“Don’t think your money idea’s going to get us out of this,” said Phil. “It’s too late.”
“What’re you talking about? What money idea?” Jake asked.
“Erik thought we, or rather he, since he’s the one with the trust fund, could send her money for college. Anonymously. As atonement,” Phil answered, sitting down at his desk again.
But that was before we knew about the hypnotherapy. It was a stupid, dumb-ass idea anyway.”
Jake’s face lit up with a burst of hope. “No. It could work.”
“How? Once she has this hypnotherapy thing, it’s only a matter of time before it comes down to us.”
“No. No. This really could work, Phil.” Jake was excited. “If we can make her see we’re not really bad guys, that it was all just a horrible mistake. We were stinkin’ drunk and didn’t know what we were doing.” He paused a beat, building hope and momentum. “We’re not that much older than her, so maybe she’ll understand how things got out of control. We’ll beg her for mercy. And then Erik can still pay for college or whatever.”
“First off, we don’t even know where she lives. And if we did, then what? Knock on her door and introduce ourselves?” Phil stood up and pantomimed the scene. “Hi, I’m Phil and these are my friends, Erik and Jake. Erik was the one who drugged you, and then we all raped you. We were really, really drunk, so we shouldn’t be held responsible for our actions. Please forgive us and if you do, my buddy here,” he pointed at Erik, “will pay for your college education.”
“Or a car, or both. Whatever,” said Erik. “Obviously, we can’t go to her house, even if we did know where she lives, but—”
“You two idiots do realize that during her hypnotherapy, the doctor and her mother will be there. Right?” Phil sat back down. “Probably the police detective, too.”
Jake wasn’t ready to let the idea go. “But if Lindsay refuses to press charges.”
Phil shook his head. “She’s under eighteen.”
Jake deflated and slumped over in his chair, hugging his knees. “What’re we going to do?”
Erik pointed at Jake. “Fuckin’ pathetic. He’s the one who’s going to blow this.”
Phil ignored Erik and spoke to Jake. “Here’s what we do. Tomorrow, first thing, we clean this room top to bottom and throw away the clothes we had on that night. Then wait it out and hope for the best.”
Erik shook his head vehemently. “We’ll clean the room, but we can’t just sit back, twiddling our thumbs and hope everything will be fine. She saw your face, Phil, and she saw mine.” He flopped down on his bed and picked up a blanket from the floor to cover himself. “Probably should wash this, too.” He switched off his lamp and turned his back on them. “Let’s try to get some sleep. We’ll figure something out tomorrow.”
Jake glanced at Phil and then averted his eyes. “No way I can sleep. Must be nice to have no conscience.”
“I have a conscience, Jake. I’m just not going to let it ruin my life.” After a minute Erik rolled over and said, “I saw her today. Lindsay.”
“What?” asked Phil. “How could you have seen her?”
“I figured she goes to Santa Lucia High, so I asked Christy if she knows her.”
“You what?” Phil shouted in astonishment. “You talked to my sister?”
The neighboring room pounded on the wall and hollered, “Shut the fuck up.”
Phil stepped over to Erik and leaned into his face. “Are you crazy?”
“I thought it might help if I knew where to find her, in case, you know—”
“No, we don’t know,” said Phil. “Suppose you tell us.”
“In case we decide to talk to her. Like we were just talking about.”
“Does my mom know you talked to Christy?”
“No. I saw her after school in the parking lot.”
“Didn’t she think it was a little weird?” asked Jake. “You showing up out of the blue and asking about Lindsay?”
“Give me some credit, will ya?” Erik sat up. “I told her what your mom said about if we heard anything to let her know. So I said I thought it might help if I knew what she looked like.”
“You don’t even remember what she looks like?” said Phil. “You’re the one who slipped her the roofie.”
“I kind of remember, but what can I say? I was really drunk. I do remember she was a blond. Really long hair. Cute. That’s about it.”
