Chapter 1

I tailed the speed-demon hostess as she steered me through an obstacle course of non-smokers, misbehaving children, and waitresses hell-bent on mastering their balancing act. I followed her all the way to the back of the restaurant: the loathsome, remote place that housed and ostracized the smokers.

"Coffee,” I instructed, sliding into the hunter green booth and retrieving the pack of cigarettes from my back pocket. “And she'll have an Earl Grey,” I added, nodding in the direction of Claudia, several paces behind.

Nearly side-swiping the waitress, Claudia neared the table. A newspaper hitched a ride under her arm. She sat down and without a word began to read the day's headlines. Historically, I avoided them, failing to find sense in starting any day with bad news.Give me caffeine or give me death!

And a flawless calm until the fog clears. Newspapers existed for potato peelings, birdcages, and puppy puddles.

Claudia was different, though: a self-proclaimed woman of the world who believed that information begets control. If she knew, she could take charge. If she knew, she could predict.

She did not like uncertainty.

The newspaper gave her those stock market codes and numbers that were gibberish to me. She had convinced herself long ago that her faithful eyes would somehow cause her nest egg to grow, incubated by sheer intent. Even I had to admit that the stocks she inherited from her grandmother, a few years ago, had steadily fattened. She wouldn't have to worry about her financial horizon, but I doubted that mere vigilance was the real catalyst. If you predicted enough times, you'd be bound to be right sooner or later.

And for someone who didn't have to worry ... This morning, her beetle-brow twisted more tautly than the blue band tethering her long French braid.

"Are you going order?” I asked, sliding a menu in her direction, forcing it under her newspaper.

She nodded in affirmation but failed to look up.

While the waitress delivered our beverages, I glanced over the menu as I prepared my coffee for desperate consumption. With one eye on each activity, I managed to pour cream, pick from the menu, stir, and get the cup to my lips without another infamous disaster.You look good in coffee.

Yes, you wear it well.

"Any idea what the theme is today?” I begrudgingly asked, interested solely in getting Claudia to talk rather than having to resort to self-conversation.

"Ginny wouldn't say."

I couldn't figure out if my interruption forced her to stop reading or if she came back to the world enough to realize it was seven thirty in the morning and she was having breakfast with her lover.

Either way, the paper came to a sudden, crunching close, and her eyes peered into mine. A glint of frustration flickered there.

"No idea, huh? Well, I just hope it isn't like the last one!” I began, knowing full well that my tone differed little from any other misbehaving child in the restaurant. It was a tone I knew would invariably capture her attention—even if to came to me via reprimand. “A murder mystery weekend! Whose idea was that one anyway? Christ, all I did that weekend was wish I had been the corpse."

"Come on, Kate,” she retorted, rolling her green eyes. “It wasn't that bad. I had fun. And come to think of it, so did you.” Her face contorted in analysis of me.

"Well, maybe,” I conceded, raising the menu, hiding my face from the sight of her. As long as I lived, I knew I would never get used to tension between us. Those eyes of hers could castigate or enliven me—slay or heal—discount or devour the entirety of my soul.

"So do you want to talk about last night?” I posed the question and regretted it as soon as it rushed my lips.

Hauntingly, she replied, “I'm not sure what there is to say, Kate. Words don't seem to cut it anymore, do they?” Her final words arrived as a standard query, but they lacked hope's crucial question-mark inflection.

An abrupt, tidal sadness washed over me. Its wicked torrent seized me, threatened to pull me under. I felt the need to gasp for breath as if I were drowning, and thankfully, the waitress’ return momentarily buoyed me up.

Despite the sudden disappearance of appetite, we both heeded the expectation and ordered breakfast. She chose pigs in a blanket; for what subconscious reason, I refused to consider. I chose eggs Benedict, my reason very conscious: I felt betrayed.

Once we were alone again, we merely stared at each other. Looking at her had always been like looking into a mirror: myself reflected back, a kinder vision because of the love I found in her face, a perception that proved an impetus to reach outside myself. And now? Now, there analogized the insidious vision of a carnival's hall of mirrors: my view distorted, contrary, and paralyzing.

"If words don't work, Claudia, then what do you suggest?” I asked as calmly as I could, afraid to mix desperation and anger. “What are we supposed to do?"

She yo-yoed her tea bag, manifesting an undivided interest in watching the golden drops ripple the surface of her tea. Then she shook her head, shrugged her shoulders, and minded a deafening speechlessness.

Was there really nothing to say?

If there was, for the life of me, I could not think of it.

Stalling for time, my mind scrambling for answers, I lit a cigarette and blew the smoke into the rays of morning sun slicing through the Venetian blinds. Confusion rose tantamount to reason.

Erroneously, I assumed that in the dying of something, in the close of a relationship, there would be a thousand things to say. Angry things. Damnations. Abominations. Goodbyes. Regrets.

Something. Anything. Who gets the microwave? Who gets the worn blue comforter, our years together having taken it from royal to an insubstantial sky-blue? Who gets the shame for having failed? Who retains the depleted dreams that prophesied us ancient and still side by side?

In the dying of something, in the closing of a relationship, shouldn't there be a million things to say?

I guessed not.

The impenetrable silence simply stationed itself between us: a stoic sentinel of our floundering, guarding a fortress built between—instead of around—what had always been sacred.

In the dying of something, how was I to feel life?

Wordlessly, we concluded breakfast and retraced our way through the eatery's obstacle course to the exit. With the clock wending its way swiftly to nine, we hurried to the car and headed toward Kris and Ginny's house.

There was a part of me that wanted nothing more than to go home, to slip back into a Saturday morning coma, with a sheet over my head and tag on the big toe. The thought of socializing with my friends, her friends—ours?—well, suffice it to say, sadness made me uncivilized.

Perhaps she sensed this. “You're not going to make this day unbearable for everyone, are you?”

her question came, barely wrapping gauze around her threat.

Somewhere inside I thought to apologize for my attitude that deepened the abyss between us. I really didn't want it to be this way. I really didn't. I didn't know what else to do. An apology would change nothing. Instead, snidely, I responded, “No, I'm surethey'll see to that."

We were off to the Lesbian Adventure Club. For well over two years now, Claudia and I had participated in this caper.Dykes Who Dare, I called it, but only because it riled her, made her beam with exasperation. She'd run her fingers through her long hair, raise her skirt above her knee, and look to me, her eyes direly scanning for sincerity. “I really don't look like a dyke, do I?"

Maybe one day she'd fathom that the word had evolved since she had come out some twenty-years prior. When our teasing lacked a sharp edge, I hoped she would never understand; there existed something so luscious in her self-defense.

The theme of the adventure club rotated monthly between couples. Each became responsible for concocting and executing their own idea. Our wintry excursion consisted of inner-tubing on Suicide Hill, halfway up Windsor Peak. We also orchestrated a weekend of camping—really roughing it, out in the middle of nowhere, but the weather transformed it into the last two suites at a posh hotel. Hardly an adventure. Unless one considers a dozen lesbians and only two beds, a dangerous expedition. All right, so we sprawled sleeping bags on the floor. You can't blame a girl for stretching the truth just a little.

Despite what I had just petulantly indicated to Claudia, I eagerly awaited the get-togethers of the club, the camaraderie, even the anticipation that came from not knowing what would be expected of us. I took delight in the challenge, the stretching beyond and outside myself.

Each Saturday that we presented ourselves portrayed a mile-marker to me. It meant we were together once more. Another month had passed, each of us still clinging to the other. Initially, the need for this arose not so much from worrying about our future, but rather, it came from watching the group itself: how it shifted, partners switched as if it were a freshman dance, and how some of the women simply drifted away from the nucleus. I did not want that for myself; I did not want that for us. We were different; we had pledged to be different, faithful, to remain together no matter what tried to drive a wedge between us.

Those ideas began in utter innocence: a way of reaffirming the bond between us. Now our monthly appearances amounted to a sigh and a symbolic wipe of sweat from our brows. We were still together—but neither of us could quite fathom how.

Claudia finally eased the car next to the curb, our destination reached. She turned off the ignition and just sat there, staring blankly, straight ahead. I failed to find a reason for her hesitation, so I distractedly noted the cars on the street. I counted heads: who had arrived, who had failed to show. Then my attention returned to the utter silence and stillness between us. As if in suspended animation, we paused our mission, the world—perhaps, breath itself.

Then her hand slowly made its way to my thigh. She squeezed my leg so intently that I could almost sense the transference of energy, of emotion. I watched her hand, studied it, so unsure of its meaning.

And then my hand clutched hers, tentatively.

The silence thickened.

I expected words from her. Some clarification. Some indication. Something from the worldly woman who believed that information begets control. But she said nothing. She simply held on. I held on—suddenly in need of our touch.

And then she looked at me. For the first time in a long time, she really looked at me, pupils riveting soul to soul.

Tears spiraled in my throat, as if their presence had just received permission, or validation, or maybe, an invitation itself.

She smiled. As simple as that. No words, no bridges or bandages. Just a smile.

And then she looked away and reached for the door handle.

I swallowed hard.

I followed her.

* * * *

Flitting their way up the sidewalk, my eyes consumed the old Victorian house. I swallowed the whole of it inside me, into my soul. Something sacred abided here; something warm and welcoming replenished me. From the flowerbeds awaiting July sun, to the huge front porch with its white, tottery swing, all the way up to the antique lightning rod on the roof's peak. The house blended into its surroundings as if it had always been this sturdy and beautiful, as if it could no longer remember the painstaking years Ginny and Kris spent renovating. I wondered if it felt any fondness toward me, recalling how I had helped scrape and paint andoo andah. In its monstrous grandeur, it always allowed me passage, and just as consistently, it neglected to neither hail me nor boast a grateful kinship. Nonetheless, I smiled whenever I passed into its hospitable bosom.

Before Claudia's finger completely depressed the doorbell, the immense front door creaked open.

Ginny suddenly emerged from the gape, leaving half her sentence still inside the Victorian.

"—were ever going to get here."

"Sorry,” Claudia responded, more out of reflex than sincerity.

Ginny's inquisitive eyes scanned the both of us. I knew she was determining the depth of the tension between us. Almost protectively, I grabbed Claudia's arm, stared cockily, defiantly at Ginny, and said, “Come on. Let's get this show on the road."

We entered the house. The door closed behind us, as if hoarding. We passed through the dining room. Incredible rays of sun gave the room a sense of the surreal; I imagined that this was what entering the afterlife would be like. We grazed the sun-soaking leaves of the Ficus tree and headed to the study.

Before our feet had even managed to take us wholly into the room...

"A murderer is among us. Run for cover, girls!” came an unidentified, shrieking voice.

In unison, every woman in the room hit the deck and teetered between hysterical laughter and melodramatic screams. Muse, the small gray cat on the back of the sofa, arched her back and scrunched her ears.

Needless to say, I was not amused—at least not until I sat on Alison's stomach as she writhed on the floor, pretending to be gasping for her last breath of life. “Need some help?” I asked as I teasingly wrapped my hands around her neck.

"Don't kill me! Don't kill me!” she yelped.

"Kill you? How could I do kill you while you are in the midst of overkill? Now knock it off, Ms.

Tenner."

Her banter stopped as quickly as it had begun. She sat straight up, nearly toppling me from her stomach. She kissed me on the forehead. Like a mother kisses. Or an aunt.

"How's my favorite murderess?” she asked me as she reached for and clutched Claudia's hand.

“How are you guys?"

"Fine,” Claudia quickly answered.

"Well, to be truthful, Alison, I'd really like know something.” I brazenly began. “I want to know how I got set up to be the murderer in your little weekend scheme."

"Youwant to know?” Laura interrupted as she marched her way toward us. “I want to know why you killed me, Kate! I thought we were friends!"

Suddenly, the room convulsed with the laughter of ten rambunctious women, still wallowing in the theme of last month's adventure. I stood up quickly and hugged Laura. While it had been a fun weekend, it also posed a question that I did not quite appreciate. Why had the whole affair made me feel guilty for a work of fiction, a script that someone else had written?

Kris tried to yell above the commotion: something about Danish and coffee, something about tea, something about fruit, something about needing volunteers.

Order quickly took the lead. Coffee cups were filled, goodies were claimed, seats were taken, and all eyes turned to Ginny and Kris as they stood in front of the fireplace. This was their weekend, their doing.

"First of all,” Kris began, “I doubt there is any way to outdo Alison and Lisa's Murder Mystery Weekend. But we gave it a shot, our best shot. I don't think you'll be too disappointed."

I looked around the room.

Holly perched on the couch with Laura sitting pretzel-legged on the floor in front of her. Her forearms rested on Laura's shoulder. I always figured those two would be together forever—the way it was supposed to be. Holly was an artist; Laura embraced the challenge of being a detective on the local police force.

Susan posed in the recliner. Her tanned legs crossed themselves in fine ladylike fashion. Her partner, Maggie, balanced half-assed on the arm of the chair, licking peach nectar off her fingers.

The two hadn't been together that long. They seemed more distant than any other couple in the group. I always guessed that Susan found discomfort in being out, in being visible in the world.

As a teacher, she feared repercussions for her lifestyle choices, ones she imagined separating her from her passion for teaching children. And Maggie? She desperately tried to be content within the nearly cloistered walls that Susan had erected. She had given up organizing the marches and the community events. She didn't seem resentful; it was obvious how much she loved and needed Susan. Maybe it was just a comfort level that she had difficulty reaching. Maybe it was trying to let go of something from a clenched fist. I wasn't quite sure.

Alison and Lisa sat near each other on the Oriental rug. I considered Alison a friend, not a close one, but I had known her for several years. Contrarily, I knew very little of Lisa, except that she seemed to view life as something to skip through, where anything negative was sidestepped at all cost. Together they created the undercurrent of the group. They joked and laughed and chided—

they did whatever was necessary to keep things superficial. Their antics, however, served solely to erect glass bars around them—a protection that was easy to see through. It was pure diversion, but from what? Mystery surrounded them. One could never quite get a handle on what they felt—about each other, about anyone else.

I sat on the couch and had to turn completely around to catch a glimpse of Claudia. She wandered absentmindedly by the table that held the coffee and Danish. She perused the pastries, pretending to be unsure of her choice. Only I knew that the woman had just consumed an enormous breakfast and that her activities meant to divert. Suddenly, I felt very alone.

Up front by the fireplace, Ginny and Kris stood, waiting to make their declaration of the weekend's agenda. They were both in their late fifties and seemed like the matriarchs of the group. They had been together for twenty-four years, a near-miracle in this community. I could remember many a phone call, many a night when I ran to them, seeking their wisdom, their shoulders, their nurturing. They were gauges by which many couples measured their relationships. Claudia and I were one of them, and we were not doing very well.

"All right,” Ginny began. She rubbed her hands together. “Here's the deal. We've written down eight clues that will help you complete a scavenger hunt. It's not as simple as getting a list of things to collect, though. You first have to figure out what the item is, and then you have to find it or photograph it, depending on what the clues asks you to do."

There were groans and contorted faces throughout the group.

"You know,” Maggie interjected, “these things with clues all the time aren't really fair—not with a detective among us."

Laura did the only thing appropriate. She stuck her tongue out at Maggie.

"Don't give her that much credit,” Holly assured. “Sometimes she still can't tell her ass from a hole in the ground."

Laura's eyes widened, her jaw dropped, and she swiftly turned to Holly. “But I can always tell your—oh, never mind.” She whipped around and lunged on top of Holly. Her fingers grabbed at her abdomen, and she tickled relentlessly.

"Why is it that we all have to turn into school girls at these things?” Kris reprimanded, trying hard to squelch her own laughter. “Now listen up!"

"We will divide by couples.” Ginny explained. “You will have until nine o'clock tomorrow morning to complete the tasks. We'll all meet at Drixel's Terrace for brunch. The winners, of course, will pick up the tab.” She smiled diabolically.

The groans arose again.

"But don't let that be an excuse not to win. Some of you—and we won't mention any names—”

Ginny said, giving us the mandated clearing of her throat. “Some of you have a lot of face-saving to do!"

"Like you were instructed in the invitation,” Kris reminded, “you will need a flashlight and a digital camera with two memory cards. And unlike traditional scavenger hunts, you may have to spend some money, but be creative and you may not have to. There are points earned for each completion, plus extra points—three hundred, two hundred, and one hundred—for the first three teams to complete."

While she let the information sink in, she handed an envelope to each couple. Then she continued, “When you have a clue figured out and completed, you need to bring your item here.

Ginny and I will verify it, record your time and score, and hold it for you—whateverit happens to be. Then we'll give you the next clue. If you get really, really, really stuck, give us a call.Maybe we will help. Oh, and this first one is for one hundred points."

"Now get out of here!” Ginny ordered.

As people readied themselves to leave, I wandered over to Claudia who was still studying the poor Danish. “Want one for the road?” I asked.

"No. I'm not really hungry,” she replied.

I didn't think there existed such a state as being together in aloneness, but suddenly, it felt as if that was precisely where we were.

"Go!” Ginny ordered again, and off we went.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 2

Like children hurrying without giving the appearance of running, each couple made their way to the cars on the tree-lined street. Eight door slams later, a smile crossed my face as I eased into the front seat. I was excited.

Claudia started the car, revved the engine in a gentle, prodding way, and asked, “Okay, where am I off to?"

"Oh, you just think these two old broads would just tell us where to go, simple as that? Two professors—psychology and comm arts?” I rolled my eyes. “Trust me: They will mess with us."

"Yeah, you're right. So look at the clue then."

I opened the sealed envelope with an assertive, confident rip. We were unsealing our fate.

"'Here it is where we shall State,'” I read. “'The food of Zeus’ little nymph'! Ah shit, Greek mythology! Ah shit, Claudia! Do you know this stuff? I think I slept through it in school."

"Let me see the paper,” she said.

She irked me: I was a scatterbrained, overreacting child—and she would need to be my Ritalin.

She held the sheet of paper under the rearview mirror, and we both stared at it.

here it is where we shall State:

the food for zeus’ little nymph—the big fat cow;

scared to aphrodite—bird's foot ‘round her head;

the lures of monarch lagoon, but not the tackle pay the toll to pass the gate: a right, a left, another left, right—so close now;

right over there—by that strange little rental shed;

take it correctly or a foot in each shackle

"Okay, smarty pants, what the hell does that mean?” I demanded.

Surprisingly, she said nothing. She set the paper down between the front seats, smoothed the hair on top her head, and then stretched her back like a cat. After another moment, she finally said,

“Well, this is stupid, all of us sitting here like idiots who haven't a clue. Let's just speed away and let them all think that we've figured it out."

With that little plan in motion, she backed the car up a few feet, pulled into the driveway across the street, and then reversed. With a conservative screech of the tires, she headed us down the street, away from the old Victorian, away from the other six sets of eyes that pored over the exasperating piece of paper.

Ginny and Kris, I imagined, were standing in the front window, checking their watches, laughing at their little experiments.Screw them! We were going to win this thing!

