Page 95 of Love at Teamsgiving
“I didn’t hear about a parade today.”
“It’s backup.”
“So you did call the police?”
Asher chuckles. “Juniper, let’s just say it isn’t just us that have your back.”
As Mikey and I did numerous times, he parks a little bit away from the salon.
“Mama, leave the frying pan in the car. In fact, stay here,” Asher says.
My mother and I both get out of the vehicle. Must be where I get my stubborn streak from.
She says, “No, I want to see the woman who gave my daughter an unfriendly welcome go down.”
Understanding dawns as the first, faint gray light of day illuminates the eastern sky. The low rumble of the vehicles down the road gets closer. I hear the faint sound of feet on pavement, the shifting of clothing, and a low murmur of voices.
“Am I in the middle of a C?—”
“Don’t say it,” Mama says.
A low voice whispers in my ear. “It’s a Cobbiton Sting Operation.”
I turn to Mikey, smelling fresh like aftershave. “What are you?—?”
He holds his finger over his mouth in the universal signal for quiet. Also dressed in black, he holds his hockey stick and then disappears into the darkness.
Looking around, I spot the looming figures of large men with their hockey sticks lifted like a massive human fence, surrounding the salon.
Maybe I should take cover.
What seems like a very bright sunrise suddenly shines on the building, illuminating the Junie’s Hair Salon sign. Only, it’s the Cruz crew with their work lights on full blast.
In a booming, amplified voice, a woman with a familiar Italian accent, but who is not my mother, says, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
A shiver runs through me.
“We have you surrounded,” Carlotta says. “Come out with your hands up or face the music.”
I almost, but don’t quite, giggle. However, this is no laughing matter.
With the bank of work lights and the sun peeping over the horizon, my family, the entire Cruz crew, and the Nebraska Knights hockey team showed up at an obscene hour on a holiday, no less, to ferret out whoever has been trying to destroy my salon.
My eyes sting and my throat feels thick. As odd as it sounds, it almost seems like Papa is here. Ever so faintly, it’s like I can hear his voice, telling me that I’m not alone. That I don’t have to do things on my own.
Before I get too emotional, a woman with a ball cap on and with her hands lifted in surrender exits the salon.
It’s Nancy Linderberg. Maybe there is a Thanksgiving parade, hosted by the Cobbiton Activities Commission, that I didn’t hear about.
Mama marches forward. “You tried to cheat at that last canasta game and you were attempting to ruin my daughter’s shop.”
Nancy stammers, denying it when Mikey’s four brothers appear with a man in a tatty jacket who tries to get away from them.
Mr. Cruz removes his wallet from his pocket and reads his ID. “Max Linderberg.”
“A husband and wife operation?” I ask, stepping forward.
Coach Badaszek from the Nebraska Knights appears. “Exes. Trying to get back at each other through you, Miss Popovik.”
