Margo Saguaro squinted against the harsh desert sun as she checked her watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. The cracked asphalt of the resort parking lot shimmered with heat, and sweat beaded on her forehead despite the oversized sunhat she’d donned for the occasion.
“Where is everyone?” she muttered, tapping her foot impatiently. “I specifically said check-in was at 2 PM sharp.”
As if on cue, a plume of dust appeared on the horizon, growing larger by the second. Margo’s eyes widened as she made out the unmistakable shape of a dune buggy hurtling towards her at breakneck speed. The vehicle screeched to a halt mere inches from her sensible khaki shorts, kicking up a cloud of sand and pebbles.
“Margo, my favorite niece!” boomed a raspy voice from within the buggy. “Hope I’m not too early. Had to take a few detours to throw off any government tails, you know how it is.”
Uncle Spike emerged from the contraption, his leathery skin blending seamlessly with the worn canvas of his bucket hat. He sported a ratty beard that looked as if it might house several desert creatures, and a t-shirt emblazoned with the words “The Cacti Have Eyes.”
Margo forced a tight smile. “Hello, Uncle Spike. You’re actually right on time, though I’m not sure how you managed that in… whatever this is.” She gestured vaguely at the dune buggy, which appeared to be held together by duct tape and sheer force of will.
“Oh, this beauty?” Spike patted the vehicle affectionately. “Built her myself. Solar-powered, EMP-resistant, and equipped with a state-of-the-art cactus detection system. Never know when you might need to find an emergency water source out here.”
Before Margo could formulate a response, a sleek electric car glided silently into the parking lot. Two identical faces peered out from behind tinted windows, illuminated by the glow of smartphone screens.
“Prickly! Pear!” Margo called out, waving to her teenage cousins. “So glad you could make it. How was the drive?”
The twins emerged from the car in perfect synchronization, eyes never leaving their devices. “It was lit, Cousin Margo,” Prickly replied without looking up. “We got, like, a thousand new followers on our road trip live stream.”
“Yeah,” Pear chimed in, her thumbs flying across her phone’s keyboard. “People are totally invested in the Cactus Fam drama. They can’t wait to see what goes down at the reunion.”
Margo’s smile faltered. “I’m sorry, the what now? You’ve been… broadcasting our family reunion?”
“Duh,” the twins said in unison, finally glancing up at her with identical looks of exasperation. “It’s content gold. Speaking of which…” Prickly pulled out a selfie stick and extended it to an improbable length. “Smile for the fans, everyone!”
Before Margo could protest, Uncle Spike had thrown an arm around her shoulders and was grinning maniacally at the camera. “Hello, internet! Spike here, coming at you live from the heart of cactus country. Remember, the government wants you to think cacti are just plants, but I know the truth. They’re actually–”
“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Margo interrupted, extricating herself from Spike’s grasp. “Let’s get everyone checked in and settled, shall we? We’re still waiting on Grandma Agave and Cousin Dusty.”
As if summoned by her words, a battered pickup truck rumbled into the lot, country music blaring from its open windows. The driver’s off-key warbling was audible even over the twangy guitars.
“Oh Lord,” Margo muttered under her breath. “Here we go.”
Cousin Dusty killed the engine mid-yodel and hopped out of the truck, adjusting his oversized cowboy hat. “Howdy, y’all!” he called out, his voice carrying the exaggerated twang of someone who’d learned their accent from old Western movies. “Hope I ain’t too late for the hootenanny!”
“It’s a family reunion, Dusty,” Margo corrected gently. “And you’re right on time. Is Grandma with you?”
Dusty’s eyes widened. “Shoot, I knew I was forgettin’ somethin’! Hold on a sec, folks.”
He jogged back to the truck and opened the passenger door. A tiny, wizened woman emerged, her silver hair piled atop her head in an impressive beehive. She clutched a large, oddly-shaped bag to her chest.
“Grandma Agave!” Margo exclaimed, rushing over to help the elderly woman. “Are you alright? Was the drive okay?”
