“And what?”
“Nothing.”
They found Erik in the steamy bathroom, drying off after a shower. “Man, that was some party last night,” he said jovially. “Woo! Good times.” He wrapped the towel around his slim waist.
Phil leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. Jake stood beside him, his shoulders drooping, and let him take the lead. “What happened last night in our room?”
“What do you mean? We par-teed.” Erik squirted hair gel into his hands and ran it through his short, dark hair. “Sweet little piece of ass, huh?”
“It’s a little hazy.” Phil squinted his eyes, shaking his head. “Did we all have sex with her?”
“Yup. I got her hot little buns all buttered up for my two best amigos. Kinda makes us like blood brothers now, huh? The three amigos.”
Jake spun around and left the bathroom.
Erik’s goofy grin melted under Phil’s cold glare and he turned back to the mirror to fuss with his hair. Phil watched a moment, unable to scrape up the words to convey his feelings of disgust, then shook his head and left.
As he walked down the hall, Erik called after him. “What the hell’s got your panties in a bunch?” A few minutes later he sauntered into their room, whistling like he didn’t have a care in the world. Jake was sitting at his desk and Phil was leaning against the edge of it, as they watched Erik pull on a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt. “So what’s your problem? You both look like someone died.”
“Who was she?” Phil said.
“We’re still on this? Who cares? Just some freshman hoochie. There’s always girls like that at a party. They want to get drunk, and they want to get laid.” He lightheartedly punched Phil in the bread basket. “Right?”
Phil shoved Erik away. “Wrong. Do you even realize we all had unprotected sex last night? And not just with the girl, but… with each other.”
Jake choked a sob. “Oh God. That’s sick.”
Erik’s smug attitude dropped a notch. “Figures the Eagle Scout would think of that.” He flopped on his bed and rested his head on his hands, staring at the ceiling.
“Heidi and I are… Were… We were saving ourselves for marriage,” Jake said.
Erik was taken aback. “Are you shitting me?” He turned on his side and propped himself on his elbow. “You’re a virgin? No wonder you spend so much time at the gym pumping iron.”
Jake smacked his desk, sending a pile of papers fluttering to the floor. “God, what am I going to tell her?”
Erik waved dismissively. “Why tell her? Just because you’re not doing anything doesn’t mean she’s not getting a little action back home on the farm. I mean, come on. This is 1996. Women’s lib and all that shit.”
Jake catapulted his five-five muscular frame out of his chair and charged Erik, aiming a punch at his face, but Erik saw it coming and rolled away. Jake’s fist connected with the pillow instead. Phil pulled him away before he could go at Erik again.
“Let me go.” Jake thrashed in Phil’s grip. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
Erik scrambled to sit up and lean against the wall behind his bed, pulling his knees into his chest. Jake had come to USL on a wrestling scholarship, and the normally docile boy could have done major damage to Erik’s face. “Chill out, dude. I was just kidding.”
Jake returned to his chair and collapsed in it, defeated. “Not funny.”
Phil said to Erik, “He could have killed you, you know. But you’re not worth going to prison for.”
Chapter Ten
DEAD GIRLS DON’T BLOG
THURSDAY • APRIL 11
Posted by Katy McKenna
I’m officially blogging!
Last night, I set my alarm clock to go off at 6:30, thinking that would give me plenty of time to have my morning coffee, do my makeup, and dress business casual for my first day of work in my garden-shed-office. My intentions were good, but when the alarm clock started beeping this morning, all good intentions flew out the window.
I finally sat down at my drawing board at 9:45, still in my pajamas, no makeup (I decided that’s one of the perks of working out of a home office), and only semi-enthused to work on the Acme job. I had to produce several thumbnail sketches for Wanda to choose from before creating the final product. And I gotta say, “Acme Upholstery” definitely ain’t inspiring.
