Pamela Frost Dennis - Murder Blog 01 - Dead Girls Don't Blog

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  “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.”

  EIGHTEEN

  I Am Not Plain

  By Katy McKenna on Monday, April 15

  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 marrying 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.

  “Cute shoes. New?”

  “No, I just never wear them when I have to actually walk.”

  “Yeah, I can see where that might be too much to expect from a pair of shoes,” said the stiletto queen.

  “Well, they’re going in the Goodwill bag.” I tossed them onto the car floor and collapsed into the passenger seat. It felt so good to sit down.

  “Maybe I’ll give ‘em a whirl.” Ruby got into the driver’s seat and we buckled up. The top was down, so she offered me a scarf from a collection she keeps stashed behind the passenger seat.

  I debated a moment. Scarf hair or wind hair. Scarf hair won. “Ruby? Am I plain?”

  “You are most definitely not plain. You’re gorgeous. Why would you ask such a silly thing?”

  Of course my grandma is going to tell me I am beautiful; that’s her job. “A mean man said I’m plain,” I answered glumly.

  “Well, he needs to get his eyes checked. You’ve got my green eyes, my auburn hair—”

  “Your hair’s blonde.”

  “The blonde is helping me transition to gray.”

  “You’ve been transitioning ever since I’ve known
you.”

  “I was prematurely going gray, and it wasn’t working for me.” She pulled a pink paper from her pocket and handed it to me. “Not your lucky day, huh?”

  “What’s this?” I glanced at it. “A thirty-five dollar parking ticket? Are you kidding me? Why’d I get a ticket? I still have lots of time left on the meter.”

  “Because when I got here, you didn’t.” She started the car, revved the engine to its maximum RPMs, and peeled away from the curb. “Let’s go get your key.”

  I love her little sports car, a gift from Gramps when Grandma had been diagnosed with breast cancer in her fifties, but I never feel safe with just a lap belt, especially the way she drives. Fast and furious. Heck, with Ruby driving, I probably wouldn’t feel safe in an Army tank.

  “I should have called this morning and warned you.” She shifted into third.

  “About what?”

  “Last night I decided to do a card reading about this Duke fellow. You know the Dial-A-Ride driver? He seems like a nice young man, but you never can be too sure. Sure would hate to set you up with a serial killer… Anyway, a couple of cards came up indicating today would have been a good day for you to lie low. But I knew you wouldn’t listen, so against my better judgment, I kept my mouth shut.”

  I was clutching the dashboard and gritting my teeth as we zoomed through town at warp speed. “Am I in imminent danger?”

  “No. I would have warned you if that was the case.”

  “Ruby!” I shouted frantically, slamming my foot on my phantom brake to no avail. We were about two hundred feet from an intersection. “The light’s yellow. Slow down.”

  “Relax. We’ve got plenty of time. It’s just a soft yellow.” She floored it, and we sailed through as the light turned red. “See?”

  In record-breaking time, we arrived at my house in a squeal of brakes. It took me a moment to compose myself before pulling off the scarf and shakily fumbling for the door handle.

  “Hold the phone.” Ruby pointed through the windshield. “Who’s the stud muffin mowing his lawn?”

  “Oh, that’s Josh, my next door neighbor. You met him the other day when he came in through my window, remember?”

  “When you wet your pants?”

  “Yes,” I muttered.

  “Well, you’d think I would’ve remembered him.” She smiled appreciatively or should I say, lasciviously? “He must work out. Look at those buns. Mmmm-mmm.”

  “Ok-a-a-y…I’m going to go get the key now. You wait here.” I scrambled out of the car before she could scorch my ears with more smutty remarks about my neighbor’s hot bod, and padded barefoot up my front walk to the door, and then it dawned on me that I didn’t have a key. Rats. Why hadn’t I hidden one outside after moving in? Daisy barked on the other side of the door, and I assured her it was me, which turned the barking into whining and sniffing at the threshold. Too bad she couldn’t open the door.

  “Hi, Cookie.” The Viking sauntered across the lawn, dressed in board shorts and a tight, white tank top that enhanced his rippling, bronze muscles.

  OMG. Be still my heart.

  He climbed the porch steps, flashing his dazzling, toothy smile, “I couldn’t help noticing you standing there, looking troubled. Are you locked out?” His eyes swept down my body to my bare feet. “Wow. What is that thing on your foot?”

  “Nothing.” I self-consciously set my left foot over my right foot’s burgeoning bunion and then I caught sight of Ruby climbing out of the car. “Stay in the car!” I hollered, waving her back. “This’ll only take a sec.” I didn’t want her talking to Josh. There was no telling what she might say. She ignored me and sprinted up the walk, leaping up the steps in her five-inch heels.

  “Hellloooo,” she panted, unabashedly ogling him. “Katy, who’s your handsome neighbor?”

  I’ll kill her later. “Josh, this is my grandmother, Ruby. Ruby, this is Josh, the, uh, my neighbor,” I stammered. I’d almost said “the Viking.”

  Josh turned his blinding smile on Grandma. “Hi, Ruby. I remember you from the other day.” He leaned forward and gave her a quick hug.

  “You do?” Ruby was close to swooning. “Oh, yes. That’s right. When Katy wet—”

  “YUP! I’M LOCKED OUT!” I crossed my eyes and twiddled my finger by my ear. “Silly me.”