Grandma Agave squinted up at her granddaughter. “Eh? Speak up, dearie. My hearing ain’t what it used to be.”
Margo raised her voice. “I said, was the drive okay?”
“Oh, just fine,” Grandma Agave replied with a dismissive wave. “Though Dusty here drives like he’s being chased by a pack of coyotes. Nearly spilled my sand all over the floor.”
Margo blinked. “Your… sand?”
The old woman clutched her bag tighter. “Never you mind about that. Now, where’s this fancy resort you’ve been gabbing about? I need to get out of this heat before I shrivel up like an old prune.”
As Margo herded her eccentric family members towards the resort’s entrance, she couldn’t help but wonder what she’d gotten herself into. It was going to be a long weekend.
The lobby of the Desert Bloom Resort was a welcome respite from the scorching heat outside. A massive swamp cooler hummed in the corner, filling the air with a slight metallic tang that did little to mask the pervasive scent of dust and sun-baked earth.
Margo approached the front desk, plastering on her best “everything is under control” smile. “Hello, I have a reservation for the Saguaro family reunion. Five rooms, please.”
The bored-looking clerk tapped at his computer with the enthusiasm of a sloth on sedatives. “Saguaro… Saguaro… Ah, here we are. Five rooms, Thursday through Sunday. You’re in luck, we’ve got a special on our Cactus Suite. Comes with its own private garden of rare succulents.”
Before Margo could politely decline, Uncle Spike muscled his way to the front. “Did you say rare succulents? I’ll take it! But I’ll need to inspect the room first. Make sure it hasn’t been bugged by any government plants. Get it? Plants?” He elbowed Margo in the ribs, chuckling at his own joke.
The clerk’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “Sir, I can assure you that our rooms are not monitored by any government agencies. We respect our guests’ privacy.”
Spike leaned in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s exactly what they want you to think. But I know better. The cacti have eyes, my friend. And ears. And probably a sophisticated network of underground communication tubes.”
Margo intervened before things could escalate further. “We’ll take the regular rooms, thank you. Now, if we could just get our keys…”
“Hold up!” Dusty interrupted, still twanging like his vocal cords were made of guitar strings. “Y’all got any rooms with a good acoustics? I brought my git-tar, and I aim to serenade the family with some down-home country tunes.”
A collective groan rose from the assembled Saguaros, quickly stifled as Margo shot them all a warning glare.
“I’m sure any of the rooms will be fine for that, Dusty,” she said through gritted teeth. “Now, if we could please–”
“Excuse me,” Grandma Agave piped up, her voice quavering but insistent. “I need a room with good light. And a sturdy table. And maybe some newspaper we can spread out. For… reading.”
Margo’s forced smile was beginning to resemble a grimace. “Grandma, I’m sure we can find you some newspapers later. Right now, we just need to–”
“OMG, Prickly, check it out!” Pear’s excited squeal cut through the lobby. “This place has the most amazing filter. We are going to rack up so many likes.”
The twins had their phones out, angling for the perfect shot of the admittedly picturesque lobby. A small cactus garden occupied one corner, bathed in the golden light streaming through the skylight.
“Hashtag desert vibes, hashtag family drama, hashtag cactus crew,” Prickly muttered as he tapped away at his screen.
Margo took a deep breath, counting backwards from ten in her head. When she opened her eyes, the clerk was staring at her with something approaching sympathy.
“You know what?” she said, forcing cheer into her voice. “Why don’t you all go explore the resort for a bit while I sort out the rooms? I’m sure there’s plenty to see.”
There was a chorus of agreement, and Margo’s relatives scattered like tumbleweeds in a strong wind. Uncle Spike immediately made a beeline for the cactus garden, muttering about hidden cameras. The twins drifted towards a gaudy fountain, phones at the ready. Dusty ambled off, humming tunelessly, while Grandma Agave tottered towards a sunny spot by the window, her mysterious bag clutched tight.
