Pink Flamingoed by Steve Demaree Page A

maiden. We have yet to come
to the home of the Wicked Witch of the West, who now resides under her home,
ever since that fateful day when she was unable to move fast enough, and her
house fell on her. If only the house had been on fire as it fell, she would’ve
been cremated on the spot. As it is, she is merely the spot under the house.”
    “You’re going to be a spot if you don’t hurry up,” Amy
said, scolding her new neighbor. “We’re going to be late if you don’t come on.
If you like, you may continue your diatribe after church.”
    “As you wish, Dr. Watson, but I must wait until some
time after church, as I have been engaged by an elderly couple in order to
teach them how to play the violin.”
    Amy felt good, plus she caught the Sherlock Holmes
reference to playing the violin. Evidently, Cora was able to influence Brad to
come to Sunday dinner, but Amy was not going to tell him that she would be
there, too. Amy liked having the upper hand. Cora had taught her well.
    Brad and Amy walked into the church just as the
service was about to begin. Introductions to the Armbruster family would have
to wait. Even so, as Brad and Amy walked in and took a seat, many of the new
neighbors Brad had met just a little over a day before turned and smiled or
waved, except for Melanie, who blew Brad a kiss which Amy intercepted and blew
back.
     
    +++
     
    Brad enjoyed the sermon immensely. He expected to be a
fixture at the church for some time to come, and it always helped if one liked
what the pastor had to say.
    After the service was over, everyone descended upon
Brad.
    “Good to see you again, young fellow,” Barney said,
extending his hand.
    “And it’s so good to see you, too, Mr. Sweet Pea. And
it is good to see that Buick of yours. I’ve heard about it.”
    “I must take you for a spin sometime.”
    “Yes, you must,” Brad agreed.
    “I’m going on up and check on dinner,” Cora
interrupted, and whispered into Brad’s ear. “But don’t hurry. Feel free to
visit with everyone. There’s some cooking left to do. We’ll be there when you
get there.”
    “Thanks, Cora. I’ll see you in a bit.”
    “Hello, handsome,” said a sultry voice behind Brad, a
voice he knew could only belong to Melanie. “Have you got dinner plans?”
Melanie asked.
    “As a matter of fact, I do,” Brad answered.
    “Let me guess. Is she red-headed?”
    “Actually, the invitation came from a he, not a she,
and he isn’t red-headed.”
    “Oh,” Melanie responded, somewhat relieved. “Another
time, perhaps?”
    “Perhaps. If I can get away from the wife and kids.”
    Melanie laughed and turned away.
    “Hey, kids! Come here!” Amy said. “I want to introduce
you to someone.”
    The three Armbruster children approached Amy and Brad.
Jill could not take her eyes off Brad.
    “Y-y-you know who you look like?” Jill said to Brad.
    “Who?” Brad asked.
    “Brad Forrester, the author,” Jill replied.
    Brad was surprised that someone so young who lived in
such a small town had heard of him, but then maybe Jill was more of an avid
reader than he thought.
    “At your service, mademoiselle,” Brad replied.
    “No, seriously, you really do look like him,” Jill
replied.
    “That’s because I am him. Or should I say he?” Brad
responded.
    “Jill, he really is the real Brad
Forrester,” Amy interjected.
    Brad extended his hand and shook Jill’s hand before
she realized what he had done.
    Jill pulled away, turned, and ran down the aisle of
the church.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything,” Brad called out.
    Jill, having reached the front door and realizing what
she had done, turned, and responded, “Oh, I’m sorry! I’ll be back. Please don’t
go anywhere!”
    “I wonder what that’s all about,” Kenny said
quizzically. “Are you really Brad Forrester, the author?”
    “In the flesh. Now, tell me. Have you ever heard of
me?”
    “Well, I knew there was some mystery writer that
Jill’s crazy about, but I’ve