Excerpt from Possum Playing Poker Chapter Four

            The phone rang at precisely six a.m. the second Saturday of the month like it had every third month for the last fifteen years.  I reached to answer it, when all of a sudden, Josh grabbed my hand and growled, "Let the machine answer it."

            He looked adorable with sleep tussled hair and sheet wrinkles on his cheeks.

            The phone clanged a second time.

            "But I know who it is."  I reached with my other hand. He captured that one, too.  I remembered our kiss; he remembered our kiss, too and smiled.

            The machine crackled, "Ronnie, that you?  I'm having a lot of static on the line.  Listen, I know they're monitoring us, so think a minute.  Remember Huey, Dewy, and Louis?  Three days from now. Women at War.  My-my-my."  There was a pause.  "Whenever you can, kid."  Click.

            "Who else knows about this?"  Josh demanded.

            "Nobody else knows."  I pressed the stop, rewind/erase button on my new answering machine and crossed my arms.

            "You're tampering with evidence!"  He jabbed the stop, knocking the machine to the floor.

            "I'm erasing my own tape."  I walked into the living room.

            "That was some kind of code, wasn't it?"  He followed me, gesturing back toward the office.

            "Wow.  You don't miss much, do you."  I crawled back onto the sofa bed.  "I'm going back to sleep."

            He yanked the sheet off me.  "You are compromising your own safety.  Now, I demand you tell me who was on the phone and what it meant!"

            I stood up on the mattress and towered over him, furious.   "I have never compromised anything in my life.  And that's another thing -- this is my life!!  MY LIFE!!"  I stormed off the sleeper sofa and stomped into the kitchen.  "It used to be so peaceful, so--"

            "Lonely?  Boring?"

            I glared at him.  "Organized!"

            "Are you saying this is MY fault?  Don't get mad at me.  Your father --"

            "Leave the Mad Scientist out of this!"  I clanged an iron skillet onto the stove, jerked open the refrig, wrestled the bacon out of its plastic cocoon, and tapped my foot, waiting for it to sizzle.

            I spun around and hollered, "Don't just stand there, make some coffee!"

            "Yes, ma'am."  Josh stated calmly.

            I smothered bagels with cream cheese and finally commented, "I bet Claire's having a real laugh at me."

            "How so?"  Josh poured the coffee.

            "This terrorist slant makes no sense.  None.  What if Claire made up the note and got one of her friends to hire those people to make an attempt?  What would be the result?"

            "I'd get stuck here the rest of my life."  Josh mumbled around his bacon.

            "So go home!"  I pushed away from the table, terribly hurt.  "Nothing about this makes sense."

            "By 'makes sense' you mean like vacuuming in the middle of the night makes sense?  You mean like never having any clocks in the house that tell the right time makes sense?!"  He was standing, too.

            "I'll come back another time."  A sweet old lady stood inside the back door.

            Josh's hand flew behind his back, drew his pistol and dared the intruder to breath.  She screamed, dropped the jar she was holding, and crumpled into a heap on the floor.       

"Mrs. Jenkins!"  I cried.  "Josh Dylan, is that the best you can do: scare little creatures and defenseless old ladies!"

            Josh lifted her up and placed her gently on the sofa.  She moaned in terror, but I sat beside her, patting her hand.

            "How did she get in?"  His voice sounded strangled as he tried to control his rage.

            "She has a key."

            Josh pursed his lips, glanced around the room, and took a deep breath, “Why?"

            "Because she's my neighbor."

            Josh nodded fiercely.

            "He was going to shoot me!"  Mrs. Jenkins whimpered.

            "No, no dear."  I helped her sit up.  "He's just a Yankee."

            "Oh."  She accepted all the implications.

            "Would you like some coffee, Mrs. Jenkins?"  Josh pointed toward the kitchen.

            "I wouldn't presume," she replied.

            "There's bacon and bagels, too."  I added, accompanying her to the table.

            "Well, maybe just a little.  After such a shock, you know."

            Mrs. Jenkins consumed three bagels and four slices of bacon, regaling us about the Caribbean fruit flies that were devastating her papayas.

            I caught Josh's eye once and smiled.  He smiled back and stood up to retrieve the jar by the back door.

            "Here's your jar, ma'am."  He placed it in front of her.

            "Oh, I don't need it now.  Silly me, I was going to make pancakes this morning, but I didn't have any flour.  I saw you were up, and I knew you wouldn't mind."

            "We don't mind a bit, ma'am."  Josh went to the freezer, pulled out a bag of unbleached wheat flour, and handed it to her.  "I love pancakes, my grandfather used to make them every Sunday before church."

