Undercover Tales

by Blayne Cooper

  I didn’t know quite what to say as Keilana stormed into what was supposed to be “our” cottage. There was no way that this person could be the subject of my investigation. None! She wasn’t “spirited,” as Mrs. Poppenhouse had said. She was clearly evil. And she wasn’t huge or close to being Hawaiian. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  A woman walking by shot me an evil look for my potty mouth. “Hi, Sister,” I said a touch sheepishly.

  Did that nun just flip me the bird?

  I refocused on why I was here and then hung my head. What the hell was wrong with me? I tried to look on the bright side, but so far there wasn’t one. Well, except for the fact that at least I knew where the evil Keilana Poppenhouse was. In fact, I mused, not liking Keilana might make me feel less guilty about breaking up her and her boyfriend. Yeah. I could live with that big fat lie for at least as long as it took for me to play homewrecker.

  I repacked the rest of my things and hefted the boxes onto cottage 12 ’s small front porch. As I was straightening from setting down the last box, I heard the lock to the front door slide into place. “I have a key,” I gloated loudly. “You can’t lock me out.” Then I turned the doorknob and to my surprise, it wasn’t locked. “Huh.” Maybe Keilana wasn’t as difficult as she first appeared. God knows I’d been wrong about enough people in my life to know better than to judge someone too quickly. I began to regret the bad names I’d called her.

  I stepped forward and pushed the door open ... only to smash my face against the solid wood. “God!” I screeched, and grabbed my now-bleeding nose. The burglar chain had been fastened. “Crap!”

  “Still wrong. It’s whore-bitch, remember?” Keilana yelled from somewhere in the cottage.

  I hit the door with my fist. “Bitch!”

  “You’re ... getting ... closer,” she said in a sing-song voice.

  My God, what kind of twisted bitch was she? I was pretty sure I could bust the chain on the door if I wanted to. But I didn’t want some do-gooder priest calling the cops on me. I had to save something for day two, didn’t I?

  My voice was deep and dangerous when I said, “Open the door, Keilana.”

  Silence.

  “Open it.”

  More silence.

  “Open the Goddamn door!” I roared, banging the wood with my fist until my hand ached. Finally, I stepped away from the door and swallowed hard.

  My heart was racing. My face was flushed. My palms were sweating and my chest was rising and falling far faster than normal. Isn’t it confusing that being furious and being turned-on-as-hell have the exact same symptoms?

  “Have it your way, Keilana.” I twisted my face and slurred her name the way Seinfeld did when saying “Newman.” She was already shaping up to be my Newman.

  I opened one of my suitcases and took out a washcloth to press to my nose. I held it to my face as I checked the front windows. Both were locked. I could pick them, of course, but it was broad daylight and I’d already attracted enough unwarranted attention. As it was, I’d be lucky not to be fired or expelled.

  I walked behind the cottage and found two more windows. The second window was even unlocked, but after giving it a couple of moment’s thought, I decided not to try to climb through it. It was a little smaller than the others and getting stuck with my ass hanging out was not on my agenda today.

  Finally, on the fourth wall, I struck pay dirt. Stuffing the bloodied washcloth in my pocket, I growled like a cat on the prowl. I was getting inside. I tightened my hands around the sill. Despite what you see on TV, it’s much harder to pull up all your body weight than it looks. But I was in relatively good shape and after a few huffs and puffs I was propped up on the ledge and staring inside. I glanced around awkwardly, but I couldn’t see Keilana. I was sure, however, that the satanic brat was somewhere inside, laughing at me.

  The windowsill was digging into my gut and I looked down. Figures there’d be no way to twist my legs inside. I’d have to go in headfirst. Slowly, I leaned forward to ease inside, and suddenly I was flying down the wall! I tried to break my fall with my arms and ended up doing a somersault that would make Mary Lou Retton weep with envy. Well, except for the part where I screamed like a sissy girl when my butt thumped hard against the tile floor.

