by Kelly Rey
She nodded. "It's awful, isn't it?"
"Being bashed in the head with an amplifier?" Maizy asked. "Yeah, you could call that horrible. You could also call it murder."
Susan's lower lip started to tremble, and her eyes welled. "You mean he was right?"
"Who was right?" I asked.
"My boyfriend, Hank." She sniffled. "He'd heard a rumor that it was no accident. But I didn't want to believe it."
It occurred to me that could have been less rumor, more confession on Hank's part.
"Did he tell you where he'd heard that?" I asked.
"I don't think so." Another sniffle. "Does that matter?"
"Everything matters to us," Maizy said. "We're detectives. Your boyfriend is that ginormous no-neck who sits in the parking lot during the shows, right?"
"That's him," Susan said. "How'd you know that?"
"We're detectives," Maizy repeated with great patience. "Why doesn't he go inside with you?"
"He doesn't like music," Susan said. "And Hank thinks if he sits outside, I won't leave with another man and cheat on him."
"Do you?" Maizy asked.
"Not regularly," Susan said. "Besides, it was Nicky D. It didn't count."
I could just imagine Hank hearing that. Sounded like he had a reason for his suspicion, and it wasn't born out of simple jealousy. But maybe his motive was.
"Were you there when they found Nicky D?" Maizy asked.
"I'd just left," Susan said. "I had to open up Saturday morning. In fact, I drove past the paramedics, but of course I didn't know where they were going." She blinked a few times to staunch the tears. Call me cynical, but that seemed like a strong reaction over someone she'd claimed to fool around with only occasionally.
"What do you mean by 'just left'?" I asked. "Just left after they found him? Before they found him?" After you killed him? No, I couldn't see it. It was easy to see she'd cared for Nicky D. She wouldn't have had any reason to kill him.
But Hank would.
"I guess a few minutes before," Susan said. "Don't get the wrong idea. I don't make a habit of cheating on Hank, even if the only thing Mr. Romance is good for is reaching the top shelves."
"Then why stay with him?" I asked her.
She seemed surprised by the question. "I use the top shelves."
Eunice stopped pawing the camisoles, took a deep breath, and headed for us. She stopped short just behind Susan, dragged in another deep breath, and demanded, "Can you cook?"
Susan turned with a start. "I'm sorry. I didn't notice you before. Can I help you with something?"
"I'm an excellent cook," Eunice said. "Is that your natural hair color?"
Susan's mouth fell open.
"This is my natural color," Eunice said. "I'm a real woman."
Susan's stare shifted from Eunice to Maizy. "Am I being punked?"
On the far side of the store, Curt held up a little black lace number smaller than a wallet. I couldn't handle that much feminine power. I shook my head, ignoring his crestfallen expression.
"About Mr. Romance," I said.
Eunice whipped a pad of paper and pen from her bag, poised to take notes.
"The man is a complete slob," Susan said. "He leaves his dishes in the sink and drops his clothes everywhere. Does he even understand the concept of a hamper?" She shook her head. "Not that he could hit it anyway. You should have seen the shirt he almost put in the waste basket Saturday morning. Ketchup stains all over it from his dinner Friday night."
"Ketchup," Eunice muttered. "How pedestrian."
Ketchup? Maizy and I traded glances.
"Are you sure it was ketchup?" I asked gently.
Susan smiled. "Hank always puts an inch of ketchup on his burgers. What else—" She broke off, her smile dropping away. "No," she said. "No, no, no. Hank would never do that. He's not that way."
"What did you do with the shirt?" Maizy asked her.
"I washed it," Susan said. "Twice, if you must know. And then I threw it out."
"Where?" Eunice cut in. "Does it smell like him?"
Susan ignored her. She shook her head again. "It's just not possible. How could anyone want to hurt Nicky D? He was a god."
"If you like that type," Maizy said. "Of course, he made a move on anything with an X chromosome. I even saw him try to pick up the bartender one night."
Susan blinked. "Tommy?"
Maizy shook her head. "Hannah. And Bryn, the security guard. And your friend Susan Two. And—"
"I knew it!" Susan practically shouted. "She told me she was going to the ladies' room, but no one can powder their nose for that long. And we agreed we'd stick together, too."
"Stick together for what?" I asked.
