Skunk Hunt Read Free

not hold the
fort for any extended length of time.
    But wait...was Uncle Vernon...God
forbid... dead ? Yes, God
forbid. But that would entail Aunt Hilary taking over the business,
probably selling it, and then Marvin would be... free . God forbid.
    A lot could go through Marvin's head when it
was properly activated.
    "He'll be all right," came Aunt Hilary's
tense voice. Marvin found it hard to say if she was pleased by this
information. "I just spoke with him. They've taken him in for
X-rays. Some idiot rear-ended him on River Road."
    Marvin tried to think of a proper way to
convey deep concern. He cleared his throat. "How's his car?"
    "It's been towed. Now listen, Marvin, Vern
told me to tell you to close up shop, now."
    "All right."
    "No, Marvin. Now . No fiddling with the computer, no waiting
for customers...not that anyone would come out on a day like
this."
    She was making him feel like a chump for
showing up on the job. But no more of a chump than Vernon, who had,
apparently, paid the price for his work ethic.
    "Do you understand me? He wants you out of
the shop this instant."
    He was suddenly alarmed. Why this urgency? It
would be just like Uncle Vernon to try and close a deal on his
deathbed. If Marvin chose to linger about, there was a remote
chance he could make a sale. For his uncle to write off an entire
day as a total loss sounded unnatural.
    As was to be expected in a young man, Marvin
had a mulish streak. Being pushed out the door—even to his benefit,
because it sounded like a delightful proposition—caused his hackles
to rise and his feet to dig in. Fortunately, he had enough common
sense to cut short his protest. Unfortunately for him, and for
others, he didn't do it soon enough. He paused, hemmed, startling
Aunt Hilary with tones of a stoic and stalwart employee. He would
see out the storm, he would keep the Ice Boutique lights lit up,
people passing by would be impressed by such dedication and drop in
to make a purchase—
    "There won't be anyone passing by, you
moron!" Aunt Hilary cut him short. "They're calling for eight more
inches!"
    Marvin gaped at the phone. His aunt had
called him a moron! What had her husband said to her about him? His
heels dug in harder—then suddenly released. What was he doing?
Eight inches on top of what had already fallen! In Richmond, such
an event was considered a catastrophe. Besides, he was talking
himself into a hole. Aunt Hilary might decide Marvin could keep the
store open by himself for however long it took Vernon to recover.
Although, from the sound of it, she could scarcely credit him with
enough sense to lock the door on leaving.
    "All right, Aunt Hilary, I'm going, I'm
going."
    "What's that? I don't hear you going."
    "OK, bye." He disconnected. In somewhat of a
huff, he sat before the monitor, brooding, tempted to visit a
couple of sites that his uncle would disapprove of, just on the
off-chance he could infect the computer with a virus from a porn
sight. That would be a hoot. Ol' Vernon checking the price of
diamonds and getting a pop-up of a beaver. The saint would go
ballistic.
    But the eight additional inches began
cluttering Marvin's mind. Neither the Subway nor the pizza joint
had opened. If he got stranded here, he would starve. He couldn't
go two hours straight without putting something in his mouth, and
there was a chance he could get stuck here a lot longer than
that.
    He closed down the computer and donned the
goofy, hoodless red, white and blue striped L.L. Bean jacket his
mother had foisted on him. Going out front, he began to arm the
security system, when his eyes drifted beyond the touchpad to the
parking lot.
    A car was sitting in front of the store. A
beat-up old something-or-other, maybe a Firebird from before he was
born. Definitely not the kind of vehicle someone shopping for
pricey jewelry would be driving. He thought he could see two faces
behind the sweeping windshield wipers.
    Two men got out. One was small and had a face
like chewed gum.