“Don't worry about the money!” Betty went for her coat and then hurried out the back door into the cold snow.
“Okay, my friend is on her way, Sandy.”
“And I'm, like, out of here...” Sandy grabbed her book bag and yelled out, “I'm out of here, Dave, see you around!”
Candy heard a man yell, “But you're shift ain't over! Get back here!”
“Whatever!” Sandy tore out of the beach store and hurried down the crowded sidewalk. Minutes later, she rushed into the mini grocery store and hurried up to the quiet front counter. “Like, I'm at the Western Union where I can pick up the transfer.” As she did, a man burst into the surfboard place Sandy had just left. The man in question was searching for Sandy. When he found Sandy was missing, he ran outside holding a weapon, bumped into a pair of cops who were on foot patrol, and was tackled down to the ground and arrested. Sandy had escaped by a mere few minutes.
Another miracle? Candy knew the answer to the question was yes. “Just stay where you are, Sandy.”
“Like, totally...and hey, like...I'm Sandy and you're Candy...our names, like, rhyme. That has to be a sign from God, too, right?”
Candy heard Sandy's voice start to shake. “I think so, yes, honey. Now, let's talk about your flight. The sooner you get to me the better!”
Chapter 4
Ralphie Rossi wasn't, by any standard, the sharpest tool in the shed. He called himself theCalzoneand worked at a pizza parlor in Brooklyn, New York. He was thinner than a broomstick, had shaggy black hair, and dressed like a mafia character from the 1970s. However, in Ralphie's mind, he was a strikingly handsome, successful twenty-five-year-old who was going to take the world by surprise! How...well, Ralphie was working on his first book. Yep.The Calzonewas going to be the next great thing in the literary world someday.
The problem was Ralphie was sick of Brooklyn. He needed some real peace and quiet in order to work on his book. Ralphie considered moving to Tybee Island where a friend of his uncle lived...but he wasn't much for the beach scene. Ralphie liked the snow and cold. Yo, which was the way of theCalzone. Too much heat ruined a good pizza.
So on one fateful, snowy morning, Ralphie called Candy Baker and inquired about an ad he had seen online. People were needed to work on something called theChristmas Toy Island. The name was a little lame, but Ralphie didn't care. “So, I'm calling about the job I saw on the big screen,” Ralphie told Candy as he plopped down onto a red and white chair in the quiet pizza parlor. “All the ad said was that people were needed to work on some island. Ayo, what's the deal? I'm available if you play your cards right.”
Candy was barely awake, and she was still wearing her warm, pink bathrobe. She had been up late. Sandy's flight had landed in Buffalo, and from there she took a bus to Pine Snow. The young woman was now asleep in the guest room in Candy's little cottage home. Boy, what a night Candy had. Sandy had arrived so wired up on coffee that Candy was certain the girl was going to electrocute someone. She wasn't in the mood to deal with a smart-mouth guy from Brooklyn who sounded like he belonged in a mafia movie. “What's your name?”
“Hey, call me theCalzone,” Ralphie answered. “I'm sitting here in a pizza parlor in Brooklyn. The joint ain't open yet, and it wouldn’t matter if the joint was open. I need a change of scenery. I've got a book to write.The Calzoneis going to be the next great author. I'm writing about a guy who has to go back in time to redeem himself and save a pretty face. Brilliant? Ayo, I'm too modest to say.”
Candy nearly banged her head against the kitchen table in her kitchen. “Well, Mr. Calzone—”
“Just call me theCalzone!”
Oh, the characters were crawling out of the pages, and that much was for certain. First, Peppermint had pretended to be a crazed killer, and then aValley Girlfrom California was nearly killed...and now some wannabe mafia kid from Brooklyn was on the line. “I need a few people to work in a toy factory making toys. Can you do that?”
“Ayo, I'm good with the kiddos.”
“Yes...but can you make toys?” Candy asked, hoping to push Ralphie into a corner and end the call.
“Ayo, I make pizza, but making toys can't be much different. I make the dough and add the ingredients. When you make a teddy bear, you add the stuffing and the ingredients. Botta-bing, it's done,” Ralphie explained and then added, “I'll take the job. When can I start?”
“Wait...uh, how old are you?”
“Ayo, that's personal,” Ralphie objected to the question.
“I need to know for legal purposes.”
Ralphie frowned. “So I'm twenty-five and still living with my granny. Ayo so what? My granny just sits around watching the big screen all day and then gets online to tend to her dumb farm.”
“So I take it you're not married?”
“Ayo, what are you, the fuzz?”
Candy squeezed her eyes closed. “Give me strength,” she whispered and then continued. “Are you married?”
“A-yo, I liked a girl in school, but she ran off to one of them fancy colleges, and now she's married to an ambulance chaser. Let's just say romance ain't in the bag for me right now.”
“Do you have a criminal history?”
“A-yo, what's with the questions? I'm being hired to make toys, not guard a bank!” Ralphie fussed.
