Philly glared. “What potholder loom?”
Like me, his sister Phyllis found a potholder loom underneath the Christmas tree, and if we’d known each other then, we could’ve had a potholder weaving contest. Phyllis had nothing on me, I’d win that contest in nothing flat.
Fidgeting, I gave him an eye and couldn’t lie. “Sugar, I don’t have talent. I will never fit in. I can’t swim or float, can’t dance in water. I abhor yarn.”
He shook his head smirking. “A potholder loom? Kinda sacrilegious, ain’t it? Can’t you fake it until you make it?”
Fake it? He can’t tell how much I’m faking everything? My lips pursed into a deep pucker. “They’re stretchy kinda like yarn. I couldn’t just sit there for an hour with nothing in my hands, would’ve been worse.”
If I had showed up empty-handed, those knitters would have burned me at the stake inside the semi-circle of grievers.
Philly didn’t have time retort over my potholder loom screwup. “Oh, here comes Big Al.” A huge man walked toward our table waving.
“He’s a big’un all right.” How on earth does he fit into a park model? He must meet himself coming and going? He wore a long white beard and was tall as he was broad.
“Big Al!” Philly stood shaking the man’s hand. “Bunny, this is Big Al.”
I tipped his pudgy fingers. “Howdy there.”
“Mrs. Winters. Your man here sure knows how to tickle the ivories.”
My head jerked holding back a chuckle. “Really?”
“He’s got me beat that’s for sure! Did you mention what we heard last night?”
My turkey neck didn’t waggle, my pointy tail kinked. Sweetie Bastard conversed with his fellow domino partners about his betrothed? Narrowing my eyelids, I barely saw Big Al’s open mouth.
Philly hunkered beside me, ready to hold me down. “I wanted to tell her. Too many interruptions.”
Al nodded, but didn’t get Philly’s interruption hint like I did, and continued gossiping. “Seems there was a robbery... attempted robbery at the junk store... Huey’s. You might have heard of it?”
“Ah… ah… ah!” I stuttered. “We heard.” I included Philly because he has picked me up outside the shop twice.
“Huey’s an ol’ buddy of mine. Way back.” Al wheezed red-faced explanations.
“That a fact?” I glared at Philly, but he avoided my heated stare.
“I called and checked on the ol’ fellow. He’s in such bad shape, you know.” It takes one bad-shaped man to call another one in bad shape. “He said to warn you.”
“Warn me?” About what and why?
“The kid he shot was trying to sell him a bagful of wooly stuff. Huey questioned the kid about the hair. He remembered you well when you bought the bag of stuff.”
If Big Al says Huey said he gave me a crystal ball, I’m gonna cry. Not a mock cry, but a full-scale I wanna move to Scottsdale and get away from my Oasis reputation, kicking, flailing wail.
“I remember that bag.” Philly drummed his nails on the concrete table, eyeing me with an evil eye. “You took it to the laundry.”
“Just before the kid pulled a gun on Huey,” Big Al paused taking a breath. “The kid said it was valuable Big Foot hair, and he wanted to sell it. Huey thought it was funny until the kid pulled a gun. Huey keeps a sawed-off shotgun under the counter. He fired at the kid’s thigh, but a shotgun pellet deflected off something and popped Huey in the cheek. Bloody mess if you ask me.”
Air hissed from my lungs like a singing teakettle. “Oh no. Impossible.” That’s terrible. Will the Others believe I tried to pass alpaca wool off as Big Foot hair? Kill me!
Philly chuckled keeping tune with my hissing. “What a cockamamie idea.”
“Kid confessed to the police. Said he got it from the dumpster across the street.” Big Al nodded toward the security gate. “Outside the Oasis.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Glittery Nose Hairs
“Whoa!” At my feet, Poochy whined because I jerked her leash equally hard as Big Al jerked mine.
I saw the yellowed bag of alpaca wool—hair—whatever it was — lying in the scattered glass debris inside Huey’s entrance. It registered the bag shouldn’t be there; I left it in the knitting classroom. How it ended up in the dumpster across the street from the Oasis was an important development.
Uttering slowly, through my clinched teeth, “That’s hilarious?”
