Calamity Jayne And The Trouble With Tandems Part 23

"Yeah. Me, too."

"I could go for a break."

"Yeah. Good plan."

The occupants of the Murder House made a collective beeline for the back door that led to the barn, restroom, each battling to keep from being the last person left in the house. We reached the small, but well-lit porch off the barn when a figure stepped out from the side yard. This one, thank G.o.d, didn't yell, "Boo!"

"Vinny! What are you doing here?" Keelie asked.

"My job. What the h.e.l.l is going on?" Vinny Vincent, flashlight in hand, took in the scene, a scowl spreading across his face when his gaze lit on Jax.

"Jax thought it would be funny to drop in and scare the h.e.l.l out of us," Tiara accused. "He's sick," she parroted again. "Sick!"

Vinny frowned. "I thought we had an understanding, Whitver," he said. "You were going to keep your distance."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Vinny?" Jax said. "Well, lucky for me, this is America, and I am free to roam where the spirit moves me. Pun intended, by the way."

"And I suppose you're responsible for her being here." Vinny c.o.c.ked his head in my direction. "It just keeps getting better and better."

"Actually, er, uh, sir, Keelie extended the invite...er, challenge," I stammered.

"Keep your friends close? Keep your enemies closer, ay, Duckie?" He winked at Keelie.

"Now listen here-" I objected.

"You listen, Blondie. These pranks are not just petty anymore," Vinny said. "The furry send-off gift. Spiking Keelie's drink. The graffiti. Tampering with her brake cable. That doesn't add up to harmless summer fun, Toots."

"Graffiti? Brake cable?" This time the clueless look on my face was the real thing. "What are you talking about?"

"Someone left 'Keelie, go home!' signs in various places along the bike route. She also had her brakes tampered with," Vinny said. "Lucky for Keelie, Manny here conducts a thorough inspection of all the bikes."

I shot a look at Manny. His chin lifted in silent confirmation.

"That's awful. Really. But I had nothing to do with any of those incidents," I said.

"Incidents? Those are crimes, Blondie. Chargeable crimes. Am I right, Officer? Mr. DeMarco?"

Patrick frowned. The corner of Manny's mouth lifted slightly.

"What's a crime, Vinny, is the way you manipulate people to suit your own ends," Jax interjected.

An elbow jabbed me in the ribs. "Sound like anyone we know?" Dixie said.

"Surely you can't mean...Moi?"

"Can't I, Miss Piggy? Thanks to you, Frankie and I now have supporting roles in this freak show."

"Well, excuse me for thinking you might actually appreciate some national exposure."

Dixie shook her head. "Why would I need or want the kind of exposure this voyeuristic venue promotes?" she asked. "It's objectifying, demeaning, and contributes to the increasing and pervasive intellectual dumbing-down of the populace."

"Tell us what you really think, Debbie," I responded. "And haven't you ever heard no publicity is bad publicity?"

"Yeah. Usually from the mouths of attention wh.o.r.es who don't give a flip about the impact they're having on young, impressionable minds."

Debbie Daggett does the soapbox. I only hoped the soap box wouldn't buckle under the weight.

"You're one to talk about manipulating people, Whitver," Vinny was saying. "What the h.e.l.l do you think you've been doing to Keelie with your little prankster friend here?" Vinny asked.

"h.e.l.lo! Read my lips: I am not responsible for any of the malicious pranks targeting Keelie. Maybe you'd do better to spend your time checking out your own back yard," I suggested.

"What the h.e.l.l do you mean by that?" Vinny barked.

"You can't deny Keelie's reality TV ratings are getting a shot in the arm from all the drama," I said. "And ratings b.u.mps benefit everyone involved with the show: producers, advertisers, cast members, their agents..."

"I resent your implication!"

"Welcome to the club," I responded.

"Vinny, you're spoiling our seance!" Keelie hooked an arm through Manny's and Frankie's arms. "Nothing's going to happen to me when I have all these big strong men here to protect me."

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Dixie muttered.

"Come on, everybody! Let's finish our potty breaks, make nice, and go back in and see if we can raise a little h.e.l.l!" Keelie pumped a fist in the air. "Murder House! Murder House! Murder House!"

Tiara joined her pal in the ghoulish chant.

"You will join us as we repair to the haunted Ax Murder House for another go-round at a ghostie, won't you, Vinny, ol' boy?" Langley asked, putting a hand out to the owly agent.

"h.e.l.l, no! I'm going to sit out here, have a smoke, and thank G.o.d I'm too old and too smart to p.i.s.s away what time I have left on this earth trying to contact the d.a.m.ned boogeyman."

Langley raised an eyebrow and an "I tried" shoulder.

"As you say, Vinny," he said. "Miss Turner?"

He lifted his elbow, inviting me to take his arm.

I found myself accepting.

What can I say? I'm a sucker for a guy with good manners and an accent.

