Strangely, walking up the stairs of Zelda’s front porch with Zach’s hand in mine felt like coming home. I waved to my tree family and they rustled with happiness.
I might not have located my hairy magical beans, but I’d found love. It was a little complicated, but nothing worth it was easy. I was sure Sponge Bob and the boys would be proud of me. And Zorro would be thrilled.
I’d half expected Zorro to beat us back to the house, but when we arrived it was just Zelda, Mac and Sassy. And the intel was bizarre. Seriously bizarre.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked Mac, wondering if I needed to get my hearing checked.
Sassy had caught Zelda and Mac up on the shitshow that had gone down at the community theatre before Zach and I had arrived, so we just jumped right in. I would have loved to have heard her interpretation, but we had more important things to discuss. Life and death important.
“They’re slugs,” Mac said.
“Slugs? Mae Blockinschlokinberg and her cronies are slugs?” Zach asked with a scoff of disbelief. “You’re shitting me.”
“I shit you not, brother-in-law,” Mac replied with a chuckle and a shake of his head. “Haven’t come across a slug in a few decades, but they’re definitely slugs.”
Mac was Zelda’s mate. He was a werewolf and the King of the Shifters, along with being the official sheriff of Assjacket, West Virginia. The werewolf was intimidating, yet fair and kind—not to mention, very handsome. He stood about the same height as Zach—six foot-four. Mac had bright blue eyes and an unmeasurable amount of love for Zelda and their babies.
“Seriously?” I asked, wrinkling my nose. “Slug Shifters exist?”
The unibrow slime certainly made more sense now.
“Yep,” Mac replied with a slight shudder. “Rare and… umm… unusual. The five of them registered in town two days ago when they got here. Said they were staying a week for the show.”
“Where are the slugs staying?” Zach asked, still absorbing the slimy news of Mae Blockinschlokinberg’s species.
Who knew slug Shifters were a thing? Now I’d heard everything. I hoped.
“Outside of town somewhere in tents,” Mac replied. “When it was determined that the Assjacket Diner didn’t serve earthworms, bug-infested leaves or raw snails, they decided to shack up in the forest for the duration of their visit.”
“Sounds about right,” Sassy said, sitting on the ground playing with Audrey’s dollhouse. “That would explain the old lady crouch smell.”
“Did you just say old lady crouch?” I asked, bewildered.
“Yep,” Sassy confirmed with a very serious expression. “You know—the smell when you go into the bathroom at the country club… powdery old lady crouch.”
I was incredibly sorry I’d asked. So was everyone else in the room if the groans were any indication. “I won’t be able to remove that from my brain,” I muttered.
“Only a lobotomy can erase it,” Sassy informed me. “I wouldn’t recommend one.”
“Got it,” I said as I swore to myself I’d stop asking Sassy what she meant for the rest of my days.
“I am so fucking confused by the psycho-babble Sassy spewed before you guys got here,” Zelda said, looking over at her mate, whose expression matched hers.
Mac shrugged and grinned. “Maybe Sassy was speaking French.”
“It’s a good guess, but I was speaking British,” Sassy explained, busy rearranging a tiny bedroom in the dollhouse. “If you drink some tea, you’ll understand me better.”
Zelda rolled her eyes. “Most gaggingly important, is it true that this Mae Blockinschlokinberg slug-bitch from fashion hell was wearing black socks and beige sandals?”
“It is,” I confirmed, gagging a little myself. “That was the nicest thing about her. She’s horrid.”
“And Bob is gunning for a communist theatre award?” Zelda asked, trying not to laugh.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that the communist theatre award is Canadian for community theatre award,” I said, walking over to the bay window and glancing out to see if Zorro was on his way. Maybe he’d run into Roger and Bob at the community center and stayed to chat. Zorro was a very popular person and with good reason. He was pure joy.
“Correct!” Sassy chimed in. “Sometimes, I get confused and speak in ten different languages in the same sentence. It’s hard being as promiscuous as I am.”
“I’m not touching that,” Zelda muttered with an eye roll. “I want to really badly, but I’m not gonna.”
Mac grinned. “That’s very mature, babe.”
“Being mature makes me itchy,” she complained.
Mac kissed the top of Zelda’s head then turned his attention back to us.
“Is it true that the slug has already been paid? In full?” Mac inquired.
“According to Roger and Bob, she has… to the tune of two hundred thousand dollars,” Zach said. “And that’s the real issue other than the minor fact that Mae Blockinschlokinberg won’t accept that she’s fired.”
Zelda squinted at Mac in surprise and he shrugged. “I’ve never known the Assjacket Community Theatre to have that kind of money,” Mac said, perplexed.
“There’s a super-secret blood-thirsty investor who’s partial to cement shoes and the bottoms of rivers if he doesn’t see a return on his investment. We need to talk to him and work out a payment plan so Roger and Bob don’t get whacked,” I told them. “Apparently, your cats know who it is.”
Zelda twisted her hair in her fingers and frowned. “Those dumbass hairy ball-lickers are always involved with the shady side of Assjacket. And of course, they’ve conveniently disappeared. My guess is they’re on a quest to find someone stupid enough to sniff their cracks.
