Madonna nodded confirming.
Wayne licked his pie spoon. “What’s an Etsy?”
“See, I am not the only one who doesn’t know what an Etsy is.”
I glared at Philly and he shrugged; he didn’t know what an Etsy was either.
Madonna closed her eyes and shook her head. “Okay. I’ll tell, but you all have to swear you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Spill the beans,” Wayne said. “Do I need an Etsy?” He cut glances between the girls.
Madonna wiped her mouth with a napkin, adjusted in her chair preparing for a speech. “There’s a rumor going around Trudi bought her afghan on Etsy. She didn’t knit it herself.”
Alice gasped and Ann’s eyes got shiny with tears.
“What’s wrong with that?” Wayne asked, and I’m glad he did because I thought the same thing.
Philly rested his pie fork on the edge of his plate. “What’s Etsy?”
Alice took the lead since Ann and Madonna sat perplexed with anxiety. “It’s an online marketplace where people sell their homemade crafts. All kinds. Candles. Knitting. Art. Stuff like that.”
Wayne squirmed absorbing the news. Philly did the same.
I let a few seconds pass before I said, “Trudi cheated.”
Trudi was headed to the electric chair. I wonder if Ned Newly was her appointed attorney. Bless her heart that’s worse news than finding out she cheated.
Madonna fiddled with a spoon. “I don’t… don’t think this was the first time she cheated. This time she got caught.”
If it wasn’t so sad Sissy died—did Trudi kill her because Sissy knew she had cheated, buying a pre-made afghan on the internet—I would’ve laughed.
Even I wouldn’t have thought of that either. “She gave herself away.”
Madonna nodded. “I guess so.”
“Think she’ll confess?” I asked, and no one answered; which was my answer. Where do you go with this information? Should I call Ned and tell him the news? Too bad my crystal ball was a dud, I would’ve asked it for the answer.
Keep your mouth shut, Hunny Bunny. Don’t rock the yarn crawl boat.
Ann wiggled, curling her lip. “Too bad you haven’t used your tarot cards, you could’ve predicted Trudi’s upset and saved Sissy.” Ann’s chin slid into her neck and her mouth fell open. “I mean… ah… since your psychic and all. Maybe you could’ve helped.”
All eyes were on me. “Ah… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Madonna glared at Ann, shaking her head. Ann winced and mouthed sorry. “We were going to tell you, but things got outta hand. We, me and Ann, found those tarot cards at a junk shop in town. We weren’t trying to prank you… much.”
My willie vibrated up my spine. Junk shop? Was Huey’s eighteen-wheeler filled with used tarot cards and crystal balls to hoax other unsuspecting Others?
Madonna’s face drooped, her eyes pleaded for forgiveness. “We thought it was a good idea since you’re so… since you said you’re psychic.”
Ann tittered a small chuckle to stress their plight. “We’re only teasing you.” She mumbled. “We’ll take them back.”
Philly puffed like a dead hog on the side of the road, and he growled, “Bunny.”
Underneath the table, I reached for his knee to squeeze, but he brushed my hand away. He knows I was shopping in Huey’s junk store, but he did not know what I bought or what Huey had given me. Harrumphing, he pushed his chair back and stomped toward the men’s room. Once again, Philly’s prostate problems saved me from a public tongue lashing.
They can’t possibly know about the crystal ball or Connie’s wicked ivory hand. Did Huey offer them a crystal ball, and they chose the tarot cards instead? Hope not!
Three weird things happened, four if you count Wanda—the tarot cards, the crystal ball and Connie’s ivory hand? Coincidence? Yes. They can’t be in cahoots with each other. Ann and Madonna were only poking fun because they know I’m not psychic.
I didn’t know what to make of my neighbor ladies’ joke. Neither of them was good at jokes. Connie only wanted to liven up the Texas two-step dance with some good ol’ fashioned fortune telling. It wouldn’t hurt anyone, save the fortune teller herself.
Alice scooted back her chair. “C’mon, let’s get. I’m done in.” She squeezed Wayne’s shoulder, and he rose on command.
Wayne stretched, yawning. “We gotta run.”
