by Gina LaManna
“Nah, that’s okay,” I said. “Looks dangerous.”
“Not if you use it correctly,” Horatio winked.
I made a disgusted face before turning my attention to my cousin. “Look, Clay I have to talk to you. Sooner, rather than later, would be preferable.”
“Great. I’d love to chat,” Horatio said. “I love helping out new friends. Do you have an extra juice box? I love Capri Suns.”
I gave Clay eyes, hoping he’d get the picture and either step away with me privately for a moment, or tell his friend to skedaddle for the time being. To my dismay, Clay’s wandering glance focused on anything in the room except my eyes, so I turned toward his guest. “Of course. I’ll see what I can find. Clay, could you help me grab something from my room, please?”
“I can help,” Horatio said, leaping to attention. “I like to make myself useful.”
“Oh, never mind,” I said with a shrug. “I found it.”
Before I had to make up an item that I’d supposedly just found, I scurried into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, looking for some sugary beverage to offer Horatio. There were no more drinks of any sort, but I did find Tupac tucked away behind a box of macaroni and cheese. It was actually weirder to find a box of mac and cheese in the fridge than my cat.
I petted Tupac’s ears and whispered, “I understand. I wish I fit in there, too, sometimes.”
Finding a clean drinking glass was nothing short of a miracle, and I popped in a few ice cubes and filled it up with tap water. I tossed Tupac an extra kibble for being so nice when guests were around, and left the door to the fridge slightly ajar in case he got the urge to come join the party.
“I only had water,” I said, handing the drink to Horatio. “Sorry about that.”
“Oh, no, this is fine,” Horatio said, raising the glass to his lips and guzzling as if it were the last bit of H2O on earth.
“More?” I asked, as he downed the glass in one sitting.
“Nah.” Horatio smacked his lips and rested a hand on his stomach. “That was great.”
A flash of skin which happened to be the bottom of Horatio’s rotund belly protruded more than a little bit from the waistline of his shirt. His pants were not pulled up nearly high enough to cover the extra skin. I looked away.
“So, what did you need to talk about?” Clay asked. “Horatio is a friend. We can all talk together.”
“Mmm,” I murmured. “Yes, I suppose.”
“Do tell! I love solving problems.” Horatio grinned. “I mean, my girlfriend is a therapist, so she has a ton of problems. I’m used to it.”
“Your girlfriend talks about her clients?” I asked. “Isn’t that illegal?”
Clay rolled his eyes, as if the thought of me caring about a tiny issue like legality was funny.
“Oh, I don’t mean her clients,” Horatio said. “I mean her. She’s got problems coming out of the wazoo. Guess it takes one to know one, if you know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t know.” I looked at Clay, wondering why he’d invited this crazy person into our home. Then again, maybe Horatio wasn’t lying, and his girlfriend did have problems. As a matter of fact, I could think of one problem she had right off the bat; a lingering ailment whose name was Horatio. Or Henry. Or whatever.
“How did you two meet?” I looked back and forth between them.
“Oh, the Internet. You know, Clay is always—” Horatio started.
Clay butted in, “—what did you have to discuss, Lace?”
I tore my astounded gaze away from Horatio, and I forced myself to remember the more pressing assignment from Carlos even though I had a sudden burning curiosity to find out what Clay was “always doing” on the Internet.
“Uh,” I said, wondering what I could say to tip off Clay that’d I’d received a new assignment from Carlos and needed his help. There was nothing that intrigued Clay more than the promise of a puzzle to solve. “Our grandfather – he, uh, he wanted me to find a special sauce for the Fourth of July barbecue.”
I emphasized sauce, hoping Clay would correctly assume that this was about more than a fancy style of ketchup.
“My favorite sauce,” Horatio broke in, “is a nice, spicy Poupon. It’s technically mustard, but boy. A spoonful of that will clear your sinuses right out.”
“Right,” I said. “Well, Clay. Maybe you’ve experienced the magic of this special sauce before. This is my first family barbecue, so I honestly don’t even know what to look for. I could use your help.”
