Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 01 - Kitchen Addiction! (23 page)

“Huh?”

“Getting
an extra, unexpected paid day off is like getting an extra Saturday.  So, it’s
Saturday-II,” Bauser said.

“It’s
still ten a.m.”

“It’s
five o’clock somewhere.”

I
thought about it.  It had been a pretty eventful morning so far.  “What kind of
beer?” I asked.

“Krumpthf’s”
he said.

I
winced.  Krumpthf’s is a local beer, bought only by locals.  That is, really
cheap locals.  Or ‘frugal’, as Bauser continually tries to correct me.  Legend
has it that Krumpthf’s was created by a farmer during prohibition after the
birth of his 13
^th
child.  After trying it once, I figured it was
created as Amish birth control.  It tastes like dirt even after you strain out
the leaves and twigs and stuff.   I shook my head and opted for an A-Treat
birch beer instead.

I
popped the lid open and woke up Norman.  Norman yawned, sat up, and looked at
his wrist watch and shrugged.  He reached over and drank from a tumbler of
tomato juice.  “Cheers,” he said and toasted. I sipped my soda and frowned.

“Hey,
Bauser didn’t offer me a Bloody,” I said to Norman.  “That would have been
acceptable at ten a.m.  Even on a Saturday-II.”

Norman
sipped.  “It’s not,” he said. 
“I mixed my Krumpthf’s with some leftover V-8 he had in the back of the
fridge.”  I shuddered.  “No, really.  It’s not so bad.  I mean, after you
strain the leaves and twigs and stuff.”

I
walked out to the ‘porch’ and sat down on the floor in a beach chair, and
stretched out my legs.  Jim came bounding in and leapt onto my lap.  I felt the
circulation in my thighs shut down.  Bauser came in with a fresh Krumpthf’s,
booted Jim off my legs and reclined in an inflatable club chair.  The clubhouse
was complete.

“Nice
to see you,” Norman said thoughtfully.  “How was EEJIT?”

I
filled them both in about the status of the non-secure lobby, and the
functioning non-functioning elevators.  And the near miss phone booth.  And
Pumpkin Head.  Bauser and Norman exchanged glances.  Jim put his head on the
floor and covered his eyes with one paw.

“We’ve
got something to tell you,” Bauser said.

Apparently,
what with the package sniffer thingy, Bauser and Norman had finally deduced
that whoever was sniffing Norman’s runs was not sniffing within EEJIT.  And not
even within any kind of Effhue corporate network identification.   This pointed
to a bonafide, complete outside source hacker.

“But
why would a hacker be interested in Norman’s runs?” I asked.

Norman
shrugged.  “Money,” he said. 
“Buy-A-Lots is pretty huge.  Taking a piece of their action would be pretty
significant.”

“Yeah,
but would it be worth the risk?” I asked.  “It seems pretty high school.”

“It
could be.  And it could be high school kids.  That’s one scenario,” Bauser
said.

“Or
it could be just plain dumb,” Norman said.

“Huh?”
I asked.

“Consider
the obvious.  Myron, Lee, How-weird, Ken…” Bauser mused.

“The
usual suspects,” Norman finished.  “They all have motives.  Even if they’re
lame ones.”

I
sighed and sipped my lukewarm A-Treat and wished Bauser kept his soda in the
fridge.  If only. His sacred frosty space was reserved for Krumpthf’s and Jim’s
Whoof-O wet food.

“So
now what?” I asked

Bauser
shrugged.  “Nothing.  We wait.”

“For
what?  Another package sniffer readout?” I asked.

“For
someone to konk you on the noggin again,” Norman said happily.

“Or
another fire.  Or, maybe another drive-by fecal flinging!” Bauser added
enthusiastically.

“Huh?”

“There
probably isn’t a person alive who doesn’t think it’s not some kind of
retributional karma if Buy-A-Lots gets ripped off.”

Norman
nodded.  “Karma,” he repeated
sagely.  I winced.  “But the thing is,” Norman continued, “is that you can’t
keep getting konked on the noggin.  Or your office smoked out.”

“It’s
not my office,” I said defensively.  “It’s EEJIT’s.”

“Yes,”
Norman continued, for the very slow to follow.  “But you’re the common
denominator where the most damage has occurred.”

“And
don’t forget Vladimir’s – I mean Vito’s – house getting set on fire the exact
same way,” Bauser said.