Alone at last, Margo sagged against the front desk. “I am so, so sorry about all that,” she told the clerk. “I promise we’re not always this… colorful.”
The man shrugged, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Ma’am, this is a desert resort in the middle of nowhere. Trust me, we’ve seen weirder.”
Somehow, Margo doubted that. But as she collected the room keys and steeled herself to wrangle her family once more, she couldn’t help but wonder what other surprises this reunion had in store.
The first hint of trouble came at dinner that evening. Margo had reserved a private dining room, hoping to contain any potential family shenanigans. As they settled around the large, round table, she allowed herself a moment of optimism. Maybe, just maybe, they could have a nice, normal meal together.
That hope was dashed the moment Uncle Spike pulled out a personal Geiger counter and began waving it over the bread basket.
“Um, Uncle Spike?” Margo ventured cautiously. “What exactly are you doing?”
Spike’s eyes darted around the room before he leaned in, his voice a rasping whisper. “Checking for radiation, of course. You never know when They might try to slip something into our food. Can’t be too careful out here in the desert. It’s the perfect place for secret government testing.”
Prickly and Pear, who hadn’t looked up from their phones since sitting down, suddenly perked up. “Ooh, conspiracy theory time!” Pear exclaimed, angling her camera towards Spike. “The followers are gonna eat this up.”
Margo’s eyes widened in alarm. “No, absolutely not. There will be no live-streaming of unfounded accusations against the resort. Put those phones away, now.”
The twins exchanged a look of teenage disdain that spoke volumes, but reluctantly lowered their devices.
“Aw, don’t be such a wet blanket, cuz,” Dusty chimed in, idly strumming an imaginary guitar. “Let the kids have their fun. Speaking of fun, how about I treat y’all to a little dinner music?”
Before anyone could object, Dusty launched into an ear-splitting rendition of what might charitably be called a country song. The lyrics seemed to be an odd mix of trucking metaphors and cactus-related puns, delivered in a voice that could charitably be described as “enthusiastic” rather than “in tune.”
Grandma Agave, who had been quietly arranging her napkin into an intricate shape, looked up with a start. “Eh? Who let a coyote in here?”
“It’s just Dusty singing, Grandma,” Margo shouted over the cacophony. “Dusty, maybe we could save the concert for later?”
Dusty reluctantly wound down his performance, but not before treating them to a final, warbling yodel that had the water glasses vibrating ominously.
As blessed silence descended upon the table, a harried-looking waiter appeared with their appetizers. “Cactus pad salad for the table,” he announced, setting down a large platter.
Uncle Spike’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Wait just a minute. How do we know these are real cactus pads? This could be some sort of government plot to… to…”
“To what, Uncle Spike?” Margo asked wearily.
“I don’t know yet, but I’m sure it’s nefarious!” Spike pulled a magnifying glass from one of his many pockets and began closely examining the salad.
Prickly and Pear, unable to resist, had their phones out again in a flash. “Cactus Fam food review!” Prickly announced to his invisible audience. “Will it be delicious, or suspicious? Stay tuned to find out!”
Margo buried her face in her hands, wondering if it was too late to fake a medical emergency and flee back to her blissfully quiet accounting office.
Grandma Agave, oblivious to the chaos around her, had returned to fiddling with her napkin. As Margo watched, the old woman’s gnarled fingers deftly shaped the cloth into a miniature cactus, complete with tiny fabric spines.
“Grandma,” Margo said, momentarily distracted from the unfolding disaster. “That’s amazing. I didn’t know you could do that.”
Agave looked up, a mischievous twinkle in her rheumy eyes. “Oh, I’ve picked up a few tricks over the years, dearie. You should see what I can do with a pile of sand and a little patience.”
Before Margo could inquire further, a commotion from the other end of the table drew her attention. Uncle Spike had apparently finished his investigation of the salad and was now standing on his chair, addressing the room at large.
