Larry Dale picked up his smart phone and began tinkering away, as Longworth, Stockwell, and Mags Davidson filed out of the conference room.
When they were gone, Mick Daniels audibly groaned.
"Are they for real?" Daniels asked.
"Seem to be," Larry Dale replied, without looking up.
"It's like someone turned on the ding bat magnet, and they all arrived here by some mystical force," Daniels said with awe.
"There are forces at work we don't understand, boss," Larry Dale commented. "Ah, here we go. There's a back hoe operator not far from here. Shall I give him a call, sir?"
"Not quite yet. Let's take a walk out back. I could use some air, and if the ground isn't visibly disturbed, I'm not taking this any further," Daniels decided.
"All righty, boss. Let's take a look," Larry Dale said, sounding as enthused as an eight-year-old boy with a Tonka truck, heading out to a dirt pile.
This was not lost on Daniels. "Dale, let me ask you something. Is there anything that riles you?"
"Not much, sir. Personally, I have to admire these folks for being brave enough to be themselves."
"Even though you've met them?" Daniels asked.
"More so," Dale replied.
"Larry Dale, you are a strange man, but I like you," Daniels admitted.
"I like you too, sir," Dale said, standing and approaching Daniels, as if he intended to hug him.
"That's close enough. Let us not forget we shared a bed last night," Daniels said.
"You are quite right, sir. We did at that. How's about we head out back and see what's what," Larry Dale suggested.
"How's about we do," Daniels replied without thinking. He grimaced, and fully expected to be shot dead by the grammar Gods.
****************
Twenty excruciating minutes later, Ada MacKenzie had finally selected a new stove. Aaron Faulkner was exhausted and really needed a Bloody Mary. Kitty Richardson, out of an unexpected compassion for the new addition to the Tommy staff, stayed close at hand.
"You're sure, Grandma?" Kitty asked.
"Absolutely!" Ada exclaimed. "This one is absolutely perfect. Self cleaning, for all those kitchen mishaps we seem to have."
"Does that happen frequently?" Aaron Faulkner asked Kitty.
"I'm on a first name basis with the volunteer fire squad," Kitty groaned.
"Ouch," Faulkner replied.
"Yeah. And, to make matters worse, SHE-" Kitty said, pointing to Ada - who was busy sticking her head into yet, another oven - "always asks every fireman if he's single."
"She's just looking out for you," Aaron Faulkner said thoughtfully.
"I know," Kitty said, smiling at Ada, who was singing Patty Cake, and had made her way to the part about putting the cake in the oven. "She's disappearing before our eyes," Kitty surmised, as her eyes moistened.
"I'm sorry," Aaron Faulkner said softly. "At least she's doing it in style."
Kitty laughed out loud. "You ready, Grandma?" she asked.
"I am. Let's go," Ada suggested.
"Um....," Kitty began. "How did you get here? Is Mom in the car?"
"That MC Hammer brought me. That nice fella from next door," Ada replied.
"Seriously?" Aaron asked, looking impressed.
"It's hammer time," Ada said, breaking into a dance that made her look like she was having a seizure. She lost her balance and fell against Aaron, who caught her with grace.
"Grandma, dear God. His name isn't MC Hammer. It's Mike Handler, and he's kind of a creep. I told you to stay away from him. He's not right in the head," Kitty warned.
"He has a brain tumor. He sees stuff sometimes, like dead presidents and shit," Ada said, before apologizing for her language. "I like his wife. She's nice."
"Miss Ada, darling, why don't you sit here by my desk for a moment," Aaron said, guiding his customer to a rolling chair. Kitty watched but said nothing. "It's none of my business, Kitty, but I don't feel comfortable putting her in a car with a guy with a brain tumor," Aaron Faulkner said when he'd returned. Ada was spinning wildly in the chair.
"Neither do I. Between the two of them, they could end up in Mount Rushmore, shooting the breeze with a rock," Kitty said.
Aaron paused for a moment, as if deep in thought. Kitty figured it took a bit to chisel through the alcoholic fog. "I am heading to lunch. I'd be glad to follow them home, and although it's against the rules, I could pop the stove in a delivery truck and get her cooking by nightfall," Aaron said.
"Great! I should probably change this shirt before the fire department arrives," Kitty said, looking down at the Tommy shirt and the coffee stain that had not faded a bit.
"Hang tight. Let me see if I can get Alejandro to help me get the stove loaded, and we'll be on our way. She can pay for it up front," Aaron suggested.
"Sounds like a plan," Kitty said.
Aaron Faulkner picked up the phone and dialed three numbers. He mumbled a bit, delivered an audible "thank you," and promptly hung up. "All set," he said.
From the corner of her eye, Kitty saw Mick Daniels and Larry Dale approaching. Daniels reached out and stopped the chair from spinning. Ada stared up at him with the focus of a Mardi Gras participant. She'd been spinning for nearly four minutes.
"She get a stove?" Mick Daniels asked.
"She did indeed," Aaron Faulkner replied.
"You been drinking, son?" Daniels said with suspicion.
"Not today, sir," Faulker replied.
"FAULK!" someone yelled, in a slightly Irish accent.
Daniels stood straighter. His eyes narrowed. "Who is that?" he asked.
"Tis me Alejandro, sir," Alejandro said.
"And what did you say before that?" Mick Daniels asked. Aaron fidgeted. Alejandro didn't miss a beat.
"I said Faulk, sir," he replied to Mick Daniels, who had taken the stance of a high school principal.
"And you say that frequently in the store?" Mick Daniels asked.
"Every time I see this fella here, I do," Alejandro said, pointing at Aaron Faulkner.
"That language is not acceptable here," Mick Daniels chastised.
"Tis only the man's name, sir," Alejandro said.
"Your name is fuck?" Mick Daniels asked Aaron Faulker. Larry Dale burst into a fit of giggles. "Stop," Mick Daniels said to Dale, who was unable to comply. Instead, Larry Dale walked away in complete hysterics. "I asked you a question," Mick Daniels said, his voice laced with intolerance. He was glaring at Aaron Faulkner.
"Someone's name is fuck?" Ada asked. "Who in the world would name their child that?"
"Grandma, stop. You're not helping," Kitty pleaded.
"You mean to say I just bought an appliance from a man named--"
"EVERYONE STOP!" Daniels yelled. "What is your name?"
The question was directed at Aaron Faulker.
"There are some who call me....... Tim," Alejandro said, and Larry Dale's laughter went up a notch.
"I am not speaking to you. You are on the verge of getting fired," Daniels said to Alejandro, before directing his attention back to Aaron Faulkner. "What is your name?"
"My name is Aaron Faulker, sir," Aaron said.
"Sweet Mary, mother of God," Daniels almost whispered. "You set the Albuquerque store on fire, didn't you?"
"It was an accident sir," Aaron Faulker said, his head down.
"I set fires all the time. No big deal," Ada added.
"Grandma, be quiet," Kitty said.
"You are to address him by his first name. If I hear you say that again, I will fire you. I can fire you, you know that, right?" Mick Daniels said to Alejandro.
"Yes, sir," Alejandro said. His tone had an air of seriousness, and all accents had been set aside.
"Good. Behave yourself. And, you. I best not ever find you with any kind of device that makes fire. No lighters, nothing, and certainly not a pack of matches from some dive bar with the name Betty on it and a chicken-scratch phone number," Daniels directed at Aaron.
"That is cruel," Ada said. This time Kitty didn't shush her. She let her speak. "You don't have to talk to him that way, sir. And personally, I don't care who you are. I don't care if you're the guy who invented spandex, which I adore by the way. You can't fire me. This young man treated me like gold, when in reality I'm an old lady who dresses badly, has no bottom teeth, and can't remember if I put on a bra. He might drink and set shit on fire, but you could learn a thing or two from him about how to treat folks."
Kitty gasped. Alejandro, Aaron and even Larry Dale applauded.
"My apologies, Ma'am," Mick Daniels said. His face was beet red. He grabbed Larry Dale by the arm, and turned on his heel. The two walked away.
Daniels mumbled. "Let's order that back hoe, and let's do it now. Let's dig up anything that might be out back, expand the hole about ten feet, and then let's put all these idiots in it."
"That sir, is murder," Larry Dale remarked, his face ashen.
"Shut up, Dale," Mick Daniels growled.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Tommy's Tool Town - Chapter 40 - Something's Always Cooking
Everyone stared at Larry Dale, who produced a cell phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
"You have a back hoe on speed dial?" Reeve Stockwell asked bravely. Mick Daniels rolled his eyes.
"Of course not, Mr. Stockwell. I am merely Googling. I'm sure I can produce exactly what we need. You all have one of these smart phones? Why, they're a lifeline. I have a GPS, I can text my wife from anywhere on the planet, and I can find a back hoe operator in the middle of nowhere."
Larry Dale has a wife. Crap! Kitty thought.
