Tag Archives: trick

2.42.b Wonderland

Crouching back down next to the Toby, who was selflessly offering his tummy up for scritches, Wood tilted his head to continue talking to Joseph. “He’s a sweet little guy. How old is he?”

Joseph, clearly amused at Toby’s shameless behavior, stood next to Wood. “I’m not sure, Toby was full-grown when he adopted me.”

“I’ve two of my own, Bert and Ernie.”

“Do they follow you around? Toby’s my personal shadow.”

Stopping the hysterical giggle threatening to escape me by biting down on it. I watched two pivotal pieces of my life that I’d always presumed would remain poles apart make banal chitchat over another impossible thing.

If I find four more before breakfast, I’ll tie the White Queen’s record. 

The stray thought stole the breath from my lungs. 

Can you imagine seeing six impossible things before breakfast? My paradigms feel fractured at a mere two. 

Pulling up the cuff of my coat to expose my watch face, I nearly wept when it read half-past one. It’s a brand new day that makes my next meal breakfast. I don’t care if I’m still stuffed to the gills from our moon bathing nibbles, we’re hitting The Alter for coffee and danishes. 

This madness must end.

“………Morticia.”

Glancing blankly up at the sound of my name, I did my best impression of Dickens. “Huh?”

Wood, placing the back of his hand against my forehead for a second, caught me up to speed. “Joseph asked if I could watch Toby while he spoke to you in private for a minute. I said it’s fine with me if it’s fine with you.”

Giving him a reassuring smile, “Yeah, sorry, it’s okay. He’s the guy I came here to talk to tonight.”

Nodding, we both watched Joseph issue Toby his marching orders, “This will take a few minutes. Please stay here with Dourwood.” At Toby’s yip of agreement, Joseph turned to me, I shot Wood a quick smile, and then he and I wordlessly headed towards the back of the Manor and out of earshot. 

Sinking onto the top step, resting my elbows on my knees, I watched Wood and Toby dash amongst the rose beds having a grand old time together. 

Joseph has a dog. 

Clearly not the most spectacular gap in my knowledge about the man, but I found it unsettling all the same. 

“So Nevermore has four-legged Residents?”

“Not Residents, Resident. Toby’s unique in Nevermore though that might change with the pet cemetery annex.”

“Any other Residents I’ve not met yet?”

“A few.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw his poker face in place. “More than one but less than twenty?”

“Yes.”

Knowing that was the best I was going to get, I moved on. “HOW is Wood playing fetch with a Resident?”

“Just a trick, Toby learned.”

“What like rolling over?” 

Chuckling at my sarcasm. “Toby knows that one as well.”

“Can other Residents perform this ‘trick’?”

Joseph shook his head. “No, just Toby.”

“Okay, then how are you doing it?”

Joseph gave me a little shrug and a maddening sphinx-like smile.

Rotating my head slowly, stretching out the tight muscles in my neck, I vacillated between wanting to flick him in the forehead and cutting loose a mammoth-sized sigh. Sensing my perturbation, he swept both unhelpful impulses aside by slipping a thick leather-bound book onto my lap.

“A copy of the Conventions as requested.”

“Are you sure?” 

Joseph laughed at my disbelief. 

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“You realize it looks nothing like any other copy I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Nevertheless.”

Cracking the spine, I carefully leafed past the endpapers to the cursive filled first page. Sadly, the poor lighting on the porch and the slant of the handwriting made it difficult to decipher on the spot. 

I have a feeling this book could benefit from an index.

“Do you think it will help Nevermore?”

“No idea, but it stands to reason if both my and Ira’s copies went walkabout there’s something salient inside. Speaking of walkabouts, Orin’s Errant….” Letting the impossible issues drop, as I’d learned a clam has looser lips than Joseph, I filled him in on Abraham’s antics, intelligence, and our plans. 

His face didn’t turn grave until the protests came up. 

Of course, he knew of them, they’re literally on Nevermore’s doorstep. However, he’d been unaware of the extent of unrest Little Ben’s plans had churned up in Rye. “The silver lining in all this bad press and protests is they work in our favor. Not only are they pointing out what Nevermore would lose with the demolition and deforestation, but they will also cause delays.”

Staring up at the stars, he quietly asked, “Does everything rest on finding Big Ben?”

“Not everything…Okay, everything.” Stroking the leather book sitting in my lap. “I’ll find a Plan B.” 

“I know you will try Phoebe.” 

2.24.a Surprises and Smurfs

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(The Smurf represents Wood and the Dinosaur is the rest of us…)

Have you ever tried throwing a surprise party? 

More to the point have you ever tried throwing a surprise party for a man who, upon discovering said party is occurring (he never did tell us how), sneaks into the venue and changes it from black-tie affair to a Smurf motif in order to hoodwink his own friends & family? 

To accomplish this feat, he let loose a rowdy of corgis (who thought it was an absolute gas to play chase) to get us out of the room. 

