“Holy Sh*t,” Sheila’s Saga – Pt. 5

 Parts 1-4 of this story can be found here.

        Sheila turned her head to look out her car window, hoping Joe wouldn’t notice the fear in her eyes. 
        “Holy Shit, Sheila!” 
        “Joe, the kids!”
        “Sorry, guys.” 
        Joe whispered to Sheila, “It’s that reporter, Carlton Trucker, and he’s walking towards us.” 
        Sheila sternly demanded, “Turn the car around, Joe!” 
        “But maybe he wants to talk to us.” 
        “Don’t be ridiculous. Think of the kids. We need to get home.” 
        Joey screamed, “But we want to see the Bunny,” while Emmy wailed.
        Sheila took a deep breath and then turned to the back seat and explained, “I’m sorry, but the policeman said the Easter Bunny has gone to bed. The Bunny needs to rest up for his candy deliveries tonight.”
        Satisfied with this explanation, the kids returned to eating their ice cream. 
        “Fine,” Joe conceded. Disappointed, he put the car slowly into reverse and then drove home. 
        The nighttime ritual was harder than usual, as the sugared children didn’t want to go down. So, Joe joined in the ruse. 
        “You know, if you don’t get to bed, the Easter Bunny won’t come tomorrow.”
        The kids ran to their rooms, jumped into bed, and pulled up their covers.
        “Good night, mommy and daddy.” 
        Sheila and Joe kissed Joey and Emmy goodnight and closed the door. 
        “Can I interest you in a murder mystery, Ms. Marple?”
        “So long as it comes with a drink.”
        But once the parents plopped on the couch, Joe turned to Sheila. 
        “So, who do you really think started the fire, Sheila?”
        “I told you, Joe. The stupid mower started the fire.”
        “But what if it’s the crazy neighbor, Sofia?”
        Sheila paused, then sighed. “As much as I wish it was Sofia, I’m sticking with the mower.”
        Joe persisted, “But what if Sofia tried to frame the gardener? You said she hates immigrants.”
        “Enough, Joe! Yes, Sofia hates immigrants, and I hate Sofia. But I’m telling you, it was the murdering mower.”
        “And you’re sure it wasn’t, Antonio?”
        “No! Antonio is always kind to the kids and me. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” 
        Joe, somewhat satisfied, reluctantly relented. “Yea, you’re probably right. Sofia has too much to lose. And if Antonio started a fire, he’d lose his job.” 
        Relieved, Sheila commanded, “Turn on the tv, Joe, so we can solve a ‘real’ murder mystery. “
        Joe laughed and turned on the tv. “I think it’s the wife.”
        “You always think it’s the wife. She’s too sweet. It’s clearly the husband.” 
        Joe laughed and offered a compromise. “It’s probably the plumber. The detective hasn’t focused on him, but he had access to the gas furnace.”
        “That makes more sense,” Sheila agreed. 
        “Holy shit, Sheila!” Joe shouted, as he shut off the tv. “We can solve the Senator’s fire together.”
        “Drop it, Joe!” 
        “No, listen. I trust your heart, so if you don’t think it’s Antonio, that’s good enough for me. But I’ve got the mind of a detective, and I think Sofia’s involved.” 
        Sheila got up from the couch, “Enough, Joe! I’m going to bed.” 
        “I’ll be up in a minute,” Joe promised, and then started scrolling through his phone, quietly looking for clues. 
        Sheila trudged up the steps and closed the bedroom door behind her. As she leaned back on the door, she whispered to herself, “It’s not Sofia. It was me.”