Ann parked her car in her carport without stopping in front of our humble abode. Minor inconvenience walking across the furrow, but we exchanged timid goodbyes. Madonna squeezed my shoulders. “I’m sorry. It was a tactless joke. We’ll put them in the dumpster tomorrow.”
Philly slammed Ann’s car door and passing me, under his breath he hissed. “Don’t bring witchcraft into my home.” Instead of going inside, he hopped onto the golf cart and drove up Mississippi without crossing my path.
I squinted watching the cart’s glowing taillights as he turned without stopping at the stop sign. “It’s okay. I can take a joke.”
Philly cannot take a joke, especially one about me. He’s ticky, wanting me to walk the straight and narrow without embarrassing him.
Madonna said, “Remember, tomorrow’s memorial knitting session. We’ve had them before. Everyone comes and sits in a circle and we knit for an hour in complete silence.”
“What the? I don’t want to go.” Complete silence? The knitters have high expectations. I’m not the only blabbermouth in the group. Someone needs to bring duct tape to tape up the gabber’s mouths.
“It’ll be better if you do.” Flummoxed by all the events and having Philly ride off into the sunset, it was after dark, to pout hadn’t made my nerves any better.
Standing in the furrow, I understood what she meant. If I don’t take part in the knitting memorial, they’ll smear my name and reputation as a murderess across the desert.
“Nite,” I hugged Madonna, and she quietly slipped toward her park model, opening the door soundlessly.
Inside our sardine can echoed lonesomeness. The kitchen rug Poochy had piddled on was still rolled up on the bathroom floor, and I kicked it aside to use the ladies’ room.
I didn’t care if Philly went off to pout. Gave me time to gather my wits and clear my thoughts.
In the bedroom, I whipped my threadbare nightie off the crystal ball and stared at it.
Innocent enough.
I took it down, tossing it onto the bed and it bounced on the tightly made bed. I pulled my nightie over my head, covering my skinny, scary body.
With the crystal ball resting in the crook of my arm, I poured a healthy glass of sweet iced tea. Kicked back in Wanda’s recliner, I set the iced tea on the table between the chairs and held the crystal ball up to the light. Slowly turning it, I searched its depths for a spark of light, for a sign of life.
Nothing.
It was a dud, just like I thought. I set the knickknack on the table, reached for my crossword puzzle book, found my pencil and reading glasses. They were exactly as I left them when Mack Riggs arrived to carry me to the police station to force my true confession.
A willie climbed my spine, only a short one, and I shook it off, but I suddenly got lonesome for my mama. She’d know what to do with this witchery and fortune telling bunk. Like Philly, she didn’t want witchcraft under her roof and had plenty of remedies ready to douse a spell or disarm a witch.
Under the light of the lamp, the crystal ball glinted and winked, catching my eye. Turning in the chair, I put my back to the orb whispering my new mantra. I am not psychic. Psychic powers are bogus.
Chapter Nineteen
Wanda
When Philly burst through the front door, red-faced and stomping, I came out of a dead sleep shrieking. “Holy! There you are.”
He stalked by without acknowledging my presence and headed to the bathroom. First thing when he gets home, he always needs to see a man about a horse. Soon water ran in the shower, and he puttered in the bathroom for a long time
before going into the bedroom.
Grunting, he sent clear stay away signals, and I flopped back in the recliner giving him space.
It’s rare for us to share silence. I always have something to say. He always replies with a grunt or says, “what d’you say?” He came from the bedroom just as I was getting a glass of water, but he didn’t grunt passing me in the galley kitchen. I whispered pardon me squeezing in my tushie so we wouldn’t accidentally brush against each other. Not telling what spark we might ignite rubbing together. We’d either set a fire that turned into a blazing argument or a flaming lovemaking session. As hostile as he acted, I’m not putting money on the lovemaking.
He stood in the living room staring for a moment, turned and went past me again. I waited, listening to his groans as a long minute ticked past. He did the darndest thing; he shut the bedroom door with a good solid click.
Did he lock the door? If he locked the door, he didn’t want me to sleep with him. Gee, he’s mad.