A knock sounded at the door to the conference room. Everyone turned. Barbie Baxter's torso filled the glass of the door.
"We asked not to be disturbed," Mick Daniels said. Although it was obvious he was still angry, his voice was gentle and professional.
"I need to speak to Kitty. Someone is here to see her," Barbie explained.
"Who?" Kitty asked.
"ADA," Barbie mouthed, and Kitty shivered.
"Dear God," Kitty whispered.
"Who is this Ada person?" Mick Daniels asked. "Is she a customer?"
"She is today. She needs to buy a stove," Barbie replied. Ada appeared behind Barbie.
"Stella, I've got a problem!" Ada yelled. Obviously, she'd forgotten her hearing aide.
"Grandma, don't yell," Kitty said, rising from her chair as Ada plowed into the conference room.
"Stella?" Mick Daniels asked.
"Kitty's real name," Reeve Stockwell said.
"Grandma, what happened? You can't keep barging in here. I'm trying to work," Kitty whined.
"Work? Looks like you're having a party here," Ada said.
"Well, we're not. Why do you need a stove? What's wrong with the one in your kitchen?" Kitty asked.
"I sorta baked your mother's slippers," Ada explained.
"What?" Kitty asked.
"I cooked Helen's slippers. Those old blue ones with the sole that flops like a swimming fin," Ada said.
Larry Dale laughed.
"How did you cook Mom's slippers?" Kitty asked. Everyone in the room was riveted. Even Larry Dale set his smart phone aside to listen.
"She washed them and put them in the oven to dry. I wanted to bake a cake, so I set the oven to preheat. Ended up baking us some slippers instead. Smells just awful, like cooked feet."
"Ewww," Larry Dale said with a chuckle.
"All right," Mick Daniels said. "I'm going to stay here with Mr. Dale, and we'll work on getting someone to investigate this situation out back-"
"What situation out back?" Ada asked.
"It's store business, Grandma. Don't concern yourself with it," Kitty said, shuffling Ada to the door.
"Stockwell and Longworth, I want the two of you to return to your duties, although I shudder at the thought of what that might mean," Mick Daniels said. "Ms. Davidson, you are also free to return to the Front End, but do not leave the store. The four of you will be present when we begin our investigation of this situation out back."
"Does this have anything to do with my missing teeth?" Ada yelled from the hallway.
"Why would she say that?" Daniels asked.
"She's a little bat shit," Longworth said.
"What would you like me to do?" Kitty asked from the doorway.
"Get someone to help your grandmother pick out a new stove, and suggest your mother find another method for drying her bedroom slippers," Daniels suggested.
"I'm on it," Kitty said, not wasting any time with her escape.
Kitty, who'd been holding her breath, exhaled in a rush. Ada shuffled beside her. Kitty led her to the appliance department, where new manager, Aaron Faulkner, stood before a computer terminal typing like a madman.
"Hey, Aaron," Kitty said, and Faulkner turned.
"Hey," Aaron Faulkner said, turning his attention quickly back to his computer.
"You busy?" Kitty asked.
"Pretty busy," Aaron replied.
"You're watching YouTube," Kitty noticed.
"You didn't ask what I was busy doing," Aaron Faulkner said defensively. He slurred slightly, and Kitty frowned.
"Have you been drinking?" Kitty asked.
"Not today."
"You smell like a brewery," Kitty whispered.
"The remains of the day," Aaron Faulkner said.
"What day?" Kitty asked.
"Yesterday-"
Kitty smiled. "Oh."
"And probably the day before that, too," Aaron admitted.
Aaron Faulkner had a little trouble with the bottle. He was a lovable fellow with a great sense of humor, who spent a lot of time napping in the break room. He'd worked in Tommy stores all over the country. Kitty figured every time the boozing got out of control, Aaron Faulkner got transferred. He was like an Army brat, without the fatigues. He'd been everywhere.
"Who's this adorable gal?" Aaron Faulkner said thoughtfully, and Kitty could have sworn that Ada blushed.
"My grandmother," Kitty said, taking Ada's hand.
"Nice outfit, Granny," Aaron said, and Ada curtsied.
Kitty hadn't even noticed Ada's latest get-up, and for that, she thanked God and all the saints.
Her grandmother looked like an aging cheerleader, Varsity sweater, short skirt, leggings, and her traditional Chuck Taylors.
"Where do you come up with this stuff?" Kitty asked with a chuckle.
"Saw it on Nickelodeon," Ada admitted.
"Well, I don't want to keep you from your fashion show. What can I do for you, young lady?" Aaron asked, and Kitty smiled. Alcoholic or not, he sure did have a way with the customers.
"She needs a new stove," Kitty said.
"I done cooked me up some slippers this morning. Whole house smells like a locker room now," Ada explained.
"Well that's no good," Aaron Faulkner said, finally closing his YouTube app. "What did you have in mind?"
"It's gotta be gas," Ada said.
"You don't like an electric stove?" Aaron asked his customer.
"I live with Helen. She's a maniac. Trust me, if you lived with Helen, you'd want a gas stove. I think about putting my head in it at least half a dozen times a day," Ada complained, and Aaron Faulkner laughed.
"She's a trip," he commented.
"You have no idea," Kitty admitted.
"You married, sir?" Ada asked, and Kitty groaned.
Here we go again.
"No," Aaron said.
"You wanna be?" Ada asked.
"I'd like to, but I got a little problem with the booze," Aaron admitted.
"I got a little problem with my bowels, and I keep losing my teeth. We all got problems, son. Life's easier if you have someone to share the burden. I sure do miss my old fellow. Never a day passes that I don't miss him. Find someone to go through this life with, and hang onto her, or him, if that's the team you play for. Don't settle for being alone. You could end up living with someone like Helen," Ada said, and Kitty found herself tearing up. She rarely saw the serious side of her grandmother. "My granddaughter is a lovely girl. Could have a few less pets, but she's a very good girl. Ain't she a beauty?"
Kitty imagined she looked like she had thanksgiving with Mowgli. Her hair was a mess, and she'd splashed coffee on her Tommy shirt.
"She's a cutie, all right," Aaron said, smiling at Kitty.
"I'll tell you what," Ada said. "You hook me up with a good stove, and get someone to bring it out to me. Hopefully, you can take the old one, even though it's got slippers melted onto the inside of it. We'll get it all hooked up right, and I'll make a nice dinner. What do you like to eat?" Ada asked, and Kitty sighed.
"I'd eat just about anything," Aaron Faulker said.
"How's about some old slippers?" Ada asked, flashing a smile that included only her top dentures.
"Okay, maybe not anything," Aaron said. The phone rang on Aaron's desk, and he excused himself.
"Grandma, what happened to your bottom teeth?" Kitty asked, when Aaron Faulkner was out of ear shot.
"That's what I was trying to tell you," Ada whispered, all together too loudly. "I lost them that night we was out back and I fell in the hole."
"Holy shit!" Kitty nearly screeched.
"Stella, watch your mouth!" Ada chastised.
"Grandma, I am in a world of trouble. Those men in the back, they're getting a back hoe to dig up the back yard. Mags saw us out there that night. She thinks we buried JJ out there."
"Who?" Ada asked.
"One of our cashiers went missing during the tornado scare. Mags is convinced she's dead, and when you rolled into the hole, Mags was watching. She thinks we killed JJ. Can you imagine? Mags actually thinks I killed someone."
"I think about killing Helen at times. Maybe brew up a pot of morphine tea. That nice paper boy could probably hook me up with something," Ada fantasized.
"Grandma, stop! Listen for a minute. This is serious. They're getting a back hoe operator out here and they're going to investigate. When they find guns and money and your dentures, do you know what's gonna happen?" Kitty asked.
"Sure do. I'm gonna be able to eat fried chicken again. I can hardly wait!" Ada exclaimed.
"You have a back hoe on speed dial?" Reeve Stockwell asked bravely. Mick Daniels rolled his eyes.
"Of course not, Mr. Stockwell. I am merely Googling. I'm sure I can produce exactly what we need. You all have one of these smart phones? Why, they're a lifeline. I have a GPS, I can text my wife from anywhere on the planet, and I can find a back hoe operator in the middle of nowhere."
Larry Dale has a wife. Crap! Kitty thought.
A knock sounded at the door to the conference room. Everyone turned. Barbie Baxter's torso filled the glass of the door.
"We asked not to be disturbed," Mick Daniels said. Although it was obvious he was still angry, his voice was gentle and professional.
"I need to speak to Kitty. Someone is here to see her," Barbie explained.
"Who?" Kitty asked.
"ADA," Barbie mouthed, and Kitty shivered.
"Dear God," Kitty whispered.
"Who is this Ada person?" Mick Daniels asked. "Is she a customer?"
"She is today. She needs to buy a stove," Barbie replied. Ada appeared behind Barbie.
