by DS Whitaker
Gertie took off her yellow apron. She wore blue eyeshadow, pink blush and a magenta lipstick. Her natural black hair was loose and wavy, framing her russet complexion. Beneath her apron, she wore an olive-green mid-length dress with a V-neck and that accentuated her waist.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Yet, he didn’t want to stare. Was this how Johnnie felt about the Goddess?
She said, “Welcome. Cudlow, I love your hair.”
Cudlow ran his hand through it. “I feel transformed. Thank you for dinner. It all smells wonderful.”
Gertie hung her apron on a hook next to the double wall oven. “It’s no trouble. I enjoy having new guests.”
Cudlow beamed at her. “And I enjoy being here. Tell me, can I assist?”
“You can pick the wine and help me bring the food over.” Gertie pointed her head toward the counter.
Cud joined Gertie in the kitchen.
“I love your dress.” He inspected the two wine bottles. One was a Zinfandel, the other a Merlot. He chose the latter.
“This old thing?” She gave a sly smile, as if she rightfully knew how the dress suited her to perfection. “So, Cudlow, I want to know all about you.”
His heart stopped. What could he tell her? And why hadn’t he prepared a suitable answer, knowing certain questions would arise. “What do you want to know?”
From the living room, out of view, Johnnie called, “Is there anything I can help with?”
Gertie called back, “Just take a load off.” In a quieter voice she asked, “Where are you from originally? I detect an accent.” She stirred mashed potatoes in a tall pot on the stove, put down the spoon and went to the refrigerator.
Had he slipped back into his British accent again? “Oh, I was born in London. We were poor, but I studied my best. After university, I moved to the Bahamas.” With the cork screw, he worked at opening the wine. It had been many years since he’d opened a bottle himself, always having staff for such things, and it showed, because he struggled with it, unsure of how to extract the cork.
She took milk out of the fridge and poured a couple dashes into the steaming potatoes, stirring with force. “London. I’ve always wanted to go. Can you put the rolls on the table?”
He put down the bottle and picked up the rolls. They smelled heavenly. “You should! How about you? Are you originally from St. John?”
She didn’t stop stirring. “I moved here twenty-five years ago. I was a school teacher. But I’m retired now. So, Cudlow, are you married?” She asked this matter-of-factly, like it was a job interview, not like she was flirting. Still, the question rattled him.
A lump lodged in his throat. “I was. Happily.” He needed to change the subject to something less sad. After taking the rolls to the table, he asked, “Are those carrots from your garden? They’re simply massive.” He gambled on a joke and chuckled. “Is the soil radioactive?”
Gertie smiled. “You know, I used to be a black thumb. But once you learn about the pH here, it’s easy to grow food.” She walked to the wine bottle and opened it in two seconds. “Well, I think everything is ready.” She wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Time to bring the rest over.”
A few minutes later, with the table set, Gertie lit the tapered candles. “Let’s say Grace.” She reached her open palms across the table to both Johnnie and Cud.
Gertie said to Cud. “Would you like…?”
Cud smiled and took her hand. Her skin was soft. A mixture of excitement and happiness washed through him. “Yes, please.” He bowed his head. “To our Creator, we give thanks for the bounty before us, and for new friends and old, and may we strive each day to be worthy of Your love and honor all Your creation. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, Amen.”
She said, “Cudlow, that was beautiful.”
He blushed, not wanting to let her go of her hand. “I’m inspired by your kindness.”
Johnnie tucked a cloth napkin under his chin. “Gertie, this smells great.”
After their meal, she said, “Now, tell me what ‘no-good’ you boys are up to.”
Johnnie asked, “What…what makes you think we’re up to something?”
“A woman can always tell when men are up to mischief.”
Cudlow looked at her. “We do have a scheme. But it’s top secret.” He twisted an imaginary key in his mouth. “Tick a lock.”
She said, “Hmmm. So mysterious. Nothing bad, I hope.”
Johnnie said, “No. Nothing bad like murder.”
Cudlow laughed. “Yes, hardly.”
“I should hope not!” she said, adding a chuckle.
Cud said, “It’s best if we don’t say anything.”
Gertie said, “Well, how about dessert? I made a pecan pie.”
