Lucky and the Drowned Debutante

by Emmy Grace

  “What are you doing?” Regina calls up to me.

  “Looking for the male part so I can plug it into the extension cord when I’m done.”

  I hear her snigger. “I bet I know where you could get a really good male part.”

  I feel a flush creep into my cheeks at the indirect, if somewhat crude, reference to Liam. Things have been heating up quite nicely between us since we stopped pretending we don’t have feelings for each other. I mean, Liam’s still a grouch, of course. Short of personality transplant, nothing can change that, but it’s something I’ve come to expect and even sort of like in him.

  He’s a gorgeous grouch.

  I’m a lucky optimist.

  We fit.

  My knees get a little weak just thinking about him.

  “You’re gonna make me fall, now stop,” I tell her sternly, even though there’s a definite hint of giggle in my voice. The whole thing makes me feel like a teenager. I’m resisting the urge to write Mrs. Liam Dunning on napkins and crap like that.

  Head in the game, Lucky, I tell myself.

  I stretch out a length of light along the base of the gutter and then reach into my pocket for the staple gun I brought. It was also appropriated from Snuffleupagus’ tool shed. The woman has one of every tool known to modern industry. I’m fairly certain we could build an entire town just with her selection of instruments. She’s nothing if not prepared.

  I reach through the rung in the ladder to hold the strand in place and then affix the wire to the wood below the gutter with about twenty staples. Tap, tap.

  Tap, tap, tap, tap.

  I smile in satisfaction. Piece of cake.

  That sucker ain’t going anywhere.

  I staple two more lengths of lights, and then stretch as far as I can to get a third one in place. That’s when I realize that I’ll have to climb all the way back down, move the ladder, then climb all the way back up to do the next section. Then I’ll have to do that about five more times.

  That’s a lot of climbing. My thighs are already telling me it’s pure madness and my butt is literally trembling in fear.

  Trembling, I tell you!

  I glance down at Regina, my mind clicking through all sorts of possible end-arounds.

  “What? Did you forget something?” she asks.

  “No, I’m thinking.”

  Regina’s expression turns dubious. “Well, that can’t be good.”

  I make a face at her. “Smarty.” After a minute or so, I think I have an idea. “Okay, so I need to get this ladder moved over about two or three feet.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But I don’t want to climb all the way down, move it, then climb all the way back up again.”

  “Have you learned to teleport?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “Have you learned to fly?”

  “No.”

  “Bend time and space and matter?”

  “Not that I can remember.”

  “Then how else are you supposed to get over there?”

  “We’re going to move me over there,” I pronounce with a confident smile.

  Regina is quiet for a few seconds. “Why do I suspect I’m not going to like this?”

  “Because you’re a negative nelly, that’s why.”

  “Uh, no. I’m not. I’m just wise. Wise in the ways of Lucky. I’ve been your best friend since I was too young to realize what a menace you are, but I’ve learned a lot. I know when trouble’s coming. And I smell trouble.”

  “No, you don’t. That’s allergies. From the Christmas tree.”

  “Which we still have to decorate by the way.”

  “I know, I know. I just want to get these done first because Beebee and Momma Leona will see them first. I want them to be greeted with Christmas cheer.”

  “We should be doing inside stuff. This is man’s work. You should’ve let Liam help when he offered.”

  “I don’t want to wait. We’ve only got a week until Christmas. It’s a crime that we haven’t done this until now.”

  “Oh, no! Don’t lump me in with that. I had nothing to do with it. You’ve been in a love bubble for the last couple of weeks. That is why it hasn’t been done.”

  “Me? What about you? You and Marshal McGruff.”

  If I said that sparks flew between Regina and Steven Locke, the super hot federal marshal that got involved in our last investigation, that would be like calling a volcanic eruption a small case of geological indigestion. He has flown back to see Regina four times since we had our double date to go over all that had happened with Dahlia Hayes’ murder. Even though he’s every bit as grouchy and surly as Liam, he’s made his interest clear. And Regina has made it equally clear that she’s gaga over the man.

  It’s actually both sickening and sweet, depending on my mood.

  “The Marshal,” Regina says, practically swooning at the base of the ladder.

