Calamity Jayne Rides Again (18 page)

"Business buster?"

"Not to mention the possibility of people getting hurt if these little incidents continue to happen."

I tried to swallow again, but was unable to do so due to insufficient spit. "Meaning?"

They shook their heads. "Well, if it gets out to the Asian community that your uncle is opposed to diversity ..." The twins'
shoulders raised in unison. (How do they do that?) "Well, we can't be responsible for what might happen in response to that
cultural insensitivity."

"Uh, is that a threat?" I asked, figuring no way were they going to admit it, but I wanted it on record that it had come across
that way. " 'Cause I don't think Uncle Frank is the kind to take to threats very well. He was in the service, too, so you
better remember that." Actually, Uncle Frank had served his time in the kitchen or mess, or whatever they call it in the military,
but these two didn't need to know that.

"I thought he was a cook," one of the twins said, and I nodded.

"Yeah, right. If that's a code word for a very covert operative. He saw some very dangerous duty," I told them. "You know,
CIA stuff. Very hush-hush." Okay, so I was winging it here, but I figured if we were going to face the Asian mini-Mafia, I
was going to make sure we had a covert operator or mere in our camp. Or at least a couple of pretend ones.

"Right," the two said, getting to their feet together as if someone had said, "Please stand." "Just remember what we said:
Retirement can be a wonderful thing."

They jumped down off the bleachers and walked away.

A Navy SEAL could be a wonderful thing, too, I was thinking. Now all I had to do was find one.

CHAPTER 15

It was half past three that afternoon, the glazier had just left the Emporium, and we were clearing up the accompanying mess.
We were basically your bummed out bunch. Bummed by the recurring vandalism, by the declining sales figures, and by the obvious
tension that existed between Uncle Frank and Aunt Reggie whenever they were in a room together—and we're not talking sexual
tension here, psychic Sonya.

Lucy Connor had offered the use of her shop-vac again, and was presently sitting at the counter enjoying a complimentary strawberry
sundae and reading the metro paper.

"Anyone want to place a bet on what's gonna happen to Frank's place next?" my gramma asked, refreshed by her catnap and now
sharing a table by the jukebox with Joe Townsend. "Something else is gonna happen. That psychic lady told us so, didn't she,
Tressa?" Gram asked. I acted like there was a really stubborn stain on the counter that needed my total attention. "She foresaw
turmoil and a family ripped apart. Isn't that right,

Tressa? Of course, she also saw Tressa maybe having sex, so who knows how good a psychic she is."

"Gram!"

That got Joe Townsend in on the act.

"Who'd she see her having sex with?" he asked. "Was he in uniform? Did he have dark hair and a good job?"

Gram shook her head. "I tried to pin her down, but Sonya said it don't work that way. No names. No descriptions. Nothing.
Just impressions."

Joe reached out and took my grandma's hand. "Did she give you the impression she saw any hot sex in
your
future, Hannah?" he asked with a wink.

"I'll never tell," she said.

"Well, I will!" I burst in, coming around the counter faster than I had on Blackjack when we'd competed in the pavilion. "Sonya
the Seer saw Gram, here, on a boat with music and dancing and laughter."

"Don't that sound just like
The Love Boat
to you?" Gram said to Joe.

"My Ruthie loved that show. Always wanted me to take her on a cruise. I was makin' plans to go when she fell sick. Sure wish
I'd done it earlier." I saw Gram squeeze Joe's hand, and felt my throat thicken.

"I never liked that butterball Captain Stuebing or that goofy first mate," Gram said. "What was his name? Some kind of rodent.
Gopher! That was it. But I did like that perky cruise director," Gram added.

"Julie," Joe chimed in. "Her name was Julie."

Gram nodded. "The show went downhill after Julie left. Kinda hard to draw viewers with a fat captain and a dorky first mate."

"I don't know," Joe said. "
Gilligan's Island
did pretty well. Although... that Ginger, rrrreeowrrr!" He rolled his tongue and roared like a big jungle cat. "By the way,
you get yourself into another jam last night, girl?" he asked me. "Something about staking out the mini-freeze and photographing
belly buttons?"

From across the room I felt Uncle Frank snap to attention.

"Pipe down, would you?" I said. "I don't want the world knowing my business."

"You know, if you were gonna do more undercover work, you shoulda called me. I have experience," he complained. "I know how
to fade into the background. Disappear."

I took a look at his camouflage shorts and army green T-shirt, and thought he maybe had a point. "I was in enough trouble
borrowing your grandson's shirt. If I'd borrowed his grandfather, I'd probably have to disappear myself."

"Like Frankie," Gram said with a frown. I sobered.

"No, not like Frankie. He hasn't disappeared. He's just taking a long break."

"Rick told me what happened with you and that Daggett girl. You know, Hannah, the one with the mustache. Rick says Tressa
and she had a set-to last night. I hope you got the upper hand, Blondie. She may look like a man, but you can take her."

