Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 01 - Kitchen Addiction! (38 page)

“So
what gives? Why are you scrounging beer for breakfast?” I asked.

Trixie
took a short swig of her Krumpthf’s, made a face and then took a long drag of
her cigarette.

“First
of all,” she exhaled, “it’s Krumpthf’s, not beer.  And this isn’t breakfast for
me.  More like supper,” she said.  She took another swig, made a face, and then
took another really long drag from her cigarette.  “And second, my shifts –
plural – sucked.”

“What
happened?”

“Well,
after your aunt’s church pals Ernie and Evelyn admitted themselves in for
barbeque burns, in came the other church buddies, Henry and his old lady
Caryl.  They all fill each other in about why each other is there, comparing
barbeque mishaps and all, when Henry and Ernie start shouting and shoving each
other.  Eventually, one of the clinical assistants and I got the fellas calmed
down.  But the next thing you know, the two old girls are hollering at each
other and having at it.  By the way, did you know Evelyn wears a wig?” Trixie
asked.

I
balked.  I was still trying to wrap my brain around the fisticuff images Trixie
had just pasted inside my head.  Fighting? Ernie? Henry? Cat brawl? Evelyn?
Caryl? None of this made any sense.  It certainly wasn’t very Episcopalian,
with the espousing tolerance thingy and all.

“Anyway,
the next thing you know, we’re admitting herds of senior barbecue burn
victims.  It was weird,” she said.

“They
all had barbecue burns?”

“Not
only that, but they all claimed to be Episcopalian.  And you didn’t hear that
from me,” she said, taking another drag.  “I can’t tell you whether or not they
attend St. Bart’s, but their admission forms all had ‘Episcopal’ written in for
religion. And apparently they all knew each other.  One minute they’re all
watching the news calmly.  The next minute all hell broke loose.” She put out
the stub of her cigarette and lit up another.

“Some
old bag thunked her walker on top of some old guy’s foot, then the next moment
someone’s toupee went flying.  Two other old guys were pointing fingers into
each other’s chests so hard that they both claimed to be having chest pains. 
So then we had to admit them both, just to rule out angina.  Then we had the
wheelchair babe cruising down the aisle and knocking people down with her
sister’s cane.” Trixie shuddered.  “Then,” she continued, “Appletree comes in,
because of the previous brawl being called in and all, with none other than the
Mrs.” Her face downturned in a grimace.  “You know, I know the whole freaking
town knows about me and Appletree.  I get that.  But it was pretty embarrassing
when I found out the unit secretaries were taking bets which brawl was gonna be
next:  me and Herself or the sizzled seniors.” She added, “I’m okay with the
I-was-the-other-woman thing, mostly. I’m just not so okay about getting beat
out by a 4-foot, 200 pound troll with no make-up and bad hair.”

I
sighed.  I’d heard this before.  But I figured it must have been especially
painful when encountered in person with the 200 pound troll.

“That’s
okay,” I said, patting her head.  “You don’t want Appletree, anyway.  He’s not
much taller than a troll, either,” I said.

She
sighed. “I know. I guess it’s just the uniform thing.”

“Oh!”
I cried. Trixie looked at me.  “I forgot to tell you, he got some kind of a
detective promotion recently,” I said.

Trixie
shook her head.  “That explains it. He kept babbling about Eve driving him
around, because his car was in the shop.  I thought that was weird since he
wasn’t in uniform, coming directly from work and all.  And in a suit, no less.”
She sighed.

“His
wife’s name is Eve?”

“Yeah.”

“But
isn’t Appletree’s first name Adam?”

“Yeah,
so… oh!”

“You
never thought of that before?” I asked again, incredulously. “You tried to
break up Adam and Eve?”

Trixie
grinned wildly.  “Hey, I never thought about it like that!” she exploded and we
both collapsed.

We
stopped gasping and sat grinning stupidly at each other.

“You
know, I think you could actually find a single guy, of normal stature, that you
might actually like,” I offered.

Trixie
shrugged.  “I know. I guess it’s just the uniform thing,” she answered.

