Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 02 - Christmas Bizarre (5 page)

“Do you mean to tell me you forgot?”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. Had a few more events than usual today.” He rubbed his tummy.

“Not about the
key! About the…”

Vito looked up.

“About the… WATER! With all this precipitation, I was worried WATER might be in your basement!” Miriam nodded brightly at Vito.

I
shrugged and hung up my coat, glad to move out of bickering range.

“No, there’s no more WATER in my basement.
But I think there might be some WATER in Mina’s basement,” Vito answered.

I spun around from the closet.
“Water in MY basement? What the?” I hurried toward the basement steps.

“NO! NO! You just wait here! I’ll check it for you!” Miriam screamed, chucking me out of the way and
running down the steps.

Well.
The idea of water in my basement got me more than a tad upset. I needed to calm down. I mentally recited the necessary ingredients for a turkey dinner with all the trimmings.

After some scuffling and
sounds of boxes falling, Miriam came up from the basement, preceded by Vinnie, who was chattering away and looking severely disgruntled. Apparently, she’d woken him in his kitty kingdom. But Miriam was beaming as she clutched a large, dented box. It looked like the box Vito had fallen into this morning. Huh.

“Nope! Not a shred of moisture! Thank goodness!”

“Well, that’s a relief,” I said. I scaled back the turkey dinner and thought about whipping up a soufflé.

Miriam
lugged her box into the living room. “Thanks, Honey Pie. Would you mind helping me to my car with this?” Miriam tossed the box on Vito’s lap.

He
responded with a wince as the box plunked against his middle. “Sure, Sweetie.” He got up and toddled out the door, with Miriam giving me bye-bye finger waves.

The phone rang.
“You’re mother’s here. When are you going to drop off your presents?” It was Auntie. I had yet to make my way to Aunties’ with my Christmas presents for her, Ma, Ethel, Ike and the unborn. I sighed. Was it too early for a glass of wine? Wasn’t it five o’clock somewhere?

“I don’t have them wrapped yet, exactly.”

“Don’t worry. Just label them and we’ll take care of it at your sister’s. Your mother’s brought scads of tape.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Now! We wanted to leave an hour ago. We’ve tried to reach you, but you weren’t at home. Can your mother get you a smartphone for Christmas?”

I groaned inwardly and made arrangements to bring the unwrapped
presents ASAP.

I
finally got the presents stashed inside garbage bags, which took a bit longer because Vinnie kept insisting on getting stashed inside the bags, too. I sped toward Auntie’s.

As
I pulled up the long driveway, Ma and Aunt Muriel met me outside. We made a chain gang to repack the goods inside Auntie’s Lexus.

“You’re not taking Ma’s car?” I asked.

“Both,” Ma huffed as she threw another garbage bag full of goodies to Auntie.

“We’re packed to the gunnels!” Auntie chimed in.

I was going to miss a really good time. Rats.

We hugged quickly, just
before they handed me presents for me and Vinnie. Their presents were wrapped beautifully. They certainly looked a lot more festive than my black trash bags.

Auntie pulled out, followed by Ma.
I waved at Ma as she got a new-fangled looking GPS up to speed. Once again, I wondered about my mother skating on the bleeding edge of technology, while I clung fervently to LPs.

I got back to the house just as the snow turned to drizzly frozen rain.
But my neighborhood looked pretty - everyone had their Christmas lights up. And a few houses sported inflatable lawn ornaments, too, which were luckily puffed up and not lying like inert puddles on the ground. After I gave the tree a spin, I got the presents and placed them underneath. Vinnie made sure to sit on top of the boxes to guard them. I hoped my new clothes wouldn’t get too wrinkled as he sprawled his girth across, smashing each box.

I’d had enough stress for one day.
So I rummaged around the freezer and found a thick chuck steak to double as a pot roast. I set it in the microwave to defrost, then checked around for the rest of the fixings and lucked out: yes, we have carrots, onions, potatoes and more importantly, ginger snaps for the gravy. I even had a jar of pickled red cabbage. Woot!