"Stella, I've got a problem!" Ada yelled. Obviously, she'd forgotten her hearing aide.
"Grandma, don't yell," Kitty said, rising from her chair as Ada plowed into the conference room.
"Stella?" Mick Daniels asked.
"Kitty's real name," Reeve Stockwell said.
"Grandma, what happened? You can't keep barging in here. I'm trying to work," Kitty whined.
"Work? Looks like you're having a party here," Ada said.
"Well, we're not. Why do you need a stove? What's wrong with the one in your kitchen?" Kitty asked.
"I sorta baked your mother's slippers," Ada explained.
"What?" Kitty asked.
"I cooked Helen's slippers. Those old blue ones with the sole that flops like a swimming fin," Ada said.
Larry Dale laughed.
"How did you cook Mom's slippers?" Kitty asked. Everyone in the room was riveted. Even Larry Dale set his smart phone aside to listen.
"She washed them and put them in the oven to dry. I wanted to bake a cake, so I set the oven to preheat. Ended up baking us some slippers instead. Smells just awful, like cooked feet."
"Ewww," Larry Dale said with a chuckle.
"All right," Mick Daniels said. "I'm going to stay here with Mr. Dale, and we'll work on getting someone to investigate this situation out back-"
"What situation out back?" Ada asked.
"It's store business, Grandma. Don't concern yourself with it," Kitty said, shuffling Ada to the door.
"Stockwell and Longworth, I want the two of you to return to your duties, although I shudder at the thought of what that might mean," Mick Daniels said. "Ms. Davidson, you are also free to return to the Front End, but do not leave the store. The four of you will be present when we begin our investigation of this situation out back."
"Does this have anything to do with my missing teeth?" Ada yelled from the hallway.
"Why would she say that?" Daniels asked.
"She's a little bat shit," Longworth said.
"What would you like me to do?" Kitty asked from the doorway.
"Get someone to help your grandmother pick out a new stove, and suggest your mother find another method for drying her bedroom slippers," Daniels suggested.
"I'm on it," Kitty said, not wasting any time with her escape.
Kitty, who'd been holding her breath, exhaled in a rush. Ada shuffled beside her. Kitty led her to the appliance department, where new manager, Aaron Faulkner, stood before a computer terminal typing like a madman.
"Hey, Aaron," Kitty said, and Faulkner turned.
"Hey," Aaron Faulkner said, turning his attention quickly back to his computer.
"You busy?" Kitty asked.
"Pretty busy," Aaron replied.
"You're watching YouTube," Kitty noticed.
"You didn't ask what I was busy doing," Aaron Faulkner said defensively. He slurred slightly, and Kitty frowned.
"Have you been drinking?" Kitty asked.
"Not today."
"You smell like a brewery," Kitty whispered.
"The remains of the day," Aaron Faulkner said.
"What day?" Kitty asked.
"Yesterday-"
Kitty smiled. "Oh."
"And probably the day before that, too," Aaron admitted.
Aaron Faulkner had a little trouble with the bottle. He was a lovable fellow with a great sense of humor, who spent a lot of time napping in the break room. He'd worked in Tommy stores all over the country. Kitty figured every time the boozing got out of control, Aaron Faulkner got transferred. He was like an Army brat, without the fatigues. He'd been everywhere.
"Who's this adorable gal?" Aaron Faulkner said thoughtfully, and Kitty could have sworn that Ada blushed.
"My grandmother," Kitty said, taking Ada's hand.
"Nice outfit, Granny," Aaron said, and Ada curtsied.
Kitty hadn't even noticed Ada's latest get-up, and for that, she thanked God and all the saints.
Her grandmother looked like an aging cheerleader, Varsity sweater, short skirt, leggings, and her traditional Chuck Taylors.
"Where do you come up with this stuff?" Kitty asked with a chuckle.
"Saw it on Nickelodeon," Ada admitted.
"Well, I don't want to keep you from your fashion show. What can I do for you, young lady?" Aaron asked, and Kitty smiled. Alcoholic or not, he sure did have a way with the customers.
"She needs a new stove," Kitty said.
"I done cooked me up some slippers this morning. Whole house smells like a locker room now," Ada explained.
"Well that's no good," Aaron Faulkner said, finally closing his YouTube app. "What did you have in mind?"
"It's gotta be gas," Ada said.
"You don't like an electric stove?" Aaron asked his customer.
"I live with Helen. She's a maniac. Trust me, if you lived with Helen, you'd want a gas stove. I think about putting my head in it at least half a dozen times a day," Ada complained, and Aaron Faulkner laughed.
"She's a trip," he commented.
"You have no idea," Kitty admitted.
"You married, sir?" Ada asked, and Kitty groaned.
Here we go again.
"No," Aaron said.
"You wanna be?" Ada asked.
"I'd like to, but I got a little problem with the booze," Aaron admitted.
"I got a little problem with my bowels, and I keep losing my teeth. We all got problems, son. Life's easier if you have someone to share the burden. I sure do miss my old fellow. Never a day passes that I don't miss him. Find someone to go through this life with, and hang onto her, or him, if that's the team you play for. Don't settle for being alone. You could end up living with someone like Helen," Ada said, and Kitty found herself tearing up. She rarely saw the serious side of her grandmother. "My granddaughter is a lovely girl. Could have a few less pets, but she's a very good girl. Ain't she a beauty?"
Kitty imagined she looked like she had thanksgiving with Mowgli. Her hair was a mess, and she'd splashed coffee on her Tommy shirt.
"She's a cutie, all right," Aaron said, smiling at Kitty.
"I'll tell you what," Ada said. "You hook me up with a good stove, and get someone to bring it out to me. Hopefully, you can take the old one, even though it's got slippers melted onto the inside of it. We'll get it all hooked up right, and I'll make a nice dinner. What do you like to eat?" Ada asked, and Kitty sighed.
"I'd eat just about anything," Aaron Faulker said.
"How's about some old slippers?" Ada asked, flashing a smile that included only her top dentures.
"Okay, maybe not anything," Aaron said. The phone rang on Aaron's desk, and he excused himself.
"Grandma, what happened to your bottom teeth?" Kitty asked, when Aaron Faulkner was out of ear shot.
"That's what I was trying to tell you," Ada whispered, all together too loudly. "I lost them that night we was out back and I fell in the hole."
"Holy shit!" Kitty nearly screeched.
"Stella, watch your mouth!" Ada chastised.
"Grandma, I am in a world of trouble. Those men in the back, they're getting a back hoe to dig up the back yard. Mags saw us out there that night. She thinks we buried JJ out there."
"Who?" Ada asked.
"One of our cashiers went missing during the tornado scare. Mags is convinced she's dead, and when you rolled into the hole, Mags was watching. She thinks we killed JJ. Can you imagine? Mags actually thinks I killed someone."
"I think about killing Helen at times. Maybe brew up a pot of morphine tea. That nice paper boy could probably hook me up with something," Ada fantasized.
"Grandma, stop! Listen for a minute. This is serious. They're getting a back hoe operator out here and they're going to investigate. When they find guns and money and your dentures, do you know what's gonna happen?" Kitty asked.
"Sure do. I'm gonna be able to eat fried chicken again. I can hardly wait!" Ada exclaimed.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Tommy's Tool Town - Chapter 39 - A Deeply Buried Truth
"JJ Patricks has been murdered, and I think she's buried out back," Mags said
through a sob.
Everyone stared at Mags.
Mick Daniels cleared his throat.
Larry Dale straightened his tie.
Kitty Richardson, Miles Longworth and Reeve Stockwell thought about clicking their heels together in the hopes that it would take them anyplace but where they currently stood.
Stockwell's in-law's house.
Clearance shopping with Longworth's wife.
Thanksgiving with Helen and Ada.
Even Turkish prison would have been better.
No one clicked.
It wouldn't have worked anyway.
"Everyone is dismissed," Mick Daniels said authoritatively.
The Tool Towners all regained use of their limbs in unison, and prepared to leave. Daniels cleared his throat again.
"Not you three," he said, pointing in the direction of Longworth, Stockwell and Kitty.
The "three" stared at each other.
Mags stared at her feet. "And certainly, most certainly, not you," Daniels directed at the forlorn Mags.
"Mr. Dale, I will need your expert assistance. We will be meeting in Stockwell's office straight away. We won't be breaking for five, or taking a smoke break, or holing up somewhere to get our stories straight. We'll be meeting immediately. Let's go," Mick Daniels said, and Kitty shivered.
Mags hadn't moved.
"Ms. Davidson," Mick Daniels said, taking Mags' arm.
****************
A man stood in the shadows. He blended with the customers, and his attention appeared to be directed at the tool set in his hands. He couldn't have cared less about the tool set. He was watching the scene unfold twenty feet away.
His plan was working beautifully. Everything was falling apart, just like he'd been certain it would when he set it in motion so long ago.
