HAPPY PANTS CAFE (THE HAPPY PANTS SERIES) (10 page)

He then noticed Harper’s eyes flicker away as if thinking something devious.

“I’m really hungry. Want to grab some lunch?” she asked.

What was she up to?

“I already ate.”
That cookie.

“Oh.” She made an awkward, guilty little face.

“You’re about to make a run for the café, aren’t you?” he asked.

Before he knew it, Harper was laughing and sprinting toward the street corner.

“Hey!” He chased after her, unable to stop himself from laughing, too. Just as she rounded the corner, he caught up. And just as he caught up, they crashed into someone.

All three tumbled into a pile of legs and arms.

He looked down at the body beneath him. “Ms. Luci?”

“Get off me!” Ms. Luci wailed.

Oh shit. Not good.

~~

At first, Harper wasn’t sure what they ran into, but the sound of Ms. Luci grunting was a sure giveaway.

Belly down on the sidewalk, Harper glanced over toward the sound and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Ms. Luci was sprawled on her back, with Austin laying over her in a quasi-missionary position.

“Get off of me!” Ms. Luci barked at Austin, who surely was having a moment of complete and utter horror served with a side dish of rancid shame.

Austin was off her faster than a cat on a hotplate, spewing apologies and helping the old woman to her feet.

“Are you all right?” Harper asked, pushing herself off the ground quickly and aiding Luci. By now, several afternoon shoppers and tourists had also stopped to assist the poor woman who’d been assaulted by two crazy reporters.

Ms. Luci dusted off her yellow dress and apron. “I’m fine, thankfully.” She looked down at the large, broken Mason jar on the sidewalk sitting in a puddle of brown liquid. “But my sauce won’t be!
Dios!
What were you two thinking?”

“We are so, so sorry, Ms. Luci,” Harper said. Oh, this was so embarrassing.

Ms. Luci yelled at them both in Spanish, and Harper knew they were not nice words.

Just then Officer Coffee (wearing a clean new shirt) walked up. Though he sported mirrored sunglasses, Harper had the sudden urge to run before lasers shot out of his head and dropped her right where she stood.

“Mother, what is going on?” asked the sheriff in a gruff voice.

Ms. Luci looked at him and let out a long sigh. “These two
payasos
knocked me over! And look what they did!” She pointed to the stuff on the ground.

“We are so very sorry,” Austin said. “Whatever it is, I’ll pay to replace it.”

Luci huffed. “Your money is no good, young man. This is my concentrated spice mixture for my cookies. It takes six months to grow the ingredients in my garden. Then I age the vanilla and cinnamon in rum and—dammit! My entire season is ruined.”

“All right.” Mr. Coffee reached for his handcuffs. “I’m taking them in and then making sure they leave town after they post bail.”

“What? Come on!” Harper protested. “It was an accident.”

Ms. Luci reached out and lowered her son’s hands. “No, Alberto. Jail is not what these two troublemakers need. They are going to work this off.”

Harper blinked. “Work?”

“That is right, my dear. I have a farm just out of town, and we are short-handed.”

Officer Alberto hitched up his heavy belt. “Or you can spend the week in jail, if you prefer.”

Austin and Harper glanced at each other and blew out unhappy breaths.

“Fine,” said Harper. “We’ll do it. Won’t we, Austin?” She looked at him and widened her eyes, urging him to say yes.

Austin threw up his hands. “Are you sure I can’t just pay to replace the jar and the ingredients?”

“No,” Ms. Luci replied. “Alberto, take him—”

“Fine. Okay. We’ll work it off,” Austin responded.

Ms. Luci smiled. “Good. You’ll both work the week doing chores, and then you’ll help with the party on Saturday.” She snapped her fingers. “Now you two get this mess cleaned up. I’ll let Don Sebastian and Margarita know you are coming.”

Don Sebastian? Margarita? I hope those are drinks.

Harper pulled up in her black Mini Cooper behind Austin’s red convertible, which was parked in front of the big white two-story farmhouse. Situated smack in the center of several acres of green fields, the updated house had a large stable, a luxury chicken coop (space to play and a lot of little hidey holes to nest in), and a picturesque red barn to the left. The estate’s immaculate, modern appearance gave Harper the impression that Luci came from, or had made, a lot of money.

Wow. Maybe I should sell cookies.
The home was truly gorgeous. Every hedge circling the large, updated home was neatly trimmed, every rose bush lining the long gravel driveway bloomed with giant red flowers, and the paint was fresh and perfect on everything. The place was more like a country palace.

Except, what the heck is that?
To the right of the home was a section of land completely overgrown with wild-looking vegetation enclosed by a tall white fence.

Harper hopped out of her car and walked over to Austin, who was on his cell, yelling at someone. “No, Libby. I’m not fucking around. You need to stop this bullshit.”

Libby?

“I’m a nice guy,” he said, “but if you keep this up, I
will
have you arrested.”

He ended the call and grumbled something that sounded like “psycho.”

“One of the super-eight?” Harper said jokingly, referring to his “eight girlfriends.”

He shot her a look.

“Whoa. Sorry.” He’d barely said one word to Harper since they’d run over Ms. Luci. Of course, they’d ridden in separate cars.

Probably for the best, because we’d just start bickering again
. Although she kind of enjoyed it. Simply because she couldn’t stay mad at him, and he had a way of bringing out the silly side of her.

“Hello there!”

A man, standing on the porch of the home with a pig on a leash, caught Harper’s attention. “Dear baby Jesus, what is that?” she whispered.

Austin looked at the man. “You mean the pig or the guy in the aqua blue cowboy hat?”

The older man—medium build and height, with leathery, sun-beaten skin and an enormous mustache—stood on the wide porch, arms crossed, staring with a set of eyes that could only be described as asymmetrical, being that one eye was significantly larger than the other and protruded. And yes, he wore a bright turquoise-blue cowboy hat and red boots.

