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“So, how much have you collected for the Chinese Auction?”
Mia stops snipping pink tips off an ancient customer’s head. “Not sure it’s politically correct to label it Chinese anymore, wouldn’t yousay, cuz?”
“How’s anyone going to know what itis?” The wet-haired woman at my station has a point.
Rose offers her opinion. “How about an Asian-American auction?”
“Oh, for... let’s call it a pancake breakfast raffle and be done with it. Can anyone here donate a gift ornot?” Lack of sleep and puking before breakfast can cause some women to be bitchy. Luckily, I’m not one of them.
Mia’s client raises her hand. “How about a bicentennial ironing board? I won it in nineteen-seventy-six, but the package has never been opened.”
“Sure. We’ll take it. Anyone else?” My brows slantup at the seven or so blue-haired matrons in the salon.
“Would you like my Indian head penny? I imagine it’s probably worth something.” Mrs. Grundy is sweet, but a few hundred-thousand would be more helpful.
Sighing, I give up. “No, you keep the coin for your great-grandkids.”
The rest of the morning is equally fruitful. I receive donations of roller skates in the original box, two matchbook trucks missing wheels, and a chipped depression-era saltshaker. At this rate, I won’t have to worry about a plumber, because I’llbe run out of the neighborhood before Christmas Day.
Most often, everyone wants to be regaled by my new cases, but I insist they donate first. Exciting stories don’t come free. After passing the hat, I describe the case of the dismembered finger. They take a vote and decide I should return to the warehouse, although I explained the Feds circled the building in yellow crime-scene tape.
An octogenarian with purplish-hued hair taps me from under the dryer. “Go arrestthose motherfuckers. Show them they can’t mess around in our neighborhood.”
“All right, Mrs. D’Angelo. You got it.”
Mrs. Rossi chews on a pastry and serves herself another coffee. “This sounds so dangerous, dear. Are you sure you want to be a private detective?”
“Yes. Who else would protect my hubby from all those divorcees?”
Giggling, Old Alice, having paid at the register,drops two more quarters in my jar, and pats my hand. “Having a hunk for a spouseis a terrible cross to bear. That’s why I married my Dominic. He was ugly as the day was long, God rest his soul.”
While Rose and Mia snicker in the other room, I can’t help it. I roll my eyes. Thankfully, they return to the center.
During my break, I have an idea. Since Uncle Vinny is footing the bill, I can afford to use the Jason application. It’s the same artificial intelligence used by New York City, the Feds, and others with enough money to pay the exorbitant fees.
After I push the button, a male meme in his twenties with thick glasses peers out at me. “Good morning, Samantha. How can I assist you today?”
Sendinghim Howie and Stanley’s driver’s licenses, I inquire, “Can you tell me what these two men have in common?”
After a few minutes, the meme man shakes his head. “I’m sorry but I find no intersections.”
“Damn it.” Hanging up on another dead end, I walk to St. Thomas’ to pick up my son.
With nothing else to lose, I call Dr. Jenna Jones, the famous AI’s creator. We exchange pleasantries for a while before I explain my dilemma. “So, I’m certain these two guys have something to do with each other, but Jason couldn’t find a thing. Can you help?”
The brilliant programmer doesn’t respond immediately, and at first, I’m sure she’s going to refuse.
Then, she heaves a deep sigh. “Send me everything you have, and I’ll see what I can do, but I need a favor in return.”
“Of course.”How bad could it be?The woman is a b’zillionaire. She probably wants me to hide her husband’s Christmas present in my garage or some other equally easy task.
As she starts explaining her needs, I realize I can’t say no, and if I say yes, my husband will probably have me committed.
“…so you see my problem. The self-defense school is being renovated and for some reason, all the plumbing supplies are on backorder. Colin needs a large room to hold theirannual holiday meet and greet. The event istheir biggest fund raiser. Do you think you might be able to find us a venue?”
Holyshit, no way.“Sure. No problem. How soon do you need it?” In my defense, I had no sleep last night and because of it, am probably suffering from delusional pregnancy syndrome.
“About two weeks from now. We simply require a gymnasium and adecent-sized parking lot.”