He remembered the day he'd found out.
He remembered how angry he'd gotten, how cheated he felt.
At that moment, he had vowed revenge.
He'd take everything back that was rightly his.
He wouldn't have to wait much longer.
****************
Stockwell unlocked his office and opened the door. He silently thanked God the mess had been removed. His office was spotless.
Daniels shook his head.
"Clearly we cannot meet in here. It's not large enough, and it smells like Doritos. Junk food is bad for your health. You work sixty hours a week, Reeve, you should think about taking better care of yourself," Daniels said thoughtfully, although rage still burned in his dark eyes.
I'm going to prison, Reeve Stockwell thought. Who cares what I eat? I won't last twenty-four hours in prison.
I wanted to play football in high school.
I played clarinet.
I don't lift weights.
The last heavy thing I lifted was a two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew.
I'm gonna end up with a four-hundred pound roommate named Earl who likes tall, skinny guys.
I'm as good as dead already.
"Stockwell, you with us?" Daniels asked a blank-looking Reeve Stockwell.
"I am, sir. We could meet in the conference room out back," Stockwell suggested.
"That sounds fine. Let's go," Daniels said.
The posse moved through the store with efficiency. No one spoke, save Larry Dale.
"If I may suggest, sir. We should get a team to clean up the pumpkin mess. Seems you've a speck of it on your shoe, sir," Dale added.
"Good hell, get it off!" Daniels said furiously.
The group stopped to allow Daniels to clean his shoe with a handkerchief Larry Dale produced from his coat pocket.
"Better, sir?" Larry Dale asked.
"Shut up, Dale!" Daniels said, sounding furious.
"Would anyone like coffee?" Kitty asked, when the group was assembled in the conference room.
"That would be lovely," Larry Dale said.
"Everyone, sit!" Mick Daniels said. "This isn't some damn dinner party. Nobody needs coffee or tea, or little cucumber sandwiches with the crusts removed. This store is the biggest thorn in my rear end, and now you've got this crazy woman saying there's a body out back. Who is this JJ Patricks person, and why in the hell does this woman think she's been murdered?"
"This woman has a name. It's Mags Davidson," Mags said defensively.
"The Mags Davidson who appears on all the Worker's Comp forms?" Daniels asked.
"One and the same," Miles Longworth admitted.
Mags looked down at her hands. For several seconds, no one spoke. Larry Dale broke the silence.
"If I may, what makes you think this Ms. Patricks is buried behind the store?"
Larry Dale looked at Mags, whose stare was still fixed on the table in front of her.
"I saw," Mags barely whispered.
Kitty almost peed herself.
Stockwell began to twitch beside her.
Longworth prayed for death.
Mags saw them.
They were screwed.
Kitty began to consider a life behind bars, as Stockwell had only moments before. She looked lousy in orange. It did nothing for her strawberry hair, and cadaver complexion, and not even the finest tiara could dress it up to make it anything but incarceration wear.
"Shit," Kitty whispered.
"Ma'am?" Larry Dale asked, and Kitty paled.
Kitty didn't know what to say. Stockwell just stared at her. Longworth fidgeted uncontrollably.
"Ma'am?" Larry Dale repeated.
"I was just thinking about something I forgot to do," Kitty said, and Stockwell exhaled in such a rush, it sounded like someone had suddenly let all the air out of their inflatable date.
"While I'd love to get your itinerary, Ms. Richardson, what I'd really like to do is have Ms. Davidson recount this event she seems to think she's seen."
Mags shivered, and wrapped her arms around herself. "I saw someone dump and bury a body out back. JJ has been missing. I guess I just connected the dots," Mags said through a ragged breath.
"Well, I can only think of one solution to this problem, sir," Larry Dale said.
"And that would be?" Mick Daniels asked.
"A backhoe."
Son of a bitch, Kitty thought.
They were so, so screwed.
oo
Everyone stared at Mags.
Mick Daniels cleared his throat.
Larry Dale straightened his tie.
Kitty Richardson, Miles Longworth and Reeve Stockwell thought about clicking their heels together in the hopes that it would take them anyplace but where they currently stood.
Stockwell's in-law's house.
Clearance shopping with Longworth's wife.
Thanksgiving with Helen and Ada.
Even Turkish prison would have been better.
No one clicked.
It wouldn't have worked anyway.
"Everyone is dismissed," Mick Daniels said authoritatively.
The Tool Towners all regained use of their limbs in unison, and prepared to leave. Daniels cleared his throat again.
"Not you three," he said, pointing in the direction of Longworth, Stockwell and Kitty.
The "three" stared at each other.
Mags stared at her feet. "And certainly, most certainly, not you," Daniels directed at the forlorn Mags.
"Mr. Dale, I will need your expert assistance. We will be meeting in Stockwell's office straight away. We won't be breaking for five, or taking a smoke break, or holing up somewhere to get our stories straight. We'll be meeting immediately. Let's go," Mick Daniels said, and Kitty shivered.
Mags hadn't moved.
"Ms. Davidson," Mick Daniels said, taking Mags' arm.
****************
A man stood in the shadows. He blended with the customers, and his attention appeared to be directed at the tool set in his hands. He couldn't have cared less about the tool set. He was watching the scene unfold twenty feet away.
His plan was working beautifully. Everything was falling apart, just like he'd been certain it would when he set it in motion so long ago.
He remembered the day he'd found out.
He remembered how angry he'd gotten, how cheated he felt.
At that moment, he had vowed revenge.
He'd take everything back that was rightly his.
He wouldn't have to wait much longer.
****************
Stockwell unlocked his office and opened the door. He silently thanked God the mess had been removed. His office was spotless.
Daniels shook his head.
"Clearly we cannot meet in here. It's not large enough, and it smells like Doritos. Junk food is bad for your health. You work sixty hours a week, Reeve, you should think about taking better care of yourself," Daniels said thoughtfully, although rage still burned in his dark eyes.
I'm going to prison, Reeve Stockwell thought. Who cares what I eat? I won't last twenty-four hours in prison.
I wanted to play football in high school.
I played clarinet.
I don't lift weights.
The last heavy thing I lifted was a two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew.
I'm gonna end up with a four-hundred pound roommate named Earl who likes tall, skinny guys.
I'm as good as dead already.
"Stockwell, you with us?" Daniels asked a blank-looking Reeve Stockwell.
"I am, sir. We could meet in the conference room out back," Stockwell suggested.
"That sounds fine. Let's go," Daniels said.
The posse moved through the store with efficiency. No one spoke, save Larry Dale.
"If I may suggest, sir. We should get a team to clean up the pumpkin mess. Seems you've a speck of it on your shoe, sir," Dale added.
"Good hell, get it off!" Daniels said furiously.
The group stopped to allow Daniels to clean his shoe with a handkerchief Larry Dale produced from his coat pocket.
"Better, sir?" Larry Dale asked.
"Shut up, Dale!" Daniels said, sounding furious.
"Would anyone like coffee?" Kitty asked, when the group was assembled in the conference room.
"That would be lovely," Larry Dale said.
"Everyone, sit!" Mick Daniels said. "This isn't some damn dinner party. Nobody needs coffee or tea, or little cucumber sandwiches with the crusts removed. This store is the biggest thorn in my rear end, and now you've got this crazy woman saying there's a body out back. Who is this JJ Patricks person, and why in the hell does this woman think she's been murdered?"
"This woman has a name. It's Mags Davidson," Mags said defensively.
"The Mags Davidson who appears on all the Worker's Comp forms?" Daniels asked.
"One and the same," Miles Longworth admitted.
Mags looked down at her hands. For several seconds, no one spoke. Larry Dale broke the silence.
"If I may, what makes you think this Ms. Patricks is buried behind the store?"
Larry Dale looked at Mags, whose stare was still fixed on the table in front of her.
"I saw," Mags barely whispered.
Kitty almost peed herself.
Stockwell began to twitch beside her.
Longworth prayed for death.
Mags saw them.
They were screwed.
Kitty began to consider a life behind bars, as Stockwell had only moments before. She looked lousy in orange. It did nothing for her strawberry hair, and cadaver complexion, and not even the finest tiara could dress it up to make it anything but incarceration wear.
"Shit," Kitty whispered.
"Ma'am?" Larry Dale asked, and Kitty paled.
Kitty didn't know what to say. Stockwell just stared at her. Longworth fidgeted uncontrollably.
"Ma'am?" Larry Dale repeated.
"I was just thinking about something I forgot to do," Kitty said, and Stockwell exhaled in such a rush, it sounded like someone had suddenly let all the air out of their inflatable date.
"While I'd love to get your itinerary, Ms. Richardson, what I'd really like to do is have Ms. Davidson recount this event she seems to think she's seen."
Mags shivered, and wrapped her arms around herself. "I saw someone dump and bury a body out back. JJ has been missing. I guess I just connected the dots," Mags said through a ragged breath.