After we ‘sorted things out’ (i.e., two dozen formally clad guests, hunched over, sprinting after and corralling thirteen maniacally perky pooches), we discovered we were ‘accidentally’ locked out of the banquet room. After forty minutes of fuming and fretting in the lobby, thanking the gods above and below Wood was running late, the manager ‘finally found’ the door key.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the locked door…

The man himself, the caterers, and hotel staff worked at a fevered pitch to shift the decor from cream-colored tapers, blushing roses, and dry champagne to evergreen boughs, Smurf figurines, and an enormous red-and-white spotted toadstool cake. 

Upon re-entry into the room, Wood yelled ‘Surprise’ – pleased as punch he’d hornswoggled all of us.

Admittedly, it was a hilariously well-played prank, but Laney and I had yet to even the score – and we’d been wracking our brains for TEN YEARS trying to figure out how to outflank and confound him – without an iota of success. 

Until today. 

How did our payback come to pass? It all started two weeks ago over oxtail soup. 

During my recovery Laney (lovely, lovely Laney) decided to take me on a culinary world tour. How? She went hither, thither, and yon grabbing takeout from every different country and/or culinary tradition she could find within a twenty-mile radius of Rye. However, one Saturday, Wood got called into work ridiculously early and unable to fall back asleep after he left – Laney got a wild hair and decided to make her mother’s oxtail soup, fresh bread, and lemon pie. 

Not wanting to cook or eat by herself, Laney landed on the Lavender Lady’s doorstep (without warning) at six am pots, pans, and groceries in hand and proceeded to take over our kitchen. Once capable of rational conversation/thought, thanks to copious cups of coffee, she drafted a bleary-eyed Beatrice and I as her sous-chefs. 

During the subsequent chopping, kneading, rolling, and stirring, we started chatting about this and that. Eventually, our meandering gabfest wandered onto the topic of high school, crepe paper dances, and Wood’s flirtation with ballet. 

Laney, aware of her husband’s history in dance, astoundingly occupied the same boat Beatrice and I did. She, like us, had never seen him do a single pirouette. 

At this point, we started comparing notes about other significant events in Wood’s life we’d witnessed or missed. Turns out neither Laney nor Beatrice knew much about the epic game leading to Wood securing a college soccer scholarship (where he met them). I missed his only appearance in the College Cup Final due to an ill-timed bout of pneumonia. 

So we decided to kill two birds with one stone. 

Ostensibly, Wood was coming by today to pronounce me fit as the proverbial fiddle, allowing me to return work. In reality, we were going to watch the greatest hits of his life as caught on tape by his loving Gran. Tickled pink to hoodwink her grandson, she’d lent us nine hours of home videos, including the two aforementioned soccer matches, a favorite pee-wee soccer game and seven of his best ballet performances/recitals.

Due to the veritable treasure trove of film on loan to us, we did need to tell one little white lie to get Wood to the Lavender Lady early enough to view each and every frame.

Unfortunately, this fib created two unforeseen consequences. 

Deciding we needed to ‘sell our subterfuge’ – Beatrice littered our entryway with her brimming baggage, hefty carry-on, and bulky purse. (She was leaving for a book convention in New York on Monday morning, not Sunday as we told Wood.) 

And what do you get when you combine an epic inability to walk over a stable flat surface in a straight line with erratically placed obstacles?

Instant karma. 

Swallowing the string of curses on the tip of my tongue, after nailing my big toe against a suitcase wheel, I limped the last few feet to the front door. Yanking it open, I found the second unintended consequence standing on my doormat, in the form of an apologetic Laney – fifty-seven minutes earlier than planned.

Me (stating the obvious): “You’re early!”

Laney (giving me a quick hug): “Wood wanted to make sure you had enough time to get Bee to the airport and for a full checkup. I delayed as long as I could…but you know…can you try stalling him?”

All I could do was nod before the man himself strode up the walk and cut our conversation short (of course, he came early – he just wanted to help). 

Wood (Gladstone bag & folder in hand): “Morticia, I knew you’d be up! You ready to settle your tab?”

Before I could respond, my phone started warbling Time Warp from the kitchen.

Sarah (calling out): “Phoebe, you want me to pull the pans out of the oven?”

Laney (brushing past her husband): “I’ll head back and help.”

Wood: “Sarah’s here?”

Me (ignoring Wood): “Go ahead and pull the pans out if the outsides look crisp, otherwise give them two or three more minutes.”

Laney (shooting me a thumbs up): “No problem!”

Wood (his gaze bouncing between Laney and I): “Morticia, why does your house smell of chicken at seven-fifteen in the morning?”

Me (hollering at the swinging door): “If you could give the pots on the stove a stir, I’d appreciate it.”

After a muffled okey-dokey from the other side, securing the safety of my sauces, I turned back to my highly suspicious best friend. 

Wood (eyes narrowing): “Morticia, what’s happening in your kitchen?”

Me (walking up the hallway to the door with the word ‘Office’ etched on the glass): “Come on, let’s do the whole doctor thing so you can find out.”