            He held her elbow as he walked her to the door.  "Maybe you could save me one or two, Mrs. Jenkins.  It'd bring back good memories for me."

            There were tears in Mrs. Jenkins eyes as she promised to do so.  Then she kissed him on the cheek.  "You be good to my Ronnie," she whispered.

            "Yes, ma'am," he replied.

 

            We spent the morning at the Public Library.  Josh finally sat down in the magazine section and I slipped upstairs to non-fiction.  I took an index card out of my pocket and copied down the four digit Dewy Decimal number from the spine of Women at War.  Next, I went to the Star Trek Encyclopedia and figured out the star date for three days from today, and rounded it to four digits.  Then I put 13 on the end, for 'M' if A = 1 and B = 2 . . .  Put all together in the proper order, it made a phone number.  I put the card back in my pocket and sat down next to Josh.

            "Ready?"  I smiled.

            "Whenever you are,” he stood.  "Aren't you going to check out anything?"

            "Oh, I'm not allowed to."

            He held the door for me as we left.

 

Excerpt from

Possum Playing Poker

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.

Excerpt from Possum Playing Poker Chapter Three

            "I can't believe you arrested those two!"  We sat on my front porch.  Rush slobbered scraps from a pan at Josh's feet.

            "You were magnificent!"  Josh wrinkled his forehead as he drained his tea.

            "They didn't even look at me when I apologized."

            "Ricocheting that bench off the guard rail was brilliant!'

            "They'll have to get their daughter Cecilia to run their tiende de comestibles now."

            "They don’t have a Mexican grocery store."

            "And she's pregnant."

            "How would you know she's pregnant?"

            "If they're not Mexican, what are they then?"

            We had finally converged into the same conversation.  Josh answered me, "They are known assassins.   Mercenaries.  It's quite a star in my crown."

            "Where'd the gun come from?"  I stopped rocking.

            "Right here."  Josh patted the small of his back.

            "You've had a gun on all this time!  And you haven't shot yourself?"

            "I do not shoot myself."  His voice deepened in anger.

            "Guns go off around me.  It's just a fact."  I stood and put my hands on my hips.  "Ask anyone.  Go down to the Bow and Bullet and ask anyone how Mark got his nickname!"

            Josh templed his fingertips and pressed them to his lips.  "All right, what is his nickname?"

            "Stub."

            Josh pressed his fingertips into his eyelids and sighed deeply.

            The phone rang.

            "I need to answer that."  Josh stood up.

            "I'll answer my own phone."  I pushed him gently back into the rocker and stepped across Rush.

            "Hello?"

            "Miss Olson, this is Special Agent MacGregor from the Bureau.  I'd like to thank you for your cooperation today.  My men and I were quite impressed."

            "Thank you, I mean, you're welcome?"

            "You're lucky to be alive, young lady."

            "Oh."

            "May I speak with Agent Dylan, please."  It was not a question.

            Josh stood at my side.  "Yes, he's here.  It's Special Agent MacGregor." I handed him the phone. 

            "Dylan, sir."  He paused, listening, and then remarked, “No sir, my blackberry doesn’t seem to work in this location.” Another pause. “Yes, sir, I realize its range is world-wide.”

            I started to walk away.  He reached out and caught hold of the fabric of my sleeve.  He slowly pulled me back to his side.   “Perhaps it has more to do with proximity than location.  As in, proximity to a black hole phenomenon.”

I stuck my tongue out and tried to walk away again.  He shook his head and mouthed ‘Stay’ at me as he 'Yes-sir'-ed and 'Understandable sir'-ed.

            Dylan cleared his voice, "Would you explain the situation to Miss Olson?"

            A pause.

            "No, no problems.  She's --” he looked deeply into my eyes.  "Formidable."

            Another pause.

            "Thank you, sir."

            He hung up.  He let go of my sleeve and took a deep breath.  "I'll be right back."

            He returned carrying a flight bag.  "I'll just bunk down on the couch."

            "What?"

            "It makes into a bed.  My sister has one just like it."

            "Agent Josh Dylan, you can not move in with me."  I gave him teacher-look number seven, reserved for the most defiant second graders, right before I send them to the office.

            "Yes, ma'am, I can."

            "You have no right --"

            "By the authority of Governor Douglas himself, I am to move in with you, spend every waking moment with you, and guard every breath you take."

            "Pug?"

            Josh blinked.

            "Frank Douglas told you to move in with me?"

            Josh nodded, "Yes, ma'am, the Governor of Florida."

            "I'll kill him."  I jerked the phone off the cradle and punched in eleven numbers.

