Home Sweet Gnome (5 page)

In front of me was a tiny kitchen. Counter with a built-in stovetop, a mini fridge beneath and a few drawers. A toaster oven took up most of the miniscule counter space along with a coffeemaker. To the left was a bench seat with table and another bench seat across where a kid could sleep. If I remembered correctly, the table folded down and the two seats somehow morphed into a bed. Supposedly for grownups, but I highly doubted that unless they were under five feet tall. The other direction was a recliner against one wall, clearly a Goldie modernization. Across from it were fold-down bunk beds, just like on a train; stowed during the day and lowered for sleeping. Past that was a small door that had to be the bathroom, then another door that led to a bedroom. Literally, a bed with a door for privacy. The pickle slept two if you were on your honeymoon and six to eight if you really liked each other. An awful lot.

I turned out the light and made my way into the back bedroom. It was cool, only in the fifties even though it was July, so I threw on my sweatshirt and spread out my sleeping bag. I could hear the wind in the trees and nothing else. No sex. No headboard banging. Nothing. My life was a total wreck. Even though Roger and I hadn’t really been together for a while, my relationship status was officially single. The first hot guy I get near and he Tasers me. I signed autographs for a porn star. I was homeless, bedded down in my childhood sleeping bag and spending the night in a used camper. My life needed serious work. Decisions needed to be made because I was just as aimless as I had been at fifteen, but not tonight. I’d had enough insanity for one day, so I called it a night.

***

“Hello!” Goldie trilled from the door. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, trying to remember where I was. Oh yeah, the camper. The bed swayed as Goldie came inside; the stabilizers weren’t down to balance the RV. “Oh good, you’re up. I’ve figured out all of your problems,” she responded almost gleefully.

The bed dipped again. “I think it’s going to be perfect, and so much fun!” Aunt Velma’s voice was loud in the small space.

I looked at my watch, wiped the sleep from my eyes. Hmm. Ten. The sun was bright through metal blinds covering the small window on the back wall. Goldie sat down on the edge of the bed. Aunt Velma ducked her head through the doorway and sat down as well, forcing me to curl my feet up inside my sleeping bag. Staring at them was like a shot of espresso. Goldie’s hair was down in soft waves and she wore a leopard-print shirt with another pair of jeggings, these in black. Aunt Velma wore a Day-Glo orange exercise shirt and striped shorts. She looked like a golfer that got lost in the eighties. With her red hair, it was an impressive combination.

“Oh?” I asked noncommittally, my voice scratchy.

“It came to me last night. I need to get this camper to Omaha to my cousin Ralph’s brother’s son’s house. His neighbor is going to buy it.”

I sniffed. “Isn’t your cousin Ralph’s brother also your cousin?”

Goldie pondered for a moment. “Huh, you’re right. I guess I could say then that we’re taking it to my cousin Ralph’s nephew’s house.”

I was really, really sorry I asked because either way, it was still in Omaha. “Why doesn’t he come here to pick it up himself?” Sounded like a long way to make Goldie to go to sell her own camper.

“He was going to, but then Velma and I realized it would be a perfect writing assignment for you.”

Okay, they were starting to make plans for me, so I perked up. Propping up on my elbows, I gave them the evil eye. “Me?”

They had deflector shields or something because they didn’t pick up on my wary tone. “You need something to write about for that travel magazine. What better than a road trip across the West?” Aunt Velma asked. “It’s perfect! There’s so much to see and people will love to read about our trip.”

“
Our
trip?” I asked. This wasn’t good.

Goldie nodded. “You, me and Velma. We’ll pick up Esther Millhouse on the way. You need to brush your teeth.” Goldie fanned her face.

I sat up, propped my back against the wall, my feet still in my sleeping bag. “You guys woke me up,” I grumbled. I could feel the fur coating my teeth. “Let’s keep on topic here. You want me to go on a road trip, in this camper, with you, Aunt Velma and Esther Millhouse?”

I couldn't remember who Esther Millhouse was but if she was friends with Lucy and Ethel here, it wasn’t going to be good. “Who is this woman?”

“She’s our dearest, oldest friend.”

