Cloud Nine- When Pigs Fly Page 12

  No. It couldn’t be.

  Laverne returned, toting a rusty, gallon-sized tin can.

  Oh my lord. It is.

  Laverne handed me the tin. It was so greasy it slipped out of my hands. Before I could stop him, Snogs dove for the can. He sniffed it, yelped, tucked in his tail, and ran off.

  I picked up the can, still reeling in disbelief.

  “Laverne, they haven’t made this stuff since 1938. Krassco’s a ration from World War II.”

  “Huh. Well, no wonder I can’t find it anywhere. Not even at the Dollar Store anymore.”

  “Laverne, we’re talking seventy-year-old pig lard here!”

  Laverne’s face shot through with panic. “Shh! Not so loud! Randolph might hear you! I know what it is. But I was raised on Krassco, Val. It’s my favorite.”

  “Laverne, I don’t think you get it.”

  I pointed at the greasy words stamped onto the metal, Army-surplus can. “This stuff expired in nineteen forty-eight!”

  Laverne tutted and shook her head.

  “Oh Val, you know you can’t trust those expiration dates.”

  WITH THE LONG-RUNNING mystery of Laverne’s deadly baked goods solved, I turned my attention to the remaining four crises at hand.

  One, Caddy’s was slated for demolition next week by Timothy Amsel. Two, Greg Parsons, the owner, had disappeared. Three, head waitress Norma Jeen was missing, and considered either a victim or a prime suspect. Four, Goober was also MIA.

  Tom had warned me to keep clear of the first three. Those were his domain, and I had to trust him on that. So, there was only one thing left for the crazy gerbil living in my addled brain to do.

  Find Goober.

  And that meant....

  I let out a groan that could be heard in Mexico City.

  I have to call my mother.

  I fixed a gin and tonic and downed it. I fixed another and dialed her number before I lost my nerve.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Vallie? Is that you?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s been so long I hardly recognized your voice.”

  “Right. Mom, what’s that whirring sound?”

  “I’m here at Betty Jean’s Feed and Beauty. Hold up a second.”

  I heard Mom yell, “Elmira! Can you reach back there and turn my drier off for a second?”

  The whirring sound stopped.

  “What’s up with you?” she asked. “Are you in trouble?”

  “No. Just calling to say, ‘hi.’”

  “Uh-huh. Well then, hi. Elmira! You can turn my drier back –”

  “Wait! Mom, I was wondering...have you maybe gotten...uh...a visit from some strange man lately?”

  “Well, yeah. Not me, really. But Dale.” Mom giggled. “Dale said some feller turned up at the door calling him a bastard.”

  “What?”

  Mom laughed. “Funniest story to hit Jackson County in years, Vallie.”

  “What happened?”

  “Awe, nothing much. Turns out it was all a misunderstandin’. Poor feller come knockin’ on our door. Said he was from the New Will Angelical Order of the Southern Methodist United in Spirit Church. Well, a course Dale let him in.”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, that’s when this feller went to tellin’ Dale he was a bastard. You know it ain’t like Dale to get all hot under the collar. But he did.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Dale actually left that feller standin’ in the doorway and went and turned down the volume on the TV to tell me about it. Well, you know I jumped up outta my chair to give that feller a piece of my mind.”

  No surprise there.

  “Geeze, Mom. What happened?”

  “Come to find out, Dale’s hearing aid was on the blink. Poor feller was telling Dale he was a pastor, not a bastard.”

  I waited while Mom laughed over the phone line for a full minute.

  “Ah...whooo!” she finally bellowed after catching her breath. “Cracks me up ever’ time I tell it.”

  “So what happened to the pastor? Did you let him in?”

  “Naw. We sent him on his way. He was a Methodist, after all.” Mom paused a beat and said, “Why, thanky, Elmira.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Oh, that new girl Elmira just brought me a glass of water. You’d be proud of little Greenville, Val. We got us one a them rainbow people workin’ up at the beauty salon.”

  “You mean a gay person?”

