Scales

I recently polled the participants at Jix about whether the men in our Sleepyside lives have hairy chests or not.

One response was along the lines of, “...Mr. Lytell,..really don’t want to go there.”, which resulted in “I think Mr. Lytell was really an alien, so my guess is that he has scales, not hair.”

So without further prompting, I had the following bit of inspiration.

Trixie was watching the various dust motes dance in the hot air stirred about by the air of the ceiling fan.  With a sigh, she acknowledged to herself that the dusting would not be successful until she turned off the fan and vacuumed the accumulating dust off the blades.  As  she turned to get the vacuum out of the broom closet, she glanced out the front window.

Suddenly one of the Lynch twins burst into view, turning from Glen Road into the Belden driveway and running like his very life depended on getting away from the monster chasing him. He didn't even stop to knock, he just burst through the front door and dove behind the sofa.

Trixie stood and watched for a minute before kneeling on the sofa cushions and leaning over the back of the sofa.   She saw one of Diana’s younger twin brothers and finally identified him as Larry due to the adherent earlobes on the side of his head.  She continued to watch as he lay on the floor trying to catch his breath.  

Larry finally looked up and asked, "Where is Bobby? Is he here? I have something mega-awesome to tell him."

Just as she was about to answer, Bobby walked into the living-room. "Trixie? I thought I saw Larry running this way. Did he not come into the house?"

Trixie just directed Bobby's attention to the sofa. Larry stuck his head out, and with eyes full of terror he said, "Bobby! You were right about Mr. Lytell! I was just in the woods behind his store. It looked like Belle had been injured on her fore-leg somehow. Anyway, Mr. Lytell took off his shirt to use as a bandage on her leg.

"Bobby! He doesn't have skin, he has scales!

Bobby, hooted!  “See, I told you he was an alien!”

Trixie burst out with nervous laughter. “Scales?  Alien? Mr. Lytell?  What are you two running on about.” Bobby and Larry both began talking at once.  

Bobby said, “Trixie,  he has to be an alien.  The movies make it seem like aliens will be strong giant bullies able to bend us to their will.  But the internet says that aliens aren’t likely to be some super human mega strong race.  That as a scientifically advanced culture,with the technological proficiency to be space explorers there won’t be any need for brute strength.”

Larry interrupted, “Yeah, because of their brains making them smart, they don’t need muscles to beat us.  And they probably don’t eat meat either because they don’t need the protein.  Have you ever seen Mr. Lytell eat meat at any of the Thanksgiving Open-Houses?

Trixie fell down on the sofa, laughing so hard that she started crying.  “You dweebs have been watching way to many sci-fi movies.  If you can’t come up with anything better than to talk crazy like that, then I am sure Moms has some chores that you can do to get your minds out of the clouds”  Trixie stopped and cackled with laughter again.  

Later that evening, Trixie knocked firmly on the door to her father’s Den.  “Daddy, can I talk to you a minute?”

“Sure Princess, what’s up?”

“Daddy,  I think it is time that you have a talk with Bobby. He has popped to the idea that Mr. Lytell is an alien.”

Peter Belden sat up in surprise.  “Does he know anything else?

Trixie rolled her eyes.  “No.  He is mostly comparing movie fiction to real life and making wild accusations.  Still,  it is getting more and more difficult to hide the truth from Bobby and Mart.

“If we don’t watch out, Bobby is liable to figure out even before Mr. Lytell, that all that strawberry pop is the Brides price that you are being paid to marry me off to the Great Pubah of Pubahtosis so we can accomplish an alliance between our two worlds.”

Aug 7, 2014: Character traits and/or character flaws. Xerothermic

The latest venture of the Bobwhites of the Glen, involved raising money for the Sleepyside Fire Department by holding a bachelor auction. Since the fire department was rather sparsely populated when it came to unmarried firemen they had convinced the two, still unmarried, male Bobwhites to help fill the roster.

Diana and Honey were sitting in a quiet secluded alcove the Sleepyside Library enjoying the cool air-conditioning on a hot summer day. They were reviewing the photographs that had been taken to advertise the auction.  Suddenly, Diana drew her in her breath in a sharp gasp of surprise and then poked Honey in the ribs.

“Day__yum!  You know that old saying about, ‘just cause you have made your selection doesn’t mean that you can’t still look at the menu?'  We each have very handsome and loving husbands.  But look at this picture of Dan.”