Phil moved to his bed and sat. “What did my sister say?”
“She pointed at her. She was standing by the flagpole.”
“But what exactly did Christy say to you?”
Erik took a deep, shuddering breath and blew it out. “She said most days Lindsay waits for her mom by the flagpole.”
“That’s it?” asked Jake.
Erik continued reluctantly. “She also said she thought it was cool that I wanted to help out.”
Chapter Seventeen
DEAD GIRLS DON’T BLOG
1996
Friday, May 10
Friday marked one week since Phil’s life had been forever destroyed by a few moments of blinding, drunk lust. If arrested, he’d be listed as a sex-offender for the rest of his life, which would be ironic considering his limited sexual experience.
The first time was with his high school girlfriend, Chloe. He’d been hopelessly in love with her and had thought they would marry someday. They dated for nearly two years, never going past heavy foreplay, and then a few days before senior prom, Chloe’s father had told her he’d accepted a job in Chicago, and they would be moving as soon as the school year was over. The kids were devastated, and on the night of the prom, their tears led to passionate intercourse in the backseat of Phil’s car. When she left, they swore they’d be together again, but youth, distance, and time dimmed their ardor. The last he’d heard from Chloe, she was planning to backpack through Europe with a group of friends.
The second time was with a girl he’d dated briefly the previous fall. After a few dates, Danielle was already talking marriage, and one evening, as he tried to explain that he needed to finish college and get established in his career before he could consider marriage, she had ripped off her top and shoved her hand down his pants, and he’d lost it. A few days later, a friend warned him that Danielle was already almost four months pregnant, and her parents would disown her if they found out she was an unwed mother. After that, Phil decided to put dating on hold until he graduated.
Phil showered, scouring his body roughly with a back brush, wishing he could cleanse his conscience as easily. He toweled off, wrapped the towel around his waist, and wiped the steam from the mirror to shave but found he couldn’t look at himself.
He padded down the hall to his room and found his roommates sitting on the floor, sharing a joint. “I thought we were cleaning the room.”
“We’re working on it,” said Erik. “The sheets are in the washer.”
Jake inhaled deeply, savoring the calming effect, and slowly released a stream of smoke. He held out the joint to Phil, who shook his head. “I think we’ve come up with a plan that might work.” He passed the cigarette to Erik. “It’s what we were talking about last night actually. We talk to her before her appointment and beg her to forgive us.”
“And pay her off?”
“Whatever it takes to ensure we all have a future, including Lindsay,” answered Jake.
“So how are we going to talk to her?”
Erik took a drag, squinting his eyes as he exhaled, then passed the joint back to Jake and rubbed his hands together. “It’s really very simple. Your sister said that most days, Lindsay gets a ride from her mother, right? I would assume that since she has the therapist appointment this afternoon, she’ll be waiting in her usual spot at the flagpole. The plan is to get there before her mom and plead our case.”
“That’s it? Just walk up to her and ask for forgiveness?”
“More like throw ourselves at her feet and beg for mercy,” Erik glanced at Jake, who ave
rted his eyes, “but yeah, pretty much.”
“So, why did you look at Jake just now?”
“No reason,” he said, glancing away.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Erik paused for a second, as if giving Phil’s question deep thought. “Nope. Nothing I can think of.”
Phil shook his head slowly in disgust. “It’s an idiotic plan and I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t deserve her mercy.”
“What are you? A priest or something?” said Erik. “Okay, you don’t have to talk to her. Just wait in the car while we talk to her. Will that work for you, Father Phil?”
Phil ignored Erik’s sarcasm as he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. “If your plan backfires, and it will, I’m turning myself in before they find us and arrest us.”
“Have a little faith, will ya?” Erik chuckled at his humor. “This’ll work.”
Phil opened the door. “I need some air. I’m going for a walk.”
“School’s out at three, so be back by two,” said Erik.
“Whatever,” Phil shouted from down the hall.
