Page 5 of Misadventures And Ms. Demeanor

"Did you say something about udon noodles because I sure am hungry," Aunt Velma replied, rubbing her stomach. "I had to rush out of the hospital to come to the station when Carl called, and I didn't get my soft serve in the cafeteria. I love a good swirl cone." Aunt Velma had retired ten years ago from her law practice, selling the firm to someone a few years ahead of me in high school. Since then, she'd puttered around town sticking her finger in all sorts of pies. Her latest, volunteering at the hospital.

"I didn't say udon. I saidUbon."

"Mmm, I could eat," Goldie added. "I love that new noodle place on Willson. Maybe they have some of those udon noodles you're talking about. It's just a block from the store. Let's go." Goldie hoisted her large handbag higher on her shoulder. The giraffe print was bold enough that she would be in danger of being shot by a hunter if she got out of town a few miles.

No one understood. I was in a parallel universe full of people who were off in their own little worlds. In other words, everyonewas crazy. Even the über hot detective. I glanced at Carl who just shrugged and said, "I could eat."

I shrugged back, recognizing when it was just time to shut up and stuff my face. "Yeah, so could I," I replied grumpily.

3

Carl dropped me and Aunt Velma off at the house, and had clearly stated he'd be stopping by later. He didn't need to add more onto that sentence for me to feel nauseated.

"That was a great lunch. We don't eat those fancy oriental noodles very often."

"Asian. They're Asian," I replied, dropping down on the couch in a food coma. I'd eaten enough pasta that I was thankful for the stretch factor of my yoga pants. It seemed being tased didn't impact my ability to eat. "Oriental is reserved these days for rugs."

Aunt Velma thought about that for a moment, then nodded, her lips pursed. "Sure. Makes sense." She tossed her handbag onto the armchair by the door. Her purse was the size of Rhode Island and always had anything anyone needed, at any time. It was like a Mary Poppins bag. If she reached in far enough, she'd pull out a freestanding lamp. "I'm glad you remembered to text Mike about your car."

Mike Ozstranski was Violet's boyfriend. They'd hit it off in high school but had rekindled their relationship earlier in the summer in Alaska. There was a story there, but they hadn'treally come up for air from fooling around to share it. He was a podiatrist but was away at a conference the past week and I figured I was lucky to have caught her with her clothes on. I'd arranged with Mike to leave my car at the airport for him to pick up when he came back, which would be in a few hours. I was supposed to be in Chicago by now, so it would have been a good trade.

"Yeah, he texted back saying he probably wouldn't have fit in the car anyway. Violet's going to get him."

Mike looked way more like Aunt Velma than I did. He was huge. A big, big guy with red hair. His was a natural ginger, which was pretty darn hot, while Aunt Velma was a natural Revlon Hot As Sin since I was in seventh grade. Mike driving the Rabbit would have been like watching a clown ride in one of those little circus cars, but he was a good guy and had been willing to wedge himself in for me.

The house phone rang. It was one of those old models that was attached to the wall with a long curly cord that let you only reach so far. No caller ID, no call waiting. It had been the same number for thirty years. Some things never changed. "Velma Dinkweiler speaking."

I rolled my eyes at her formality.

"Well, hello, Carl. What?" Aunt Velma flicked a glance at me, then turned her head away and covered the phone's mouthpiece. "No, I don’t have whipped cream, but I have ice cream… What? You’re bringing it. Why…oh…”

She had no volume control so I heard every word. I think I vomited a little of my lunch in my mouth when she actually giggled.

"Can I talk to him please?" I asked, holding my arm out.

"Of course, but he's not bringing ice cream later. Just?—"

"Yes, just whipped cream and I really, really don't want any."

One eyebrow went up at my snippy tone, then she handed me the phone, the long cord almost straight as it stretched out. "Hey, Carl, I forgot to ask you something."

"What's up?" he asked.

"Now that my brain's a little clearer, can you please tell me howthat guypulled me over when he was in his own car? You don't put radar guns in personal vehicles, do you?" There was silence on the other end of the line. "Carl?"

"Well, Daph, no. No, they don't."

"Then how?—"

"He just said you were going crazy fast—his words, not mine—and felt he had to pull you over. Figured once the cruiser got there, they could issue a warning."

I jumped up from the couch, paced the space in the living room I could reach with the phone cord. "You're telling me he just pulled me over on a whim?"

In my mind, I could see Carl scratching his chin, stalling. He'd been around enough to know when a few words could make a woman steaming mad.

"He wasn't even working." He sighed, probably realizing I'd wheedle it out of him anyway. "He started his vacation last night."

"He wasn't even working?" I repeated. Loudly.