Diana handed Honey a photograph of their friend, Dan Mangan.  Dan was posed with his body facing left and his right leg resting on the seat of an old wooden sweet-heart backed chair.  He had on black leather western boots embossed with rhinestones whose flash could have rivaled costly diamonds.  He was wearing tuxedo pants and the bend of Dan’s leg emphasized the satin sheen of the long black ribbon that traveled the length of the leg from waist to cuff.  His left arm was resting on his upraised leg,  just partially blocking the view of his magnificently glowing, hairless torso.  The final touch was the tuxedo tie that was draped negligently around his neck.

Diana finally exhaled her in-drawn breath.  “He is positively xerothermic looking.”

Honey shook her head in confusion. “Zero whatsis?”

“Zerothermic.  It means hot and dry.”

Honey gave Diana a sly glance and expelled a breathy, gleeful laugh. “Ok.  Now I know you have been around Mart too long. I doubt that he would have much admiration for your recognition and enjoyment of his sister’s, fiance’s..." Honey finished with a whisper, "assets.  Oh thank goodness she didn’t choose Jim.  I couldn't survive being related to that.”  

Honey raised both her hands and kissed the tips of her fingers, then shook them like she was trying to get droplets of moisture off her hands.  “There is no suitable translation!”

Prompt: Lipstick, mascara, nail polish

The Lieutenant called out instructions to Trixie.  “Belden! You inventory the cosmetics.  Be sure you identify them by name, use, color and where they were found at the crime scene. See if there are any lipsticks that match the note.”

Trixie shot a startled look to Captain Molinson, a look that clearly said, “Are you kidding me?”  In her thoughts she shuddered, thinking, “Have you ever known me to willingly wear cosmetics?”

However, the Captain only smirked at her, so she knew there was no help from that quarter.

Trixie looked at the pile of cosmetics and medications on the table.  She used a pencil to gently sort the foundations, powders, eye-shadows, mascaras, and lipsticks into categories.  Trixie considered pulling out her cell-phone to call Moms.

“I bet Moms could help.   I love her, but unfortunately for her, fairies must have left me under the bush by the porch.  She always wanted a girly girl that she could play make-up with, but she got me instead.  She would be able to walk me through this land-mine mess of cosmetics but no, I can’t do that.  It would be foolish to bring a civilian into a police investigation.”

Trixie continued to mutter to herself, “Look at all these bottles of nail polish.  There are pinks, basic reds, peaches, white and clear.  Even I know that most of these look like polishes that would be more appropriate for a ‘tween’.  But then there are the bright or dark greens, blues and purples, bright or dark pinks and reds that should only be worn by someone with the sophistication to carry off the boldness of the colors.”

Trixie laughed under her breath, “Ok, most of these seem to be China Glaze products.  There is one bottle each and the names are really weird.  Colors like I’m with the lifeguard green, Hang Ten-Toes pink, Flirty Tankini orange, Love’s a Beach pink, Ride the Waves blue and Beach Cruise-r purple.  No, make that violet.  Oh heck,  I don’t have a built in color wheel.  I imagine that Diana could tell me the name of the actual color. Gleeps!  What was with this lady?  Did she have a Beach Boys obsession?”  

Trixie continued to search through the pile and looked closely at the lipsticks.  She made marks of each lipstick on evidence cards and listed the brand, lipstick name, and color number.  She grimaced when her fist smudged one of the marks.  She started to make a new evidence card, but stopped suddenly.

Trixie called over to her superior.  “Hey Lieutenant?   Can I look at that note again?” She put on plastic evidence gloves and took the note out of the bag. She held the note up to the light, and then laid it flat on her palm so she could look across the flat plane of the page. Finally, she brought the page close to her face.  Without touching her nose to the paper, she sniffed once and then again.

“Sir, I don’t want to mess up the evidence on the note, but are we sure that is a lipstick print?  There is no scent to the lipstick mark like is on the evidence cards.  All the lipsticks on the vanity have some sort of fruity, sweet scent.  And if you look at the flat plane of these evidence cards, you can see that the lipstick marks leave a three dimensional residue that doesn’t show up on the note.  And since the note was originally folded, it would have smudged if it were real lipstick. I think that the note actually used a lipstick font instead of the real thing.  In fact, now that I look at it again,  I think the writing may be in that Comic Sans-serif font, especially since there is no scent but printer ink, or copier chemical.

