Slow Crime Day

“Okay,” Officer Gordon said, swallowing his sigh. “Who wants to tell me what happened?”

The squat, round-bottomed woman surged in front of her equally-squat, balding partner. “My husband attacked me.”

He was shaking his head before she even started speaking. “I did nothing of the sort.”

“You know you did! Don’t lie to the officer. You threw a log at my head!”

“I pitched a chunk of wood in your general direction. It went off course. It was an accident. Woodchucks can’t chuck wood worth a darn. Everybody knows that.”

“Why were you chucking wood at your wife in the first place?” Officer Gordon asked.

“She said she wanted a snack.”

Gordon eyed the squat, round woman. “Let me guess. Beaver?”

“I was in the mood for a little oak. Maybe some acorns on the side. I didn’t know he was going to start pitching logs at my head.”

“Acorns?” her husband sputtered. “Since when do you eat acorns?” His dark eyes narrowed. “It’s him, isn’t it? That squirrel. The one you’ve been seeing behind my back.”

“For the last time, Jake, I’m not running around on you. I’ve never run around on you. What would I want with a squirrel anyway? They can’t even swim.”

“I can’t swim and you married me.”

“I must have been out of my mind.” The woman rubbed her plump arms. “He’s paranoid. Now he’s trying to kill me.”

“She’s been moody as all get out lately. Last night I brought her a salad and she threw it against the wall because it didn’t have any bark in it. There wasn’t any bark because you chewed up all the bark. Then you blamed me for no bark. Of course I threw the wood at you. You think I’m going to walk up and hand it to you? You’re liable to gnaw my head off.”

“Could I see the piece of wood?” Officer Gordon asked.

The man handed him a ragged, uneven barkless chunk just a little larger than a baseball. “That’s it?” Gordon said.

The woman toed the ground. “It was bigger when he threw it. While we were waiting for you to show up I kind of, well, gnawed on it.”

“Kind of.” Her husband snorted. “You went at that wood like a termite. You’ve been eating like crazy lately. All weird stuff. Does your squirrel bring you oak chips in bed?”

“Are you saying I’m fat?”

“Of course not, dear.” He backed off, rubbing his own ample stomach. “I like a woman with meat on her bones. It’s why I married you. The first time I saw that broad, beautiful butt I knew I had to have you.”

“So you could throw wood at my head.” She burst into tears.

The woodchuck looked at Gordon with a man-to-man, you see what I have to put up with expression. “Told you. Moody.”

“I’m not cheating on you.” The flood of tears cut off as fast as it had appeared. “I know I’ve been eating a lot more lately. I can’t help it. I’ve been getting these cravings. Nuts and bark and stuff.”

“The other night she ate a whole jar of dry-roasted peanuts,” her husband put in. “She hates dry-roasted peanuts.” He glowered at his wife. “I hear squirrels love 'em.”

“I wanted something salty. I really wanted cheese. You wouldn’t get me cheese.”

“It was three in the morning!”

Gordon, whose keen canine nose and cop mind had already discerned the cause of the alleged incident, said mildly, “Cravings?”

“It hit me all of a sudden,” the woman sniffled. “About a month ago.” The light dawned. “Oh. My.”

“It that when you met your squirrel?” her husband said.

“No,” she said with sudden calm, “it started right after our anniversary. Remember? You booked us a room at the Pleasure Club. The Pirate and the Serving Wench.” She smiled, displaying deep dimples. “You looked so dashing in that eyepatch.”

“And you had on about seven petticoats. But not for long.” His jaw fell open. “Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.” Fresh tears sparkled in her eyes. “Oh, Jake.”

“Oh, Bonnie.”

Gordon gave them several minutes of hugs and slurping before he cleared his throat. “So I take it neither one of you is pressing charges?”

“Of course not,” Bonnie said. “It was a misunderstanding.”

“Sorry about the wood,” Jake said. “I’ve got horrible aim. Squirrels. What was I thinking?”

“No wonder I’ve been eating nuts. Usually I can’t stand nuts. Now I could eat a pound of peanuts. On top of watermelon sherbet. Served in an oak bowl. I could eat that too.”

“I’ll bet we could get that at that new ice cream place. I could go for an old-fashioned malted.” He slapped his wife’s broad bottom. “Would you like something sweet, little girl?”

She giggled like a teenager.

Gordon got back into his car and drove off, unnoticed by the happy couple. In spite of the fangs and claws and the occasional beak, shifter complaints on the whole were easier to handle than those involving humans. Shifters normally didn’t carry firearms, for one thing. Once you knew which species you were dealing with, peaceful resolutions followed in short order. He doubted he’d be called back by these two again. As long as her obstetrician wasn’t a squirrel.

“Talbot’s Peak,” Gordon murmured through a smile. “Never a dull moment.”

Mystery Men

(Pay close attention to the following ficlet. There will be a quiz at the end.)

