eat. When we were more rested, we could make a plan.
I saw Marge getting a sad look in her eyes. She began to worry about how Lou might be doing alone out in the woods. “Oh, that poor little panda! Do you think he’s cold and hungry?” She looked like she might cry. “Do you think that fuzzy wuzzy little panda is scared and all alone?” Then she eyed my ice cream. “Are you going to eat that?”
I pushed the ice cream towards her. Sweets always seemed to help me stop a flood of tears.
***
The next morning came too quickly. I’d told Celeste and Marge that I’d be in at noon. First, I was headed out to look at some apartments. I was hoping against hope that some miracle deal on a decent complex was out there waiting – a deal that would fit my tiny budget and save me from my family.
When I got down to the kitchen, my mother was pouring herself a cup of coffee, humming some song, while my brother seemed to scarf his food down like there was no tomorrow. My dad was making pancakes. Ooooh, I loved it when that happened! His pancakes were big and fluffy and full of chocolate chips. It was almost like digging into the softest, giant cookie and covering the whole thing up with butter and maple syrup. Apparently, I got my appetite back.
Of course, my father’s pancakes always came with a bad joke.
“There’s my little princess,” he yelled as I poured some coffee. As if I were an eight-year-old, and hard of hearing too. “Hey, Charlie, here’s a question.”
“It’s way too early, Dad. No jokes before my coffee.”
“Why did the Red Sox cook up pancakes?”
Might as well get it over with. “I don’t know, Dad. Why?”
“Because they already had the batter.”
My mother and I groaned while my brother yelped with laughter.
“Brad!” my mother said, picking up some oranges. “You know to keep your mouth shut while it’s full of food.”
I tried to erase that picture from my head. I would not let my brother spoil my appetite. It had been way too long since I’d had my dad’s pancakes.
Distressed, my mother looked up from squeezing a pitcher of fresh orange juice, which I also loved. “No wonder the energy in this house feels absolutely off. Between the terrible jokes, the lack of manners…”
With a big smile, my father handed me a plate of steamy goodness. “Hope you have an appetite. Other people pay good money for these things when they come out to the diner. And very rarely is the meal prepared and served by Jack himself.” My dad was quite the cook. Occasionally he would pop into the diner kitchen, giving tips on the perfect way to dice an onion or season a pork chop. He might even whip a dish up if the spirit moved him.
He stood back, proud, and watched as I took the biggest bite I could and closed my eyes in pleasure.
“Charlie,” my father said. “If you could stop by the diner later, we could use your help. The computer’s acting screwy. It won’t stop freezing up.”
“Oh, Dad. Have you met me? I can turn my laptop off and on. Beyond that, I’m pretty clueless.”
The kitchen fell strangely silent.
“But Sis,” Brad said, “how can you stay in business as a technology consultant? If you’re a computer moron?”
Leaping lemon drops! Had I just blown my cover?
I tried to fix it quickly. “Ha ha, Brad, you idiot, don’t you recognize a joke?”
My mother brought the orange juice. “Children, be polite. Careful of the energy. The energy in this house is way off today.”
“That was a stupid joke,” he groused. “Dad’s jokes are so much better.”
Okay, that was a close one.
Brad’s fork was a silver blur as he shoveled bites of pancake into his mouth.
“What’s the emergency?” I asked him. “Do you think your food will disappear if you don’t eat fast enough?”
He looked genuinely stressed, a look I wasn’t used to on my newly employed brother. What worries, after all, would an expert couch potato have? That the battery would die on the remote control?
“I can’t be late again,” he said. “If I do, they’ll fire my ass.”
Since when was he concerned about being fired? This was a new aspect of Brad. Maybe he finally decided to be a grown-up.
“Language,” my mother said as she pulled a bottle of sage out of a kitchen drawer and began
spraying around my brother.
I felt some of it on my face as she continued to energetically spray sage around the room.
“Mother,” I said, ducking down. “Don’t spray me in the eyes.”
My father took a seat. “Brad, I’m glad to see you’re serious about doing a good job.”
“Yeah. The Employee of the Month gets two hundred dollars and tickets to the Celtics.”
So much for unselfish motives. But at least he was up and off the couch.
I stood and gave my dad a kiss. “This girl has got to run. But those pancakes were the best, Dad. I’ll see you guys tonight.”
My mother looked concerned. “Be careful out there, sweetheart. Do you promise that you will? You should all three remember that it’s a Libra moon. I myself plan to stay inside all day. I’ve cancelled all my classes.”
I poured some coffee into one of those to-go cups and headed for my car. Second day into the I-wanna-live-on-my-own-and-have-an-awesome-career plan. Things could only get better. I’d hoped. But with the missing panda and the cut-off pinky, my hope started to vanish.
Traffic was light, as mostly everybody was already at work or at school. Thirty minutes later, I pulled into the driveway of Escape Option Number One. It didn’t look half bad: a brick ranch house located about ten minutes from my office. The resident had advertised on the real estate website that he had a room to rent.
The landlord opened the door before I could even knock. A tall man, somewhat elderly with a big smile on his face; he seemed a friendly sort. Except that – shoot me now – why was he standing on the front porch in his tighty whities?
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.
The house, the street, the big trees: they’d all looked so inviting. But I was afraid that this first stop on my rental tour would have to go into the “hell, no” category.
But I might as well go in and look, just to be polite. That seemed to be the easiest way to make a graceful exit.
I introduced myself and stepped in, trying hard not to look directly at the astonishingly – almost sparkling – white color of his underwear. The den was very neat, the kitchen was clean and spacious with a nice stove that I would have never used if I decided to move in. There was a big fridge. Now, that would have been a plus. I’d be bringing home lots of takeout, I supposed. It was a nice house, the walls painted in soothing colors. Half Naked Man seemed to be a neatnik. No empty cups or messy stacks of papers.
