The Foxinator: Part I

“Awesome!” Mrs. Curmudgeon was enthusiastically chatting on the phone. I couldn’t help but hear her side of the conversation.

Someone on the other end of the line was telling a story. Whoever called was obviously in a good mood. Whatever the news might be, it was apparently awesome. Excellent. It had nothing to do with me. Also excellent.

I, being a male of the species, had absolutely no further interest. If someone wants to inform me of something they’ll call my phone. Of course, I rarely give out my phone number, usually turn the infernal thing off, and generally don’t answer it when it’s on. A finely tuned system of human interaction avoidance. It has served me well.

At any rate some sort of feminine good news was about and I was glad for it. When Mrs. Curmudgeon is happy, I’m happy. Also, I was en route to the beer fridge.

I grabbed a cold one and headed back past the conversation. Discussions between Mrs. Curmudgeon and her friends happen on a wavelength I don’t generally hear. I expected to hear nothing and care less.

There are certain phrases, however, which catch my attention.

“Right between the eyes? Perfect!”

Hmm… This seemed to bear attention. More words from the other end. Mrs. Curmudgeon replied excitedly.

“You dropped him where? … What? …. Near the kitchen?”

I thought for a second. Nah.  Couldn’t be anything I was imagining. I sipped my beer and tried hard not to hear another damn thing.

“But the ground is frozen. How will you dispose of the body?”

I really wish I hadn’t heard that. I pondered going ice fishing for the day.

“Maybe the Curmudgeon can help out.”

That’s my cue. I got the hell out of the room.

Five minutes later I was fiddling around with the wood stove and preparing a rehearsed speech about why I wasn’t digging any goddamn secret graves. As expected, Mrs. Curmudgeon shouted across the room.

“Hey Curmudgeon, my friend needs advice and I told her you know how to…”

Oh hell! I swigged the last of my beer, abandoned my post at the stove, and trudged back to Mrs. Curmudgeon. She was holding out the phone. I hate phones…