I stared at my sketchpad, waiting for my eureka moment to hit. As I waited, I noticed it was a little chilly in the office, so I went to the garage and hunted around for the space heater I’d stuck somewhere when I moved in. After reorganizing a few shelves and making a pile of junk to get rid of, I found it and brought it to the office. Soon I was toasty warm and ready to create.
I opened my mind to the cosmos, willing an idea to present itself, and then thought, Flowers would be nice in here. I’ll run outside and pick some from my wild flower patch. More than a few flowers in the patch are actually weeds, but I say it’s only a weed if you don’t want it growing there.
After I had a lovely bouquet arranged in a crystal vase that had been a wedding present from my Great Aunt Edith in England—a lucky discovery while rearranging those garage shelves—I got back to work. That’s when I noticed the empty bird feeder outside the grimy window. Can’t have innocent little birdies starving to death, so I went outside and filled the feeder. The birdbath was empty, so I filled it, and washed the window.
Back to the drawing board. Acme Upholstery. I wondered what “Acme” meant. I went to the house and got my laptop and searched it. ac·me n: the highest point of perfection or achievement. No pressure there. I would have to come up with something phenomenal to reach the highest point of perfection. As I pondered, I looked out the window and saw several finches enjoying brunch and was relieved that I’d saved their lives.
Hours later, I had a few sketches completed. My favorite had a “Frank Lloyd Wright” feel to it. Contemporary while paying homage to tradition and quality craftsmanship. My least favorite was the volcano with the word “acme” exploding out of it. It was a hard call when you had no idea what your client wanted.
During my burst of creativity, I’d skipped lunch. I was starved but not inspired, so I slapped a piece of cheddar on a slice of whole grain and popped it in the toaster oven. I was coaxing the hot cheesy toast out of the oven onto a plate when Ruby called.
“Have you read the paper today?” she asked in a woe-be-gone voice.
Oh crud. Who died now? I wondered, not wanting to ask. I could feel my appetite ebbing. “No.”
“They’ve canceled All My Family.” Her voice broke, and I heard muffled sobs. “They’re taking it off the air in three months. What...” She hiccupped a sob. “What am I going to do-o-o-o?”
Ruby has been living in a soap opera parallel universe for one hour a day, five days a week, for over forty years. Mom had been thirteen when the show started, and she is an avid follower, too. Thank God I had not allowed myself to be sucked into that vortex. But what could I say that would make this better? All My Family was Ruby’s extended family. She’d seen them through births, marriages, deaths, divorces, drug addictions, misery, mayhem, and more misery. No matter what Ruby’s troubles were, she always knew that soap diva, Monica Lane, had worse problems.
“Think of it this way, Ruby. You’ve just gained an extra hour of daylight.”
Silence. I swore I could hear crickets chirping in the background. I had tried to put a positive spin on it; obviously something more sympathetic would have been a better choice, but it was too late now.
Then dear Ruby dropped the bomb. “Guess what else?”
I did not want to ask. “What?”
“I consulted the tarot cards to find out if there might be a reprieve for my soap, but something else came up instead.”
This was not going to be good. I could feel it in my bones, and I did not want to hear it. “Oh, gotta another call coming in, I have to—”
“This is Frantic Hausfraus’ last season. Ha.” She hung up.
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“NOOooooo,” I howled to the dial tone.
Chapter Eleven
DEAD GIRLS DON’T BLOG
FRIDAY • APRIL 12
Posted by Katy McKenna
I called Acme Upholstery first thing today, and told Wanda I had some sketches for her to look at; we made an appointment for eleven a.m.
I am beginning to see the light at the end of the unemployment tunnel, so to celebrate I took myself out to breakfast at Suzy Q’s. Usually I walk, but I was going straight from the cafe to Acme, so I stowed my portfolio in Veronica’s backseat and drove over.
After a scrumptious omelet, I set out for Acme. I probably should have walked there since I wound up parking four blocks away and feeding the darned meter three dollars in quarters. When I entered the shop, I found the place in an uproar.