She continued, “And didn’t you say that her missing shoe hasn’t been found? There are too many bottles of nail polish here.  I don't think this lady used a professional to do her mani-pedi’s. We need to look for the  friends that she hung out with that encouraged this nail polish behavior.  They will likely know more about her relationships than just about any other witness.  The big clue is,

when I looked at the body, the toenails looked like they were freshly painted, and that doesn’t make sense because she has ‘Dr. Scholl’s Ingrown Toenail Pain Reliever’ on the vanity.

I have a couple of friends who are really into getting mani-pedi’s and to them, it is all about making themselves feel good. If either one of them ever had an ingrown toenail, I would lay odds that they would stop with the pedicures until the toe was healed.  So I don’t think the victim would be painting her toe-nails if she was fighting an ingrown toenail infection.  

I would lay you odds that, the perp has a shoe or foot fetish, and after he or she committed murder, they took the shoe and left the fake suicide note to throw us off the trail.”

Thanks to jstar8 for editing. However, any errors are and always will be, mine.

Also thanks to McRuth for letting me take the words out of her mouth.

Celebrate

It had been a long, hot, muggy, yet extremely fun day. The three generations of family which consisted of the senior citizens, the Bob-Whites, and the next generation had all enjoyed celebrating the Fourth of July with gossip, swimming, and food.   Now, the three generations were settling in at Sleepyside City Park on blankets and lawn chairs to enjoy the fireworks.

“Daddy, what are fireworks?” asked Joseph.  

Mart replied, “Fireworks are the result of pyrotechnics, which is the science of using materials capable of undergoing self-contained and self-sustained exothermic chemical reactions for the production of heat, light, gas, smoke and/or sound.”

Aunt Trixie interrupted Mart.  “Joseph, never mind your Daddy’s windbag explanation.  Fireworks are beautiful lights that are set off, sort of like when Daddy lights the bar-b-cue by flicking a lighter to light the fire to cook the meat.  But the lights of the fireworks are all different colors of the rainbow and all different designs like starbursts, streaks of light, and colored lightning.  Sometimes they sizzle like water on a hot skillet. Sometimes they dance along to the music that is played by the town band, and other times they boom like thunder to sound just like the noise the cannon on the courthouse square used to make.

Brian turned to Joseph.  “Joey, we celebrate the 4th of July because it is the anniversary of the day that the Declaration of Independence was signed back in 1776.”

Mart broke in saying, “Joe.  The most recognizable words from the Declaration of Independence are, We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

Trixie added, “The fireworks are are always there to remind us of how hard we had to fight for our independence and freedom.

“Some of those same battles are still being fought today by men and women like your Uncle Brian, Uncle Dan, and your cousin, Hallie.  They guard our nation, and we honor them by celebrating our freedoms.”

Trixie stopped her narrative and pensively began rocking her daughter in her arms.  It had been many weeks since she had heard from Danny.  The last letter she had received had talked about some of the mysteries they had worked on when they were kids.  He didn’t have anything to say about the secret code they had found when the Bob-Whites were working on the antique show, but he had decorated the pages with the code characters around the border of the letter so that it looked like a funny kind of stationery.   Even though she herself had a high security clearance from working with the FBI, she knew that the censors still had to be careful about what information was left intact in letters home.  She still wasn’t sure whether she should be more worried about the fact that Daniel had circumvented the censors or about the mission about which he could give no information.  

Most letters from her husband were cut up like the old cards from player pianos.  But this last letter...it had very few cuts and was certainly homey and loving, but it was just different.  Maybe that is why she thought of trying to translate that old code.

The stick figures decorating the page borders had told a different story.  Without giving away any secrets, Danny had told her not to send anymore care packages for a while because he was going on a temporary duty assignment.  There was some risk involved, but it was necessary for the safety of the troops.

That was back just before Memorial Day.  Then, Flag Day on June 14 had come and gone and there were still no new letters.

When Hallie Belden had arrived on her doorstep last week, Trixie had nearly fainted in fear that she was about to receive notice that her husband was missing in action or dead.  Trixie could chuckle now about her greeting to her cousin.  “Hallie Belden, I don’t care if you are a chaplain.  You turn right around and go do your duty to some other family.  Don’t you come here and tell me that my husband won’t be coming home to me.”  

