26 minutes

481 words

one shot across the bow

A racket that was not his alarm clock jolted Charlie Eppes from a pleasant dream. He struggled to open his eyes and pulled his arm out from under Amita. He sat up, trying to place the sound, and realized someone was pounding on the front door and ringing the doorbell.

Out in the hallway, he heard a bedroom door slam, and heard his father's voice. "All right! I'm coming! Hold your horses!"

Charlie stumbled to his bedroom door and pulled it open. "Dad?"

"Someone's at the door. It sounds like they're trying to break it down."

"Wait! Let me come with you. It could be a crazy man, or a strung out junkie or something."

"Oh, and you're going to protect your old man?" Alan huffed as he walked down the stairs.

Charlie pulled his robe around him and hurried after his father. "Yeah. You still keep the golf club by the door, right?"

Amita came up behind Charlie. "I've got mace in my purse."

"Bring it," Charlie said. "We might need it."

The pounding and ringing continued unabated while Charlie grabbed a golf club and Amita pulled the can of mace from her purse. Alan pulled the door open. "What?!" he demanded.

At least twenty people stood in front of the house. The guy closest to the door tried to push his way past Alan. "We're here for the sale."

Alan put his hand on the door frame, blocking the man's path. "Sale?! You've got the wrong address! Now, go away!"

The man waved a sheet of paper in Alan's face. "This is the address in the ad."

"Ad?" Alan grabbed the sheet of paper and squinted at it. "I don't have my glasses. Charlie?" He turned and handed the paper to his son.

Charlie snatched the paper and read, "Once in a lifetime house sale! Entire contents of Pasadena Craftsman house, including original Stickley furnishings. Sale begins promptly at six AM Tuesday, April 1. Early birds and dealers welcome!" He handed the paper back to Alan. "It's our address."

Alan waved the paper at the man on his doorstep. "Where the hell is this from?"

"Craig's List," the man said, beginning to look a little worried. "You mean you're not having a sale?"

"Do we look like we're having a sale?" Alan snarled. He glared at the crowd -- the same glare that had earned almost instant obedience from two rowdy boys for over thirty years.

After the crowd had reluctantly left, Alan slammed and locked the door. He turned to face Charlie and Amita. "Three guesses who's behind this."

"Millie," Charlie nodded.

"Avril Sciocco strikes again," Amita said, stifling a grin.

"And this time, it's before noon," Charlie said with a chuckle.

Alan glanced at his watch. "We've got six hours to get even."

"Even?" Charlie sat down at the dining room table. "Even? We need to get ahead."