Claudia drove without a word until we were in the heart of downtown. Mainstreet, America, buzzed with Saturday morning ritual. She pulled the car into a parking spot. “Run into Timmer's Book & Bean and get us some fuel,” she instructed. “I'll try to decipher this thing."

I grabbed some of the money we kept stashed in the ashtray that she forbade me to use. As I opened the door to make the run, she furthered her instruction, “Earl Grey, no sugar."

"Oh really? I was going to get you a double froth latte, extra fat."

"I thought they only made those for you,” she retorted, her own froth thick with sarcasm.

"They do, but, hey, I'm not selfish.” I smiled at her and began my mission.

When I returned several minutes later, she had set up shop at one of the outside tables. Most of them were unused, as early May mornings were not quite warm enough to suit most. She had a pen and was scrawling notes and underlining words.

"Are you just checking their syntax or do you have any ideas there?"

She uncapped her tea, took a cautious sip, and suggested that we take it line by line.

"'Here it is where we shall State.’ I think that's just an intro. ‘The food for Zeus’ little nymph—

the big fat cow.’ That's much harder,” she assessed. “Wasn't the almighty god of thunder the original nymphomaniac?"

"Very funny, but yeah, he definitely had his share of women—mortal and otherwise. The big stud in the sky."

"Okay, well, name some."

"Calisto!” I yelled as though I had just spied bingo on a card. “She was turned into a bear. Oh, and Eurynome! With her he fathered the Muses—no—no, the Graces."

"Any of them big and fat?"

"They probably all were. They went for voluptuous in those days, not emaciated."

"Okay, well that helps. Let's try the next line then. What is sacred to Aphrodite, and why would she have a bird's foot around her head?"

"Around her head ... um ... probably a crown. She was the goddess of love and beauty ... nature ...

flowers. Birds on the flowers? Argh!"

"Well, keep going then. Next line: lures ... monarch lagoon ... not tackle. So lures that aren't fishing tackle."

"Yes! You've got it!” I proclaimed. “Monarch Lagoon is a fishing hole at Mill Lake State Park, but that would mean fishing lures, not the exclusion of."

"Maybe not. What's the lure of Monarch Lagoon, Kate?"

"Well, nature, maybe, since we've got Aphrodite in the mix ... But I still can't figure the cow/woman."

"Hey! ‘State’ is capitalized,” she announced triumphantly. “The only letter that's capitalized."

"So state is a proper noun ... State Park. But a cow?"

"Look.” She pointed to the paper. “Two bold letters in the line about Zeus. An O and an I, from food and little. Food little. Little food."

"The State is starving us by taking all the fish!"

"Oh, I'm sure that's it.” She rolled her eyes. “Think again, my little nymph."

"Well, it seems to be certain that it's Mill Lake, doesn't it? Even more so if you have to pay a toll to get through the gate. You've got to have a state park sticker or a day-pass to get in. How about we head that way?” I suggested, lacking any better idea. “Maybe it will all make sense when we get there. No, wait! An I and an O plus Zeus! Io, the nymph is Io! His wife found out he was cheating with Io. He turned her into a heifer! A heifer! A cow!"

"Boy, he was a nice guy, huh? So is it Mill Lake or not?"

"Yeah, let's try—Oh shit, don't look, Claudia, but Alison and Lisa just drove by.” I said, lowering my head, trying to mould myself into the wrought-iron chair. “Cheaters!"

"And how does driving by constitute cheating?"

She laughed. She genuinely laughed, and in it, something carried itself to the core of me.

Something that seemed vaguely familiar. Something that made me want to cry in remembrance.

Instead, willful to maintain the lightening mood between us, I replied, “You write big. They were probably able to read every one of your notes as they drove by."

"Did it cross your little mind that maybe they already figured it out and are heading back to Kris and Ginny's?"

"Oh shit! No, it didn't! Get in the car. Get in the car now!” I yelled. “And I'll drive, since you seem to think that speed limits are laws."

Against her better judgment, she slipped herself and all our stuff into the passenger side.

I revved the engine, far from conservatively, and declared, “Hang on, Earl!"

With that, she held her cup of tea in midair. The next leg of our mission kicked up its heel.

Soon, any semblance of city disappeared, and Rural, America, had its way with us. The roads became narrower. Trees became closer. The farm fields were dotted with tractors tilling the soil, making ready for the induction of seed.

"Cows,” I remarked, pointing to a grazing herd to the left of us.

"Quick, go ask them if they know Zeus."

Eventually, the meandering road led us to an enormous wooden sign that read:Mill Lake State Park. I turned in the drive to find a large deserted parking lot. At the far end of the lot was a small toll booth-looking structure with the silhouette of someone inside. I slowly approached, lowering the window as I went. A large sign hung onto the side of the structure with a long list of Don'ts. Not “Do come in.” Not “Do have a good time.” Just don'ts. I hated don'ts. “Don't camp without a permit. Don't fish without a permit. Don't leave the trails. Don't interact with the wildlife. Don't disturb the flora. Don't bring firewood from more than 25 miles away.”What?

I paid the woman six dollars for a piece of paper that was to be wedged between the dashboard and the windshield. If the tag was not visible, we were told, we would get a stiff fine.

I drove slowly forward and told Claudia to call out the directions contained in the clue. After the correct combination of turns, a small blue shed sat before us.Fishing Equipment Rental: this sign read.

"I do believe we got it!” I declared.

"And what exactly isit?" she countered. “Are we supposed to bring back the whole place? Take a picture of it? What?"

"Well, how about we see what our competition does,” I said, pointing to Susan and Maggie who meandered the shoreline of Monarch Lagoon.

We watched them for several minutes as I stealthily tried to park the car. It was obvious they knew no more than we did. They were aimless.

"Look at the clue again, Claudia. What are we missing?"

"State ... cow. Do we have a state cow?"

"I wouldn't doubt it. Maybe we have a state nymph, too.” Then a light seemed to go on in my head with a brightness that blinded. “We do have a state flower, though. Grab the map from the glovebox, and see what it says."

She slid her legs long toward the footboard and splayed the glovebox. She foraged until her persistent hands liberated the map. As she worked to unfold the Rubik's cube-like thing, I looked up to see whether Maggie and Susan appeared to be in the midst of an epiphany, but movement in the rearview mirror caught my attention instead. I glanced to see Laura and Holly parking and then swiftly exiting their vehicle. In unison with the slamming of doors, feet pounded the ground in a mad dash.

"Shit, Claudia! Laura and Holly know the answer. Follow them! Follow them like we know, too!"

Before I had even finished my directive, both of our doors flew open and we were in hot pursuit.

Laura and Holly ran toward the lagoon, startling Maggie and Susan, who seemed to have the same idea: pretend to know.

Suddenly Laura stopped in her tracks, turned around, and stretched her arms wide. “We were here first,” she roared. “Holly, go get it. I'll keep these goons at bay."

"Not fair,” I screeched back at her. “We have every right to—” I shot Claudia a pleading look.A right to do what, Claudia?

As if a mind-reader, Laura yelled, “A right to do what, Kate? Tell me what you have a right to do, and maybe then I'll let you pass."

"We have a right to do whatever you're doing,” Claudia defended.Oh, that was brilliant.

With a quick left and then a quicker right, I faked out Laura's moves, ran past her, and headed to where Holly had stopped. Before her was a neatly fenced-in area that held hundreds and hundreds of small purple flowers. Several butterflies, still groggy from the morning chill, flitted clumsily from flower to flower.

"Oh, aren't they beautiful? Just beautiful!” Holly gushed, holding a palm to each cheek.

"Yes, they are!” I exaggerated, trying to keep her enthralled and off task. “Beautiful! Very beautiful, Holly. What are they called again?"

Instead of responding, she pointed to a small white wooden sign stuck into the earth.Bird's-Foot Violet: that sign read.

"The state flower,” Claudia added, rather defeatedly, suddenly aware of what the quick glance at the state map had proffered. “One more minute and I would have had it!"

"Ah, but we have it now,” I told her, but as I prepared to belly flop over the fence, the mounting energy within me came to a jolting halt as Claudia grabbed hold of my shirt.

"What the hell are you doing?” I yelled at her, but as I did so, I saw the seemingly slow-motion lunge of Maggie over the fence. She landed in the midst of the flowers, plucked a handful, and let out a triumphant “Got it!"

I moved anew to clear the fence, and yet again, I was held in place. “Why the hell are you stopping me?” I screamed. “Don't you want to win this thing?"

"You can't pick them! It's against the law. You can't pick them,” she bellowed like a cow/woman.

“Didn't you read the sign when we came in?"

"Oh, screw that! Maggie's got one!” As I said that, I meant to look at Maggie to bolster my case, but instead, all I saw was a blur as she and Susan hauled ass back to the parking lot.

I twisted my body to force myself from Claudia's grip, but she held me with a vengeance. Laura and Holly seemed to have forgotten the task at hand, and rather, they stood there watching the battle of wills.

"'Take it correctly or a foot in each shackle,’ you goof! You can't pick them! It's against the law.

Pick it and go to jail!” she wailed with self-righteousness.

"Well, what in blazes does ‘take it correctly’ mean?” I demanded, still trying to wriggle free.

"It means this,” Holly said, aiming her camera at the plot of violets and the two agitated butterflies.

I glared at them in a way that seemed literally to burn my eyes. They laughed and immediately began a quick sprint to the parking lot. Then my scowl turned. Claudia let go of me, smiled sheepishly, and tried to smooth out the bunch in my shirt where her fist had attached itself.

Coldly, I asked, “Do you have the goddamn camera?"

"It's in the car. I'll go get it,” she uttered, and before I could arrange the crude mix of words in my mouth, she ran full force.

Her absence was short, but it gave me enough time to plant myself on the earth and breathe deeply a few times. She snapped the necessary picture, and then as if willing to take her life in her hands, she turned the camera on me. She snapped a picture of my crumpled, defeated being.

She reached out her hand to me, smiled, and said, “Come on, my little shrinking violet."

We sped back to the city. One might guess that Claudia would have exercised enough restraint to forego pointing out speed limit signs, but the lover of rules did so anyway.

By the time we reached Kris and Ginny's, Laura was strutting around like some freaking egomaniac peacock, Holly was stroking Muse, and Maggie and Susan were arguing that they had won even though they had killed a plant and broken the law. Eventually, Susan put the poor, little plant in the front yard and took a picture of it.

"Time of death,” our cheeky detective pronounced, “eleven fifty-three AM."

I was still grousing as Kris and Ginny approached us. Claudia removed the memory card from the camera and offered it in an outstretched hand.

"Good job, ladies,” Kris said. She took the little blue card from Claudia and then jotted down our time on the clipboard.

"Yeah, and thanks for not killing anything ... or each other,” Ginny noted as her eyes went back and forth between the two of us and then stopped on me.

I took advantage of her focus. “Okay, ruthless one,” I said, grabbing Ginny by the front of her shirt. “What the hell does the cow/woman have to do with this?"

"Ah, you weren't paying attention in my class, huh?” she challenged. “Zeus turned her into a heifer, which was admittedly cruel, but he also did one loving thing for her. Do you remember now?"

My stare assured her that I did not know.

"Okay, then, I'll refresh your memory” she said, happy to drill it into me once more. “Zeus put her in a never-ending field of violets—a delicacy to cows. So although he banished her, she still knew that he loved her. Sometimes you have to look at what isn't so obvious when you feel as though you've been banished."

She waited for a response from me, but Kris seized the opportunity to push her way between us, envelope in hand. “Here's your next clue, guys. Another one hundred points. Now go,” she said, handing the envelope to Claudia. “You'd do better to keep moving."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 3

Once again, we were back where we had started—in the car. I felt beaten, but certainly not defeated. I think what honestly bothered me the most was that it felt as if Claudia and I had been on opposing teams. She played by the rules. My thought was “screw the rules,” but had I done so, and had she given in, we would have lost. So, in essence, it was her playing by the rules that had saved us. I was wrong, but not one cell of me wanted to apologize, especially since I was expecting her to gloat. As soon as the doors closed, I waited for it.

"You sure weren't off base when you said those two we're going to mess with us,” she began. “It feels like we scaled Mount Olympus only to get shoved back down."

I still waited.

"So are you ready for the next one?” she prodded—cautiously.

"Why, so I can screw up again?” The words accused and did not question.

"For Christ sake, Kate, it's just a game! We actually didn't do that bad. So what if Laura and Holly beat us? We beat Maggie and Susan. Plus, there are seven more to go."

"The only reason we beat Maggie and Susan—and weren't standing next to them taking autopsy pictures in the front yard—is because you stopped me from doing the same thing they did. That's theonly reason."

"So you're pissed off at me for stopping you from doing the wrong thing? Does that even make sense?"

"Oh, and does it make sense that I'm holding you last night and you bust into tears? Then walk away, avoid me? Does that make sense?"

"This has nothing to do with that!” she yelled, slamming the palms of her hands on the steering wheel.

"No? I think it does. Today you're so quick to stop me from doing the wrong thing, but then at times, like last night, I beg you to tell me what I'm doing wrong, and you won't even look at me."

"Please, Kate, can we not do this? Please?"

"Well, what should we do instead then, Claudia? It's always ‘Can we not do this?’ or ‘Words don't seem to cut it.’ It's always something. There's always something that stops us from getting out of this muck that we're in."

"Do you want out?” she asked, so point-blank that I could see the bullet traveling at me.

"Out of this muck? Yes."

"Out of this relationship?"

I'm a weird creature that way. Sometimes I ask for things and then totally freak out when I get what I asked for. I asked her to talk; she talked. Maybe I just didn't want her to cut to the quick that way. A little verbal foreplay, maybe, and then thebam.

"Do you want out of this relationship?"

"Honestly?"

"Yes, Kate, honestly. Lay it on me. I can take it."

"Then honestly...” My voice splintered. “Honestly, I think I'd rather die."

Dead silence. The point-blank bullet had ricocheted and hit her right between the eyes. Even so, I felt injured by its impact. I swallowed hard against the force of the guttural scream that was rising within me. Now what was I to do?

I waited.

Finally, from the edge of my vision I saw her turn toward me. I knew that it would take all the guts I had ever had to let my eyes meet hers. I had sent the bullet back at her. Had it again ricocheted? Had she reloaded? This time it would be mortal.

"Kate,” she whispered. “Kate, look at me. Please."

Damn!Do or die. Or maybe do and die. Fearing, dreading, I turned.

I suddenly remembered, recognized the woman who was looking back at me. Her features were soft. Tears pooled in her eyes, but yet the sparkle I saw came from a different place—that soul-place inside that gave life beyond mere animation. I remembered her. I remembered her! I remembered her good soul and how it used to be a place where I felt welcome and at home.

Home. I was not afraid, and so I looked deeply into her eyes, as if I was boring myself into that soul-place, scrubbing its walls clean, carving my name again.

"Kate,” she said again. “I honestly think I would rather die, too. Maybe that's what I'm afraid of."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure I even want to know at this moment in time, but I will find out. I will.

I promise,” she reassured, and this I needed to hear. “And then we'll find a way out of this muck.

Because with all I don't know, I do know that this is not your fault. You're not doing anything wrong. I'm the one who changed the rules."

"Okay. Promise noted.” I could breathe again, but damn, I needed to cry.

"Now, partner, we are on the same team, and we have this ridiculous scavenger hunt to win.

Open that envelope!"

"You sure? You okay? Do you want to get something to eat first? I thought the messin'-with-us chicks would have at least fed us."

"Yeah, I kind of did, too. I guess they put their maternal instincts on hold."

"Yeah, and brought out the infernal instincts."

We both laughed. It seemed to release the incredible hoard of emotion. We could move.

"Okay, so let's see what hell they're putting us through this time."

She handed me the envelope, and I knew that by day's end the ripping open of it would be a metaphor for something.

"Okay, here we go."

I held out the sheet, and we read.

Zeus turned Io into a heifer. The cad!

At this, she must have been really, really mad.

But this clue's not the violet bed at her feet—

Greek to French—this time it's a bed ofpommes frites.

Scarf, putone down—you two will be a shoo-in.

From Molly, score the ticket to tap the win.

"French fries!” I screamed! “French fries—and that god forsaken cow/woman again!"

"That ‘really, really mad’ cow/woman."

"Why does none of this surprise me?"

After several stabs at possible solutions, we finally figured that the clue pointed us to French fries at Molly's Taphouse on Third. It was lunchtime, after all, and the maternal—for the moment—had usurped the infernal.

Not surprisingly, there were a couple of cars we recognized in the parking lot behind the bar. We had again been beaten to the punch, but we were still vertical—and a little less stuck in the muck.

We walked into the dimly lit room to find Laura and Holly laughing hysterically as they eavesdropped on the booth behind them. Laura motioned for us to sit with them, both simultaneously sliding over to make room. We sat and bent our ears, quickly detecting the voices of Susan and Maggie.

"Because I can't! I'm vegan. I'm not going to eat a cow!"

"Bet she'd eat granola,” Holly whispered, although “quietly yelled” might better describe, and we doubled over.

Laura kicked Holly under the table, and in reflex, she brought her knee up so hard that the silverware rattled and the saltshaker fell and rolled off the table. She groaned and made a feeble attempt to kick back but was overruled by a chorus of shushing from the rest of us.

"Come on, hon,” Susan said, “just step out of yourself for a moment. We already lost one round.

It won't kill you. The cow's dead already anyway."

"I'm vegan!"

This time, every patron in the place turned to stare. Maggie abruptly stood and prepared to storm out of the bar, her ideals in tow. Instinctively, I rose and blocked her exit. “Whoa,” I dared.

“Hang on a minute. There's got to be some way for you to complete the goal."

She didn't respond; rather, she hung her head low, and I could still sense movement within her, that running in place without forward motion.

"Why can't you eat the French fries, Maggie? Because of what they're fried in?"

At that, the hysterical laughter ensued again, but this time, it was directed at me.

I turned to the booth. “What? If they're fried in animal fat she can't eat them. Why is that funny?"

Holly stood and put her arm around my shoulders. “Um, did you solve the riddle? This has very little to do with French fries, unfortunately."

Laura handed Holly the menu, which she gleefully shoved in my face, her finger stabbing the top of the second page. “Mad Cow, chickie. A Mad Cow on a bed of French fries."

I read what she pointed at, so very much in shock that I was unable to speak.

"What? What is it, Kate?” Claudia begged.

"She's speechless,” Holly declared. “Allow me.” She read, “'Our Famous Mad Cow Burger will drive you mad or make you mad. Two and a half pounds of seasoned ground beef, smothered with over a pound of Cheddar cheese, lettuce, pickles, onions, and tomatoes, served on a specially-made bun, and stacked on a bed of our famous fries. Finish this mother-of-all-burgers in 30 minutes or less, and we'll pay your tab.’”

"Holy shit,” was all I could say. Claudia invoked a few holy names. Maggie's head still hung, and now I understood that it was with good reason.

