Saturday

Miranda was stowing her purse in the bottom drawer of a file cabinet in the library office when a strange and wonderful thing happened. Annabelle Sherwood, Miranda's man-hunting coworker, actually acknowledged Miranda's presence.

Miranda seldom heard more than "Going on break" from Annabelle, in the course of a normal workday. But this Saturday morning, the sexy, deep-cleavaged, short-skirted, spike-heeled siren initiated an entire conversation with her wren-like, bespectacled, invisible, librarian colleague.

"Oh, hey, Marion, while you were out, um ... somewhere ... not here ... yesterday, your friend came in. I told him you were out, but he said he'd rather talk to me. So, he did."

Then Annabelle continued in a husky, sexier voice (which Miranda had never thought was even possible). "I mean, he really spoke to me, if you know what I mean."

"My friend?"

"Remember that gorgeous hunk of man I thought was gay, but you said he wasn't? Boy, were you right! Whoo!"

"Annabelle, you know, I was here all day yesterday. I could've talked to him myself."

"Really? Huh. Didn't see you anywhere. Sorry. Anyway, as I said, he wanted to talk to little ol' moi."

"I see. Well, uh, lucky you, I guess," Miranda murmured.

"He's different from most men, isn't he?" Annabelle said.

"I used to think so."

Annabelle continued, "You know what really impressed me the most about him? Not that he was tall, and built, and dressed like a European prince — although he was all that —"

"He always is," Miranda said.

"— but what really touched me was that he didn't care about my looks!"

"No, he wouldn't," Miranda said.

"Nobody ever liked me for my personality before."

"Imagine that. And you such a people person. Giving, giving, giving," said Miranda.

"I know," Annabelle said, "but people never learn that about me because they only care about my, um, dimensions."

Miranda inserted, "And the hair and the makeup."

"Yeah, exactly. And the clothes."

"Or lack of," Miranda said.

"Exactly! You get it," Annabelle crowed. "But your friend, wow! He looked me right in the eye ... I think — he was wearing fabulous Italian sunglasses — but I'm pretty sure he focused in the direction of my face."

"And, that's a rare experience for you," Miranda said.

"You know it. Most men want to tell me I'm beautiful, or I'm graceful, or my dress fits in all the right places, my hair is like silk, blah, blah, blah."

"You must get so bored," Miranda said.

"I know, right? But your friend. Wow. You know the first thing he said to me?"

"You smell wonderful," Miranda said, a little wistfully.

"I smelled beauti— how did you know that?" Annabelle looked stunned.

"Just guessing," Miranda said.

"Well, you got it in one. And the way he said it! Honestly, that voice. My heart just—"

"Melted."

"—I was gonna say my heart caught fire, but yeah, melted is good, too." Annabelle sighed She practically swooned. "I can't believe what I once believed about him."

"Funny what we'll believe, especially if we want it badly enough," Miranda said.

Annabelle had come to the conclusion of her narrative. "Anyway, Mary Ann, I just want to thank you. If your friend had not come in here, and if you hadn't told me he wasn't a homo, I might never have gotten to know him. I owe you for that."

"Just name your first child 'Miranda,'" said Miranda.

"Or we could name it after you," Annabelle suggested. "That would be nice, wouldn't it?"

Saturday evening

Shep and Carlo had spent part of their Saturday on the river. They were returning the canoe to its rack in Shep's workshop when Miranda marched through the hedge from her yard into theirs. Thumping noises from the shed drew her in that direction.

The men did not hear her soft tread on the grass, and they both started when she proclaimed from the doorway behind them, "I gotta hand it to you! You are unbelievable!"

Carlo froze in place.

Shep dropped an oar.

Carlo commented, "She's right. I am unbelievable. But it sounds like a bad thing, the way she says it, so I do not think she means me. I am incredible in good ways only."

"I'm talking to Golden Boy there!"

"Yep," said Carlo to Shep. "That would be you."

Shep rotated slowly 180 degrees, so that he faced Miranda's voice. "Unbelievable in what way?" he said quietly.

