The Prisoner of Snowflake Falls by John Lekich

doorway. A few upended thumbtacks pierced my jeans and T-shirt. Not to mention one that ended up stuck into the palm of my hand as I floundered around, trying to get up.
    Getting assaulted by sharpened thumbtacks is both irritating and humiliating. But it is a walk in the sunshine compared to knowing that an angry individual is about to hit you over the head with a nightstick. Fortunately, the Colonel was so excited at the thought of bashing a genuine intruder that he tripped over a cat toy on the stairs and lost his balance. As a result, he activated the bucket full of dirty sweat-sock water that teetered over the doorway. His total surprise at getting soaked gave me enough time to get up off the floor and run out the door.
    And then disaster struck. Before I could get completely out of range, the Colonel fired on me with his specially equipped water pistol. It’s hard to describe what it is like to be drenched on the neck and back with the Colonel’s special formula just when you think you’ve made a successful retreat. Especially if you want to be delicate and not use a lot of swear words. Let’s just say that the way I smelled wasn’t going to remind anybody of Springtime in Paris. Let’s just also say that I reeked beyond description.
    In fact, I reeked so bad that, even while I was racing out of the Colonel’s yard and down the street, I kept wondering why I couldn’t outrun this totally outrageous stench. It was only when I slowed down that I fully realized the awful smell was coming from me. That was kind of a turning point, hygiene-wise.
    In addition to my lingering odor problem, I had to find a way to prepare for Cookie’s return visit to Evelyn’s house. That meant tidying up her place, stocking her fridge with healthy food, and convincing Cookie that Mrs. Henderson was baking up a storm. I needed a comfortable place to clean up and tend to my recent scratches and thumb-tack wounds. It should also be a place where I could liberate enough first-class groceries to transfer to Evelyn’s fridge in time for Cookie’s next inspection.
    So I decided to head for Ambrose Worton’s place in an effort to refresh myself. Aside from his bountiful fridge, Ambrose’s home could easily pass for a health spa. Even without looking inside his bathroom medicine cabinets, I knew it they would be well stocked with aromatic bath salts and soothing lotions, things I desperately needed. His home also featured a number of amenities that made for the ideal stress-free environment: a washer and dryer, and a deluxe reclining chair with a built-in back massager. Best of all, there was a generous sunken bathtub where I could take a good long soak and banish the pesky effects of CR-13.
    Normally, I would respect Ambrose’s personal schedule by not lingering for much longer than it took to fix a sandwich, but thanks to the Colonel, my nerves were unusually frayed. A personal spa day courtesy of Ambrose Worton was just what I needed.
    According to the wall calendar in his study, Ambrose was away on a business trip for the rest of the week, and his daughter Melinda was working as a counselor at a kids’ summer camp. Since Cookie’s inspection was the following day, the timing was perfect. I could transfer whatever Ambrose had in his fridge and pantry to Evelyn’s place. Since Evelyn had a doctor’s appointment in addition to her weekly card game, it would leave me plenty of time. If I worked fast, I could even do a fair amount of cleaning before Cookie’s arrival. I made a mental note to borrow some of Ambrose’s cleaning supplies.
    It wasn’t an ideal plan. I would have to think of a reasonable explanation for the fact that no Hendersons were around for Cookie’s second visit. When Cookie departed, I would have to remove Ambrose’s food from Evelyn’s kitchen, bring it back to Ambrose’s and put the food back exactly as I found it. But it was all