  “Huh? I mean a woman with a rainbow afro.”

  My gut flopped.

  “What’s she look like, mom?”

  “Well, if you ask me, she ain’t gonna win no beauty contest anytime soon, but she can tease hair like nobody’s business. She got poor old Alberta’s thin hair all blowed up like an extra-large strawberry cotton candy. It was a downright miracle, if you ask me.”

  “What’s she look like, mom?” I asked again, trying not to sound the least bit impatient.

  “I ain’t one to judge, you know that, Valliant.”

  Yeah, right. “I know, Mom.”

  “Well, let’s see. She’s kinda tall and square-shouldered. And bless her heart, Elmira’s got a five o’clock shadow. But after fifty-five, what woman don’t? Anyway, poor thing. She ain’t too long for this world. Seems like every time I’m in here the ambulance comes and hauls her away for somethin’ or another.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Don’t rightly know. You know I ain’t one to pry. But there ain’t no tellin’ how much time any of us’s got left on this Earth, Valliant.”

  “No, Mom.”

  “So, you comin’ to visit me before it’s too late and the Lord calls me home to my reward?”

  “Yes. How does tomorrow sound?”

  “Well, if that’s the best you can do, I guess I’ll have to live with it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  As I clicked off the phone, the full weight of what I’d just done slammed into me like a ton of hicks.

  There was no turning back. I’d gone and done it.

  I’d told my mother I’d visit her.

  Tomorrow.

  Ugh! Why? Why? Why did I do that to myself?

  I tossed my phone on the couch and slunk off to my home office. I scanned the corners for the cobwebs I’d seen earlier.

  Where’s a black-widow spider when you need one most?

  Assisted suicide apparently off the table, I heaved a sigh and plopped into my desk chair. I leaned over and opened the blinds to let in more light. As I gazed wistfully at the dangling beer cans on Goober’s redneck dreamcatcher, a movement from outside caught my eye. It was my missing-link neighbor Jake. He was crossing the street, carrying a shovel over his shoulder.

  I zipped out the front door after him.

  “What are you doing?” I called out as he stepped onto the sidewalk in front of Nancy’s house.

  “For the luau,” he yelled back, and patted the shovel handle. “Gonna dig a pig-roasting pit in the ground. Nancy asked me to.”

  I sprinted up to him and glanced over at Nancy’s place to make sure she wasn’t spying on us.

  “But Jake, the whole thing is bogus. It’s all a joke.”

  “Not according to Nancy. I mean, what was I supposed to say to her when she asked me to dig the pit? No? We have to at least make it look authentic...you know...like it’s really gonna happen. At least until we get Roscoe out of here.”

  “Randolph. And you’re right. So, how big a hole are you gonna dig?”

  “About the size of a small grave.”

  A glimmer of hope flashed across my mind.

  Maybe I could jump in there when he’s done. Jake could bury me alive. Then I’d be off the hook for Greenville....

  “But it’s only Tuesday,” I said. “What’s the rush?”

  “Roasting a pig in a pit takes a minimum of twenty-four hours. I googled it. Plus, I got appointments coming up in the next few days. I’m gonna be busy.”

>   “But it’s not really gonna happen!”

  Jake’s lips twisted up on one side.

  “Maybe it should, Val. If Nancy gets wind this whole thing was a joke on her, no telling what kind of nasty new regulations she’ll come up with to torture us.”

  “Geeze. Maybe you’re right. Do you think we should, you know, order a pig and just go along with the plan?”

  “Honestly? Yeah. Nancy’s doing most of the work now, anyway. And I can’t take another onslaught of nastygrams. You know I caught her yesterday in my front yard with a ruler? She was measuring my grass blades!”

  “Okay, okay. I’m on it. Any idea where I can get one?”

  “A ruler?”

  “A pig.”

  “You mean besides Laverne’s backyard?”

  “Har har.”

  “How about a butcher? Or a restaurant, maybe?”

  “Vance!” I practically shouted, startling Jake so badly he ducked and nearly dropped his shovel.

  “Is she behind me?” he whispered.