“Okay, that actually went well,” said Erik. “I was counting on him not wanting to talk to Lindsay.”
“So, we’re not going to tell him everything?” Jake stubbed the joint out in an Altoids tin.
“Are you kidding? He’ll blow it and get us all turned in. We’re doing this my way, I mean, our way, and if she freaks, we’ll have to get out of town fast. I’ll go to the ATM and get a wad of cash just in case.”
“But if things go well, what if he still decides to turn himself in? I know this is eating him up. Really goes against the whole Eagle Scout thing.”
Erik’s dark scowl frightened Jake and his next words chilled him to the bone. “That would be a bad choice, wouldn’t it? For all of us.” Then he laughed and slapped his knees. “Lighten up, dude! Quit worrying about all the what-ifs. Life’s too short.”
Erik and Jake weren’t around when Phil returned to the house, so he waited on the shabby, plaid sofa on the front porch. At 2:06, they strolled up the flagstone path and flopped next to him.
Erik slumped low, crossing his ankles on the porch railing. “You ready?”
Phil eyed the brown plastic bag Jake cradled on his lap. “What’s in the bag?”
“Nothing—”
Erik cut in, “Got your keys?”
Phil patted his front pocket. “Why?”
“You have the biggest car, so you should drive.” Erik stood and stretched. “Might as well get going then.”
“What’s the big rush? School’s not out ‘til three.”
“No rush.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged nonchalantly. “I’d rather get over there and be ready to talk to her the minute she walks out, that’s all.” He looked sheepish. “Maybe I’m a little nervous, too. A lot’s riding on this.”
Phil’s bronze Ford Explorer was parked a short distance down the block. When they were buckled in, Erik asked, “How’s your gas?”
“Why? It’s not that far to the school.”
“Just don’t want any delays. This is our only chance to talk to her, and it would suck if we ran out of gas on the way there. So, how’s your gas?”
“I filled the tank yesterday, Mother.” Phil put the SUV in gear and pulled away from the curb.
Jake spoke from the backseat. “Would you mind stopping at 7-11? I want to get a water.”
Phil shook his head and muttered, “Whatever.”
He parked in the shade near a blue metal ice bin and waited while Jake and Erik went into the store. After a few minutes, they returned with a bag full of waters, sodas, and snacks.
“What’s all that? I thought you were just getting a water,” said Phil.
“This is for all of us.” Jake climbed into the backseat and set the bag all the way in the back.
“It’s not like we’re going on a friggin’ road trip. We’ll be home in an hour.”
Erik pulled a flask out of his pocket, swallowed a few gulps. “Woo!” He held it out to Phil. “Want some liquid courage?”
Phil waved it away. “You think getting tanked is a good idea? Isn’t that what got us here in the first place?”
“No worries.” Erik put the flask back into his pocket.
“What if her mother shows up before she comes out?” Phil asked.
“Then we’re out of there.” Erik poked him good-naturedly in the arm. “But I’m feeling optimistic.”
Phil turned to Jake in the backseat. “Are you really on board with this?”
Jake looked bleak and avoided Phil’s eyes. “I don’t see a lot of options.”
Chapter Eighteen
DEAD GIRLS DON’T BLOG
MONDAY • APRIL 15
Posted by Katy McKenna
Today was supposed to be an auspicious day—my first paycheck in my new life. A symbol of my independence from Chad, who now shall be forever known as my “was-band.”
I was delivering my first freelance job since my former life, so I spent extra time dolling up. I did a twenty minute makeup instead of five, ten of which were spent trying to conceal my allergic reaction to the E-Z Off remover lotion. I gathered my hair in a loose side-braid instead of a ponytail, and dressed in a more upscale version of my regulation central coast uniform. I included a pair of cute lime green wedgies that I haven’t worn in eons because they aren’t very comfortable, but I was driving, not walking, so no problem. I was ready for the big day.