I didn’t mention a thing about my birthday, mostly since it was getting depressing having people forget about my birthday, especially a big one like thirty. I made the snap decision to stop telling folks about the occasion at all. I’d rather them simply forget it than just not care.
“Dave’s Special Grilling Sauce is what you’re looking for,” Clay said. “This guy cooks it up out in the middle of nowhere. He doesn’t have a store, doesn’t own a computer – he sells it out of his shed off the side of the highway. It’s about forty minutes away, somewhere north of Stillwater.”
“Let me guess,” Horatio said, pointing a finger at Clay as if it were a gun. “The guy’s name is Dave.”
I glanced at Clay, to see if he could tell whether his friend was serious or not.
Clay’s nose wrinkled and he gave a slight nod, “Yes.”
“I knew it.” Horatio looked so proud, I had the sinking feeling that he hadn’t been joking. “Call me Detective Horatio.”
“How do people know about him if he doesn’t have a website or a storefront?” I asked.
Clay shrugged, looking down at his hands. “Uh, there was this one time...” Clay paused and looked to Horatio for help. “...Anthony gave me the address. But I’ve never been there.”
“Let me guess. I’m a detective, I can figure it out. Listen to this,” Horatio said, pursing his lips in deep thought. “I’m sensing that someone drove by this teensy little stand, saw the sign, and picked up a bottle. Then, they loved it. Maybe they put up a post online and people went wild. It went...viral.”
Clay’s eyes brightened. “You know, I think you’re right. Except it wasn’t just anyone, it was the most well-known food critic in the entire metro area. He discovered the sauce and published a piece in the Trib. The thing went, as you say, viral.”
“Woohoo,” Horatio said. “I am on a roll. Call me Chief Detective Horatio.”
“Is that right?” I asked with hesitation. I wasn’t sure I believed the entire story.
“Yeah,” Clay said. “This whole hipster movement put Dave in business. The kids these days don’t like big corporate businesses like McDonalds. They like the whole indie business thing, and they adored his sauce so much that he could’ve gotten a deal on his own, but he refused. Dave kept his little stand.”
“Great,” I said. “Do you know where this little stand is?”
“Sure thing,” Clay said. “It’s—”
“Hang on,” I said, standing up to grab a pen and paper. If I couldn’t get Clay alone to talk about the fireworks debacle, I might as well get cracking on the sauce issue. The sooner I got that out of the way, the more time I could focus on the bigger, more important issue.
Heck, maybe I’d even give Meg a call and see what she was up to. We could take a quick zip up to Stillwater, grab Dave’s “shed on the side of the road” sauce, and maybe stop by my favorite candy shop on the way back. They offered free samples, so it would be worth the three-mile detour.
“You ready?” Clay asked.
I opened the pad of paper I’d scrounged up from the dredges of my purse. Flicking away an old piece of Trident, I nodded. “Hit me.”
Clay read off an address that even sounded like it was in the middle of nowhere. I raised my eyebrows, scribbled it down, and then typed it into the map app on my phone. The room was silent as the app struggled to find the address.
Finally, the screen flashed once: Address Not Found.
“Dang, this place is in the bo
onies,” I said, trying to refresh the app.
“It might not be on the map,” Clay said. “That is the address of his stand, after all, which just sits at a little roundabout. There’s not even a house there. You can barely call it a scenic overlook. Anthony warned me about this.”
The app again blinked an error message at me. I looked up, perplexed. “How did people find places before cell phones?”
Horatio laughed, but Clay didn’t. My question was not rhetorical.
Clay even looked a bit surprised. “Great question. Let me look.”
Horatio’s eyes followed Clay as my cousin pulled up a laptop and Googled the phrase: How to find an address without a phone?
“Are you serious?” Horatio said. “I know exactly where that is. That’s a few doors down from my grandma’s farm – and by a few doors, I mean the place is miles away, but literally nobody lives out there. I think I might even remember seeing the stand one time. Never stopped if I did, though. Probably should. I love a good sauce. Especially a nice, spicy Poup—”
“Can you tell me how to get there?” I asked.