  “Who?”

  “Nancy!”

  “No.”

  “Geeze!” he grumbled. “I thought Vance was some secret code-word for Nancy! Don’t scare me like that!”

  “Sorry. Vance is the husband of my friend Milly. He owns a restaurant. He could hook us up with a pig. I’m sure of it.”

  “Good. Then that’s settled.”

  Jake’s spine went ramrod straight. “Uh-oh,” he whispered. “I see Nancy’s binoculars between the blinds. I better go dig that poor pig’s grave before she starts digging mine.”

  IT WASN’T EVEN NOON yet and my day had already shot completely off the crazy charts.

  I was officially in cahoots with Ferrol Finkerman, of all people. I’d uncovered Laverne’s deadly culinary plot and saved the world from Krassco. I’d downed two gin and tonics and made a date with the devil in Greenville. And now, I was about to order a real pig for a fake luau.

  Tom’s wrong. I’m not a magnet for the absurd. I’m a magnet for the insane!

  I shook my head at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, then walked to the kitchen, picked up my cellphone and punched speed dial.

  “Hey, Milly.”

  “Val! What’s up?”

  “Nothing much.”

  Milly laughed. “Yeah, right.”

  “I need a favor.”

  “Okay....?”

  “Do you think Vance could get me a pig?”

  Milly snorted. “A pig?”

  “Yeah. A pig.”

  “But you’ve already got one. He’s named Tom, remember?”

  “Ha ha. Very funny. I’m dead serious, Milly. You see, I’m trying to save Randolph from the Knick-Knack Nazi by throwing a fake luau.”

  “Oh. Well, why didn’t you just say so in the first place?” Milly waited a beat, then said, “Geeze, Val! What the heck is going on over there?”

  “Don’t ask. Do you think Vance can get me a small pig to roast in a fire pit or not?”

  “Well, sure, I guess. When do you need it?”

  “Uh...Thursday?”

  “I’ll call him. Where do you want it delivered?”

  “Well, I might still be out of town. Better send it to Nancy Meyers’ place across the street from mine. I don’t know her number offhand, but it’s the green house with the military-precision lawn and bushes trimmed into ninety-degree square boxes.”

  “Okay. I’ll do my best. Hey. I know it’s last minute, but are you free for lunch? I’d love to hear the rest of this story. Sounds like your life’s a zoo, as usual.”

  “Yeah. And now I’ve got a pig to add to my collection. Listen, I’d love to get together with you. But not today. I’ve got loads to do. Besides, I’m too nervous to eat.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to Greenville tomorrow.”

  Milly’s playful voice dropped three octaves.

  “Oh. Geeze, Val. What happened? Did your mom finally kick the bucket?”

  “No. That would require too much effort on her part.”

  Milly burst out laughing. “Oh, come on, Val. Meet me at Ming Ming’s for sushi. I don’t want your last meal to be fried chicken gizzards and moonshine.”

  “Actually, moonshine sounds pretty good about now.”

  “WHOA!” MILLY SAID, her green eyes bulging. “Has Tom kept you locked away in a closet and starved you or something?”

  I looked up from my plate at the cute, button-nosed blonde sitting across the table from me at Ming Ming’s. I tried to answer her, but my mouth was stuffed to capacity with sea-creature roll.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled and nearly choked. “Tom’s on this health-food kick.”

  “Is it working?”

  “If you count kicking my butt, yeah. Broccoli and tofu. I tell you, Milly, I can’t take much more of it!”

  Milly tilted her head and looked down at my thighs. “Could have fooled me.”

  “Thanks. Yet another thing to envy you for.”

  “Envy me? For what?”

  “You mean besides the fact that you’re gorgeous and slim? Well, let’s see. Maybe just because you have your total act together?”

  “Val, what are you talking about?”

  “You’ve got the whole storybook, Milly. You’re married to Vance. He’s handsome. Owns his own pub. You live in a fabulous Tudor mansion. You’ve worked your way up to manager at Griffith & Maas. And – this is what I particularly hate about you – you don’t even have cellulite!”