Maizy glanced at me. "Seriously?"
Oh. That.
I wondered why Susan One seemed more upset about the possibility of Susan Two hooking up with Nicky D than with the thought of her boyfriend giving him an amplifier hat.
"What we had was real," Susan moaned. "I could have been Mrs. Virtual Waste someday."
If I had a dime for every time I'd heard that.
"Did Hank know?" I asked.
"Not yet," Eunice muttered under her breath.
Susan gave a little shudder. "I certainly never told him. But it doesn't matter. Hank wouldn't kill anyone."
I didn't hear a whole lot of conviction in that statement.
Curt did an over-here wave and held up a red fishnet bodysuit with cutouts for the yippee and the yahoos.
I turned my back on him.
"Is it possible he found out?" I asked.
Susan considered it. "People do talk. I wish they'd've talked a little louder about Susan and Nicky D." She rolled her lips inward as if stifling some dirty words. "I feel like an idiot," she said finally.
"Better an idiot than a murderer," Maizy said.
"I'm not ruling it out," Susan said. "If Hank hurt a hair on Nicky's head, I'm going to kill him."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"I'm not wearing that," I said for the third time.
"That whole store," Eunice said, "and not a single flannel nightgown. What's up with that?"
"I just thought of something," Maizy said. "Maybe the pickup is Hank's. He probably keeps the registration and insurance card in his wallet. I need to check out his wallet."
"Don't rule it out," Curt said. "Take it upstairs, keep it with you, feel it once or twice. It might grow on you."
It was the short black silk nightie he'd just bought for me. Compared to the alternatives, it was as conservative as a pinstriped suit. I still wasn't wearing it. Silk wasn't a good look for me. Nighties weren't a good look for me. He should've gone to the Disney Store and replaced the Mickey Mouse T-shirt that I usually slept in. That would have been money better spent.
I stared gloomily out the window as we headed for home. What a wasted night. We still didn't know who owned the pickup or even if that pickup was the one that had tried to run us off the road. We'd found out that Hank was a slob and potentially a killer. And we'd found out that Susan One had a rich vein of jealousy of her own, especially when it came to Nicky D. And we hadn't even gotten a photo for Howard's case.
"What am I going to tell Howard?" Eunice asked. "He'll make me come back here. I know it."
"I wonder where Hank leaves his wallet at night," Maizy said.
"You need to push your boundaries," Curt told me. "Try sleeping in it one night—see how you like it."
"I'll slide right out of bed," I said.
He laughed. "You won't slide out of bed."
"Well, I'll be cold," I said peevishly. "And it'll get twisted all around me every time I roll over and probably wind up strangling me in my sleep." And that would be better than having him see me in it.
"That can happen," Maizy said. "It happened to some lady in Teaneck like a month ago. Only her nightie was polyester. And brown."
"Not helpful, Maize," Curt said.
"Are you kidding?" Maizy asked. "It's nothing but helpful. If s
he'd been wearing it, her husband couldn't have wrapped it around her neck and strangled her." She tapped me on the shoulder. "You might want to rethink this whole thing."
"I wonder if we can sue the nightie manufacturer," Eunice said. "It seems to me it should have ripped before it strangled her."
"That depends on how many foot-pounds of torque her husband applied," Maizy said. "It takes at least a thousand to break someone's neck."
Eunice went a little green.
Curt glanced at me. "You don't like it. I'll take it back."
I thought of Maizy's theory on black lace being the uniform for nicky-nack. Black silk was probably the backup uniform. Clichéd or not, I was pretty sure I was ready for some nicky-nack. I just wished I could wield my untraditional feminine power in sweats.
I sighed. "No, don't do that."
"She shouldn't be alone with it," Maizy said. "It could be dangerous. You should sleep over, Uncle Curt."
"What she needs—" Curt began, and then something hit the Jeep, bounced off the roof, and careened away into the darkness.
I ducked down instinctively. "What the—"
"It's the Jersey Devil!" Eunice shrieked. She dove onto the floor behind my seat.
"Hit the brakes!" Maizy yelled. "I want to see!"
"It wasn't the Jersey Devil," Curt said, his expression grim. He pulled as far out of the travel lane as possible. "Stay here," he told me.
That went without saying.