            Josh unfolded the couch and got sheets from my linen closet.  "I'd like to advise you, all phone calls are being monitored."

            "Pug!"  I shouted into the mouthpiece.  "Who do you think you are?"

            The man on the other end of the phone tried to soothe me, but I was livid.

            "I'm never speaking to you again.  Not ever.  Not ever ever!"  I slammed the phone down in frustration and stood fuming.

            "You call the Governor 'Pug'?"  Josh's voice was humorlessly calm.  He leaned nonchalantly against the door frame.

            “His name is Francis Ignacio Douglas.  In college, he used to eat like a pig. Ignacio became Pignacio, and then Pugnacious, and then just Pug."

            "You went to college with the Governor?"

            "He wasn't governor then, just a kid, like me."

            "How about some coffee?"

            "What do you mean my phone is being monitored?  You mean tapped?"  I followed him into the kitchen.

            "All incoming calls will be monitored for your own safety."

            "What are they going to do, say 'Boo' and scare me to death?"

            "A laser beam can be directed through any optic fiber.  Just dial your phone number, and when you answer, press the trigger.  I'd like to suggest you route all calls through your answering machine."

            "It doesn't work."

            "Get it fixed."

            "I tried to.  Tony of Sylvester's Videos and Electronics said he didn't know the thingy-whatsit could melt.  He called to discuss it with his cousin in Milwaukee, but his cousin thought Tony was pulling his leg and hasn't spoken to him in a month."

            Josh sighed.

 

Excerpt from

Possum Playing Poker

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.

Excerpt from Possum Playing Poker Chapter Two

            Josh shook hands with Chase and Storms and climbed back into his car.  He followed me into town and parked behind me in my driveway.

            "Miss Olson, I think we need to talk."

            "Do you like barbecue?"

            "No, ma'am, I hate it."

            "How about Chinese?"

            "Miss Olson, could I just talk to you?"

            "No, you can talk to me and buy me dinner.  I'll be right out."

            I locked the door behind me and ran into my bedroom.  I didn't have too many nice dresses, but I did have one with a lace collar and pearl buttons that looked as Victorian as rayon can get.  I had to search for my only pair of hose.  (I usually wear socks and sneakers with everything.)  Lipstick and a quick struggle with my hairbrush and I returned to the front door where Josh Dylan, FBI was waiting.

            I couldn't find my keys.

            Josh tapped on the door and jangled the missing keys.

            "Second time you've lost them this week, ma'am."

            "Somewhere in the universe is seven sets of keys and about a thousand socks, and God knows what else I'm missing because I've forgotten it's gone."

            "Yes, ma'am."  There was no humor in his reply.

            I excused myself to the ladies' room just as Wan Lee came toward us with menus.  I waited until Josh had been seated and Wan left before I joined him.

            "I take order now?"  Wan's son David asked.

            "David, we are not tourists, so don’t try that atrocious pig-grammar on us!  I have taught you better than that."

            "Miss Olson!"  Terror oozed from every pore.  David turned and raced back into the kitchen only to return in moments, cowering behind his father.

            "Miss Olson, Golden Corral has a special on their steak and shrimp today!"

            "She can't go to Golden Corral anymore, Pop,” David whispered loudly.

            Josh lifted an eyebrow.

            "It was just a misunderstanding,” I explained, studying my menu.

            "Misunderstanding between the hood light over the salad bar and the pickle tongs,” David laughed.

            Josh covered a smile with his hand.

            "The Chalet Monet serves very romantic dinners," Wan suggested.

            "Oh, no!"  Mrs. Bauer commented from the next table.  "Chuck Monet said he'd have her arrested if she ever entered his restaurant again."

            Josh, Wan, and David looked at me questioningly.

            "I must admit, I have since learned that escargot is not on the endangered species list."  I calmly turned the page in my menu.

            "King's Cuisine serves liver and onions on Saturdays."  Wan smiled wistfully.

            "No, don't send her there!  That's right next to a pawn shop,” Mr. Prescott scolded from a table to our right.

            "Oh, I had forgotten about that."  Wan shook his head in despair.

            "Forgotten?"  Josh asked, folding his hands in front of him.

            "They sell guns at pawn shops,” Mr. Prescott nodded sagely.

            Josh pressed his fingertips into his eyelids and sighed deeply.

            "Barbecue Buddies is just down the road,” Miss Ruth Wellington's ancient voice boomed from a table behind us.

            We looked at each other.  Wan looked to the tables on his right; David looked to the tables on his left.  I turned around and gazed at the people behind us.  No one offered a rebuttal.

