The sun shone warm and bright on all the beautiful winter flowers decorating the grounds of Perkin’s Park. Many hours and several rides following my unfortunate mishap with Buford Beaver, we had a chance to interact with another character, Dufus, an over-zealous Saint Bernard. Evidently, Buford hadn’t warned him about me. Dufus was friendly and well . . . a dufus. He had a small pad of paper in his hand to do autographs, and for a short moment, I had an unexpected vision. He reminded me of Mildred Locke, the head waitress at the Chow Pal Diner.
Even Dufus’ walk as he sauntered away brought Mildred to mind.
“Do you know who Dufus looks like?” Out of nowhere Arch asked this question. We must have had the same revelation at the same time.
“Mildred Locke?”
Arch closed his eyes and shook his head. When he reopened them he set me straight. “No, I was going to say a hound dog my dad got me when I was six. However, I’m curious why you thought of Mildred.”
Dufus was strolling a little way ahead of us. “Well, she takes clod-hopper steps. Her tail wags to and fro. Of course, it isn’t as long as Dufus’. Not quite anyway. Her hair is more gray, but she does have a lot of it covering her body.”
Arch chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip and watched the character disappear out of sight.
“I’m right, aren’t I? Mildred Locke looks just like Dufus.”
Arch didn’t answer, but the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth told me I was right.
On the third day, Arch, Petey, and I had a chance to meet Darien the Dragon. I started to join Petey next to him so we could have our picture taken. DD shook his head and motioned for me to take the camera and to have Arch in the picture instead. At first I thought maybe Buford had spread the word about me. But, as the dragon limped away I had a sneaky suspicion the employees wore different costumes on different days. Surely I hadn’t maimed him for life.
We arrived home on Wednesday evening in time to unpack and eat dinner. Before we left, Petey’s teacher gave her several assignments my new daughter would have to complete before she returned to her class on Thursday. After she finished the last few pages of her reading assignment, I joined her on the sofa and asked her the questions at the end of the chapter.
“Who owned the boat?”
“Dotno,” Petey answered.
“What do you mean ‘you don’t know’? You just read it.”
“No, that’s his name. Dotno.” I flipped to the back of the book. Sure enough, she was right.
“Where were they going in the boat?”
“To the bottom of the sea?”
At this point, I became very intrigued with the story and asked a question not at the end of the chapter. “Why were they going to the bottom of the sea?”
“Because they just crashed into another boat, and they were sinking. Are we done now?” Petey’s eyes twinkled. I reached across the kitchen table and tweaked her nose.
“You are such a smarty pants. If you’re sure you know all the answers to these questions listed here,” I pointed to the page, “then, yes, we are through. Go take your bath and get ready for bed. When you come out, I’ll fix you a snack.”
Petey traipsed off toward the only bathroom in our small house. Just before our wedding, Arch and I cleaned the spare bedroom where I had stored many of my unopened boxes since the day I’d moved into the house on Marblehead Drive. Petey helped me decorate so it could be her room after her dad and I married.
Arch was raised in the house and his mother had died there. His father, Pete, lived there until he could no longer take care of himself. Arch had moved his father into the Tall Pines Nursing Home a short distance down the road. On several occasions, Pete had escaped from the nursing home, pulled a key from a hiding place, and let himself into my home. I got to know him quite well on those little trips.
I never told anyone this, but the night Pete died, he came to me either in a vision or a dream or whatever that was that left me a scared mass quivering in my bed. He told me he’d tell my dearly departed Nana Byrd that I said hello. I think there might have been a puff of smoke, and he was gone. It still creeps me out a little, but also warms my heart to know he thought enough of me to say goodbye.
Arch, my wonderful husband, sat at the kitchen table putting the finishing touches on his lesson plan for his eighth grade science class from which he’d taken a three day hiatus for our honeymoon. I watched him from the living room. Happy butterflies wiggled and niggled inside me. The next morning Arch would be back at a job he loved. Last year, he’d been named Teacher of the Year, so he must also be good at it.
I knew for sure he was good at showing me and Petey how true and full of love his heart was. Rising from the sofa, I walked into the kitchen and placed my hands on his shoulders.
“I’m almost through here.” Arch turned his head and rubbed his cheek against my hand.
“No hurry. I just couldn’t keep my hands off you another minute.”
As his lips grazed my fingers, I planted a kiss on top of his head. Leaving him to finish his work, I walked to the kitchen window facing the home of the craziest, yet best neighbor I have.
