“I’ll use it on my flowers,” Gertie said.
I grimaced at the thought of how her flower beds would smell, but then the upside is it probably kept people from trampling anything. They wouldn’t even get near enough to pick a flower. We all pulled off our latex gloves and dropped them into one of the empty buckets. I stacked the buckets, the one with the fresh poop on top, then headed to the fence Marie and Celia shared with the buckets and the sprayer.
We’d positioned a ladder in Celia’s yard to help with a quick escape, so I scaled it and leaned across the fence and to the side, placing the buckets and sprayer on the ground in Marie’s yard. I hurried back to the poo piles, ready to get the show on the road.
“The buckets and sprayer are on the right of the ladder,” I said, “so when you go over the fence, go straight or to the left.”
Ida Belle and Gertie nodded.
“Are we ready?” Gertie asked, practically bouncing up and down.
“Definitely ready,” Ida Belle said, looking happier than I’d seen her in a while.
“I want to do the lighting,” Gertie said. “You promised.”
“You can do the first one,” I said, “then I want you to haul it for that ladder. With your crappy knees, you can’t move as fast as us, and I need you out of Ida Belle’s way when she runs for the ladder.”
“What about you?” Ida Belle said.
“I don’t need the ladder,” I said.
“Of course you don’t,” Gertie said. “If I were twenty years younger…”
“You’d still need the ladder,” Ida Belle said. “Break out the matches.”
Gertie pulled books of matches out of her pocket and passed one to each of us. She struck a match and lit the first pile of poop on fire. She paused long enough to make sure it was burning, then took off with a sorta jogging limp for the ladder. Ida Belle and I lit the remaining piles, then ran for the fence.
Gertie was on top of the fence hanging across the middle of it when we reached her.
“Hurry up,” I said.
“I’m stuck,” Gertie said. “My shirt is caught on a nail.”
“Let it tear,” I said. “Just get out of Ida Belle’s way.”
Ida Belle hurried up the ladder and assessed the situation. “It’s not a nail. You’ve managed to wedge a hunk of your blouse in between the fence slats. Just roll over the edge and buy a new blouse.”
I glanced back at Celia’s, worried that we were running out of time. A second later, a light clicked on upstairs.
“Celia’s awake,” I said. “Get the hell out of here!”
Chapter Nineteen
The backyard was wide, and the rear had no lighting outside of the weak bulb on the back porch. With no moon to speak of, I knew Celia wouldn’t be able to see us from the window, but any second now, she’d be outside.
I hadn’t even finished my sentence when Ida Belle vaulted over the fence to the side of Gertie. I grabbed the ladder and flipped the whole thing over then leaped up, grabbed the fence, and followed suit. I did a somersault, then bounced back up and whirled around, expecting to see Gertie on the ground, but she was still dangling from the middle of the fence, Ida Belle frantically motioning at her.
Marie hurried over to us and I pointed at the ladder. “Get that back where it goes.”
As she grabbed the ladder, I looked up at Gertie.
“Drop,” I said. “Now!”
If she’d just rolled over the side the way a sane person would have, things probably would have been okay. But Gertie had to do things her way.
Her way called for using her right hand to try to pull her blouse out of the fence. One good tug and she lost her balance and pitched over the fence, landing feet first in the bucket. Before she could even attempt to move, I scooped up one arm and Ida Belle grabbed the other and we lifted her off the ground. I grabbed the sprayer with my free hand and we started running for Marie’s house, the bucket of poo stuck to Gertie’s feet as we hauled her to the house.
Marie had placed the ladder next to the porch and was gesturing at us from the back door.
“The bucket,” Ida Belle said.
“Later,” Marie said. “I can hear her yelling.”
Now that Marie mentioned it, Celia’s loud mouth was beginning to carry across the yard. We hauled Gertie and the bucket up the porch steps and went sideways into the laundry room, where Marie had wisely covered the floor with a tarp. She grabbed the bucket, and Ida Belle and I pulled Gertie out of the stinky poo.
“Hurry,” Marie said. “We have to get upstairs and see the show.”
“Not you,” Ida Belle said to Gertie.
Ida Belle and I ran upstairs behind Marie and hurried to the window in the back bedroom that had a clear view of Celia’s yard. I yanked open the curtains and we perched in front of the window. The lights were off in the room so Celia wouldn’t be able to see us watching her. A couple seconds later, Gertie elbowed me in the side.
“Stop hogging the view,” she said.
I glanced over and realized more of Gertie was currently exposed than covered. Her blouse was torn and dangling from one shoulder, and the bottom half of her clothes were missing entirely except for a pair of traffic-stopping orange underwear.
“Celia’s coming out!” Ida Belle said.
All our noses instantly pressed against the window as Celia ran out her back door and onto her porch, her hideous green bathrobe flapping as she went. She paused a second, then took off again down the steps and into the yard, running straight for the steaming piles of poo.
“Wait for it,” Gertie said as Celia slid to a stop in front of the first pile, then lifted her foot and stomped right in the middle of the flames.
Ida Belle, Gertie, and Marie all let out a whoop at the same time, and I watched in amazement as Celia yanked off her slipper and tossed it across the yard.
“I can’t believe she actually stomped on it,” I said.
“Works every time,” Gertie said.
“It’s a natural reaction,” Ida Belle said, “when the fire is small.”
“Now she’s going for the hose,” Marie said. “Party’s over.”
“Maybe not,” Ida Belle said. “This is Celia we’re talking about.”
Celia ran for the corner of the porch and yanked a water hose off a reel and then hurried back to the poo and blasted the stacks to her right with the hose. As she turned to the right to aim, the bottom of her robe flew out and grazed one of the stacks to her left. Flames shot up the back of the robe and Celia whirled around like a magician with a cape, trying to get it off of her. A second later, a woman ran into the yard, grabbed the hose, and turned it full blast on Celia, who was still trying to get the robe off.
Completely drenched, Celia turned around and started yelling at the woman, waving her hands in the air.
“Wow,” I said. “You’d think if you were on fire and someone put you out, there would be a little gratitude.”
“It’s Celia,” Ida Belle said.
The woman dropped the hose and gave Celia the finger before stomping back across the yard and out the gate.