Did Goldie mean that literally, like she was really, really old?

“Velma knows her from their time in Fargo with the Roller Dolls, but she lives here now. She’s been in Billings visiting with her daughter and family but wants to go with us. So we’ll pick her up there.”

“Omaha is a long way. It’s even in a different time zone, right?”

“I looked it up on that map program on the computer. It’s only fifteen hours of driving. We can be there in two days. Imagine, we can see Mt. Rushmore and all the other great things along the way!” Aunt Velma exclaimed.

“We can see the world’s largest porch swing in Nebraska too. I love those kinds of things,” Goldie added, clearly excited about the prospect of a road trip.

“I’m not so sure the magazine is going to be interested in this,” I countered, considering this could be the demise of my career.

Aunt Velma frowned. “Why not?”

“Because the largest porch swing isn’t what people want to read about.”

“How would you know?” Goldie asked. “Besides, that candle thing in Thailand doesn’t sound that interesting.”

“Look, I haven’t had my coffee yet. Let me at least get some caffeine in me before I make any crazy decisions.”

“Fine,” Aunt Velma said. “Perfectly understandable. Caffeine is a requirement for good judgment, but we have to get going.”

My eyebrows went up. “Going? Now?”

“If we’re going to meet Esther in Billings, we do.”

I shook my head. “Thanks, ladies, but I’m going to pass.”

Goldie patted my leg through the Scooby Doo sleeping bag. Yes, someone got a kick out of the whole Velma and Daphne thing when I was in fourth grade and got it for me for my birthday. “Listen, sweetheart. There’s a little problem.”

Oh crap. When Goldie said there was a little problem it meant the sky was falling.

“Someone posted on Facebook that Silky Tangles was at the store last night and handed out autographs. It even went out on Twitter.”

“It’s a small town. No one reads that stuff,” I countered.

Goldie just gave me a look that screamed
Seriously?
“I’ll have you know I have over twelve thousand followers on Twitter and have my own hashtag. When I searched last, my hashtag and Silky’s hashtag were both going viral.”

I had no idea Goldie knew what viral meant other than getting sick; it was important never to underestimate her.

“Since it’s a small town, people are going to be hounding you,” she added.

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I kept it to myself. I was not popular, in no way had double D’s and definitely not that limber. I was
not
Silky Tangles in any way.

“We’ll split up the tasks for the trip,” Goldie continued. “I’ll get the food, because you know I’ll get the good junk food unlike Velma.”

True, Aunt Velma would get some kind of twigs and berries and health crap and call it a snack. Besides diet soda, she was a health food freak. Aunt Velma lifted her chin and sniffed. “In the spirit of friendship and a lengthy road trip, I will agree to that.”

Goldie just shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Velma’s going to get packed and coordinate with Esther Millhouse. You,” Goldie pointed to me, “you need to take the camper to get gas and while you’re at the convenience store, pick up a couple bags of ice.”

I climbed out my sleeping bag and nudged the ladies aside so I could get out of the bedroom. “Coffee,” I said, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Then I’ll go and fill the RV for you, but I’m not committing to anything until I’ve had caffeine.” I grabbed my keys and left the ladies sitting there.

***

An hour later, I stood at a pump at the convenience store on East Main filling the old RV with gas. I’d been able to head home to get my coffee, brush my teeth and get a shower. I’d thrown on an old T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops and put my wet hair up into a sloppy bun. No way was I going with the ladies on this trip. It was one of those kamikaze missions where you knew going in you wouldn’t come out alive. But if I helped them gas up the old RV and get the ice they needed, the faster they’d be off and out of my hair. Then I could be back in my old bedroom once again, without the sex noises coming through the walls.

The auto shut off clicked after about four million gallons and I put the gas nozzle back on the pump. I climbed into the pickle, cranked the engine and put it in gear. Of course, a big SUV with out-of-state tags pulled up and parked, blocking me, a woman hopped out, grabbed a little girl from the back and made a mad dash into the building. Ah, emergency pee break. Unfortunately, the RV was too big to wedge between the pumps and the back of the SUV. I looked in the side-view mirrors. It was all clear so I could just back up far enough past the pumps to turn out. Putting the RV in Reverse, I slowly backed up.

