Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 02 - Christmas Bizarre (8 page)

“Epileptic.”

She shook her head. “I no understand. Used to be dogs for blind. Now epileptic? Yesterday lady bring poodle. Say she has diabetes. We gonna need new license. Follow me.” Our hostess led the way, muttering something in an Asian dialect we assumed was not repeatable.

We sat down and looked at each other.
Except for Jim, who studied the menu.

After gobbling bowls
of steaming Won-Ton soup and eggrolls and sharing entrees, we freed our jaws to talk.

“I was a lot hungrier than I thought,” I admitted.

“So was Jim.” Bauser stared at him: Jim had devoured every morsel of a family size bowl of rice.

Norman stifled a burp.
“The point is, we do think we know where we’re headed.”

“Where’s that?”

“Online retail.”

“You
want sell online merchandise?” I all but fell out of my chair.

Bauser shook his head in disgust.
As did Jim. “No, silly, we want to help other people sell online.”

“So what will you do?”

Norman tugged open the wrapper of his fortune cookie. “Don’t know yet. There’s tons of possibilities. We need to examine viable options that lead toward long-term sustainability.”

“Huh?”

Bauser smashed his cookie open on the table with his fist. “We have to make sure we’re not shut down before we get started.”

“Got it.”
I didn’t, but felt it was incumbent upon me to say so. I opened my fortune cookie quickly. I had to. Bauser and Norman were munching theirs and Jim was looking possessively at mine.

I stared at my fortune. “What the—“

“What does it say?” Norman asked.

“
Help – prisoner 1465 Conch Avenue, Mantoloking, NJ!”

“It does not say that,” Bauser said.

“It certainly does.”

“Give me that.” He grabbed my fortune.

Norman made motions for the check.

“Son-of-a-gun. She’s right.”

Norman took the fortune.
“It is a little disconcerting that it’s actually handwritten.”

I nodded, crunching on what remained of my cookie
, since had Jim relieved me of the first half of it.

“Probably some practical joker.” Bauser swallowed the rest of his cookie, much to Jim’s chagrin.

“Of course.”

After we argued about paying the check, with Norman winning, (or losing?) as usual. We left the tip and shuffled out into the cold toward the truck.

“Lickety Split?”

I nodded.

Norman pulled up at the corner of Orange and Prince Streets.
I hadn’t been there in a while, not since they’d gone legit, anyway. So I was kind of looking forward to it, in a nervous kind of way.

“I’ll be right back!”
I hopped out with my soiled Sparkle and into the store.

No one was there.
I tapped the bell on the counter.

“Just a minute!”

Mrs. Phang’s sister-in-law poked her head out from behind a curtained back room.

“Can you have
this cleaned by tomorrow?”

The woman looked just as stumped as if I’d asked her about
her last trip to the moon. Eventually, the penny dropped and she pulled out a three-ring binder from behind the counter. She opened a section, and ran her finger down the page, frowning. Then she nodded and smiled. “Yes, I can!”

I was beginning to understand who the brains behind the actual dry cleaning business was and worried a bit about Mrs. Phang not being in charge of cleaning my Sparkle.

“Where’s Mrs. Phang?”

The woman scrunched up her face with worry.
“You know her?”

“Yes.
She’s friends with my aunt. And my mom.”

“
What’s your name?”

“Mina Kitchen.”

The woman jumped a bit. “Oh,
you’re
Mina.”

My reputation preceded me.

“I’m Fen. Tina’s sister-in-law.”

She extended a hand warily
and we shook.

“That’s what I figured.”
I gazed down at the notebook of instructions, then quickly back to Fen, lest I offend. 

Fen
shrugged. “I don’t know where she is. The last thing she told me was that she was headed for the mall. She hasn’t come back. I figured she’s just giving me a rest.”

“How come?”

She sighed. “We had a tiff. She’s really all business sometimes. Anyway, she’s not returning my phone calls.”

“Well, maybe she’ll come back with lunch, as a peace offering.”

“I sure hope not.”

“Why?”

“She’s been gone since Sunday.”

I counted on my fingers and toes and realized this was
more than forty-eight hours. Very unlike our Mrs. Phang. She was one of those people who didn’t consider OCD a personality disorder. She embraced it as a lifestyle.

“Don’t you think you should report her missing? I mean, what if she had an accident and is hurt somewhere?”

Fen, who didn’t seem like the sharpest chopstick in the drawer, opened her mouth and gaped at me. “You really think so?”

“Probably not.
But it would be awful not to call, if it were true.”

“I never thought of that!”

Fen
was on the phone and dialing before I could utter another peep. I stared resolutely at the cover of the dry cleaning manual, realizing that if I were going to wait for this conversation to be over, I would no longer need my Santa Sparkle - it would be Easter.

I read the instructions while
Fen yacked at the police, then wrote out a ticket for my clothes, and a receipt for myself. I made sure to circle the ‘one day pickup’ option.

I waved bye-bye while she
stayed on hold, and headed back to Norman’s truck. It was nowhere to be seen.

I was beginning to wonder if being stranded in front of the dry cleaners was going to be a habitual practice.
I shivered next to the traffic post. A zillion cars and workers passed by, doing their lunchtime thing. No sign of Norman.

Across the street, there was a
new culinary shop,
Gourmet
Gadgets Galore
. The window display sported some new-fangled garlic presses, and what looked like some high-end mandolines. And it was sure to be warm inside. I could wait for the fellas on the other side of Prince Street just as well as here, right?