My gray matter sizzled. Did Huey sell me a bag of worthless hair? I mean good grief and my granny panties; I couldn’t knit Philly a sweater from Big Foot hair. That wouldn’t be… I don’t know what it wouldn’t be, but it’d be bad. Aren’t Big Feet—is that the plural of Big Foot—an endangered species?
Philly sniffed, and I watched his glittery nose hairs wiggle.
Big Al twinged, chuckling. “We all thought so last night. Bogus, ain’t it. The state’s analyzing the hair and the bag. Whoever dumped it will have left fingerprints.”
Things have just gotten worse! My fingerprints are all over the dadgum bag. I glanced in the direction of the security gate certain a padded wagon would arrive to carry me to the nearest dungeon.
Philly squirmed. “That’s the truth of the matter. You ready, Bunny? We gotta get to the store to buy Poochy a crate.”
“Yep. Nice meeting you.” I nodded at Big Al and did not shake his paw again. I couldn’t get up from the picnic table bench fast enough.
“See ’ya at dominos tonight.” Philly had my elbow, pushing me forward. Poochy stumbled behind us because he was walking so fast.
“Did you mention my bag to those fellows?” Fellows who were until now anonymous domino players.
“No. I did not. What happened to it?”
My elbow burned where Philly gripped my arm. “Let go of me! You act like I’ve committed a crime.”
“Didn’t you?”
My heels dug deep halting beside the golf cart. “I told you I took my alpaca hair to get washed and spun.”
“Get in your chariot ol’ lady.” Without more protest, I climbed in mainly because I wanted to get away from the Oasis. He picked Poochy up and gently placed her on my skinny knees. She huffed, collapsing since her legs are only three inches long. Leaving Bob’s Burger and running to the golf cart was like running an Olympic marathon for my sweet darlin’ puppy.
“Let’s leave.” I pleaded, but knew Sweetie Bastard wasn’t leaving the Oasis.
Genuflecting, I covered my bases. “Lordy, don’t send me home without my daddy. Not now.”
If there was a real hell, not the one here in the Oasis, but a bona fide location with burning brimstone, lightning and a devil holding a pitchfork, Daddy was there, sitting beside the devil barking out instructions to the unlucky dead.
“What does that mean?” Philly drove like a drunk. For all I know, he was drunk, and it wasn’t with love for his queen. “You’re not religious. Stop crossing yourself.”
Stringy strands of wispy hair caught in my open mouth as I blurted, “I’m missing my daddy.”
Smirking, he put out his arm signaling a right turn. The golf cart has blinkers, but ol’ dogs can’t learn new tricks and as the cart slowed to a roll, Philly ran the stop sign.
A whoop-whoop noise happened, and Philly glanced over his shoulder. “Oh hell, Security Chief saw me run the stop sign.”
He put the pedal to the metal, but the cart’s charge was low and instead of going faster, it slowed. He took his hands off the steering wheel holding them high. Would Mike Riggs draw his pepper spray on him? I know he doesn’t carry weapons.
Security Chief pulled up beside us. “Y’all know you ran a stop sign?” He used an exaggerated poorly done Texas accent as he climbed from the security cart.
Mike twittered titillated by catching a free-willed stop light runner with his hands off the steering wheel.
A giggle began in my belly. For all of Philly’s warnings about driving without a driver’s license, he gets caught running a stop sign.
“Dadgum it, Chief, we robbed the Wells Fargo. Didn’t have time to stop at the silly stop signs. Philly grab the cash we gotta make a run for it.” I smirked containing my chuckle.
Philly sighed and dropped his hands. “Guess I’m heading for the pen.”
“I was just on my way to your house. Caught up with you. I’m not writing you a ticket. Not this time.”
Philly and I shared a glance, and I puckered my puss readying a new smart remark.
Mike hem-hawed. “I knew when I saw you two drive up in that dead Cadillac, you would be trouble. Every few years we get a couple, like you two, who brings trouble into our nice little Oasis. I pegged you right.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said with a grin. “Guess that means you won’t miss us when we move to Scottsdale.”