Cud leaned back in his chair, rubbing his swollen belly. “I’m sure it is delicious, but I couldn’t eat another morsel. This was the best meal I’ve had in a solid decade.” It was true. He’d not eaten to this level of satiety in years. Another bite might not keep down and that would be a travesty.
Johnnie got up from the table and grabbed Cud’s plate and his. “Yeah, we have work to do anyway.” He took the plates to the kitchen and scraped the food remnants into Gertie’s compost can.
When it was time to say goodbye, Gertie grinned and said, “Have a good night. If you need a getaway driver, let me know. I could use some excitement.”
Cudlow laughed. “Yes, at our age, just getting waking in the morning without hip pain can seem exciting.”
“Speak for yourself, sweetie,” Gertie smiled. “I still have things going on.” She sashayed her hips and snapped her fingers.
“Yes. Yes, you do.” Cud took her hand and kissed the top of it. “I’ve so enjoyed dinner tonight.”
Gertie winked at him. “I’ve enjoyed it too.”
***
Johnnie walked into Gertie’s and hardly recognized her. She looked like a movie star. Nothing like the woman in the flowered house-coat, kneeling in the garden, her cheeks smudged with dirt. It felt eerie, like he was in the Upside-Down, and everyone got a makeover but him.
Why was he feeling like the third wheel on a romantic date? Gertie and Cud chatted in the kitchen like he didn’t exist. Maybe that was okay, because not existing was usually a good thing in his mind. His cheek began twitching again. Something to read would steady his brain. A needlework magazine on the sideboard caught his eye. It was better than nothing.
A few minutes later, after they sat down at the table, Gertie asked Cud to say grace, and she reached her hands to both him and Cud.
He hated holding hands. Or being touched. But making a fuss would be worse. He took her hand and Cud’s, counting in his head. It felt like he was hooked up to electrodes, even though he knew the discomfort was really a manifestation of his own awkwardness.
Glancing at Cud’s hand, he noticed Sheila had given him a manicure. Thankfully Cud thought of that. What was the point of a haircut to impress the bank manager if his hands looked like crud?
Cud said a prayer, and Gertie seemed impressed.
Johnnie pulled his hands away, focusing on the bowls in front of him. He reached for the long wooden spoon in the mashed potatoes. “Gertie, this smells great.”
They ate and conversed about the weather and recipes. Or at least Gertie and Cud did.
Johnnie noticed Cudlow kept giving Gertie adoring looks. She appeared to reciprocate, laughing at his jokes and touching Cud’s arm. He felt like a fly on the wall. Like he could evaporate into smoke and they wouldn’t notice. When Gertie asked about dessert, he felt relieved Cud declined. All this sitting around chatting wasn’t productive. “Well,” he said loudly, “time to go. Thanks, Gert.”
On the short walk to his apartment, Cud wiggled in a strange dance-walk, like a praying mantis in a Robert Palmer music video. “Johnnie, your Gertie is really something.”
“Yes, but we need to discuss the plan. Snap out of it.”
They entered the apartment and Johnny cl
osed the door behind them.
Cud said, “You never answered my question earlier.”
“What’s that?” Johnnie went to the kitchen and got some Ibuprofen from the cupboard and a glass of water. Would his headache ever go away?
“Gertie? Was she married? Divorced? Widowed?” He wrung his hands.
Cud seemed lovesick. The last thing he needed. “You really like her, don’t you?” He swallowed two pills and chased them with a gulp of water.
Cud hugged himself and closed his eyes. “Johnnie, like is not the word. I’m having feelings…I haven’t felt in a long time.”
Johnnie didn’t understand infatuation between old folks. “Maybe it’s just your new hair.”
Cud exhaled and looked at himself in the small mirror by the door. “You know, the old Cudlow was a terrible man.” When he turned, his eyes were misty. “Going to a bank might…”
Johnnie put his glass in the sink. “Might what?”
“I don’t know. But it scares the hell out of me.”
***
Dear Diary,
I can’t write too much because I have a guest tonight. Cud is staying over. I’ve always offered he could bunk with me instead of sleeping on the beach, but this is the first time he said yes.