I wondered if there was anything Townsend didn't tell his grandfather. Remembering the passionate embraces we'd shared, I
hoped to heck the ranger had at least had the decency not to kiss and tell. I felt my ears grow warm.

"We didn't have a fist fight, Joe," I said. "But I do have to admit to being curious as to why Dixie Daggett was at the mini-freeze
at that hour of the morning."

"What's that about Dixie Daggett?" I jumped sky-high when Uncle Frank appeared at my right shoulder.

"Tressa, here, caught Dixie Daggett up to no good at the mini-freeze last night. Snapped pictures with the camera she got,
too, but only got a belly button," Joe said. "Now, if I'd been there, you can guarantee I'd have gotten more than a belly
button."

"I got an eyebrow, too!" I said. "And I still maintain you can make a positive ID from an eyebrow. Especially one that looks
like it's never been introduced to a tweezer or wax."

"Dixie Daggett was sneaking around my stand last night?" Uncle Frank asked. "Interesting."

"Not to the police," I said. "They said that didn't prove anything. That my pictures were inconclusive, and since there wasn't
any damage—"

"Police? What police?"

"Tressa got picked up for impersonating a DNR officer," Joe supplied. I turned to him.

"Do you mind if I tell the story? After all, you were up dreaming sweet dreams of Jackie Chan at the time."

"Only because you left me out of the loop," Joe snapped.

"Me, too!" Gram chimed in. "Why am I always the last to know?"

I shook my head. "Oh, please. You know who dies in town before the ink is dry on the death certificate."

She smiled. "It's a gift," she said.

"So, tell your story," Uncle Frank instructed, and I gave a somewhat truncated version of events, omitting any reference to
an organized stakeout, the cousin who'd put me up to it, and those mushy moments with a certain ranger.

"And you caught her in the act?" he asked.

"Well, I caught her poking around the stand, but she didn't actually do anything," I said. "It was sure suspicious, though."

"Isn't it?" Uncle Frank said. "Highly supicious. And beginning to make a lot of sense."

The bell on the top of the front door tinkled, and we all looked up.

"What the hell are you doing in here, Daggett?" Uncle Frank greeted the newcomer with a snarl.

Once you saw Luther Daggett, you understood where his daughter, Dixie, got her looks. What you noticed first were the two—well,
actually one—bushy black eyebrow that stretched across his forehead, and a nose that seemed to have met with blunt-force trauma
before it was done growing. I'd seen noses like that before. On bulldogs. He was short and stocky, another trait bequeathed
to his unfortunate offspring.

"I heard you had some more trouble here last night. I just wanted to let you know you can forfeit our bet now if you want.
You know, save some face when we start tallying sales figures."

Noticing the sudden tic in Uncle Frank's jaw and the bulge in his neck, I took an involuntary step back. Lucy Connor, however,
pivoted on her stool and moved to stand by Uncle Frank's left shoulder.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Daggett?" Uncle Frank asked. "Then you wouldn't have to come up with any more ways to tank
my business. But a man has to be pretty low to recruit his own daughter to break the law just to win a God-damned bet."

Luther Daggett's neck did some bulging of its own. "What the hell are you trying to imply? My daughter has nothing to do with
this."

Uncle Frank crossed his arms. "Oh, yeah? Well, then, why was she skulking around the mini-freeze last night after everyone
closed up for the night?"

"What are you talking about?" Daggett asked.

"My niece, here, caught her before she could follow through on whatever she had in mind. Didn't you, Tressa?"

Seeing Daggett's bushy brow and dark eyes turn in my direction, I'd just as soon Uncle Frank had left me out of it.

"You saw my daughter last night?" Daggett asked.

"Well, actually, it was this morning," I said.

"And she was at Barlowe's mini-stand?"

I nodded.

"What was she doing?"

I frowned, not sure how to answer because at the time I hadn't been sure what she was doing. "Uh, it looked like she was talking
to the door," I said, remembering.

"How's that?" Uncle Frank asked. "She was tapping on the door and seemed to be saying something," I told them. "But I couldn't
make it out from where I was."

"Are you sure it was Dixie?" Daggett asked.

"She's got pictures!" Joe piped up. "'Course they aren't very good. And all belly buttons look pretty much the same, don't
they?"

"Not really, Joe," Gram said. "Some folks have innies and some have outies."

"Was this an innie or an outtie?"

"I don't know. Tressa, was the belly button an innie or an outtie?" Gram asked.

"I'd be interested in the answer to that, too," Luther Daggett said, his eyebrows lifting in anticipation.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. It was an outtie. Okay?"

"Like this good lady pointed out, lots of folks have outties," Luther Daggett said. "What does that prove?"

"What about the eyebrow?" Uncle Frank asked. "Not just everyone has a Daggett eyebrow. Besides, my niece saw her there."