"Well, I can only think of one solution to this problem, sir," Larry Dale said.
"And that would be?" Mick Daniels asked.
"A backhoe."
Son of a bitch, Kitty thought.
They were so, so screwed.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Twas The Night Before Christmas at Tommy's Tool Town
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the store
the shoppers were grabbing up bargains galore.
Drill sets and gift cards, they flew off the shelves.
And Longworth and Kitty were dressed up as elves.
Stockwell holed up with a huge Christmas fritter.
Mags drew the short straw and was cleaning the shitter.
Barbie Baxter watched over some umpteen cashiers
who looked forward to margaritas, red wine and beers.
Chewie stood guard in a red Santa suit.
And tripped up a fella with "unpaid for" loot.
Penelope won for the ugliest sweater.
Although everyone said Grandma Ada's was better.
Daisy Cates grumbled as she sold her tools
to contractors, handymen, husbands and fools.
Harry Jensen hauled up a scratch and dent freezer
for a women in Carharts, and her grumpy old geezer.
One scrawny Christmas tree was iced to the ground,
lying in wait for that dork, Charlie Brown.
Everything seemed to be going their way
and even Mick Daniels had nothing to say.
Larry Dale was on hand in case things got hairy,
not a bad Christmas gig for one Leisure Suit Larry.
Kitty snuck glances from beneath her hat
whoever thought leisure suits could be all that.
A fine Christmas glow was spreading about,
and even Bernice couldn't muster a pout.
The registers rang up sale after sale,
and for one day only, nothing could fail.
But, suddenly silence was broken by clatter,
Even Stockwell stopped eating to see what was the matter.
Outside in the parking lot, covered with mud.
something fell from the sky with a big Christmas thud.
Wilton Scott left his post and pressed his face to the door.
As a man staggered in and fell to the floor.
A crowd quickly gathered 'round the filthy old fellow,
whose red suit was tattered, and whose beard was yellow.
"What the hell happened," Slick Mitchell did yell,
as he gazed upon Santa who still looked like hell.
Santa stood up and brushed the mud from his trousers,
and canoodled with Tool Towners, shoppers, and browsers.
"Anyone here know much about sleighs?
Mine's 'bout crapped out and I should be on my way."
"I'm sure I can fix it," Daisy Cates said.
"But don't try to hug me, or you'll wish you were dead."
Santa did point with a finger so bony,
and remembered a Daisy who wanted a pony.
"You there, young lady, get me back on my course,
and this year, I promise, you'll get that horse."
"Look it, old man," Daisy said with a squeal.
"Promise me Jim Beam, and we've got a deal."
Santa just smiled and winked in reply.
And Daisy set out to make the thing fly.
She tinkered and mumbled as Tool Towners stood 'round.
And still the damn thing could not leave the ground.
She swore once out loud and gave it kick,
and wouldn't you know it, that did the trick.
The sleigh hit a Mercedes as it clanged, banged, and sputtered.
"Son of a .....," Slick Mitchell muttered.
The sleigh settled down to a comfortable idle.
And Santa climbed in, for a driver was vital.
Daisy stood proudly and didn't utter a word.
Slick Mitchell mouthed off and flipped Santa the bird.
Santa just shrugged, and set off in the snow.
Leaving the Tool Towners standing below.
And then just before he vanished from sight.
He shouted, "Merry Christmas Tool Towners,
And to all a good night."
the shoppers were grabbing up bargains galore.
Drill sets and gift cards, they flew off the shelves.
And Longworth and Kitty were dressed up as elves.
Stockwell holed up with a huge Christmas fritter.
Mags drew the short straw and was cleaning the shitter.
Barbie Baxter watched over some umpteen cashiers
who looked forward to margaritas, red wine and beers.
Chewie stood guard in a red Santa suit.
And tripped up a fella with "unpaid for" loot.
Penelope won for the ugliest sweater.
Although everyone said Grandma Ada's was better.
Daisy Cates grumbled as she sold her tools
to contractors, handymen, husbands and fools.
Harry Jensen hauled up a scratch and dent freezer
for a women in Carharts, and her grumpy old geezer.
One scrawny Christmas tree was iced to the ground,
lying in wait for that dork, Charlie Brown.
Everything seemed to be going their way
and even Mick Daniels had nothing to say.
Larry Dale was on hand in case things got hairy,
not a bad Christmas gig for one Leisure Suit Larry.
Kitty snuck glances from beneath her hat
whoever thought leisure suits could be all that.
A fine Christmas glow was spreading about,
and even Bernice couldn't muster a pout.
The registers rang up sale after sale,
and for one day only, nothing could fail.
But, suddenly silence was broken by clatter,
Even Stockwell stopped eating to see what was the matter.
Outside in the parking lot, covered with mud.
something fell from the sky with a big Christmas thud.
Wilton Scott left his post and pressed his face to the door.
As a man staggered in and fell to the floor.
A crowd quickly gathered 'round the filthy old fellow,
whose red suit was tattered, and whose beard was yellow.
"What the hell happened," Slick Mitchell did yell,
as he gazed upon Santa who still looked like hell.
Santa stood up and brushed the mud from his trousers,
and canoodled with Tool Towners, shoppers, and browsers.
"Anyone here know much about sleighs?
Mine's 'bout crapped out and I should be on my way."
"I'm sure I can fix it," Daisy Cates said.
"But don't try to hug me, or you'll wish you were dead."
Santa did point with a finger so bony,
and remembered a Daisy who wanted a pony.
"You there, young lady, get me back on my course,
and this year, I promise, you'll get that horse."
"Look it, old man," Daisy said with a squeal.
"Promise me Jim Beam, and we've got a deal."
Santa just smiled and winked in reply.
And Daisy set out to make the thing fly.
She tinkered and mumbled as Tool Towners stood 'round.
And still the damn thing could not leave the ground.
She swore once out loud and gave it kick,
and wouldn't you know it, that did the trick.
The sleigh hit a Mercedes as it clanged, banged, and sputtered.
"Son of a .....," Slick Mitchell muttered.
The sleigh settled down to a comfortable idle.
And Santa climbed in, for a driver was vital.
Daisy stood proudly and didn't utter a word.
Slick Mitchell mouthed off and flipped Santa the bird.
Santa just shrugged, and set off in the snow.
Leaving the Tool Towners standing below.
And then just before he vanished from sight.
He shouted, "Merry Christmas Tool Towners,
And to all a good night."
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the store
the shoppers were grabbing up bargains galore.
Drill sets and gift cards, they flew off the shelves.
And Longworth and Kitty were dressed up as elves.
Stockwell holed up with a huge Christmas fritter.
Mags drew the short straw and was cleaning the shitter.
Barbie Baxter watched over some umpteen cashiers
who looked forward to margaritas, red wine and beers.
Chewie stood guard in a red Santa suit.
And tripped up a fella with "unpaid for" loot.
Penelope won for the ugliest sweater.
Although everyone said Grandma Ada's was better.
Daisy Cates grumbled as she sold her tools
to contractors, handymen, husbands and fools.
Harry Jensen hauled up a scratch and dent freezer
for a women in Carharts, and her grumpy old geezer.
One scrawny Christmas tree was iced to the ground,
lying in wait for that dork, Charlie Brown.
Everything seemed to be going their way
and even Mick Daniels had nothing to say.
Larry Dale was on hand in case things got hairy,
not a bad Christmas gig for one Leisure Suit Larry.
Kitty snuck glances from beneath her hat
whoever thought leisure suits could be all that.
A fine Christmas glow was spreading about,
and even Bernice couldn't muster a pout.
The registers rang up sale after sale,
and for one day only, nothing could fail.
But, suddenly silence was broken by clatter,
Even Stockwell stopped eating to see what was the matter.
Outside in the parking lot, covered with mud.
something fell from the sky with a big Christmas thud.
Wilton Scott left his post and pressed his face to the door.
As a man staggered in and fell to the floor.
A crowd quickly gathered 'round the filthy old fellow,
whose red suit was tattered, and whose beard was yellow.
"What the hell happened," Slick Mitchell did yell,
as he gazed upon Santa who still looked like hell.
Santa stood up and brushed the mud from his trousers,
and canoodled with Tool Towners, shoppers, and browsers.
"Anyone here know much about sleighs?
Mine's 'bout crapped out and I should be on my way."
"I'm sure I can fix it," Daisy Cates said.
"But don't try to hug me, or you'll wish you were dead."
Santa did point with a finger so bony,
and remembered a Daisy who wanted a pony.
"You there, young lady, get me back on my course,
and this year, I promise, you'll get that horse."
"Look it, old man," Daisy said with a squeal.
"Promise me Jim Beam, and we've got a deal."
Santa just smiled and winked in reply.
And Daisy set out to make the thing fly.
She tinkered and mumbled as Tool Towners stood 'round.
