The Mezzo Wore Mink (26 page)

“
I should have worn a coat.”

“
That sweater looks pretty warm.”

“
Not warm enough. And I don’t have a hat.”

“
Would you like to borrow mine?”

“
Nope. It’ll muss my hair. Anyway, it looks good on you. Very dashing.”

She was a dame with a lot of vim. A real looker with brains, moxy, and gams till Tuesday.

“
Hey, Toots,” I said. “I like your style. I know I’ve asked you before, but how ‘bout you and me gettin’ hitched?”

“
Absolutely,” she answered quietly. Then she kissed me. “I’ll be happy to marry you. I was just waiting for you to ask me again.”

“
Huh?”

“
I wanted to make sure you really wanted to marry me. You were under duress the first time you proposed.”

“
So we could have gotten married a while ago?”

“
Oh, yes. But you never asked me again.”

“
Ah,” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know the rules. It all makes perfect sense.”

“
No, it doesn’t,” she laughed. “But you’re sweet to say so. Anyway, I never could resist a man in a hat.”

Chapter 17

“
DANGL?” said Pete. “DANGL?”

“
Yep,” I said. “The Daystar Naturists of God and Love. They’ll be here Thanksgiving weekend.”

“
That’s our biggest weekend of the year. The town will be packed. Can we keep them out at the camp?”

I laughed. “I don’t think they’ll come into town naked. That’s why they have a camp. They’re not militant nudists. They’re Christian nudists.”

“
Are they still having revival services?”

“
That’s what the flyer says.”

Pete shook his head.

“
Are you ready for the debate tonight?” I asked.

“
I suppose so. I have a surprise for Cynthia if she goes for my drawers.”

“
Really? Like what?”

“
Like, I’m wearing some!”

I was shocked. “Huh?”

“
Boxers. Just till after the election.”

I waved my empty coffee cup at Collette who was busy chatting up some out-of-town customers. Pete got up, went to the counter and brought a pot of coffee over to the table.

“
Might as well do it myself,” he grumped. “Noylene said she’d be in late and Collette keeps passing out salvation tracts to the customers. I’ll have to fire her, I guess.”

Collette finally walked over to our table. “Need some coffee?”

“
No,” said Pete sullenly. “We have some. It walked over to our table and poured itself into our cups. Thanks, anyway.”

The sarcasm was lost on Collette, who remained disturbingly cheerful. “Have you seen Dave this morning? I need to tell him something.”

“
I haven’t been over to the station,” I said. I glanced at my watch. “It’s seven in the morning, Collette. Dave probably won’t be in until eight or so.”

“
Would you give my Snookie-Pie a message for me?”

“
Sure,” I said.

“
Would you tell him that God forgives him for his sins?”

“
I’ll tell him, but I’m sure he knows that.” I smiled at Collette but there was fire in her eyes.

“
No. I mean specifically for his sins against
me
.”

“
Oh.
Those
sins.”

“
Tell him that I forgive him, too. And that I have received a Word of Knowledge that since I’ve forgiven him, he is to forsake the Great Harlot and come back to the fold.”

I looked at Pete. He sipped his coffee and rolled his eyes.

“
The Great Harlot?”

“
The Jezebel. The Whore of Babylon.”

I glanced at Pete again. “Nancy,” he said with a shrug.

I let out a slow breath. “I don’t believe I’d say that too loudly, Collette,” I suggested. “Nancy doesn’t take kindly to name calling.”

“
The Lord is my strength,” said Collette with a smile. “Ask and it shall be given—Matthew 7:7. If you abide in me and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it shall be done for you—John 15:7. Whatever things you ask when you pray, believe that you receive them, and you will have them—Mark 11:24.” Collette narrowed her eyes. “I’ve prayed that Dave will be my husband and I believe it. Whatever I bind in heaven shall be bound on earth—Matthew 16:19. We’ll be married before Christmas.” She handed me a tract entitled
Name it, Claim it! Fourteen “Can’t Miss” Promises Straight From God.

“
You certainly know your scriptures,” I said, as Collette walked smugly away.

“
Blessed are the insane,” said Pete.

•••

“
Great news,” said Noylene. She’d come in the back door, through the kitchen, and now appeared behind the counter donning a clean white apron. She didn’t waste a moment clearing the dirty dishes off the counter and running a rag across the red Formica top.

“
Wormy got his loan!” she said, grinning at us and swiping at some toast crumbs.