  “Holy—?” Disoriented, I sat there for a few seconds. What had just happened? I saw a piece of paper on the floor, partially hidden by my ass. I pulled it free and it read “Don’t fall.” I closed my eyes and whimpered. Was there anything more annoying than someone saying don’t fall after you’d already fallen?

  After a few seconds of wondering what on earth I’d gotten myself into, I stood up on wobbly feet. My tailbone was throbbing, my nose was aching, and I wanted to kill Keilana. I even know a few people who, for a Corona and two fish tacos, would help me dispose of her worthless carcass. God, I love my job!

  “Oh, Keilana?” I said in a sickeningly sweet voice. “He-e-e-e-re’s Johnny!” She was too young to have seen The Shining but it made me happy just saying it.

  Of course, there was no answer. I turned my head and saw that the front door was wide open, mocking me. Okay, I admit it, I underestimated my opponent in this twisted little game. That was a mistake I wouldn’t make again.

  If I’d only known then just what the coming months would bring ... I would have ... I would have ... . What would I have done? I guess I would still be me, which means I’d probably do most of it the same way, taking my lumps and all. But it would have been nice to have been just the teensiest bit prepared.

  Since I was alone and had no clue where Keilana had gone, I took a moment to look around my new, if temporary, digs. I whistled softly, glad that I’d only bloodied my nose instead of knocking out my front teeth.

  The cottage was nice. Really nice. Better than my apartment, actually. Which made me all the more resentful. I was sure that the students here didn’t appreciate just how lucky they were.

  The furnishings were sparse, but first class all the way, and not surprisingly, the décor was California Mission. There was a tiny kitchen and living area just off a single bedroom that was separated from the rest of the house by a half wall. I walked over to the bedroom and saw that my bags and boxes were neatly stacked next to a naked mattress and box springs. “What did you do, Keilana?” On one of my bags sat a can of soda, beads of condensation attesting to the fact that it was icy cold.

  How did she know that I was thirsty? Was she a witch? I didn’t know what to think, but one thing was certain. Keilana clearly could not be trusted. And yet, this appeared to be a tiny bit of kindness from the person who had called me a klutz, embarrassed me by making me reach for my panties, locked me out of the house, and sent me careening ass over tea kettle down the wall. Scowling, I rubbed my butt again and tried not to breathe through my tender nose.

  Then something on top of the suitcase caught my eye and I was tugged forward by the same unseen force that had shaped most of my adult life—rampant curiosity. The kind that gave the cat a slow and painful death, and would, most likely, do the same to me one day.

  On my suitcase was another note.

  Klutz,

  You can use your own bed sheets or check some out at the campus laundry for $3. I suggest the former. Too bad you’re not a hooker. You’d be worth every penny. You have a spectacular ass.

  Your new bestest buddy,

  My eyes narrowed. She had signed the note Whore-bitch. I read it again just to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind. I tried not to laugh. What was wrong with me? And how could I find her note funny, even though it was clearly meant to torture me? And most curious of all, why had she been looking at my ass? Thinking about asses made me rub mine. Again. It was still sore.

  True, my butt was covered in expensive jeans, and she’d recognize that, which was the entire point. But she seemed to be checking out what was under the pants. Was she a lesbian? I thought about that for a bit as I examined my can of 7 -UP. Frankly, I was thrilled with even the possibility it could be true. There can
never, ever be too many good-looking women batting for my team. That said, this wasn’t about me, and so I did my best to think about the case.

  Keilana’s parents were worried about some mainlander scum being after her money. But would they know if the mainlander scum was a woman? Absolutely not. Then again, if she really wanted to rebel, wouldn’t the easiest way be to tell mommy and daddy that she liked pussy? After a bit more pondering, I figured it was too early to tell whether she was into chicks, or whether she’d just been yanking my chain.

  I cracked open my 7 -Up—not the diet, but the honest to goodness, teeth-rotting, sugar elixir—half expecting it to explode or for a big snake to pop out. When it didn’t, I tentatively took a sip. Ahhh ... cold bubbles chased their way down my throat. Heaven.