“You
liked Mike, the U.S. Marshal guy, until you found out he was gay,” I
suggested. 

“Yeah,
but U.S. Marshals are a whole other bag of wax.  I mean, the suit is their
uniform.”

“Oh.”

“But
you’re right.  I’ll try better next time.  Especially about the not married
thing and all.”

“Well,
if you found a guy that was more normal, and single, and had a job and all,
couldn’t you just ask him to dress up? Like, maybe try it out around Halloween
or something?”

Trixie
seemed happier with that thought.  “It’s not quite the same thing as a real
uniform.  But I like the idea of finding someone single and solvent,” she
agreed.

“RentalRama’s
right on Prince Street,” I suggested.

“Yeah,”
Trixie replied, with a far off look in her eyes.  I sighed.  I began to worry
about the poor unsuspecting cubicle working dolt who would soon find himself in
for tricks or treats, no matter what the season.

Trixie
took a final drag from her cigarette.  “Cripes, even menthol doesn’t help this
swill,” she said, finishing another swallow of the Krumpthf’s.  “You got any
weeds out back you want killed?  I’ll pour it on them.”

I
nodded toward one of the zillion thistles crawling up the hill that I’d yet to
outsmart.  Trixie walked toward them and poured.  I swear I thought I saw them
tremble as she approached.  They soon wilted after she poured the remaining
contents of her can on them.

“I’ve
still got some Box O’Burgundy,” I offered.

“Anything’s
better than this,” she said.  “Besides, it’s stinking hot out here.”

We
wandered back inside to find the fellas watching ‘Guys! Cook! Now!’ They sat
transfixed.  Even Jim sat upright.  Trixie and I looked at each other and
shrugged, wondering what cooking show could capture the attention of four
non-culinary males.

After
a few seconds, we got it.

“The
Cowboy Special, huh?” I asked.

“Geez,
would ya look at the size of those steaks?” Bauser asked.  Jim panted.  Norman nodded. Vinnie stared.  The ‘Guys! Cook! Now!’ dude was rubbing some kind of chili
salt and sugar rub onto what looked like the size and thickness of Mastodon
steaks.  “And don’t forget the homemade coleslaw,” he added hypnotically.

The
camera panned onto a family size serving bowl piled high with shredded green,
red and Savoy cabbage, along with shredded carrots, fresh green peppers and
pineapple chunks.  The highlighted single serving looked like, roughly
speaking, enough fancy coleslaw for thirty.

I
stared at Norman.  He was texting notes on his Crackberry to himself.

“I
do all the cooking at home,” he answered automatically.

“Shhhh,
he’s getting ready to actually cook the steaks directly on the coals!” Bauser
hushed.

Vinnie
scrunched down and watched the screen transfixed, too.

I
shrugged and went to the freezer and took out two of the eight London Broils
I’d bought.  Then I began to rustle Trixie up a three-egg Greek style omelet
with some fresh spinach, feta cheese, mozzarella, sliced black olives, green
onions and tomatoes.

Trixie
and the fellas were back in the kitchen as soon as they heard sizzling.  They
all looked at me.  “For Trixie,” I replied.

“Oh,”
Norman, Bauser and Jim sighed dejectedly. Vinnie muttered something derogatory
and sauntered downstairs to the basement.

“You
guys are hungry?” I asked, getting ready to thaw out the steaks in the
microwave.

“Well,
it’s just the damn cooking show.  All they ever talk about is food,” Norman answered.

I
shrugged.  “I took some steaks out.  Do you want them now or later?  Or
omelets?  Or subs?  I picked up some rolls and cold cuts and stuff.”

“Subs!
With  Krumpthf’s!  Wow!” Bauser said. Jim whoofed.

Trixie
dumped out her Burgundy and poured some coffee.  I served up Trixie’s omelet
while the fellas plunged into a free for all sub frenzy.  They all stood
around, chewing happily while Trixie explained to them about her sizzling
seniors shift.  They explained to Trixie and me about their new Burning
Buy-A-Lots’ clue.

“So
what is it?” Trixie asked.

“Well,
I started running the packet sniffer at home,” Norman started.

