"Suzie, I told you, I don't like purple towels."
"Oh come on, Markie Markie, you promised we could get new towels and washcloths for the hot tub. Don't you want me to scrubby wubby all the hair on your backy wacky?"
"Stop it Suzie. You know I hate that mushy stuff. You can scrub all you want. I just don't like purple."
"Okay..." she relented, "blue's just so boring. But, remember, you said I get to pick lunch."
"All right sweetie pie," he was getting a little mushy himself. "Anything on the Capitole menu is fine with me."
Judging by the sounds of their voices they were walking my way. I hurried down to the other end of the aisle and headed for the exit. I had an idea.
It wasn't long before I was seated next to the center divider in Capitole, my back to the door, and my face buried in a menu. I'd taken a stocking cap and pea coat my son had left in the car and put them on. I looked like any other downtown denizen now, and I was hoping the reservation card that said Wasen on it on the other side of the divider was a clear indication that Mark and Suzie were shortly on their way. The waitress had been a little curious about my insisting on the particular seat I now occupied, but my explanation that my wife and I always used to sit there seemed to satisfy her. I sat sipping a microbrew and waiting for my salad and foccacia. I figured I could pick over a salad for about an hour if I needed to and the waitress wouldn't annoy me with too many questions. I didn't want my voice to give my presence away to Markie and Suzie. I don't know what I expected to find out, but hell, you have to try to turn every advantage you can is this game. The less they knew about what I knew the better.
I soon heard their gushy voices cooing at each other as they came in the door. I buried my face deeper in the menu. The waitress seated them and handed them menus of their own. They chatted about this and that, and then Suzie ordered their food. It sounded like a bunch of things with goat cheese in it. And one dish with lots of eggplant. She was going to have her purple one way or the other. They sat silent until their meal came, apparently savoring their bottle of Merlot.
"Did you get that box repacked okay?" asked Mark. My ears perked up.
"Yes," said Suzie around her eggplant morsels, "Just like you said."
"It looks like it's never been used, right?"
"Yeah. I told you, just like you said."
"Good. I've got another box I took out of the secret trunk in the Rolls. Stupid police..."
"I hate packing boxes, Markie," She pouted. "I hate it."
"Well I'm so sorry. But we need to do it. So they think they're brand new when we take them back to the store. Besides, it's your own damn fault," accused Mark. "If you hadn't pissed off Dad in the first place..."
"I know."
"....When he walked in on us he was madder that a March hatter."
"I'm sorry Markie, I told you, I didn't know it was your mom's nightie. I thought it was something you bought for me."
"If Dad hadn't went off like that I wouldn't have had to..."
"But Markie, you did it because he was going to kill me..."
A booming voice echoed through the restaurant.
"Jobe Carson! How the hell are you, old buddy?"
Oh shit. "Uh, Larry," I said as quietly as I could. "What a surprise. How's the Squire Shop?"
"Hasn't been the same since you left, you old son of a bitch. Nobody has any sense of humor there at all anymore. I don't know why you went to that other men's store. Say... Didn't I see your picture in the paper awhile back? Aren't you a private investigator now or something?" If possible, his voice was getting even louder.
I cowered down close to my salad. "Yeah," I mumbled.
"What's a matter boy? Cat got your tongue?"
"No, I'm just a little tired." I nodded meaningfully in the direction of Suzie and Mark.
"Jeez, bud," he persisted, "Looks like you got a nervous tic too. That private investigation stuff working out? It can't pay too well..."
I gestured in the direction of Suzie and Mark with my thumb, and then put my finger to my pursed lips.
"You're going hitchhiking? You're number one? Hell Jobe, I'm a little teapot. You crack me up," he guffawed. Then he looked at his watch and frowned. "Jesus! I'm late. I better go. Give my best to your wife, old buddy..."
He hurried out. The table on the other side of the divider was silent. I looked through one of Elizabeth's decorations. Mark and Suzie were staring at me. Mark had a little piece of purple dangling from his stunned lips.
"Heh heh," I said. "You know what they say Mark... You can't make an omelet without getting eggplant on your face..."
I paid my check and left the restaurant, head held high. Let them stew in their own juices for a while. Meanwhile I had something to do before I got into some hot soup of my own. I walked down Main Street to the corner of Fifth. My destination was the "Wound Up Here" toy store. It was only then I realized I'd have to walk right by Elizabeth's. Oh what the hell, it's not like a guy can't shop in his own hometown. I glanced in her window as I strolled past and noticed her intent with some customer, male, pointing out some fabric swatches mounted on the wall. Her eyes slid in my direction, held mine for a moment, then slid off to sparkle artificially at her current conquest. "Thank you, Lord," I whispered under my breath.
Four more doors brought me to the chaotic cacophony of sound and fury that was Wound Up Here; the best dang toy store in all of Asgard. It wasn't too long before I found the stuffed horse of Mir's soon to be dreams. He was nestled in one corner with his head poking over the top of a plastic corral. He didn't seem too unhappy to be removed from the stuffed company of all the other animals of his series. There were lions and pigs and cows and even hyenas. I briefly considered getting a neat stuffed velicoraptor for Jack but decided he'd think it was too "cute" for his adolescent sensibilities. I paid the lady at the counter and wandered out through all the various displays of entertaining toys on my way out. Such profusion. Gone were the simple days of blocks and Lincoln Logs. Wait a minute. I was wrong. There was a display featuring Lincoln Logs right over by the window. This store really was cool. I remembered the first time I'd given a set of Lincoln Logs to Kiah when he was four. Apparently his crazy uncle had got to him first. When Kiah opened the package he looked at me seriously and said: "I can't have these yet, Dad."
"Why's that, Kiah?" I asked.
"Uncle Mike says I have to start with Lincoln fiber."