And still the damn thing could not leave the ground.
She swore once out loud and gave it kick,
and wouldn't you know it, that did the trick.
The sleigh hit a Mercedes as it clanged, banged, and sputtered.
"Son of a .....," Slick Mitchell muttered.
The sleigh settled down to a comfortable idle.
And Santa climbed in, for a driver was vital.
Daisy stood proudly and didn't utter a word.
Slick Mitchell mouthed off and flipped Santa the bird.
Santa just shrugged, and set off in the snow.
Leaving the Tool Towners standing below.
And then just before he vanished from sight.
He shouted, "Merry Christmas Tool Towners,
And to all a good night."
the shoppers were grabbing up bargains galore.
Drill sets and gift cards, they flew off the shelves.
And Longworth and Kitty were dressed up as elves.
Stockwell holed up with a huge Christmas fritter.
Mags drew the short straw and was cleaning the shitter.
Barbie Baxter watched over some umpteen cashiers
who looked forward to margaritas, red wine and beers.
Chewie stood guard in a red Santa suit.
And tripped up a fella with "unpaid for" loot.
Penelope won for the ugliest sweater.
Although everyone said Grandma Ada's was better.
Daisy Cates grumbled as she sold her tools
to contractors, handymen, husbands and fools.
Harry Jensen hauled up a scratch and dent freezer
for a women in Carharts, and her grumpy old geezer.
One scrawny Christmas tree was iced to the ground,
lying in wait for that dork, Charlie Brown.
Everything seemed to be going their way
and even Mick Daniels had nothing to say.
Larry Dale was on hand in case things got hairy,
not a bad Christmas gig for one Leisure Suit Larry.
Kitty snuck glances from beneath her hat
whoever thought leisure suits could be all that.
A fine Christmas glow was spreading about,
and even Bernice couldn't muster a pout.
The registers rang up sale after sale,
and for one day only, nothing could fail.
But, suddenly silence was broken by clatter,
Even Stockwell stopped eating to see what was the matter.
Outside in the parking lot, covered with mud.
something fell from the sky with a big Christmas thud.
Wilton Scott left his post and pressed his face to the door.
As a man staggered in and fell to the floor.
A crowd quickly gathered 'round the filthy old fellow,
whose red suit was tattered, and whose beard was yellow.
"What the hell happened," Slick Mitchell did yell,
as he gazed upon Santa who still looked like hell.
Santa stood up and brushed the mud from his trousers,
and canoodled with Tool Towners, shoppers, and browsers.
"Anyone here know much about sleighs?
Mine's 'bout crapped out and I should be on my way."
"I'm sure I can fix it," Daisy Cates said.
"But don't try to hug me, or you'll wish you were dead."
Santa did point with a finger so bony,
and remembered a Daisy who wanted a pony.
"You there, young lady, get me back on my course,
and this year, I promise, you'll get that horse."
"Look it, old man," Daisy said with a squeal.
"Promise me Jim Beam, and we've got a deal."
Santa just smiled and winked in reply.
And Daisy set out to make the thing fly.
She tinkered and mumbled as Tool Towners stood 'round.
And still the damn thing could not leave the ground.
She swore once out loud and gave it kick,
and wouldn't you know it, that did the trick.
The sleigh hit a Mercedes as it clanged, banged, and sputtered.
"Son of a .....," Slick Mitchell muttered.
The sleigh settled down to a comfortable idle.
And Santa climbed in, for a driver was vital.
Daisy stood proudly and didn't utter a word.
Slick Mitchell mouthed off and flipped Santa the bird.
Santa just shrugged, and set off in the snow.
Leaving the Tool Towners standing below.
And then just before he vanished from sight.
He shouted, "Merry Christmas Tool Towners,
And to all a good night."
Friday, December 21, 2012
The Twelve Days of Christmas - Tommy Tool Town Style
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave me to
A dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Five thousand dollars........... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars..... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars..... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars..... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Nine cashiers dancing,
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars.... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Ten unmarked boxes,
Nine cashiers dancing,
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars.... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Eleven Tommy T-shirts,
Ten unmarked boxes,
Nine cashiers dancing,
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars.... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Twelve magic brownies,
Eleven Tommy T-shirts,
Ten unmarked boxes,
Nine cashiers dancing,
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars.... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
Happy Holidays, Tool Towners!
Love,
Kitty
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave me to
A dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Five thousand dollars........... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars..... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars..... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars..... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Nine cashiers dancing,
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars.... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Ten unmarked boxes,
Nine cashiers dancing,
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars.... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Eleven Tommy T-shirts,
Ten unmarked boxes,
Nine cashiers dancing,
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars.... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Twelve magic brownies,
Eleven Tommy T-shirts,
Ten unmarked boxes,
Nine cashiers dancing,
Eight paint cans flying,
Seven zombies shopping,
Six rotten pumpkins,
Five thousand dollars.... (found behind the dumpster, probably laundered, and left there by very bad men.)
Four Oreos,
Three ghostly figures,
Two mismatched dish gloves,
and a dried up fritter found on Stockwell's desk.
Happy Holidays, Tool Towners!
Love,
Kitty
Friday, December 7, 2012
Tommy's Tool Town - Chapter 38 - When it Rains, it Pours.
Kitty Richardson took a deep breath and stared at the phone in her hand.
"What's wrong?" Bernice asked.
Reeve Stockwell and Miles Longworth also stared, their eyes far less glazed than five minutes prior. It seemed Kitty's anxiety had pierced through their ongoing haze.
"What is it, Kitty?" Stockwell said, sounding almost like Stockwell.
"There are zombies in the store," Kitty whispered, and Penelope stood so quickly, she knocked almost everything off Stockwell's desk, including a corner of a dried-up fritter that looked like an antiquity.
"Have we confirmed this?" Miles Longworth said, sounding almost sober.
"I've gotten two calls already," Kitty said softly.
"Credible?" Stockwell asked, standing from his chair, and finding himself in a puddle of Dorito crumbs, which also stuck to his slacks like pesky cat hair. His gaze found the corner of the fritter on the floor, and he kicked it. It slid like a hockey puck and whacked the door. Everyone turned.
"Are they outside the door?" Bernice asked, looking pale.
"It was this," Kitty replied, holding up the hunk of dried pastry. "Get rid of it," she said, handing the fritter to Stockwell, who dropped it in the trash. It fell with a thunk.
"Getting back to the zombies," Stockwell said. "Are these claims credible."
"Yes. And, it gets worse," Kitty whispered.
"How much worse could it get?" Miles Longworth asked, clutching his stomach like a man who'd just consumed twenty pounds of junk food.
"Mick Daniels is also here," Kitty said in a groan.
"Maybe the zombies will get him," Bernice said, her tone light, considering the circumstances.
"That's mean," Penelope said.
"It would solve the immediate problem," Bernice whined in her own defense.
"It's still mean," Penelope retorted.
"Girls, please," Stockwell said. The effects of the brownies seemed to have worn off considerably. Kitty's phone rang again.
She answered on the first ring.
"It's Alejandro," Kitty whispered. Kitty listened for only a minute and hung up. "Alejandro and Magic have isolated Daniels in the break room. They're keeping him busy with coffee and donuts. He's got some guy with him that Alejandro called a 'fixer'-"
"Larry Dale," Miles Longworth piped in.
"He tends to show up in problem stores," Stockwell said.
"Now that's mean," Bernice said through a sigh.
"Well, we are a problem store," Stockwell said. "I've been in retail since I could walk, and even I've never seen such a plethora of knuckleheads assembled under one roof."
"That's mean," Bernice grumbled.
"In case we've forgotten," Kitty interrupted, "we are in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.
"Let's look," Stockwell said.
"I'm not going out there," Penelope said, squeezing into the corner and hiding behind Bernice.
"Neither am I," Kitty said.
"We don't have to," Stockwell said. "We can have Sonny watch the cameras."
"He went home. Something about something being haunted, or so the rumor mill suggests," Kitty explained.
"We can access his computer from here," Miles Longworth said.
"We can?" Stockwell said in amazement.
"Don't you read your emails?" Miles Longworth asked.
"Of course, although the last one you sent me was some honey badger thing," Stockwell said, looking at Miles Longworth with disgust.
"Was that before or after the EHarmony email with that weird woman who loves cats?" Penelope asked.
"Kitty has an EHarmony video?" Stockwell said through a chuckle.
"Nice," Kitty whispered, rolling her eyes. "It wasn't me."
"The honey badger, he don't give a shit," Bernice mumbled, and Longworth burst out laughing.
"People, stop," Stockwell nearly shouted. "The only email I care about right now is the one that tells us how to access cameras remotely."
"It was from Slick. Evidently, he thinks something hokey is going on in the store, so he set all the managers up with the option to see cameras," Miles Longworth said, staring at Stockwell.
"Seriously?" Kitty asked, looking pale. "How does Slick know?"