During dinner, Cud was making eyes at Gertie, and she him. Not sure how I feel about that. Usually I get upset seeing other couples happy, (I’m working on that) but I didn’t mind them. Maybe it’s progress.
Cud looked different after the haircut and shave. Before bed, he said it reminded him of his evil twin. I think he was talking about himself. But it made me feel like a bad person for making him do this favor. Anyway, he’s tucked in on the sofa and looks happy now.
Cud said I should smile more, but I don’t know how. It’s been a month since I talked to Dr. Phillips and I should make another appointment, but she says I need to be totally honest which means I’d have to talk about Bob, and I’d rather not right now.
We watched The Simpsons tonight. It was funny. I like Lisa the best because she’s suspicious like me. But Cud is like a cross between Homer and Bart. Happy with simple things but rebellious, which is a weird mix, but that’s how it is.
Tomorrow, Cud goes undercover. Wish us luck Diary. Love, Johnnie.
Chapter 6
It was Friday, which meant a work day. At five, Johnnie and Cud were up and out the door before sunrise. As they got on the bike, Johnnie said, “First, you need to get a suit. All I can give you is a hundred. Can you work with that?”
Cud shook his head. “Don’t worry. I have a plan for clothing. Keep your money.”
“Really? Fine. You should probably take my scooter for the day. Do you know how to drive one?”
Cud thought hard. He hadn’t driven a car, no less a scooter in a couple decades. In the time before, he always had Terrence, his chauffeur, to take him places. “Maybe you could give me some pointers? How about we clear the beach first and get all your assignments out of the way and we’ll practice in the parking lot?”
It made sense. The stores wouldn’t be open until ten. “Okay.”
They arrived at Hawksnest Beach at five-thirty. The sun would rise in thirty minutes. Enough time to comb the seaweed, inspect or fix the barrier tape around the nest and deal with any over-night trash and mayhem. Because the park never closed, sometimes folks would have parties and leave all kinds of artifacts in their wake.
Once they arrived, Cud said, “I’ll check for jellyfish and glass.”
“Thanks.” Johnnie got his rake from the tool shed. He stopped by the turtle nest first. All looked well.
He raked the seaweed for about fifteen minutes when Cud ran up. “A bumper crop!” He dangled three rubbers in Johnnie’s face.
“Eww, dude! Not cool. Get away.”
Cud chuckled. “Ha! You need to lighten up. Everything will be fine today. Stop with the sourpuss.”
Johnnie shook his head, not sure whether to feel disgust or gratitude. One of the worst parts of beach maintenance was picking up used condoms. Not only were they disgusting and unsanitary, but the sea turtles mistook them for jellyfish, ingested them, and died. He was lucky when people used the brightly colored ones; he could spot and pick them up with his grabber tool easily. The clear ones, when mixed with seaweed or on wet sand, required close inspection which was too gross for words.
The rest of the morning was uneventful. Next week was Easter break and off-islanders would descend like a hoard of locusts. It was the calm before the storm. Around ten, Cud and Johnnie finished most of the chores and Cud asked about his driving lesson. Johnnie scanned the beach for any infractions in progress. Finding none, he said, “Okay. Ten minutes.”
The parking lot was full at this point. Not ideal for Cud to learn how to make full 180 degree turns. Johnnie handed his key ring to Cud. The Bugs Bunny one, which now contained his personal house key, bike key and Bob’s deposit box key. Cud got on the Pig and donned a helmet.
“What now?”
Johnnie turned the key and showed him the throttle and brake. “Just take it slow. Ease into it.”
Cud gripped the handlebars tightly, causing his fingers to turn white. He gentle accelerated; Johnnie jogged beside. All was going well.
A car entered the lot and came directly at Cud.
In an apparent panic, when Cud should have braked, he accelerated wildly. To avoid the car, he steered right. Now heading towards a parked sedan, Cud reached out to push off its trunk. The scooter wobbled and he held on, driving it off the pavement into some shrubs, where he toppled over.
Johnnie ran up. “Are you alright?”
“Just a little dust up. I’ll get it next time.”
“Are you sure?”
Cud grinned. “Just like riding a bicycle. You’ll see.”
