Mace of Spades
By J.A. Sprouls
Copyright J.A. Sprouls 2010
Cover Design Copyright J.A. Sprouls 2010
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This eBook is dedicated to my Mother and Sister, for always being there for me.
~~~~~~
It had taken quite a while, but the big too-do about my Grandfather, Hank Skinner, had finally died down. It’s not very unusual that he got a lot of attention. After all, he is a walking, talking, mummy. Granted, that may sound strange to you but there is an easy explanation for it. At least it seems easy to me, but then again, I’ve been dealing with the situation for some time now. My Grandmother, May Skinner, Hank’s wife, caught my Grandfather having a tryst in her own house and bedroom. May took exception to it, which I can’t blame her, and killed both of them and hid the bodies in the attic of her ancestral home. At least she thought she had killed them both. As it turned out, she only managed to kill the woman Granddad was fooling around with, Clash Boombah. It was only after May had died and my Mother and I were going through the house to prepare for an estate sale that I found my Granddad. He had been stuffed into a mailbag and then stuffed into a trunk. Amazingly, he had somehow survived. In a mummified state that is.
I guess that is what you could call it. ‘Survived.’ Since he can walk and talk (a bit too much to mother’s and my liking) and generally get around without any problems. He is however in a mummified state. His internal organs are pickled but I think that is due to the fact that since being freed from his trunk he has consumed nothing but alcoholic beverages. He claims it’s to keep himself preserved, but I have my doubts. I think he just likes the stuff. His skin is unnaturally dry and a little brittle. Doctors have prescribed lotions and skin softeners but they don’t seem to do a whole lot. Therefore, that’s why he is considered ‘mummified.’
In general, he should have died when Grandmother whacked him one over the head. If not by that means, then the fact that he was locked up in a trunk for well over seventy years with no water and food. That really should have done him in, it would have most people. But, no, he survived all that, much to the befuddlement of the doctors who have studied him. When it came to light that he was alive, we got requests from all the major medical institutions to study him. We went with the closest medical school around, in Lubbock, Texas.
The school has a very good reputation and we figured that way we wouldn’t have to travel a lot. Drought, Texas, where we live, is just a stone’s throw away from Lubbock. So it worked out just fine. I also felt it was best not to get Granddad into an environment that had too much humidity. I didn’t want him getting too much moisture for fear it might do him in. I mean Drought is lacking in so many things, humidity being one of them. I figured that was how he had become mummified in the first place. So to be on the safe side we’ve kept him close to home, much to his consternation.
Once the medical personal declared they hadn’t the faintest idea how a man could be ‘murdered, confined for over seventy years and then still be a walking, talking, thinking (though that part is a little warped, due to his personality and nothing else) mummy’ was beyond their comprehension. At last! Doctors who actually admit they don’t know something! What are the chances of that happening, ever, again? I think the main reason they admitted it was because, despite their dictionary of ‘big words,’ they failed to find any that could be applied to the situation.
That’s not to say that a good many people didn‘t try. Those were mostly TV and radio personalities who felt the need to pontificate on something they knew absolutely nothing about - in other words, business as usual. My personal favorite was the one who said that Granddad had survived and had been spared the torture of the netherworld (Though not the word he specifically used, but I felt the need to clean it up, mainly so that I’m not on the same level as that particular radio personality.) He felt Granddad was being given a second chance to right the wrongs that he had committed while in a regular state of being. Meaning before he was mummified. So this guy thinks that’s gonna happen. Obviously, he doesn’t know my Granddad very well, if at all. Now, I seriously doubt that Granddad is going to turn over a new leaf. Unless, of course, that leaf is a fig leaf covering certain parts of a woman. Then he would definitely start turning. Otherwise, I wouldn’t hold my breath.
Granddad got a kick out of all the attention but he got really bored with it after a while, though he did make good money at it, not that we needed the money. The woman he had the affair with was a bank robber who absconded with all the bank’s money as well as bonds and stock certificates, and then hid the stash in a statue of her sister in the town square. My Mother being the owner of the property that the statue stood on and one of the finders of the money was able to keep it, due mainly to the fact that May had paid all of the money back, due to guilt, I‘m guessing. So we are pretty well set for life, but Granddad being from the greatest generation felt it would be wrong not to pay his own way. Not to mention, not being the type of man who would live off a woman’s money. Yes, he’s a chauvinist but he’s our chauvinist so, God help us, we love him. That’s saying a lot since he’s living with us.
The ‘us’ mentioned being me, Josephine Skinner and my Mother, Ava Skinner, the granddaughter and daughter-in-law of the said mummy, though I should make it clear that he prefers not to be called a ‘mummy.’ That’s a ‘female’ version of the word since ‘mother ‘starts with the letter ‘M’ and so does ‘mummy.’ It stood to reason that since ‘father’ starts with an ‘F’ he should be called a ‘fummy.’ Actually, he wanted to go with ‘D’ for ‘dad’ but that would have made him a ‘dummy’ and I refused to have a dummy for a Grandfather so I suggested the ‘F’ part of the word. It’s the only ‘F’ word mother allows in the house, if you get my drift.