Just
as I dashed across the street, a motorcycle came up behind me and slid sideways into the parking meter.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?”

“What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“What?”

“You’re lucky I didn’t run you over!” The irate driver got up, brushed himself off, and tugged his jacket into place over a sleeve tattoo on his right arm.

“Sorry?”

“Cross at the green, not in-between, you know?”

I glanced guiltily at the specialty lemon zester winking at me from the window.
“I’m very sorry. I didn’t realize. Are you hurt?”

The man glared at me.
“Lucky for you, I’m all right.”

A crowd
had gathered. I felt the urge to become invisible by hiding in the shop. At this rate, I’d be walking home laden with an entire kitchen.

The guy
bent over to right his bike, and I saw several smashed boxes on the ground. I tried to help him pick them up, when several boxes of tape tumbled out.

“Tape!” a voice rang out.

“Tape?”

The guy held up a hand, while hopping back on the bike.
“Hey, this here’s a delivery!”

“A delivery? Where?” a woman shouted.

“Special delivery for Country Side Mall.”

“Which store?”

“Mail-It-2.” He revved his engine, then glanced nastily back at me. “Thanks a lot, lady.”

Before I could utter a word, he was off.
Several people around me texted frantically. A car peeled away from the curb in pursuit.

Bauser and Norman pulled up.

“What was that all about?” Norman asked.

“I don’t know. I think I caused an accident. But not on purpose.”

Bauser took in the kitchen shop, and shook his head.
“You really have a problem, you know?”

I nodded glumly.

They dropped me off at home, where I found Vito in a content post-Swiffering mode, whistling happily with his dish towel over his shoulder. But so was Miriam – she was humming. The sudden image of their having a senior moment – that has nothing to do with senior moments as we know them – sprang to mind. I willed myself not to picture the particulars – especially under my own roof. I blinked a bit, and counted to ten, willing my blood pressure toward something normal. They were well past the age of grownups, yes? Well, at least they weren’t sharing a cigarette. Although I had serious reservations. So did the rest of my undigested lunch.

“I just came back for my heels! Ain’t they beaut
s?” Miriam held up a pair of 4-inch, lime green stilettos. Good Lord – Miriam had lime green knock-me-downs.

“Gee.”
It was all I could manage without losing my lunch all over my newly Swiffered floors.

Vito held up a hand.
“Miriam got here just after I finished.”

“Oh.”
I was glad to be spared the details.

“Your floors are still wet.
You might wanna hang out upstairs for a little bit, ‘til they dry.”

“Sure! You don’t wanna go traipsing around now! You’ll get the floors all schmutzed!”

Miriam had a point.

“Actually, you might also wanna check your answering machine,” Vito blushed.

“How come?”

“I kinda overheard part of a message, while I was Swiffering.”

“Was it James?”

“Not so good.
Basically, it sounds like your cable’s getting shut off.”

Vito and Miriam made a hasty exit – shoes and all – while I shuffled upstairs, reluctant to listen to my first collection notice.

I found Vinnie sprawled across my bed, yawning. Well, at least he had enough sense not to get his paws wet from Swiffer juice. I played the message, took down the contact information, and gently pounded my head against the desk. Vinnie patted me on the shoulder.

“Thanks.”

I called the number and after several hundred dial-up menus, I finally reached a person: Edna.

“So, once I pay the remainder due, can I cancel the service for
a while?”

“You could, but it would only cost you more to get reconnected later.
You’d have to pay a $200 installation fee.”

“What would they install? I’ve got all the
equipment. Don’t you guys just hit a button somewhere?”

“Not exactly.
All I know is that if you disconnect your service now, you’ll pay a whole new installation fee later.”

“Crud.”

“I’ll tell you what you can do, though. You can put your service on ‘vacation’ – that’s just $5 a month. People with vacation homes do that all the time.”

“Let me get this straight:
I’m collecting unemployment, and working enough part time jobs to qualify for a personality disorder, but I can’t get a break because of financial hardship?”

“Nope.”

“But someone who’s rich enough to have two homes can put their second home satellite receiver on vacation for five bucks a month?”

“Oh, you don’t have to be rich.
Anyone can do this.”

“The benefits of this being?”

“You don’t have to pay a new installation fee.”

Edna had me there.
I gave her my financial particulars to take care of the truant amount, and told her I’d get back to her about vacation status. As much as I hated the idea, it probably would be sensible to put the satellite on hold until I was employed full-time again.

I stared at the pile of bills whimpering in the corner from neglect.
I wondered which system of payment to try out this month: toss them on the floor, and the first five get paid? Pay just the little ones? Or pay the ones in the pink and blue envelopes screaming at me? Well, at least I had my stamps at the ready.

Luckily, Vinnie volunteered to be this month’s financial advisor, so a few calculator clicks and tail thwackings later and I soon had all the
past dues paid. Mostly, anyhow. The current ones would have to wait in line until the next paycheck. Maybe if I got called by another collection office, I could say it was a fermentation process? Like wine? I had a funny feeling they would prefer payments that were a lot less vintage.

The phone rang, and I cringed,
fearing another bill collector. I let it go to the answering machine.

“Hey, it’s me! Trixie! You there? Pick up!”

I pounced on the phone. “Sorry!”

“What are you doing, screening your calls?”

“Yes.”

“Why? You getting obscene callers?”