  So the subject of my investigation was a nutcase, sometimes-hospitable, maybe-lesbian? Lovely. I’d been in her presence for all of five minutes and she’d already given me the slip. Lovely again. I lifted my soda in salute to Ms. Poppenhouse, wherever she was. “Round one to Keilana,” I conceded as my eyes took on a determined glint. “Too bad for you, this battle of the wits is just getting started.”

  Chapter Three

  The cottage was dark except for a small bedside lamp that provided more than enough light for me to write up my case notes. I was lying on my stomach on my bed and doing my damnedest to stay awake as I wrote. A couple of years ago I’d tried to use a Palm Pilot, and then a laptop, but there is something about writing things out longhand that jump-starts my thinking process. At some point during every case, I bow to modern technology and transfer things onto my office desktop for archival purposes and so I can email reports to clients. Until that point, however, I don’t feel bad about doing things the old fashioned way and working them out on paper.

  But so far this report was boring even me. I tucked my pen behind my ear and yawned, wishing that Keilana would hurry up and get home. It was a little past two a.m. and I was starting to get worried. Yeah, she’s a big girl. But after working dozens of missing persons cases, I understood better than most that the world was full of scummy, devouring bastards who would do horrible things to you if given half the chance.

  Have I mentioned that really late at night I tend to be a glass-half-empty sort of gal?

  I propped my head up on my hands and decided it was best to keep myself occupied by rifling through her things. I know that seems slimy. Okay, it is slimy. But now wasn’t the time for the faint of heart. Besides, I had to find out as much as I could about Keilana in as short a time as possible. That way I would reduce the amount of lies I had to tell her and the amount of time I had to spend in her presence. Not that it wouldn’t be fun to linger on the Poppenhouses’ more-than-generous payroll, but because there was always a chance my cover would be blown before the job was finished, I was racing the clock.

  Speaking of clocks, underneath one on the wall were three short bookshelves lined with dozens of paperback adventure, true-life crime, and reality stories. I began thumbing through them, their well-worn covers testifying to the fact that Keilana was an avid reader with eclectic tastes. I pulled one of the few hardcover books off her shelf. Children of Adoption: A Lifetime of Adapting. Well, that answered one of my questions. Keilana was about as Hawaiian as I was.

  Then I ransacked her dresser. A chocolate bar in the top drawer. Hershey’s Kisses in with her socks. Tootsie Rolls mixed with her undies. M&Ms in the third drawer by her bras. What a sicko! I popped a Hershey’s Kiss into my mouth and acknowledged wryly that this could be love.

  Still chewing, I checked the short file cabinet next to her desk. She was actually pretty organized for a college student and everything was laid out neatly in manila folders. Her parents were right about her grades, which since the end of last year, have resembled something that should be flushed down the toilet. Another file contained three letters of warning from her advisor and one from the Dean. I was actually a little surprised that the school hadn’t given her the boot. Then I remembered who her parents were. She’d probably have to kill someone to actually get expelled. But that didn’t mean they’d just hand her a degree.

  I shoved that file back and selected another.

  Ooo ... I chuckled. Keilana had been a very bad girl. She had a half dozen parking ticket receipts, all showing her illegal parking in and right around one neighborhood. Unfortunately, the area covered several blocks. Even more unfortunate was the fact that I had a passing familiarity with that part of town. I couldn’t believe Keilana would drive through it, much less park her fancy BMW there.

  I quickly jotted down the addresses from the tickets in my journal, mindful that my roomie could be home any minute. As I wrote, I couldn’t help but think about what I hadn’t found on my little fishing expedition. No address book. No diary or love letters. No photographs. She didn’t seem to own a single personal thing beyond her clothing. And despite what her parents had hinted at, I hadn’t found any drugs, booze, or even cigarettes. By all accounts, Keilana was living a helluva lot cleaner life than I had in college.

  I also couldn’t find whatever it was she used for birth control. Then I remembered she had her personality for that.

  I glanced over at the clock. It read 3:37 AM. “Where the hell are you, Keilana? You’d better not be out doing something I’d want to know about!”