Rick and Barbie Jamison kept their lawn perfectly manicured and were always willing to lend a helping hand at a moment’s notice. Rick is an accountant and Barbie is a . . . well, she’s a fruitcake. Bless her heart. You’ve heard of people marching to a different drummer. Well, Barbie skips through life leaving everyone in her wake with nervous twitches. I’m proud to call her friend, which should tell you a little about my life.
Looking out the window, I could see the end of a beautiful sunny day coming to a close. Pink and yellow light streaked across a slightly cloudy sky and dimmed with each passing minute. Barbie came out her front door and across her lawn toward my house.
A huge oak tree stands stately between our yards. Every evening about this time Barbie goes to that tree, climbs to a large branch and takes her place on an old tractor seat. That is her haven. On several occasions, I’ve joined her. It’s quite relaxing to sit up there and watch the active neighborhood buzz by and not even know it’s being watched.
Tonight, Barbie didn’t make her usual stop at her tree, and for the first time I noticed she carried a container. Since she was walking to my front door, I hurried to open it. “Hi, Barbie.” I gave her as much of a hug as I could without knocking from her hands what appeared to be a cake carrier.
“Come in. You did such a beautiful job decorating for our reception. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“Oh, I loved doing it. It was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Here.” Barbie shoved the plastic container at me.
“What’cha got?” I took it from her.
“I made you something to remind you of your honeymoon.” Barbie giggled and jumped up and down. I thought she might wet her pants.
Setting the container on the end of the table not occupied by Arch, I hurried to look inside. There I found a cake in the shape of a . . . well, it was in the shape of a penis. A green penis. A green penis with a hole in the side of it. A piercing, perhaps? Confused and slightly embarrassed, I stared at it for a long time. I’m not sure what I thought it was going to do, but that’s all I could do. Just stare.
Petey came up behind me. “What’s that?” Her sweet voice startled me. I slammed the lid closed. Arch looked at me, a smile lining his lips. Poor man, he had no idea how embarrassed he was about to become. Barbie clapped her hands, giddy with excitement. Before I could object, Petey snatched the container open. I cringed. My face flamed. We all stared into the container.
“Cool,” Petey cried. “A cake in the shape of Florida. Look,” she pointed, “there’s Lake Okeechobee. Can I have a piece for my snack?”
My heart dropped to my stomach and bounced about three times, like it was on a trampoline. I must have made a choking sound because everyone looked my way. I hustled to get plates to serve the green thing. Arch came up behind me and reached into the drawer to take out forks for us all. He leaned to whisper in my ear, “I know what part of our honeymoon that reminds you of. I’ll remind you again in a little while.”
I nudged him with my elbow. “I’ll remind you to remind me.”
I returned to work the next morning full of anticipation of what my day would hold. I’d worked for my father in our family business as a hired hand, more or less, until a few months before when Pop decided to retire and turn the business over to me. I returned from a short vacation and found he had given the building’s exterior a make-over. He also changed the name from Byrd and Sons to Bertie’s Towing and Garage. Each time I think of how I felt when I first saw the place with my family and friends standing in the parking lot, my heart melts and my eyes blur.
Pop still putters around the garage when the mood strikes him, or if we get slammed with business. Mostly he hangs out in the private office he had for thirty-five years, napping on the old sofa until Mom or I wake him up.
It felt good to be back at work. I never knew what my day would entail, but it always held the possibility of being unique. Loosely translated that means weird. Pop hadn’t shown up yet, but Linc, the man who’d worked with us for several months, was washing the tow truck.
“Welcome back, Miss Bertie.” He waved a wet soapy rag in the air and water splashed onto his coveralls. “Or should I call you Mrs. Fortney now?”
“Just make it Mrs. Bertie.” I went inside the building and then stopped to watch him through the huge picture window. I like Linc. He’s tall and lanky and always looks a little confused. He moved to Sweet Meadow from Atlanta where he worked for Craig Towing. Mr. Craig had a daughter he thought would make Linc a perfect wife. Linc didn’t agree. So, lucky for us, they parted ways. Since he came to work with us, he’d been a loyal and trustworthy employee.
After he finished cleaning the truck, he came inside. “Got any jobs for me this morning?”
I moved behind the counter and shuffled through a few repair orders. Finding one, I handed him the paper. “You can start on the Dodge pickup. Here’s the order Pop wrote up. Let me know what parts you need.” Linc loped into the garage.
I picked up the phone to call Mary Lou, but when I put the receiver to my ear there was no dial tone. “Hello?”
“Bertie?” Millie Keats spoke in an unusually soft voice.
“Yeah, Millie.”
“What’s wrong with you? Don’t I deserve a good morning?” Sarcasm abounded. That was the Millie we all knew and loved.