  She refuses to call him Marshal McGruff. She sticks with “The Marshal” and she says it in reverence. She makes it sound like he’s Prince or Madonna. Like he’s someone who needs no other name or introduction. Of course, as much as she talks about him, I think everyone in town knows exactly who he is without any further explanation.

  I snap the fingers of one hand down at her. “Hey, hey. Focus, woman. We have to move me over, remember?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Okay, what’s this insane plan you’ve concocted?”

  “I’m going to count to three, and at the same time, I’m going to jump up and hop to the right as you pull up on the ladder and move it to the right, too. See what I mean?”

  “You’re gonna jump?” She’s incredulous.

  “Not off the ladder. I’m jumping on the ladder.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Of course it is. Duh.”

  “Lord help. You realize this is just an accident waiting to happen, right?”

  “No, it’s not. It makes perfect sense. When I hop, it’ll take my weight off the ladder so you can move it. Plus, I’ll be helping move it, too. Get it?”

  “Oh, I get what you’re saying. I just see it going terribly wrong.”

  “It’s gonna work like a charm. Trust me.”

  She shakes her head, but agrees to go along with my ingenious plan. “Fine. We’ll try it, but if you break your neck, don’t expect me to decorate the tree when you should’ve just listened to me and done it first.”

  “Don’t worry about mourning me or anything,” I reply with as much sarcasm as I can load into so few words.

  “Who are you kidding? You’re worse than a cat. You’ve got nine hundred lives, evidently.”

  “How about we not test that theory today, k? K. Now get ready,” I tell Regina as I grip the sides of the ladder, preparing to perform what I’m going to call the “old ladder jump jerk.”

  The physics of the move are sound. I’m sure of it.

  “Which way are you going again?”

  “To the right, Regina. Right.”

  “Lucky, wait. You should really—”

  “Good grief, it’ll work. Now zip the lips and get ready.”

  “I don’t think we should—”

  “I hope you’re ready, because I’m starting the countdown. One,” I say by way of interruption of her thousand and one reasons why something won’t work. “Two, three!”

  I jump up, holding onto the ladder to take it with me as I shift my body to the right. As I suspected, the ladder moves, but just not enough.

  “Gotta go again, Regina. Get ready.”

  “Okay, give me a second.”

  “One, two,” I count.

  “Three!” she says and we move again.

  This time it gets me to my goal. I feel like cheering, but honestly, I’m a little winded from the trip. I really need to start exercising if I plan to stay in Salty Springs. This place requires more physical activity than I’m used to.

  “Uh, Lucky?”

  “Yeah?” I huff.

  �
��You forgot to grab the lights,” Regina yells up.

  I glance over at the lasso of lights lying up on the roof, now almost three feet away. I mutter under my breath as I stretch my body as far as I can in that direction. My fingers are still several inches away from being able to grab any part of the bundle.

  “I can’t reach it,” I tell her.

  “Well, I sure can’t reach it.”

  “You mean you don’t have go, go gadget arms? For shame!”

  “Hey, be glad I’m helping you at all, snarky wench. It’s freakin’ cold out here.”

  “Then help me move back about a foot and we can finish and go inside.”

  “Move you back?”

  “Yep. About a foot.”

  “Lucky, this is ridiculous. It worked once. Maybe you shouldn’t push your luck.”

  “I don’t have to push it. My luck is bottomless. Endless. Infinite!” I proclaim, saying that word a few more times, but softer, like an echo.

  “You keep thinking that way, lunatic. See what happens.”

  “Hush, Debbie Downer. Just get me back over there. Left, left! One, two…”

  “Three!” she adds and we shift back to the left.

  When the ladder is still, I lean to the left again and can just reach the clump of lights. My fingertips are barely brushing one of the fat, multi-colored lights when I hear a muffled cracking sound.

  Before I can guess what it is, the rung under my feet gives way and I drop down to the next one. I yelp, winding my arms around the ladder and fisting the lights in my hand.

  I hear another crackling sound just before another rung snaps. In future recollections of this story, I will call this one the rung that broke the camel’s back.

  I drop down one rung, then another and another. I’m gripping the lights like they’re a lifeline when the ladder begins to wobble and sway and crackle like the whole thing’s coming apart.

