Joyful Leigh: Literal Leigh Romance Diaries, #5
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About this ebook
'Tis the season for magical mayhem.
Leigh vows upon her magic desk and witch's broom that Thankshanukkamas will be filled with childlike joy for her, her family, and her friends—even if it kills them. And it may just come to that! With a new publishing contract in hand, the disaster-pieces fly from Leigh's desk.
With titles like Sleighing the Elfa-The Elf Pack Book1, Restoring The Old Schlitt House-A "Do Yourself" Romance, Fangin' the Billion-were, and Gangin' the Billion-were, the mischief piles up. When the EPA (Elf Protection Agency) shows up at Leigh's door, she's got some explaining to do. Throw in a couple of retired mobsters, Fur-Con, bats in the belfry, along with a shape-shifting witch, and you've got a recipe for catastrophe. Can Leigh and the gang save the fate of all paranormals? Or will this be the end of the line for Leigh and her band of magical misfits?
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Accidental Leigh: Literal Leigh Romance Diaries, #1 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsSerious Leigh: Literal Leigh Romance Diaries, #2 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsHopeful Leigh: Literal Leigh Romance Diaries, #3 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsHaunting Leigh: Literal Leigh Romance Diaries, #4 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsJoyful Leigh: Literal Leigh Romance Diaries, #5 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsDisastrous Leigh: Literal Leigh Romance Diaries, #6 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
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Joyful Leigh - Melanie James
1
THE MOUSE
Thoughts about my wonderful Halloween still filled my mind, especially those first couple of days in November. I can’t quite wrap my head around the fact that Hunter actually proposed! I catch myself constantly staring at the beautiful ring he gave me as a reminder. Then something so traumatic happened that it made me appreciate every single day, especially the upcoming holidays. The event had some pretty serious implications that I wouldn’t realize until much later.
It had been a long day and my brain was completely fried. I don’t think I was capable of much more than drooling when Gertie popped in for a visit at the school and joined me on my walk home. We stopped in at the local grocery store to browse around and pick up a few necessities.
Excuse me. Do you know much about these?
I was standing in front of a display of canned goods, a virtual great pyramid of candied yams, cranberry sauce, sweet corn, and sweet potatoes.
A sweet-looking, older African American woman with short gray hair, wire-framed bifocals, and a bright blue vest stared at me. I really don’t understand the purpose of those pocket-less vests. You know the kind of vest I’m talking about, the ones en vogue at all of the retail chains these days. They are almost always festooned with little pins that display sickeningly positive slogans. I think the idea is to portray an aura of helpful customer service until you have a question. Then you find out they are totally and completely misleading.
The woman adjusted her glasses and leaned closer to the monolith of cans. Let’s see. Aha!
She selected a can and stood uptight. "I know exactly what these strange things are. They’re called cans. These particular cans are filled with food. They have these really handy things called labels that tell you what’s inside. Pretty neat idea. She looked at me as if I had just fallen off the turnip wagon.
Congratulations. You just asked the dumbass question of the week." So much for the sweet and helpful grandmotherly type, I thought.
I know they’re cans, but I wanted to know what the difference is between sweet potatoes and candied yams. I mean, are candied yams a dessert food? Are they actually just candy in the shape of a sweet potato? They look the same in the picture. Are they just the same thing with different names? But why would they do that?
Where are you from? Mars? The moon maybe?
She shook her head.
No. You’re confusing me with my sister, Sarah. Do you know her or something? She and her husband live in Mars. They did live in Moon but found a bigger place. But those towns are near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. We’re from Skokie, but now I live here, just a couple blocks away. I’m a teacher from the elementary school. Or…wait, were you being sarcastic?
She took her glasses off and tapped them against her lips, just like my mom does. After an abnormally long pause, she finally spoke, A teacher? A teacher!
Inexplicably, she turned and walked away, back into the recesses of retail hell.
Wait! I just wanted to know the differ…never mind.
The woman totally twisted my words around. My guess is she didn’t know the damn difference between sweet potatoes and yams either. I was more determined than ever to answer the question. Gertie? Gertie? Where are you?
Gertie came out from an aisle. The wheels on her cart made an unholy noise. It was one of those noises only a leather-clad, black-hooded medieval torturer could appreciate. Please! Stop it! My God! Are my ears bleeding?
Gertie gave one of the wheels a little kick. Sorry. They really need to lubricate these so they’re nice and smooth, otherwise, it’s downright painful.
"That’s what he said! My little joke didn’t register with Gertie one bit.
Say, Gertie. Do you know what the difference is between a sweet potato and a yam? I asked the woman that works here, and she just took advantage of the fact that my normally quick wit is out of commission."
I doubt they are the same thing. Or are they more like beets or turnips than potatoes?