“Sure thing. Just follow 36W,” Horatio leaned far too close for my comfort and drew out a map of the Twin Cities area, then extended it to Stillwater, a quaint little town that guarded the border between Minnesota and Wisconsin, looking pretty in the summer months and charming during the winter chill.
“Great. I think I know how to get there now,” I said. “Stillwater’s pretty small – there’s only about two roads going in and out of the place, so I’m sure I can find it.”
“Just ask anyone around there. They all know each other, so if there’s a Dave out there, they’ll know,” Horatio nodded. “This is my grandma’s number. Call her if you need to.”
“That is very sweet,” I said, meaning it. “I really appreciate your help.”
“Can’t believe you guys don’t use maps,” Horatio said. “I mean, that’s half the fun.”
I wrinkled my nose, and Clay also appeared to disagree.
“Anyway, I best be off,” Horatio said. “I have a family event tonight that I unfortunately cannot miss, though I’d love to stick around longer.”
“That’s okay,” Clay said. “I have to go, too.”
“You do?” I asked. “Where? You don’t want to ride out to Dave’s with me?”
“I have to go do something,” Clay said. “Sorry. Why don’t you call Meg?”
“Yeah, I was going to,” I said. “But the more the merrier. Anyway, thanks for the info, guys. It’s very helpful. Clay, maybe we can talk more tonight?”
“Of course,” he said, already on his feet and headed towards the door.
Horatio followed him closely, and I waved as they exited the room.
I sat back, staring at the map. Maybe I should call Anthony first? I pulled up his number on my phone, thinking I should at least touch base with him on the fireworks issue before heading out to the boonies. Plus, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to let him know where I’d be. Who knew if my phone would work up at Dave’s stand? Also, if he gave Clay the address, maybe he’d have tips on how to find the place.
Standing, I decided to make myself a sandwich, call Anthony, and then pick up Meg, all in that order. I was assuming Meg could go, which was a pretty fair assumption. As an ex-cop and current bar owner, most of her work was at night. And most of her work hours were spent sipping cocktails at her bar and shooting the breeze with her patrons.
I debated resting a moment before eating, but one look around the living room, and I realized that wouldn’t be happening. There was no place to sit. Clay and Horatio had moved the furniture into all the wrong spots. Computers were piled high on the couch, the armchair in the corner housed a blinking tower that was slightly intimidating, and the floor was rife with wires and cords in all colors of the rainbow.
Sandwich it is, I thought, heading to the kitchen. I dug behind Tupac for a container of mustard, squirted a blob of ketchup on a piece of pasty white bread, and for lack of anything more interesting, I added a leftover hunk of meat from one of Clay’s more recent beef bowls. Satisfied with my concoction, I moseyed over towards my room, resigned to eat on my bed. But as I passed by the living room, the laying desk caught my attention. Yes, it looked a little bit like a death trap, but I also was a bit curious as to how it worked. Treading carefully over cords and wires, I maneuvered my way to the machine.
There was a long, internal debate in my head about whether or not climbing in would be a bright idea. However, as usual, my curiosity won out, and I set my sandwich beside the chair. Wiggling my butt into where I thought the seat might go, I adjusted my arms and legs until I was eighty percent sure I was sitting right side up.
Not bad, I thought. It wasn’t exactly like I held a steady desk job and was in need of the contraption, but I could see the appeal of such a thing. Lying down was probably better than sitting all day for a person’s neck, especially if that person had a head the size of Clay’s. If only it reclined a bit...
I reached for my phone and pulled it out. It was more comfortable than I expected here, so I might as well give Anthony a call before I finished my sandwich and headed out to meet Meg.
I pressed dial, and it didn’t take long for the deep, rolling voice of Anthony to answer.
“Hey there, buddy,” I said. “I was just calling to say hi.”
“Mmm.”
“You don’t believe me,” I retorted.
“Doll, you never call to just say hi.” I could picture Anthony’s cheek quirking up with a small smile.