            "I --” Josh cleared his throat and started again.  "I don't like barbecue."

            "We'll have the Volcano Appetizers."

            "No, Miss Olson.  After your last visit, the Fire Marshall made me take it off the menu,” Mr. Lee said politely.

            "I like the new curtains."

            "They match the new wallpaper, Miss Olson."

            I drew a deep, steady breath.

            "We'll have two empress chickens, egg rolls, and wanton soups."  Josh's voice rumbled across the room.

            “Would you like beer with that?” Wan offered.

            “Mr. Lee, you know I am too young to drink!”  I snapped indignantly.

            Josh snorted.

            “What?”  I blinked and tilted my head as if I couldn’t have heard Josh correctly.

            He sighed and lowered his voice.  “Ma’am, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I’ve read over your vita.  You’re two years older than me and I’ve been able to drink for two decades.”

            I sniffed.  It usually worked on second graders, but Josh was far from that.  “If you read my vital statistics, you would have noticed my birth date:  February 29.  Therefore, I am barely a decade old.  Far too young to be served alcoholic beverages.”

            “The beer was not for you, Ms. Olson.  I will die a slow death cursing my ancestors before I would serve you beer.”  Wan Lee squared his shoulders bravely.

"We'll have two empress chickens, egg rolls, wanton soup, and a pot of hot tea."  Josh's voice rumbled across the room.

            "Hot tea?"  Mr. Lee looked deeply into Josh's eyes.

            "A pot of hot tea,” Josh repeated.

            Mr. Lee nodded in defeat and left.

Excerpt from

Possum Playing Poker

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.

Excerpt from Possum Playing Poker Chapter One

            The first thing that struck me was his eyes.  They were a deep brown, like well-rubbed wood.  They were guarded, yet intrusive; introverted, yet fierce and somehow protective.

            He didn't look like the average mall security guard to me.

            I meandered through the Natural Sciences section of my favorite Books-a-Million and peered over the shelves at him.

            He sauntered to the end of Books-a-Million’s door, turned, and sauntered back across the opening.  His eyes searched up the north corridor.  He turned again, pacing the width of the doorway.  He searched down the south corridor.  He flexed his fingers and rolled his shoulders.  Then he looked straight at me and caught me looking at him.  He looked startled, like he'd been caught being naughty.  I sometimes have that effect on people, being a teacher, so I smiled reassuringly at him.

            He looked positively shocked.

            Then I knocked over the entire section of Rachel Carson's books, and the mall security guard with the eyes that could melt steel disappeared from my life forever.

            Or so I thought . . .

            I tried to remember the fullness of his lips, the strong angular nose, the rounded chin that softened the steel marble jaw.  I guessed he was six foot three, maybe four.  His eyebrows were so solemn.  But my mind kept returning to his fingers.  There were long and tenuously slender. They were immaculate with pearl-like nails, cut straight across the top.

            The clerks knew me well, and helped me return the books to the shelf.  Jeff, who was completing his seventh year at the local community college and worked here on Wednesdays, jovially reminded me of all the other shelves and collections I'd knocked over in the last few years.  Customers gathered around us to listen and join in the laughter.

 

            When I told my best friend Christie about him, she asked me if I was ovulating.

            My mother, who lives in New Mexico with her second husband, told me what a wonderful life I had and reminded me that not everyone was meant to get married.

            But my possum Rush listened and growled at the appropriate times.

 

            Burdines was having a sale Thursday.  Not that I had any money to spend, or needed anything in particular . . . They do have a nice petite section, and my size twelve body - at five foot two -- enjoyed trying on lovely things that I have no place to wear.

            I found the most stunning emerald green silk dress, smothered in sequins.  Not that I would ever have the courage to wear it -- I tried it on.

            As I gazed into the three-sided mirror, I knew a moment in my life when I felt desirable and gorgeous.  Gone was the second grade teacher; a red-headed vixen in a sexy magic gown stood in her place.  Even my curly red hair, that usually made me look like I'd walked through a gale-force wind, looked ravishing, wild, and almost hussy-like.  As I peered in wonder into the mirror, HE saw me.  The security guard who obviously wasn't a security guard stood behind me, looking at me.  I mean LOOKING at me with the most adoring look of amazement on his face.  Every sequin sparkled.  Every dead silkworm sent its essence to radiate through the silk and HE saw me.

            Somewhere in the accessories department, a Yankee lit a cigarette in a blatantly non-smoking section.  Foam gushed from every ceiling nozzle in the store.

            It took me two days to fade the green streaks from my legs.

 

Excerpt from

Possum Playing Poker

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.