Gertie said and then pulled a box of Lucky Charms from her cart. We could just eat these. I can’t get enough of this stuff.
Gertie’s head popped up and she looked at the front door of the store. Look! A giant mouse just walked in.
I looked at the automatic sliding glass doors just as a man dressed in a mouse costume jogged into the store. It was the kind of costume that reminded you just enough of a well-known, cute, brown cartoon mouse without the copyright infringement. Oh, I’ve seen that guy here before. Whenever they have a big cheese sale going on, he’s walking around in the deli carrying a tray of samples. He must be late because he sure seems like he’s in a rush.
Maybe someone else in a cat costume is after him?
Gertie shrugged and laughed. Hey Leigh, I’m going to take a look down the pet food aisle. Be right back.
Gertie schlepped her screeching, wobbly cart back into the forest of shelves.
All right.
I gave the temple of cans another look. I began to mumble. "Oh great. Now here’s a can that says ‘Billy’s Yams’ above the picture and ‘Fancy Sweet Potatoes in Heavy Syrup’ under the picture. So, what the hell is this? Yams? Sweet potatoes? Or potatoes sweetened with syrup? How do they define ‘Fancy’ anyway? I don’t see anything fancy about a can full of brownish-orange lumps." Maybe it’s just me, but labels sometimes drive me absolutely bonkers. I really needed a helpful second opinion.
The mouse guy had just stopped behind me and was apparently getting some costume accessory from a duffle bag. Excuse me, cheese guy. You’re in this store a lot. What can you tell me about yams versus sweet potatoes? You see, I’m thinking about cooking my first real Thanksgiving dinner, and I can’t get past this damn yam issue I’m having.
The mouse didn’t say a word. He found what he was looking for. The item he held in his furry clutches looked just like a little toy pistol. "What do you have there? Are you guys going to do one of those mascot pranks? I’ve seen videos of those. Is there going to be someone in a cat costume? Because that would be…purrfect! Get it?"
Enough, already!
His arm quickly came from behind, wrapping tightly around my chest, pulling me close.
Cool! I’ve always wanted to see one of these videos made.
What the hell is wrong with you, lady? Look around! You’re my hostage. I just robbed the Third Fifth Bank. Or the Fifth Third Bank, whatever the hell it’s called. The cops cornered me in here.
What? No, you didn’t. I was born at night, but it wasn’t last night. Nobody would rob a bank dressed in a goddamn mouse costume. But as long as you’ve brought it up, I have another question. What is up with a fifth of a third bank? Wouldn’t you want to start with the first? Really. Were all the other banks numbered first through fourth and etcetera? That whole name, as a fraction, makes no sense. Anyway, where’s the guy with the camera?
I tried to brush away the round floppy mouse ear that kept hitting my cheek.
Shut the hell up!
The mouse had the pistol to my head. When he shouted towards the entrance, I knew this was no hidden camera prank. I want an armored truck in fifteen minutes, or the girl gets it!
Maybe it was just the surprise combined with the fact that I was so tired. I don’t believe I am normally so unaware that I couldn’t believe I was being held hostage. When I saw the police cruisers outside, not to mention the rest of the people in the store had cleared out, I realized I was in one hell of a bad spot. Imminent danger also seems to make me laugh or crack some sort of joke. I suppose it’s just the way my mind reacts to fear. And how did the bank job go? Not a lot of cheese in those places,
I laughed at my own stupid joke. But seriously. Why the mouse outfit? I bet your name is Jerry. Don’t you stand out in a crowd like that? Or is it so you can’t be recognized?
Fucking Christ! Forget the fifteen minutes! You’ve got five!
he shouted to the cops.
Then my mousey captor and I heard the sound. It was the screeching sound of a hundred demons clawing their way up from hell through a metal stove pipe—Gertie’s shopping cart. The robber jumped at the sound. Relax. It’s not a giant cat, just a shopping cart.
I snorted at my little joke.
Leigh! Carrying on with that rodent? Sweet Jesus!
Gertie said, bristling with indignation and shock when she saw me—apparently—getting my freak on with the mouse. My abductor spun around to see who it was that had dared so boldly, and so stupidly, to walk up to him. Gertie’s brain swirled with new information when she saw the gun being held to me. Oh! Wait.
She looked like a deer caught in the deadlights for a few seconds. She cocked her head like a dog that listened to understand a new command. A gun?
As if she had been jerked back by an unseen force, she suddenly barked out, A gun!
Through the window, I could see Hunter outside by his patrol car. He was looking directly at me, making sweeping motions as if he held an invisible broom. It took a minute to sink in and correctly guess his charade. Gertie! Your broom!
I vocalized my realization.
Gertie reached into her purse. Good idea, Leigh!