  “Maybe I can help you. Be right back.”

  He vaulted the porch railing, neatly clearing the bed of red geraniums below and jogged to his house, unaware of the immense pleasure he was giving Ruby…and me.

  “Oh, would I like to play some backseat bingo with that fella.” Ruby patted her chest as she watched him, then turned to me with her hands on her hips. “Tell me why you’re not dating him?”

  “For starters, I barely know the guy, and besides, I’m not ready to get serious about anyone.”

  “Oh, sweetie, I’m not talking about getting serious. I’m talking about getting laid.”

  “Grandmother. Really.” I sounded like a Victorian prude. It was one thing for Samantha to suggest that but my grandma? Eew.

  “Kiddo, if I was forty years younger—”

  “Forty years ago you were married to Gramps,” I righteously reminded her.

  She smiled softly with a faraway look in her eyes. “Yes, I was. My cowboy.”

  “Gramps? A cowboy? I thought he was a high school English teacher.”

  She shook her head. “Oh, Katy. You don’t have a romantic bone in your body, do you?”

  “I used to.”

  She patted my arm. “You will again, sweetheart, but in the meantime…oh, here he comes.”

  Josh dashed up the steps, two at a time, holding an odd looking tool that he fanned out like a Swiss army knife, and bent down in front of the doorknob. “This may take a few minutes. Is the alarm on?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hopefully I won’t set it off, but I’m a little rusty at this.”

  “You’re going to pick the lock?” I suddenly wondered who this Josh person really was. “What are you? Some kind of cat burglar or something?”

  He laughed without taking his eyes off his task. “No. I’m a P.I.”

  “Huh?”

  Ruby answered for Josh. “Private investigator. Gumshoe, flatfoot, sleuth, snoop. You know, like Jim Rockford, Thomas Magnum, Jessica Fletcher, Barnaby Jones, Sherlock Holmes.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her and smiled patiently. “Yeah. I know what a private investigator is, Ruby. Like Angel and Veronica Mars. I’ve just never actually met one before.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not nearly as interesting, exciting, or as dangerous as the TV shows make it out to be. Same for the cop shows. Which I was,” he said as he deftly inserted two different picks into the lock and slowly tested it. “Nope.” He tried another combination and nothing happened.

  “Why aren’t you a cop anymore?” I asked.

  “I was a detective. Undercover narcotics.” He tried another pick in the lock. “Really hard on marriages. Mine included.”

  Ruby couldn’t let that go by. “So you quit the department to save your marriage?”

  “I wish. No, unfortunately, the marriage was over before I figured it out.”

  She jabbed me in the arm with her bony elbow and raised her eyebrows at me as he inserted another pick.

  “Okay, I think this is the one. Oh, yeah, baby. This feels sooo…gooood.”

  You can probably guess what was going through my mind as Josh was sweet-talking the lock. I looked at Ruby and she was right there with me. Oh, yeah. Bingo!

  “Got it.” Josh glanced up at me. “As soon as I open the door, run in and disable the alarm.”

  He opened the door and I turned off the alarm while Daisy did a happy dance.

  I turned to Josh, noticing his incredible periwinkle blue eyes for the first time. And he was taller than my 5’9” by several inches. I felt petite.

  “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done without your help.” I may have batted my eyelashes.

>   “No problemo,” he said, gazing deep into my eyes, our two souls merging into one. “Would you—”

  Yes. Yes. I will marry you.

  “—consider putting a spare key outside?”

  Okay, it was too soon for marriage. Maybe Ruby’s idea was better. Get laid. “I could get one of those fake rocks.”

  “No. Not a good idea. And neither is under the doormat or a flower pot. Might as well leave the door unlocked.”

  During this exchange Ruby had not said a word, but I caught the smirk on her face.

  “Well…uh…I guess I better get my keys…” I tore myself away from his embracing eyes to get the spare key to my car.

  “And shoes,” Ruby added.

  “I better get back to my lawn. It’s not going to mow itself.” He turned to Ruby. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

  Ruby was beside herself with glee as she attempted to break the sound barrier on the way back to Acme. “Wow. I could almost see the steam rising between you two.” She was practically cackling. “And then when he said he looked forward to seeing me again… Well, I don’t have to tell you what that meant.”

  “What?” I was a little spacey or was this horniness? I wasn’t sure; it had been so long.

  “He’s going to ask you out.” She slapped my knee and laughed. “What you need right now is a transition man. A hot he-man who’ll show you a good time, and honey, Josh fills the bill nicely. Mmm-mmm.”

  I was way past transition and thinking about having the Viking’s babies when we pulled up to the curb near Acme. I leaned over and gave her a smooch.

  “Keep me posted, Katy. I want all the juicy details. I’m so excited.”

  I got out, grabbed my portfolio from behind the seat, and watched her lay rubber as she drove away. I’d keep her posted, but I wasn’t sure about sharing all the juicy details. Oh, please, let there be some.

  I was surprised to find the Acme door propped open, so I fed the voracious meter and went in.

  Wanda sat at her desk behind the counter cuddling Doris, both looking forlorn.

  “Hey, Wanda. I’m so sorry.” I had no idea what I was sorry about, but her gloomy, mascara-streaked face crushed me. “Is there anything I can do?”