Calamity Jayne and the Sisterhood of the Traveling Lawn Gnome (26 page)

"As long as it takes, T," he said. "As long as it takes."

I sighed.

Nobody had that much time.

For the first time I realized how quiet our little group was. I looked around the table and frowned.

What a bunch of Gloomy Guses. We looked like we were at a funeral instead of a sports bar.

"A toast!" I said, lifting my glass of beer. "A toast to the come from behind winners of the first—and we all hope last—charity donkey ball tournament! To Grandville!" I held my glass out to clink, but my only fellow clinker was Ranger Rick. "And how about that Craig! Wasn't he outstanding in his field out there today?" I snorted. "Get it? Outstanding in his
field
? Baseball
field
."

"Nice try, T," Craig said, taking a long drink of his beer. "But getting a certain person to understand the effort required out there today is probably a lost cause."

"By 'a certain person,' I suppose you mean me?" Kimmie said, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"Among others," Brian muttered.

"What was that, Brian? What did you say?" Kari asked. "Come on! Speak up! I'm sure you didn't mumble when you chitchatted with Miss "T-R-O-U-B-L-E" out there tonight."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Brian said. "She's a coworker. What am I supposed to do, just ignore her?"

"Why not? You ignored me."

"For crying out loud! I was busy playing the stupid donkey ball game! It's kind of hard to be at your beck and call when you're hanging on to the north end of a jackass going south and hoping to hell he doesn't decide to rub you off in the barbed wire fence."

"Oh, give us a break! You guys were all over that because it was a sport!" Kimmie said. "You got to bat and hit and throw and run and chew and spit and slide and swear. All those activities
boys
love to do. The only thing missing out there was camouflage and hunting gear."

"Oh, really? How would you know what it was like out there? You're watching on the sidelines from your comfy little cushioned seat in the bleachers, patting your hair and checking your makeup," Craig said, getting to his feet and patting the chair seat with a flourish before sitting back down and wiggling his bottom around in a prissy pantomime. "Ahh." He sighed. "Perfect."

"Oh, so just because I don't choose to spend my evening wrestling around with some dirty, smelly barnyard animals—and I'm not just talking about the four-legged ones—doesn't mean I don't know how to have a good time. I just don't happen to find fun in activities I outgrew ten years ago."

"You don't understand the nature of competitive sports," Craig told Kimmie. "You were a
cheerleader
." He made the word sound like "liberal" when a conservative says it and "conservative" when a liberal says it.

"How dare you! Cheerleading is just as physical as football or basketball or any sport," Kimmie hissed. "Isn't that right, Kari? Tressa?"

I shrugged.

"Yeah, I mean, I guess so."

"Oh, so you're defending that 'I want to be seventeen forever' Panther Posse piece of work now?" Kari snapped at me.

I blinked. What was happening? What was happening?

"What? Me? No way!"

"I think it would be best if we all took a deep breath, sipped our drinks, and just enjoyed spending time with friends and family tonight," Rick suggested.

"That's easy for you to say. Your significant other participates rather than criticizes. She cheers rather than sneers." Brian pointed out. "She's like one of the guys."

I made a face.

"I don't think—"

"Brian's right," Craig interrupted. "Tressa here isn't afraid to get all stinky and sweaty and grubby and dirty and have her hair get all tangled and mussed up—"

"I'm not sure—"

"Well, praise God for Elly May Clampett, and pass the vittles!" Kimmie said, her face flushed and angry.

"Now just a minute—" I put a hand to my hair.

"Shut up, Tressa!" Kimmie said and got to her feet.

"You want me to be one of the boys, Craig?" she asked. "Really? You want me to belch and fart whenever I feel like it? Drool all over my pillow and fall asleep on the couch in my underwear with a bottle of beer between my legs? You want me to quit watching my weight, quit working out, quit shaving my armpits and legs, quit having my hair and nails done? You want me to be one of the guys? Fine. I'm in. We'll see how long it takes for you to decide that being one of the guys ain't all fun and games, buster!"