Dave, the elderly cat who still has hair, had brought a new feline girlfriend home. She was a sweet young thing, and he was strutting around yowling like he was “the man.” Wanda was fit to be tied and his mother, Doris, was so annoyed she didn’t even try to bite me.
“I can’t have any more cats,” Wanda said. “They get hair on the newly upholstered furniture, snag the fabric, and sometimes,” she dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “even pee. I tell you, I go through gallons of fabric freshener.”
The young feline, a skinny little gray tabby with no collar, looked at me with her big needy eyes and I could almost hear her saying, “Oh please, nice lady, please take me home.”
I have never been a cat lover. So I resisted reaching out to her and opened my portfolio to show Wanda the sketches. I spread the drawings out on the counter and as Wanda perused them, curiosity got the better of me. “Uh, Dave, uh, he can’t, uh, you know—”
“Make babies? Good Lord, no. He was fixed years ago. But he thinks he can, which will drive me crazy. I suppose I’ll have to take his girlfriend to the pound.”
Oh no, not the pound. “Won’t he settle down after a while?”
“Last time he did this, he carried on so long, he wound up having a heart attack and I had to resuscitate him. I don’t think he could survive another one. And I am not paying for another bypass.”
I had nothing to say to that, so I pointed at the sketches. “Do you see anything here you like?” As soon as I said that, I felt like smacking myself in the forehead. I should have said, which one do you like? I do not want to go back to the drawing board and sweat out more Acme logo creations.
“Well, darlin’, they’re all nice, but this,” she tapped a sketch with her long, magenta, rhinestone studded acrylic, “this is the one.” She picked it up and went to a grimy window to admire it. “It’s as if you read my mind.”
We discussed some business details and then I loaded my portfolio and new kitty into the car and set out for the pet store for cat supplies. Yup, I’m a pushover.
When I brought Tabitha home, Daisy was incredibly cordial to her new sibling. She followed all the proper welcoming protocol. First, she sniffed the young cat thoroughly, while Tabitha purred and twitched her tail. Then she gave the house tour, walking into each room with the cat following obediently. This gave me time to set up the litter box in the laundry room.
After the royal tour, I showed Tabitha the litter box and she climbed in and did her business. I was impressed. Smart girl. I fed them, then took her to the box again and she went again. Genius. Maybe I should change her name to Einstein.
After they settled down together for a nap in a warm sunbeam near the French doors, I decided to go to work. During the grueling commute to the backyard office, I thought, I have my own little family now.
Wanda had picked my least favorite Acme creation, the spewing volcano, so I was not enthused about working on it. I could hear her voice in my ear: It’s as if you read my mind. Rats.
I knocked off at five and called Mom to finagle a dinner invite. “Hey, Momma. Watch’a doin’?”
“I’m sitting on the couch with my swollen feet up because I’ve been on them all day long, earning a living, and they hurt,” she said curtly. “I am also watching today’s episode of All My Family on the DVR, as if you care.”
Ouch. “Oh, yeah. I heard. I’m so sorry.”
“Too little, too late. I am well aware of what you said to your grandmother about gaining an extra hour of daylight. Hope you enjoy your last few episodes of Frantic Hausfraus. Hold on.” I heard a paper rustling. “I did a little research and do you know we have watched 10,413 episodes, counting today, to your measly 146? Can you even begin to imagine how this feels for us? No, you cannot.”
I could see my dinner plans would need altering. “Well, for what it’s worth, I truly am sorry, Mom. And I’m sorry about what I said. It was thoughtless and coldhearted and I apologize.” Then I threw out a pitiful, “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” she muttered and hung up.
I went to the kitchen and poured a hefty glass of wine. I leaned against the tile counter, reflecting on our conversation and wound up feeling like an ass, which led me to sending them both condolence flowers.
Bedtime came and after my bathroom beauty routine and Daisy’s perimeter check, we climbed into bed. She was sawing logs before I even had my pillows fluffed. I read A Dog’s Purpose on my e-reader until I reached the blurry-eyed stage where my brain supplied nonsensical words of its own, and then I turned off the light and drifted off to dreamland.