She took her little broom out of her purse. The evil mouse reacted by pointing his gun in her direction. I knew that he meant to shoot Gertie. I suppose he thought she was taking out a weapon of her own. I reacted by wildly flinging myself against his outstretched arm. The pistol went off with a frightening thunderclap. I had never heard a sound as loud as the gun going off next to my ear. It stunned me, but I could tell I had succeeded in making the shot go wild when crumbs of ceiling tile sprinkled down to the floor.
Gertie screamed, shaking her broom. She shouted something, but with my temporary deafness, I couldn’t make out a word she said. I think she was trying to get us out of there and bring the police in. In any case, Hunter suddenly flashed into the store in my place. I was thrown back against a pallet load of clear plastic bags filled with breadcrumb stuffing mix. I have to say, if you ever get thrown through the air at the grocery store, pray that there is a pallet of stuffing between you and the freezer section. Instead of breaking any bones, the bags thankfully absorbed my fall. Dozens of them popped open, showering the area in stuffing mix.
Hunter instantly dispatched the giant mouse with a single, adrenaline-fueled, super-hero-like punch. I could practically envision the classic comic book onomatopoeic sound effect, "BAM!!!" hanging in the air in big bold letters and multiple exclamation points. Hunter literally knocked the guy out. A pink mist hung in the air from Gertie’s burst of magic adding to the comic book effect.
Woohoo! Yeah! Hit ‘em again, Hunter!
Gertie jumped up and down as she cheered while I floundered around in the heap of stuffing mix. Four police officers rushed through the door.
A hulk of a cop kicked away the criminal’s weapon while other officers cuffed his still limp body. Holy shit, Kovacs! How the hell did you get in here so fast? We were supposed to wait for the tactical team.
The big man swatted the air and squinted. And what the hell is all this pink shit in the air?
Swat, swat.
This must be the SWAT team,
I joked.
In the swirling pink clouds, my victorious hero stood over the vanquished giant mouse. It was quite a surreal sight to behold, almost like something you’d see in a late-night cable TV offering—possibly called Gladiators of Mars.
Thankfully, Hunter knew just what to say to the veteran officer. Once I heard that gunshot, I knew there was no more time to wait.
Gertie came over and helped me up. Gertie, I’m pretty sure you saved my life with your magic. Thank you so much,
I whispered.
Anytime! Thank Hunter, too. He was the one that punched the guy,
Gertie said.
"Oh, I’ll thank him. Look at him, Gertie. See how he’s standing over the criminal he knocked out? He’s a million times better than any alpha male book boyfriend." Part of me was ready to rip his shirt open and go at him like a sex-crazed nymph—yes, literally that part of me. The need to lick every inch of his delectable body was almost too much for my willpower. I nearly caved!
Another police officer lifted the villain’s unconscious head by the floppy mouse ears. Hey, Kovacs, do you know who this guy is?
Um…Isn’t that Jerry? Or is it Tom? I always mix up which is which,
Hunter answered.
I know! Me, too!
I added. By that point, my hands were helplessly running across Hunter’s chest.
No! Not the damn cartoon. The suspect for Christ’s sake. Jesus! You two. They call him ‘The Mouse,’ but his real name is Tom Gatos. Isn’t that ironic? The FBI has been hunting this guy for a while. He’s been eluding traps for months.
2
REFLECTIONS
The next day I clipped the newspaper article from the front page of the Tribune. Hero Rookie Cop Catches Mouse—Saves Fiancée.
A sentence at the end of the story caught my eye. Gatos, aka The Mouse, dismisses claims that Officer Kovacs was the real hero. He has stated that witches were responsible for his capture.
It was definitely something you’d easily dismiss as the ranting of a demented criminal. When I imagined The Mouse babbling to his interrogators about witches, I had no worries. The existence of witchcraft would remain a secret.
Personally, my comic bookish brush with death had a profound effect on me. I sat at my desk and wondered what the true spirit of the upcoming holidays was and what it meant to me. I know I can’t be alone in thinking about this topic.
Remember when you were just a kid and the annual holiday season seemed so magical, so exciting? I closed my eyes and remembered the sights, sounds, smells, and special ambiance. Everyone seemed to be getting into the joyful holiday spirit, and that made it all seem even more wonderful. A walk in the city during the holiday season was unlike any other time of year. Like a dreary cactus that unexpectedly erupts in showy blossoms, Chicago would suddenly be awash in the glittering, seasonal gush of holiday décor. Perhaps it wouldn’t have seemed impressive to me if it wasn’t such a contrast to the city’s normally faceless crowd that rudely buzzed about between monolithic buildings.
Even my dad held onto a holiday tradition. We always sat down together as a family right after Thanksgiving and watched the Chicagoland television station staples that have been broadcast every year since the 1950s. The old black and white animated