“Of course you do. Sorry. Good morning. Bertie’s Towing and Garage. May I help you?” I can be pretty cynical when the need arises.
“I need a ride to the beauty parlor. My ‘do is a don’t today.” Millie could also be pretty funny.
“Would it do me any good to plead to your good nature and tell you I don’t have time to take you? Today’s my first day back from my honeymoon, and I’m really backed up.”
“Well, send that little hottie that works for you.” She referred to Linc. Through the window looking into the garage, I stole a glance at him curled under the hood of the pickup he was working on. Hottie? I didn’t see it. The last time I sent Linc on a Millie run she scared the poor guy so badly he threatened to quit if hauling her carcass around was part of his job description.
“Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes. I’ll drop you off, but you’ll have to get someone else to pick you up. Is that a deal?”
“All right. All right. Jeeze, Bertie, you act like I got nothing better to do than spend my time finding someone to take me places.” Millie hung up without a goodbye, kiss my foot, or drop dead.
I rubbed my eyes with my fists and took several deep breaths. Millie was a force to be reckoned with. She was demanding, self-centered, and old. I respect old people. Of course in Millie’s case, I know what she’s capable of. Therefore, I just plain feared her.
I told Linc where I was headed and jokingly asked if he’d rather go get Millie. He bolted upright and hit his head on the hood. “No. I don’t wanna go. Please.” His voice cracked.
“Calm down. I’m just kidding.” With shaking hands, Linc went back to work. Millie had evidently traumatized the poor guy. I should be ashamed of myself taking such pleasure in someone else’s misery. An evil laugh threatened to erupt from inside me. I hurried on my way.
I collected Millie and drove her to the Curl Up and Dye hair salon located in the middle of Sweet Meadow. All the way there, she babbled about how good it felt to do her duty for women everywhere. “Even if the woman is that heathen Donna. At the end of the day, we are all sisters, and we must stick together.”
I didn’t really want to know what connection Millie had with Donna. The phrase “let sleeping dogs lie” seemed very appropriate where Donna was concerned. As Millie slid from the tow truck seat, two Garden Club ladies rushed to the door of the salon to greet her.
“I told Donna,” Millie called to them. They all giggled like school girls.
As Millie headed to the door, I yelled, “Hey, you could at least give me a tip.”
“Wear goulashes in muddy weather.” She snorted and disappeared inside.
On my way back to the garage, I was traveling along highway 440 and had just passed the Stop and Flop Motel when a woman raced from a stand of trees next to the road. Even though she waved wildly, jumping up and down, and had twigs sprouting from her hair, I instantly recognized Donna Carson. Screeching my tow truck to a stop a good fifty feet away, I waited for her to catch up.
She yanked open the door and climbed in. Gasping for air, she clutched her chest and wheezed, “Go. Follow that car.”
“Who do you think I . . . ?”
Donna smacked me on the shoulder, and I stomped the gas. “Which car?”
“The red truck turning left up there.” Donna panted and pulled small pieces of trees from her hair.
“Oh, that car. Why didn’t you say so? And why are we chasing it?”
“Udell’s in there.” Udell is Donna’s husband and father of her three darling brats.
She stuck her leg over the transmission hump in the floorboard and tramped on top of my foot causing my vehicle to lunge forward like a cat with its tail on fire. And I would know about such things. I have two brothers.
As luck would have it, Chief of Police Bob Kramer cruised past us. If he tried to pull me over for speeding, I wasn’t sure Donna would let me stop, and there’d be a high-speed police chase. I couldn’t chance that, so I flipped on the wrecker’s beacons. Chief Kramer would think I was hurrying to an accident and leave me alone. It was only a small lie because if I didn’t get my truck under control, there was going to be a for-real accident.
“Stop it, Donna.” I shoved her leg away and slowed down a little in time to make a turn onto Franklin Street. I only took up half of the on-coming lane, causing Martha Dandridge to swerve to the curb. “Why are we chasing Udell?” I demanded.
“He was at the motel with Joline Thomas. Millie called to tell me he was there. I was slipping through the woods to catch him when he came out of the room and got into his truck. I didn’t have time to get back to my car to go after him.” She pointed ahead. “Hurry, he’s getting away.
Udell’s red truck was a good quarter mile ahead of us. I could have caught him, but I didn’t want to watch Donna murder her husband. I didn’t have time to go to court as a witness or to jail as an accomplice. I stayed at a safe distance, but gave the impression we were in hot pursuit.
Udell threw a piece of paper from his truck. It flew at us and wrapped around my antenna. I reached out the window and pulled it inside. Donna snatched it from my hand.
“You can stop now,” she said.