Kimmie picked up Craig's glass and raised it to her lips, in a series of loud swallows, downed the sucker. She slammed the glass on the table, swiped a hand across her mouth and wiped the foam away, and let out a seriously loud belch.

She picked up Craig's keys from the table.

"You need a ride, Kari?" Kimmie asked.

Kari stood.

"You bet I do! Let's roll."

I watched as Kimmie and Kari "walked like a man" to the door and disappeared.

We sat in uncomfortable silence until our pizzas arrived.

One mega-meat lover and one veggie.

Nobody dug in.

"You heard me open my big mouth," Brian said. "Why didn't you stop me?"

"Stop you? How come you didn't give me a kick in the shin under the table before I basically gave my wife permission to adopt the lifestyle of a commune member?" Craig asked.

"Why didn't
you
stop us, Rick?" Brian asked.

"Sorry guys. It was like an impending train wreck. You know it's going to happen and there's nothing you can do, yet for the life of you, you can't look away. All you can do is sit back and watch it happen and help clean up the carnage left behind."

Two long, loud sighs from across the table acknowledged the immensity of the cleanup ahead.

"Shall we?" Townsend said, reaching out and selecting a piece of the mega-meat pie. I followed his cue.

"Aren't you guys going to eat?" Townsend asked when they made no move to fill their plates.

"I've lost my appetite," Brian said.

Craig only grunted in agreement.

"Give me a lift, Bri-Bri?" Craig asked.

Brian nodded. The donkey warriors got to their feet.

"Maybe we should stop and pick up a gift or something," he said.

"There's nothing open this time of night except bars and grocery stores," Craig said.

"We could pick up candy or a cake," Brian suggested.

Craig shook his head.

"You heard Kimmie. She's looking to make a point. She's one of the
boys
now," he said making quotes with his fingers.

They looked at each other for a second and grinned.

"
Grand Theft Auto,
baby!" They said in unison.

"Serves 'em right," Craig added.

I watched them leave and grabbed Rick's arm.

"Don't you think you ought to stop them before they make matters worse?" I asked.

Townsend shook his head and grinned.

"Trust me. Sometimes things have to get worse in order to get better. Those guys walk in with that video game for their wives—I guarantee you, it'll be a defining moment in both relationships. And maybe, just maybe, the catalyst for compromise." He picked up a big ol' slab of pizza and held it out for me to take a bite.

I grinned.

"Anybody ever tell you that you're smarter than the average ranger type?" I asked.

He gave me his Charlie Chaplin eyebrow number.

"There is no average ranger-type," he said.

I was about to dig into another slice of Skeeters' best when my phone began to ring. I looked down.

A. Winegardner
, the display said.

I frowned and answered.

"Hello? Aunt Eu…er…I mean Uncle Bo? What's going on? How come you're calling so late? Is something wrong?"

I listened, shaking my head.

"Wait. I don't understand what you're talking about. I don't have that item."

I saw Townsend look up.

"No. I didn't find it. No. What? Wait a minute. Someone called you and said that
I
had it? That it was at
my
place? When? You're positive that's what they said? Okay. I'll check. Yes. Yes. I'll let you know."

I hit
end
and got to my feet.

"I've got to go!" I said, hunting for my car key.

Townsend frowned. "Aren't you forgetting something? You don't have a car. You rode with me."

Damn
.

"We have to go then!" I said. "Now!"

Townsend must've heard the urgency in my voice. He got to his feet and threw bills on the table.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Home!"

I ran towards the counter.

"Where are you going? We're parked out this way," Townsend asked.

I grabbed a cardboard pizza box from the counter and ran back to the table, dumped the pizzas and onion rings inside and slammed the box shut.

"Waste not, want not!" I yelled, racing for the door.

Seconds later, barreling down the road in Townsend's big red truck well over the speed limit, Townsend finally looked over at me, waiting, I deduced for an explanation.

"Once upon a time…" he began.

I sighed.