“Friends, family, potential government spies,” he began, his voice carrying the gravitas of a man about to unveil great truths. “I have made a startling discovery. These cactus pads… are actually cake!”
A stunned silence fell over the table, broken only by the soft click of the twins’ camera shutters.
Margo blinked rapidly, trying to process this latest bit of insanity. “Uncle Spike, what on earth are you talking about? They’re clearly not cake.”
Spike shook his head vehemently. “That’s what they want you to think, Margo. But I’ve seen the videos. Everything is cake these days. It’s all part of a massive conspiracy to… to…”
“Let me guess,” Margo sighed. “You don’t know yet, but you’re sure it’s nefarious?”
“Exactly!” Spike beamed at her. “Now you’re getting it!”
As if on cue, Dusty began strumming his air guitar again. “Well, that gives me an idea for a new song. How about… ‘My Heart is a Cactus (But It Might Be Cake)’?”
The twins’ eyes lit up with unholy glee. “OMG, Dusty, that’s genius!” Pear exclaimed. “Quick, Prickly, set up the tripod. We need to film this for TikTok!”
Margo watched in helpless horror as her family descended into chaos. Dusty was now in full performance mode, belting out increasingly nonsensical lyrics about dessert-based betrayal. Uncle Spike had commandeered a butter knife and was attempting to “prove” his cake theory by dissecting the salad. The twins flitted around the table, capturing every moment of madness for their eager online audience.
And through it all, Grandma Agave calmly continued her napkin sculpting, a small smile playing on her wrinkled face.
As the waiter hesitantly approached with their main course, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else, Margo made a silent vow. Somehow, some way, she was going to get through this reunion with her sanity intact. Even if it killed her.
The next morning dawned bright and early, the desert sun already blazing as Margo made her way to the resort’s breakfast buffet. She’d barely slept, plagued by bizarre dreams of cake-cactus hybrids and Dusty’s off-key crooning. As she approached the dining area, she sent up a silent prayer for a quiet, uneventful meal.
Those hopes were dashed the moment she stepped through the door and nearly collided with Uncle Spike, who was crouched suspiciously behind a potted plant.
“Uncle Spike?” Margo hissed, trying not to draw attention from the other bleary-eyed guests. “What on earth are you doing?”
Spike’s eyes darted around the room before he beckoned her closer. “Surveillance, Margo. Can’t let our guard down for a second out here. I’ve got a theory about the scrambled eggs. I think they might be–”
“If you say ‘cake,’ I swear I will pour syrup in your shoes,” Margo interrupted, her patience already wearing thin.
Spike looked offended. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’re clearly not cake. My current working theory involves alien protein substitutes and possible mind control.”
Margo briefly considered turning around and going back to bed for the rest of the weekend. Instead, she took a deep breath and plastered on a smile. “Why don’t we get some coffee first? I’m sure everything will seem less… extraterrestrial after some caffeine.”
As they made their way to the buffet, Margo spotted the twins huddled in a corner, phones out as usual. To her surprise, they weren’t filming or live-streaming. Instead, they appeared to be engaged in a heated whisper-argument.
“Everything okay over here?” Margo asked cautiously.
Prickly and Pear’s heads snapped up in perfect synchronization, twin expressions of panic flashing across their faces before they smoothed into carefully crafted nonchalance.
“Oh, hey Cousin Margo,” Pear said, her voice a little too bright. “Everything’s fine. We were just, um…”
“Discussing optimal hashtag strategies,” Prickly finished smoothly. “Gotta keep our content fresh, you know?”
Margo’s eyes narrowed. She might not be up on all the latest social media trends, but she knew deflection when she saw it. Before she could press further, however, a familiar twangy voice rang out across the dining room.
“Well, good mornin’, sunshine!” Dusty called out, sauntering over with a plate piled high with pancakes. “Y’all ready for another day of family fun?”
Margo winced at his volume. “Indoor voice, Dusty. Please.”
Dusty nodded sagely. “Right, right. Gotta save the pipes for later. I’ve been working on a new song all night. Wanna hear a preview?”