I pulled to the side of the road.
“This paper gives me all the proof I need that Udell’s been cheating on me. That good for nothing son of a shish kebob.” She slumped back against the seat.
“What is it?” I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t dying to know.
“It’s the receipt for the motel room. He paid cash.” Her voice quivered. Was Donna going to cry? I’ve known her all my life and have never seen her cry. “He is such an idiot.”
Good. At least she wasn’t crying.
“He registered under the name of Smith . . . Udell.”
The Carsons had never been known for their intelligence. As a matter of fact, Udell’s brother once stuck a hand gun down his pants and then practiced his quick draw.
You’re way ahead of me, aren’t you? That’s right. Udell’s brother’s family is jewel-less.
At the end of the day, Linc pulled the huge overhead garage doors down and locked them for me. I’d already put the money into a tiny safe we’d used for years and was ready to leave when he did. Since he was on duty that night, Linc drove the wrecker to his house. I walked next door to my parents’ home to get Pop’s car keys. I drove his car on nights I wasn’t on duty.
From the front door, I could hear Mom talking in the kitchen. I moved down the hall toward the sound of her voice. “Oh, sweetheart, she’s here right now.” Mom looked my way and shoved the phone in my face. “Say yes, Bertie.”
“Yes.”
She put the receiver back to her ear. “See, I told you. See you soon. Love ya.” She hung up.
I snagged a cookie from a cooling rack. “What did I agree to?” I bit into the warm chocolate chip treat.
“Billy and Nancy are going on a second honeymoon, and they need someone to watch Brenda.”
Ugh. “Mom, you know I’m not good at taking care of kids.”
“Well, you better get good at it. You have one of your own now. Besides, Brenda and Petey are the same age. They’ll be company for each other. Your brother never asks anything from you. It’s the least you can do.”
Billy and I were closer in age than we were to our older brother, Bobby. As a child, he was so rotten Billy and I had to join forces just to stay alive. Mom was right; he’d never asked me for a favor like this, and it wouldn’t hurt me to watch my niece for a few days.
“How long will they be gone?” I reached for another cookie.
Mom smacked my hand. “Those are for the bake sale at the church tomorrow. They’ll be gone four days. They’ll be here Saturday.” She handed me a cookie and smiled.
The morning was quiet. Too quiet. I watched as Linc pulled into the parking lot in front of the building. Jumping out of the driver’s seat, he sprinted toward the entrance. He took a quick look behind him, flung open the door and stumbled in.
“Help me,” he squawked, jumped over the counter, and slumped to the floor. He curled into a fetal position.
I stood dumbfounded behind the chest-high divider that doubled as my desk. “What’s going on?” I looked down at him and stepped aside so he wouldn’t drool on my shoe. “Is Millie Keats chasing you again?”
He looked up at me with more pleading in his eyes than I’d seen since the last time Donna caught her husband with another woman. Actually, Udell did more than plead; he begged Donna to spare his life and that of his hound dog, which Donna didn’t like anyway.
But I digress.
Out front, two men on Harleys skidded to a stop next to the tow truck out of which Linc had just bailed. In short order, they sidled in. The first one’s height didn’t compute with his width. He was approximately five foot ten and easily tipped the scales at four hundred pounds. Evidently, his T-shirt also served as his lunch box, because there were enough food droppings on it to feed a tiny nation. The other man was tall and thin and clean. I liked clean in a man.
The big guy stepped to the counter. “I’m looking for Lincoln.”
I quickly glanced down. Linc had his eyes squeezed shut and appeared to be praying. I looked back at Big Boy. “He isn’t here right now.” Surely God would forgive a little lie like that since it appeared to be so important to my trustworthy and dependable employee, even if he did happen to be sniveling at my feet. I knew there would be a good reason.
“Ma’am, I know he’s here ’cause his wrecker’s outside.” The man hooked his thumb toward the window.
“Oh, I drove the truck this morning.” Sometimes lying came so easily, it scared me.
“No, you didn’t. I was at his house last night, and that truck was parked in his yard.”
Linc wrapped his arms around my legs making it impossible for me to move without falling over.
“What do you want with Linc?” I asked.
“You tell him he can’t hide forever. I’ll find him and make him pay for what he did to my daughter.”
Linc tightened his grip. I leaned my arms on the counter top, raised my feet off the ground, and did a scissor spread with my legs, breaking his hold on me. He moved away, and I lowered myself back to the floor. The two men watched with interest.
“Sorry.” I grappled for a reasonable explanation for my actions. “Just doing some exercises.” I lifted myself up a couple more times and then said, “Didn’t want to cool down too quickly.”