Anyway, after he was ‘outted’ as a mumm… um fummy, he has been going nonstop. He’s been a grand marshal of parades, on talk shows, in tabloid stories and the occasional photo shoot for manly magazines. He’s pretty much had his fifteen minutes of fame and I think he’s ready to slow it down a bit. I know Mother and I certainly are. The traffic at our house has increased two-fold. And that’s just from the ‘fummy groupies’ he’s attracted. And that doesn’t even cover the shysters who want to use his fumminess for their own sordid reasons. One wanted him to promote a new ‘fountain of youth’ miracle cream: to enhance and promote longevity. This would have made Granddad a liar simply because the cream isn’t the reason he’s still alive. He didn’t like the thought of being a liar so he said ‘no’ to that particular offer. Yep, he doesn’t mind being a chauvinist or an adulterer but can’t stand the thought of being a liar. Fummy logic, go figure.
The town founders have also used him by creating a Fummy Day Festival. It’s going to be a yearly event and the town hopes to draw a good number of people into town. I hate to admit it, but I hope it does too. Since Mother inherited May’s house we decided to make it a ‘Bed and Breakfast’ so we need the business that the festival will bring in. We also attract a lot of weirdoes who like the thought of spending the night in a house where an almost double homicide occurred. And to get to actually meet and converse with one of the victims just tickles them pink. Ghost hunters have also flocked to our bed and breakfast in order to get some readings. So far, two have certified that the ghost of Clash, in fact, haunts us. Those certifications have gotten us a lot of bookings and a mention on a couple of television shows. So we’re doing a pretty brisk business so far. I just don’t want it to drop off. Mainly because Granddad likes talking to people and it keeps him busy and out of trouble. Which, believe me, is VERY important!
~~~~~
As I was thinking about all the new experiences that we have dealt with in the past year Granddad shuffled up to the desk.
“Hey, there, Jo, where’s Ava? I need to get her opinion on something important.”
“So? What? Can’t I make important decisions? I believe I have proven myself capable of doing that,” I said a bit put out by the slight.
“Naw, it ain’t that,” he explained. “It’s just that you can’t help on this particular bit of business.”
“Fine, if you think I’m just too inept to help you then by all means go and talk to Mother. Though I would like to point out that, I do share her gene pool and therefore I have a lot in common with her. Don’t believe me; just take a good look at our hands some time. You’ll notice that the veins are exactly in the same place on both our hands. So that would mean that we pretty much are similar, physically and I might add mentally. So whatever her answer is going to be, it’ll probably be the same as mine,” I huffed. “So by all means waste the effort it takes to go and find her and get her sacred opinion.”
“Now, Jo, it ain’t that at all. I do respect your opinion in a whole lot of areas. Course that’s not saying there aren’t some areas that I would concern you with but that’s simply because you’re a gal and some things aren’t meant for delicate female ears. It just so happens that I wanted to get Ava’s take on just what to get you for your birthday. After all, I’ve missed forty of them and I don’t want to miss this forty-first one. And I feel I should be getting you an extra special gift. But no, you have to go and spoil the surprise all due to your sensitive female feelings. I hope you’re happy,” he said with a big old grin on his face.
“Dadgummit, you’ve been hanging around Mother WAY too much. She’s taught you the ‘guilt factor.’ I suppose you are going to be pulling that on me all the time now. You’ve seen how successful Mother is at using it. Piddle. Oh, well, you win; Mother is in the dining room area talking with the chef about what needs to be ordered for the dentist convention that’s coming next week.”
He gave a slight wave and started shuffling towards the dining room. He had a kinda cocky swagger to his shuffle. I guess because he got me with the guilt factor. Well, two can play at that game. “I do hope Mother’s suggestion has something to do with a neat new cell phone that takes pictures, video and is Bluetooth capable. Because if she doesn’t suggest that, then I really need to have a DNA test because she just might not really be my Mother after all.”
“Now, Jo, what about your veins? Same veins, same blood flowing through them, I figure. Besides, you have to be related. You’re both too stubborn to be otherwise.”
Too stubborn! Well! Of all the nerve! This coming from a man who constantly refuses to clean his room, ever. He uses the excuse that ‘Life’s too short and you never know when someone might be trying to brain you over the head with a frying pan.’ I do have to admit that he does use the poor pitiful me, my wife tried to do me in, attitude. But then again it is not surprising. If I had been close to being murdered by a spouse then I would use it for all it’s worth. Really, who wouldn’t?
As he shuffled off to talk to Mother, I got to work on the reservation list. It was nice to have it full. Although a few people have thrown a wrench in the works by staying a day or two longer than they had reserved. But I always managed to figure out something to keep them happy. Mother and I had planned on moving to the inn and living there permanently, but I’ve had to use the rooms we wanted for ourselves to cover those who happen to ‘drop in’ and need lodging for a night or two. Mother, I think, has given up on moving and it’s probably for the best. Granddad wasn’t all that hep on the idea of moving back into May’s old house. It is the site of his almost undoing, after all. Therefore, we just travel to and from our house to the inn. We do have a security guard on the premises who looks out for things when we go home. And since his room is in the barn, we don’t have to worry about too much at night.