Trixie breathed a deep sigh.  It did take a while, but Hallie was finally able to convince me that she was on a normal leave and not here to make an announcement of loss.

Both Hallie and Brian had tried to use their connections as chaplain and doctor with the Red Cross, but they were unable to get access to any information about Daniel.

Trixie looked up to the skies and saw that it was finally dark enough for the fireworks, so she shifted Nellie Bean to make sure the two-year-old was awake enough to watch the show.  

The first display was an outline of the American flag, complete with a blue field of white stars and attached red and white stripes.

Hallie got Joe’s attention and said, “Did you know that the red, white and blue of the flag have special meanings?  Red is for valor and zeal.  White is for hope and cleanliness or life.  Blue -- the color of heaven -- is for reverence and loyalty.   I think the meanings behind the colors make our flag even more special than just as a symbol of our country.”

The family continued to watch the display and make frequent comments.

“Beautiful.”

“Oooo.”

“Aahhh.”

“Look at those reds and blues.  They are gorgeous!”

The family around her became very quiet as the show wound down to get ready for the grand finale. Trixie looked down at her daughter.  “Nellie Bean, don’t you think the fireworks are pretty?”

Daniella, a little sleepily, turned to her mommy and dutifully responded,  “Yes, Mommy.  They are buffalo.”  Then she lifted her arms to someone behind them.  Trixie didn’t give much thought to handing her daughter to a nearby relative until she heard a familiar chuckle that turned into an appreciative laugh.

Just as the town symphony began to play the William Tell Overture in tandem with the grand finale, Daniel, with his daughter in his arms, leaned over Trixie’s chair and, giving them both a big hug, said,  “Yes, Nellie Bean,  they are buffalo,  but not as buffalo as you and your mommy.  Happy Fourth of July!”

*buffalo was the way my own two year old daughter tried to say beautiful.

June 23, 2014: Delay or Delays.

“Uh, Trixie?”

“Yeah, Brian.  What is it?”,

“Uh, you know that I love Nellie Bean and think she is wonderful, right?”

“Yeah, you do your own fair share of spoiling her rotten.”

“Well...uhm  how do I say this without totally freaking you out?  Trixie, have you ever considered that Nellie Bean might have a speech delay?”

Trixie looked at Brian in shock.  “Speech delay?  What are you talking about, Brian.  Nellie Bean speaks very well for a two year old.”

“Now Trixie, don’t get upset with me.  I just think, well I wonder if she might have some sort of cognitive issue.   

While we were downtown today, we saw the busses.  But instead of saying, bus,  she was saying buzz, buzz.  Later, she kept pointing out more busses, but it really sounded like she was calling them magical school bus.  I kept repeating that to her, but she just shouted ‘No’ and said it all over again.”

Trixie started laughing.  She laughed so hard she cried, and then sat down heavily on the floor.

“Brian!  For a doctor, you sure don’t understand ‘little kid’ very well.

“What is the name of the bus that travels through Westchester County?”

Brian replied, “It is called the Bee-line bus, of course.”

“Uh huh.  And how to they spell the name?”

“B-E-E  L-I-N-E.  So?”

“B-E-E as in bumble bee.  And what do bumble bee’s say?

“Come on Brian.  Your face is turning a very pretty shade of red, so I think you know the answer.”

Brian wore an embarrassed grin as he said, “Buzz.  Bee’s say Buzz”

“Yes, they do.  I have been doing a lot of traveling with Nellie Bean by bus and rail.  For me, it is a lot easier to get around, when I don’t have to worry about finding a parking spot.  For Nellie Bean, it is a grand adventure.  Personally, I think my daughter is very smart to be saying, ‘buzz buzz’ for Buzz Bus or even Bee Bus.”

Brian laughed and then said, “But Trixie, what about ‘Magical School Bus’?  How could she have ever seen that program.  It went off the air years and years ago.”

Trixie answered, “Well, I happen to think that is even more brilliant.  ‘Magical School Bus, is actually Nellie speak for Metro Road bus.  She hears the announcements on both the bus and the train about ‘Metro Bus’ or ‘Metro Rail’. So now, anytime we are driving on the road through town, she will tell me when she sees the metro road bus.

“It was even more surprising the other day.  I told her we were driving to the grocery store for shopping.  When we got there, she announced, ‘Stop Requested’.

