Double Jinx. Nancy Reddy

sass them back. You’re flip-haired and eagle-eyed.

      You’re a daredevil detective on the trail of a breathtaking

      escape. She fooled you once and won’t again.

      THE FOOTPRINTS IN THE FLOWERBEDS

      You’re peering in her windows. You’re watching

      as she hides the proof beneath the sink,

      as she scrubs her hands with lye. She splashes bleach

      across the tile. You’re watching as she runs

      the bath. You watch. She’s wasp-waisted

      and flaxen-haired. You’re not the better sister.

      You’re no one’s good-time gal. You’re a bayou,

      a river caught fire. You’re armed with flashlight

      and revolver. You’re casing the estate.

      Ned will get you for your date at four. He’s late.

      THE MYSTERY OF THE WOODEN LADY

      She’s a cocktail dress and you’re day-old rye.

      You find a blond hair on the sofa bed,

      stockings in the spare room. You come home late

      one night and find your house lit like a birthday.

      You tiptoe to the window, your skirt’s hem

catching on the hedges. She’s in your house.

      She’s dancing slow with fickle Ned. She laughs

      at all his jokes. Now you’re a pincushion.

      You’re the sulfur smell of rotten eggs. You do

      the only thing you can. You run.

      THE CLUE IN THE BREAKFAST NOOK

      You run home to River Heights. You bolt the door.

      You’re a sure shot, an expert swimmer,

      a gourmet cook. You bake birthday cakes

      and ice them all with arsenic. You learn to knit.

      You believe in the jinx. You won’t say his name,

      won’t look at the phone. She’s a damsel

      in dishwashing gloves. She’s at your kitchen table,

      sugaring her tea. Ned’s a lost sock.

      She smiles your smile and wears his jacket.

      She hums. You’re gimlet-eyed. You’re losing steam.

      THE SECRET LOST AT SEA

      This time you’re the belle of Miami Beach.

      You’re busting up a gang of smugglers.

      You drink rum and dance all night. You learn

      to surf. A strange man licks the saltwater

      from your hair. The smugglers are setting sail

      for Cuba. You’re an inside job. You’re on their tail.

      There’s a girl here dressed as you. You surprise her

      on the ship’s back stairs. Now the jig is up.

      You’re found out, tied up, left to drown.

      You tapdance SOS against the cabin’s roof.

THE CASE OF THE DISAPPEARING HUSBANDS

      You’re on vacation in the snow-stunned Alps

      when the innkeeper comes to you for help.

      He’s getting threats from a dark-wigged woman

      who claims that she’s your twin. You’re snowed in.

      He tells you all the town’s most handsome men

      go missing after dark. You wear a borrowed mink

      and sleuth by candlelight. You smell Ned’s soap.

      She’s a false wall. She’s a trap door. You’re dangling

      from the rafters. Ned’s tied up in the basement.

      He’s bound and gagged. He’s never been so grateful.

      THE STRANGE MESSAGE ON THE TRAILHEAD

      You get him back but he won’t stay.

      Silly Ned, he wanders off. He’s lost

      in state parks, disappears on dinner dates.

      You’re on the case. He’s lucky. You rescue him,

      time and time again. You get him back

      in pieces. You swear you hear his voice

      before the dial tone clicks on. You find

      his toenail clippings on the tile. His name’s

      a rock you rub against your teeth.

      He’s a wishbone saved beside the kitchen sink.

      THE INVISIBLE INTRUDER

      You’re digging through her trashcan. You’re watching

      as she slips the proof beneath her skin.

      Her body now the briefcase full of unmarked bills.

      She scrapes her palms against the wall’s fresh paint.

      She swings a bag of bones into the yard.

      Her hands flush red and you know you’ll never

      see that boy again. Born different

you could have been sisters. Like those butterflies

      in shadowboxes, pinned and mounted above the mantle.

      Now you’re the double agent. You’re calling all the shots.

      THE GIRL WHO COULDN’T REMEMBER

      You’re creeping through her flowerbeds.

      There’s no crime to detect here but your own

      and Ned’s long gone. You’re the back door’s loose latch,