I was about to call Garth, the security guard, when in stomps Miz. Edna Clankerton. I really dislike this woman. She’s as strange as you can get here in Drought and that’s saying a lot. Her father, Abner, found out that he was a descendant of a Knight and so he went around town in a suit of armor trying to rescue anyone he felt needed rescuing. Of course, the Knight in question wasn’t an actual knight, like in King Arthur tales. But his surname was Knight. Old Abner figured that meant he was related to a real knight somewhere in the lineage. He collected all sorts of strange weapons supposedly used by real knights during the crusades. He even had some suits of armor. His house is shaped like a castle and there is even a moat around it. The moat is usually dry, simply because this is Drought and there isn’t a whole lot of water to waste on filling it. When he died, his daughter inherited everything because her father disowned the other siblings due to their intolerance to his knight fetish. Edna hasn’t seen the need to change anything in the house. That means all the displays, including the tiny toy soldiers are still in the place her father had put them.
I guess, and it’s only a guess on my part, that living with a father that is a might bonkers isn’t easy. I mean, I am living with a mummified granddad myself. And I have, on occasion, felt a few screws loosen a bit. At least they haven’t fallen out totally. Yep, it’s the small things in life we should be grateful for. Edna isn’t a small thing in my life. As a matter of fact she isn‘t a small thing in anyone‘s life. She lives next door to the inn. Or more specifically her property is right next to ours. Luckily, we each have a number of acres separating us. However, that doesn’t stop her from complaining about noise and traffic. Forget the fact that she’s opened a fruit and vegetable stand and gets a lot of our guests coming over to buy things from her.
Her main problem is that she is quite possibly the most superstitious person in the world. If a black cat crosses her path she will go out of her way to go back home even if that means going a mile of two out of her way just to avoid the path of the cat. She constantly rings a bell to drive away the demons that are trying to invade her castle. She also takes pride in the fact that when a bell rings an angel gets its wings so she figures she is doing double duty. She drives away the demons and gets more angelic warriors to fight them all at the same time. I might add that she is very smug and sanctimonious about it. In fact, she is so superstitious that she feels it was her sister’s fault she never married. You see her sister was sweeping the floor and apparently swept the broom over Edna’s feet, and in superstitions that means you won’t get married.
Okay, never mind the fact that Edna is an ugly old crone who goes around town with large turquoise hair curlers and wearing big pink fuzzy slippers and a flower print muumuu, like that probably never had anything to do with her never marrying. Yeah, right. I also have to admit that her glass eyes creeps me out. There are times when she gets so mad that it looks as if it might pop out. The thought of that scares me. Mother actually saw it happen once. She, Edna, and some of the other ladies of the church went to see Tom Jones in Lubbock one time. Edna was so thrilled and excited and afraid to miss anything that she kept her eyes wide open. Of course, that’s not a good thing to do when you have a glass eye. It popped out and started rolling around on the coliseum floor. Mother and the other women were down on their knees looking for it. It made Mother mad that Edna just stood there watching Tom Jones in his tight pants while they crawled around looking for an eye. She didn’t even offer to help look. Luckily, the whole thing ended up backfiring on poor old Edna. Mr. Jones thought the churchwomen were bowing to him and so he brought them up on stage and gave each of them a big ole kiss. Mother, I’m told, started giggling like a little school girl. Which I think is funny. I personally can’t picture my Mother giggling, period. Let alone doing it in front of a big audience. But Edna has held it against my Mother and the other church ladies ever since. This is one of the reasons why I think she complains to us at least three times a week about the inn and our guests.
“Jo, I’m hotter than horse spit on a July day! I am sick and tired of your people not respecting my borders. My Daddy made sure that the borders of our Provence (most people around here just say land) was duly noticed and fortified from invasion. Do your people respect that? That’s a big whopping NO! They don’t. They climb up on the turrets, have their pictures taken, and they make siege upon the great wall. I won’t have it, you hear me! I won’t. I’m this close to boiling! Oil, that is, to pour on the enemy!” She was screaming this at the top of her lungs and her eyes were bulging. (Please don’t let it pop out! Please! Dear God! I’ll eat my Brussels sprouts from now on, I swear!)
“Well, now Ms. Clankerton, I can’t control the guests. By the way, they are guests and not ‘my people.’ I can only tell them not to bother you or go near your property. If they choose to ignore my request then that is their problem not mine,” I said as calmly as I could.
“It isn’t their problem, it’s mine and they are trespassing on the grounds. You know darn well if an enemy crosses a border, they open the border at that spot for demons, hell hounds and mad men to cross over into that territory. You’re just invading my Provence with hell hounds and demons. I won’t have it you, you Jezebel! Do you hear me! I won’t have it! Our Provence has stood for over 75 years and I won’t have it conquered by the likes of you Missy!” Her eye was wobbling a bit in its socket. I guess the ideal thing to do was to be calm and try to calm her down. But let’s face it, this is me and after calling me a Jezebel, which ticks me off no end, then start ducking, because if I take a swing at her I might send her glass eye a flying.