“No!” Margo, Spike, and the twins all shouted in unison, drawing curious stares from nearby tables.
Dusty looked crestfallen for a moment before brightening again. “That’s alright. I’ll save it for the big finale. It’s gonna knock your socks off, I promise!”
As Dusty wandered off, humming tunelessly to himself, Margo felt a familiar sense of dread settling in her stomach. “Big finale?” she muttered. “What big finale?”
Her musings were interrupted by the arrival of Grandma Agave, who shuffled up to the group with her ever-present bag clutched tightly.
“Morning, dearies,” she said, her voice quavering but cheerful. “Lovely day for a little project, don’t you think?”
Margo eyed the bag suspiciously. “What kind of project, Grandma?”
Agave’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Oh, you’ll see soon enough. Now, who wants to help an old lady carry her plate?”
As the family settled in for breakfast, Margo couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something important. Uncle Spike’s paranoid ramblings, the twins’ secretive behavior, Dusty’s mysterious “finale,” and whatever Grandma Agave was planning… it all added up to a recipe for disaster.
Picking at her possibly-alien, definitely-not-cake scrambled eggs, Margo made a silent vow. She was going to get to the bottom of whatever was going on, and salvage this reunion if it was the last thing she did.
Little did she know, the day’s adventures were only just beginning.
The morning passed in a blur of barely-contained chaos. Uncle Spike insisted on “sweeping” every inch of the resort for hidden surveillance equipment, much to the bemusement of the staff and other guests. The twins remained glued to their phones, but Margo noticed they seemed jumpier than usual, constantly looking over their shoulders as if expecting trouble.
Dusty, true to form, had set up an impromptu concert in the lobby, treating everyone within earshot to his unique brand of desert-inspired country music. His latest hit, “Tumbleweed in My Heart (It Might Be Cake),” was met with polite applause from a few elderly tourists and outright winces from everyone else.
Through it all, Grandma Agave remained suspiciously quiet, occasionally disappearing for long stretches of time with her mysterious bag in tow.
By mid-afternoon, Margo’s nerves were frayed to the breaking point. She’d planned a nice, relaxing nature walk for the family, hoping the beauty of the desert landscape might inspire some calm reflection. Instead, she found herself trailing behind her relatives, wondering how they’d all managed to survive to adulthood.
“And over here, we have a fine example of the barrel cactus,” droned their unenthusiastic tour guide, a sunburned young man who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. “These cacti can live for up to one hundred years and–”
“Hold it right there, friend!” Uncle Spike interrupted, pushing his way to the front of the group. “That’s what They want you to think. But I’ve got some inside information about the true lifespan of barrel cacti. You see, these babies are actually immortal. It’s all part of a government experiment in–”
Margo quickly intervened, steering Spike away from the bewildered guide. “Why don’t we move along to the next stop?” she suggested brightly. “I’m sure there’s plenty more to see.”
As they continued down the dusty trail, Margo noticed the twins lagging behind, heads bent together in fervent discussion. She slowed her pace, straining to catch snippets of their conversation.
“…can’t believe they found out…”
“…what if Margo discovers…”
“…gonna be so mad…”
Margo’s curiosity was piqued, but before she could eavesdrop further, a commotion from up ahead drew her attention. Dusty had climbed atop a large rock formation and was serenading a startled-looking lizard with what sounded like a country ballad about cactus juice and broken hearts.
“Dusty!” Margo called out, exasperated. “Get down from there before you hurt yourself!”
“Aw, come on, cuz!” Dusty replied, still warbling away. “I’m communing with nature through the universal language of music!”
The lizard, apparently unimpressed with Dusty’s artistic vision, scurried away into a nearby crevice.
As Margo attempted to coax her cousin down from his rocky stage, she caught sight of Grandma Agave wandering off the trail, her ever-present bag swinging at her side.
“Grandma!” Margo called out. “Where are you going? It’s not safe to leave the path!”
