Chopping Spree

“Is that the Barry guy?” Julian asked. He lifted his chin at Barry and the blonde. “Down there?”

Barry Dean tilted his head toward the blonde, roared with laughter, then sauntered toward us. The young woman teetered along behind him.

“Hey!” Barry called. His grin flashed as he winked at me and opened his arms in greeting. “Speak of the devil!”

“I certainly hope not,” Julian muttered.

I introduced Julian to Barry, who in turn presented us to his “dear friend,” Pam Disharoon.

Pam Disharoon? I thought. Was that a combination of dish and macaroon? I’m a cute dish; my hair’s a macaroon?

“I’m Liz,” my new assistant politely announced to Pam. But Barry Dean could have introduced her, couldn’t he? Instead, he squinted at Liz and pressed his lips together.

“Hello, catering team!” Pam’s tone was bright. She lifted her pointed chin, sending the ponytails a-wiggle. “I’m sure you’ll make great chow for our jewelry event!”

Liz Fury, master of cuttlefish pasta, flourless chocolate cake, and salade composee, turned green around the gills. Chow, indeed.

“Pam is the star seller in Prince and Grogan’s lingerie department,” Barry announced with pride. “She’s the top saleswoman at the mall.”

Liz made her voice falsely cheerful as she reshifted her box. “Goldy? Julian? I’m taking this up. See you all in the lounge.” And before I could say anything, she took off.

“Well,” said Pam into the awkward silence that followed. She gave Julian the once-over. In a coy, seductive tone, she addressed him: “So you’re a caterer?”

“Pam,” said Barry, “these people are here to work—”

“Caterer’s assistant,” said Julian, not fooled by Pam’s attempt to flirt. “Goldy, give me your other box. I’ll take this load up and come right back.”

Pam took a sashaying two-step toward Julian, extended her red-nailed hands, and cupped his cheeks and chin. “Want some help?”

The well-coordinated Julian slid away from her. “I’ll meet you at your van, boss,” he told me cheerfully, and headed toward the doors.

I hastened back to my van, eager to retrieve the refrigerator-bound supplies. Through the windshield, I could see Barry and Pam walking across the plankway over the water. Without warning, Barry whirled and held up his index finger, as if to correct her. Suddenly, their conversation didn’t look friendly. Guess that meant Barry wasn’t going to help with the boxes, after all. Thank God for Julian—although maybe Barry Dean felt differently.

By the time I’d unloaded the shrimp-roll and crab-dip boxes from the van, Julian had returned from the mall. “Liz is guarding the food in the lounge. The jewelry people are already there.”

I nodded. On the list of catering rules you shouldn’t break was Never leave food where it can be swiped. Sadly, half a dozen of my beef tenderloins had disappeared before I’d learned this.

“Oh,” Julian went on, “and Barry and what’s-her-name are having a lovers’ spat.”

“Let’s avoid them.”

Hoisting our loads, Julian and I avoided the ruts and hurried down the dirt path that led to the plankway. Ahead of us, Pam was stomping away from Barry. Her barely covered rump bounced as she tried to trot in the silly sandals. The plankway jiggled with each of her steps. The construction workers stopped and gaped. So did Barry Dean. Then he turned and again marched toward us. He looked as if he’d swallowed a frog.

“Goldy,” he said once he’d met up with us on the dirt path, “could you and I have a talk?” Barry’s endearingly handsome face and brown eyes, changed so little from our time together at C.U., beseeched me. “The mall has been turned upside down lately—”

“Can we just talk upstairs?” I suggested, panting. “I really need to get this food inside.”

“I’d rather visit now,” Barry insisted firmly, “if you don’t mind. I’ll take one of those boxes.” Julian, who was now halfway across the plankway, turned back and lifted his eyebrows. Want me to rescue you from that guy? Probably sensing my reluctance, Barry implored, “Goldy, please. This is important—”

He was interrupted by the sound of a revving engine. It was loud, then very loud, like an airplane being warmed up. A short distance away, one of the dump trucks rolled away from the neat line of vehicles. The sun winked off the windshield as the truck plowed through the water. I couldn’t see the driver.

“Oh, no, I knew it!” Barry cried. “No!”

“What?” I called to him. He knew a truck was going to start up? “Barry, what’s the matter?” But he’d dropped his box and started running toward the construction gate. Where was he going? Was he going to try to outrun the truck?

My heart plunged. The truck roared and spewed exhaust. I glanced at Julian. The truck was headed right toward him.

“Julian!” I screamed. “Look out!”

Julian reared back and dropped his load. He sprang away from the path of the vehicle, lost his balance, and splashed face forward into the muddy water. The truck charged past him. I watched in horror until Julian’s mud- drenched head, followed by his body, emerged from the water. I looked for Barry. He had stopped running and seemed frozen, watching Julian slosh through the puddle.

The truck was barreling toward us. Julian, sopping wet and shouting, was running raggedly along behind it.

I dropped my box, raced toward Barry, and grabbed his shirt. As I yanked him fiercely sideways, the huge, noisy truck swerved toward us.

“Barry, run with me, dammit!” I hollered. My old friend looked at me, his face stricken. He tried to hurry, but tangled his feet and stumbled to his knees.

The truck was thirty feet away and closing. With all my strength, I wrenched Barry’s arm and body upward. His legs moved spastically as I pulled him over row after row of ruts. Finally, I tripped on one of the hard ridges and we were both airborne. We hit the dirt hard.

A foot down in a wide ditch, I could hear but not see the bellowing truck. It, too, seemed to be plowing up and down the ridges. I tugged on Barry, who was groaning as he tried to scoot along beside me. Hopefully, we were also headed away from the path the truck had been taking… a path straight at us. If I could not see the truck driver, I reasoned, then hopefully, he could not see Barry or me. The way it had been bearing down on us, I did not think that enormous dump truck was just a runaway vehicle.

The truck noise rose to deafening proportions. When our ditch narrowed, Barry and I stopped crawling. I eased up to have a peek. Fifteen feet from us, exactly where we had been when we hit the dirt, the truck vaulted the ditch where we now lay panting. All I could see of the driver was the shadowy reflection of a face behind a mud-splattered window.

Panting, Barry and I rose up on our elbows. I didn’t think the truck driver had actually seen us. Once past the ruts, the truck picked up speed. It crashed through the construction fence with a fearsome clanking of metal. Then it hurtled across Doughnut Drive. With a deafening boom, it slammed into the embankment. The berm exploded. Dirt erupted over the truck. Clouds of dust mushroomed upward as an avalanche of soil poured onto the road. A person wearing a baseball cap and baggy overalls jumped out of the cab, clambered clumsily over the embankment, then disappeared.

What was that about?

Beside me, Barry gasped and cursed. “I knew this would happen!” He was covered with mud. “I just knew it!”

CHAPTER 3

I coughed, spit out grit, and coughed again. Then I inhaled dust, coughed, and inhaled some more. I had the keen sense of having lost moments, maybe even hours—as if there’d been a period of blackness of indeterminate