“Jezebel! How dare you! I happen to be the new town spinster in case you hadn’t noticed. Oh, yeah and you wanted the title. Unfortunately, that little tryst of yours with that outhouse salesman blew it, didn’t it? And you’re calling me a Jezebel! You’re the one who had a fling without benefit of marriage, not me! Personally, I think instead of complaining about the people trespassing, I would think that you would use your head and realize that there is a buck or two to make here. Open your land to the people and then charge them through the nose for the pictures you take of them. But NO! That would require a brain in that thick mesh of curlers and that obviously isn’t the case or you wouldn’t have come in here complaining about something so trivial, not to mention, calling someone inappropriate names. Now get off my property or I’ll slap you into next week. And stop complaining about my guests! I’m tired of it!” I’m pretty sure my nostrils were flaring by now and I was red in the face. I guess it scared Edna because she backed away and turned to leave.
“Just so you know, I’m gonna go see my lawyer. I’ll put a stop to this if it’s the last thing I do, Missy!” she huffed out the door and slammed it shut.
~~~~~
I guess I shouldn’t have gotten so mad but I really hate people who try to intimidate others. And Edna was the queen of intimidation. She learned it at her mother’s knee, I’m sure. Her mother, Ukulele, was named after the musical instrument. This was mainly because Ukulele’s Ma wanted to be sure she was the only one in school that had that name. Well, that was a sure bet and as far as I can see, it still is. It might also explain why Edna’s Mother always went around humming “Tiny Bubbles.” With a name like that, you can pretty much guarantee that she was teased ruthlessly. So she developed an ornery disposition. Who could blame her? Not me. I’d have gone by my middle name if my Mother had done something like that to me. But poor old Ukulele was doubly cursed. Her middle name was Oboe. I think her Mother had an unhealthy obsession with musical instruments. Anyway, Edna wasn’t raised by the most sensitive of people. So she picked up her Mother’s habits of being mean and spiteful. This is why she bugs us so often. I guess I should put up a suggestion box and then when she comes marching in all I have to do is point her to the box and tell her to stuff it. With complaints, that is. Really, that was what I meant.
Granddad came shuffling in rather quickly. “Did I hear Edna again?”
“Yep. The old crone griped me out up one side and down the other. She made a quick retreat. She was complaining (what else does she do?) about the guests going on her property and crossing a border thus opening it up to invasion from demons, hell hounds and mad men. I wish she would get a garden gnome to scare away all the demons and be done with it. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about demons coming after her all day long. Though when you think about it, I’m guessing she’s really worried about some misdeed from her younger years and that she will have to pay a hefty demon price for whatever it was she did,” I speculated.
“Garden dome? What the heck is that? Something like the Astrodome?” Granddad is a former baseball player, even made it to the majors for two whole games so anything related to baseball intrigues him.
“No. I said a GARDEN GNOME. It’s those little statues of Santa Claus that people put in their yard to protect the home and garden. They were very popular in the eighties and I think they are supposed to be making a comeback,” I explained.
“Hmm… Now why would something so tiny and cute be considered something that would scare away bad spirits? I would think you would need something ugly and intimidating. As a matter of fact, it would need to be bigger than that tiny stat…” He trailed off. Then suddenly there was a bright gleam in his eyes and his face got the biggest grin I had ever seen, which is saying a lot because I saw him smile when he found out about Viagra. And you think that grin was big! Well, it didn’t compare to the one he had on his face right now.
“Okay, what are you thinking,” I asked with a bit of dread in my heart. He always had a way to think up stuff that would end up causing Mother and me nothing but worry.
“Um, never mind about that, for the moment. I wouldn’t want to jinx it, now, would I?” I swear, ball players are just as superstitious as Edna is. And that’s saying a lot!
“Hey, where are you going?” I yelled after him.
“I got to see someone about this idea I’ve got. You just go back to work, Jo. Besides, you’ve got a customer,” he said as he went out the door.
~~~~~
“Well of all the nerve! Thinking of something and not telling me about it. I just hope it’s legal,” I said aloud. Then I realized what he had said there at the last and looked over towards the door. Sure enough, there was a short, stout, semi-balding man standing there with a briefcase in hand and blending into the decor. He was a rather bland person, physically speaking and his demeanor fit his look as it turned out. “Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t see you. How may I be of service?” I tried to be as sweet sounding as possible, which isn’t easy after dealing with both Edna and Granddad.
“Oh, that’s quite all right, my dear. I noticed you were busy with that um, charming woman, and then your grandfather so I didn’t want to disturb you in your dealings with them. I know what it’s like to be busy with work and have someone come along and disrupt the flow. I’m Oliver Pitcherman. I’m a land speculator and I feel that Drought, Texas has a number of distinct possibilities. So I came here to investigate the feasibility of purchasing some land here for future growth.”
“Really? Well, how neat. I hadn’t thought of Drought as growing but I guess that’s where the speculation part comes into play,” I said curiously. “So you want a room I take it?”
“Oh, my, yes indeed I do. I figure if I’m going to get an idea about the land around here and its growth then I should be where the main reason for the growth is. Your Grandfather is just like the TV showed him to be. Now I don’t want you getting the wrong idea, my dear,” he said suddenly after I got a strange look on my face. I really hadn’t meant to do that but it was a natural reaction to people who try to make money off my Granddad. I mean, there are some really low lifes out there who want to use anyone and anything just so long as they get rich at it.