  Murmuring to myself and yawning, I locked my own journal in the desk provided by the college and picked my blue jeans up off the floor so I could stuff the key in the front pocket. You couldn’t be too careful with people.

  The sound of a key in the front door lock sent me scurrying back to bed, where I lay down, looked up at the ceiling, and did my best to appear nonchalant. Thank God she was home. Staying awake had been torture.

  As she walked past me I got a better look at her than I had earlier that afternoon. She had long limbs and the graceful stride that reminded me of a slender jungle cat. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and instead of being the devastating blue I remembered, they appeared almost purple in the muted light. Her gaze flickered my way and I felt my belly tighten in response.

  Uh-oh. I could not be attracted to her. There were a million reasons why having the hots for Keilana would be a bad idea, and I mentally started listing each and every one of them when she let her purse slide to the floor and stripped out of her blouse and bra in one swift motion. Sweet mother of God! Her skin was milky white and invitingly smooth. And her breasts swayed gently as she moved.

  Unconsciously, I licked my lips. I knew that I should look away and give her a modicum of privacy by turning my head, but honestly I was too stunned to do more than gape and collect drool.

  Surely the weight of my stare was palpable, but if Keilana noticed it, she didn’t say. I groaned inwardly when she presented me with her back. Show’s over, pervert, I thought a little resentfully. Even though I hated it to end, I was grateful for the reprieve as she tugged a T-shirt from her dresser and slipped it on.

  Unable to ogle her, my other senses kicked into high gear and my nose twitched as I detected the scent of cigarette smoke. Interesting. Who were you with, Keilana? I didn’t want to appear overly nosy by asking outright, so I schooled myself in patience.

  “Hey,” I said softly. I had been looking forward to being snotty to her when she got back, but it was so late that most of my anger over what had happened earlier had already burned away.

  Her eyes slowly rolled sideways. “Hi,” she murmured. Then she really focused on me and a tiny furrow appeared between her brows. Was she missing her old roommate? For a second I thought she didn’t recognize me, but then I glimpsed what I hoped was a spark of recognition.

  When she said nothing, I sighed.

  “You don’t remember my name, do you?” I gave her a lopsided grin that I hope covered my bruised ego. “Am I that forgettable?”

  “Hardly,” she said seriously and collapsed onto her bed. “And I do too remember your name.” Her pillow muffled her voice. “It’s whore-bitch.” A pause. “No wait. T
hat’s me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “So nice to see you’re not the type to hold a grudge. I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” Oops. “Well, I thought it for a fleeting second or two. That should count for something, right?”

  Keilana fought it, but in the end, the corners of her mouth turned upward. “You’re Katy.” She kicked off her sneakers, wiggled out of her jeans, and snuggled under her bed sheets with an enormous yawn.

  I frowned. “It’s Cadie.”

  She rolled over to face me and looked at me for a good minute before saying a word. My heart pounded wildly the entire time. Was she sizing me up? Or worse, was she on to me?

  Even through my impending panic, I took the opportunity to give her a less lascivious examination. She looked mortally tired and now that she wasn’t moving, I could see that her eyes were bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles. Still, she didn’t have that glazed-over look that came with being stoned, or the slurred speech and sloppy movements of someone who was drunk.

  “Hi Cadie,” she finally said, gently. And to my amazement, for just a split second, every trace of smugness was gone from her voice, her expression painfully open. She looked so young and sweet that I felt my heart lurch. “That’s such a pretty name.”

  I blinked and to my amazement felt my face flush with pleasure. Jesus Christ, what was wrong with me? “It ... um ... I mean, thank—”

  “Good night.”

  Then she rolled over and instantly fell asleep, her light snores filling the room so quickly that for a moment I thought she was pulling my leg. It’s part of my job to look after this intriguing, annoying young woman. With the kind of money I was making, that’s the least I could do, right? So I padded over to her bedside and carefully lifted a thin blanket over her sleeping body, tucking the edges around her shoulders. She didn’t even stir. Whatever she’d been doing tonight had exhausted her.