Around midnight, Tabitha jumped on the bed, stealthily squeezing her ever-purring body between Daisy and me. That jolted Daisy out of a dream, and she reared up with a yip, trampling me and the cat, who hissed and swung her paws in self-defense. I got scratched on the arm and Daisy took one on the nose, yelping pitifully.
“Out. Both of you. Out!” I shrieked like a banshee, wondering what had possessed me to bring home a cat.
I attended to my minor wound and went looking for Daisy. I found her snuggled with Tabitha on the couch, both fast asleep. They were so cute I took their picture.
Chapter Twelve
DEAD GIRLS DON’T BLOG
1996
Sunday, May 5
Phil was in no mood for his weekly Sunday breakfast and golf game with his father at the country club. Adam’s jovial golf buddies always got a kick out of teasing him about his wild fraternity life and up until now, he’d dutifully laughed at their lame toga party jokes, but no way could he laugh at their friendly ribbing now. He called and begged off, saying he had to study for an exam. His mother phoned later and guilted him into coming over for dinner.
Phil usually ate at least three helpings of his mother’s pot roast, but depression had killed his appetite and he pushed his food around his plate.
His mother leaned across the table and felt his forehead. “You’re a little feverish. Are you coming down with something? Your sister’s running a fever. Maybe you both have the same thing.”
His father chuckled. “More like recovering from something, would be my guess.” He sighed wistfully. “Fraternity life is definitely for the young.”
You can have it, thought Phil. “I’m okay, Mom. Just worn out from studying.”
“And not eating right,” she said. “Speaking of frat houses. This is awful. Late Friday night, dispatch got a call from a worried mother whose daughter had missed curfew.”
“You get those kind of calls all the time, Penny,” said Adam. “Dumb kids not paying attention to the time.”
“This one turned out to be a lot more.” Penny pursed her thin lips and tucked her chin-length, coal-black hair behind her ears.
“How so?” asked Adam.
“I tell you, it always makes me grateful that our Phil is such a good boy. Never gives us an ounce of worry.” She reached over and ruffled Phil’s hair, to his annoyance. “This one was a fifteen-year-old girl who’d gone to the movies and dinner with two friends, supposedly, but when the friends got home close to midnight, way past curfew, neither one of them knew where she was.”
“What did you mean by supposedly?�
�� Adam asked.
“The kids didn’t actually go to dinner after the movie. They went to a frat party instead.”
“What the hell are fifteen-year-old girls doing at a frat party?” said Adam. “That’s no place for a kid that age.”
“I know,” said Penny. “The girl, Lindsay Moore’s her name, was found in the wee hours of Saturday morning sitting at the train station, dazed and crying, and all banged up.”
“All banged up?” asked Adam.
“Black eye. Scrapes and bruises. Looked like she’d taken a bad fall.”
Adam looked at Phil. “Train station’s not too far from your frat.”
“There’s a lot of fraternity and sorority houses in that area, Dad.”
Penny continued. “I spoke with Angela Yaeger—”
“Who’s Angela Yaeger?” Phil cut in, growing uncomfortable with the conversation.
“She’s a detective. You’ve met her before at Christmas parties. Tall, African-American, with gorgeous copper colored hair?”
Phil shrugged.
“Well, you have. Anyway, this afternoon, she told me the officers who found the girl had taken her to the hospital.”
“Why?” asked Adam. “Was she hurt that bad?”
Penny whispered, “They suspected she’d been sexually assaulted.” She paused to glance over her shoulder. “I just want to make sure your sister hasn’t come out of her room, because this girl goes to the high school here and I do not want Christy to hear this.” Satisfied the coast was clear, she continued. “Oh, dear God, this is hard.” Her voice trembled. “She’d been gang-raped by three different men, according to her lab report. Angela was called in at the crack of dawn to question her.”
Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection Page 8