“No, no, my dear, I am simply exploring the prospect of wanting to purchase land that may have the potential to help grow and expand Drought’s fine borders and in this possible attempt, provide a good number of jobs for the fine people here. I have no intention of using your Grandfather in any way. But I have to admit that the attention that he has drawn to the area has opened up a lot of possibilities and so I am here to explore that and only that. So you needn’t worry that charmingly pretty head over my intentions towards your Grandfather. I can assure you of that. If you want I will even go so far as to promise you, if you so desired, that I would not even talk to him or meet with him at any time.” He was amazingly sweet and no, I hadn’t fallen for his ‘charmingly pretty head’ comments so don’t even go there.
“Well, that is a rather intriguing prospect,” I countered. Hey, if he was going to talk like that then the least I could do is match him, prospect for prospect.
“I was hoping to get a room here, as I said, in order to view first hand just how much of an impact it has had on the population in Drought, as well as, those individuals who travel here to view the spectacle. I should think it will provide the informative research that I can get for this particular endeavor.”
“It just so happens that I do have a three day opening for one room. It’s a small room but it does have its own bath.” That’s the one expense that Mother and I went all out on during the remodel. To insure everyone had their own bathroom. That’s because I hate to share, period. But sharing a bathroom is far too personal a thing for me so I figured it would be for others also. Mother agreed and so all the rooms now have a private bath. I think it’s helped us get the bookings we have over the Hotel Mummer.
It used to be named the ‘Hot l Scorcher’ before Granddad’s coming out. They never felt the need to fix the ’e’ in the neon lights and it made the name even more fitting, I think. Now that people are flocking to Drought because of Granddad, they decided the expense of fixing it and changing the name would be worth it. The Mummer doesn’t have private baths only community bathrooms on each of its three floors. A lot of sensitive people don’t like the prospect of sharing and getting to know their neighbor that well so they will pay a little more and come to our B & B. Okay, okay, so they pay a lot more but included in the price is the opportunity to get to see and talk to a bonafide mummy. How many bed and breakfasts can offer that? None, so I have no problem charging a reasonable price for such a one of the kind experience. Apparently, Mr. Pitcherman was one of those who hated sharing a bathroom. I thought to myself that it wasn’t like you would notice him if he was naked. He was that bland. Sigh, too bad George Clooney didn’t want to stay here. Then I might start liking community bathrooms!
“Will you be staying the full three days? And I do need to make it clear, that it will be just three days. That’s all I have available right now. So there is no way you can go over because we have a dentist convention coming in and we will need the space. I just want to be clear about this from the get-go, okay?”
“Yes, yes, I understand completely. And yes, I would like it for the three days. Also, if you do have any cancellations please let me know. I might want to extend my stay. You know, in order to get a complete view of the prospects here.”
“Certainly, is your briefcase the only bag you have?” I inquired.
“Oh, dear me no, I have a bag out in my rental car. I got it from Lubbock. Drought doesn’t have an airport. But I suppose you know that.”
“Actually we do. But that’s only if you like to fly model airplanes. We have a very big group of people who do and they built their very own model airplane airport. It even has a baggage handler. In truth, he simply helps the pilots get the model airplanes out to the strip. They do have a sort of air traffic controller but that’s simply because if you get too many pilots and planes out there, then there are some collision issues. And as I understand it, those model planes aren’t cheap. So they want to be careful so as not to lose their investment. Hey! That’s something you could look into as to your land speculation. After all Drought is perfect for model planes because of the flat terrain and clear skies. That could bring in a good number of people I bet.”
"Well,” he said a bit hesitantly, “I suppose, but I think the real money is the arid climate and the health benefits it can provide. I’d like to see if getting a health ranch up and started, would be feasible. I think that’s where the money will be.” At least he was being honest, so far any way.
“A health ranch, huh? Well, that could be a good idea. But you have to realize that not even the doctors are sure just how the heck Granddad managed to live like he has. Or just what the conditions were that contributed to it. The community college has a weather department that is currently doing a study of the past weather events to see just what might have helped Granddad live and be in a mummified state. So I’m not sure you could sell it by saying the climate is great for ‘living mummification.’ I mean that could be false advertising since there is no scientific data backing it up,” I explained. I just didn’t want him to use Granddad’s mummification to get rich. Though he did say he wasn’t gonna ‘use’ Granddad but then again, I’ve heard that before.
“I would never do such a thing. But the fact is that your Granddad is alive and is in a mummified state. The doctors all agree to that, don’t they?”
“Well, yeah, but…”
“Then to open a health ranch in the very area that the living mummy got his actual mummification would be a great thing. In other words, we wouldn’t have to say for certain that the environment was the cause of the mummification but simply that the ranch was in the very area where the mummification occurred. The people would then draw their own conclusions and we wouldn’t have to make any false claims that way. That helps to avoid lawsuits, you know.”
“What do you mean ‘we?’” I asked with a note of skepticism.