The microwave binged just as I was hauling out a large pot from beneath the cupboard.
The phone rang.

“I’m bored and hungry. Let’s go out.”
It was K. K.’s been in my best-bud club since I moved to Lancaster. And yes, K. is his legal name – after he paid an exorbitant sum to make it official. At the time he shrugged it off as a business expense; part of the trappings for his interior design firm. Since he’s the sole proprietor, there wasn’t much argument.

“I’m mak
ing pot roast.”

“Good grief.
Was your day that bad?”

I clattered around the utensil drawer, digging with one hand.
“It got a little better after I got ransomed.”

“Ransomed?
Why, were you kidnapped?”

“Yes.”

He took a breath. “You’re kidding right?”

“Nope.”

“All right, when can I come over for pot roast and this story?”

“Anytime.”

K. soon arrived with a large, wrapped gift basket.

I frowned.
“I haven’t wrapped your Christmas present yet. I didn’t know you wanted to exchange this early.”

“Heavens, no.
One of my clients gave me this. I brought it over to divvy up. Do you think Bauser would actually drink good beer for a change?”

“Nope.
He’s a Krumpthfs die-hard.”

“That’s too bad.
There’s a bottle of a very good artisanal ale in here.”

K. set the basket on the counter and began divvying, while I fiddled with the pot roast creation and filled him in.

“Really, dearie, you don’t need a cell phone. You need a panic button. The idea!”

“
Holidays can be very stressful.”

“Especially with no tape!
By the way, were you successful?”

“Sort of.
Here.” I held out the bag full of red and green duct tape.

“My.”
K. looked at it like I’d handed him the contents of Vinnie’s litter box.

“Look, it will hold paper together, right?
And they’re red and green. That’s Christmas-y, right?”

K. tried not to make a face.
“Actually, my theme this year is ‘Sugar Plum,’ so all my presents are hues of silver and eggplant.”

“Theme?”

“Of course, dear. I vary my wrapping theme each year. Clients expect it.” K.’s design clients ranged the gamut, from top notch developers to local celebrities.

I looked at him and thought about the red and green duct tape
sticking bits of grey and purple paper together. Maybe he could alter his theme a little. How would they feel about ‘recession’?

K. patted my hand.
“It was very nice of you. Actually, I do have a stash of double-sided tape. I’ll make do with that.”

I put the bag aside and stirred my pot roast.
I was a little ticked. I didn’t think K. should look gift duct tape in the mouth. I flipped the roast, and thunked the lid on the pot.

“Here, look – peace!” K. said.
He held up a nice Syrah, and two bonafide wine glasses. “Where’s your wine opener?”

I hadn’t used a wine opener since Ma visited last summer, since my budget allows for
only mugs o’Merlot, varied by the occasional box o’Burgundy. After some confused inspections, we dug out the wine opener from inside a crock pot.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is about stores being out of tape.
I mean, why don’t people just order online?”

K. swallowed.
“Oh, I tried that. Of course, you can get everything under the sun. But only with a steep delivery fee.”

“You mean there’s a huge profit margin for tape?”

“No, the costs are reasonable. The delivery fees, not so much. Especially with just a couple weeks before Christmas.”

“Huh?”

K. shook his head. “Lancaster. Frugal. Remember?”

I nodded.
“Got it. Want to catch the early news?”

“Of course,” K. answered nicely, pouring
the wine.

We sat and sipped.
A male anchor sat grinning wildly, direct from TV Land. “And now, some good news for our anxious gift-wrapping viewers! A new gift-wrapping service opens tonight in Countryside Mall, just in time for the holidays.” The camera cut to live coverage inside the mall.