"Call me Ishmael." I said. "You see, once upon a time there was this elusive lawn gnome—"

By the time we got to our little slice of the good life, I hadn't even made it to some of the juicier parts of this story. Nothing about Dusty Cadwallader's woods being Grandville's version of Stonehenge or Dusty's mysterious disappearance or the fact that all the marital turmoil unfolding around me was making me have serious doubts about the state of matrimony being a state I'd ever want to pitch my tent in. You know.
Those
juicy parts.

Townsend roared into my driveway and pulled up to the double-wide. Everything appeared quiet. Almost too quiet.

"Where are the pooches?" Townsend asked.

"I left them in the house. They've been…naughty. They keep wandering over to the folks' when I'm not here and doing their business. Mom said if one more client stepped in one more doggie dropping, she was going to start keeping track and fining me for each offense—then leave the evidence of each infraction on my doorstep."

Townsend winced.

"I know. Who knew, right?" I said.

I'd seen a different side of my mother during the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad bike ride a few weeks back and let me tell you, it was an eye opener. If I'd learned one thing, it was that Mrs. CPA would follow through. In a heartbeat.

Rick grabbed his flashlight, and we got out of the truck.

Everything appeared fine. Still…

I handed my house keys to Townsend. "You check the house. I'll just take a peek in the barn."

He handed me the flashlight.

"I better not step in any evidence of a pooch poop infraction," he teased.

Townsend headed to the house, and I headed to the fenced barn lot and the barn beyond. I climbed over the gate and dropped to my feet in the lot, shining the beam of the flashlight out in front of me, getting more nervous with each step.

You see, this was kind of another déjà vu moment for me. Last summer when I'd become embroiled in my first hometown whodunit, (quite by accident you understand) some sicko had targeted my critters and me. Well, actually in this case they targeted my gammy's critter—specifically her cat, Hermione. The cat had been strung up like a furry piñata. Fortunately I discovered her in time, and it ended well. At least for the cat.

I was getting that "something isn't right" vibe again.

I jogged to the heavy-duty, double-sided horse waterer first and directed the beam into both sides of the waterer. I sighed in relief. The water appeared clear and clean.

I took a step back. That's when the flashlight beam illuminated a flash of color on the dark green waterer. I took another step back and hit the front of the waterer with the full beam.

I gasped.

I'd been tagged! One hot pink tornado after another covered each side of the six-gallon capacity, fifty-pound waterer. I turned and bolted towards the barn, whistling for the horses as I ran. I got to the barn doors and stopped. A long pink tornado, a good seven feet tall and four wide, stood out in tacky contrast to the barn red of the structure.

Frantically, I whistled again.

"Please, let them be okay," I prayed. "Please. Please."

The reassuring sound of pounding hooves reached me, and I ran to greet my tiny herd.

The Queen, as usual, led the way, followed by Blackjack. For some reason, Joker always came last. They converged around me in a tight little circle, and I reached up to embrace them in a mama bear hug.

Thank God. Thank God they were okay.

I opened the barn door, deciding they deserved a midnight snack and flipped on the light.

The three amigos are very well trained. You open the door and they come in, single file, and walk sedately to their appointed stalls. Grade school teachers should have students this well behaved.

Once the Queen was in, her court followed. First Blackjack, then…

"Oh, my God!" I screamed. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"

I couldn't seem to quit screaming. Even when I heard the barks of approaching labs and Townsend calling my name, I couldn't stop.

"Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"

Townsend burst through the barn door, the labs on his heels.

"What's the matter? What the hell's going on?"

Now that I was all screamed out, I could only point and stare.

Townsend followed the direction of my trembling finger, and his mouth dropped open.

"What the hell?" he said. "What
is
that?"

"A horse of a different color," I said, my throat getting thick and my eyes starting to sting.

"What?"

"A horse of a different color!" I yelled. And that's exactly what he was. Some…
fiend
had taken to Joker's trademark Appaloosa spotted rump and his long, lovely black tail with oh-so-classy white tip and painted them pink! "How could they?" I said. "What kind of sickos are we dealing with?"

Townsend rubbed the back of his neck before entering the stall to take a closer look.