“We, did I say ‘we?’ Dear me, I let the cat slip out of the bag. Okay. To be perfectly truthful, I am a representative of a consortium that is interested in buying some land here in Drought in order to build a health ranch. I am to determine if there would be enough money to be made and for that matter, enough health benefits to make such an investment feasible. But this is far from a done deal. We need to find enough land to make room for all the amenities and guest cabins and so forth. I hardly need to tell you that if we don’t think the cost is going to be outweighed by the profit they won’t make the investment. Now I don’t want you to think that we will be horning in on your territory. On the contrary we…”
“Oh I have no fear of that, after all we have something that your ranch won’t. We have the actual site where the mummification occurred. In fact your ranch might insure we succeed.” I felt the need to let him know that he wasn’t dealing with someone who didn’t have much of a business sense.
“Ummm.. Yes well,” he said a bit hesitantly and then blushed.
“Oh, now, wait just a doggone minute!” I said much more loudly then I had intended. “If you think you’re going to buy this place you’ve got another think coming. Mother and I own this and it’s not for sale, period. So you best get that idea out of your shiny domed head, mister,” I huffed.
“Yes, well, we thought that might be the case and we were obviously right. Then that leaves me no choice but to find a place elsewhere. But you should know, my people don’t like competition and would do their best to drive out any competitors, which, um, would be, um, you, so to speak. So in the end selling to us might be the best way to assure financial security. Otherwise, you could lose a lot more than just your bed and breakfast, not that that is a threat of anything. I just happen to know how they work. I don’t approve of it, but that’s business and that’s how things go in the business world.” He blushed even more.
“That may well be, but you should know we don’t scare easy and even if you say it’s not a threat that doesn’t mean it isn’t and you know that. You’re basically the henchman for your consortium.”
“Yes, well, it’s the muscle that you have to watch out for. I’m just the first wave, so to speak. The second isn’t gonna be as nice as I am. I personally find the way they do business distasteful but I need the job and I have to do as they say,” he said a bit apologetically. “I guess I need to go to the other place now for a room.”
“No, I’ll be more than happy to take your consortium’s money, for a room, but for nothing else. Besides, you will see that we are a strong and stubborn family and we stick together. And when I say family, I mean the whole town is our family. And we protect our own. You will also see that you haven’t got a snowball’s chance in Hades to get this place. So by all means sign the register and I’ll see to your bags.” Actually when I said I’d see to his bags I meant I’d let little Jimmy Chevalier see to them. He’s the grandson of a guest who just so happens to have found a skunk’s nest just the other evening. It took 34 bottles of tomato juice to get the stench from him but I figure it’ll take a whole lot more than that to get it out of Mr. Pitcherman’s clothes, most particularly since we wiped the town out of its supply of tomato juice.
~~~~~
I didn’t actually get the skunks to stink up his suitcase. After all, I do have other guests to consider, not mentioning the fact that I have a very sensitive nose and can’t take the smell. Well, I can take it, but my breakfast is another thing. It can’t, it might try to leave immediately, and since it’s in my stomach, I really didn’t want it going anywhere. Not at the moment that is. And not in the general direction that it would end up having to go in order to make such a fast escape. It didn’t rule out that I wouldn’t tell Mr. Pitcherman he should scout out the grounds and then I would give him the directions towards the skunk hole. Then I could keep him from coming in the Bed and Breakfast because law does not allow toxic chemicals on the premises in which there is guest clientele and food served. It might also make him rethink that this would be the best place for his Health Ranch. After all, we are infested with skunks.
(Note to all potential future guests: I am simply saying that is the impression I would be more than happy for Mr. Pitcherman to get but I want to make it clear that we are neither now nor have ever been, ‘infested’ with skunks. Actually, I had already called Bubba’s Pest Control and Family Reunion Planning Company over on Dirtdobber Avenue so that they could come and relocate the skunks. But they can’t get to it until Thursday because of a termite infestation at the Wooden Leg Artificial Limb Company. Their company motto: ‘Who’s the best artificial limb company? No need to be stumped, it’s us!’ Tacky, yes, but what do you expect from Stumpy Ferguson? He’s a WWII Vet who lost a limb on Iwo Jima but kept his sense of humor. I prefer to call him Smiley, instead of Stumpy, because of his good humor. He‘s always cracking jokes and laughing. I like that in a person. So to all those who have bookings or are considering booking with us, remember the skunks will be gone by Thursday. I promise (or I get a full refund from Bubba!) So please, don’t think I treat all my guests that way, only the ones who threaten me and my business. As long as you’re not one of those people, then we’ll hit it off just fine.)
I showed him to his room and tossed his bag on the bed. I would usually have the maid come in and unpack for him, if he so chose. But I wasn’t in a very hospitable mood at the moment. He thanked me and asked when lunch would be. I told him it would be at twelve o’clock central standard time (just to be sure he understood the exact time) and left him to unpack his things.
I then headed straight to Mother; she had finished the menu for the convention with the chef and was double-checking the supply list when I found her.
“You are not going to believe this.” I was a little out of breath since Mr. Pitcherman’s room was on the top floor. “I just checked in some guy who represents a consortium and wants to buy our Bed and Breakfast and make it into a Health Ranch. And he threatened us saying that his people didn’t like competition so they will try to destroy us in order to get our land.”
