Spruced Up by Holly Jacobs Page A

reached in her gigantic purse—I mean, my carry-on that held an entire week’s worth of clothes was only slightly bigger than her purse—and pulled out a copy of The Erie Times-News, our local newspaper.  “It was in the paper.”
    There I was. My Name.  Above the fold.  Yes, I’d made the front page…of the Local Section.
     
    Erie’s Own Quincy Mac Cleans up Crime in Los Angeles
     
    I read the paper’s online version, GoErie.com, most mornings.  I like to keep up with what was going on back home.  But between packing for myself, and for the boys, who were spending the holiday with their father and Peri, and then the flight across the country, I hadn’t read the paper in a couple days.
      I skimmed the article.
     
    Move over Sherlock Holmes.  Erie’s got its own super-sleuth, Quincy Mac.
Mac is an Erie native. She’s the daughter of two local, prominent physicians. But rather than following in their footsteps, like her brothers, she moved to Los Angeles.  She did some acting.  Most recently she’s the owner of a successful business.  But cleaning up other people’s homes wasn’t enough for this intrepid entrepreneur.  In her spare time, this maid in LA has solved not only a murder, but also an art heist.…
     
    “Isn’t that awesome, Quincy?” Lottie said, her voice still near squeal pitch.  “Look, there’s your picture.” 
    My picture was below the fold.  And where on earth had the paper found it?  It was an old headshot.  I had a toothy grin in it.  My agent at the time told me that smile had convinced the Dazzling Smile’s execs I should be their commercial ’s star.  Maybe that would have made my career.  If only they hadn’t found arsenic in the toothpaste.
    “ You have to sign it for me, Quince,” Lottie said.
    “Pardon?”  I was still marveling at being compared to Sherlock Holmes.
    “I need you to sign my copy of the paper.  You might not be a movie star, but they said you’re writing a screenplay based on the murder you solved?  You hold onto those glasses you might need them yet.”
    She thrust the newspaper and a red Sharpie marker at me then she squealed again.
    Everyone turned to look at us.  Lottie pointed at me.  “She’s famous.  This is Quincy Mac, Erie’s own Sherlock Holmes, according to the Erie Times-News.  She’s a Hollywood screenwriter.”
    “I’m a Hollywood maid,” I said loudly.
    “You’re a Hollywood business owner—a successful business owner.”  She stood there, paper and marker extended.  I put down my bag and signed away.  A big, flourishing Quincy Mac, Maid in LA .
    Lottie had always believed in me.  When I said I was going to Hollywood to be come an actress, she fully expected to see me walking down a red carpet someday.  She didn’t seem to realize that I’d never actually done that.
    Lottie and I had been friends since my first day of kindergarten.  She was one of the most big-hearted people I’d ever met.  I’ve seen her give crayons and pencils to schoolmates.  I’ve watched her go buy a drink and sandwich for a homeless person.  And once, a chipmunk ran out in front of her car.  She thought she’d run it over and started to cry.  We had to turn around in a driveway and go back to check.  Thank goodness it was a fast chipmunk.  I don’t think she could have handled it if she’d smooshed it.
    That was Lottie—all heart.  The fact that she’d become a nurse was no surprise to anyone who knew her.
    Standing in the middle of Erie’s airport, wearing star glasses and signing a newspaper article, I knew without a doubt that I was famous to her.  She’d always see me as a star and never realize I was just a maid.
    I handed her the now signed paper and marker, then took off the glasses and slipped them back in my purse.
    “Are you ready to go?” I asked because people were still staring at us.  An older lady in the back was actually pointing at me. 
    “Definitely.  Your mom gave me the