But Agave either didn’t hear her or chose to ignore the warning. The old woman disappeared behind a large saguaro, leaving Margo torn between following her and preventing Dusty from launching into another verse.
Just as she was about to abandon the tour entirely and round up her wayward family members, a piercing shriek cut through the air. Margo’s heart leapt into her throat as she recognized the voice.
“Grandma!” she yelled, all thoughts of maintaining order forgotten as she sprinted off the trail. “Grandma, where are you?”
The rest of the family, startled into action, followed close behind. Even the twins had pocketed their phones, looks of genuine concern replacing their usual bored expressions.
They found Agave a short distance from the trail, standing in a small clearing surrounded by towering cacti. To Margo’s immense relief, the old woman appeared unharmed. In fact, she was smiling broadly, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Oh good, you’re all here,” Agave said, as if she’d planned the whole thing. “I’ve got something to show you.”
Before anyone could respond, she upended her mysterious bag, pouring a small mountain of sand onto the dusty ground. Then, with surprising agility for a woman of her age, Agave knelt down and began to shape the sand with practiced movements.
The family watched in stunned silence as a form began to take shape beneath Grandma’s gnarled fingers. Within minutes, a perfect miniature replica of the resort stood before them, complete with tiny cacti and a scaled-down version of Dusty’s truck in the parking lot.
“Grandma,” Margo breathed, awe temporarily overriding her exasperation. “This is incredible. How did you…?”
Agave looked up, a proud smile crinkling her weathered face. “Oh, I’ve been doing this for years, dearie. Started as a hobby to pass the time, but it’s become a bit of a passion. I’ve won a few contests, you know. Nothing major, but…”
“Nothing major?” Prickly exclaimed, his phone already out and recording. “Grandma, this is amazing! You’re like, a sand sculpting genius!”
Pear nodded enthusiastically. “Totally! This is going to blow up online. We could make you famous!”
For once, Margo didn’t have the heart to scold the twins for their social media obsession. She was too busy marveling at the hidden talents of her grandmother.
Uncle Spike, predictably, had his own take on the situation. “I knew it!” he crowed triumphantly. “The sand! It all makes sense now. You’re obviously using this as a cover for your real mission. Tell me, Agave, how long have you been working for the Shadow Cactus Intelligence Agency?”
Grandma Agave blinked owlishly at Spike. “The what now, dearie? You’ll have to speak up, my hearing’s not what it used to be.”
As Spike launched into an impassioned explanation of his latest conspiracy theory, Dusty sidled up to Margo, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“You know,” he said, mercifully keeping his voice at a normal volume for once, “I reckon this calls for a song. How about… ‘My Grandma’s Got Talent (And It Ain’t Just Baking Cake)’?”
Margo couldn’t help but laugh, the tension of the past day and a half finally starting to ease. “You know what, Dusty? I think that might just be your best title yet.”
As the family gathered around Grandma Agave’s creation, exclaiming over the details and snapping photos, Margo felt a warm glow of affection for her eccentric relatives. Yes, they were loud, chaotic, and more than a little crazy. But they were hers, and in this moment, she wouldn’t have them any other way.
Of course, that feeling of goodwill lasted approximately thirty seconds before Uncle Spike started interrogating a nearby cactus for “classified information,” Dusty launched into an impromptu yodeling session, and the twins began arguing over which filters would best capture the “desert aesthetic” of Grandma’s sculpture.
Margo sighed, resigning herself to another long evening of damage control. But as she herded her family back towards the trail, she couldn’t quite hide her smile. This reunion might not have gone according to plan, but it was certainly turning out to be memorable.
Little did she know, the biggest surprise of the weekend was yet to come.
The final day of the reunion dawned clear and bright, the desert air already shimmering with heat as Margo made her way to the resort’s main courtyard. She’d barely slept, kept awake by a mix of residual adrenaline from yesterday’s adventures and anxiety about what the day might bring.