For several seconds I sat dumbfounded wondering what to do next.
Nothing. That’s what came to mind. If he wanted to fight, or if he didn’t want to fight, I would never knock on the door asking for entrance into his domain.
Did he notice the crystal ball? Philly’s apt to have a come apart over it. I grabbed my old blanket and covered my legs, huddling deeper into the recliner. The stuffing in Wanda’s chairs had gone flat, and they weren’t comfortable to sleep in. I flipped off the lamp and sat in the dark, grieving over being locked out of the bedroom. It’s happened a time or two, early on, but it was me who locked the door thinking unwisely, I couldn’t keep Philly out of his bed or away from his woman.
Despite the blanket, a creepy chill climbed my legs. How many times had I heard Mama say, her willies meant she had walked over a grave? Before they built the Oasis, and laid the asphalt, the land might have been a sacred Indian burial ground or held the shallow graves of scalped pioneers. No telling what kind of criminal or orphan was buried underneath the park model? Was Wanda murdered in her pink recliner and no one told us? Was I sitting over or in her grave?
“Bunny?” Startled out of my sleep, I sat up to see if Philly went into the bathroom, but nothing moved from his end of the trailer. Even from Wanda’s recliner, if I wanted to wake the sleeping giant I could’ve tossed a rock at him.
“Bunny, look at me.”
“What the? Philly are you up?” I must’ve fallen asleep and didn’t hear him come into the room. I flipped on the light between the two chairs.
“Sweet holy—” My throat tightened, and I croaked like seagulls picking a sea lion carcass.
“Thought I’d pop in. See how things are going.”
Wanda in all her buxomness sat in Philly’s chair with her black boa snaking around her neck. Even in the dim light, her crater deep cleavage looked ginormous.
“I… I…”
Wanda fiddled with the boa. “I know how difficult things seem around here, but you’ve just got to relax. Go with the flow. You know.”
I squeezed my eyelids shut. If I don’t respond to her, she’ll go away.
“I’m not going away. Open your eyes.”
With my eyes closed, I scanned my gray matter trying to decide if I would follow her advice or scream. Screaming would wake Philly. I didn’t want him awake. He can’t see Wanda and would be huffy because I screamed for no reason.
Philly’s chair squeaked. “Be quiet. Don’t wiggle, he’ll hear you.”
I folded my hands under my chin. Please God, don’t let me be bonkers. I prayed for my sanity because Wanda wasn’t real. If I prayed for her to go away, that would mean I’ve accepted our little haunted house in the desert.
“You aren’t crazy. Just chosen.”
Chosen? What does that mean? “Oh, no I’m not.”
I slit my eyelids enough to look at her. She’s still a Mercurochrome red-head with pouchy lips, big titties and a bootie to match. Tonight, she’s dressed in a negligee with an exhausting plunging neckline which would wear Philly out.
On her perfectly tiny feet, she wore feathery white slides with acrylic heels.
Good grief! She’s dressed for bed? I’ll tackle her if she tries to climb into bed with my Sweetie Bastard.
“You don’t have to worry. I don’t want your man.”
I covered my head with the blanket. “Are you reading my mind?” I need tin foil. Make a shield… a bonnet… tie it around my head.
“In a way. There’s lots going on in there. I have to dig deep to get to the good stuff.”
“Good stuff?” I puffed, lifting the hot nappy blanket.
“That first time I came over… I didn’t know exactly how to handle the job.”
“You were a bit rattle brained.” She wasn’t rattle brained, she muttered incoherently, talking about painting Tucson sunsets.
“Yes, I agree. I’ve got it all together. Know more about my job. I’m part of your new life. You can’t get rid of me.”
Her job? All together? Sure. Had Philly hired her to haunt me? I’m gonna kill him. Shivering, I counted. “One Mississippi… two Mississippi—”
“No point in counting the seconds. They have assigned me to your case. I don’t like it much either, but there’s nothing we can do.” Did she say they assigned her? Like a caseworker for a juvenile delinquent?
“Assigned? What case?” Am I terminal? Did I miss something along the way, has my uterine cancer returned and I’m having chemo hallucinations?
