Shitake Happens: (A Shitake Mystery Series Prequel) by Patricia Mason Page A
Authors: Patricia Mason
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failed.
He fumbled in the white bag for a moment and then came out empty handed. "Sorry, I must've used 'em all." He offered up one of his ketchup covered, crinkled hunks of paper. "Take mine."
Mo's lip curled in disgust. "No thanks."
"Why do we have to sit here all night, anyway?" Clarence asked.
"I already told you." She opened her purse and searched inside for a tissue. If she could wipe off the majority of the mess, she could work at the stain with a remover stick. "The neighbors said this Hawkins guy carries heavy looking bags of stuff out of his house, but only at night."
Since Hawkins—mid-forties, balding with a heavy beer gut weighing down the belt holding his baggy jeans—alleged a back injury he'd suffered at work caused him excruciating pain and required him to walk with a cane, the insurance company wanted him watched. Photos of Hawkins carrying something heavy would definitely prove him a liar.
"I thought this would be more fun," Clarence complained between bites of a hamburger.
"Why would you think that?"
"'Cause you're...You know..." He looked her up and down. "You're cute."
Mo snorted. "Just keep your food and yourself on that side of the car, buddy."
The flash of headlights alerted her to another oncoming car.
"Duck," she said, crouching and pushing Clarence's head face-first into the package of fries on his lap.
The car pulled into the Hawkins driveway and Mo recognized Mrs. Hawkins' silver Hyundai. The car sat running for a moment before the garage door slowly rose, revealing Mr. Hawkins' pickup in one stall. A lawn mower, tools, boxes and other assorted clutter filled the second stall.
The Hyundai's engine switched off and the brake lights went dark. Then the driver's side door swung open and Mrs. Reva Hawkins—a Dolly Parton look-alike—climbed out. With a stiff-legged stomp, she marched through the garage entrance to the house and went inside.
"Sheesh, Mo," Clarence complained as he lifted his head, facing her with a mouth and nose as red as a clown's. "I didn't deliberately get ketchup on you. Ya didn't have—"
"For frittata's sake shut up," Mo said as she grabbed up her camera. "Someone's coming back out."
Reva Hawkins stepped into the garage and dragged Mr. Hawkins behind her. Mo leaned the camera lens atop the half-open car window, pointing it toward the action.
"I told you to clean up this stinkin' garage," Reva shouted. "I'm sick of never being able to park in here."
Through the camera lens, Mo observed Hawkins glance around the garage and then out into the street. He placed a hand on his wife's arm and said something inaudible.
Reva shook off his touch. "I don't care," she screamed. "I work hard all day while you lounge on your ass. No more excuses. Just get this place cleaned up."
Hawkins grasped his wife by the shoulders and pulled her to him. For a moment it looked as if the two were about to kiss, but then Reva shoved her husband and he fell against the truck's side panel.
"You're not sweetening me up with lovin' this time, mister." Her shout carried out to Mo as she strode back into the house.
Hawkins nipped at Reva's heels. "Honey bunny! Please. Just let me—" His plea cut off as he entered the house. Before disappearing totally, Hawkins stuck a hand out and pressed a button. The overhead garage door began to close.
"Crêpe Suzette!" Mo lowered the camera into her lap. "I thought he might give us something that time."
"I have to pee again," Clarence announced.
Mo rounded on him with narrowed eyes and lips pursed. "For a young guy, you've got the prostate of an eighty year-old."
"I wish Harry had let me go with Gary to the strip club job to watch that cheating husband," Clarence grumbled. "He'd have let me pee."
"Just go behind the bush by that abandoned house over there," Mo said, waving a hand in the general vicinity of the area to the left. "Or how about the empty Coke bottle in the backseat?"
"Gary would've let me use an actual toilet at the strip
He fumbled in the white bag for a moment and then came out empty handed. "Sorry, I must've used 'em all." He offered up one of his ketchup covered, crinkled hunks of paper. "Take mine."
Mo's lip curled in disgust. "No thanks."
"Why do we have to sit here all night, anyway?" Clarence asked.
"I already told you." She opened her purse and searched inside for a tissue. If she could wipe off the majority of the mess, she could work at the stain with a remover stick. "The neighbors said this Hawkins guy carries heavy looking bags of stuff out of his house, but only at night."
Since Hawkins—mid-forties, balding with a heavy beer gut weighing down the belt holding his baggy jeans—alleged a back injury he'd suffered at work caused him excruciating pain and required him to walk with a cane, the insurance company wanted him watched. Photos of Hawkins carrying something heavy would definitely prove him a liar.
"I thought this would be more fun," Clarence complained between bites of a hamburger.
"Why would you think that?"
"'Cause you're...You know..." He looked her up and down. "You're cute."
Mo snorted. "Just keep your food and yourself on that side of the car, buddy."
The flash of headlights alerted her to another oncoming car.
"Duck," she said, crouching and pushing Clarence's head face-first into the package of fries on his lap.
The car pulled into the Hawkins driveway and Mo recognized Mrs. Hawkins' silver Hyundai. The car sat running for a moment before the garage door slowly rose, revealing Mr. Hawkins' pickup in one stall. A lawn mower, tools, boxes and other assorted clutter filled the second stall.
The Hyundai's engine switched off and the brake lights went dark. Then the driver's side door swung open and Mrs. Reva Hawkins—a Dolly Parton look-alike—climbed out. With a stiff-legged stomp, she marched through the garage entrance to the house and went inside.
"Sheesh, Mo," Clarence complained as he lifted his head, facing her with a mouth and nose as red as a clown's. "I didn't deliberately get ketchup on you. Ya didn't have—"
"For frittata's sake shut up," Mo said as she grabbed up her camera. "Someone's coming back out."
Reva Hawkins stepped into the garage and dragged Mr. Hawkins behind her. Mo leaned the camera lens atop the half-open car window, pointing it toward the action.
"I told you to clean up this stinkin' garage," Reva shouted. "I'm sick of never being able to park in here."
Through the camera lens, Mo observed Hawkins glance around the garage and then out into the street. He placed a hand on his wife's arm and said something inaudible.
Reva shook off his touch. "I don't care," she screamed. "I work hard all day while you lounge on your ass. No more excuses. Just get this place cleaned up."
Hawkins grasped his wife by the shoulders and pulled her to him. For a moment it looked as if the two were about to kiss, but then Reva shoved her husband and he fell against the truck's side panel.
"You're not sweetening me up with lovin' this time, mister." Her shout carried out to Mo as she strode back into the house.
Hawkins nipped at Reva's heels. "Honey bunny! Please. Just let me—" His plea cut off as he entered the house. Before disappearing totally, Hawkins stuck a hand out and pressed a button. The overhead garage door began to close.
"Crêpe Suzette!" Mo lowered the camera into her lap. "I thought he might give us something that time."
"I have to pee again," Clarence announced.
Mo rounded on him with narrowed eyes and lips pursed. "For a young guy, you've got the prostate of an eighty year-old."
"I wish Harry had let me go with Gary to the strip club job to watch that cheating husband," Clarence grumbled. "He'd have let me pee."
"Just go behind the bush by that abandoned house over there," Mo said, waving a hand in the general vicinity of the area to the left. "Or how about the empty Coke bottle in the backseat?"
"Gary would've let me use an actual toilet at the strip
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