crocodiles could faint. But this one did, right there in her chair.
Tina rushed over to her mother and fanned her with an envelope while I checked the box. It was Marique all right. Her tags, her fur—everything but her body.
When the Croc came to she whispered, “Is she … is she …?”
I picked up some fur and said, “Yup. She’s bald.”
“She’s … what?”
“Bald. It’s all fur.”
The Croc picked up the box and whispered, “Maaaariiique!” Then she said it again, only louder, “Maaaariiique!”
Now, there was something about the way she said her dog’s name that made my back tingle. But it wasn’t until she said it
again
that it hit me—hers was the voice I had heard the night of the parade.
I looked at her, crying over a box full of fuzz, and realized—I didn’t have a clue what was going on here. Not a clue.
* * *
It was dark by the time I got away from the Landvogt mansion. And maybe I should’ve gone straight home, but I was dying to tell Marissa about the fur bomb and besides, I was thirsty and there’s always a shelf full of sodas in the McKenzes’ refrigerator.
Marissa’s eyes bugged right out when she saw me. She yanked me in by the arm and said, “Sammy! Oh my God, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you?”
“About your mom!”
A big uh-oh stuck in my throat. “What about my mom?”
“That’s her, isn’t it? On TV?”
I sat down in a chair and hid my face behind my hands. “Oh, no!”
“What’s the matter? I thought she wanted to be on TV.”
I looked at her through my fingers. “As the GasAway Lady?”
She laughed. “Well it’s a start, right?”
“You sound just like Grams. That stupid commercial is more like
Boom!
The End. I mean, who’s going to want to put the Amazing Expanding Woman in a movie? It’s embarrassing!”
Marissa shrugged. “It’s not that bad … Even Mom thought it was pretty good.”
“Your mother saw it?”
Marissa nodded, then hitched a thumb toward the kitchen. “She’s actually in there cooking dinner.”
“
Cooking
cooking?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. She and Dad joined some gourmet club and I think we’re her guinea pigs. C’mon. She’s even wearing an apron.”
I followed her and laughed. “This I’ve got to see …!”
Mrs. McKenze looked over from her six-burner stove with a smile. “Hello, Sammy. What a pleasant surprise. Can you stay for supper? We’re having”—she checked her cookbook—
“costolette di vitello alla milanese.”
Marissa whispered, “Veal cutlets.”
Well, it did smell good, but from looking at the set table I could tell I’d never be able to figure out which fork went with which part of the dinner. And between silverware etiquette and polite conversation about the GasAway Lady, I figured that I wouldn’t be able to eat much.
I smiled at her and said, “No, but thanks. Grams is expecting me.” Then I remembered that Marissa had said that her mom had met the Crocodile once, so I asked, “Mrs. McKenze? What do you know about Lilia Landvogt?”
She poured some olive oil into a frying pan. “Notmuch, really. I was over at her house one time for a dinner party, but she didn’t really impress me as someone I wanted to get to know.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She played with the flame under the pan. “I think it was mostly the comments she made about her daughter.”
“About Tina?”
“She was mad at her, and I could even understand why. I just don’t think it’s appropriate to talk ill of your children in public like that.”
“What was she doing? Calling her names or something?”
Mrs. McKenze peeled a piece of breaded veal off a plate and slid it into the oil. “I don’t even remember. I just came away thinking that she was not a very nice woman.”
“How long ago was this?”
Another piece of veal sizzled into the oil. “Oh, it’s been years. Years and years.” She turned the flame down a bit. “Why all the questions,
Tina rushed over to her mother and fanned her with an envelope while I checked the box. It was Marique all right. Her tags, her fur—everything but her body.
When the Croc came to she whispered, “Is she … is she …?”
I picked up some fur and said, “Yup. She’s bald.”
“She’s … what?”
“Bald. It’s all fur.”
The Croc picked up the box and whispered, “Maaaariiique!” Then she said it again, only louder, “Maaaariiique!”
Now, there was something about the way she said her dog’s name that made my back tingle. But it wasn’t until she said it
again
that it hit me—hers was the voice I had heard the night of the parade.
I looked at her, crying over a box full of fuzz, and realized—I didn’t have a clue what was going on here. Not a clue.
* * *
It was dark by the time I got away from the Landvogt mansion. And maybe I should’ve gone straight home, but I was dying to tell Marissa about the fur bomb and besides, I was thirsty and there’s always a shelf full of sodas in the McKenzes’ refrigerator.
Marissa’s eyes bugged right out when she saw me. She yanked me in by the arm and said, “Sammy! Oh my God, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you?”
“About your mom!”
A big uh-oh stuck in my throat. “What about my mom?”
“That’s her, isn’t it? On TV?”
I sat down in a chair and hid my face behind my hands. “Oh, no!”
“What’s the matter? I thought she wanted to be on TV.”
I looked at her through my fingers. “As the GasAway Lady?”
She laughed. “Well it’s a start, right?”
“You sound just like Grams. That stupid commercial is more like
Boom!
The End. I mean, who’s going to want to put the Amazing Expanding Woman in a movie? It’s embarrassing!”
Marissa shrugged. “It’s not that bad … Even Mom thought it was pretty good.”
“Your mother saw it?”
Marissa nodded, then hitched a thumb toward the kitchen. “She’s actually in there cooking dinner.”
“
Cooking
cooking?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. She and Dad joined some gourmet club and I think we’re her guinea pigs. C’mon. She’s even wearing an apron.”
I followed her and laughed. “This I’ve got to see …!”
Mrs. McKenze looked over from her six-burner stove with a smile. “Hello, Sammy. What a pleasant surprise. Can you stay for supper? We’re having”—she checked her cookbook—
“costolette di vitello alla milanese.”
Marissa whispered, “Veal cutlets.”
Well, it did smell good, but from looking at the set table I could tell I’d never be able to figure out which fork went with which part of the dinner. And between silverware etiquette and polite conversation about the GasAway Lady, I figured that I wouldn’t be able to eat much.
I smiled at her and said, “No, but thanks. Grams is expecting me.” Then I remembered that Marissa had said that her mom had met the Crocodile once, so I asked, “Mrs. McKenze? What do you know about Lilia Landvogt?”
She poured some olive oil into a frying pan. “Notmuch, really. I was over at her house one time for a dinner party, but she didn’t really impress me as someone I wanted to get to know.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She played with the flame under the pan. “I think it was mostly the comments she made about her daughter.”
“About Tina?”
“She was mad at her, and I could even understand why. I just don’t think it’s appropriate to talk ill of your children in public like that.”
“What was she doing? Calling her names or something?”
Mrs. McKenze peeled a piece of breaded veal off a plate and slid it into the oil. “I don’t even remember. I just came away thinking that she was not a very nice woman.”
“How long ago was this?”
Another piece of veal sizzled into the oil. “Oh, it’s been years. Years and years.” She turned the flame down a bit. “Why all the questions,
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