"And I seem to recall your niece having some credibility problems in the past."

I was now beginning to wish Uncle Frank would punch Luther in the kisser. Or let me do it.

"I think it's your daughter's actions that are at issue here, Daggett, not my niece's," Uncle Frank stated, unfolding his
arms.

"And you've got no proof my daughter's done anything. Besides, you think I'm the only one who believes you're an arrogant
son of a bitch?" Luther asked. "There must be a list longer than Santa's Christmas one of folks who have had it up to here
with the Barlowe family lording it over the rest of us just because they've been here longer than dirt."

Uncle Frank cracked his knuckles, and Lucy put a hand on his shoulder. "Frank," she cautioned.

Just then the door opened and Aunt Reggie walked in. I saw her eyes widen when she saw Luther Daggett and her husband toe-to-toe
with Lucy and me flanking them. "What's going on here, Frank?" Aunt Reggie asked.

"It's okay, Reggie," Uncle Frank said. He turned back to Daggett. "I don't know anyone who has any issues with me other than
you, Daggett," Frank said.

"What about Li? He says you backed out on an agreement to sell your smaller stand."

Uncle Frank turned to look at me, then back at his not-so-friendly competitor. "Li's loco," he replied. "He's wrapped one
too many wontons."

"And what about Frankie?" Daggett asked. "Talk is, the police think he may be responsible for the trouble, but they haven't
been able to speak to him." Daggett craned his neck. "Seems he's disappeared. 'Course I knew that couldn't be right. A son
wouldn't take a powder and split just when his father needs him the most. Where is the boy, by the way? I'd like to say howdy."

Uncle Frank's face turned redder than the ketchup dispenser on the counter. It crossed my mind to wonder if the first-aid
station just up the hill had one of those defibrillators on hand just in case Uncle Frank needed a jump-start.

"My son has nothing to do with the problems I'm having," Uncle Frank said. "And I'd appreciate it if you would leave him out
of it."

Luther Daggett took a small step toward Uncle Frank. "Ditto for my daughter, Barlowe," he said, wagging a finger at my uncle.
"Ditto for Dixie. And you'd best remember that." Daggett turned on his heel, nodded curtly to Aunt Reggie, opened the door,
and left, the little bell above the door bouncing wildly.

"Well, don't that beat all?" Gram said. "He might as well a come out and
accused
Frankie of being the bad guy. I hate it when folks mealy-mouth around an issue. Spit it out, I say, or don't bring it up
in the first place. So, whatdya think, Frank? Is Frankie guilty?"

"Frank?" Aunt Reggie said, looking at her husband, and Lucy's hand as it dropped from his shoulder. "What are you thinking?
Or are you thinking at all?"

Uncle Frank looked at her. "You want to know what I'm thinking?" he asked. "I'm thinking I need a drink," he said. And ripping
the door open, he went through and slammed it shut, exposing the poor little bell above to more abuse.

"You know what I think?" Gram echoed.

"What, Hannah?" my aunt just had to ask.

"I think Frank's gonna get shit-faced."

Aunt Reggie looked as if she wanted to cry. I probably looked like I wanted to snap the old lady's neck. Instead, Aunt Reggie
whirled around and escaped to the kitchen. Lucy escaped out the front door.

"Gram!" I scolded, when Aunt Reggie was out of earshot. "Aunt Reggie doesn't need to hear that right now. She needs Uncle
Frank to open up to her—not a tall, cold one. She needs some understanding. Some sensitivity."

"She needs to have her head removed from her rear end," Gram argued, "so she sees what's goin' on around her. Speakin' of
hind ends, mine's gettin' numb. Come on, Joe. I need to walk a spell."

"Sounds like a plan," Joe agreed, standing and then helping my gramma to her feet. He looked at me. "Aren't you missing something?"
he asked.

I shook my head. "I don't think so."

"Something bright pink that fastens around your waist maybe?" he added.

I could feel my eyes narrow to slits. "That big jerk!" I said.

Joe chuckled. "You include me in your next stakeout and I won't tell a soul," he whispered.

"That's blackmail, Joe!" I accused. "Besides, I'll just deny ever wearing it."

"You gonna deny making out with my grandson?" he asked.

"That pig!" I yelled. "How dare he divulge something personal like that!"

Joe smiled and patted my shoulder. "He didn't. I was just playing a hunch. But now you see why you need my help. My hunches
are always dead-on." He placed a piece of paper in my hand and closed my fingers around it. "Here's my cell phone number.
I always carry it with me. Even in the john."

I winced.

"Call me," Joe said.

"You comin', Joe?" Gram asked, and Joe put a finger to his lips and gave me a big wink.

"Just our little secret," he said, and opened the door for my grandma. "By the way, Hannah, I do like that hot-pink fanny
pack you're wearing. It's very stunning." He gave me a grin as he left.