his home.”
“You can do that stuff, Floyd?” I says, lookin at Floyd like he’s a real genius.
Floyd chews his bottom.
Winslow says, “Yeah, I do that, too.” He starts coughin like he’s got another hairball, but really he’s just tickled with Doyle talkin all serious that way about Floyd.
Mary Beth looks real surprised when she walks outta the kitchen and sees Doyle Stubb bein the center of attention. “Well hello, Mr. Stubb,” she says. “Fancy seeing you here. It’s been a couple of weeks. I hope your mother is well.”
Doyle says, “Thank you for inquiring after mother. She’s fighting as valiantly as anyone who cannot remember her own name. I sing Barry Manilow to keep her spirits up, and at times she joins in. To hear her sing ‘Copacabana’ would bring tears to your eyes.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” says Mary Beth.
“Your concern is touching.”
“Well, how in the world did you find the house, considering I don’t quite remember giving you directions?”
Doyle says, “My dear, I had no problem finding you, as I could not help but notice the large can of wasp spray in your cart at our last meeting.”
Mary Beth looks worried.
Doyle keeps on talkin, “Also, the presence of five packages of toilet tissue and several large frozen lasagnas provided me with a route.”
“Do tell,” says Mary Beth. She crosses her arms.
Doyle’s lazy eye looks at the ceiling, and his regular eye looks at me. He says, “I looked for a house with a large porch, simply because wasps enjoy making nests in them, and a home that is big enough to warrant five bathrooms, as well as a large crowd of people to whom the lasagnas would be served. Several homes fit the description, but then I saw the poodle on the porch, which corresponded to the bag of pet food for ‘small and toy-sized dogs.’ It was slightly more than a lucky guess.”
Mary Beth has a pretty strange look on her face, but she says, “Everyone, this is Mr. Stubb–”
“Call me Doyle. It is a pleasure to meet you all.”
“Doyle is new to Brightleaf, but it looks like ya’ll have already met him.”
“Hey, Doyle.”
“What’s goin’ on, Doyle?”
Doyle shakes hands with Jimmy, Winslow, Vanessa, Ned and Terry.
“Doyle is a particularly talented man,” I says. Mary Beth rolls her eyes at me, but I think these folks have the right to know a sensation is in their midst.
“Oh yeah?” says Dr. D. “What are your talents, Doyle?”
Doyle is just standin there chewin on a carrot stick, his tiny lips movin like a rabbit. He don’t look like a master at nothin.
I says, “I ain’t never seen a man who can mind read like you see in them alien movies, but Doyle is the closest thing to it, next to a real life alien.”
“Why thank you, kind lady, that was quite poetic,” says Doyle.
Mary Beth
I’ve never seen, nor heard, Mavis so touched by a person in all my life. I sincerely hope Doyle is not a cult man because if he happened to form his own religion, Mavis would be his first follower. Then I’d lose my cook, but not before Doyle wielded his power to get his eyeballs in my pantry and discover all my secrets. The thought that he could steal my identity just by peeking at my canned goods...
“Well I sure do wish you’d show everyone some of the thangs you can do,” says Mavis. “But I guess you’d have to follow every one of us around the supermarket, like you did with me and Mary Beth.”
“I was fortunate enough to glimpse your purchases at the checkout,” says Doyle, smiling, “but I’m quite astute at reading grocery lists, as well as receipts.”
“You need to get you a job with the police,” says Mavis. “Crime solvin. Lord, I’d love to know the kinds of foods a killer would buy.”
“What can he do, exactly?” asks Winslow.
“Doyle can tell your fortune just by lookin at all the stuff you buy. Right Doyle?” Mavis says.
“Particularly food stuffs, but not limited to,” says Doyle,
“You can do that stuff, Floyd?” I says, lookin at Floyd like he’s a real genius.
Floyd chews his bottom.
Winslow says, “Yeah, I do that, too.” He starts coughin like he’s got another hairball, but really he’s just tickled with Doyle talkin all serious that way about Floyd.
Mary Beth looks real surprised when she walks outta the kitchen and sees Doyle Stubb bein the center of attention. “Well hello, Mr. Stubb,” she says. “Fancy seeing you here. It’s been a couple of weeks. I hope your mother is well.”
Doyle says, “Thank you for inquiring after mother. She’s fighting as valiantly as anyone who cannot remember her own name. I sing Barry Manilow to keep her spirits up, and at times she joins in. To hear her sing ‘Copacabana’ would bring tears to your eyes.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” says Mary Beth.
“Your concern is touching.”
“Well, how in the world did you find the house, considering I don’t quite remember giving you directions?”
Doyle says, “My dear, I had no problem finding you, as I could not help but notice the large can of wasp spray in your cart at our last meeting.”
Mary Beth looks worried.
Doyle keeps on talkin, “Also, the presence of five packages of toilet tissue and several large frozen lasagnas provided me with a route.”
“Do tell,” says Mary Beth. She crosses her arms.
Doyle’s lazy eye looks at the ceiling, and his regular eye looks at me. He says, “I looked for a house with a large porch, simply because wasps enjoy making nests in them, and a home that is big enough to warrant five bathrooms, as well as a large crowd of people to whom the lasagnas would be served. Several homes fit the description, but then I saw the poodle on the porch, which corresponded to the bag of pet food for ‘small and toy-sized dogs.’ It was slightly more than a lucky guess.”
Mary Beth has a pretty strange look on her face, but she says, “Everyone, this is Mr. Stubb–”
“Call me Doyle. It is a pleasure to meet you all.”
“Doyle is new to Brightleaf, but it looks like ya’ll have already met him.”
“Hey, Doyle.”
“What’s goin’ on, Doyle?”
Doyle shakes hands with Jimmy, Winslow, Vanessa, Ned and Terry.
“Doyle is a particularly talented man,” I says. Mary Beth rolls her eyes at me, but I think these folks have the right to know a sensation is in their midst.
“Oh yeah?” says Dr. D. “What are your talents, Doyle?”
Doyle is just standin there chewin on a carrot stick, his tiny lips movin like a rabbit. He don’t look like a master at nothin.
I says, “I ain’t never seen a man who can mind read like you see in them alien movies, but Doyle is the closest thing to it, next to a real life alien.”
“Why thank you, kind lady, that was quite poetic,” says Doyle.
Mary Beth
I’ve never seen, nor heard, Mavis so touched by a person in all my life. I sincerely hope Doyle is not a cult man because if he happened to form his own religion, Mavis would be his first follower. Then I’d lose my cook, but not before Doyle wielded his power to get his eyeballs in my pantry and discover all my secrets. The thought that he could steal my identity just by peeking at my canned goods...
“Well I sure do wish you’d show everyone some of the thangs you can do,” says Mavis. “But I guess you’d have to follow every one of us around the supermarket, like you did with me and Mary Beth.”
“I was fortunate enough to glimpse your purchases at the checkout,” says Doyle, smiling, “but I’m quite astute at reading grocery lists, as well as receipts.”
“You need to get you a job with the police,” says Mavis. “Crime solvin. Lord, I’d love to know the kinds of foods a killer would buy.”
“What can he do, exactly?” asks Winslow.
“Doyle can tell your fortune just by lookin at all the stuff you buy. Right Doyle?” Mavis says.
“Particularly food stuffs, but not limited to,” says Doyle,
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