"Everybody standing here,” I screeched, “swear on all that is dear to you, that we will get Ginny and Kris back for this if it's the last thing we do! Two and a half frickin’ pounds! Holy shit!"

Ever-thinking Claudia piped in, “I agree wholeheartedly with you, Kate, but I have a proposal. If this is supposed to be teamwork—one burger, one team—then Maggie, why don't you eat the fries, the veggies, and the bun? Susan can eat the burger."

"No way!” Susan defended from over the high-back booth. “Plain old hamburger—all by myself?"

Maggie's head suddenly reared, and she shot a look—one of those lethal ones—at Susan. “'Just step out of yourself for a moment! It won't kill you!'” she seethed.

Oh, those were fighting words. They were the prelude to justifiable homicide, even with a detective in our midst.

Everyone held their collective breath, waiting for whatever nasty thing was about to happen, when Susan, remarkably, said, “You're right, hon. Come on back. We'll do our best."

Laura snapped her fingers at the waitress zooming down the isle. “We need two more Mad Cows, please. One here,” she said, pointing, “and one for these guys."

Having ordered before anyone else, Laura and Holly got a head start on shoving pound after pound of burger down themselves. Sometime into it, I vowed never gain to eat another burger. I had lost a dear friend.

We were close to halfway there when the back door opened with an intrusive creak. Once the blindness—caused by a massive inpouring of daylight—eased, we saw Alison and Lisa making their way into the bar. Neither looked very pleased.

As if trying to avoid the awkward questions that came to everyone's minds, Laura again hailed the waitress. “These two ladies need a Mad Cow, too,” she said.

"Thanks, Laura,” Alison responded, as the two of them slid into a booth.

There was an awkward silence for a great many minutes, until I could stand it no longer.

"Did you guys get tripped up on the stupid violet riddle?” I asked, leaning out of the booth.

"That's one way to describe it,” Lisa snarled. “Not howI'd describe it, though."

"We didn't do so hot either,” I said, trying to shake off whatever I had just stepped in.

"No, that's not how she'd describe it,” Alison chimed in. “She'd say it was all my fault. She was right, and I was wrong."

"Youwere wrong! There isn't a goddamn state cow! She got us to some big ass cow statue. Said we needed to pose with it."

"Did you pose with it?” Holly dared. “I'd love to see the pic."

Lisa just stared blankly at her, and Holly mouthed back, “Well, I would."

Alison, heedless to the interruption, continued, “And you knew all along that is was a violet we were looking for? Is that what you're claiming?"

"Not at first—no.” she conceded.

"And when did it dawn on you, Lisa? Exactly when?"

"You know when."

"Tell us, then,” Alison furthered.

"When we finally cheated and went to the goddamn library and looked it up! Happy?"

"Not really."

Thank God for efficient waitresses! She hoisted the Mad Cow to the mad/cow women, and both Holly and I slid back into our respective booths.

After groaning and cussing and suddenly understanding the need for elastic waist pants, the six of us had finished. We congregated at the bar while waiting for our checks. Maggie suggested that perhaps we should all lend a hand (or another body part, specifically) and help Lisa and Alison finish up the task so that we'd all be back in the running again. Most of us thought that to be a fair idea, since this portion of the hunt seemed to put us all on the same team.

Laura walked to their table and offered our help.

Alison's jaw dropped, and she quickly responded, “That would be so—"

Before she could finish, however, Lisa said, “We don't need your help. Thanks."

"But, Lisa—” Alison pleaded.

"I said we don't need their help.” She stared at Alison in a way that hobbled her.

"Thanks anyway, guys.” she said apologetically.

We quietly paid our tabs, and as we did so, I spied Holly jotting something on a napkin. She handed it to Laura and asked her to slip it to Alison, saying that it was their cell phone number,

“in case she needs help."

Laura did so, without getting caught, and then we all headed out the back door. There, I heard, but did not utter, the f-bomb. I heard, but did not utter—even though I felt desperate to—the b-word.

"Okay, so what do we do now, girls?” Claudia asked. “About this game I mean. Do we all drive like maniacs and whoever gets there first is the winner?"

"I have a better idea,” Maggie said. “You guys helped me—us—more than you will ever know.

We joined forces, so here's what I think..."

In a quiet, conspiratorial tone, the plan hatched itself.

Several minutes later all of our cars met around the corner from Kris and Ginny's. Overstuffed bodies releasing groans of pain disembarked. Then, like the one team we suddenly felt like we were, we wove our arms around each others’ waists until we were one solid wall of women.

Different colors, different heights, different sizes, but we were one solid wall of women off to display our solidarity, to declare each one of us winners to the meanies down the street.

It did not take us long to figure out that six interwoven women were a tad wider than a sidewalk, horizontally, mind you. We maneuvered until we fit vertically. We must have looked rather silly like that, clumsily walking sideways down the block: the Dicey Dykettes.

Once in the driveway of the old Victorian, we whooped and hollered until Kris and Ginny came out of the house.

"Ah, do I sense defiance?” Ginny challenged.

"Weall won this one,” several of us yelled.

"We tied,” a couple others declared.

"That's an extra two hundred points for each,” said Claudia.

"And your tickets, ladies. Do you have your tickets to prove this remarkable feat?” Ginny asked.

Three women stuck their hands into their pockets, retrieving the receipts that were then triumphantly waved in the air.

"Well, let's see what we have here,” Ginny said as she began studying each receipt. “Did I tell you girls that I went to school with Molly?"

Kris made some kind of snort noise, like she had consumed a Mad Cow too quickly, or maybe it was a maniacal laugh, as she already knew what was to befall us. I wanted to kick her, becauseI knew thatshe knew thatsomething had gone very wrong, that this mighty wall of women was about to crumble.

"Yes, I did go to school with her,” Ginny continued. “We've been friends since, oh, about first grade. Lovely woman. She'd do anything for me ... including watching you guys ... and time-stamping each of your receipts."

I could have sworn I saw Ginny duck at that point. I could have sworn I saw Kris stick her fingers in her ears. Both of them took precautions as the wall of women started wailing.

When the dust had settled and all objects within a three-block radius had stopped reverberating, Susan and Maggie were declared the winners. Claudia and I came in second—the ones who had helped them, mind you. Laura and Holly came in third—last in line because Holly had taken the time to offer help to Alison.Shit!

Each couple received the dreaded envelope containing the next clue. We were told that completion would net fifty points. As we headed back towards our cars—single file, this time—

Holly stayed back, apparently to tell Kris and Ginny about Lisa and Alison.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 4

I think I was more sick of the damn car than I was of the game. My knees ached from the perpetual bucket seat position, and frankly, after that mother-of-all-burgers, I think the width of a bench seat would have served me much better.

"Okay, here we go again,” said Claudia, obviously feeling similar to me, judging by her stretch and groan.

"Half the points, half as hard, right?” I asked, hoping.

"Ah, I think you should keep in mind who we're dealing with. They're taking too much joy in this."

As I ripped open the envelope, I again made my vow, “Wewill get them for this."

"Shit, Laura's taking off already. She cannot be that quick!” Claudia remarked, watching the blue sedan pull a u-turn.

"She has to go back to the house and get Holly, yet. Gees, cool your jets!"

"Ah, spoke too soon. There go Maggie and Susan!"

"Read, then. Read!"

I held the sheet of paper in what was now a ritual. The action provided both fear and anticipation.

It'sfair ly safe to assume you're all sick of the cow.

So from here, let's all have a go at something high-brow.

We'll stick with the French and have you remember the Louvre For there is one in our crowd who has something to prove.

In the town hub they surely have all gathered by now.

At three, they give the brush-off: you better go—and how!

From the entrance to the exit, it's what we behoove.

Three business cards most certainly will make us approve.

"Okay, what do you think? ‘Fair’ is italicized. Louvre is a museum. Mona Lisa lives there. Oo, and so does the armless one, Venus de Milo!"

"Brush-off? No, maybe just brush."

"Town hub ... um ... City Square?"

"Yeah, City Square! Middle of downtown. Damn, there's a place there ... Holly's stuff ... the opening we went to—remember?"

In perfect unison, we declared, “Art Fair City Square! Woohoo!"

Tires squealed right a long with us as we made our way downtown. For perhaps the very first time, we would not be completely beaten to the punch.

We parked in the ramp and boarded the elevator for the trip down to the first floor. As the doors closed, we spied Laura and Holly pulling in and parking. They were definitely in a fire ass hurry.

Maybe what Maggie had said about it being unfair to give clues to a detective carried some weight. There were good at this. Too good at this.

I quickly planted a kiss of Claudia's cheek before the loudding marked our arrival on the first floor. We stepped out into the atrium, with its tall trees reaching skyward. The sun felt good on my skin, the glass letting rays come through full force. The trickle of water from the nearby fountain fostered the illusion of being hurled against the big bosom of Mother Nature.

Claudia looked around and quickly got her bearings. “It's an art show!"

"Damn, we're good!"

"So we just need three business cards, then—right? ‘Entrance to exit,’ though. What does that mean?"

"I think it just means to go the circuit, go through the whole thing."

"There has to be a trick to this, though,” she said. “That just seems too easy. Like we could be out of here in five minutes tops!"

"Well, then, let's shoot for four minutes. On your mark, get set—"

Ding!

The elevator doors opened behind us, but it was more like a dam bursting, as Holly's energy and not-stop chatter gushed out with her. With it all came the sensation that we were being swept under and downstream.

"Oh God, you guys, isn't this just so sweet of them to make this a clue? Imagine that! I gave up showing my stuff here so I could go to the club meeting. I had my sister sit with my work. Oh, this is so sweet! My stuff. My sister. My friends. Oh my God, look at that oil! Oh my God, look at that one! It's beautiful."

She threaded her arm around me and then pulled Claudia into the knot. In one quick motion, we were swept into the torrent of her passion for the moment.

"Have you seen my latest painting? Have you ever met my sister? Let's go see—"

I helplessly turned my head around to look at Laura. She stood there, arms akimbo, just shaking her head from side to side. “Oh yes,” she said. “Wasn't itjust so sweet of them to make this a clue? Kid, candy store. Druggie, shooting gallery. Whore, whorehouse.” She shook her head again, looking rather pained. “I'll never get her out of here!"

The distance between Laura and us expanded rapidly, but she didn't make a move. “You guys should just run. Grab your frickin’ cards and just run!” She was yelling now, and her words barely reached us as the crowd engulfed us.

A few feet in front of us sat the spitting image of Holly. For one who loved to paint, this woman must have been like an animated self-portrait. Her blond, messy hair fell in jagged waves just below her shoulders—just like Holly's. Her smile radiated more than just pleasantry—just like Holly's. Her dark jeans tightly hugged a sleek body that stood three inches taller on thick-soled shoes—just like Holly's. When she saw Holly, the gesticulations and verbiage spattered and spewed and sputtered—just like you-know-you. In a way, it was surreal. These mirror images should have given commonness to everything so unique to Holly, and yet, it seemed almost to do the opposite. It was as if a light shone down upon them and only them, making them stand out in a way that seemed somehow apropos.

"Kate, Claudia, this is my little sister, Noelle,” she said, hauling us in closer. “Sis, did you sell any?"

"Two of them!” she excitedly declared. “That red swirly one, oh, and the flowery one I liked so much. Oh yeah and one woman said she'd probably be back for the lighthouse."

"Oh my God,” Holly interjected. “I wonder—"

I leaned into Claudia to whisper, “Try to slowly inch away. We've got to get free. Whoever makes it out has to get the cards."

She nodded about the same time Holly scooped us up and began pulling us through the current again, docking at each artist's little island. To this day, I do not think I have ever heard the word

“beautiful” used so many times in one mere breath. With the Holly-line still mooring us, we met artist after artist. We saw paintings, sculptures, and tapestries. We smelled turpentine, popcorn, and the nauseating stench of burgers emanating from the restaurant at the end of the corridor.

And then we saw Laura. She eased up behind us and carefully slid three business cards into my back pocket. “Three cards for you. Three cards for us. I'm sorry my little woman has kidnapped you. I will save you, though—and myself. I promise. It's the least I can do."

We laughed and thanked her as we again felt the tugboat moving us further downstream.

"I have a plan,” Laura said, ducking down behind Holly and squat-walking with us. “Just go with her, and when you see me again, you'll know what to do.” She crouched even lower, turned quickly, and disappeared into the crowd.

We nodded our agreement to no one but each other and continued along—as if we had a choice—with the tug.

Perhaps twenty enlightening but long minutes later, we finally saw Laura again. She was standing next to a man who was drawing portraits for visitors. A long line of anxious people stretched out before him.

Laura pointed at Holly and then pretended to slap herself upside the head. “There you are!” she said. “I have been looking all over for you."

"Oh, honey,” Holly oozed, “I am so glad we got to come here. I just love these things! Come over here. There's this beautiful—"

"No, Holly. I need you for something,” she said, pulling Holly in and motioning for us to break free.

We did so quickly but ensured a good vantage point.

"See, Hol, I've commissioned this fine young man here to do a portrait of you. I'd really like one, and it'll help this young man be as good an artist as you one day.” She winked at the poor young man who was collecting money for the portrait he just finished.

"No, Laura. The line's too long. We'll be here all day. I'd rather go—"

"Oh, but, Hol, I've paid the man a hefty price to take you next. Just think of it! You, with all your talent, demonstrating how posing isreally done. The crowd will love it. It will bebeautiful!" she coaxed.

"We'll, if you're sure that—"

"Oh, I'm sure, Holly. Just stand right here,” she instructed. “Make like a mannequin. I just love mannequins. Mannequins are beautiful."

Holly took the stance—maybe what Venus de Milo looked liked before she lost her arms. Laura helped her pose until she was just so. She glanced at us, and for the first time since we had entered City Square, it was obvious that Laura was having fun. No longer was it a chore to break Holly free from a spell. The goal now was to cast one—on us, on the crowd, and eventually upon Holly when she had the mind to fathom it.

Holly stood there completely motionless. I was not sure I had ever seen her motionless. Then Laura held up a hand to us and mouthed, “On the count of five!"

We counted to ourselves, and the instant the five announced itself within our skulls, Laura lowered herself and aimed at Holly's torso. Swiftly, she rammed and scooped Holly up and over her shoulder. Suddenly the tugboat was beached and being towed by Laura's strong arms.

“Follow me, guys!” she yelled, and we fell in behind them.

Once we reached the elevator, the people around us didn't react with the humor that the witnessing crowd had. Rather, Holly's flailing arms and legs on either side of Laura and the repeated cry of “Let me go!” seemed to have put the word “abduction” into their minds.

"Granton PD,” Laura tried to assure them. “I'd show you my badge, but my arms are rather full at the moment.” She turned her head towards us and implored, “Can you guys help me, please?"

We both moved through the crowd, cleared the area in front of the elevator, and hit the up button.

When the doors opened, the four of us entered, and I hit the three. As we waited for the doors to close, the crowd inched closer, each person possessing that looking-at-the-scene-of-an-accident glaze in their eyes.

"Public drunkenness,” Laura said dismissively. “No big deal. She's a fine upstanding citizen, really. She just needs to sleep it off."

With that, the elevator doors closed, and we all burst out laughing. Everyone except for Holly that is. She was now beating Laura's back with a vengeance.

As we neared the cars, Laura said, “You guys just take off. Get your butts back there with those cards. It's only fair that you beat us, as the little woman kind of ruined your plan. We'll be there as soon as we can."

"You sure?” Claudia asked. “Can you get her in the car okay?"

"We can help if you need it,” I offered.

Holly heard that, and now the threats we aimed at us as well.

"Just go,” she said. “Everything is just fine. I swear."

We got into our car but felt a strong reluctance to leave them both like that. We stalled a bit, and eventually we saw Laura put Holly down, placing her upright next to the car. Laura planted several kisses on her, and once we knew that they were both laughing, we sped off to Kris and Ginny's.

Not only did Maggie and Susan beat us, but Alison and Lisa were also in receipt of the next envelope and heading back to their car.

We approached the driveway, and I handed the three business cards to Kris.

"I see you two survived,” she said. “Good job.” She looked at her watch and jotted down the time on her clipboard.

"Any sign of Laura and Holly, or should we just cross them off the list?” Ginny asked, half laughing.

"Oh, they'll be here soon,” Claudia assured. “I think so anyway."

"Genevieve Audrey Bleeker, you are one mean chick!” I yelled at her, trying to squelch laughter.

“You know exactly what kind of mess you just caused. You are so cold and calculating! I never knew it. And Kris, I know you are not innocent either!"

Both feigned utter indignation.

"If I wasn't so happy that the best clue-solvers were finally put in their place, well, I just might be mad."

"Give it time, Kate. Give it time. There's probably one just for you, too,” Ginny bantered.

I stuck my tongue out at her, grabbed the next envelope from Kris—which for some as yet unknown reason had bandanas tied around it—and headed toward the car.

"This one's worth two hundred points,” Kris yelled after us. “Good luck!"

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 5

"What do you think the bandanas are for?” I asked, untying them to discover that there were two.

"Beats me."

"Maybe they're going to turn us into biker chicks or something.” I laughed at the absurdity of that, but at the same time, I knew that it was safer to assume nothing.

"I don't want to be a biker chick, Kate!” Claudia said, turning up the drama. “Promise me you won't let them."

"Oh, shush. Let's just find out and get it over with. It's worth two hundred points."

"Oh great, four times harder than the last one,” Claudia noted.

Au revoirto the French; now we're back to the myths that are Greek.

Echo, Zeus’ nymph, was caught by his wife, made unable to speak.

Oedipus gouged out his own eyes, blind like he was to his fate.

These two are not akin to Holly, Maggie, Alison, or Kate.

Alas, we must also return to the big park owned by State.

At the start take bandanas so that sight and speech are ceased.

Read the map in the case till you know the way to the gully—east.

Drive there; then on foot you must lead the one who is deaf and mute.

On the trail, the bridge, and back; trust proven beyond refute.

Bring back one pic: the leader; the lead; muddied sole of your boot.

"Four times harder than the last? Maybe I spoke too soon. This actually seems kind of easy.” She twisted her brow, as if thinking we had missed something.

"Well, maybe on the surface, it looks that way. It seems like the easier the clue the harder the task, though,” I reasoned. “Picking a flower was easy—"

"No,taking a picture of a flower!” she corrected.

"You know what I mean! Getting the ‘thing’ was really simple, but the clue almost did us in.

Then we quickly figure out Art Fair City Square, and all hell breaks loose."

"You're right. God help us."

Wordlessly, Claudia pointed the car in the direction of Mill Lake State Park. On the way, we hit the drive-thru at Road Swill for a much needed latte and a tea. I eased back in my seat, resting one foot on the dashboard and letting the caffeine revive me. My mind wandered back to the way the day had begun: that horrid tension over breakfast. I remembered the rift between us over the stupid violet. Then I remembered her promise to find out what it was that kept us stuck in the muck. Could we possibly keep going from worst to good?

I stealthily looked at her as she drove. She seemed lost in thought, too, and I wondered if our trains of thought were on the same track. It felt better between us. I prayed that it would not be short-lived.