“Jo, you do have such an active imagination. You really should consider writing a book or something,” She said soothingly.
“I am not making it up. His name is Mr. Pitcherman and he’s upstairs probably calling his henchmen on his shoe phone.”
“Shoe phone? Really, I blame myself for letting you watch too much TV as a child. It was just so much cheaper than getting a babysitter. This is the price you pay for being thrifty, I guess.”
“MOTHER! I am being serious. He so much as told me that his ‘people’ would see to it that they got this property and that we might as well sell now rather than wait for them to come after us. And I didn’t watch too much TV. I was simply checking on whether others had as active an imagination as I did so as not to feel so alone in the world.” Ha! I could guilt her if I had to. Granted I wasn’t as good as Mother, yet, but I believe practice makes perfect and I, as of late, haven’t passed up a single opportunity to do so, case in point, this very moment.
“Now, Jo, this isn’t Las Vegas. It’s Drought for crying out loud. We don’t have Lobsters roaming around the streets and alleys. We aren’t even near the ocean, how would they survive?”
“Umm… I think you mean Mobsters, Mother and I didn’t say anything about mobsters. I called them a consortium, which I think is far worse. They hide behind the legitimacy of a business for their foul work.”
“Mobsters, yes, that’s right, sorry, I was reading the grocery list and had lobsters on my mind. Say, do you think we could use crawfish instead and try to convince the dentists that they ate baby lobsters? It would cut the cost considerably.”
“No, that would be lying and that would put us on the level as Mr. Pitcherman and I refuse to drop down that low. Why don’t you have a Louisiana Cajun night then you wouldn’t have to buy the lobsters, and crawfish would be a perfectly normal thing to serve.
“That’s good idea! Then they would think that we put a lot more thought into it than we really did. I guess we should get some Mardi Gras beads and chocolate coins to use as favors or table decorations. You know Jo, if you ever decide to give up hotel management then you would be a shoo in for a party organizer, possibly a caterer. Though you would, of course have to get someone who could actually cook. Otherwise, no one around here would hire you. That’s something you could consider if the consortium does succeed in driving us out,” Mother said this as she triple checked her list. It’s best to be thorough you know.
“Well, that ain’t gonna happen on my watch, I can tell that much,” I said through gritted teeth. I’m a little touchy about my cooking skills. I can boil an egg and make egg salad. And I can tell you it’s the best egg salad you’ll ever have. But other than that, I’m hopeless in the kitchen. But that doesn’t mean that I want my Mother pointing it out. Mainly because she has this tendency to segue into that being the reason I don’t have a husband. Never mind the fact that it’s my choice and it’s a choice that I am quite happy having made. I’m not bothered with having to fix someone their meals or do their laundry or anything else and I’m not caught up in the emotional drama that can take place. Therefore, I’m happy and free. Granted if I didn’t have Mother taking care of me I would live on frozen dinners and take out and my clothes would probably smell but other than that, I think I could survive. The main question is would I want to? I actually enjoy my Mother’s company. I realize that is unusual but I’ve always dared to be different. I have obviously succeeded. At least in a small way, I suppose.
“Now if you would let Gregor teach you how to cook then I bet you would have the men lining up to marry you.” I rest my case.
“Why don’t I just marry Gregor and then he can do all the cooking for me. And since you are going to come and live with whomever I marry then you wouldn’t have to cook either. It’s a win win situation,” I told her. Gregor was our bed and breakfasts cook.
“Don’t be ridiculous dear; He’s too old for you. He’s older than me for crying out loud,” She exclaimed
“Okay, then you marry him and since we’re a package deal then neither of us will have to cook. After all, Dad’s been gone a few years now and I’m sure you’re getting lonely,” I said in hopes that this would get her off this subject.
“I’m not marrying him either. He’s a recent widower and you never marry man who just lost his wife. They expect you to be like the dear departed wife,” Mother explained.
“Jeesh, they expect you to be dead? That’s rather ghoulish if you ask me.” I said this with the expressed intention to get Mother’s goat. It worked.
“That is not what I meant and you know it. Besides, he is still in mourning and you never go after a man in mourning. It’s just wrong on so many levels. And I am not a hearse chaser. So we need to move on to another subject, thank you.”
Mother has no intention of remarrying. For which I am thrilled. She was very much in love with my dad. When he died I knew there could and would never be anyone who could possibly live up to being the type of man he was. But if she is going to 'husband' me then by golly I’m gonna 'husband' her right back. I have found that changing the subject happens a lot quicker when I do this.
We walked out of the dining area and into the lobby. As we walked, I told Mother all about Edna’s little rampage.
“I’m getting really tired of her stomping in here and complaining. It’s happening more than twice a week now. I just don’t get it. Why can’t she try to see the positive in our having the bed and breakfast? It means she sells a lot of vegetables to our guests and so she makes money from them. If they weren’t here, she probably wouldn’t make anything. Most people around here grow their own vegetables, most particularly now that the economy has tanked,” I complained.
“I think she is just lonely and needs to get out of her place every now and then,” Mother explained.