To her surprise, she found the courtyard deserted save for a single figure hunched over a table in the corner. As she drew closer, she recognized the twin mops of carefully styled hair.
“Prickly? Or… Pear?” she ventured, still not entirely sure how to tell them apart.
The teen’s head snapped up, a deer-in-headlights look flashing across their face before settling into a forced casual expression. “Oh, hey Cousin Margo. You’re up early.”
Margo raised an eyebrow. “So are you. And you seem to be missing your other half. Everything okay?”
The twin (Margo was pretty sure it was Prickly, but she wouldn’t bet money on it) fidgeted nervously. “Yeah, everything’s cool. Pear’s just, uh, sleeping in. You know how she is.”
Margo did know, which is why this solo appearance was so odd. In all the years she’d known them, she’d never seen the twins voluntarily separate for more than a few minutes.
“Right,” she said slowly. “And you’re out here because…?”
Prickly’s eyes darted around the courtyard as if searching for an escape route. “Just, you know, enjoying the morning. Getting some fresh air. Totally normal stuff.”
Margo was about to press further when a commotion from the resort entrance caught her attention. To her horror, she saw Uncle Spike engaged in what appeared to be a heated argument with a man in a crisp suit.
“Oh no,” she muttered, already moving towards the unfolding disaster. “Prickly, we’ll finish this conversation later. Don’t go anywhere!”
She hurried across the courtyard, catching snippets of Spike’s increasingly agitated rant.
“…and furthermore, I demand to know what kind of clandestine operations you’re running out of this so-called ‘resort.’ I’ve seen the signs! The cacti are clearly not what they seem, and I–”
“Uncle Spike!” Margo interrupted, inserting herself between her uncle and the bewildered-looking man. “I’m so sorry about this, sir. My uncle has a very… active imagination.”
The man in the suit blinked rapidly, as if trying to process what he’d just heard. “I… see. Well, as I was trying to explain to your uncle, I’m not affiliated with this resort. I’m actually here for a corporate retreat with my accounting firm.”
Margo felt a spark of interest. “Oh? I’m an accountant myself. Which firm are you with?”
“Prickly Pear Associates,” the man replied. “We’re a boutique operation specializing in desert-based businesses. Cactus farms, that sort of thing.”
Margo’s brow furrowed. “Prickly Pear Associates? That’s… quite a coincidence.”
Before she could ponder this further, Uncle Spike muscled his way back into the conversation. “Aha! So you admit it! You’re clearly here as part of a cover operation. Tell me, does your ‘accounting firm’ deal in figures, or in highly classified cactus-based intelligence?”
The man’s confusion was rapidly morphing into alarm. “I… what? Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I think I’d better go. Excuse me.”
As he beat a hasty retreat, Margo rounded on her uncle. “Spike! You can’t just accost random guests and accuse them of being part of some grand cactus conspiracy!”
Spike looked unrepentant. “Can’t I? Or is that just what They want you to think? Wake up, Margo! The cacti have eyes, and they’re watching us all!”
Margo was saved from having to formulate a response to this particular bit of lunacy by the arrival of Dusty, who came sauntering into the courtyard with his ever-present imaginary guitar.
“Mornin’, family!” he called out cheerfully. “Hope y’all are ready for a big day. I’ve got a special surprise planned for this evening!”
Margo’s sense of foreboding, briefly forgotten in the wake of Uncle Spike’s antics, came rushing back full force. “Dusty,” she said cautiously, “what kind of surprise are we talking about here?”
Dusty’s grin widened. “Now, now, cousin. If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise! Let’s just say it’s gonna be the perfect end to our little family reunion. A real showstopper!”
As Dusty wandered off, humming tunelessly to himself, Margo felt a headache building behind her eyes. Between Prickly’s suspicious behavior, Uncle Spike’s escalating paranoia, and now Dusty’s mysterious “surprise,” she had a feeling this final day was going to be anything but relaxing.
Little did she know, the biggest shock of all was yet to come.
The day passed in a