“Oh, I’ll miss you all right. Can’t wait.” Mike twitched and leaned on the golf cart’s side panel. “Wanted to give you fair warning.”
“Fair warning?” Philly chuckled. Had Mike stopped us making a social call?
“I heard the police want to question you. Nothing official. Just a rumor.” He pointed at me. “About a bag of Big Foot hair.”
Mike’s mouth worked hard, trying to hold back his forming chuckle.
“Mike,” Philly rubbed his glittery nose before he pushed back his ball cap. “Didn’t you agree you’d keep quiet at the game last night?”
Mike snickered. “Yeah, but… it’s too funny… I can’t help it. I’m thinking you’ll have to confess, eventually.”
This time my puckered puss turned into a joker’s grin. “You play dominos with Sweetie Bastard? What the …?”
Philly grabbed my knee and squeezed, I jumped and slapped his arm. “Stop that, it hurts.”
“I wanted to tell you at lunch. Head you off at the pass about the Big Foot joke, but you wouldn’t keep quiet for ten seconds.”
“That’s a woman for you.” Mike snickered more.
“Thanks. That isn’t funny.”
If only these ol’ domino buddies knew my secrets. The alpaca wool was only the tip of the iceberg avalanche started the day I told Gale, the blabbermouth non-denominational Walter Cronkite lover, I was a spiritual advisor.
“Guess the joke’s on me. In my written statement, I mentioned taking the wool to the knitting classroom. I can’t help what happened to it after I left the building.”
Did I mention the wool in my confession? I should’ve asked for a copy.
How did the bag end up in the dumpster off the Oasis’ premises? Someone else must’ve been in the knitting classroom with Sissy and me. Someone who didn’t know how to fix a runaway toilet.
“Do the cops have any leads on who killed Sissy?” It was about time someone asked the right question.
Mike sniffed, getting control of his snicker. “Dunno. Mum’s the word. The kid who robbed, or tried to rob Huey wasn’t a wealth of information.”
“I didn’t kill Sissy.” I said it again, even if the entire knitting club thought otherwise. I’ll probably have to say it a million more times before anyone believes me. “There’s no evidence against me.”
“I know, Hunny Bunny, I know.” Mike tapped the side panel. “See you tonight.”
He stepped back, and my nose shot up in the air. “You do not have permission to call me Hunny Bunny.”
“Right!” He saluted as a new snicker crawled from his rotund belly.
Philly turned the key, but nothing happened. “Ah… hey Mike, we’re outta juice can you give us a tow?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Laughingstock
What is the definition of a laughingstock? I’m in Webster’s dictionary, my ugly mug was taped beside the word and it needs no other explanation.
I thought things wouldn’t get worse, now I’ll probably be charged with cruelty to animals for buying Big Foot hair from Huey.
Sheesh. There’s no such animal.
Mack towed our dead golf cart home, and Philly plugged it into the electricity. His social life and fellow domino dunces depend on his wheels having a good charge. Wouldn’t want him to be late for another Bunny bashing session. He was getting a big kick out of my misery.
Philly piddled near the Arizona room, pretending to work on the project. When he stopped moving, Poochy flopped exhausted on the cool concrete carport. I know how she feels.
Inside, I made a jug of sweet iced tea and pretended to love living in the Oasis. Through the kitchen window, I eyed Philly wishing he’d go away—not go go away but just leave the premises. I wanted to get the crystal ball, tarot cards and the creepy hand out of the park model, before I slipped up and accidentally told him my witchcraft plans. I’d tell Connie I had a change of heart and couldn’t tell fortunes or lies at the next dance. She could put all three toys back in her storage building.
Philly settled on his throne, since he’s my king, I can call his white plastic chair his throne, with a glass of scotch, his tablet and soon his snores rattled the trailer walls.
Tiptoeing, I eased into the bedroom, got down on my knees and fished the crystal ball box, the tarot cards and the creepy hand out from underneath the bed. Since I hadn’t gotten rid of Wanda’s old wedding album, I got the Trader Joe’s bag and put all three witchcraft tools into it with the album. Sitting on the bed, I tested the bag’s weight. It was heavy, but if I planned my moves right, I’d sneak past Philly and get rid of all four things with one stop.