A long-haired blonde woman stood by a mall kiosk, holding a microphone.
“That’s right, Glenn. The ‘Mail-It-2’ kiosk opened today here at Countryside Mall. And not a moment too soon, given the tape shortage in Lancaster County. Any shortage of tape here, Mr. Bergers?”

“Heck no! We’ve got plenty of tape here! We’ve got all your gift
-wrapping and holiday needs! We even got stamps!”

I stared at the screen and tried not to blow wine through my
nose. Buddy – Bernie? - Burgers stood smiling and waving his arms in front of the kiosk.

“Well, you’re timing couldn’t be better this holiday season, right
, Mr. Burgers?”

He nodded enthusiastically.
“I had a hunch last winter. So I built my business model around it. Bought boat loads of tape! And postage! Bring your presents – any size, any amount – we’ll wrap ‘em! And mail ‘em!”

I choked a bit.

“Problem?” K. asked, patting me on the back.

“That’s Vito’s friend.”

“Oh, that’s nice. When did you meet him?”

“Right after he punched Vito in the stomach.”

Long after I
explained to K. about the driveway drama, I hit the hay. Later, I awoke to claps of thunder. A brilliant flash of lightning lit up my bedroom. Vinnie put his paws over both ears, and mumbled in his sleep. Another clap of thunder got me up and in my slippers. That, and the phone was ringing.

It was Bauser.
Known only to his mom as Ralph Bausman, he was my ex coworker buddy from our EEJIT days, and remains on my roster of friends. Especially while we compared our unemployment stipends. He’s destined for a creative technology job soon. Seriously, he’s genius wherever IT is concerned. Just not so much regarding a clock and the telling of time.

“Seriously, Mina, look outside!
You’ll never see this again!”

I yawned.
“You woke me up for a thunderstorm?”

“A snow thunderstorm!”

I reached over Vinnie and pulled the curtain aside. Snow was swirling in the backyard at a dizzying pace. Another flash of lightning lit up the spirals of flakes. More thunder growled in the distance.

“What the
—”

“I’ve heard about these! But never believed it! This is so cool, right?”

I considered it. “Is this another odd-ball Lancaster thing?”

“Nope.
More like oddball Central PA. Because when the lower troposphere becomes unstable, along with a net flow of air, it increases lift.”

“Huh?”

Bauser sighed. “The weather here is conducive to small thunderstorms.”

“Got it.
Thanks.” I yawned.

“Don’t mention it!”

“Do you and Norman want tape?”

“You got tape?”

I explained.

“Actually, Norman headed off to the mall to that new gift wrap place right after the news.”

I hung my head.

“But I could use some.
I mean, not a lot. Most of my presents are 6-packs. I’m mostly going with bows.”

I hung up
and sighed, fervently hoping my Christmas present from Bauser wasn’t a 6-pack of Krumpfths.

It was about three in the morning, and I was wide awake and fretting
—about lousy beer, my mortgage, gas money—not to mention the impending Sidekick gig. So I decided to make some breakfast breads to take the edge off. Yawning and stretching, Vinnie escorted me to assist. He eventually settled on more stomping of the presents under the tree, mashing them into something suitable for a nap. I hoped none of the stuff was breakable.

A few cranberry
orange, banana nut and cinnamon swirl loafs later, I finally felt sleepy enough to head back to bed. I looked out the French door onto the deck at the newly fallen snow, which shone glittery white and undisturbed,with the exception of the footprints that went from around the corner of my townhouse, through my backyard and up to Vito’s deck. The tracks retraced themselves, straight back toward my deck: someone had been standing out there, looking in. Since the snowstorm. Someone was watching me cook? It couldn’t have been Vito. He’d have let himself in and made a pot of coffee.

Somewhat shaken,
I went upstairs and lay down on my bed, feeling a little lonesome and a bit colder, since Vinnie was still snoring on top of his stash. I threw a sweatshirt on over my jammies and some socks. Before I knew it, I was fast asleep.

A nano-second later, the phone rang.
Well, actually it was more like four hours later: it was after eight.