"Penny for your thoughts,” I said.

"A penny! I think they're worth more than that."

"Always the financial guru looking for a deal. How much then? And make sure it's something I can afford."

"Well, I don't know. It may just bankrupt you."

"Morally or financially? I have greater stock in one than in the other.” I laughed.

She smiled and did not answer. Obviously, the thought-train had furthered her down the track; yet, I knew—unlike all the other times over these past years when she pulled away—that she was still within reach. It was easier to let her go off in whatever direction she needed as long as I knew that. I needed to know that.

"Well, are you going to demand payment or not?"

"Oh yeah,” she said as if surprised. “But I added to my thoughts, though, so I guess the price has to go up, too."

"For God's sake just tell me the price before it's too late!” I demanded.

"Well...” she said, drawing out the word until it seemed as long as a sentence. “How about a kiss?"

"Now that I can afford!"

I quickly spun around in my seat so that my back was facing the windshield. I planted one on her lips, soft and long, trying not to block her view of the road in front of us. Then, I slid down until my head rested on her thigh. My feet pushed hard against the passenger-side window. Despite the fact that the parking brake threatened to remove a kidney out of my back, I felt very comfortable there. I looked up at her as she drove. She smiled and brought a free hand down to gently stroke my head.

"So what were you thinking, hon? Now that I've paid up."

"Actually, I'm thinking what I always think when we have these gatherings,” she began. “It's probably not a very healthy thing to do, but I compare us to the others."

"I do that, too. I don't think it's unhealthy. For me it's more measuring that comparing."

"That's a good way to look at it,” she agreed. “It's not like I'm thinking so-and-so has it better or that I'm glad we're not like so-and-so. It's more like seeing ourselves from different perspectives.

If that makes sense."

"It makes sense. It's kind of how you work, Claudia. It's the project manager in you doing quality assurance. No?"

She chuckled at that. Apparently, I hit the nail on its flattop head.

"It feels different this time, though, compared to other times I've done it,” she explained, still stroking my hair, still keeping eye contact with me when the roadway permitted. “Maybe it's because it seems as though we've been taking stock of our relationship for a while now. Seeing the others lets me see us instead of just thinking us, I guess."

"And what do you see?"

She paused, maybe shoving more coal into the thought-train's mighty furnace.

"Well, I see Ginny and Kris, and I know that I want what they have. They've been together so long, and they seem so comfortable with each other. Then I see Laura and Holly and how different they are from each other, but it's like the one completes the other and vice versa. I want that, too, and I feel like we were so close to that, but it's as if the final completion isn't there yet. I don't know what it even is, and I think that scares me. It seems like it's right in front of me, and yet I can't grasp it."

She paused again, this time to swill a little Earl. I thought of a dozen things to say, questions to ask, but for once it seemed to me that in order for there to be an us this needed to be hers.

Another swig later, she said, “Then I look at Maggie and Susan. I remember back to when we were new and trying to mesh. Things were alien. Things didn't fit right. Things had to be reshaped or whittled down. It's an uncomfortable place to be, and yet it is so hopeful at the same time. It seems almost like we're back there again, but the hope is missing. I don't like that."

I knew we were close to our destination, but I didn't want to arrive. Not yet. For the moment, I wanted to do nothing but listen.

"And then, of course, there's Alison and Lisa. Any other time, I could just totally dismiss them, to not take anything from them except the sense that I never want to be like them ... or maybe just Lisa. But this time is so different. Maybe it's just seeing Lisa's true colors."

"I haven't exactly liked her colors this weekend either."

"But, Kate, I think her colors are my colors,” she said, her voice narrowly cracking.

I had to admit that her comment took me completely by surprise. Of all the people, she was least like Lisa. I did not know what to say. I did not know what to ask so that I could come to know her rationale. As I dealt with the reeling of my mind, I felt the car slow considerably, and then I felt the turn. With the veering, a tear from above me freed itself and hit my cheek. I left it there—it belonged there—and I waited for her to park. When she did, she looked down at me, and I looked back to see a pain there that I did not comprehend.

"Claudia, you're nothing like Lisa,” I reassured her.

"I think maybe I am. I think there's something in me that pushes people, makes them pull away, makes them leave. When Alison wises up, Lisa will be alone—probably for the umpteenth time,”

she reasoned. “What happens when you wise up?"

I paused for a few seconds, and then said, “Well, to defend myself by saying that I'll never wise up, might not be a good thing, huh?"

She gave me a laugh and then a massive sniff.

"You gonna shoot a loogie, too? See, you could be a biker chick!"

The hair stroking turned to a playful slap on the head. I raised my hand and touched her cheek.

"Honey, you're not—” I began but was interrupted by a loud banging on the window.

"Granton PD,” a loud and low voice announced.

I flew to a sitting position only to find Laura pounding on the passenger-side window. I opened the door and plowed it into her.

"What the hell was that for? You scared the shit out of me!” I barked.

"Hey, I'm a cop, I'm in a park, and I see two feet plastered to a car window. What should I have done? I knew it was either a dead body or some hot action. Either way, I was obligated to have a look see."

"You are so full of shit, Laura."

She crouched and shoved her head into the car. “Hi, Claudia,” she said. “This one giving you any trouble?"

"Ah no, Detective. No hot action either, thanks to the fine police work of the Granton Police Department,” she replied—and walloped in kind.

Good answer! Good answer!

"Okay, I'll behave, but Holly's out here trying to blind and gag me, and I'm just not sure this is such a wise thing."

"You'll be okay,” Claudia reassured. “Just don't let her anywhere near an art fair, and it'll be okay."

"Speaking of which...” I said. I grabbed the two bandanas and cleared my throat. “Are you ready to be blinded and gagged?"

"Damn! I forgot,” she said. “Go for it, I guess."

"Ah, you might want to vacate the driver's seat first,” Laura suggested in her official tone.

Within minutes, Holly and I blindfolded and gagged Laura and Claudia. There was something very enticing about it. A part of me wanted to speak my mind freely to her, knowing that she could not defend herself. She could only hear me.

Holly and I quickly studied the map at the park's entrance and then made our way to Grand Gully.

When we got there, we helped our ‘precious cargo’ out of the cars. We stood on a very narrow road, and a thick forest loomed on either side. A small dirt trail and a sign were the only indications that something existed within the forest walls.

I had Claudia latch onto the back of me, arms around my middle. “I'll go slow. Just try to sense my movements and stick with me,” I instructed. “I'll give you a guided tour."

After several minutes of heading deep into the forest, we came upon a clearing. There, about fifteen to twenty feet above a muddy, oozing ravine, hung the most rickety footbridge I had ever seen. As we scanned the area, Holly and I spied Maggie and Susan on the other side. Perhaps they accounted for the eerie swaying of the bridge.

"Okay, guys, we're at the bridge,” I said.

"It's not a regular bridge, though,” Holly chimed in. “It's ropes and boards. Susan and Maggie are on the other side."

Oedipus and Echo were not particularly overjoyed at the prospect. Unintelligible blabber forced its way through their bandanas.

"Trust, guys,” I said. “You trust us, don't you?"

There was more unintelligible blabber. We decided, nonetheless, to take it as a “yes."

I told them, “It's about fifteen feet in the air. So I think even if we fell we wouldn't get hurt, just severely muddied."

"I think we should get moving right away, before Maggie and Susan start coming back; otherwise, they'll be way ahead of us,” Holly said. “You guys go first."

"Oh gee, thanks for that kind gesture,” I replied sarcastically.

I took Claudia to the edge of the bridge, and I told her to take hold of my hands and not let go. I would back myself over the bridge with her in tow. I made a few steps out with her, and it didn't seem that difficult, but soon the swaying made me realize that holding onto each other and not the ropes would probably send us over the side. I stopped her and took each of her hands and put them on the rope handrails. “You'll have to listen to me, hon. I'll get a little a head of you and then wait for you. Okay?"

She nodded, and I carefully held onto the ropes and backed up a few steps. “Okay, Claudia, come forward three steps and then stop."

She did as she was told, but screaming was definitely not unintelligible blabber. I did my best to reassure her, and by the time we reached the end of the bridge, we were getting rather skilled. I hugged her tightly as we disembarked. I told her we were safe for the moment. I felt very protective of her, perhaps in a way I never had or at least hadn't been allowed to in a long while.

She was always so willful and self-sufficient.

"All right, go for it, Holly,” I yelled across the gully, refusing to acknowledge Maggie and Susan in fear they'd want to head back first.

I moved Claudia to a spot where she could sit. I greeted the others and noticed that from hip to calf, Susan's right leg was covered in mud. Afraid to ask for details, I returned to bridge's edge to make sure that Holly and Laura fared as well as we had.

About halfway across the bridge, Holly lost her footing and fell. In the midst of a shrill scream that seemed to echo for miles, she held on tightly to the wooden slats and ropes. I could hear Laura scream through the gag in her mouth, and I saw her hand struggle to remove her blindfold.

"She's okay, Laura! She's okay! Leave the bandana on. Leave it! She's okay!” I yelled as loudly as I could. “Holly, tell her you're okay."

"I'm okay! I swear, I'm okay,” she said, but the person who turned around to look at me was not someone who was okay. A scared little girl peered back, begging for reassurance.

"Holly, youare okay. Even if you fell, you'd be okay. So grab the ropes, steady yourself, and get back up. Laura needs you to get back up."

I could hear Laura screaming through the bandana, and then suddenly Holly heard it to. “Oh for Christ sake, Laura, I'm the one who fell, not you! Quit your screaming. I am quite capable of getting us across this stupid thing. So just shush your mouth!” she directed, the scared little girl evaporating into thin air.

"All right, Laura. I'm up. Move three steps toward me."

Laura still made disgruntled noises through the gag, and Holly yelled right back at her, prodding her onward. When she made the third step and felt Holly in front of her, she completely let go of the ropes and just held her. I prayed that the resulting to-and-fro was not enough to hurl them over the sides. It wasn't, but it was enough to make Holly lose her balance backward and Laura to come toppling down upon her.

Here we were in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of some God-forsaken woods with two prone women on a bridge.

Just then I spied the arrival of Alison and Lisa.

"What's going on?” Alison yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth to the bridge the distance.

"Nothing,” I yelled back. “Just Laura and Holly playing out their Tarzan and Jane fantasy. Just hang tight. They'll be off in a few."

Laura attempted to crawl and pull Holly with her as she went. Despite the gag, I could make out the word “go” being yelled. Holly yelled “no” in return, and soon “Go! No!” became an odd mantra. In the midst of this battle of wills, I saw Lisa, and Lisa alone, fumble in her bandana-darkness until she grasped the ropes of the bridge. She began crossing. Alison was yelling at her to stop, but she continued unabated.

At that moment, Holly sat straight up, plowing Laura out of her way. “Laura,” she shouted, “I am quite capable of getting us across this bridge, so shut the hell up! Now stand up!"

Laura did not move, and a flurry of muffled words still found their way through the bandana.

"Lisa, stop! You're making the bridge sway!” I yelled, but it seemed she was blind, mute, and completely deaf.

Holly was still ripping into Laura. “Stand up, I said! You think I'm some ditzy blond who can't take care of herself, let alone you. You are wrong, Detective. Now shut up and stand the hell up!"

"Laura, just stand up,” I instructed. “Just do what she—"

Before I could finish my directive, Holly spun her head around and shot me a look even dirtier than Susan's leg. “You shut the hell up, too, Kate! Otherwise she's trusting you and not me. It should be easier for her to trust me than you!"

Ouch!But she was right. Holly was in charge. Whatever happened to them, and the approaching Lisa, was their doing, not mine.

Apparently Laura got the message as well, for she grabbed the ropes—forcing herself to stand in the midst of surrender. She pulled herself upright, and in so doing, the motion of the three of them caused the bridge to nearly turn over completely. In a split second, I saw Lisa take a nosedive over the side, her body hitting the incline and rolling to the bottom of the gully.

"Lisa!” Alison yelled and took off to help her.

Laura and Holly had managed to hang on, and instead of being traumatized by the situation, they were madly laughing. In a doubled-over squat position they made their way toward me, Holly moving backwards, Laura blindly facing me.

Before their feet made the final steps onto land, loud music rang out from Laura's back pocket. In the eerie silence of the gully, the words of Cheap Trick spewed forth: “I want you to want me. I need you to need me. I'd love you to love me. I'm beggin’ you to beg me.”What?

From below us, I heard Lisa shouting, “Here!” I looked over the edge to see her, bandana-less, flailing a white paper napkin high and a cell phone above her head. Alison struggled in vain to get them from her.

"What the—"

"She got the napkin with our number on it!” Holly declared. “The bitch called the number to see who would answer! The bitch called our phone, Laura!"

With that, Laura removed her blindfold and stared into the gully. Then she removed the last bandana and yelled, “Alison, you okay?"

"Oh, I'm sure she is now,” Lisa wailed.

"Screw the clue!” Holly said. “Come on, you guys!"

She and Laura nearly sprinted across the bridge. I helped Claudia out of her bonds, and Maggie did the same for Susan. When we made it back to the other side of the gully, Laura and Holly were walking away with Alison, Holly's arm around her, apologizing for being so stupid.

Back at the road, we decided to do what we had done with the Mad Cow incident: we were all winners, or all losers, depending upon your perspective.

The seven of us headed back, leaving Lisa to her own devices and her own car.

"Not one of you could do a simple trust walk?” Ginny asked, apparently shocked beyond belief.

“Not one?"

"What the heck happened out there?” Kris inquired.

"Trust is overrated,” Laura quipped, but offered no humor to accompany it.

"It's my fault,” Alison stated.

"No, it wasn't,” Holly defended.

"Actually—"

We all spun around to see a muddy Lisa approaching. She looked through us all and kept her eyes riveted on Alison. “Actually, it was my fault. I overreacted. I'm sorry."

"Oh, Lisa!” Alison cried as she ran to her and threw her arms around her.

As they moved off to the side to talk, we silently turned back to Ginny and Kris. Awkward glances were exchanged, and envelopes were handed out to each couple.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 6

Back in the car, it seemed an unspoken, mutual decision not to talk about what had happened. I so wanted to wag my finger in Claudia's face, though. How could she even begin to think that her colors resembled those of that other?

"Where are we headed this time?"

I ripped open the envelope and announced, “Happiness prevails! Yes! Can you dig it?"

"I can dig it!"

I held the sheet for us both to read.

The time on the clock says happiness prevails.

At least, that's what we're hoping this clue entails.

You have worked hard all day long, led by the nose.

This time no Greek, no French, just time to repose.

Spirits are calling; there is no time to lose.

There may be some jazz or it could be the blues.

For the win, one must designate the other and then collect three sticks that vary by color.

"Happy hour ... spirits ... jazz ... blues.” Claudia rattled off what seemed obvious.

"Designate the other?” I questioned.

"Designated driver! Three sticks that vary by color. Let's see..."

"Swizzle sticks!” and “Stir sticks!” we yelled in unison.

"Okay, so one of us gets to drink, the other has to drive, and we need three different colored swizzle/stir sticks to win,” she summarized.

"I don't think only one of us gets to drink—just that someone has to be sober enough to be legal."

She corrected, “Ah, so one can get shit-faced but not the other."

"Yes, so you can drive and I'll have another,” I rhymed in my very best sing-songy voice.

She slapped my thigh and begged, “Oh please, don't do that. Things have been rhyming in my head all day. It makes me crazy."

"Well, then maybe a little booze will make it all hazy."

"Shut up!” she yelled but couldn't hide that laughter that tagged along with the words.

We were tired—and giddy from it. Some time to unwind sounded so very good.

She started the car and asked, “Jazz or Blues?"

"I vote Jazz,” I said. “How about Fat Cat on Main? And who's the lucky one who gets to get shit-faced?"

She reasoned, “I think it might be better if it's you. You hold it better."

"Yeah, but I drive better."

"My God, you're being obnoxious!"

"All the less reason for me to drink. And besides, if I hold my booze better, then I can have a drink and still be fine. I vote that you drink and I drive."

"Let's flip for it then."

I grabbed a quarter from the ashtray/vault and tossed it in the air. It ricocheted off the ceiling, bounced on the console, and fell under the seat.

She grabbed another, rolled her eyes at me, and asked, “Heads or tails?"

"Heads."

"Okay. Heads you drink. Tails I drive,” she proposed, and I almost missed it, but not quite.

"Want to reword that? I'll start rhyming again if you don't."

"Fine. Heads you drink. Tails I drink.” She flipped the quarter, and it landed tails up on the mat.

Within twenty minutes, we were belly up to the bar at Fat Cat.

"Hi, Kate,” Dave, the owner/bartender greeted me. “Are you here officially or just visiting?"

I had written a review of Fat Cat some months back. My job as a reporter for theGranton Journal took me to lots of places throughout the city. I think I hit Fat Cat on Fat Tuesday. Something like anyway.

I nodded my acknowledgment to Dave and said, “Just visiting. I hope you liked my review, though."

"We sure did,” he said, nodding his head vigorously. “In fact, it's in a frame on the front wall. So, whatever I can get you girls is on the house. My pleasure."

"Thanks. That's very generous!” I gushed. “I want one of those Scottish ales you gave me last time. Claudia, if I'm not mistaken, will have a bourbon Old Fashioned.” I looked to her, and she concurred.

We took a table in the back, far enough away from the small stage that we could hear the music and each other. The band played “Take the ‘A’ Train,” and I was sure Duke Ellington kept the beat somewhere above, happy with the rendition.

Claudia shoved the orange and cherry in her mouth, handed the swizzle stick to me, and said

“One down; two to go."

The stick boasted a royal purple, and at its widest end a fat cat perched. I shoved it into my shirt pocket and took a hefty swig of my beer.

A few moments later, Dave came by our table with a bowl of pretzels. As he set it down, he said,

“It's Happy Hour, two for one. It's my policy that that goes for drinks that are on the house, too.

Can I get you girls another one?"

"Thanks, Dave. I think I'll pass. I'm still enjoying this one, but I think Claudia's ready."

She was swallowing fast and nodding her head at the same time.

"Great,” he said. “I'll be right back."

"Bottoms up, hon! And I know you thought you'd never want to eat again, but letting a few pretzels float along with those spirits might be a good idea."

Soon, Dave returned with Claudia's next drink. He laid a fresh cocktail napkin and placed the drink carefully. In perfect synch, Claudia and I looked at each other with dismay.

"Hey, Dave,” I called after him. “This may sound stupid, but do you have swizzle sticks that are any color but purple?"

"Kate! Look at this place,” he ordered, stretching out his arms and slowly spinning around.

“Would we have any color other than purple? Sorry."

As he walked away we were suddenly inundated with purple. It owned the carpeted steps, the tablecloths, the napkins, even the jackets that the band members wore. Any color but purple?

Unlikely.

"Oh, shit, do I have to drink this then or should we just leave?"

"Just drink what you can. It's on the house, which almost makes it an obligation."