“How
could you do that?  Haven’t they shut you out of the system yet?” I asked.  “I
mean, wouldn’t it make sense for EEJIT to lock you out of their data systems
after you quit?”

“Apparently
that hadn’t dawned on them until early this morning.  I was in all last night,”
he yawned. “Anyway, I set off another run after I launched the Pocket
Snatcher.”

“Pocket
Snatcher?”

Bauser
nodded emphatically.  “Norman came up with it on his way home last night,” he
said.

 “Basically
the Pocket Snatcher gets activated anytime a Packet Sniffer starts to nose
around.  It not only follows the activity of the Packet Sniffer, but it
snatches its unique location ID – kind of a pick-pocket rogue.”

“Did
it work?”

“Theoretically,
yes,” he said.  “I got a unique internet address tied to a specific computer. 
But the best I got from cybering around my usual haunts, and not being a Fed or
something, is that we’re getting packet sniffed from a user somewhere in Bangladesh.”

“Well,
that narrows it down,” Trixie said.

“Now
what?” I asked.

Norman
shrugged.  “Don’t know, because
now I am locked out of EEJIT’s systems.”

Bauser
swallowed some Krumpthf’s and looked worried.  “But whoever’s doing this was
probably the one who konked Mina on the noggin,” he said.

Norman
shrugged.  “Perhaps.”

“I
don’t get it,” Trixie said.  “What does this have to do with the burning
Buy-A-Lots?”

Norman
sighed and ran a hand over his head. 
“Buy-A-Lots will blame EEJIT for damaging their company and associated
insurance costs, not to mention lost revenue from the delays in opening the new
store locations.  So they’d cancel the current and future contracts and
probably also sue EEJIT.”

“Right,
I get all that,” Trixie gulped.  “What I don’t get is the why.” Norman, Bauser
and I looked at her blankly.  Trixie shook her head.  “Boy, you all would make
lousy cops,” she said.  “First, the obvious question is:  who stands to profit
by Buy-A-Lots – and EEJIT – losing?”

The
three of us ex-EEJIT types looked at each other blankly.

“Yikes,
who wouldn’t profit by it?” Norman asked.  “I mean, any time a Buy-A-Lots
opens, a lot of other smaller stores are displaced.  There’s usually not a lot
of benevolence toward a new store,” Norman asked.

“Well,
if these fires are all connected to new store openings, why don’t you just use
the software you have now to predict where the next fire is going to happen?”
she asked.

Bauser
nodded.   “After the very first fire, EEJIT worked with the Lancaster police to
launch a pretty high tech security system over the entire construction site.
But the only thing caught on tape was when a rabid squirrel that gnawed through
the wires and got zapped.” He grimaced.

“Well,
I sure would like to know why a bus load of senior Episcopalians all got burned
barbequing last night,” Trixie said.  “And I’d especially wish I knew what the
heck was on the news that got them banging each other with their walkers,” she
added.

“Oh,
I remember what was on last night’s news,” Bauser piped up.  “A whole bunch of
fires got started at a bunch of Buy-A-Lots.”

“What?”
the rest of us asked collectively.

“Yeah,
you know how they have lots of barbeque grills sitting around outside the store
entrance for people to gawk at?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

“That’s
where all the fires happened; lawn and garden,” he said, then shrugged.  “I
guess it’d be pretty easy to do.  People are always driving up and waiting to
unload passengers or load up merchandise, so a waiting car really wouldn’t be
too noticeable. Anyway, no one thought the fires were too weird at first
because they were all in the grills.  Until they realized they were new grills
that were for sale.  Then some of the grills exploded.  Luckily no one got hurt.
 The police were actually chalking it up to some lousy publicity stunt.  But
the newscaster was speculating about tying the fires to the new store
arsonist.”

“Why?”
I asked. 

“There
were burnt up bags of doggie doo-doo in all of the fired up grills. Along with
baby food jars filled with gasoline.  Which I guess explains the explosions. 
And the smelly entrances.”

Trixie
gritted her teeth.  “Did the news mention the store locations?” she snarled.