“Well if she was trying to make friends then she has failed miserably. I mean if you’re lonely then by golly, be nice to other people then you would make friends and not be so lonely. Even I know that.”
“Yes, but she isn’t used to being around too many people. She was home schooled and so she didn’t get the opportunity to interact with anyone other than her siblings.”
Mother explained this to me but it still didn’t make me feel sorry for her. “So why was she home schooled? After all, Drought school system is one of the few in Texas that constantly ranks at the top. So why would she need to be home schooled?”
“You’re forgetting her parents were… um… how can I say this politely?”
“They were nuttier then Aunt Denise’s fruit cake?” I feel that when someone is grasping for a word or phrase and you can help, then you should. Though I have found most people don’t appreciate it. Believe it or not, Mother happens to be one that doesn’t appreciate it. I guess that could be because I do seem to be doing it a lot more of late. I prefer to think this is because I am taking my oath as a Prairie Dog Girl Guide seriously. I did get 12 burrow holes, you know. Those are the equivalent of the Girl Scout badges. Mother on the other hand seems to think it is my compulsion to control all things including the conversation, which I resent. If I could control the conversation then there would be no mention of my husbandless condition. Ever. And I accept that that is never gonna happen.
“Okay, you might say that, but I prefer to be nicer in how I describe others. I would rather say that they were limited in their thinking with a bit of paranoia thrown in. You see Abner was so obsessed with the Medieval Knight ideal. And they didn’t have schools back in those times. Special teachers tutored the nobility. Therefore, Abner felt that was how his kids should be schooled. So really, the only people they had to interact with were other family members. And that can’t be good,” Mother explained.
“Yeah, right, especially when the others have the same nutty genetic information. It’s like those nut clusters that the cereal companies advertise. Okay, okay, stop looking at me like that. I will try to consider her upbringing when she comes for her bi-weekly gripe fest but it will be really hard to feel any sympathy when you’re being yelled at and called names.”
“Jo, she hasn’t resorted to name calling as of yet, so don’t go thinking she will start anytime soon,” Mother said with a bit of exasperation in her voice.
“For your information she called me ‘Jezebel’ and I resent that implication.
She was the one who had the affair with the outhouse salesman, not me. And before you say I must have misunderstood what she said, then you go and ask Mr. Pitcherman because he was there and heard her call me that. So I have a witness to back me up.”
“Yes, but you have already pointed out that he wasn’t to be trusted and so how can I take his word if you don’t think he can be trusted?” Mother logic, it drives me crazy!
“Fine, whatever, oh, by the way, Granddad got ‘The Look’ in his eyes and then bolted out the door, just thought you should know. He didn’t say where he was headed. And you know as well as I do that that look can never be followed by anything good.”
“What caused him to bolt?” Mother asked.
“Beats me, I was talking about Edna and her yelling at me and that if she was so afraid of evil spirits then she should get some garden gnomes. That’s when he took off. Who knows what was going through that shriveled up mind of his. I don’t doubt that whatever it is, it will be dirty. That is the way his mind works, ya know.”
“True. But we really should give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, he might actually be thinking of doing some good for us, the town, or whoever.”
“Yeah, wait, is that a rain drop? Cause the day he does something for the good of society is the day a monsoon hits Drought. This, in case you didn’t know it, ain’t gonna happen anytime soon.” I felt the need not to get my hopes up and I didn’t want Mother to live in Oz. Mainly because flying monkeys give me the heebie jeebies and I would hate to have to go up against them to save my Mother. That’s not to say I wouldn’t, but if I had my druthers I would prefer not to.
~~~~~~
We didn’t see Granddad until later in the afternoon. He came sauntering in with a big ole grin on his face. Grinning for a mummy isn’t an attractive feature but there was no telling him that. He seemed to think it made him look dapper and alluring. I think it makes him look like he ate beans and weenies for supper and had developed some major gas.
“So where the heck have you been and what have you been up to?” I asked warily.
“I got myself an idea for a big time business venture, so I was out trying to get a backer. That’s business talk in case you didn’t know it.”
“Yeah, I recognized it. So I gather that since you have a smirk on your face that you found a backer?” I couldn’t think of who would be gullible enough to fall for anything Granddad developed. You may think I’m being mean but since his ‘return’ to the living he has had the tendency to come up with some really doozies to make money. I personally admire his drive to make money but I’m not sure just how sound of a business mind he has.
His discovery of television has been an eye opening experience. The ‘as seen on TV’ junk has him thinking that he can come up with some piece of something that nobody needs and make millions convincing others that they do need it. My personal favorite was the beard extensions. He felt it might be a limited market, Muslims mainly, but that mountain men and civil war buffs would probably buy them also. The extensions allowed you to add body and length to your weak, wimpy, flat, beard, thus wowing the gals and making the beardless men envious. Then scandal hit the beard extensions business when one of his customers used the extensions to cheat and try to make the record books with the longest beard. That upped sales for about two days. Scandal does that to things, you know. Then the Circus sideshow caught the bearded lady adding them to her beard and they felt it was false advertising and that they could be sued for falsifying a sideshow attraction. So they sued Granddad for presenting the bearded lady with the temptation and with her low self-esteem it made her venerable.