Excerpt of In A Pickle by Ann DeFee

"Are you sure that's Pickles Carson?" Coco asked. The Albertson's supermarket teemed with Saturday shoppers and they'd lost sight of their prey several times. How many tall blondes lived in Las Vegas?

"I'm absolutely positive."

They'd followed Pickles down aisle after aisle. "She's not exactly a health nut, is she?" Ace made that observation. "She went through the chips and cookie section like a plague of locust through a wheat field."

"And she's not even chubby. With all those curves she looks like a fifties bombshell." Coco struck a pose. "In fact, that's the look I was going for."

As a perk of this assignment, Coco could choose the perfect body and she'd made the best of it with big boobies, tiny waist, and shapely legs. In other words, Pamela Anderson better watch out.

"I wish she'd find someplace to sit. We've been trailing her for the last thirty minutes and she hasn't slowed down long enough for us to snag her," Ace groused. "I'm beginning to feel like a stalker."

"Me, too." Coco pointed at their quarry. "Now she's heading over to the video poker machines." Only in Vegas could you buy dog food and bet on a full house, all in the same store.

***

Everyone in the family knew Pickles had a full–blown grocery store phobia and the origin of that fear wasn't a secret. Like most everything else that had gone wrong in her life, it went straight back to her ex–hubby, Billy Bob.

Five plus years ago she'd discovered her no–good, lower than a rattlesnake's belly, husband diddling the church secretary in the back seat of his mama's Lincoln Town Car.

Pickles' first instinct had been to whip out her .357 Magnum and shoot him dead, but she didn't relished the idea of doing twenty to life, so she decided to drown her sorrows in chocolate – lots and lots of chocolate. But in the euphoria of chowing down on a super–sized Snickers bar she forgot to wheel her cart through the grocery store checkout line, and sooner than you could say Jack Spratt, she'd been busted for shoplifting.

Thank the good Lord her one and only brush with the law occurred in Cottonwood where Uncle Otis served as sheriff. Otherwise she'd have ended up in an orange jumpsuit, and jailhouse duds weren't flattering to anyone.

But on this beautiful Saturday morning Pickles didn't intend to dwell on anything negative. She spied the video poker machines and decided to play a couple of hands before tackling the produce aisle. No sooner had she plopped her butt on the stool than a man and a woman sat down, bracketing her. She didn't think anything of their appearance until they started prattling on about scientific miracles, babies, and Elvis. Obviously they were lunatics, so why didn't she get up and walk off? Surely it couldn't be because the guy happened to be a dead ringer for Mario Lopez.

On the surface this might seem to be a normal Saturday morning. Some harried shoppers employed the toss and run method, while others studiously perused the labels. Add in cranky kids and folks who didn't know how to use their inside voices, and yep, this was an average weekend day. The notable exception being the lunatics who seemed intent on accosting her.

Pickles shot the man her best school teacher stare. "Why don't you look for someone else to be in your TV scam?" She turned her attention back to the jack, queen, and king of hearts featured on the screen.

"If you'll get lost I can continue to build my royal flush." Yeah right. Good luck – like sex – had been missing from her life for a very long time.

Undaunted by her overt hostility, the man flashed her a million–megawatt smile. "I want to apologize for the way we've handled this so far." He winked at his companion. "Let me start at the beginning. My name is Ace and my friend is Coco."

The female giggled and gave Pickles a finger wave.

Pickles wanted to kick his ass off the chair and stroll away, but her body and brain were having some sort of strange disconnect. So she remained seated, transfixed by his hypnotic eyes.

"Let me relieve your mind. We're not kooks," he said, adding a movie star grin. "In fact, we have something very important to tell you."

"Stop right there," she said with emphasis. "I'm not interested in any give–away, contest, or pyramid scheme." Pickles waved her hand in the direction of the bleached blonde. "So why you and Coco go bother someone else. I'm out of here." But before Pickles could grab her purse, Coco touched her arm and an electric zing ran all the way up her spine.

What was that all about?

"Don't be afraid," the bimbo said with a giggle. "We're harmless. Aren't we, Ace?" She didn't give him time to respond. "We're trying to make you happy. And you're going to love our news."

Pickles closed her eyes and counted to ten. With any luck when she opened them, they'd be history.