“Hey, can you be here at five this afternoon? We’ve got a huge off
-premise dinner party and Arnie’s called in sick.” Hilda sounded frazzled.

“Sure!” I brightened.
I momentarily wondered if that could translate into calling off this morning’s Sidekick stint in order to spare what remained of my shins. I rolled over, face-to-face with a neglected stack of bills on my nightstand, and thought better of it.

“Should I wear the usual?”

“That’d be great.” Hilda gave me the gist of the menu, how many guests and what she’d need help with.

I
rolled out of bed and downstairs and finally into Vito, who was already making coffee.

“What’s up I should know about?”

I yawned. “Nothing. Yet.”

Vito stared at the breakfast breads.
“You sure?”

“Oh. That.
Bauser got me up for Snowmageddon and that led to a little insomnomania.”

Vito shook his head.
“You need a large family. With lots of cousins and in-laws and such.”

“Have you been talking with Aunt Muriel?”

Vito held up a hand. “But, hey, since you was up, did you see anyone outside last night?”

I yawned again.
“Nope. But I did see footprints.”

“Me too.”

We peered out the window at the tracks that led to Vito’s deck.

“Yep. I’m not liking it.”

“What are you hiding in my basement?”

“Nothing! I swear it! Just stuff for the bazaar. But those prints make me think it could be some punks out to rob us, on account of Christmas and all.”

I wondered sleepily who would consider my home full of Christmas
bounty? I had nary a wreath on the door. But maybe the footprint people had watched me freeze all that chicken stock last week. “You think I should take my tree down?”

“Don’t be
such a Grinch.”

“So what then?”

“A security system might be a good thing.”

I looked at him.
While he was probably correct, what with my being a single gal and all, I had him, right? If the theory that nosey neighbors make good security, then a live-in neighbor has to be better. Besides, there wasn’t any room in my budget for another budget.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Okay. So what are you doing for dinner tonight?”

“An extra shift at Squirrel Run Acres.
Hilda called this morning.”

“
Hey, I was wondering who was intruding on you this early in the morning.” Vito helped himself to the creamer in my fridge, and poured himself some more coffee.

Well.

“So you won’t be home for dinner?”

“I’ll probably be home late-ish.
Depending.”

Vito shook his head.
“That’s a shame. Miriam and me are gonna test out a new recipe. Straight from Julia Child!”

I shuddered inwardly and grimaced at the
vision of my icon spinning in her grave. “Yeah, that is too bad. What are you making?” I had to ask, yes? I mean, someone has to tell the paramedics, right?

“Choucroute Garnie.”

I knew I was going to regret asking. But I had to verify Vito’s translation. “Come again?”

Vito held up a hand.
“I know, it sounds pretty hoity-toity. But Miriam says it’s a classic!”

“What is it?”

“A supped-up pork and sauerkraut dinner! With sausages and everything!”

“Gee, I’m sorry I’ll be working and have to miss it.” Thank-you-baby-Jesus.

“No problemo, Toots.
I’ll leave a plate for you on the counter. That way, you can look forward to a home-cooked meal when you get home.”

I could also look forward to a large bottle of Tums and some solitude – neither of which I had.

Vito went on with his usual kitchen puttering. “So what’s the drill for today?”

“The usual.
Sidekick, then Squirrel Run. Why?”

“No more catering gigs with that massage guy, huh?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. But I’m hoping things will pick up after Christmas.”

Vito grinned
at me: as usual, his bridge was not where his bridge was supposed to be. “Hey, that would be great!”

“I hope so.”
Well, at least I hoped so for my bank account’s sake. My shins will certainly be relieved after the holiday.

“So what time will you be back from the mall?”

“Why?”

Vito blushed.
“I was kinda hoping to get a Swiffering in for you this morning. It’s been awhile. And what with Miriam coming over tonight and all… I might not get around to it over the weekend.”