  Milly laughed. “I do, too, but I’m not saying where. And you haven’t done too shabbily for yourself, either, Val.”

  “Yeah. Right. Here I am, Ms. Novelist, with one lousy short story published in a Polk County paper. I’m shacked up with Tom, and I live in an old hoarder’s house I inherited from my parents. How can you stand the glare from my meteoric rise to stardom?”

  “Val, there’s only one thing holding you back. You’re afraid to fully commit to anything.”

  “Ouch.”

  Along with her poison arrow of truth, Milly shot me a sarcastic, yet somehow sympathetic smile.

  “Val, making a commitment means you have to quit waiting around for something better to come along. You have to dive in and claim your prizes. The only thing that ever gets ‘better’ is you.”

  “Geeze, Milly. How can I still be so screwed up at age fifty? I thought I’d have it all figured out by now.”

  “Have what all figured out?”

  “Life. You know, like one of those wise guru men on a mountain top.”

  Milly laughed. “Yeah. Good luck with that. Val, don’t you know by now? Being wise isn’t about knowing everything. It’s about knowing how good you’ve got it – while you’ve still got it.”

  “Geeze. Does that include my mother Lucille?”

  Milly crinkled her button nose. “Well, you’ve got me there.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  When I arrived home from lunch with Milly, Winky was sitting on my doorstep, looking like the only kid in the playground who didn’t get picked for dodge ball.

  As I pulled into the driveway, he stood up and ambled over. I put Maggie in park and killed the engine.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Awe, Winnie’s in one a her moods again,” Winky whined. “I figured I’d best give her some woman space. So I come by to see you. You know anything about women, Val?”

  Really?

  “Not much,” I said. “I’ve only had fifty years of experience. So, what’d you do?”

  “Me?” Winky said, and reared back defensively. “Nothin’!”

  “Then what happened?” I asked as I climbed out of the car.

  “Confound if I know.”

  “Something had to set her off, Winky.”

  “Only one thing I can think of. You know how she’s always workin’ on new recipes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I tasted somethin’ she was workin’ on, and it was godawful!”

 
“You didn’t tell her that, did you?”

  “No. Not directly. I ain’t crazy, you know! But then she went and asked me if I thought her new recipe could win this dad-burned contest thang she’s all hyped up about.”

  My eyebrows scrunched together in anticipation of the coming reply. “And you said?”

  “I told her I wouldn’t feed them cookies she baked to our dogs Nancy Drew and Hardy Boy. I’m tellin’ ya Val, I’ve licked the bottom of shoes that had more flavor.”

  I shook my head. “You didn’t really say that to Winnie, did you?”

  Winky pouted. “Well, it was the truth! I don’t know why she’s got to where she’s so cranky all the time. I tell you, she’s ornerier’n a bulldog with a busted lip. I done skedaddled outta the donut shop a’for she throwed me out.”

  Winky seemed more dejected than angry, and a pang of pity pierced my heart.

  “Come on in,” I said. “Let’s have a beer. You can lay low here a while. I’m sure it’ll all blow over.”

  “Thanky, Val.”

  Winky followed me into the kitchen. I pulled two beers out of the fridge and handed him one.

  “Maybe you should send her some flowers,” I said. “Relationships are work. You don’t want to lose Winnie. If you did, all you’ll have left is that trailer of yours.”

  “Trailer shmailer.” Winky shook his freckled head. “Thangs ain’t what makes people rich, Val. It’s how many folks you get to call your friends.”

  I smiled and patted Winky on the back. “You’re right about that, my friend. Want to stay for dinner?”

  Winky’s freckled nose twitched. “You and Tom still on that health kick thang?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well then, I might just have to graciously decline.”

  I GUESS IT WAS BOUND to happen. Still, I never saw it coming.

  Winky and I were stretched out in recliners in the backyard. We were taking turns teaching Snogs how to howl at the rising moon, and making faces behind Tom’s back as he barbequed a package of fake tofu dogs on the grille.