She cracked an eye. Nope! They were still there. Oh well, like her mama used to say, if she didn't have bad luck, she wouldn't have any luck at all. "Okay, I give. What do you want? If you're looking for a donation, you're out of luck. I'm a poor school teacher."

Coco's eyes twinkled. "Oh Pickles, we don't want your money."

It took a couple of seconds for Pickles' brain to process the fact the woman knew her name, and when it did, the hair shot up on the back of her neck. "How do you know who I am?" she yelped. What she wouldn't give for a rent–a–cop right now.

Ace shot her another dimpled grin. "We know everything about your past, present, and future." He paused for a moment. "Do you believe in angels?"

They'd mentioned angels before. "You mean the ones with wings, halos, and flowing white bathrobes?" Pickles slapped a hand over her mouth. Stop egging them on!

"Well, not exactly. I'm talking about guardian angels who look like regular people."

"Regular people?"

"Yeah, like Coco and me."

"Coco and you?" Pickles started to get the drift of this conversation, and she didn't like it one little bit.

Coco patted her arm and generated that now familiar surge of electrical energy. "You can't go yet. We really do have something important to tell you."

Pickles pushed her stool back. "Don't touch me!"

"What I'm going to tell you will be very hard to understand, and even more difficult to believe," Ace said. "But you've been chosen for a special project."

He had a mesmerizing voice that could charm the birds right out of the trees, but it didn't fool Pickles. She had Billy Bob's legacy to fall back on, and all charismatic men could be assigned to the depths of Hades.

"The head guys," Ace made apostrophes in the air, "sent us down to give you the good news and to help you."

It took a few seconds for Pickles to realize exactly what he'd said and then she almost freaked. "You're not really telling me you think you're guardian angels, are you?"

Ace nodded. "Actually, we're sort of apprentices."

"You're not even full–fledged angels?"

Coco ignored her. "Oh honey, you're going to be part of a miracle. Isn't that cool?"

Pickles could almost hear strains of the Twilight Zone theme song drifting on the air.

"There's this scientific thingie called parthenogenesis." Coco giggled and waved her hands around. "I know, I know. I'd never heard of it before either. But what it means is that you can have a baby without...you know...sex. Insects do it all the time."

"What do you mean, a baby?"

"You know, ten toes, ten fingers, and a cute little button nose. You're going to have one."

Pickle's patience had officially come to an end. "That's it. Get away from me." Damn it, why she couldn't she hop off the stool and run away?

Ace jumped into the conversation. "Everything's going to be fine. We all need to stay calm," he said, shooting his cohort a glare, but that didn't stop her monologue.

"People are so cynical and skeptical they refuse to believe in miracles." Coco leaned forward as if she wanted to share a secret. "And that's where you come in. You're going to have a baby with special musical talent. Think Elvis. That seems quite appropriate for Las Vegas, don't you agree?"

Think Elvis! What in the h–e–double toothpicks did she mean by that? Pickles skipped over the part about the King of Rock and Roll and went straight to what she considered most important

"Pregnant! You're telling me I'm pregnant." Hysteria loomed on her horizon. "I can't be pregnant. I haven't had so much as a sloppy French kiss in five years. Count ‘em sweetie. She waggled her fingers in front of Coco's face. "Five! No sex. Get it!"

Pickles heard a gasp and glanced over her shoulder. An elderly woman stared at her like she'd just jumped out of an alien spacecraft. Crap! She must have made the sex comment louder than she thought.

"Think about it," Coco said. "That queasiness you've been having isn't the stomach flu. You're going to have a baby."

"That's it!" Pickles grabbed her purse to make a quick getaway but she could leave Ace spoke.

"Before you go, let me show you something. Look at the screen." He indicated the video monitor.

Against her better judgment, she glanced at the video poker machine as a Royal Flush appeared and computer bells started ringing.

Pickles jumped back. "Oh my God!" she squealed and then took off runnning.

"I'm not sure God would approve of our little trick," Coco said and then yelled at Pickles' retreating back. "Pick up an EPT kit so you don't have to make a second trip."

Pickles didn't bother to look back. Instead, she sprinted down the soap aisle as if the hounds of the Baskervilles were nipping at her heels.