A Peculiar Party ~ Part Nine

I found The Wind in the Willows with no difficulty.

Al, my wide-mouthed waiter, suggested the Anything Goes appetizer to me ~ Chef’s Choice.

Intrigued, I agreed.

When it arrived, I eyed the hummus, kalamata olives, spinach-artichoke dip, pita, cheese and crusty bread with approval.

And then I saw the shrimp . . .

“Al, someone’s eaten the shrimp and left the tails.”

He flashed a toothy grin. “I’m not surprised.  The shrimp are always the first to go.”

Too hungry to care, I shoved the tails to one side and dug in.  Cole Porter washed over me.

Anything Goes.

While I ate, I pondered the possibilities.  Who or what had enticed Freddie and Betty into the alley?  If the spell-weaver could conjure up an entire alleyway complete with totem pole, why couldn’t it go to the beach and get its own sand?

Freddie’s words drifted in:  “Why involve a couple of middle-aged frogs . . . and run the risk of them croaking?”

A disembodied voice interrupted my musings.  “Excuse me . . . I couldn’t help but overhear your thoughts.  Perhaps I might be of assistance.”

I whipped around, certain I had NOT been talking out loud.  No one there.

“Who are you?  WHERE are you?”

“Up here.”

I looked up and saw a red-eyed tree frog peering over the garden wall.  An eavesdropper.  Who and Where answered, I turned my attention to What.

“What did you say?”

“I heard you thinking and suggested I might be of assistance.”

“How did you hear what I was thinking . . . was I thinking out loud?”

“No.  I’m telepathic.  A mind-reader.  Some see dead people.  I hear people’s thoughts.”

“Oh, you poor dear.  It’s bad enough hearing my own thoughts.  I can’t imagine the cacophony of hearing other people’s thoughts as well.”

“It’s not so bad.  My mind tunes out pointless droning.  Most folk’s thoughts are just white noise playing in the background.  Like the hum of an air conditioner. It tuned in your thoughts when it heard spell-weaver, alleyway, and totem pole in close proximity to one another.”

“What do you know about spells, totem poles, and alleyways?”

“Next to nothing.  But I heard Madame Frieda thinking about a spell-weaver last week.”

“Do tell.”  I leaned forward to ensure I caught every word.  “By the way, what’s your name, Mr. Telepathic Tree Frog?”

“Eddie.”

“Of course.  And I’ll wager odds your siblings are Hettie, Lettie, and . . .”

“No.  Just one brother.  Daryl.”

To be continued . . . 

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