“Yeah,” Harper said, “the guy in the hat.”
With one really, really large eye.

“Come on. Let’s go say hi.” Austin got out of his car and grabbed a few plastic shopping bags from the trunk.

“Is that your luggage?” Harper asked.

“Yes. Don’t ask.”

Harper immediately wondered why he hadn’t brought clothes from home. Had his trip up this way been unplanned?

Harper followed Austin, taking in the charming, peaceful surroundings.

“Well,
buenos dias
, and welcome to Rancho Leon-Parker! I am Don Sebastian,” the man said as if he were Mr. Roark welcoming them to Fantasy Island, or the concierge at a five-star resort.

“Hi, I’m Harper, and this is Austin.”

The man’s one buggy eye bulged out a bit farther out as he looked them over. “Yes. I am told you made a cow shit of everything,” he said with a slight accent.

Austin and Harper exchanged looks.

“Well,” he said, “make no worries of such stinky things. Ms. Luci is very forgiving. Unless you ruin her cookies. Then she will poison your food and turn you into a tiny animal.”

Harper didn’t move. “Uhhh…”

“I am kidding! Ms. Luci cannot turn people into animals. That would be silly.” He chuckled to himself, lifting up his large, aqua-blue hat to expose a half-smoked, unlit cigar resting on top of his bald head. He popped it into his mouth. “Come, let me show you around.”

“Is he on drugs?” she whispered, ever so grateful that she was not going to be sleeping at the farm. Ms. Luci had insisted she stay, but the B and B was already paid for. Austin, however, had accepted the offer, given there were no rooms available in town. Harper would be expecting to
find bodies in the morning. The Don was creepy. Even the way he walked, with an overly confident swagger and a limp, was disturbing.

Kind of reminds me of the innkeeper from
Motel Hell
.
That was a 1980s B-movie she’d seen on TMC, where they planted people in the ground and made sausage out of them.

“You may leave your things on the porch, and I will take them inside shortly,” he said to Austin, who deposited his bags on the porch swing.

“All right. Let us begin the grand tour! This way, my little sausages!” Sebastian waved them over to the enormous red barn.

What? Sausages? Oh, no!
Harper shuddered.

She peeked inside the barn’s open doors to find multiple stalls with pigs, horses, and children.

Children?

“Um.” Harper pointed to two girls and a boy, all about ten or so, standing inside a stall, looking very unhappy. “Excuse me, but—”

“Ah, yes. Those are Ms. Luci’s three grandchildren. I caught them playing in the living room.”

Harper was afraid to ask. Austin was not.

“What’s in the living room?”

Don Sebastian stared for a moment. “Furniture. Why do you ask?”

“Are you going to let them out?” Harper asked.
Or are you going to make people sausages out of them?
In all honesty, she could see her niece and nephew deserving such a fate; they were evil-to-the-core, demonic munchkins who embraced all things criminal and had superglued her entire collection of MAC lipsticks shut. All thirty shades. But these little kids with their pudgy cheeks, caramel brown hair, and wide dark eyes looked like little angels.

“Eventually,” said Don Sebastian.

She sincerely hoped the man was joking, but just in case, she’d be coming by in a little while to ensure they were released.

“Sebastian?” Harper asked, trailing behind Austin, who looked tickled as a moldy peach to be there. “How long have you worked for Ms. Luci?”

“Please, my friends call me Sebas. You may call me Don Sebastian.”

Huh?

He sighed merrily, still holding on to his leashed pig. “I have been in Ms. Luci’s glorious employ for over seventy years.”

He’s worked for her for over seventy years?
Honestly, he looked to be in his sixties.

“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Harper questioned.

“Seventy. I began working here the day I was born.” He turned and started laughing. “Just kidding. Babies cannot work. At least, not on a farm.”

Harper looked at Austin, who clearly had his reporter game-face on because he held a polite, subtle smile.

“What will we be helping with today?” Austin asked.

Don Sebastian walked to the very last stall, passed a few horses, and pointed to three very large, black spotted pigs. “They need baths.”

Harper laughed, thinking that the strange little man was joking once again. Wrong.

“What is this funny joke I missed?” asked Don Sebastian. “They are to be washed. Being clean makes them happy, and happy pigs taste better.”

Okay.
“Will I be serving them their last meal, too?”

“No. Ms. Luci likes to do that. She cooks them a special meal and then…” He made the international symbol of the slit throat by drawing his finger across his neck.

“Oh. What about that pig?” Harper referred to the pig on the leash.

Sebastian looked confused. “This is not a pig. It is dog.”

“Uh, no,” she said. “That’s a—”

Austin elbowed her in the ribs. “That’s a nice dog.”

“Thank you. I call her Muffin Top because she is a bit fat,” Sebastian said. “This way.”

Harper looked at Austin and mouthed the word “pig” while pointing to the “dog.” Austin shrugged like he didn’t know what the hell was going on.

Sebastian gestured for them to follow and then pointed toward an enormous chicken coop. “The eggs must be collected, and the hens fed. Ms. Luci’s herb garden must be de-slugged. The lawn out back needs to be mowed. The horses’ stalls need to be cleaned out. Miss Happy Pants, the white mare, needs to be brushed and ridden.”

Does she need her happy pants ironed, too?

“Anything else?” Harper couldn’t believe they’d need to do all that work in just six days. That “lawn” had to be a field about six acres in size. And if Ms. Luci’s herb garden was that jungle to the other side of the house, she was pretty sure there were packs of wolves living in there, not just slugs.

“No,” said Don Sebastian. “That will be all for today. Tomorrow, we’ll start the heavy lifting.”