OMG Miriam and Vito are serious
! Miriam is a weekend wife!

I choked back some coffee.
“I get off my shift after three. Then I’ll have to dash home and change for the off-premise party.”

“Great!
So you’re leaving soon?”

I looked at the clock
. For once, I was ahead of schedule. “I’ll leave here about nine-thirty.”

Vito nodded.
“That’s great! I’ll get ready so I can get on it as soon as you head out the door. I picked up a brand new style Swiffer! Did you know they made a new model? It’s a beaut! Wait until I show you!” Vito huffed out the door in a hurry, with his kitchen towel slung over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?”

“I bought it last night! Still got it in my car!”

I closed the front door after him to keep out the cold.
I worried about Vito and his enthusiasm regarding Swiffer products. I worried a lot more about him after a loud explosion shook the house.

“Vito!”
I ran out the door and saw the remnants of the Towncar smoldering near the garden island in the middle of the cul-de-sac. I hopped into the snow covering the front walk, and someone grabbed my elbow.

“It’s okay Toots
. I’m here. Good thing I didn’t make it to the car. Shame about my new Swiffer, though.”

I
stared at the flaming vehicle. “How come you didn’t park inside your garage? Or your driveway, like you always do?”

Vito got a little red in the face.
“Well, you see, I came home from Miriam’s kinda late and all… and Miriam has the beeper. And the driveway wasn’t plowed out yet – so I parked it on the street. I figured we’d get dug out today.”

“You’re lucky we’re not digging you out.”
Miriam has his beeper?

“You could say that again.”

“What do you suppose happened?”

Sirens wailed toward us,
coming up from Millersville Pike. Obviously, we had concerned neighbors who called in the explosion. That, and they didn’t want their own cars charcoal broiled.

“Tell you in a minute.”
Vito hustled toward his car, sliding down the driveway. He made his way to the burning vehicle, and carefully picked something off the flaming windshield. He came back and deposited what looked like a charred turd onto my porch.

“Yuck! More flaming feces?”
I was wondering what scatological karma I’d deserved from a past lifetime. Or novel. Whatever. Last summer had more than its share of flaming feces, thanks in part to the St. Bart’s crew. And the Doo-doo’s moniker really stuck after the discovery of a vast amount of doggie poop stashed inside her. But I digress.

Vito grimaced.
“I wish. It’s a kosher dill.”

“Someone
garnished your windshield?”

He
shook his head. “Nope. It’s a sign.”

“Of?”

Several police cars screeched to a halt, with a few fire trucks tagging behind. After the policeman assured themselves the explosion wasn’t Homeland Security related, the fire guys doused the car with a zillion gallons of foamy gunk. I hoped Vito had insurance. Lots of it.

A policeman made his way up to us.
“You own this vehicle?”

Vito shrugged.
“Used to.”

“What happened?”

“Honestly Officer, I have no idea. I’m going to ask my insurance company to investigate first thing. Gosh, I hope it wasn’t something electrical. Sure glad I didn’t park in my garage.”

The officer looked at Vito’s garage, attached to mine.
“Darn straight!”

“So what happens now?” I asked.

“The insurance folks will look into it.”

“After the police impound my vehicle,
just to make sure it wasn’t done on purpose,” Vito added.

The cop looked at Vito funny.
“Been through this a time or two?”

Vito shrugged.
“Lucky in love, unlucky in…”

“Right.”

Suddenly the clouds opened up, and bright sunlight bounced off the snow and the charred remains of the Towncar. I suddenly realized it was much later than I thought – so much for my lead time. I dashed inside to change.

The policeman retreated to his car.
Vito tossed the burnt pickle inside my front door. Vinnie ran toward it, and did an immediate about-face.

“What the?”

“I didn’t want the nice officer to think you had a dirty porch.”

“Huh?”

“He’s single ain’t he? He’s not wearing a ring. And he’s got a reliable job.”