I watched her trying to down the thing so we could get moving, when at last I declared, “Come on. I'll help you. We'll just make sure the next bar is within walking distance.” I shoved my beer to the side and helped her finish nearly three-quarters of it. I hated Old Fashioneds!

With a wave to the bartender, we left the Fat Cat and headed east to the Blue Note. I guessed that they would have blue swizzle stick with a musical note on top.

We entered the bar to speakers blasting Muddy Waters’ “Iodine In My Coffee.” That would make me want to sing the blues, too.

As expected, everything that needed a color got blue. I ordered Claudia another Old Fashioned and a cup of coffee for myself, hold the iodine. Sure enough, a blue swizzle stick came to a standstill in front of me, minus the musical note. “Cool stick,” I remarked, not wanting to sound ungracious like I probably had to Dave. “Are they all blue at the Blue Note?"

The bartender nodded, somehow proud of himself for something that seemed so clich to me.

"I think we should have hit the Rainbow Room, hon, if we wanted sticks of many colors,” I said as I handed the drink to her.

"Yeah, but they don't play Jazz or Blues."

"I know. I bet all gay bars are part of some gay-man secret society, founded to save show tunes, the Village People, and songs that make you need to flamboyantly toss your head back."

Fifteen long minutes and a bathroom trip later, Claudia was ready for a burp and a change of venue.

She staggered a bit but was not shit-faced. What the lesser term for shit-faced was, I did not know.

"Can't we just stop anywhere on the way back to the car? Does it have to be Jazz or Blues? I'd even do Country."

"You don'tdo Country, hon. Country does you.” What the hell that meant was beyond me, but she laughed at the nonsense nonetheless.

Just then I spotted flailing arms down the street, apparently attached to Holly. We both waved back and made a beeline for the bar into which they ducked.

Before we entered, Claudia said, “You know they seem to meet up with us near the end of every one of these. That always gets us in a neck and neck position. I mean really. Have we come in first even once?"

She had a point, and seconds later, I had a plan.

We waited several minutes before entering. We allowed them enough time to order, get their drinks, and seat themselves. We walked in, spied them at a corner table, and then walked up to the bar. “We'll have a bourbon Old Fashioned, a mineral water, and then another two of whatever they ordered,” I said, directing the bartender's attention back to Holly and Laura, who were both flagging us.

"That'd be a Cosmopolitan and a cherry Coke."

Claudia helped me carry the drinks to the table, and an inebriated Holly stood up as I set the drinks down. She wrapped her arms around me. I think she meant it to be a friendly hug, but I ended up being a prop for her seemingly boneless body.

"I'm so sorry I told you to shut up back there,” she slurred and then kissed me, or rather, slobbered on my cheek.

"That's okay, Holly. You were right. I should have kept my mouth shut."

"But I didn't mean to be a bitch,” she said, the “itch” spraying its way into my face. “I love you two."

"And we love you, too, Holly,” Claudia reassured. “Look, we bought you guys drinks. Oh, but it looks like you guys already ordered. Well, no mind. They'll be fine until your ready."

We took our seats, and I watched as Claudia sucked the orange and the cherry off the yellow stick, shove it into my shirt pocket, and consume nearly half of the drink in one swallow. I was proud of her—my little lush taking one for the team. She chugged again, and this time she arrived close enough to the bottom to call it finished.

"I have to make a trip to the ladies room,” she said, and this time she was slurring her words. I prayed it was merely for effect.

"Let me walk you there,” I offered. “I'm not sure how steady you are."

"Okay, honey,” she agreed, wrapping her arms around my neck in a way that said “carry me."

I maneuvered her toward the back of the bar. As soon as we hit the little hallway that sheltered the bathrooms, she became suddenly quite sober and said, “Okay let's blow this place."

"There,” I said, pointing to the back door.

We flew out into the darkening evening, the chill feeling good on our faces. Hand in hand, we ran as fast as we could back to our car. I dug my set of keys out of my pocket, started the engine, and raced toward Kris and Ginny's. We had neither seen hide nor hair of Alison and Lisa or Maggie and Susan. Odds, for once, were in our favor.

Several minutes later, I parked the car in front of the old Victorian, feeling rather proud of the both of us. “We did it!” I declared. I still understood that there was a chance that the other two couples may have beaten us, but it still felt good.

"Oh shit!” I heard Claudia say, and it felt as though the bottom of my stomach had fallen.

"What? Maggie and Susan—shit! They win almost every frickin’ one! I should have figured."

"Ah, maybe you'd better figure again!"

I whipped my head around to see Holly and Laura chitchatting with Ginny and Kris in the driveway. “I am going to kill them!” I screeched.

"And I'll hold them down!"

We exited the car to have a not-so-inebriated Holly come over quickly and wrap her arms around me again. “I am so sorry I lied to you back there.” Her words slurred together, but this time, laughter performed the work of the swizzle stick. “I love you two."

I let out an “aaaa” that I guessed carried for miles. Kris grabbed my arm and reminded me that they had neighbors, nice neighbors, tolerant-to-a-point neighbors.

"Yeah, but two less visitors,” I said, lunging at Holly while Claudia went for Laura.

A catfight it wasn't but enough faux fur had flown for me to be temporarily satisfied. I looked to Claudia, and without a spoken word, we nodded our agreement: They would pay, too. This was turning out to be a day filled with vendettas.

Kris did the usual: jotted down our time on the clipboard, gave us the next envelope, announced that it was worth two hundred points, and sent us on our way. She excelled at her trade.

"Sober one had better be driving!” Mother Ginny's words followed us back to the car.

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Chapter 7

I was fuming, and yet amusement stoked the fire.

"This is now full-blown war, Kate,” Claudia seethed, but her eyes were smiling. Then again maybe all the booze brought the sparkle there. “They are not going to play us for fools ever again.

Give me the envelope! And drive away from this place—fast!"

I did as instructed, and I suddenly realized that this was first time Claudia had been able to experience the painful pleasure of ripping open the envelope. The sound of her doing so made me certain that, for her, at that moment, the envelope was indeed a metaphor—for Holly and Laura.

As I drove, she read the clue:

This dick owns a castle. Isn't that just regal?

To enter, you need to prove that your age is legal.

Cinemas, gadgets, things that go bang in the night.

If you have to ask what it is, please be polite.

The goal is to take a picture of a hot dame, but it can't be a clerk and you can't know her name.

I cracked the window and lit a cigarette as I listened to Claudia's guesswork. Riddle masters we were not.

"Dick. You think that's a name or a not nice word?” she asked.

"Holly calls Laura a dick all the time, but that's because it's old slang for detective."

"Well, sometimes she fits the other slang, too,” she said and uncharacteristically snorted. “But if you have to prove your age, that would make it something adult ... or maybe an R-rated movie.

‘Cinemas’ is in the clue, too!"

"When was the last time they carded you to see an R?"

"Good point. It has to meanreally adult, then. Adult cinemas ... um..."

Maybe we were not riddle masters yet, but we were formidable apprentices, because in unison we roared, “Porn!” Never in my life had I wanted to squeal the word “porn” at the top of my lungs.

"So have you written any reviews of porn shops, Ms. Reporter, or just bars?"

"Oh yeah, Sunday's Lifestyles section."

"Well, I don't know of any. How do we find out?” she asked, trying to know something far beyond the scope of her knowledge.

"There's that one on the west side. Pure Pleasure or something."

"What do we do, just go and hope it's right?"

"Well, believe it or not, I'm starving. How about we hit Mamacita's Taqueria. You get us some food, and I'll look through the phonebook."

She concurred that it was a good idea, and with a destination in mind, I made haste.

When we arrived, I realized that pay phones only resided in museums anymore, but a bus-girl let me borrow the phonebook. I found nothing under “Adult” or “Bookstores,” and I knew enough of our conservative landscape not to look under “Porn.” Ah, but “Novelties” held the mother lode. I scanned the short list, and without thinking, I bellowed “Peter's Palace!” to poor Claudia, who was, at that moment, placing our order. From where I sat, I could feel the heat of her red face—or maybe it was from my own. She glanced mindlessly behind her, rolled her eyes, and acted as if I were a stranger—a stranger all alone in a restaurant, playing Name-That-Porn-Shop.

Well, that made me feel good about myself!

Armed with knowledge and a bag of chicken flautas, we hurried on our way. It would be about a twenty-minute drive; dick's castle was outside the city limits and off the main highway.

Once we pulled into the parking lot, not one car flaunted familiarity. Amazingly, we were the first to arrive. If we were the first to leave, I would be even more impressed.

The building itself—like an enormous pole barn—boasted a gaudy pink. It looked very odd, stuck with a rural backdrop, and I found myself surprisingly dismayed that it wasn't silo-shaped.

"Have you ever been in a place like this before?” Claudia asked, and by the tone of her voice, I knew in an instant that she hadn't—never, not ever.

"When I was in college,” I admitted, “I had a couple of friends—gay guys—who owned a shop. I stopped in to visit them on occasion.” Why did it suddenly feel as though I was knelling in a confessional?

"Oh,” she said.

I found it staggering how two little letters—an O and an H—could contain such a tractor-load of judgmental crap. She probably had no clue, but the last place I wanted to walk into was Peter's Palace.

"Well, I say we just do it,” I encouraged, wanting my cohort fired up and ready to kick butt. “Just get in and get out. We'll worry about talking some hot dame into posing for a photo when we get that far."

"I suppose,” she said, and then she started rummaging around in the backseat.

"What are you looking for?” I asked, not sure I even wanted to know after a haz mat suit presented itself in my imagination.

"This,” she replied, retrieving a baseball cap. She plopped it on her head, her French braid resisting all the way. Then she leaned toward me, and her hand unleashed her sunglasses from the visor. Those she slid onto her face and then made a quick study of herself in the other visor's mirror. How does one decide if they recognize themselves or not?

The incognito one took a deep breath and said, “Let's do it—before I lose my nerve."

As we entered the shop, I could literally see her stiffen. I think she expected all eyes to turn toward her, but none did. Some didn't want to be recognized any more than she did. Others just went on about their business as if it were the corner market and canned beans were on sale. No more than a dozen people shuffled about, and from my initial life-form scan, I did not detect anyone of the female gender. That made me somehow feel better about being a part of the sisterhood, but it did nothing for my belief that we could complete the goal. I spied the clerk, who was in fact a petite, pleasant looking woman, but I knew that as a model, she was off-limits.

"Just act like we're browsing, hon,” I suggested, but the resulting look I got would have made anyone else believe that I had proposed skinny dipping at the farm wastewater treatment facility.

We wended our way down the first aisle. All the while, my eyes kept vigil on the front door, hoping beyond hope that a woman would enter.

Suddenly Claudia stopped, contorted her face—I meanreally contorted her face—and quietly shrieked, “Where the hell would you put that thing?"

"Um, think no fiber for six months,” I fumbled for some nice—okay, maybe just a less shocking—way to say it.

"Huh?"

"It's a butt plug!” I quietly yelled through clenched teeth.

It pained her to hear it, and I'm really not sure exactly where it pained her. She scooted away rather swiftly, almost as if this gadget—as Kris and Ginny called it—had the volition and the power to insert itself if she stood there too long.

Then the dreaded thing happened. My front door vigil affirmed the fact that all three of the other couples had entered Peter's Palace. Oddly enough, Susan was the one who caught my eye. In fact she stood out like the proverbial sore thumb. She donned a flamboyant hat, one of those a prim and proper lady would wear to keep the bugs and the sun as bay while she gardened with gloved hands. And yes, she sported a pair of sunglasses, too. If only the two them could fathom that disguises were sometimes neon signs that begged the world, “Look at me!"

I elbowed Claudia and pointed to the front door with my head. Simultaneously, we both got about three inches shorter and hightailed it to the next aisle. While that might have provided better coverage, it did little for Claudia's comfort level, as foot after foot of shelving prominently displayed every dildo known to man—or woman, depending, again, upon your perspective. Had the displays not started with the penis-replica variety, maybe she would have done better. I steered her down a ways, hurrying past the purple jelly one, so tall that it was nearly eye-level, and then moved her even faster past the two-headed monster that was honestly long enough to accommodate having sex in two different counties at the same time. I stopped her near the ones that were pretty—if it were even possible to allow “pretty” to modify “dildo.” Comparatively speaking, however, it worked.

"Look,” I dared. “This one is kind of cool.” I grabbed a pink glass one that curved its way into a heart-shaped handle at the base. “And look,” I added. “You get a ‘free lube sample and stylish storage bag.’”

Now Claudia was as disgusted with me as she was with the merchandise. Experience taught me that a roaring passion burned within her, but its flames were private, a sacredness she shared only with the one she loved, and never, ever was such a thing to be trivialized. On the outside, she was a staunch prude; on the inside, she was a force to which only I was privy. I decided to shut my mouth and let her have her discomfort; it was a part of her.

Just then, the rest of the group broke our cover.

As if talking to someone across a stadium in the middle of a Motorhead concert, Laura said, “I have no need for things like these, ladies, but then again, if I were a man, I wouldn't need Viagra, either.” She reached for Holly to pull her near.

"I bet you'd have no need for a butt plug, either. You'rethat full of it."

I do believe it was at that precise moment in time when my heart seized, pain shot down my arm toward my trembling fingers, and I grabbed my chest. Those words had been uttered by the one and the only, my incognito one.Damn!

Then Holly chimed in, “Trust me, Claudia. If this dick here used a butt plug she'd be far more mute than from some damn bandana.” She turned, left a peck on Laura's cheek, and added,

“Because she's always talking out of her ass."

It was this precise moment in time that would be recorded indelibly in everyone's minds. “The Great Dildo War” had begun. Each—excepting our incognito ones—armed herself with a jelly penis-replica and became a swashbuckler. Defending honor, taking vengeance—whatever it was spilled into the next aisle and eventually brought the attention of the clerk. We quickly dropped our weapons in their respectable spots and scattered like the scavengers we were at the sound of something bigger than us.

We hid near the Fantasy Costumes section until the calm came and the clerk went. Nurse, fireman, schoolgirl—somehow these professions did not seem to belong in a porn shop, but they representatively hung there nevertheless.

Claudia neared me. She was about to speak when we overhead Lisa's voice on the other side of the shelving.

"Come on! I brought every quarter I could find in the car."

"No, I don't think so. Let's just get the hunt finished. We have yet to win one."

"A half an hour isn't going to kill us. Come on, or I'll go myself."

I knew Lisa would get her way, that Alison would cave in, and frankly I was getting tired of it. I also knew that it was none of my business, but I cared about Alison. She had had a tough time most of her life, and it had finally calmed down. She taught yoga at the Y and had just started to seem content with herself when Lisa had plowed into her life, looking for someone over whom she could lord.

I expected Claudia to stop me, but instead, she grabbed my hand, suddenly oblivious to what others thought, and walked into the aisle with me.

"Hey, you guys. Any luck finding a ‘hot dame'?” I asked.

Alison spontaneously grabbed the camera from her jacket pocket, aimed it at me, and said,

“Yeah, in fact, I just did. Say ‘cheese!’”

I was about to remind her that she knew my name, but before I could, Lisa had literally jumped between us.

"I told you, you lying bitch! I told you you had the hots for her!"

"Lisa—” both Alison and Claudia said at the same time.

Lisa called her a few more choice words and made a few detailed accusations, and then I saw all attention in the grand palace turn toward us. Alison's eyes welled with tears, and both Claudia and I stared her down, our eyes screaming, “Don't take this crap from anyone!” She saw us. She knew what we meant. I knew she did. I prayed she did. We both nodded our heads, a psychic

“Go for it!"

"Just shut up, Lisa! For God's sake, shut up. I am so sick of the way you treat me...” Every word and thought she had been hoarding came out in a free fall, but she didn't stoop to Lisa's level. She called her no names. She kept her voice low and controlled even though she seethed.

And then I heard those words that I wanted to make her tattoo backwards on her forehead:I deserve better than this!

"Fuck you!” Lisa shouted. She then turned to me and added the same directive. Then the mad/cow/woman stomped her way out the front door.

As soon as we deemed it safe, the both of us starting high-fiving Alison, who suddenly seemed so relieved and confident. Every woman in the store—all of whom had names or was a clerk—

applauded. I knew that eventually Alison would hurt, and maybe even change her mind, but for the moment she relished her emancipation.

"Just keep going,” Claudia encouraged. “Just finish the clue on your own, find a hot dame, and let Kris and Ginny worry about the change to your team."

"I already have a picture of a hot dame,” she maintained. “And I'm turning it—No, wait! I have a better idea.” She signaled for the rest of our group to join us. When we were all together, she moved us around until we were all nearly smashed together. She eased herself into the collage and then turned the camera on us with an outstretched hand.

"Hottest dames, I know,” she declared, and for once, we all agreed on something.

After the impromptu party broke up, I scanned the building one more time. There were still no nameless women there. A few of the guys I recognized from before, and a few faces were new.

Still, the elusive hot dame had not landed. I wandered around a bit more, and then suddenly I felt the bright light of an idea scorch the top of my head. I quickly found Claudia and said, “I have an idea. A brilliant idea! Head out to the car and make sure it's parked under an overhead light. Take Alison with you so I know you're safe."

She seemed game, scooped up Alison, and made a beeline out of Peter's Palace. I slid into the next aisle, searched for what I needed, and headed to the checkout.

When I got back to the car, I threw a box at the two of them and ordered, “Start blowing!"

Claudia's eyes practically popped out of her head. She tilted the box toward the light and read,

“'Wrap Around Lover Doll.’ Oh my God!"

"You don't like her? I'm sorry. The other ones all had names, and pretty raunchy ones at that!

Now blow, you guys. Frickin’ blow! I'm going to run back inside—I know it's not the safest thing to do, but man, I gotta pee."

I ran back toward the shop, leaving several “Blow!” orders in my wake.

As I neared the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of Laura slipping a fifty-dollar bill to some young, scruffy faced guy. I did not even want to know what hell that could have been for, my mind refusing to let it register.

I used the facilities, scrubbing myself clean before exiting. As I sped through the shop, I saw Holly fumbling around in her purse. She pulled out a lipstick, and I stopped dead in my tracks as it suddenly dawned on me what they were up to. She took the cap off of the lipstick and aimed it at the young, fifty-dollars-richer guy. He pursed his lips under Holly's direction, and then I spied Laura removing a long blond wig from a shopping bag.

If hadn't just relieved myself, I would have pissed my pants.

I left the detective, the artist, and the newly crowned drag queen. As fast as I could, I ran back to the car.

"Are you done yet?” I asked, noticing that my Lover Doll was at least now capable of sitting up.

Her head still drooped, and I yelled “Blow!” a few more times. “They're in there dressing some guy up like a chick. Get moving. Blow! Blow!"

My blue-faced companions blew as hard and as fast as they could, one at the armpit and one at the toe.

Several minutes later I officially introduced myself to Lover Doll, thanking her for helping us, apologizing that it would have to be name-less and in a parking lot. I picked her up, kissed her gaping mouth, patted her “tight backdoor,” and handed her off to Claudia.