“You
mean the flaming bag of feces flinger?” I asked.

“Exactly,”
Bauser said, like this explained everything.

“Huh?”

Bauser
and Norman looked at each other and grimaced.  Norman drank more of his curdled
V-8.  “What if last night was a mistake?” Bauser asked.

“Huh?”

“What
if last night the perp really meant to fling the flaming feces at your house?”
Bauser asked, all CSI style.

“How’d
you mean?”

“The
common factor between all the fires, including Vito’s, is you,” Bauser said
matter-of-factly.

Oh. 
Great.  So Bauser and Norman got it.  I was hoping it was mostly the Krumpthf’s
that was talking.  But the nagging feeling pounding the lining of my tummy
thought otherwise. 

“So
what do I do?” I asked.

“Like
I said, nothing,” Bauser answered.  “You just go on business as usual.  But
using the buddy system.”

“Huh?”

Bauser
sipped.  “Norman and I have it all worked out.  Then we called Trixie.  We
called Vito, too, but he was out driving you to work,” he said.  “We’re going
to buddy you up until the flaming feces finishes,” he said.

“And
your mom and sister visiting is really great,” Norman said, smiling.  “This way
we can make sure you’re okay at home, and that your home is okay while you’re
not at home.”

I
pursed my lips and frowned. “Look, this is really, uh, a high tech philosophy
you’ve got going here,” I started.

“Not
just high tech, but accurate,” Bauser boasted.  “After we called Trixie, she
emailed Officer Appletree.  He said he was forbidden to respond to evidence
regarding an official investigation, especially one he wasn’t assigned to, but
he also told her she wasn’t barking up the wrong tree.”

No,
just the wrong Appletree, as well as barking mad, I thought.

“Okay,
well, look, that’s great.  It’ll be a lot of fun having all your company all of
the time,” I said, trying to edge out of the mesh tent.  “But I need to run
some errands now.” I started to the door, but Jim was splayed out across the
threshold, blocking my escape route.

“Great!”
Bauser said.  “We’ll go with you!”

“We?”
I replied weakly.

“Sure!
Jim needs some air.  And so does Norman,” he said, looking at Norman, who was
starting to suffer another bout of lounger lag judging by his blinking eyes.

I
sighed, accepted my fate, and helped rouse Norman back from the visions of
Krumpthf’s in his head.

We
pounded down the stairs from Bauser’s and paraded out onto Mulberry, Jim
wagging ecstatic.  Which is a little embarrassing because every time Jim wags
ecstatic he wags himself over where his other leg isn’t.  So we picked him up a
lot.  We piled into Bauser’s Aspire, cheek to fuzzy jowl, including Jim’s.

“Okay,
so where’s the first stop?” Bauser asked.

“Umm…
you can just drop me off here,” I pointed to the corner of Lemon and Prince.

“In
front of the drugstore?  No way.  We’re supposed to stay with you, right? 
We’ll go in with you.”

“Umm…
you know, this is kind of personal…do you all have to come in with me?”

“No.
Sure.  We don’t all have to go.  I’ll go in with you,” Bauser said.

“Well,
I don’t want to sit out here with your dog in my lap,” Norman complained.  Jim
groaned a ‘Same to you, buddy,’ and shifted around to put his butt in Norman’s face.  I sighed.

“Okay,
okay, we’ll all go in. But I’m not sure Jim can go into a drugstore,” I said. 
They looked at me.  “Only dogs for the handicapped can go in.”

“Well,
Jim’s handicapped.  And he’s a dog.  That counts,” Bauser said.

I
sighed again and counted to ten.  Bauser parked on the street between a Humvee
and a taxi.  Who lives in Lancaster and can afford a Humvee?  As it was, there
seemed to be a literal epidemic of them lately.  And if you could afford a
Humvee, why would you park on Prince Street?  I hoped we wouldn’t come back to
an Aspire accordion.

We
got out.  “C’mon, Jim. Drugstore, Jim,” Bauser said.  Jim looked at him
blankly.  “Limp,” Bauser instructed.  Jim wagged understandingly and smiled. 
Then he started down Prince Street, his right paw upheld and limp-hopping on
his only hind leg.  After a few practice steps, he turned, looked back at us,
and coughed for the nice audience.  Jimmy Camille O’Bauseman.  Great.  Nice
Irish Setter.

