tight. And everything was plugged in, turned on, and in working order," I added, anticipating his next question.
"And you left at what time?"
I paused, trying to recall what time I had left Uncle Frank's smaller establishment and started playing shuf-fleboard with
that collection of cockroaches. "Well, I left here around ten-thirty or so, I'd say. I discovered the insect infestation at
the emporium around eleven or thereabouts."
I felt a heavy pressure on my toes and looked down to see Uncle Frank's white tennie on top of my foot. Uh-oh. I guessed that
information was like my grammy's age: limited to family members, her personal physician, and the Social Security Administration.
The dishy trooper finally removed his shades, tucking them into the flap at the top of his uniform. I almost swooned when
two beautiful, clear, sky-blue eyes settled their intent gaze on little ole me.
"Insect infestation? You had some difficulty last night, as well?" he asked.
Uncle Frank increased the pressure on my wee little piggies.
"Nothing significant," Uncle Frank interjected. "Someone's idea of a joke. Just a few unwelcome visitors was all. We had the
place spic and span and back to rights in no time." Uncle Frank slapped me on the back with a robust motion. If I hadn't been
anchored by his fat foot, I would've fallen forward, face-first. "No big deal, right, Tressa?" he asked.
The trooper's eyes never left my face. I was wishing I'd taken more time with my makeup. And hair. And clothing. And choice
of kin.
I looked up at Uncle Frank. "I think we should level with him, Uncle Frank," I said. "After all, we want to find out who's
behind the monkey business, don't we?"
Uncle Frank removed his foot from mine and ran a hand over his buzz cut, then looked at me. "Do we?" he said.
My mouth did an open-closed-open movement. (Please note: My mouth tends to always end in the open position. What? You'd already
noticed?)
"You can't believe Frankie had anything to do with this ... this malicious mischief!" I said, surprised that Uncle Frank could
still entertain the idea. "He's your son! He wouldn't do something like this, Uncle Frank, even though he despises the ice
cream business and would rather be poked in the eye repeatedly with a sharp stick while listening to Rosie O'Donnell sing
the National Anthem than take over from you!"
The trooper's eyebrows raised. I rewound those last words in my head and slapped a hand over my loose-lips-sink-cousins mouth.
I bit my tongue when the trooper started scribbling in his notebook. I knew from past personal experience this was not a good
thing.
"Ugh, what are you writing, exactly?" I stepped toward the trooper, trying to get a peek at his pad. He closed it with a quick
flip of the cover.
"So you suspect your son had something to do with this and the insignificant little incident that may or may not have been
a major health code violation the other night?" the trooper asked Uncle Frank.
I shifted my weight back and forth, wondering why Dr. Phil had never done a show on foot-in-mouth disorder. I needed a cure.
Real bad.
"I assure you, Trooper....Trooper..." I looked at the silver nameplate above his left front pocket "Trooper P. D. Dawkins.
My cousin Frankie had nothing whatsoever to do with any of this."
"I'm certain you're right, Miss T.J. Turner," the trooper responded. I caught my breath. Great looks, a sense of humor, and
no wedding ring. What were the odds?
"And I'm sure I'll feel the same as you do once I've heard it from your cousin Frankie himself," the trooper continued. "If
you'd be so kind as to tell me where I might find him, I'm sure we'll have this cleared up in no time."
I looked over at Uncle Frank. He looked at me. He had the same look in his eyes as he did when he saw Ranger Rick and me waging
battle against invading forces in the emporium the night before.
"Is that a problem?" Trooper P. D. Dawkins asked.
"Of course it's not a
"And you left at what time?"
I paused, trying to recall what time I had left Uncle Frank's smaller establishment and started playing shuf-fleboard with
that collection of cockroaches. "Well, I left here around ten-thirty or so, I'd say. I discovered the insect infestation at
the emporium around eleven or thereabouts."
I felt a heavy pressure on my toes and looked down to see Uncle Frank's white tennie on top of my foot. Uh-oh. I guessed that
information was like my grammy's age: limited to family members, her personal physician, and the Social Security Administration.
The dishy trooper finally removed his shades, tucking them into the flap at the top of his uniform. I almost swooned when
two beautiful, clear, sky-blue eyes settled their intent gaze on little ole me.
"Insect infestation? You had some difficulty last night, as well?" he asked.
Uncle Frank increased the pressure on my wee little piggies.
"Nothing significant," Uncle Frank interjected. "Someone's idea of a joke. Just a few unwelcome visitors was all. We had the
place spic and span and back to rights in no time." Uncle Frank slapped me on the back with a robust motion. If I hadn't been
anchored by his fat foot, I would've fallen forward, face-first. "No big deal, right, Tressa?" he asked.
The trooper's eyes never left my face. I was wishing I'd taken more time with my makeup. And hair. And clothing. And choice
of kin.
I looked up at Uncle Frank. "I think we should level with him, Uncle Frank," I said. "After all, we want to find out who's
behind the monkey business, don't we?"
Uncle Frank removed his foot from mine and ran a hand over his buzz cut, then looked at me. "Do we?" he said.
My mouth did an open-closed-open movement. (Please note: My mouth tends to always end in the open position. What? You'd already
noticed?)
"You can't believe Frankie had anything to do with this ... this malicious mischief!" I said, surprised that Uncle Frank could
still entertain the idea. "He's your son! He wouldn't do something like this, Uncle Frank, even though he despises the ice
cream business and would rather be poked in the eye repeatedly with a sharp stick while listening to Rosie O'Donnell sing
the National Anthem than take over from you!"
The trooper's eyebrows raised. I rewound those last words in my head and slapped a hand over my loose-lips-sink-cousins mouth.
I bit my tongue when the trooper started scribbling in his notebook. I knew from past personal experience this was not a good
thing.
"Ugh, what are you writing, exactly?" I stepped toward the trooper, trying to get a peek at his pad. He closed it with a quick
flip of the cover.
"So you suspect your son had something to do with this and the insignificant little incident that may or may not have been
a major health code violation the other night?" the trooper asked Uncle Frank.
I shifted my weight back and forth, wondering why Dr. Phil had never done a show on foot-in-mouth disorder. I needed a cure.
Real bad.
"I assure you, Trooper....Trooper..." I looked at the silver nameplate above his left front pocket "Trooper P. D. Dawkins.
My cousin Frankie had nothing whatsoever to do with any of this."
"I'm certain you're right, Miss T.J. Turner," the trooper responded. I caught my breath. Great looks, a sense of humor, and
no wedding ring. What were the odds?
"And I'm sure I'll feel the same as you do once I've heard it from your cousin Frankie himself," the trooper continued. "If
you'd be so kind as to tell me where I might find him, I'm sure we'll have this cleared up in no time."
I looked over at Uncle Frank. He looked at me. He had the same look in his eyes as he did when he saw Ranger Rick and me waging
battle against invading forces in the emporium the night before.
"Is that a problem?" Trooper P. D. Dawkins asked.
"Of course it's not a
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