No big deal. I could drive the space pickle. It wasn’t hard. Sure, it didn’t have a rearview mirror, but it had great side ones. It was a little taller than a car and definitely longer, but I was a great driver, even going ninety. I just had to be sure to make wide turns. Piece of—

Crunch.

The RV shook and a horrible metal-on-metal sound had me slamming on the brakes, even though I was only going less than five miles an hour. Somehow the back left corner seemed to be higher than before. I yanked the gearshift up into Park and hopped out, working my way around to the back to see what I’d hit.

Oh shit. A beautiful motorcycle was on its side, the front wheel caught beneath the back tire of the RV. It was all shiny chrome pipes and wide handlebars with a black leather seat. A shiny turquoise gas tank sparkled and shimmered like a bowling ball. This wasn’t a dirt bike and this definitely wasn’t a moped. This screamed testosterone-laden, red-blooded, all-American male. I ducked down, making sure I hadn’t crushed the red-blooded male like the Wicked Witch of the West. Fortunately, no dead body, no testosterone dripping all over the ground. My stomach dropped out of my throat but my adrenaline still hummed through my veins.

“Hey!” a guy shouted, running toward me, holding a black helmet in one hand. “What the fuck?”

I looked up from my crouch and low and behold, there was Detective McHottie. I stood and his anger morphed into surprise.

“You! Are you kidding me? Jesus, you ran over my bike!” He ran his hand over his hair, his jaw clenched tight. “Pull forward and get that…that space ship off the front tire.”

His words snapped me out of my trance. I was freaked out that I might have killed someone, then relieved that I hadn’t, then wished that I had all within about thirty seconds. Since I had no idea what to say and I was completely in the wrong, I hopped in the RV and slowly eased it forward until I felt the back end even out.

Returning to the back, we were able to see the damage. McHottie knelt down in front of the motorcycle like I’d run over his dog. He looked sad, dejected and royally pissed. We’d drawn a crowd. All of the men were practically crying by the damage I’d caused. I didn’t know much about motorcycles—I knew nothing about them actually—but I could tell by the way people were reacting that I might have run over the two-wheeled version of a Rolls Royce.

“Hey, you’re Silky Tangles,” a middle-aged guy said, pointing at me.

The woman standing next to him frowned. “Who’s Silky Tangles?”

“She’s…oh shit,” he muttered, clearly caught knowing who a porn star was.

“Yeah, it is her. I’d recognize that body anywhere.” This came from a kid in his early twenties. He was smiling at me in a way a lounge lizard scoped out women at a singles bar.

McHottie gave me the look that screamed
See?

I ignored the porn-loving men and knelt down across from McHottie, the bike between us. Even with the strong gas fumes, I could pick up his clean, spicy scent. I bit my lip, afraid to ask. “Will…will it still ride?” I asked cautiously.

His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched tight. It probably wasn’t the right thing to say. He pointed to the front wheel, which was all mangled and bent. “The tire’s popped, the rim’s dented and the fork’s bent.”

Yeah, it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I felt like crap. If someone hit the Rabbit, I’d be pretty mad, too. And my Rabbit was nowhere near as nice as this motorcycle. “I’m sorry. Really, I didn’t see it there.”

“You are a menace to society,” he growled. “Did you even look?”

He was mad, but still. I felt insulted. “Of course I looked, but it was in the blind spot.” He kept staring at me as if he wanted to lunge across the dead bike and strangle me. “You don’t have your Taser, do you?” I asked warily.

“Lady, what I want to do to you doesn’t involve a Taser,” he replied, an artery pulsing at his temple.

My body heated at those words, even though I was sure he didn’t mean anything carnal. It was hard to keep my thoughts from going that way when his jeans were stretched taut over very muscular thighs and his black leather jacket was…wow. He hadn’t shaved yet and his dark stubble made him look a little dangerous. Okay, a lot dangerous. I could only imagine what he looked like riding that bike. Thankfully, he wasn’t wearing his gun, or at least I couldn’t see it, and I didn’t know where he’d hide it.