January 24, 2010 by admin
Filed under Karoline Barrett, Romantic Comedy, Short Stories
I was standing in the check-out line when one of the tabloids caught my eye. The one with Myra Lavinski and Cord Coltrain locked in a very friendly embrace, which included a deep lip lock that didn’t belong on a publication that could be viewed by children.
I’m not one to put stock in these “fish wrappers,” as my father calls them, but Cord and I had been seeing each other exclusively, or so I thought, for close to seven months, so I was slightly shocked at his appearance at Joe’s.
I hurried to Aunt Felicity’s, trying to put Cord out of my head while we ate and caught up on things. We were interrupted halfway through dinner by the chirping of my cell phone. I could see it was my agent calling. It couldn’t be good news; he hated talking on the phone.
“What’s wrong, dear?” my aunt asked when I snapped my phone shut.
“I have to be back by Monday, or the part of Casey Brand goes to Myra Lavinski. Do you believe that? Myrna Lavinski. Cord’s uncle is half-owner of Apple Seed. They produce our show, and for some reason dear Uncle wants Myrna Lavinski as Detective Brand. And I didn’t realize my contract was up Monday,” I huffed. I never have had a head for business. Obviously, my boyfriend, rather ex-boyfriend, had been busy behind my back.
“Oh, she plays Melinda Pruitt on The Gold Coast, my favorite afternoon soap,” my aunt gushed. “They’re supposed to kill her off soon. Jane, Isn’t your boyfriend on that show?”
“Yes, Cord is on that show. And he’s my ex-boyfriend, Aunt Felicity.”
“I’m sorry, dear.” She squeezed my hand. “Fairmount High needs an English and drama teacher. You could do that. Oh dear, I hate to ask when you’re going through a bad time, but I need a favor.”
I blinked. “Sure, what is it?” Whatever it was, it would take my mind off my uncharitable thoughts about Cord and Myra.
“I’m going out of town tomorrow morning. A couple of the girls I play bridge with planned a trip to Chicago. We’ll be back on Sunday. I’m sorry to leave you, but we’ve had this trip planned a long time. Can you feed and walk Alice?”
“Sure, I’ll take care of Alice. It’s no problem, I love dogs. I’ll come here and stay with her.”
“Oh no, that’s not necessary. She just needs a couple of jaunts around the block and she’ll be fine. You’ll have more room at your parents’ house. Especially if Kevin comes visiting.” She winked at me. I blushed.
After I saw Aunt Felicity off the next morning, I called Alice, an almost-fifty pound English bulldog, for her walk. Since Aunt Felicity has a fenced in yard, I let Alice out the back door to frolic in the grass, while I called the airline to change my return to New York to Monday morning. I realized the worst part of this would be telling Kevin that, unfortunately, the lessons we had planned were off. I couldn’t bring myself to call him just yet.
My plane ticket changed, I went outside to find Alice frantically pawing at Aunt Felicity’s flower garden. “No, Alice,” I shouted, sprinting over to her. I pulled her away from the mess she was making, and managed to get her into the garage, where I hoped to find a shovel to put Aunt Felicity’s garden back in some semblance of order.
I spotted one lying against the wall behind some boxes, one of which I tripped over, landing on my knees on the cement floor. Alice came over and offered me doggy slobber. I hugged her neck, my eyes watering and my knees stinging. I noticed I was kneeling at the foot of some kind of stone. My eyes followed the stone upward until they focused on JAMES B. DEAN 1931-1955.
What was Aunt Felicity doing with James Dean’s headstone in her garage? “How did she get it in here, Alice?” Alice drooled on my pants, and wagged her stubby tail.
My heart pounded as I ran back to the garden with a shovel. One thing at a time, I told myself. Maybe Aunt Felicity had a perfectly good reason why James Dean’s headstone was in her garage.
I looked where Alice had been digging, and as I started rearranging the dirt, I felt faint and suddenly cold. I couldn’t breathe. I pulled out my cell phone and with shaking hands, hit speed dial for Kevin.
I jogged to the front of the house, and was relieved beyond words when a few minutes later, he arrived in a police car. Instinct took over, and I ran right into his arms, which came around me in a fierce hug. For a moment, I would have been happy to die right there.
“Bones,” I gasped. “Bones in the backyard. She was right. She had James Dean’s baby, and it died. She buried it. In the backyard. And James Dean’s headstone is in her garage.” My words all ran together.
I pulled him to the backyard, where he kneeled in the dirt and picked at the tiny bones. I couldn’t look. James Dean’s headstone was one thing. But burying a dead baby? I shuddered.
“Yep, these are bones,” he announced, rocking back on his heels.
“Well, I knew that, for heaven sakes. How did they get here? Did she really bury them?” I whispered.
Kevin stood up, brushing dirt from his uniform pants. “Why are you whispering? It’s just me and you out here. Seeing that they’re on her property, I would say she did bury them. You want to go to dinner later?” His lazy smile, which was one of the nicest things about him, was grossly out of place at a murder scene.
“Dinner?” I screeched. “My aunt could be facing murder charges and you want to go to dinner?”
“Well, it’s not unheard of. We buried Sam in the backyard when he…”
“Who’s Sam?” I almost shook him.
“I thought I told you this story. Sam was my dog when I was a kid. He died right after Christmas. We had to wait till spring to bury him, since the ground was so hard. My father stuck him in our garage freezer for the winter.”
I rolled my eyes, and let out a sigh loud enough to be heard for blocks. “What about this baby? Is the statue of limitations for murder up?”
“Calm down, Jane. You play a detective on TV. You letting some bones rattle you?” He laughed, as if he had told the world’s funniest joke. “And it’s statute. These are cat bones, Jane.”
I glared at him, digesting what he said. Aunt Felicity had had a cat way back when named Cat, after the cat in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. “So it’s not a baby?” I felt limp with relief, although my heart was still pounding.
“No, it’s not a baby. But I do have to place you under arrest.”
“What? Arrest me? Why?”
“For the headstone. You’re the only one here. And it is stolen property.”
He must have taken pity on me, because without warning he drew me to him in a hug, and before I knew it he was kissing me. I kissed him back. Everything else faded, until I came back to my senses.
“But how did she get it in there? And you can’t arrest me. I have to be back by Monday. They’ll make Myra Detective Casey Brand if I’m not back. And I have to take care of Alice,” I wailed.
He laughed so long I thought I might strangle him. “Your aunt takes poor James’ headstone on a regular basis. She hires some kids, pays them, we put it in the paper, and we retrieve the stone. The money she pays the kids goes to charity, she feels important, and no one is hurt. And don’t worry about Alice. I’ll bring her along. Come on, let’s get the yard fixed up, then you’re coming with me.”
I watched, speechless, as Kevin replaced the dirt, got Alice, waited as she did her business, and then shepherded both of us into his police car. Surely, I was going to wake up any moment in my tiny over-priced studio in Brooklyn, New York, and this would all be a dream.
I closed my eyes. I felt the car stop, and opened them a slit. We were sitting in front of my parents’ house. I opened my eyes wider and smiled. “You’re not placing me under arrest?”
“House arrest. And I’m staying with you. In case you decide to flee again.” He reached for my hair, twirling it between his fingers, his eyes growing darker. I remembered that look. My stomach felt all gooey.
“I’m allowed one phone call,” I told him.
“You think so?” he challenged.
“I think so,” I answered, and I knew exactly whom I was going to call Monday. Fairmount High School, hoping they still needed an English teacher.
The End
Learn more about Karoline Barrett at her SHOWCASE PAGE.