"Know what?" Bernice asked.
"Nothing," Kitty mumbled.
"Know what?" Penelope repeated.
"Girls, put a cork in it!" Stockwell said, shouting this time. "Shit," Stockwell whispered. "Okay, when did this email come?"
"This morning," Miles Longworth explained. "Don't know what you were doing that you didn't see it."
"I was having some of Ada's brownies............" Stockwell said, pausing for a long moment. "In fact, that is about the last thing I remember, and could these brownies have anything to do with the hundreds of pieces of junk food scattered around my office? WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED IN HERE?" Stockwell roared, as if he'd just realized the condition of his surroundings.
"I'll explain later," Kitty whispered.
"Now works for me, Stella Catherine Richardson," Stockwell said, glaring at Kitty. Everyone stared at Kitty. No one had ever used her full name. This was serious.
"I will explain later. It was a loving gesture gone terribly wrong," Kitty said defensively.
"I'll say," Stockwell said. "I feel like I've been on a three-day bender.
"It was really only like three hours," Bernice said, and something crashed outside. "THAT WAS NOT A FRITTER. THE ZOMBIES ARE HERE!" Bernice screamed.
"Let me at the computer," Miles demanded, as everyone crowded into the corner farthest from the door. Stockwell shielded the women, keeping his eyes directed at his monitor. "Mother of God," Miles Longworth said through a moan. "There are zombies. They're everywhere."
Everyone looked at the computer screen, and paled in unison.
"Holy shit," Stockwell said.
"What are they doing?" Kitty asked, grabbing Stockwell's arm.
"They're looking at electrical parts," Stockwell replied, squinting at the screen.
"That's not how it's supposed to go," Bernice said. "They're supposed to eat brains."
"Seems to be one leading the pack," Stockwell said. "He's holding something in his hand."
"Is it a body part?" Penelope asked, covering her eyes.
"Honestly...," Miles Longworth commented, "it looks like a Catalytic Converter.
"Seriously?" Kitty quipped.
"Yeah," Longworth replied. "Holy crap, Chewie's approaching them. He's got a screwdriver, and he looks scared to death.
"Oh, jeez. I like him," Kitty whined. "The Lord is my Shepherd......," she prayed, as everyone remained riveted to the monitor.
"He's talking to them," Bernice said. "Chewie is talking to the zombies."
"Well, he closed last night and opened this morning. He looks like the walking dead. Maybe they don't know he's still alive," Stockwell remarked.
"We all look like that," Kitty said.
"Chewie's laughing. He's calling someone," Penelope said. The group watched as Chewie raised his phone to his ear. Kitty's phone rang.
"Chewie?" Kitty nearly shouted into the handset. The call lasted less than thirty seconds. No one spoke. "It's not the zombie apocalypse. They're going to some convention, and the Zombiemobile broke down half a mile up the road."
Everyone burst out laughing.
"Let's get out of here," Stockwell said, opening the door. "Penelope, could you sweep up this mess and empty the trash? Now that the zombie threat is over, we need to deal with Daniels. If you're praying folks, you might want to pray we still have a store when the day's over."
"Vacation!" Bernice quipped, clapping her hands.
"That was not supposed to be met with enthusiasm, Bernice," Stockwell chastised.
"Sorry," Bernice mumbled.
Everyone filed out of the office.
"Kitty, call Alejandro back. Our best plan of attack is to separate Daniels and this 'fixer'. We'll head back to deal with Daniels. You take the 'fixer' and walk the store. Wilton Scott is a big zombie fan. Send him over to Electrical and see if he can help round them up and get them out of here."
"Will do, boss," Kitty said, looking at Stockwell. "Um......"
"Is there something else, Kitty?" Stockwell asked, throwing her a glance that clearly said the brownie issue was NOT resolved.
"Yes."
"And it would be what?" Stockwell asked.
"You guys need to go wash your hands and your faces. You're covered with Doritos."
"I may kill you today," Stockwell whispered, wiping the back of his hand across his face.
"I am aware of that, sir," Kitty mumbled.
"Get your affairs in order," Stockwell quipped before walking away.
Kitty called Alejandro. The 'fixer' was on his way to Customer Service. The store was relatively calm, given the presence of numerous zombies. A crowd had gathered near Electrical, but no one was armed with zombie-killing paraphernalia. This was a good sign. Evidently, the only people who thought the zombies were actually real were Chewie, Wilton Scott, and the idiots who'd just emerged from Stockwell's office.
Kitty watched as Larry Dale walked up the aisle toward her. He walked with the air of a confident man in a Kmart suit.
"Good day," Larry Dale said, as he approached Kitty.
"Hello," Kitty said, feeling herself blush.
"How are we today?" Larry Dale asked.
"We're okay. The zombies freaked everyone out," Kitty said.
"I saw that. I think they're delightful," Larry Dale remarked. "Certainly shakes things up a bit. I'll bet this is one of the most interesting days you've had in a while."
"You don't know us," Kitty mumbled.
"I'd like to," Larry Dale said with a smile.
"I'd like to know you, too," Kitty said without thinking.
"The best business relationships begin that way," Larry Dale replied.
That wasn't exactly what Kitty had in mind, but she played along. "How well do you know Mr. Daniels?" she asked.
"We slept together last night," Larry Dale said, and Kitty felt the air leave her balloon.
Bummer.
Larry Dale blushed. "That isn't exactly what I meant. We ended up in this seedy motel in the middle of nowhere, in a place straight out of a Wes Craven movie. Bad room, smelly carpet, dead rodents in the bathroom and one bed."
"Yuck," Kitty commented, and Larry Dale laughed.
"We got through it," Dale replied.
"I'm glad," Kitty said.
Suddenly there was a commotion in aisle 1. Kitty and Larry Dale headed off in the direction of the yelling, splatting, and chaos.
Pumpkins were falling from the sky.
In reality, pumpkins were falling from top stock.
Rotten pumpkins.
The gourds continued to fall.
Tool Towners had gathered, mouths agape, saying nothing.
Mick Daniels' face was beet red.
Stockwell stood stiller than a cadaver.
Longworth was trying not to laugh.
Miles Longworth, Reeve Stockwell, and Mick Daniels stood in a pile of muck. Their clothes were covered in pumpkin.
At least it covered the Dorito stains, Kitty thought, seeking the silver lining as only Kitty could.
"Gentlemen, we need to talk," Mick Daniels said, looking like he'd just participated in a pumpkin pie bake-off.
"Yes, sir," Stockwell said.
"Is there anything anyone would like to add to this situation?" Mick Daniels asked.
"I have something," a voice said from the back of the crowd.
Mags Davidson weaved her way through the Tool Towners, and emerged from the pack.
"Yes, Ms. Davidson?" Mick Daniels said softly.
"JJ Patricks has been murdered, and I think she's buried out back," Mags said through a sob.
Daniels went pale.
Larry Dale took a notepad from his pocket, and stepped forward like a detective.
The Tool Towners fell silent with three exceptions.
"Shit," Kitty, Longworth, and Stockwell muttered in unison.
"What's wrong?" Bernice asked.
Reeve Stockwell and Miles Longworth also stared, their eyes far less glazed than five minutes prior. It seemed Kitty's anxiety had pierced through their ongoing haze.
"What is it, Kitty?" Stockwell said, sounding almost like Stockwell.
"There are zombies in the store," Kitty whispered, and Penelope stood so quickly, she knocked almost everything off Stockwell's desk, including a corner of a dried-up fritter that looked like an antiquity.
"Have we confirmed this?" Miles Longworth said, sounding almost sober.
"I've gotten two calls already," Kitty said softly.
"Credible?" Stockwell asked, standing from his chair, and finding himself in a puddle of Dorito crumbs, which also stuck to his slacks like pesky cat hair. His gaze found the corner of the fritter on the floor, and he kicked it. It slid like a hockey puck and whacked the door. Everyone turned.
"Are they outside the door?" Bernice asked, looking pale.
"It was this," Kitty replied, holding up the hunk of dried pastry. "Get rid of it," she said, handing the fritter to Stockwell, who dropped it in the trash. It fell with a thunk.
"Getting back to the zombies," Stockwell said. "Are these claims credible."
"Yes. And, it gets worse," Kitty whispered.
"How much worse could it get?" Miles Longworth asked, clutching his stomach like a man who'd just consumed twenty pounds of junk food.
"Mick Daniels is also here," Kitty said in a groan.
"Maybe the zombies will get him," Bernice said, her tone light, considering the circumstances.
"That's mean," Penelope said.
"It would solve the immediate problem," Bernice whined in her own defense.
"It's still mean," Penelope retorted.
"Girls, please," Stockwell said. The effects of the brownies seemed to have worn off considerably. Kitty's phone rang again.
She answered on the first ring.