"Oh my God, I don't want her!"

"Why? You've already been intimate with her. You blew in her armpit!"

"Well, blowing her is one thing—” She suddenly regretted those words.

"Fine, then! Here's the frickin’ camera. I'll have to charm her myself."

I nervously looked around the parking lot, desperately hoping my audience was no larger than Claudia and Alison. I placed my sweet little Lover Doll—whose expression never changed—

around me. Her arms and legs wrapped tightly, her “snugly snatch” meeting the crotch of my jeans. For some perverse purposes, we were a perfect fit.

I tried so hard to maintain my composure. I really did, but then out of the blue I imagined myself at a public swimming pool on a hot day, bobbing up and down, my ever-gaping life preserver.

Then I imagined her as a horse to ride, and I galloped with her two times around the car, feeling the breeze in our “life-like hair.” Then the ham in me realized that I had engaged my audience, each member close to pissing in her own pants.

We did it on the hood of the car.Snap!

I turned her around and gave it to her trunk on our trunk.Snap!

We did it with the overhead light giving us support.Snap!

I turned her around again, and this time her wrap-around arms copped a feel of my breasts.Snap!

I turned her over, and her wrap-around arms hugged my ass and her “snugly snatch” made me turn my face.Snap!

I turned her over and around again, sticking my tongue between her “full-bodied lips.”Snap!

I was so into my porn shoot that it took me a moment to hear Claudia and Alison yelling at me.

“It's them!” I finally heard, and I knew exactly who they meant.

I shoved my Lover Doll into the back seat, and all three of us piled into the car. Almost before the last door slammed, I started the car and shot gravel all over as I whipped the car around in the parking lot and barreled toward road. We were ahead of them!

Despite hysterical laughter from us all, I managed to drive both fast and safely. As car lights encroached, Alison stuck my Lover Doll out the window, closing it tightly just below her silicone boobs. Her wrap-around arms flailed in the wind—and hopefully pissed off Laura and Holly with her incessant waving at them.

At last we skidded to a stop in front of the old Victorian. I laid on the horn three times—I know, nice, tolerant-to-a-point neighbors—so Kris and Ginny would get their butts out of the house and record our time. We bailed out of the car in perfect time with Laura's parking.

"We win! We win!” Claudia and I wailed, jumping up and down like little girls who just had pinned a tail on the donkey, not ones who had just pinned the tail of a Lover Doll.

And indeed, we had won—finally!

From my shirt pocket I grabbed something else I had picked up at Peter's Palace. I kept them hidden for a moment and approached Ginny and Kris. “Extra points for bringing our lovely hostesses a gift?"

"Could be a few extra. It depends on what it is,” Kris said and then turned to Ginny. “You agree?"

"I agree. Hand it over.” She opened her palm in front of me, and Kris followed suit.

With that I gave them each a boob-shaped sucker. They stuck them in their mouths immediately.

"That gets you an extra ten points,” Kris said, smiling and madly sucking.

Ginny, on the other hand and not surprisingly, offered opposition. “I say fifteen."

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Chapter 8

Kris and Ginny had changed the rules this time. Not only did they give full points to Laura and Holly for a picture of one who was obviously not a dame, but they also gave Alison half the points for “sentiment and hanging in there.” Maggie and Lisa got full points for simply ripping out a page from a girlie magazine, but the more I thought about, the more I realized that they had taken the simplest and perhaps the most direct path to the goal: they had taken a picture of a hot dame. It seemed like the “take it correctly” argument. This time “take” actually meant “take.”

Nonetheless, we had won, and it was about damn time.

I grabbed the clipboard to find that we were in first place by a mere one hundred and fifteen points. Laura and Holly were in second. Maggie and Susan trailed them by only one hundred.

Alison, who would probably do better now that she was on her own, was gaining on us all with seven fifty. There were two clues to go, and depending on their worth, it was still anyone's to win.

Furthering the unexpected rule changes, Kris did not do her usual handing out of envelopes with an order to get moving. Rather, things came to a halt, and they were asking for help putting stuff in their van. They said they had an antique show the next day, right after our brunch, and needed to make sure they were ready to go. Ginny persuaded everyone to help her in the kitchen, while Kris pulled me by the arm into the garage to help stack lawn chairs and blankets in the van.

I did as she instructed, stacking nearly a dozen chairs. As I worked I noticed that Kris acted strangely. Then it dawned on me that she was fumbling for words.

"What?” I finally asked, giving her an opening and myself some relief from not knowing.

"This next clue, sweetie—” she began.

"I'll be damned! You're going to help me cheat!” I interrupted.

"Hardly! It's just that Ginny warned you that there was one that would be very hard for you."

"And now you're having second thoughts? What the hell are you planning on doing to me?"

She paused, looked me square in the eye, and said so very matter-of-factly, “Get Claudia back to you."

"She is back!” I squealed. “I just haven't had time to fill you in. But she's back. I can feel it."

"Will she still be there, sweetie, when you guys don't have this scavenger hunt to focus on?"

I thought for a moment. “I think so. She said she'd figure out what was keeping us stuck. She always keeps her word. I can't start doubting her now."

"You don't have to doubt her. She's doing that herself."

Suddenly, my eyes shot tears as if they were red-hot bullets. “What are you going to do? Please don't hurt her! Please don't do something wrong so I lose her completely!"

"Come on now! You know we love you both. We would never hurt either of you. But she's leaving us, sweetie. She's pulled away so far that I'm not sure she knows the way back anymore.”

She paused again, pulled me near her, and said, “We're just going to leave her some crumbs on the trail. That's all."

That's all!I didn't even know where or why she went, but I had a strong enough sense of guilt to assume that I had done something to push her away.

"You do want her back, don't you?” Kris challenged.

"More than anything!"

"Are you sure you can be there for her—like she should have let you be there for her after to grandmother died?"

My mind drifted back to that time. Her parents died when she was a small child, and her grandmother raised her. In so very many ways her grandmother was her life, her one true love.

Losing her proved to be the hardest thing she had ever done. It nearly paralyzed her, but she eventually forced herself to move again. Or had she? Was that what had made her go away?

I turned to Kris and burned my eyes into hers. “Where did she go, Kris?"

"I think just away because it was too much to deal with. We all do that when we need to. It's a gift really,” she explained. “But she's just been gone too long, and every attempt I've made to reach her has fallen short."

"So what do I do?"

"Nothing. I know that sounds ludicrous after I've just scared the bageebers out of you. But you don't have to do anything that doesn't feel right. Just love her. Be there. Welcome her back. I think she's so afraid of losing you that she's making herself lose you. If that makes any sense."

It didn't make sense. Not one iota of sense came to me.

"Do you remember Emily Dickinson from school? The eloquent Goddess of Grief."

"Of course, I do. Ginny used to ram her down our throats."

"Remember this one?” she challenged again “'Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate / that time will come and take my love away. / This thought is as a death which cannot choose / but weep to have that which it fears to lose.’ She's not grieving her grandmother ... or her parents ... she can't let herself. She's grieving you, sweetie. In her logical mind, you're next. She's lost everyone else.

You're next."

A spotlight came on in that dimly lit garage. The epiphany kind of light that brought clarity to even the darkest corner.

"I'll get her back, Kris."

"No, let her come back. She won't be taken; you know that. You know her."

She patted me on the back in an affirming, soothing way. She assured me that they would be right there if we needed any help. Then she kissed my forehead, swatted my arm, and ordered,

“Now get that stuff loaded!"

She left the garage and me to my thoughts. With each thing I loaded in to the van, the line, “but weep to have that which it fears to lose,” repeated itself within me.

With the van loaded, we were given our envelopes, told that completion was worth one hundred and fifty points, and sent on our way.

I asked Alison if she needed a ride—hoping beyond hope that she didn't. She informed me that Maggie and Susan were going to drive her by her apartment so she could get her own.

As soon as I got into our car, Claudia said, “Talk about a working vacation! Ginny had us making sandwiches, packing coolers, filling thermos—you wouldn't believe it!"

"Yeah, I got put to work, too. This antique show of theirs must be quite the shindig."

I handed Claudia the envelope. Never before had I so dreaded learning our fate.

She held the sheet of paper toward the streetlight, and we read.

The scary tales about the orphanage are all made up—not real.

We simply make reasons to avoid that with which we cannot deal.

The children are there and for so very long went without a mark.

A group of good people set a fine mission on which to embark.

They gave them each their name on a simple stone for their resting plot.

We know for sure what we're are about to ask from you may be a lot.

With carnations in hand, each of you find just six with whom you share first letter of first or last name; then show them they matter, that you care.

Bring back the cellophane florist's wrapper that held your fresh flowers; write your finishing time on its sticker and leave it by our tower.

"It seems pretty straightforward,” she said, “but what are the scary stories about the orphanage? I never heard any bad ones."

"Actually, I did a piece on this when the stones were ready. The place closed some forty years ago. Since then, everybody has said the cemetery is haunted. It was creepy, all run down. They said the children roamed around there at night looking for their parents. Stupid, juvenile stuff.

Some people at the Granton Historical Society raised money, cleaned the place up, and gave each child a headstone. The orphanage records listed names and plot numbers."

"That was very nice of them."

"What had you heard about it?"

"Gram—” she stopped and went coldly silent.

I gave her time, remembering that Kris had told me “she won't be taken.” It was my monumental task to just let this unfold, to trust.Trust!

"The orphanage is close to Gram's house,” she finally said. “I remember the building. I used to ride my bike by it on the way to the park, but I didn't know about the cemetery, not until I read your piece in the paper."

"Oh, you read my stuff, huh?” I teased, trying to remain as much like myself as I could. I didn't feel quite like myself.

"Yes, I do, actually. So where are we supposed to get carnations at this hour?"

"Already figured that out. The market up the street has a florist area."

We drove there in silence. She seemed okay. Maybe Kris was wrong; maybe she had indeed returned.

As I turned the car off in the parking lot, I said, “I'll run in quick. Do you need anything? Got an Earl urge?"

"Yes, but I'll be up all night if I give into it, and besides, I don't think you can get one here."

"Watch me!"

With that, I ran into the store and grabbed a bundled dozen carnations, making sure they came in cellophane and sported a sticker. Then I grabbed a box of Earl Grey tea, lusting after the coffee beans as my nostrils passed them. I paid, ran to the car, and tossed the lot onto her lap. She looked into the sack, saw the box of Earl Grey tea bags, and asked, “What am I supposed to do, snort this?"

"You can try it, or you can trust me."

I slammed the door, and like someone half my age, I sprinted to the convenience store that was located in the far corner of the lot. In a matter of minutes, I returned with a steaming cup of plain hot water and a fake kind of cappuccino from a beverage machine.

She smiled, took the cup of hot water, and gave Earl a spin in the hot tub. “You're good,” she said.

"I know,” I replied and returned the smile, taking the car out of the lot.

About ten minutes later, we skirted the curb where the old orphanage stood. A newly painted sign read:Site of Granton Home. Donations welcome. I looked around to see Maggie and Susan pulling in behind Laura and Holly, with Alison falling in line a second later.

We disembarked and congregated for a moment or two, almost avoiding what we were about to do. Kris and Ginny had removed all fun this time, and yet, no one seemed to begrudge our mission. It was one of those right-things-to-do. I prayed that held true in every respect.

"Everybody have a working flashlight?” Laura asked, and after we each flashed our lights, we headed out.

As we turned, I saw in the distance, maybe three-quarters of a block down a side street, a parked but exhausting van. The moon provided enough light that I could see the silhouettes of a driver and a passenger. I smiled to myself and felt less alone. Our angels were watching.

We slowly meandered down the building's drive. I pointed to the wrought iron gate at the back of the building, and we all neared it, as a group, as one.

"This place has always scared the crap out of me,” Maggie declared as we prepared to enter.

"It's okay, Maggie,” Holly reassured. “Even if they are here, they're lost little kids. We won't let anything happen to you—or them."

Susan took Maggie's hand. I grabbed hold of Claudia's and squeezed tightly.

Once we were all through the gate, we formed a line, as if by script. We raised our flashlights and beheld the scene. The light seemed to turn on row after row after row of little flat, white stones. They held the light and seemed to glow. In the middle, an enormous budding oak tree spread out his mighty arms, as if holding them all, these children, in a protective embrace.

"Oh my God,” Holly cried, grabbing Laura's arm and leaning into her. “I think I'd rather have it be scary than this sad. These poor little things! Why did they just throw them away like this?"

"Some lost their parents to death,” I explained, mentally reading the notes that were tucked safely in my office desk. “Some were taken away because things were bad at home. These are the ones who died before they found a new home or became of age."

We stood in stillness. It didn't even make sense to tread on the little plots.

Susan broke the silence, “My parents died when I was little. This place makes me thankful for all the foster homes that I hated at the time."

"It makes me want to kiss my mom and dad,” Holly said.

"I lost my mom and dad when I was little, too,” Claudia braved, and I squeezed her hand again.

“Funny, though, I never felt like an orphan."

"How could you not?” Susan begged. “I think sometimes I still feel like one."

"I don't think my grandmother let me,” she said. “I moved in with her that same day. She was there in a way that never made me feel alone."

"You're lucky then,” Susan said.

"Yeah, lucky,” Claudia said, and the ooze of bitter sarcasm was visible even in the dark.

"I'm sorry! That's not what I meant,” Susan defended. “I mean having love from someone makes it bearable. I think that's why I wanted to be a teacher. If all my kids learn nothing from me, they will still move onto the next grade fully believing that Miss Garrity thought they mattered."

"Oh, that is so sweet,” Holly gushed. “You are such a good person. Claudia, you, too. We love you guys so much. And I think I'm going to find a way to help these little ones. Maybe see if they'll let me paint a mural on that wall there.” She shone her light on the brick dividing wall.

“Or auction off a painting to help them keep this place up. Or keep it up myself. Something.”

Her voice was cracking, and again she uttered, “Something."

"Well, right now, there's something we can do, Hol,” Laura told her as she slid her arm around her shoulder. “We've brought them flowers."

"And love from Kris and Ginny,” Alison quickly added.

"How about we divide by couples and spread out so none of them gets overlooked?” Laura suggested.

Everyone saw the wisdom in that, and we wordlessly, almost gracefully did so.

Claudia and I walked slowly down our section of rows, reading each name instead of just madly searching out ones with whom we shared a letter. I gave a carnation to Catherine Slatter, Paul Kuehl, Baby Scott, Katie Duncan, and Nellie Stoffel. Claudia honored Lilly Clark, Charles Duncan, Christina Boe, August Koch, and Stanilaus Krueger.

When we got to the end of the third row, Claudia froze in her tracks. She stared up, and I thought she was simply admiring the moon.

"Pretty, isn't it?” I remarked.

"I've always loved that house."

"Huh?"

"Gram's house,” she said, pointing to one of the houses that suddenly loomed large on the big hill that butted the small cemetery.

I was a complete and utter idiot, a paid reporter with no observational skills whatsoever. “I didn't realize—” I stopped myself from finishing. I had been to both places—to her grandmother's house many times, in fact—but I had never connected them in proximity. Where we stood was like a whole other city to me: it was the older part that lined the river. The new parts were built up and away. It was the 1800s down here, and up there it was 1900 and beyond. And in both cities, I was a complete and utter idiot.

"Can you see this place from her house?” I asked, still trying to get my bearings.

"No, it's too steep. I remember she couldn't even see me at the park across the street. It used to drive her mad. I could hear her yelling for me from the back porch, but I knew I didn't have to answer—not yet anyway—because she couldn't see me."

"Ah, you were a rebel."

"No, just not wanting some days to end. You remember days like that."

I did somewhere inside of me—days that included her, probably—but for the life of me I couldn't recall any at the moment, not that it really mattered. I suddenly felt like a piece of a puzzle that, prior to this exact moment, had not known of its jagged edges that fit into a larger picture. But this wasn't about me, anyway, was it?

With all the courage I could muster, I asked, “Hon, do you feel like an orphannow —now that your gram is gone?"

"I don't think so,” she responded. “I think I feel more like Holly. This place makes me want to kiss my gram.” She paused for what felt like an eternity. “But I can't, can I?” She kept staring at the house.

"No, you can't. But there's a light on in the house. That means someone's taking care of the place you both loved. Maybe they have their own children who they yell to from the back porch."

"I doubt that."

"Why? It's a big house. Room for a big family."

"Um ... Because it's an automated light. Nobody lives there. Nobody but Gram."

Okay, I was indeed clueless. I knew something had been ‘wrong’ with her, but I could not fathom that she had taken a plunge off the deep end. I asked what she meant, several times, but she would say nothing expect that I would lose all faith in her if I knew. After nearly having to head down her throat to retrieve the words I needed to hear, she finally said, “I never sold the house, Kate. It's the same as the day she died. Except there's an urn on the mantle now."

I was speechless. I remembered asking her a hundred times if there was anything I could do to help with the ‘business-side’ of Gram's dying: to help get the house ready to sell, to help pack her things, to...

"You told me it was taken care of, Claudia. I took that to mean you sold it."

"I did take care of it. I hired the guy next door to take care of it. I send him a check every month.

He takes care of it. He put in automatic lights and an alarm. I did take care of it, just not how I had planned to. I just couldn't walk in there. I still can't walk in there, and yet I can't walk away from it. I can't have it just be gone. Isn't that insane?"

In the darkness of the little cemetery, I tried so hard to see what was in her eyes. They were empty of all but moonlight.

"So now you know, and now you've lost all faith in me, and you'll leave. Right. I knew it would come to this. I just knew.” She started crying, the cold kind.

Weep to have that which it fears to lose.

"Well, one thing I know for sure about you, is that you don't like to be wrong, but it gives me great pleasure to tell you that you are wrong. I won't listen to crap like that, Claudia. I'm not leaving, even though you're doing your awful best to get me to. I won't go. And somewhere inside you know it, too. Otherwise, you wouldn't be pulling away from me. You'd just stand there and wait for me to go. You wouldn't have to move away to make distance. So I'm telling you what you already know: I won't go."

"One day you will."

"Yeah, one day I may not have a choice, just like your mom and dad, just like Gram. But do you think that beating me over the head for still being here is really the way to go? How about frickin’

asking me for help? How about telling me you're scared—you're hurt—you're mad—you don't want to be frickin’ abandoned ever again? But no, you've got to be Ms. Self-Reliance, the badass manager who keeps everybody in line. Don't you think maybe it might make me feel good to be on the needed end for a change? You'd move mountains for me, but you'd give me a spoon to do the same for you—probably a frickin’ slotted spoon at that."

"And Barbie Doll size,” she acknowledged, and much to my utter surprise and joy, she laughed.

See, there was trust—and she knew it. I could say all these things, and she still listened; she still laughed at the things that indeed were funny about this “us."

"But you need to make up your mind,” she said, and I expected another foretelling of my leaving.

“One minute you want me to move the muck. Now you want me to move mountains. Which will it be?"

"You sure you want to know?"

