In Slightly Cracked, Sugar Babe Beanblossom and best pal, Daisy Marie Hazelhurst, have been buddies since they were born two weeks to the day apart. Living near each other, they share happy and sad memories, outrageous antics and giggles, marital and health glitches. The only thing that threatens their lifelong friendship is the Old Dickeywood subdivision goose controversy.
When Daisy takes a nasty spill on her bike, Sugar Babe races to her side. After two trips to the ER, Daisy is diagnosed with post-concussion syndrome and tests reveal an even more sinister affliction. As Daisy weakens, Sugar Babe embraces the realization that friends must encourage and protect one another through difficult circumstances, and …
“Driving Miss Daisy” takes on a whole new meaning.
Mackie Sue kept quiet as she and Daisy stopped near a gaggle of geese, stooped on the bank as if the cold wind was too much for them. At least it was warmer than the previous day and she wasn’t chilled to the bone. She knew the geese seemed quite content on their own until they saw Daisy walking around the pond. Her goose, Alice, would honk with delight and swim to the bank to follow the ladies. Of course, all of Alice’s offspring followed as well. That’s how it became the goose parade—the laughing stock of Old Dickeywood—until the geese began fertilizing all the well-manicured lawns near the pond, causing laughter to subside and anger to commence.
This morning the ladies rounded the dam end of the pond and saw the familiar silhouette of an angry man waiting for them. Chip Dickeywood stood by his mailbox in unkempt grass, hose-fishing as they approached.
“Look, Sugar Babe. Chip’s scratching his crouch right in front of us.”
“Yeah, but I think you mean his crotch, not his crouch.”
Daisy didn’t respond to her, but instead called out to the man before they reached him. “Got a nasty itch in the crotch, Chip?”
“Yeah, Daisy, it’s called goose shit. Look at my yard. Shit everywhere! This is all y’all’s fault too. I’m calling the subdivision committee together to ban these critters. We’ll haul ‘em out or shoot ‘em.”
“Chip, be sensible,” Mackie Sue said as they came up beside him. “There’s a pond here. You built it yourself before you started selling off lots. Of course geese are going to fly in and out.” She got closer to his face. “You started this problem yourself and now you’re about as sympathetic as a turkey vulture waiting on its next meal. You don’t want to take any responsibility for the problem.” Daisy snickered.
“I’m talking about this damn goose parade at the moment. Look at the road behind you, for Christ’s sake!” He pointed behind them.
The ladies turned and looked at gross blobs of greenish poop here and there, but Daisy, not to be outdone, refused to acknowledge what all the fuss was about. “You’re a bully.”
“You’re the bully, Hazelhurst,” yelled Dickeywood. “If the geese would stay right around the pond, it wouldn’t be such a problem. You’ve trained them to follow you up and down the road, so naturally they crap and forage in everybody’s yards.
“I’m not a bully.” She turned to her friend. “Am I?” The ladies took a few steps forward.
“In no way, shape, or form, Daisy. He just didn’t have a snappy comeback.”
“I’d like to snap his comeback until it can’t snap anymore.” She stared back at the subdivision bully. “You’re being mean, Chip Dickeywood, and I’m not listening to any more of your spiel.” She stuck her nose in the air and moved on down the road.
“You all’ll have to listen to the committee’s spiel and maybe animal control too, if I have anything to say about it.” He turned, took a few steps, slipped and collided with his driveway pavement. The ladies spun around and hurried on as he pushed himself up and yelled something inaudible at them.
“Go stew your sore ass in boiling urine, Chip Dickeywood! And while you’re at it, shit yourself!”
“Daisy Marie Hazelhurst.” Mackie Sue tugged her friend forward at a faster clip.
“I’d seriously like to clean his cock,” Daisy said.
“You mean clock, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I certainly do. I’m not touching his nasty ass cock.”
Both women laughed as the goose parade continued on around the pond.
Susan Whitfield lives in North Carolina, where she sets her books. She is the author of the Logan Hunter Mystery series, Killer Recipes, a unique cookbook, and Slightly Cracked, her first women’s fiction (which also includes a little mystery). Susan’s an avid blogger and promotes authors at http://www.susanwhitfield.blogspot.com She’s a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, Carolina Conspiracy, Coastal Carolina Mystery Writers, and North Carolina Writers Network. Her website: http://www.susanwhitfieldonline.com. You can also find her on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and Booktown.ning.com and http://www.trianglesinc.com.