"It's Alejandro," Kitty whispered. Kitty listened for only a minute and hung up. "Alejandro and Magic have isolated Daniels in the break room. They're keeping him busy with coffee and donuts. He's got some guy with him that Alejandro called a 'fixer'-"
"Larry Dale," Miles Longworth piped in.
"He tends to show up in problem stores," Stockwell said.
"Now that's mean," Bernice said through a sigh.
"Well, we are a problem store," Stockwell said. "I've been in retail since I could walk, and even I've never seen such a plethora of knuckleheads assembled under one roof."
"That's mean," Bernice grumbled.
"In case we've forgotten," Kitty interrupted, "we are in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.
"Let's look," Stockwell said.
"I'm not going out there," Penelope said, squeezing into the corner and hiding behind Bernice.
"Neither am I," Kitty said.
"We don't have to," Stockwell said. "We can have Sonny watch the cameras."
"He went home. Something about something being haunted, or so the rumor mill suggests," Kitty explained.
"We can access his computer from here," Miles Longworth said.
"We can?" Stockwell said in amazement.
"Don't you read your emails?" Miles Longworth asked.
"Of course, although the last one you sent me was some honey badger thing," Stockwell said, looking at Miles Longworth with disgust.
"Was that before or after the EHarmony email with that weird woman who loves cats?" Penelope asked.
"Kitty has an EHarmony video?" Stockwell said through a chuckle.
"Nice," Kitty whispered, rolling her eyes. "It wasn't me."
"The honey badger, he don't give a shit," Bernice mumbled, and Longworth burst out laughing.
"People, stop," Stockwell nearly shouted. "The only email I care about right now is the one that tells us how to access cameras remotely."
"It was from Slick. Evidently, he thinks something hokey is going on in the store, so he set all the managers up with the option to see cameras," Miles Longworth said, staring at Stockwell.
"Seriously?" Kitty asked, looking pale. "How does Slick know?"
"Know what?" Bernice asked.
"Nothing," Kitty mumbled.
"Know what?" Penelope repeated.
"Girls, put a cork in it!" Stockwell said, shouting this time. "Shit," Stockwell whispered. "Okay, when did this email come?"
"This morning," Miles Longworth explained. "Don't know what you were doing that you didn't see it."
"I was having some of Ada's brownies............" Stockwell said, pausing for a long moment. "In fact, that is about the last thing I remember, and could these brownies have anything to do with the hundreds of pieces of junk food scattered around my office? WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED IN HERE?" Stockwell roared, as if he'd just realized the condition of his surroundings.
"I'll explain later," Kitty whispered.
"Now works for me, Stella Catherine Richardson," Stockwell said, glaring at Kitty. Everyone stared at Kitty. No one had ever used her full name. This was serious.
"I will explain later. It was a loving gesture gone terribly wrong," Kitty said defensively.
"I'll say," Stockwell said. "I feel like I've been on a three-day bender.
"It was really only like three hours," Bernice said, and something crashed outside. "THAT WAS NOT A FRITTER. THE ZOMBIES ARE HERE!" Bernice screamed.
"Let me at the computer," Miles demanded, as everyone crowded into the corner farthest from the door. Stockwell shielded the women, keeping his eyes directed at his monitor. "Mother of God," Miles Longworth said through a moan. "There are zombies. They're everywhere."
Everyone looked at the computer screen, and paled in unison.
"Holy shit," Stockwell said.
"What are they doing?" Kitty asked, grabbing Stockwell's arm.
"They're looking at electrical parts," Stockwell replied, squinting at the screen.
"That's not how it's supposed to go," Bernice said. "They're supposed to eat brains."
"Seems to be one leading the pack," Stockwell said. "He's holding something in his hand."
"Is it a body part?" Penelope asked, covering her eyes.
"Honestly...," Miles Longworth commented, "it looks like a Catalytic Converter.
"Seriously?" Kitty quipped.
"Yeah," Longworth replied. "Holy crap, Chewie's approaching them. He's got a screwdriver, and he looks scared to death.
"Oh, jeez. I like him," Kitty whined. "The Lord is my Shepherd......," she prayed, as everyone remained riveted to the monitor.
"He's talking to them," Bernice said. "Chewie is talking to the zombies."
"Well, he closed last night and opened this morning. He looks like the walking dead. Maybe they don't know he's still alive," Stockwell remarked.
"We all look like that," Kitty said.
"Chewie's laughing. He's calling someone," Penelope said. The group watched as Chewie raised his phone to his ear. Kitty's phone rang.
"Chewie?" Kitty nearly shouted into the handset. The call lasted less than thirty seconds. No one spoke. "It's not the zombie apocalypse. They're going to some convention, and the Zombiemobile broke down half a mile up the road."
Everyone burst out laughing.
"Let's get out of here," Stockwell said, opening the door. "Penelope, could you sweep up this mess and empty the trash? Now that the zombie threat is over, we need to deal with Daniels. If you're praying folks, you might want to pray we still have a store when the day's over."
"Vacation!" Bernice quipped, clapping her hands.
"That was not supposed to be met with enthusiasm, Bernice," Stockwell chastised.
"Sorry," Bernice mumbled.
Everyone filed out of the office.
"Kitty, call Alejandro back. Our best plan of attack is to separate Daniels and this 'fixer'. We'll head back to deal with Daniels. You take the 'fixer' and walk the store. Wilton Scott is a big zombie fan. Send him over to Electrical and see if he can help round them up and get them out of here."
"Will do, boss," Kitty said, looking at Stockwell. "Um......"
"Is there something else, Kitty?" Stockwell asked, throwing her a glance that clearly said the brownie issue was NOT resolved.
"Yes."
"And it would be what?" Stockwell asked.
"You guys need to go wash your hands and your faces. You're covered with Doritos."
"I may kill you today," Stockwell whispered, wiping the back of his hand across his face.
"I am aware of that, sir," Kitty mumbled.
"Get your affairs in order," Stockwell quipped before walking away.
Kitty called Alejandro. The 'fixer' was on his way to Customer Service. The store was relatively calm, given the presence of numerous zombies. A crowd had gathered near Electrical, but no one was armed with zombie-killing paraphernalia. This was a good sign. Evidently, the only people who thought the zombies were actually real were Chewie, Wilton Scott, and the idiots who'd just emerged from Stockwell's office.
Kitty watched as Larry Dale walked up the aisle toward her. He walked with the air of a confident man in a Kmart suit.
"Good day," Larry Dale said, as he approached Kitty.
"Hello," Kitty said, feeling herself blush.
"How are we today?" Larry Dale asked.
"We're okay. The zombies freaked everyone out," Kitty said.
"I saw that. I think they're delightful," Larry Dale remarked. "Certainly shakes things up a bit. I'll bet this is one of the most interesting days you've had in a while."
"You don't know us," Kitty mumbled.
"I'd like to," Larry Dale said with a smile.
"I'd like to know you, too," Kitty said without thinking.
"The best business relationships begin that way," Larry Dale replied.
That wasn't exactly what Kitty had in mind, but she played along. "How well do you know Mr. Daniels?" she asked.
"We slept together last night," Larry Dale said, and Kitty felt the air leave her balloon.
Bummer.
Larry Dale blushed. "That isn't exactly what I meant. We ended up in this seedy motel in the middle of nowhere, in a place straight out of a Wes Craven movie. Bad room, smelly carpet, dead rodents in the bathroom and one bed."
"Yuck," Kitty commented, and Larry Dale laughed.
"We got through it," Dale replied.
"I'm glad," Kitty said.
Suddenly there was a commotion in aisle 1. Kitty and Larry Dale headed off in the direction of the yelling, splatting, and chaos.
Pumpkins were falling from the sky.
In reality, pumpkins were falling from top stock.
Rotten pumpkins.
The gourds continued to fall.
Tool Towners had gathered, mouths agape, saying nothing.
Mick Daniels' face was beet red.
Stockwell stood stiller than a cadaver.
Longworth was trying not to laugh.
Miles Longworth, Reeve Stockwell, and Mick Daniels stood in a pile of muck. Their clothes were covered in pumpkin.
At least it covered the Dorito stains, Kitty thought, seeking the silver lining as only Kitty could.
"Gentlemen, we need to talk," Mick Daniels said, looking like he'd just participated in a pumpkin pie bake-off.
"Yes, sir," Stockwell said.
"Is there anything anyone would like to add to this situation?" Mick Daniels asked.
"I have something," a voice said from the back of the crowd.
Mags Davidson weaved her way through the Tool Towners, and emerged from the pack.
"Yes, Ms. Davidson?" Mick Daniels said softly.
"JJ Patricks has been murdered, and I think she's buried out back," Mags said through a sob.
Daniels went pale.
Larry Dale took a notepad from his pocket, and stepped forward like a detective.
The Tool Towners fell silent with three exceptions.
"Shit," Kitty, Longworth, and Stockwell muttered in unison.
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