“I’m restless. They said you wouldn’t cooperate.” Wanda rustled and stood, her heels clacked as she pranced. “You see,” she mumbled.
Even through the thin blanket, I saw her touching things on the dinette with her red polished nails.
“I’d guess you’d say I’m… in a big way… ah… your guardian angel.” I soaked in that tidbit.
Why? I don’t need guarding. The Oasis is truly my punishment. Somehow along my long and winding path, I’ve committed bigger booboos than I believed and I’ve been sent here to suffer.
My only angel experience which wasn’t worth a hoot, or a holler was watching Michael Landon play that angel dude after his show Little House on the Prairie ended. Why couldn’t Michael be my angel, I’d let him guard me all right?
The last thing I need is an advice giving, nosy buxom hussy guiding my new life path. Gimme a break.
I whipped the blanket off my head. “Oh. BS, if you are. Go away. I ain’t having it.”
I hissed trying not to raise my voice. Any second, Philly will come roaring from the bedroom like an angry bear. He goes off kilter if he’s woke in the middle of the night.
Wanda stood in front of me, so close, her snaky black boa brushed between us.
“You think you’re not happy with it? I’m pretty disappointed I was assigned to you.”
Pushing hard on the recliner’s footrest, I stood, even though my knees felt like watery biscuit dough. “Well, thank you very much Miss Smarty Pants. You’ve never been a guardian angel before! Ha! You’ve got a lot to learn. I don’t cotton to angels being up in my business.”
Philly turned over and coughed. Wanda whispered, “Hush! You’re waking him up. You’re yelling.” Wanda backed away from my pointy nose. “Calm down. It isn’t the end of the world.”
“Pfft.” I moved around her and stalked into the kitchen. “You can’t tell me what ends my world.”
“We’ll see about that. You received the crystal ball, right?”
Another shiver climbed my spine, dreadful thoughts crossed my mind. She wanted to pull an evil trick. If she knew of the crystal ball, then she knew about the tarot cards and creepy hand. Does she know Connie wants me to have a fortune telling booth, too?
A dirty glass sat next to the sink, and I flipped on the faucet stalling and put the glass in the flow of water.
“Guess you drew the short straw! Getting me as your first—what? Am I a client or an experiment?”
The glass overflowed, I turned off the water and t
ook a sip. The tepid water hit my empty stomach and boiled.
“You really need to take better care of yourself. You’ll end up like me. A guardian angel to a mean old lady.”
I squinted at her over the rim of the glass. “What? I am not mean.”
This hussy sure speaks her mind.
“I didn’t determine that. They did.” She pointed up and stroked the boa, glaring at me.
“Pooh-pooh. I’m nice.” Well… maybe I’m not that nice, but whatever or whoever sent Wanda to guard me was out of line. I don’t need constant supervision.
“Ho-hum. I told them you’d be dreadful and uncooperative.”
“Who’s them?”
Visions of Saint Peter dangling the keys to the Pearly Gates flashed in the gray matter. Had Wanda gotten booted out of the gate and sent back to repent for her mistakes here in the Oasis? That’s my punishment, her freakin’ inability to acclimate to Heaven.
“Oh, you know, them guys.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
Snide crawled up from my craw, I didn’t want to stop it; it felt good like chili heart burn. “What? Are you going to show me what the world would be like without me?”
She huffed back. “Good grief, no. And every time a bell rings an angel isn’t getting its wings, either.
“Guess it takes a fallen angel to know one.” I held back snickering touché since me and Wanda might debase ourselves with a cat fight over what happened in an old movie.
Wanda cocked her head. “Really? Don’t go there. This isn’t a movie, it’s your real life. Oh, I gotta run, I have an important class to take.” She hopped from the chair, the black boa fluttering as she went through the door without opening it.
“Wait just a gall darn minute. I’m not finished talking to you.” I set the glass of nasty Arizona tap water on the counter. “Class? What’s an angel class? Gimme a break.”
Chapter Twenty
Beauty Queen
Wool Over Your Eyes Page 10