Off
to the drugstore we trooped, Jim practicing various fake infirmities, including
his canine impersonation of hacking up fur balls as we went.  At the entrance,
I stopped.  The parade stopped next to me.

“Uh,
thanks, guys.  This is great.  But really, err… I think I really need to do
this solo,” I tried.

“Negatory. 
You are part of Buddy Buds.  You have been assimilated.  We do not disengage,”
Bauser replied.  I glared at him and cursed his Star Trekiness. Jim whoofed.  I
glared at Jim.  He smiled some more while slobbering on my toes through my
sandals.  Norman stared up at the sky.

“Look
– I have to get girl stuff, okay!?” I cried.

Norman
‘s gaze came back.   “Oh, you
mean Tampax.  And pads.  I’ve bought those before.  Which do you prefer? 
Regular or Pearl?  Mini or maxi?” he asked.

I
closed my eyes and swallowed hard.  Norman’s females had him completely
trained.

I
looked at Bauser but couldn’t read him through his wrap-around vintage punk
rock sunglasses.  Then I looked back at Norman, who actually didn’t look
unhappy.  I guess feminine hygiene was a comfort zone for him.  Which was TMI. 
So I looked down at Jim.  He was smiling and wagging his tail at someone’s
grandpa coming out of the drugstore.  Jim leaned over on his only hind leg,
giving full display of his amputee-ness, coughed, and then pretended to
struggle to get up.  The someone’s grandpa handed Bauser a dollar and patted
Jim on the head. “Get your dog to a vet soon, son.  That’s no way to treat a
crippled guide dog.”  Bauser nodded and folded the dollar into the pocket of
his shirt.

“Okay.
You can accompany me.  That means no talking.  And especially no helping.” This
last remark I said pointedly to Norman.  He and Bauser exchanged looks.  They
shrugged.

“No
biggie,” Norman said, and held the door open for me.  And Bauser.  And Jim.

I
slunk into the drugstore amidst the pitter-pats of various male feet. 
Aggravation got the better of me and I turned around mid-scowl to find Jim
peering at something near someone else’s gramma.  The gramma was opening a bag
of doggie treats off the shelf and feeding them to Jim.  I looked for Bauser
and Norman to catch their attention to Jim’s telepathic shoplifting.  Norman was comparison shopping men’s athletic protection, while Bauser appeared to be
engrossed in a ‘Smut and Smuggin’s’ girly/PC magazine.  I blinked.  Then I
blinked again.  But they were all still there.  In living color.

While
they remained oblivious, I hustled toward the pharmacy at the rear of the store
and the pregnancy kits kept by the counter.  There was a large selection.  But
apparently there was a pregnancy epidemic in Lancaster, because all the stock –
except for the Instant Speedo Econo Pregometer (‘Like 2 kits in 1!’) – were all
sold out.  And there were only two of those left.  Which I guessed meant that
they could count as four kits.  But that still didn’t exactly come close to
Ethel’s requirements for a dozen or so.   I wondered if not getting the wished
for kits, during high anxiety level, would upset her stomach enough to kick in
her preggo puke reactors again.  I sighed and picked up the last two Instant
Speedo Econo Pregometer kits and plunked them down on the counter for the
pharmacist to ring up.

Except
the pharmacist was busy being a pharmacist.  And an upbeat, college-age clerk
was busy training their newest cashier, Evelyn.  Evelyn of Breakfast Wars
fame.  Yikes.

“Hello,
did you find everything you needed today?” the part-time manager sang out too
brightly in his attempt to be a stellar employee example for Evelyn, even
though she was about a thousand years older than him.  But then I figured it
was probably for the store manager, who kept grunting and glaring at him from
behind the glass window in the office above the pharmacy.

Nonchalantly
as I could, I examined the ingredients on the back of a pack of gum to avoid
Evelyn, and willed her to not recognize me.  I finally looked up. She blushed.

“Well
hello, Mina!  Well, you know, a girl does need something to do.  And this does
give me some pocket money,” she added, all smiles, while both her painted
eyebrows waved in opposite directions in agreement.  I nodded.  I completely
understood.  After all, when it comes time for me to collect Social Security,
there won’t be any. So Evelyn had it lucky.  And at least her boss didn’t
holler at her.