"I thought you were a man of integrity, honor, faithfulness, or, at the very least, good manners."

"I thought the same. From your tone, I gather that ... I thought wrong?"

"How could you!"

"Um, ... sorry, but I'm going to need some sort of context before I try to answer that question."

"It's rhetorical, Casanova."

"Are you talking to Carlo?"

"Very funny. I'm talking to you, you ... you great, big ... flirt!"

Shep suppressed a smile. "That's a pretty serious accusation, Bean. I'd like to hear the evidence against me before you lynch me."

"Oh, I've got evidence! I've got it straight from the filly's mouth."

"I see. And did the filly call me by name?"

"She didn't have to use your name. She described you perfectly. We both knew exactly of whom she was speaking."

"May I hear this description, please?"

"Tall, well-built, handsome, — actually, I think she said 'gorgeous' — definitely not gay, wore expensive designer sunglasses, told her she smelled good, didn't seem to care about her looks, had a sexy voice ..."

Shep spent a five-count absorbing the list of traits ascribed to him. "Well, it seems a little extreme, but I guess it could be me. I'd be a fool to say I didn't want to be described that way. Who gave you this description, may I ask?"

"As if you didn't know."

"Pretend I don't. Maybe I flirt with so many women in a day that I can't remember all my romantic encounters. Consider that."

"You don't get to mock me! Not when you go putting the make on another woman less than a week after breaking our engagement — and my heart, by the way."

"What other woman, please?"

"Annabelle, of course! As you well know!"

"You flirted with my girlfriend!" Carlo shouted, shocked.

"Your girlfriend!" Miranda yelped.

"Your girlfriend?" Shep blurted.

"Did she really describe me the way you said?" Carlo asked, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. Then the grin fell flat. "Wait, did she say she thought I was gay? Why would she think I was gay?"

Shep said, "Not you, buddy. Pietro. She thought Pietro was gay."

"My brother was not gay. Why did she think my brother was gay?"

"Pietro and I pretended to be a gay couple whenever we visited the library," Shep explained. "We didn't want that literary love goddess aiming her attentions at us."

Carlo stared at Shep for a moment. "You must have been very good at acting!"

"Thanks."

"But not necessary, my friend. You are not her type. She likes the dark, dangerously attractive man, not the golden, goody-goody boy. You are cotton candy, and she prefers me, Carlo — I am a thick juicy steak. No offense, candy boy."

"None taken. I think you and the delightfully predatory Annabelle will make a lovely couple."

Miranda had gaped in shock during the men's brief interchange, but now she roused herself to say, "Carlo, are you telling me it was you at the library yesterday? Not Shepard?"

"I was there, signorina," Carlo said.

"And I definitely was not, Castor Bean," Shepard said. "Even if it had been me putting the moves on Annabelle — who is not my type either, I might add, although in deference to Carlo I imagine she is a nice person — even if it had been me, flirting with her ... why would you care? You broke up with me."

"You said I couldn't marry you."

"You said it first."

"But you said it last, and that counts the most."

"Well, regardless of who said what, I think you owe me an apology for accusing me of pursuing other women."

"Only one woman."

"Nonetheless, I want you to admit you were wrong, and you accused me falsely."

"I apologize, I was wrong, I accused you falsely. Is that all?"

" I want my cat back. I know Zeus hangs out at your house, and I want you to send him home. I'm the one who feeds him; he shouldn't take sides against me."

"No, I am the one who feeds him," said Carlo. "He can take any side he wants."

"I'll pass on your message, if I see him," Miranda said, "but I think you know Zeus doesn't take orders from anybody, least of all me. Goodnight."

"Ciao," said Carlo to her back as she paced away from them, toward the hedge.

"Sleep well, Bean," Shep murmured under his breath.

AUTHOR NOTE: Thanks for reading chapter 17, I hope you had fun. In chapter 18 a popular morning ritual returns to Minokee! Get your binoculars out, ladies. Don't miss chapter 18 - The Ritual, next installment of The Mammoth Murders.

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