“
I didn’t know he was applying for one,” I said. “Are you guys buying a house?”

Noylene shook her head. “We have a nice new double-wide.”

“
New truck?” said Pete.

“
Nope. Wormy’s buying a Ferris wheel.”

I looked at Pete. He sighed.

“
We didn’t think he would get it,” said Noylene, “but then he did what you told him. He put his sperm count down as income.”

“
I thought you said he was impudent,” I said.

“
He was, but the little fellers came back,” said Noylene. “He went down and got checked. His count was still pretty low, but high enough to get a loan, I guess.”

“
You know…” I started, but then thought better of it. I shook my head. “Never mind. Tell us about this Ferris wheel.”

“
He’s going to keep it out at the cemetery. For rides and such.”

Wormy had bought Kenny Frazier’s family farm and turned it into a graveyard. Officially, the name was Woodrow DuPont’s Bellefontaine Cemetery, but it was known locally as Wormy Acres. It featured all the latest in perpetual trappings including “Eternizak,” music piped into your coffin for as long as the bill was paid. So far, about twelve folks had availed themselves of the new digs including Junior Jameson, the NASCAR driver, whose wife, Kimmy Jo, had chosen to bury him in his racecar. St. Germaine’s other memorial garden, Mountainview Cemetery, was full. That is, plots were no longer being sold. Most families had purchased their final resting places long ago. Any Johnny-Come-Latelys would have to settle for Wormy Acres if they wanted to stay in St. Germaine.

“
So,” I asked, “why a Ferris wheel?”

“
It’s for the kids. I mean, most kids don’t want to hang around the grave during a funeral. They’ll want to have a little fun. So, while the adults do the burying, Wormy’s going to run the ride for the kids.”

“
And why not?” asked Pete, throwing up his hands in dismay. “Why not?” He put his head down on the table.

“
What’s wrong with him?” asked Noylene.

“
It’s the stress,” I said. “You know he has a debate tonight.”

•••

I was walking out the door of the Slab Café when my cell phone rang. It was Nancy.

“
Come on over to Patricia Nakamura’s house when you get finished with your breakfast.”

“
Why? What’s up?”

“
One of those Minques ate her toy poodle.”

“
Ate it?” I asked.

“
Well, didn’t actually eat it. Killed it though. The dog…”

“
Mr. Cuddles,” I heard a voice sob in the background. “His name was Mr. Cuddles.”

“
Mr. Cuddles,” continued Nancy, “was tied up in the backyard. Patricia heard him barking, then heard him not barking.”

“
She saw it? The Minque?”

“
She saw it, but it’s long gone. It tore that dog’s throat and took off.”

“
Patricia’s sure it wasn’t a coyote?”

“
She’s sure.”

“
Poor Mr. Cuddles.”

“
Yeah,” said Nancy.

•••

Nancy and I borrowed Patricia’s shovel and buried Mr. Cuddles in the back yard. It was all part of the job.

“
I called Varmit Lemieux over at Blueridge Furs on my way over,” I said. “They’ve caught fifty-seven of the missing Minques. That means there’s one hundred thirty still loose. They’ve got live traps out all over town, but they only have twenty of them and those are the ones they borrowed from Fish and Game.”

“
If those Minques are mean enough to kill a dog, they’re mean enough to hurt a child,” said Nancy. “I think the time has come to get rid of the Minques.”

“
I agree. Let me talk to Varmit again. I’ll bet we can get the Fur Farm to offer a bounty. That way they can reclaim some of their losses by getting the pelts back.”

•••

St. Barnabas was bustling at four o’clock. The Lemmings were just finishing up
The Living Gobbler
auditions when I walked into the choir room. Moosey met me at the door.

“
Hi, Chief! I’m ’ditioning for the
Gobbler
.”

“
That’s great, Moosey. Did you sing?”

“
Shore did. I sang
Lead On, O Kinky Turtle
. Father Lemming says I might get to be an Indian.”

There were five or six people sitting in the room other than the Lemmings. I looked over at Adrian. He was beaming. “We had some great auditions. Lots of kids, too.”

“
Everyone likes a Thanksgiving show,” I said. “Did you get the script finished?”

“
Just now,” said Fiona, with a flourish of her red pencil. “Mossy was so good, we just had to add a song for him.”

“
Moosey,” I corrected.

“
Whatever,” said Fiona. “We’ll start rehearsals tomorrow evening. Did you get the belly dancer?”

“
Absolutely. Cynthia says she’ll be happy to do it.”