“That’s not true,” I said, unable to help the grin pulling at my lips.
“You’ve called me to help catch murderers. You’ve called me for a ride. You’ve even called me because you thought there was a tarantula in your bedroom. But no, sugar. You haven’t called me just to say hi.”
“It was a really big sock in my bedroom,” I said, playing absentmindedly with some of the levers on the chair. “It looked like a tarantula. It was fluffy.”
“What do you want?” Anthony asked, his voice teasing but also curious. “I’m available to help catch spiders whenever you’d like. As long as you’re alone in your bedroom.”
“Uh, well. Like I said, I was just calling to say hi. So I’m going to hang up now.” I clicked the hang up button on my phone before I could chicken out.
Anthony brought out the stubborn streak in me, whether it was during hard workouts at the gym or playful banter over the phone. I looked down at my phone. I didn’t want to admit that there was a small part of me hoping he’d call back. Yeah, yeah, it was such a sixteen-year-old girl thing to do: hang up the phone on purpose, and then hope your boyfriend magically knew to call you back. Wait a second, Lacey, I told myself. He is not your boyfriend. Not yet.
“Co-worker,” I whispered to myself. “Co-worker.”
Like I needed reminding. Despite recent advancements in our relationship, we were still in unsure waters. I thought Anthony liked me most days, but there were other times when I couldn’t even pretend that I knew what was going on in that thick skull of his. He went from saying he wanted to date me, to not seeing me for a week straight. Sure, he had a demanding job but still, a girl had to wonder.
My phone beeped and my heart leapt into my throat. Immediately, I blushed and forced myself to not look at the screen. It was stupid to assume that the ring was Anthony – I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t a teenaged girl with a crush.
Dang it. I looked at the screen.
ANTHONY.
My heart melted a little bit. He called me back!
“Hello?” I answered, only a bit out of breath.
“Where are you?” he asked, not sounding as annoyed as I would have expected.
“I’m at home,” I said much too quickly. “Alone.”
“Why are you out of breath?”
“I’m not,” I said, hiding as much of the nervousness in my voice as I could. He called me back! I couldn’t believe it. I was as happy as if he�
��d asked me to prom. “In fact, I’m sitting in this new contraption that Clay invented.”
“Does it explode?” Anthony’s voice tinged with worry. It was a valid question – one of the last things Clay’d invented came in the form of a sparkly dress and had nearly blown me to shreds in a Vegas wedding chapel. Again, different story.
“No, it’s perfectly safe!” I rested my hand on the lever that looked like an armrest. “It’s a laying desk. For the lazy person.”
There was silence on the other end of the line, possibly because Anthony was a gym trainer and the least lazy person I knew. He was not a member of the chair’s target audience, or the type of guy who would appreciate this type of thing, but I barely noticed his judgmental silence because the lever I’d thought was an armrest had begun to move.
I tried to sit up and find the Off button, but there was no Off button to be found. Or even a button that said On. Or any buttons at all.
“Crap,” I said. “Crapola.”
“Why do you need a laying desk?” Anthony asked, distracting me from my task.
“It’s not for me.” I tried to slide out of the chair, but the lever had caused my feet to tip up, and my head to tilt back, and I was almost in the position of a handstand. Except the bar across my lap was squeezing my thighs so tight I didn’t need to use my hands. Instead, I grasped the bar and yanked, trying to get it to loosen up.
“What’s wrong?” Anthony said. “Exhausted from browsing the Internet?”
“Funny,” I said. “Except, I think I’m stuck.”
Another beat.
“Stuck,” I said. “I’m stuck here.”
“Do you need help?” Anthony asked.
“No.” That was a lie. My face was turning beet red, and I was getting mighty uncomfortable. Not to mention, my sandwich was out of reach.
“I’ll come over and help you out of that thing,” Anthony said. “On one condition.”
“How far away are you?” I asked. “Because how long I have to wait for you to get here directly affects that condition.”
“I’m five minutes away, and the condition is you tell me what you initially called for.”
“You want me to admit I didn’t call you just to say hi,” I said.
