Scavengers (2 page)

"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]

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.