Good thing the golf cart charged fast because I would have time to dump them if need be in the dumpster and get back before Philly woke from his nap.
Once and for all, I was putting an end to my psychic reputation and moving on to—what? Would I ever have a good reputation in this asphalt jungle?
Standing in the kitchen window, I watched for the red ready light on the cart’s charger to blink. After the cart was charged, I’d hightail out of Dodge.
For several days, my new cellphone had set on the bar charging. Philly had given me minor instructions on its works and whatnots, loading his phone number and our new neighbor’s numbers into it. He showed me how to work Google Maps, but I didn’t retain a syllable. What I needed was a compass, not a computerized voice telling me to turn left in three hundred yards. With a compass, I’d know if I was headed north or south, east or west. Odessa was east of Tucson and maybe a little north, if Philly caught me with the witchy stuff, I’d be able to find Texas.
I changed from my memorial outfit, putting on my cutoff blue jean shorts and a cleanish T-shirt. Without my own stack washer and dryer, wearing my clothes more than once made sense since I would have to tote them to the laundromat. I’m not stinky anymore, unless I eat curry. I will not eat Elmer’s chicken curry under any circumstance.
I unplugged the phone and put it in my pocket, listening to Philly’s semi-snore through the thin walls. Pacing impatiently waiting for the golf cart to charge, I grabbed the granny square kit and sat with the instruction sheet.
Don’t I wish I would’ve taken the kit to the memorial instead of the potholder loom? It would’ve saved me from another embarrassing moment.
I read the instructions, cradling the crochet hook in my hand like the example on the sheet and pulled out a length of yarn from a skein. Making a loop, I pulled more yarn through it into a two-loop chain.
Nothing to crochet. I don’t know why I was so afraid of crafts. I pulled more loops with the hook and soon; I had a ten-inch-long rope. Rope! When Philly acts bad I’d hogtie him. I worked harder, leaned back and crossed my legs jiggling my foot.
“I see you’ve learned to crochet.”
I jumped. “Whoa! Where’d you come from?”
Wanda sat in Philly’s chair fiddling with her black boa. “I dunno where I come from. I can’t explain how I get from one place to the other. It’s more a thought than a movement.”
“How about you knock for a change?” I nodded at the closed door. One of th
ese days, Wanda will catch me laid out naked on my fancy Mexican tiles in the Arizona room. That’ll teach her to knock.
“If I knocked, it’d wake Philly and you don’t want him awake, do you?”
I sat back and crocheted more loops, growing my rope. “Hush. He’ll hear you.”
“No, he won’t. He’ll only hear you and think you’re talking crazy.”
I snorted. “Heck, I don’t have to talk to you for him to think me crazy.”
“So, you’re getting rid of the things they sent you?”
I pressed my lips into a straight line. “How do you see everything I do and know everything I think?”
She took a deep breath, her bosom bulged, and I prayed they didn’t bust from her white negligee. Guess an angel has a limited wardrobe and wears the same outfit over several visits.
“It’s… like… telepathy. Radio waves, I guess.” She shrugged, petting her boa. “Gets on my nerves.”
“You’re telling me.” I rolled my eyes.
It was bad enough the entire Oasis of Others were gossiping, but knowing Saint Peter was making a list and checking it twice based on Wanda’s report card of my activities didn’t make me feel better.
“What’s it like? Being dead?” Was dead a state of being?
Wanda smirked. “Confusing at first. It gets better. I liked it more before they assigned me to you. It feels like work.”
“Huh-uh.” She had a point. I wouldn’t want to be assigned to a willful person like me, and I would never have the patience to become an angel.
“You have to turn the crochet and work into the loops.” She motioned at the crochet rope.
“I’ll get the hang of it. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
She leaned back. “About Huey’s crystal ball. You must focus with all your might on the crystal. Clear your thoughts. Let the ball guide you along.”
I chuckled. “Clear my thoughts.” That’s funny. I can’t stop thinking of my thoughts.
“They sent me today to tell you to forget about putting your fortune telling gifts in the trash. If you do, they’ll come back threefold.”
Wool Over Your Eyes Page 14