“No Brian.  Nellie Bean doesn’t have any speech delay, she is taking after Mart with the words, and after me with the clue associations, and after Honey with the confusing speech patterns.  Instead of Honey Speak,  we are now going to have to get used to Nellie Speak.”

Prompt: Will the BWG’s ever want to live in the Arizona Desert?

Trixie walked in to the study to see Mart sitting in front of the family computer, grumbling to himself.

“Desert or desert.  You would think that the internet which is supposed to know everything would point out to the user that there is a difference between desert the noun,   desert the adjective, and  desert the verb, and don’t even get me started on desert!”

Trixie couldn’t help  breaking in to Marts’ musings.  “I can’t believe that I just heard you say not to get you started on dessert.”  She reached out the back of her hand to touch his forehead. “Are you feeling alright?  You don’t feel like you have a fever”

Mart batted Trixies’ hand away.  “Leave me alone and let me grump in peace.  I am supposed to write a piece on the Arizona deserts and why I might want to live there some day.  

“You know, desert the noun.  But when I google the word, I don’t just get pictures of those types of deserts.  Oh no!   Even worse, because our IP address is in New York, there was a picture of a quote by Isreal Zangwill that said, ‘NEW YORK IS THE GREAT STONE DESERT.  Then there was a discussion of desert as in abandonment, and another of desert as the adjective like ‘overgrazing has created desert conditions’ and the last one was deserts as in a person being punished and getting their just deserts.”

“It is enough to make a person want to burn up their dictionary”, Mart sighed.

Trixie left Mart to his grumbling only to return with a tray loaded with dishes, scoops, ice-cream, chocolate sauce, and whipped cream. She set the tray down in front of Mart

“You know Mart.  You are the only walking dictionary that I know.  So many people spell desert when they mean something else entirely.  What you need is an ice-cream sundae with chocolate fudge and whipped cream with cherry on top.  You won’t feel parched like a desert or abandoned and forced to desert when you get your just deserts and have a proper dessert.

“Enjoy!”

06/05/2014 Prompt: Deadlines

He spoke sotto voce. “We have a dead line.”

Trixie turned and gave Dan a look that clearly said, ‘you don’t have all the intelligence that I thought you had.’  She stuck out her lower lip and huffed to move that aggravating curl out of her way and with more than a hint of exasperation, replied.  “I know we have a deadline.  We have been….”

She was stopped by Dan lunging at her and placing his palm over her mouth.  “Will you be quiet?” He whispered. “Not a deadline.  A dead line!  The phone is dead.”  He picked up the old-fashioned handset and held it against her ear.  Her blue eyes widened as she realized that there was no dial tone.

Dan continued. “Look.  I have known you for eight years.  I know what you can do.  I know that you are studying criminal justice. You just earned your license to carry a weapon, and I know that you are taking self defense courses, but please, PLEASE, don’t try to be the heroine of the hour.  You are the most naturally gifted crime solver that I know, but you are still in school, and you don't have anything to prove to me.

“We must be in way over our heads.  I am not sure that the Chief, would have allowed you to work with me on organizing these cold case files, if he had had any idea that something would turn up that resulted in the phone line being cut.”

“I think it is worse than just that, Dan.  We have barely gotten started.  We haven’t even started asking questions.  So whoever cut the line, must know that the Chief handed over the files.  Do you think it is some rat on the force?  Who else would know about this project?

Suddenly, a door slammed down stairs.  They heard a lot of crashing and thumping.  It sounded like someone was having a heck of a fight.  They prepared to barricade the door but gradually, the sounds quieted and then they heard one last thump that seemed to rattle the walls.  Cautiously, they went downstairs and searched the stable.  They found Regan in the tack room, feverishly working on a leather bridle.

Dan looked around the room.  “Uncle Bill?  What’s going on?  It sounded like you were having a barroom brawl down here.”

Regan grumbled under his breath. “She is lucky she is a mouse and not a rat.”  

Then he looked at both Dan and Trixie and said, “I am as much of an animal lover as anybody.  But this is too much.  There is a nest of mice in the phone box and they have chewed through the phone line.  Again!  This is the second time this week.  I hoped that after the first time, when we moved the babies, that Mama Mouse would move on.  But apparently she thinks the phone box is like the Mouse Taj Mahal, because they are back.  Mama and all ten babies.

“Well I have news for Mama Mouse. I am giving her a deadline.  I don’t know where, but she is moving, permanently, as of this afternoon.”