I wrote up a bill and scrawled “due upon receipt of work” on the top. We’d already agreed to this, but I thought it would eliminate any possibility of Wanda saying she’d send me a check. Back when I originally had done this for a living, I was stiffed more than once when the check “in the mail” never arrived.
I knew it was my lucky day when I scored a parking space in front of Acme’s entrance, and the meter had thirty-three minutes left on it. I pulled my portfolio from the backseat, locked the door, and walked to the entrance. It was locked. I peered in the window—it was dark inside. I started to fume and then noticed the note on the door.
Closed for a Death in the Family
Oh, no. Had Wanda died? Then it dawned on me that if she were dead, who would pay me? All right, that was beneath me, but I had worked hard on the stupid Acme volcano. It was not my fault she’d died.
My next thought was maybe it wasn’t Wanda who’d died. Perhaps it was her husband, if she had a husband. I had her cell number in my contacts, so I decided to call her and say something like, “Hey, Wanda, I’m running late.” That way she wouldn’t know that I already knew about the funeral. If she answered.
Problem was, my purse was locked in the car with my phone and keys inside it. Brilliant. There was nothing left to do but look for a payphone.
After walking several blocks in my wretched wedgies, I concluded that pay phones are now officially extinct. Evidently, everyone on the planet has a cell phone, even the well-dressed homeless man I’d passed a block ago.
My feet were killing me, my portfolio was growing heavier by the minute, and the thought of walking any further literally made me nauseated. I considered lying on the sidewalk and waiting for someone with a cell phone to call the paramedics, but instead I turned around and trudged back towards the homeless man, wincing with every excruciating step.
When I reached him, he was leaning on a Whole Foods shopping cart, filled with his earthly possessions—including a golf bag bungie-corded to the side. He was in the midst of an animated conversation on his phone. “You can’t squeeze blood from a rock. Thanks to you, I’m flat broke, b-r-o-k-e, broke. Tell your boyfriend you need an eyelash perm.”
I got his attention and pantomimed the universal phone gesture: May I use your phone? He looked relieved to have an excuse to get off the phone and nodded yes.
“Got to go, Nina. The attorney’s calling on the other line.”
He held out the phone to me. “That’s what I get for ma
rrying a hot, young trophy wife. What the hell was I thinking?”
I took the phone. “Thank you. Just need to make a quick call and can’t find a pay phone anywhere.”
“Tell me about it,” he replied churlishly. “Damned inconvenient.”
“The call is local,” I continued in a fluster.
“No worries. Got the unlimited family plan.” He noted my surprised look and shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “What can I say? I was downsized out of my job, alimony has drained me dry, the bank took my condo, and I lost a veneer this morning. But I have the family plan, so my kids can text me to ask for money I don’t have. There you have it, my life in a nutshell. How’s your day going?”
I opted not to complain about my aching tootsies. “Fine.”
Mom was working, so I called Ruby. Thank goodness she answered. I asked her to meet me at Acme. No way was I waiting for her with the disgruntled homeless man, even if it meant crawling to my car.
I handed back his phone and thanked him, and in return I got asked out on a date. I have no idea what we would have done, maybe take in a meal at the local soup kitchen, but I demurely declined, feeling flattered that he thought I was hot until I heard his parting shot as I limped away.
“No more hot babes for me. No sir-ee. I have learned my lesson. Nothing but trouble. From now on it’ll be simple, uncomplicated, plain lookin’ gals who are appreciative.”
Hey, everyone says that in a certain light, I look a lot like Anne Hathaway. She is definitely not plain.
Three blocks later, I hobbled around the corner and beheld the glorious sight of Ruby standing beside her red ‘63 Triumph Spitfire.
“Grandmommy...” I lurched towards her, arms outstretched, face contorted in agony. She dodged me and I collapsed against the car.
“Good grief. What happened to you? You look like a zombie.”
“My feet. They’re killing me.” I yanked off my wicked wedgies and rubbed a blossoming bunion.
Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection Page 11