“You all through now?” the big guy asked.
I stretched my arms over my head and across my chest a few times. “Oh, yeah. All through, and ready to face the day.”
“Good. Now, you pass that message along to Lincoln for me, ya hear?” He started backing away.
“Sure.” I gave him thumbs up. “But whom shall I say left him the message?”
He pulled a small, spiral notebook from his back pocket. As he held out his hand, his quiet companion handed him a pen he pulled from his shirt pocket. The bigger man scribbled something and tore the sheet loose. He came only close enough to hand it to me. I looked at it. It contained one word. “Budda.”
“Okay, Mr. Budda, I’ll tell him you--eeoowww!!!”
With his fist, Linc had hit me soundly on top of my shoe, sending shards of pain radiating through my entire foot and out my toes. Without taking my eyes off Budda and his little buddy, I kicked Linc in the shin. “Leg cramp.” I explained.
The man nodded. “The name’s Bubba, ma’am.”
“But you spelled it with d’s.” From the floor, I could tell Linc was raising his fist to give me another whack. I moved my foot a fraction of a second before he struck. He hit the concrete. I stomped my foot a couple of times and said to the two men, “Oooo, those leg cramps are dillies. Ever have one?”
The small guy stepped up. “Yeah, boy, I had one right—” With one hand, Budda turned the fellow and shoved him out the door.
He turned back to me. “Tell Lincoln the next time he sees blood it will be his.”
Thankfully, the slamming door nearly drowned out the whimpering coming from the floor by my feet. Until the two men got onto their Harleys and disappeared out of sight, I pretended to shuffle through the papers on the counter.
“Okay, they’re gone,” I said to the quivering mass on the floor. “You can get up.”
He did. I fisted my hands to my hips. “What’s the big idea hitting my foot? That hurt.”
“I didn’t want you to say anything about his writing.”
I wish I could say this was an unusual occurrence for me. But it wasn’t. It’s my world, and welcome to it.
“Linc, what are you talking about? Who are those guys?”
“That’s Bubba Craig.” Linc inhaled a ragged breath.
I glanced at the paper he had given me. “It says Budda here.”
“He writes his letters backward. He’s dizzy something or other.”
“You mean he’s dyslexic?”
“Yeah, and he gets downright mad at people who correct him.”
I wiggled my toes hoping some of the feeling would come back. “Okay, so you didn’t want me to point out he writes his name backward, but what does he want with you?”
“He’s Broomhilda’s father.” Linc swiped at tears clinging to his long lashes.
“The man who fired you from your last job because you refused to marry his daughter?”
“I didn’t exactly tell the truth about that. I didn’t get fired. I ran away. It was the only way I could escape Broomhilda.” He removed his ball cap and twisted it in his fists.
“Okay, so you didn’t get fired. And quit calling her Broomhilda. She can’t be all that bad.”
Linc laid his hat aside and pulled his wallet from his back pocket and removed a folded newspaper clipping. He opened it and handed it to me. It was a photo of a woman in a witch’s costume.
“So?” I handed it back.
He shoved it back at me. “Read it.”
I sighed. I didn’t really have time for this. I had work to do, but I looked at it again.
“It says, ‘Judy Craig Elected President of Wrecker Association’.” Linc had long ago confessed Broomhilda’s real name was Judy. Now she was the president of something. What was he trying to tell me? Why was she dressed up like a witch?
“Was this taken at a Halloween costume party?” I handed it back.
“Don’t you get it?” He took it and pointed at it. “She’s not in costume. That’s how she looks all the time.”
I took another look and did an inward shudder. “Cripes, has she ever heard of plastic surgery?”
“What she really needs is a plastic surgeon to work on her disposition.” His voice quivered. I thought he might cry.
I patted his shoulder. “There, there. Budda . . . Bubba can’t make you marry his daughter.”
“But you heard what he said. The next time I see blood, it’ll be mine.”
“You can’t let that bully scare you.” I took a hard gander at Linc’s long, long legs. “For one thing, you can outrun him, if you have to. And when’s the last time you saw blood? A long time, I bet. And it’ll be a long time before you see it again.” I tried to make light of the situation with a heartfelt laugh.
“I saw lots of blood this morning.” His bottom lip trembled.
I stopped laughing. “Where?”
“In my bed.”
“Okay, Linc, I’ll bite. How did blood get in your bed?”
“Bubba came into my room while I was sleeping and put a raccoon head in bed with me.” He slumped into a chair.
“Good heaven. What is that? The redneck’s version of the Mafia?”
“Exactly. And Bubba is their godfather.” At that, Linc burst into tears.