After more practice, Cud got the hang of it. After remaining upright during a 180-degree tight turn, Cud shouted, one fist in the air, “See, I’m King of the World!” He came to a stop and turned off the bike next to Johnnie. As he lifted his leg to dismount, the bike fell, bashing the inside of his calf.
Johnnie caught the scooter mid-fall. “Cud, the kick stand! Are you okay?”
“Oh, right.” He said sheepishly. “Yes, I’m fine. I’ll remember next time.”
A vehicle entering the parking lot from the other end caught Johnnie’s attention. The Police Chief’s SUV rolled in…like the Death Star appearing…or a Borg ship. He expected to hear an ominous John Williams overture. The last thing he needed.
Chief Tobias parked in the open handicapped space. He and another man got out of the vehicle. The unknown man was tall, like Tobias, medium build, with a crewcut, black button-down dress shirt, and black pleated dress pants. He looked like the kind of guy that goes door-to-door with a clipboard trying to sell solar panels or life insurance. His clothes didn’t match his demeanor, as if he were playing dress-up for a role he wasn’t enjoying. Was this Bob’s brother?
Cud, sitting on the bike ready to leave, stopped. He parked the bike and came over to Johnnie. He whispered, “Watch out.”
Johnnie grimaced. “Why? What?”
Cud placed his hand on Johnnie’s arm. “The other guy? His aura is black as night. I saw it right away. Don’t let him rile you.”
Johnnie sighed. He didn’t believe in the aura stuff. But he didn’t want to argue. Cud really seemed to be a true believer. “You’d better get going.”
Cud nodded and went back to the bike.
Ten seconds later, Tobias and the unknown man walked up. Tobias said, “Crosswell, glad I found you this time. Who’s your friend?” He pointed to Cud, who was motoring away.
The Chief didn’t recognize Cud. Not that he could blame him. Cud was often invisible to regular mortals and now with the helmet, shorter hair and clean clothes, it was unlikely anyone would figure it out. “Good afternoon, Chief. He’s just an old friend from Miami.”
“What’s his name? He looks familiar.”
Johnnie needed to change t
he subject because lying always got him in trouble. The secret to lying is remembering the lie. And his memory was not up to the task. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is the deceased’s brother.”
Johnnie put out his hand. “Sorry for your loss. I’m Johnnie. What’s your name?”
The man didn’t shake his hand back. “Mark. I was wondering if you found anything else when my brother washed to shore.”
“What do you mean, ‘anything else’?” Johnnie studied Mark’s face. This was not a grieving relative.
“You know, anything in his pockets. The coroner showed me his effects. So just wanted to know if you saw anything. I mean, not that I’m accusing you of taking anything. Sometimes things show up later, you dig?”
The hairs on Johnnie’s neck stood on end. This ‘brother’ character was not adding up. He squinted, focusing on the edge of Mark’s face, looking for the black aura. Nothing.
Johnnie shook his head. “I didn’t find anything but your brother. Were you two close?” Without waiting for a reply, Johnnie took a half-step forward and smirked, “Did your brother have any enemies? I mean, Chief here said he was stabbed a few times. Someone must have really hated him.” After he said this, he knew he stepped in it. He was antagonizing this goon, hoping for a reaction. Hoping for a fight to wipe the smug look off his face.
Mark leaned forward—planting his face almost close enough to meet the bill of Johnnie’s park service cap—with his lips curled and jaw lifted. “Are you insulting my dead brother? Because I don’t think you want to do that.” Mark stabbed his index finger into Johnnie’s shoulder.
Some of Mark’s spittle landed on his glasses. Johnnie knew he should back down. He owed it to Robin to behave. The last thing he needed was to throw a punch, especially in front of Tobias. It would mean lock-up for sure. Stepping backward three feet, he took off his glasses and wiped them with a cloth from his pocket, keeping his head down. After replacing them on his face—fitting the curved temple tips securely around each ear—he continued looking at the ground, gritting his teeth; he placed two fingers to his carotid artery. He counted towards fifteen, in a voice slightly above a whisper, swaying back and forth on his heels. Johnnie took deep breaths between numbers, glancing up occasionally to make sure Mark didn’t sucker punch him.