Langley tucked my arm into his and patted my hand.

"You mustn't take Vinny too seriously," Langley said. "His bark is worse than his bite."

Somehow I doubted that. Vinny came off like a feisty pit bull with a bone to pick.

With me.

By the time we returned to the parlor, Keelie and Tiara had lost interest in the boogeyman board. Instead, they began to dance around the parlor to a pretty awful rendition of Monster Mash.

"Sorry, love," Langley said, and gently let go of my arm. "Sounds like the duet could do with a soprano." He gave me a wave and went to join his BFFs. Soon Tiara had grabbed Frankie and pulled him into the chorus line.

I grabbed my sleeping bag and claimed the wall nearest the front door. You know. Just in case.

"I hope you're happy," Dixie said, dropping to the floor beside me.

"What? Frankie's finally coming out of his sh.e.l.l. That's a good thing."

"Sh.e.l.ls exist for a reason. It's called protection," Dixie pointed out.

A second later, Langley threw an arm around Patrick and pulled the reluctant trooper into the sing-along.

"I hope you're happy." Taylor dropped to the floor on my other side.

"What? Patrick's showing he can be a good sport. Gotta love that in a guy."

"Oh? And being a good sport includes being groped by someone you just met?" Taylor asked.

"What do you mean, groped? I can see both of Langley's hands."

"Not Langley, you idiot. Keelie," Taylor hissed.

I blinked. She was right. Keelie was definitely putting the moves on Patrick, who was now the yummy, meaty filling between two slices of bread.

He looked like Mr. Spock did when his human half was showing.

"Are you just going to sit there, or are you going to rescue that lawman from the clutches of Reality Red?" I asked Taylor.

"He hardly looks like he needs rescuing," she said.

"Are you kidding? He looks about as comfy as our mom does when Gram volunteers to read the announcements at church."

"Oh, Lord. That bad?"

I nodded. "Trust me on this one."

Taylor made a face. She turned to the grumble puss next to me. "Dixie?"

"As much as I hate to agree with the Trekkie here, it's pretty evident, that dude is miserable."

Taylor hesitated for a moment.

"Okay. I'm goin' in," she said.

I raised a hand. "May the Force be with you."

Taylor shook her head. "Some Trekkie," she commented and left to rescue her trooper in distress.

"So, who do you really think has it in for the Kardashian wannabe over there?" Dixie asked, nodding at Keelie who was currently giving Taylor the Voodoo eye. "Do you think it's someone with the show?"

"Did I sound credible when I suggested it?" I asked.

Dixie scratched her chin. "Credible? That's not exactly a word I'd a.s.sociate with you, but you certainly sounded like you believed it."

"Well, if you rule out Taylor and this reluctant Trekkie, it almost has to be an inside job."

Dixie snorted. "Inside job? Ooh. Look at you going all Sherlock Holmesy on me."

"I know. You thought I was just a pretty face, right?" I snorted.

"I suppose you think the guilty party could even be Keelie herself," Dixie said.

I gave Reality Red a long, considering look. "It occurred to me. What better way to gain sympathy and support than by being a victim? She paints a target on her own back and then proceeds to fire away. Splat! Splat! Splat, splat, splat!"

Dixie shook her head. "Speaking of 'splat,' what about the case of Hershey squirts the tabloids have had so much fun with? You're saying she did that to herself?"

"Well, no one witnessed any actual...a.n.a.l...leakage," I pointed out.

"a.n.a.l...leakage?"

"Montezuma's revenge could have been an elaborate performance."

"Then, judging by what I saw, Keelie Keeler is a pretty good actress," Dixie said.

"But you see my point, right? It could all be a series of Keelie Keller hoaxes."

"Still, any number of people stand to benefit from the notoriety," Dixie said.

"Or, it's someone who doesn't like Keelie at all and is using the ride as an opportunity to get back at her."

"I thought you ruled yourself out," Dixie snarked.

"I don't know her well enough to dislike her," I pointed out.

I wrapped my sleeping bag around me and tried to suppress a jumbo-sized yawn. Okay, so I didn't try to suppress it. I let it rip. I felt my eyelids begin to droop. Beat didn't begin to describe how tired I was.

I could hear singing. Boisterous and off-key. We were now being treated to a totally whacked version of Mr. Sandman.

Music to snooze by, as far as I was concerned.

I struggled to keep my eyes open, finally surrendering to that blissful ignorance of sleep in a place with soft mattresses, clean sheets, fluffy pillows, and strong arms to hold me.

I awoke to find my head c.o.c.ked at an uncomfortable angle and a bladder full enough it wouldn't let me fall back to sleep. Drool dribbled out of the corner of my mouth. I reached up to wipe it before anyone noticed.

Not that I had to worry. Everyone else was camped out on the parlor floor, different sizes of sleeping bag lumps, filling the room with the sounds of sleep.

I checked my cell phone. Three o'clock.