"Yes."

"And you'll go along with whichever one I pick?"

"Yes,” she replied, but her face was beginning to scrunch with doubt.

"No matter what?"

She clenched her teeth and uttered a very difficult “Yes."

"Okay. Then I say we screw the muck and we screw the mountain. I want the hill."

"The hill?"

"Come here,” I said, and when she neared I held her close. “I wantus to move the hill. You can have the big mama earthmover and boss all us peons around. I don't care. I'll take the Barbie-size slotted spoon, but I want us—together—to move that hill."

She was crying in my arms. Maybe it was a lifetime of tears that fell, maybe just new ones. I didn't know for sure, but I did know that I felt her surrender—to the horrid feelings, and to me.

I gently moved her away from me and looked her in the eyes. “We've got two flowers left, honey.

We're standing here honoring kids who are no longer here but are still important. We have two flowers left. I'll take the S: Sarah for my Sutter. You take K and make it a Kitterman for a Kitterman. Up that hill, honey.” I pointed to her grandmother's house. “Up that hill."

"Sarah Kitterman.” She said her name as though it was a healing poison. “I don't think I can."

"I know thatwe can. We can move mountains, remember? We can walk in muck. We can move this hill. I swear we can; otherwise, I wouldn't ask."

She leaned into me, almost collapsing. Then I felt her head start moving up and down, slowly at first, and then it pulled away from me to became a definite nod. I kissed her.

"Hey, guys,” I called, trying to be respectful of where we were. When I sensed that all heads had turned toward us, I said, “We're almost done but we need to take care of something important.

Would you guys be sweethearts and wait for us?"

"Is this a trick to head us off at the pass?” someone called back, and I had absolutely no desire to determine who had that much nerve.

"No! I swear!” I defended. “We're supposed to write our own finishing time on the sticker, so do it. The sticker time wins this one, not who gets back first. You can have our damn sticker if you don't believe us."

"Of course, we'll wait for you, Kate,” Holly yelled. “And I'll personally knock the block off anyone who won't.” The woman had spoken.

"Thank you, Holly."

I turned back to Claudia and asked her to give me a moment. I hightailed it over to Laura and Holly. “Hide me from Claudia,” I said. When they did, I hit Kris and Ginny's cell number on my speed dial and said, “I saw you down the road. Everything is okay. Go home."

I ran back to Claudia, offered my hand, and we were off on a scavenger hunt of our own.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 9

Somehow moving the hill felt more like moving a mountain. I had not realized what a steep slope we would encounter. Maybe it was better that way, as it certainly exemplified what Claudia had to overcome in order to drag herself up there—to face her biggest fear. Hand in hand, tree to tree, we plugged on, pulling ourselves to the top.

When we had reached the summit, we both sat to catch our breath. The city on the far side of the river reflected itself on the water, and the moon kept an eye on us. Once our breathing returned to normal, we stood. Claudia took my hand and led me up the few steps to the back porch. We sat in the rickety porch swing and just stared into the night sky. I put my arm around her, and so softly, she whimpered. I thought of the children below us, and I hoped that at sometime in their short lives they had known love—even a mere glimpse of it. Yes, it was what made abandonment such an evil thing, but it also made the feel of someone in your arms utterly sublime and safe. I wanted Claudia to feel safe. I wanted her to know that I was there, and that I would be there as long as this life allowed me to be, but the irony in that, is that I also had to accept the fact that one day we would be painfully parted. That was future; this was now. I did not want her to weep to have me, but just to have me.

"Honey,” I said. “I love you. I am sorry about your mom and dad. I am sorry about Gram. I am sorry that you hurt, and I hope that you can trust me with all that stuff that makes you not feel in charge. You're a strong woman, but it's okay to not be strong sometimes.” I held her closer.

“Even if it's just to give me something to do or so I don't look like the wimp all the time."

"Well, let's start by putting it this way: I don't know how to do that. Will you help me learn?"

"You're a stubborn one. What if it takes twenty, thirty more years?"

"Then promise you won't leave me.Please don't leave me."

She sobbed uncontrollably now. Our guardian angels had brought her back to me. No, Kris was right: She would not be taken. She came back to me by her own free will. I vowed to her that I would not let her go again. I apologized, genuinely, for missing that moment when she turned away from me, for not knowing enough to summon her home and make her feel safe.

We held each other for a while, and I knew that below us a group of women waited. Impatiently probably, but they waited.

"This is a damn big house, hon,” I remarked. “Room enough for a big family. Why don't we live here?"

"We have a house. You wouldn't ... we couldn't ... Could we? I always felt so safe here.” Then the “big family” phrase I had used hit her upside the head like a two-by-four. “Big family!” she yelled.

"Well, we can talk about it. A couple of adopted kids maybe. Those Old English sheepdogs you always wanted. Hell, I'd settle for a gaggle of geese."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Ah, there was that smile.

"I'll think about that. I like the sound of it. But you know ... there is a group of cranky women waiting for us down there.” She downturned her thumb. “One more thing, and then we can go."

She walked to the back door and lifted the alarm panel's cover. “Your birthday,” she said as she punched in the code. She timidly opened the door, clutched my hand, and we walked into the place that I hoped would make her feel safe again. With the flashlight showing us the way, we entered the living room. She approached the fireplace, pulled our last two carnations from the wrapper, and laid them crisscross in front of the blue urn.

"Sutter and Kitterman, Gram,” she said. She kissed the urn, bowed her head momentarily, and then tearfully added, “I'll be back, Gram. I promise.” She turned to leave, but stopped. She twisted her head around and said, “I'm sorry, Gram."

With that, we left and made the treacherous descent back to Granton Home. From that day until the very last, it would hold a special place in my heart.

"Thanks, kids,” I said as we passed.

"Yeah, thanks."

When we finally hit the street, the predictable uproar began in full force. Yes, we knew they had waited forever. Yes, we knew we had lost. Yes, our sticker now bore the losing time of eleven forty-seven. No, we really didn't give a shit.

Several minutes later we pulled in front of Kris & Ginny's. I needed to find Kris. I needed to thank her for what she knew enough, cared enough to do. Claudia would not weep to have someone anymore because she could weep for those she didn't have. That seemed a paradox, and yet, I knew it was true. Kris would help me understand.

Our hostesses, however, apparently had other plans. A big hand-printed sign hung on the garage door:Sorry, ladies. It's late. We went to bed. Get your next clue from the mailbox.

Everyone's jaw hit the driveway, and we just stared in disbelief.

"The nerve!” “The wenches!” B-words. F-bombs. Horn honking. Knocking. Shushing neighbors.

The hunt under flowerpots for a spare key. Begging a meowing Muse in the front window to unlock the door. Stomping feet. Yelling. Screaming. Shushing neighbors.

And then surrender came: taking the clue from the mailbox and leaving our florist's wrapper stuck in the ugly Eiffel Tower squirrel feeder on the front lawn.

Back in the car, Claudia dispensed with the expected and fitting rant about the two battle-axes who were still messing with us even while they slumbered. Her green eyes were red and puffy, and she rested her head on the back of the bucket seat.

"Just hang in there, hon,” I said. “If they think it's too late to stay up, they're not going to want us back in the middle of the night to raise another raucous. My guess is that this last one will be short and sweet."

"Care to place a wager on that?” she asked, tilting her head toward me, a look of disbelief upraising her brow. “My guess is they won't be satisfied until we are pulverized—which feels pretty close."

If she had seen Kris in the garage—the concern for me, and more so, the concern for her—the guess would have been a different one. I could not imagine them leaving crumbs along the path for her if that path had simply led to yet another, or maybe to the edge of the cliff. No. They would still have her best interests in mind.

"No” went from my mind and to my tongue. “Short and sweet."

Huddled together to gather the light from above, we read the final clue.

Violets, burgers, cards, trust, sticks, dames, and kids: We now reflect.

With yawns, sighs, slow, slow blinks: Is that utter fatigue we detect?

But it is far, far from over—not the time to lose your edge.

Where there is smoke there is fire, the old sayings allege.

From whence you came the patroness of paris gave her say.

Victor or not: It matters if you winand how you play.

Pony up or belly up—alert to the finish line until the bell chimes grub. Get: sanguinary humdinger brine.

"See! I told you! ‘Far, far from over,'” she roared. “Remember—just keep remembering that we vowed to pay them back."

"Oh, trust me, after this...” I was indeed exasperated. “Who the hell is the ‘patroness of paris'?"

Without awaiting an answer—mainly because I knew she didn't have one—I started the car and sped off down the street.

"Where are we going? Did you figure out the clue already?"

"No. I'm going back to Road Swill."

"You want coffee at a time like this?"

"No. Free Internet,” I declared. “Googles are a girl's best friend."

Now that coffee was on my mind, though, it did sound like a good and needed thing. I hit the drive-thru and made Claudia scream the customary order from the passenger side, while I thumbed “patroness of paris” into the little text box. Before I could hit “search,” though, Claudia told me to take my foot off the brake. She maneuvered us to the window. Simultaneously, I hit

“search” and the brakes, and with the exuberance of a child on Christmas morning, I screamed

“Genevieve” at the top of my lungs.

The barista stuck her head out of the little window. “Excuse me."

"Ginny!” I gleefully informed her. “Ginny is the patroness of Paris!” Then it dawned on me that this woman had no clue—literally. “Sorry,” I added. “I just figured something out. Sorry.” I faked an apologetic smile.

Claudia laughed at me, and whether it came via humiliation or not, I liked it.

"Okay ... ‘from whence we came’ ... their house. What did Ginny say? What did she say?” I knew we were so close.

"Um ... She explained the game to us. But that would be stupid to remind us of that at the end, wouldn't it?"

"What about the end then? What the hell did she say about the end?"

"Ah, the winners pay for brunch for everyone. ‘Grub!’ They have to ‘pony up'!"

"Drixel's Terrace, then. That's the finish line. So we have to stay alert all frickin’ night at Drixel's? Are they nuts?"

"You have to ask?” she challenged and then took our cups from the barista. “Come on, Earl!

Gimme some love."

"I still don't get the smoke and fire thing, though, but it sure makes me want a cigarette."

I moved of away from the barista's window and pulled over, out of the way, which seemed rather unnecessary in a vacant lot. I opened the door, swinging my legs out and lighting a cigarette.

“Have your way with Earl. I'll be right back,” I said.

I stood outside in the brisk night air and spied another look at the moon, making sure she was still keeping an eye on us. I took a few long and desperate drags from my smoke, and then I popped the trunk so I could steal the blanket from ever-planning Claudia's winter survival kit. I went back to the front, squished the cigarette under my foot, and placed the blanket over that nasty kidney-stealer of a parking brake. When Claudia asked what I was doing, I informed her that it was for her, that she could rest on my lap while I got us to Drixel's. I knew she would not argue.

The drive to Drixel's took us out of town, to a resort area about fifteen miles from the city. At the outskirts of Haley Springs stood one of those signs so common to resort areas:Population Winter: 50, Summer: 5,000. I figured that since it was early May that it was fifty-two. Fifty-three if you counted Earl. Fifty-two again if you subtracted Claudia, who no longer resided in this world but instead roamed the back roads of slumberland.

I followed several signs that pointed me to Drixel's Terrace. Eventually, I made our way down its seemingly endless drive and pulled up alongside the three other cars I had been expecting. Heads turned left and right, as we acknowledged one another. Then came the shrugs and the looks of uncertainty. Then came the looks that informed each person that no one among us had any clue what the hell we were supposed to do there all night.

Holly held up two fingers and shook her head back and forth. Then she raised one finger and nodded her head up and down, her nose and eyebrow forming a question mark. If there were points to be had for charades, I would have garnered them, and I quickly took a finger and pointed it down, to that sleeping woman on my lap. I roused her a little, but she barely moved.

"We're here, hon,” I whispered. “Everyone's here."

She groaned, sat up, spied Holly madly and happily waving at her, groaned again, and slid back down. A very long description for something that spanned a total of three seconds.

"Stay here, then,” I said to her, opening the door and holding her head up while I slipped out from underneath it. “Get some sleep. You deserve it."

She put her head back down, and as quietly as I could, I closed the door. I gave it a final thrust with my hip and headed to the sidewalk. As I did so, the other women followed suit. We had a lengthy conversation about being stuck in front of a restaurant that displayed a “Closed for the Season” sign. Had they simply failed to check their dates, assuming it would be open? Had they done it on purpose? The law-keeper among us even suggested that maybe “smoke and fire”

meant we were to torch the place to the ground, but then she reasoned that her captain would move her to arson, and that she did not want. Vice, maybe, but not arson.

After much coaxing, I was finally talked into calling Kris and Ginny, to waking their lazy butts to see if perchance they had erred. First, I tried their home phone. Neither Kris, Ginny, nor Muse answered. Then I tried their cell, which at least afforded me the opportunity to spew voicemail at them. “Hey, ladies,” I began. “While you're all warm and snug, we're freezing our asses off out here at a place that is closed for the frickin’ season. If you'd care to call and make other arrangements for us, we'll be here."

Each woman went to their respective vehicle and perched herself on the hood. Knees up, fist on knee, chin on fist, we all stared at Drixel's Terrace, the deserted restaurant in the middle of nowhere.Haven't we already been to nowhere at least once today?

Then finally there came that turning point, like all good stories are sure to possess.

Susan asked, “Do you guys smell that?"

"I thought that was you,” Laura wisecracked, and Holly cracked her with the back of her hand.

In perfect synch, we all raised our noses for a mighty sniff, and then totally out of synch, we all yelled, “Smoke!"

In fact, we yelled “Smoke!” so loudly and so repeatedly that my sleepy-headed one sat at attention, grabbing at Earl to make things all right.

"Let's move!” Laura yelled, and we all fetched the keys we had left in the ignitions—like anyone within twenty miles was out looking for a joyride.

With the crew assembled, we walked around and toward the back of the restaurant that suddenly proved itself to be enormous. Soon, we began to see the orange glow of fire in the distance. We heard the crackle and smack of wood being forced into submission. When we finally rounded the building, we stood in a clearing. Ahead of us, a bonfire blazed. Around the bonfire I saw the many lawn chairsI had loaded into the trusty, blue van that slept many yards back. I saw the blankets that I had also loaded. I saw the thermos bottles and the coolers that Claudia and the others had filled.

And we saw them, wrapped in blankets, sitting in lawn chairs by the fire: the two antiques at their very own show.

They raised Styrofoam cups to us.

"Took you long enough!” one of them said.

"I thought we'd freeze ‘our asses off out here at a place that is closed for the frickin’ season,'” the other one mocked.

They laughed madly, maniacally, raising their glasses to each other, the Styrofoam refusing to clink.

They gloated.

They boasted.

They relished.

They were proud of themselves.

They were sadistic, mean, conniving, and—damn, they were good.

And despite it all, they were very much loved.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 10

Once our minds had grasped the full magnitude of what we had just seen, we hurriedly entered the domain of the grand dames, the grand poo-bahs, these women who had so skillfully screwed with us. Laughter erupted from one and all. It reeked of genuine amusement, and at the same time it was the giddy letting go of something that had been in our clutches since early morning.

We had arrived.

"Sit, guys. Sit,” Ginny cajoled. “Take a load off. A heavy load it has been."

"How is it that this placed is closed, and yet, here you guys sit as if you own the place?” Alison asked, and rightly so. “Youdon't own it, do you?"

"Yeah, good question!” Holly agreed. “Does my lover need to whip out her big badge and haul you in for trespass?"

Laura quickly put her hand in her jacket pocket, and all eyes watched her movements. She smiled wickedly as a pack of cigarettes emerged. Slowly she lit one, looked at Ginny and Kris, and said, “Well, let's have it."

"It's a funny story, actually,” Kris began. “We've had a stoolie in every place you guys went today."

"Sounds like someone could use a trust walk!"

"Funny, Maggie,” Ginny said, “but it's not like you guys are all fine upstanding citizens—or even grownups—when you're together. And if you were, well, we knew there would still be some pretty funny secondhand stories to tell around the fire."

"Who were the stoolies ... besides Molly?"

Kris said, “Remember, guys, we've been teaching at the university for over thirty years. Can you imagine the number of students we've had?” Heads nodded, and she added, “And trust me, just because we're talking college graduates or future graduates does not mean they work in the cushy jobs they dream of!"

"The chick at the dick's castle! You know her! Oh my God!” Susan exclaimed, suddenly feeling naked without her flamboyant hat and sunglasses.

"Don't sweat it, Susan,” Ginny reassured. “If any of your students’ parents had been there and recognized ... you ... in that get-up, I doubt they'd go running to the PTA. ‘Hey, I saw Susan Garrity at the porn shop I was in the other night.’ Then again, there's that poor guy Laura and Holly probably scarred for life!” She stared them down. “And, Kate dear, did it ever cross your mind that stores like Peter's Palace have pretty elaborate security systems? Like maybe closed-circuit cameras in the parking lot?"

"Oh shit!” I yelled above the group's squealing laughter.

"For any of you who may have missed it, you'll find it in the DVD player in the van,” Kris said.

“Sasha was so nice to drop it off for us."

"Shit! Shit! Shit!” I continued, each word spoken in time with a stomping foot. “You guys are wicked!"

"Who else? What other stoolies?"

"Ned in the fishing rental shack. He said Maggie here had quite the belly flop, but he assured us he looked away before he saw anything criminal,” Kris said, laughing. “The bar-hopping, now that one failed for us. Why the heck didn't you guys go to the Jazzy Blue? Bluesand Jazz! Duh!"

A few of us slapped ourselves upside the head, and then Ginny said, “And we had a little chat with your sister, Holly. She was quite helpful."

"I'll kill her!” Holly swore, grinning at the same time.

"And last but not least, we had Jim hanging out by the gully. His tale was rather confusing.

Actually,he was rather confused. Something about a screaming mute laying on top of someone on the bridge. He wasn't quite sure if you two intentionally sent Lisa on a nosedive or whether it was an accident. You didn't, did you? Tell me you didn't.” She stared at Holly and Laura.

"No, they didn't,” Alison proclaimed, jumping to their defense. “But they should have!"

For that, a round of applause ensued ... and a couple of those manly two-fingered whistles.

I couldn't resist. I leaned over to Claudia and whispered, “Do you still think your true colors are the same as Lisa's?"

"Sometimes it is so good to be wrong,” she replied.

I gloated, and my attention turned back to Kris, who was saying, “And, Alison, you should be proud. You handled yourself quite well."

"Thanks, you guys. At least now I know why the clerk at the porn shop applauded with these guys when I told Lisa off. That one kind of messed with me. Had no clue what her fetish was,”

she said, laughing, and she was not alone.

"That wasn't ‘last but not least.’ What about the cemetery?” Susan asked.

"Ah, your fine hostesses showed up for that one, after you kindly packed their van, of course,”

Ginny recalled.

"You guys were there?” Maggie asked in obvious disbelief.

Kris looked at Claudia, and her eyes beamed when she smiled. “Something's are just too important to miss. You've got big balls, Ms. Kitterman. Keep ‘em that way. We have missed you."