“Let us bow our heads in prayer.”

Reverend Timothy Tannhauser stole a peek at his flock as he spoke the familiar words of the litany. Some of those lowered heads, he suspected, were more intent on dozing than salvation. He wondered idly, not for the first time, just how many gods, demigods, djinns and forest spirits his congregation prayed to. Not that it mattered. They all wound up with the same two choices eventually. It was his job to round up the strays and gently herd them toward the Up escalator.

The Talbot’s Peak Nondenominational Congregational Church was enjoying quite a turnout this morning. Mostly wolves, as usual. As with everything else, they worshipped in packs, and put their faith in the word of whatever alpha addressed them. Last week’s sermon on free will had earned him a ton of blank stares. The cats, on the other hand, eyed him with healthy skepticism. Getting a cat to believe in anything they couldn’t eat, hump or scratch was a constant uphill battle.

He spotted, with mild surprise, a couple coyotes in the back. That was unusual. Coyotes didn’t believe in organized religion. They didn’t believe in organized anything. They were probably here to rob the collection plate. Rev. Tim stared straight at them and laid it on thick regarding the wages of sin. They just smiled back and nodded semi-piously.

Toward the end of his sermon the door opened and a latecomer stepped inside. Rev. Tim glanced up. His words stumbled briefly. Officer Jim Gordon didn’t take a seat. He waved briefly at the pastor and leaned against the wall, near the pew with the coyotes in it. They squirmed on the hard wooden seat and made a point not to look at the cop.

The rest of the congregation indulged in their curiosity and gave Officer Gordon a good, healthy once-over. Then the stares locked and lengthened. First at Officer Gordon, then to Rev. Tim. He could feel the familiar WTF quotient rising, and growled low down in his throat.

Thank the Great Shepherd the service was nearly over. Rev. Tim wrapped it up quickly and bid his flock good-day. The coyotes dumped a couple crumpled bills in the plate, slithered past Officer Gordon, and made a hasty exit.

When the last of his flock had departed, Rev. Tim shut the door and turned on Officer Gordon. “I thought we agreed not to meet in public. We’re supposed to be under cover.”

Jim shrugged. “I’ve been getting funny looks since you got here. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that we’re from the same litter, even though you’re using Mom’s name.”

He had that right. Tim’s brown hair was longer and lighter, a leftover from his years in Arizona. Jim sported a trim moustache. Look beyond the cosmetic differences, however, and it was clear to anybody they were identical twins. “All the more reason not to call attention to it. What brings you to church?”

“I wondered if there’d been any progress on the case. I know Khan’s sons come here, though I didn’t see any this morning.”

“Sanjay visits occasionally. He’s fascinated by Western religions. Sometimes he brings Guri. They’re not high in Shere Khan’s confidence.”

“Any den in a storm. Be helpful if they came to confession.”

“I’m not a priest, Jim. Either way, I can’t divulge that to you.”

“But you hear things. People open up to you.”

“It’s the collar. You’re the one who always wanted to chase the bad guys. I swear you’ve got pit bull in you.”

Jim grinned. “Then so do you.”

Tim sighed. “It would be useful. Sometimes I just want to grab them by the scruff of the neck and drag them to the Lord. I suppose I’ll have to be content with nipping at their heels.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “So it’s starting, is it? How bad?”

“Bad enough that Brandon Wayne asked for both of us. I wish you hadn’t left the force, Tim. You were one helluva detective, and we were one helluva team.”

“Good cop, bad cop. Right. I couldn’t ignore the call. It’s as much a part of our family heritage as police work, after all.” He grinned suddenly. “And yes, I do hear things. If it isn’t spoken directly to me in confidence and I choose to draw my own conclusions, I’m not in violation of anything. Sanjay stops by once or twice a week for tea, and we discuss scripture. He complains a lot about his father. It’s what he doesn’t say that’s interesting.”

Jim flashed a grin identical to his brother’s. “It never fades, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t, Lord help me. Well, that’s what we’re here for. Keep the innocent lambs away from evil, one way or another. You don’t still chase cars, do you?”

“Around here, it’s more motorcycles. Been to the Pleasure Club yet?”

“Not in uniform.” Tim’s eyes twinkled. “Like I said, I’m not a priest.”

“Good boy.” The cop followed the reverend through the church, back to Tim’s office and a cup of coffee and some serious catching up.

# # #

THE QUESTION: What kind of shapeshifters are Jim and Tim Gordon?

HINTS: Since they’re identical twins, they turn into the same animal. It’s a common animal, not exotic, so no wildebeests or wombats. Their professions are a major clue.

The first person to answer correctly will be written into next Monday's blog either as or with the shapeshifter of your choice. (Please keep it to two partners; I can't handle the pronouns.) Winner and the answer will be revealed here on Thursday. For those who know me, keep in mind I have a twisted sense of humor. Good luck!