  Because it might very well be.

  With me on it.

  Below, Regina is hollering something. It’s like a mash-up of words. I can’t tell what they are individually, but their intent is loud and clear. She’s in a blind panic, and I think she’s either encouraging me to jump or telling me to hold on.

  I feel my body going one way and the ladder going the other. I know there’s absolutely nothing I can do to stop either one, so I grip the lights, let out a Tarzan-like scream, and swing toward the house.

  It isn’t a far trip to smack the side of the house. I land so hard I hear the window right near me chatter in the sill.

  There’s a short pause before I hear a popping sound and the length of lights I’m holding onto starts to lower, bit by bit. The staples are giving way, too.

  A few more pops, and I’m surging toward the ground. I close my eyes and just hold on to the flimsy strand of lights that is so cruelly giving out on me.

  I expect a painful landing, but something sort of soft breaks my fall. I hear muffled cursing just before a big gob of lights smacks me right in the face. I roll to the right and flop onto my back, my still-tender shoulder giving an irritable twinge.

  My heart is hammering like mad and my breath is more like Mr. Jingles, my French bulldog’s pant than human breathing. I lay perfectly still for the count of six, taking a quick inventory of my body parts. It’s as I’m feeling for all four limbs that something moves under my butt. I hear more muffled cursing and then something pokes me.

  Hard.

  “Ouch!” I exclaim, flinching away.

  I finally hear some clear words. Very clear. “Get off my head.”

  I roll a couple more times until I can look back and see what’s what. Regina was the semi-soft thing that broke my fall and her balled up fist is what poked, or rather punched me in the backside. By the looks of her, she must’ve taken the brunt of my weight on her head.

  When she sits up, her hair is a tangled mass with twigs sticking in it, and her cheeks are flushed. Well, one cheek is flushed. The other is grass stained. Probably from being squashed between my butt and my front yard. Also, I’m pretty sure there’s fire shooting from her eyes.

  I cringe. “Merry Christmas?” I say tentatively.

  Is it possible for a person to literally boil? Because, while I can’t be absolutely certain, I think there might be steam coming from my best friend’s ears.

  A tiny little voice whispers something vital to me.

  “Lucky, you’d better run.”

  Thank you

  I wanted to very quickly thank you for spending your valuable time with me. So much of my heart is in this story, in these characters and their lives, and I’m profoundly grateful to be able to share them with you. It’s one of my greatest desires in life to bring GOOD to this world. Light, joy, laughter, happiness. I hope you found one (or all) of those things in the pages of this book. If you did, I hope you’ll consider spreading the word about it. Tell a friend, leave a review, gift a copy to someone you know who needs a pick me up. All around us, at any given time, people are hurting, and I truly believe that laughter is great medicine. It would be such an incredible blessing if, together, we could bring joy to someone else, even if just for a few hours. Sometimes that can mean the difference between giving up and pressing on.

  I want you to know that I deeply appreciate that you chose this book. It’s a dream come true to be able to do what I believe the Lord created me to do, and I’m indescribably honored to have you along for the ride:)

  God bless!

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  About the Author

  I'm a writer, mostly of awesomely fun mysteries that no one should take too seriously. I imagine that I should say something deep and profound about myself or my life philosophy, but I'd much rather fling facts like cool ninja throwing stars.

  FACT: I'm a devoted if slightly neurotic wife, an indefatigable lover of animals, and an absolute fanatic of all things funny.

  FACT: I'm probably alarmingly similar to Lucky, minus the daredevil streak and the unbreakable parts.

  FACT: I'm such a homebody that seeing me out in the wild is something like spotting Sasquatch, only with less hair and less fanfare.

  FACT: I'm a nerd and a Southerner, and my preferred wardrobe consists of pants that stretch and a t-shirt with writing on it.

  FACT: I love my job and I hope I get to do this forEVER.

  FACT: I’m so grateful to you for reading my work:)

  Also by Emmy Grace

  Lucky and the Falling Felon

  Lucky and the Axed Accountant

  Lucky and the Banged-up Ballerina

  Lucky and the Crushed Clown

  Lucky and the Drowned Debutante

  Lucky and the Electrocuted Ex