Her comments seemed to soar over the heads of everyone there. A teary-eyed Claudia knew, however, and so did I. We both smiled back, and I felt Claudia squeeze my leg so hard that I was sure my thigh muscles squirted out the hole in jeans’ knee.

"Ah, but you still haven't answeredthe question, ladies,” Laura challenged. “How is that we are sitting in the midst of a resort that's locked up tighter than a drum?"

"Stoolies. More stoolies than you'll ever have, Detective McCallister,” Ginny teased.

"Oh, let's cut them some slack, Gin. My sister and brother-in-law own the place. But for tonight, it's ours."

Holly's face lit up, and she gushed in that Holly-way, “Oh, that is so sweet. All ours! Just think, Laura!"

"Yeah, so please make yourselves at home and help yourselves to the goodies we, um, I mean you guys made,” Ginny said. “There's a thermos of coffee and another with hot chocolate.

Kahlua and brandy for either, if you're so inclined. Marshmallows for roasting. No, hamburgers, I promise. Oh yes, and a thermos of hot water. I assume everyone knows that no party could ever be complete without Claudia's beloved Earl."

Poor Earl's name was tossed about with every accent known to or made up by a group of obnoxious woman.

As everyone got up and started milling about, Ginny and Kris approached us. Kris latched onto Claudia in a hug that seemed to last forever. Gently Kris swayed her back and forth, and although I could not see Claudia's face, I knew that tears were streaming, that she siphoned from the three-year reserve. Quietly, so as not to interrupt, I kissed Ginny on the forehead and then Kris. I was so grateful for what they had done, and at the same time, I knew that their wrath would find us if we dared waste our second chance.

A few moments later, Claudia pulled herself from Kris’ embrace, kissed Ginny, and then said,

“You know, Kate and I have been together for nine years now. And in that time, I think, oh, about fifteen hundreds times or more I've heard the stories about how you two worked her little fingers to the bone when you restored your home."

"Oh, you know Kate and how she exaggerates,” Ginny defended, mindful to throw a wink in my direction.

"Kate? Exaggerate?” Claudia barely, and I mean barely, defended me. “Well, did you or did you not have her scraping the paint from the peak?"

"I don't rightly remember. Ginny, do you?"

"Hmm ... My memory must be failing me."

"Oh for God's sake, you two, you know damn well you had me up there!” I yelled. “Tell her! I am a reporter; that means fact, not fiction like you! Tell her."

They just stared.

"I'll twist your arms. They're big and strong from climbing ladders and hanging on for dear life!

Tell her!"

"Okay, okay, under duress and threat of bodily harm, yes, she was up there. Yes, we did work her little fingers to the bone, which also kept her out of trouble, mind you. She was a wild one, that one."

I shook my head in utter disbelief. Even their truth bordered on total fabrication.

"Well,” Claudia said, “I finally have a way for you two to make up for all the child labor you profited from. Ithink we're going to move into my grandmother's house, and I was hoping you'd give us some ideas, some help."

"You got it, sweetie,” Kris quickly replied.

"I'm sure that would please your grandmother, Claudia. She was a good woman, and she raised you to be a good woman. But let me tell you one thing,” Ginny said, bending in close to her, as if she were about to reveal the precise location of the Holy Grail. “I'm not stupid enough to climb to the peak."

There was no winning with those two. A warped and undying sense of humor was the only defense.

We turned to notice that everyone had staked claim to a blanket and a lawn chair next to the fire.

The marshmallows had been opened and were meeting fiery deaths on metal skewers. Kris and Ginny returned to their chairs. Claudia and I took one of the remaining recliners. Numerous conversations blended into one loud rumble. It was a soothing sound. It felt good to be with them like this in our own little world.

"Hey, how are we doing on scores, anyway, Kris?” Holly asked.

Kris tilted back in her chair and grabbed her treasured clipboard. “Tell me how you did on the last clue. It was worth one hundred and fifty. Everybody complete it?"

All heads nodded, and she gave us our points. She probed until she learned that Alison had come in first, followed by Susan and Maggie, and then Laura and Holly. She added in the extra points.

Claudia and I were the official losers—or so it seemed.

"Well, let's see then. Laura and Holly are in first with nineteen fifty. Claudia and Kate have eighteen sixty-five. Susan and Maggie have seventeen fifty. Alison brings up thefirm rear end with fifteen fifty. The last clue is worth fifty points, plus the extras. Looks like anyone could still win it. Oh, except—"

"Except for me,” Alison said. “That's okay. I had fun. I learned a lot. And besides the winner has to spring for brunch for everyone, right?"

"They sure do,” I readily confirmed.

Then a frustrated Maggie jumped into the conversation. “Anybody care to tell us what the heck a

‘sanguinary humdinger brine’ is?"

"Heck, no! You could still win this thing,” Claudia yelled.

I think it was the first time she had participated in the group since we had arrived, She felt better!Give ‘em hell, hon!

"No way in hell,” she continued. “The only thing I'll tell you is that it doesn't involve meat!” She stuck her tongue out at Maggie.

Maggie was about to respond when the near silence was completely shattered by a loud roar. All eyes turned to where the sound came from, and into the glow of the fire walked a big man with a hockey mask hiding his face and a smoking chain saw revving in his hand. Screams erupted that shook the chairs beneath us.

Kris shot to her feet, screeching, “That isnot funny!"

The large figure turned around and moved away, but the screaming did not subside.

Kris sat down, only to spring to her feet again, as the big man turned back around, revved the frickin’ chainsaw, and moved three steps closer. “Vernon!” she yelled, and the big man backed off again.

She sat down once more, but before she had even completed the motion, the big man turned yet again, revved the chainsaw maniacally, and charged at us. Chairs toppled over. Drinks spilled.

This was definitely not your run-of-the-mill woman-on-woman action.

Kris flew to her feet again, this time howling in a way that seemed physically impossible for her petite frame. “Verrrrrnnnnoooon!"

This time the big man did not move. The white of his hockey mask seemed to glow in the firelight. He revved the chainsaw three quick times, and Kris yelled, “Vernon! I'll get Ruth!"

With that, the big man turned completely around and swiftly trotted away. The sound of the chainsaw grew distant and eventually sputtered to a stop.

Kris surveyed the damage as she straightened the blanket that draped around her. Then to a stunned and prone Laura, she said, “Well, I'll sleep much better at night knowing a fine detective such as yourself is out there protecting us!"

"I wasn't afraid,” Laura yelled back at her and then almost sheepishly added, “Holly knocked me over."

"Then why in God's name are you on top of her?"

"Yeah, Laura, get off of me and quit pulling my hair,” Holly ordered. “Who the hell was that, Kris?” As she awaited an answer, she climbed out from beneath Laura and stood up to brush the dirt off her dark, flared jeans.

"My brother-in-law. I think all resort owners have facemasks and chainsaws. Why the hell they think it's funny, though, is beyond me. He's a retired drill sergeant. I think he just gets of a kick out of still being able to instill the fear of God."

"Laura, you can get up now,” Holly said, offering her a hand.

Laura was reluctant to take it, but she finally did so. She stood and dispensed a dirty look to every other prone woman. Granted, none of us—flattened and clinging to another—had any right whatsoever to laugh at Laura, but that certainly did not mean we did not have the desire—or the need. Surprisingly, it was Laura who released the first laugh. It came as one of those rupturing snorts from the nasal cavities and turned into full-blown body-shaking tear-streaming, breath-seizing laughter. Like a wildfire it spread through everyone, and for a good five minutes we buffeted between hysteria and the need to pee.

Eventually, the little energy we had whittled away to nothingness. It was nearly three in the morning. We straightened up the area and formed another circle around the fire. Conversations confined themselves to couples and never rose beyond a whisper. I heard Susan expressing worry that her muddy capris were not befitting a Sunday brunch. I heard Alison snoring softly. I heard Laura telling Holly how much she loved her. I heard Claudia's gentle breathing as she lay next to me, nearly on top of me on the reclining lawn chair. With each inhalation, I imagined her moving that much more back to me. I stroked her hair, and I felt peaceful in her slumber.

Kris and Ginny remained seated, towering over the group. It seemed their intent was to keep a vigil over us all night—maybe just to protect us from Vernon. They whispered to each other, but I could not eavesdrop from my distance. I could tell, however, which couple they talked about.

Each got the conversation turned to them at least once. When their eyes drifted to us, I merely smiled at them and gently erected a thumbs-up.

The quiet conversations eventually ceased. For a group of women who were to remain “alert to the finish line,” we did an awful job, as each of us succumbed to sleep.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 11

I couldn't quite fathom how, but I was sure that sometime during the night, the kidney-stealing parking brake had made its way from the car and to the lawn chair beneath me. It was certain it had performed its dastardly deed, as my body screamed in pain, and I was sure my back sported a gaping hole.

Claudia stirred, her head resting on my belly. She looked at me and began crawling her way up my torso. I smiled at her and said, “Morning, Lover Doll."

From behind us Alison's voice moaned, “Oh my God, Kate, you wouldn't!"

Oh, but I would!I peered around to see Alison in the midst of her morning yoga routine. “You're right; I wouldn't. At least not in the presence of a yoga master. You'd talk us into some weird position we'd never be able to get out of,” I said. My mind quickly pondered why initially that had seemed so dreadful. “On second thought—"

Holly neared us with a thermos. “You want some coffee, Kate?” she asked, but at the same time, she poured, knowing there would be no debate. “I don't know what happened to Earl, Claudia.

Sorry. Maybe Vernon got him."

She handed me a cup of lukewarm coffee. Eternally grateful, I teased, “Holly, I love you! You're my kind of girl. Run away with me?"

"Cool. Let's go before grumpy one here gets up,” she said, tossing her head back in Laura's direction. “Claudia, you drive."

"Earrrrrl!” she cried. “Not without my Earrrrrl!"

"Get a grip, Claudia!” I teasingly scolded. “I've got Earl in the car. Remember? Let me up, and I'll go get him."

She released me, and I did my best to stand in the face of immense pain. I saw Maggie folding blankets, and I said, “Hey, Maggie, I need to run to the car. Walk with me?"

She quite pleasantly agreed, and we headed to the front parking lot. When we got there, I unlocked the car and grabbed my PDA from the glovebox. “Pocket dictionary and thesaurus,” I said. “'Sanguinary humdinger brine.’ Got for it."

I sat in the driver's seat, lit a cigarette, slurped my coffee, and watched her tap her way to wisdom. After all, information begets control, does it not? I wondered if Claudia would still believe that with the same fervency.

Maggie soon said, “Sanguinary, involving or causing great bloodshed. Oh, good.” Several taps later, she added, “Humdinger, a remarkable person or thing.” She hit the “thesaurus” button at my urging and got “jim-dandy, dandy, dilly, beaut.” Then she said, “I already know what brine is.

It's a saltwater soak or similar."

"Think of things that come from a brine,” I prodded, half of me wanting just to tell her, but she was the kind of soul who derived self-esteem from what she could accomplish.

"A pickle?” she asked, and I told her to keep going. “A jim-dandy pickle that causes bloodshed?

No—at least I hope not. Bloodshed dandy pickle."

I was nodding my head vigorously, knowing she was but a second away.

"Bloodshed dilly pickle! Dill pickle!” she cried. “What the heck is a bloodshed dill pickle."

Argh! So close. “Um ... get the pickle out of the shed,” I idiotically suggested but didn't know what else to say without actually saying it.

"Huh?"

"Try ‘bloody dill pickle,'” I suggested.

"No!"

Argh! “Where would a pickle have to be in order for it to get—no, that won't work. You'll gag or something. Um ... There's a kind of drink that's blood red and can have a big dill pickle in it.

Think,” I suggested, knowing that I had all but said it outright. Then I stood up and waited for the grandaha.

But it didn't come. Instead, she hung her head and said, “This whole thing is going to come down to a pickle from a Bloody Mary? An f-ing pickle?"

"Yes, an f-ing pickle. A fickle. A fugly fickle. And you expected something monumental ...

instead of just mental?"

"I did! I really did! Fugly fickle is f-ing right."

"Yep, and remember: Getting that first Bloody Mary will cost you brunch for nine. Think hard about whether winning is really the prize.” As I got to my feet, I quickly added, “Revenge may be sweeter. You know those ‘just desserts.’ Now, I've got to get back and get a caffeine fix in my woman."

Just as I had returned and fetched the thermos of plain hot water, I saw a man heading our way.

Across his shoulders was a long metal bar, and from each end hung a large bucket of crushed ice.

He carried the weight as if it were the thermos I clutched.

"Good morning, girls,” he said quite kindly. “Listen, I'm sorry if I scared you all last night with my little prank. I don't know what go into me. Maybe I'm just excited about the season about to open and the campers returning. Whatever, though, I'm sorry."

"We weren't afraid. Were we, Laura?” I said, unable to resist one more round of nose rubbing. “It was good for a laugh. Don't worry about it."

"Great” he replied, seemingly relieved by our verdict. Then he leaned toward me and in a quieter voice said, “If you could tell that to Kris and my wife, I'd be much grateful.” Then his voice boomed again, as he added, “Now, I've got to get a move on. People for brunch!"

He strode off—the drill sergeant, who had obviously been drilled to the wall by two sisters.

My mind recalled every inane slasher movie that I had ever seen, and when I looked around at my comrades, I noticed that each of us resembled the one poor survivor: babbling on the roadside, disheveled, spent, and on her way into years and years of therapy. In the same slasher-movie way, it wasn't over, either, although you were being lulled into that belief. There was always something—eyes in the woods, the distant sound of a chainsaw, or the smell of bacon cooking in a restaurant in the middle of nowhere—something just told you that it wasn't quite over, not just yet.

For us, the time swiftly wended its way to nine. We did our best to make ourselves presentable and to load everything back into the van. With a mere ten minutes to go, we all headed to the front of the building. We walked like the civilized, upstanding citizens that Kris and Ginny said we couldn't be.

Well, at least we were that way until we rounded the front of the building. Then all hell broke loose. Suddenly, it had nothing even to do with couples. It was each woman for herself, making a made dash for the front door as the clock ticked. Without a doubt, we were very alert to the finish line, and very alert to the pain elbows could inflict on a competitor.

This was it! The moment for which we had worked so hard.

The anticipation and desperation heightened even more when we saw the “Closed for the Season”

sign being removed from the door window. Like track stars as the gun is raised, we dug in our feet, waiting for the blessed moment to shove off. But unlike those same athletes, our launch looked far from graceful and disciplined. As one, we nearly fell into a heap as the door pulled inward.

The pile of us had landed in a small receiving area, and a woman, obviously Kris’ sister, said, “If you'll give me a moment, I will find you a table."

We stood at attention, still writhing to get to the head of the nonexistent line.

Seconds later, the woman returned and politely instructed, “If you'll follow me..."

Now maybe we could be uncivilized with each other, but to bowl over an innocent woman in our haste—well, just let it be stated that we had never gone that far. We contained ourselves and followed her out of the tiny room. As we rounded the corner, we saw a long set table with the grand poo-bahs seated there, staring at us as they sipped steaming hot coffee. We saw Kris’ sister, who had led us in, suddenly move away from us. And then we saw Vernon, standing behind the bar with a broad grin on his face.

The bar!Oh, the mayhem that ensued!

I saw Holly throw herself to the floor and grab Claudia's leg with one arm while latching onto Susan's leg with the other. “I have them! Run, Laura! Run!” she cried.

But Laura had something else in mind. Before I could even think to defend myself, she scooped me up and hauled me back to the entryway. She shoved me into the coat closet, saying, “Some like us are forced to live in the closet. Poor things!” She slammed the door.

I promptly opened the door and ran after her as she made a beeline for the bar, where, I gleefully noted, stood Alison in full smile waiting for Vernon to make her a frickin’ Bloody Mary.Fugly fickle, please.

Rather than tackle Laura to the ground, I attempted to pull on Holly as she willfully held onto the two flailing legs. I finally freed them both and watched as Holly, too, made a beeline for the bar.

There, they barked their orders at Vernon, as if their life depended upon it.

But we had something else in mind. The four of us—Susan, Maggie, Claudia, and me—formed a line behind them. Calmly we watched as they excitedly took their Bloody Marys from Vernon.

With the arrogance of a huge hawk with a minute mouse in its claw, they turned, and one of them said, “Looks like we just won, ladies."

"Oh, you did, did you?” said the enlightened Maggie.

"Oh?” said the newly enlightened one with the muddy pants.

"You think so, huh?” said the lighter one.

"We'll have four more Bloody Marys, Vernon,” I said. “And you might as well make it pitchers since these twowinners here will be picking up the tab."

B-words, F-bombs—you know the rest of the drill. The two of them were allowed absolutely no joy in their hard fought, hard won victory.

At least one vendetta had been settled, and at this juncture, “sanguinary” indeed meant

“bloodshed."

We argued back and forth as Vernon prepared a pitcher of Bloody Marys, offering it up with four glasses, a big fugly fickle sticking out of each. As I reached for the pitcher from the bar, Vernon asked, “She didn't tell you, did she?"

"Who?” I asked. “Who tell us what?"

"Kris! Did she tell you that there's no charge for brunch? This is the tactical field exercise for the new summer staff."

"A frickin’ dress rehearsal?” I screamed, relying on an analogy I knew better, but I quickly scoured my mind for the jargon I had picked up from my dad, a military man as well.

"Yeah, from the way you girls were talking,” Vernon continued, “it sure sounded like she didn't tell you. There's no charge for helping us!"

With that, Holly began wildly jumping up and down, and Laura did that peacock thing. They high-fived each other, while the rest of us simply stared at each other, our mouths agape like very duped and deflating Lover Dolls.

"Sir, Vernon, sir,” I yelled, holding a salute, as I slowly dusted off the memories my father had given me.

"What is it, recruit?” he snapped back, smiling as he transformed into something bigger, as if he were slipping into an old uniform that fit him so well.

"Permission to test your cleaning staff, sir!"

"Permission granted, recruit!” he said loudly, saluted, and then whispered, “And how!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

I looked to my comrades, who I thought were catching onto the only recourse that remained.

"Ready!” I said, grasping the slippery “jim-dandy pickle that causes bloodshed” between my fingers and watching the three others do the same. “Aim! Fire!” I shouted.

I figured it was at about the “fi” in “fire” when Holly and Laura hit the deck like the peahens they had proven to be.

But, they were not our targets. We turned slowly, like military turrets, and let the sanguinary humdinger brines lob themselves toward the grand dames, the grand poo-bahs, these women who had so skillfully screwed with us.

They did not hit them. We did not intend for them to hit them. It was the ducking we wanted as the dripping projectiles ripped their way towards them. It was that apropos splash of tomato juice that each of them got in their laughing face as the bloody battle came to an end.

We turned, and this time, our occasion to high-five had arrived.

Funny, if we didn't madly jump up and down and strut like peacocks.

It was victory.

Just without the points.

Table of Contents

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11