Maizy was already out of the Jeep, circling it and jumping up and down to try to see the roof. Curt got out, looked around at the darkness, and then did a slow pass around the Jeep, checking for damage.
I rolled down the window about an inch and put my mouth to the opening. "Is anything out there?"
"Not right here," he said. "Out there, it's hard to tell."
"Are there hoof marks?" Maizy asked him. "Did his claws scratch the paint?"
"Hooves," Eunice moaned. "Claws."
"It was probably just a tree branch," I told her. "It's been awfully windy lately. These trees are pretty old."
"Trees don't fly," she said. "It flew away. It tried to attack us, and then it flew away."
"Nothing tried to attack us," I said. "It just bounced off the roof and landed out there in the dark somewhere."
"Then why doesn't he see it?" she asked. "It's because it flew away. I knew I shouldn't have come back here again."
"You didn't have a choice," I said. "Howard needs proof."
"Let Howard get his own proof," she said. "I'll quit if he tries to make me come back. Or I'll hire my own private investigator. I'll hire you."
Yeah, like that was happening. No way was I running around in the dark trying to take pictures of a phantom. The firm could do with one less lawsuit. It could only help its reputation.
The back door opened, and Maizy climbed in. "He's gone." She sounded disappointed.
Eunice lifted her head. "Is it safe?"
Curt slid behind the wheel. "Where's Eunice?"
I jerked my thumb over my shoulder.
He leaned between the seats. "All clear," he told her.
"That's what he wants you to think," she said. "He's probably out there right now, hiding behind the trees, waiting for his opportunity."
I stared hard into the darkness. No red eyes stared back, so that was reassuring.
"He just had his opportunity," Curt said, "Nothing happened."
"Is there any damage?" I asked him.
He shrugged. "Can't really say. I didn't feel any dents, but it might be scratched. It was probably a deer. That does happen occasionally." He put the Jeep in gear, and we headed out.
I waited ten minutes before I said, "About that camping trip."
He raised an eyebrow in question.
"I'd rather wear the nightie," I said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Two nights later, I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the black silk nightie. The color was right for preserving some modesty. The length was right for hiding some of my chicken-wing legs. The drape was right for softening straight lines. If you ignored the socks, the effect was more or less what you aimed for when you wore a black silk nightie.
I swallowed hard, looking at the cell phone in my hand. It had been one step forward, one step back for Curt and me since he'd become my landlord, which left us stuck in neutral, romantically speaking. It wasn't Curt's fault. It wasn't anyone's fault, really. If he was less of a gentleman and I had any confidence in myself, we'd have made real progress by now. But he was, and I didn't, so the next move would have to be mine.
I knew Curt was downstairs. I'd heard him come home about an hour earlier. It would only be fair to let him see the nightie. He'd bought it, after all. And I'd made an implicit promise to try it on when I hadn't let him return it. I hadn't promised to let him see it, but black silk deserved an audience, and Ashley was sound asleep.
My hand shook. Maybe it wasn't a good time. Curt was probably tired after working all day. He had Virtual Waste music to learn. He had eight hours to sleep.
On the other hand, I might not get a better chance. I was alone, the moon was high, the stars were bright, Maizy was nowhere in sight.
My heart pounded behind my eyeballs.
I peeled off my socks and brought up my Contacts list.
Someone knocked on the door. "Jamie?"
Curt.
Courage is fleeting. I grabbed for a towel to wrap around myself. It slipped right down my silk-clad body and puddled on the floor.
I'd known that was going to happen.
"Give me a minute," I yelled. I needed a bathrobe. Why didn't I have a bathrobe like a normal woman? I should put on my clothes and drive right to Walmart to buy a nice opaque floor length bathrobe. Who was I kidding, thinking I could pull off a grand seduction? I couldn't even interest my cat in looking at me.
"I've got something for you," he called.
That something had better be chocolate chip muffins. Where was that so-called feminine power Maizy had lied about? If I had any, I'd be slinking right over to open the door and lead him in by his tongue instead of looking in the hamper for a semiclean shirt.
My feet were cold. Terror did that to me. I pulled my socks back on.
Another knock. "Jamie?"
"On my way!" I yelled.
Over on the sofa Ashley lifted her head, cracked open one eye to look at me, yawned hugely, and went back to sleep.
That's the reaction I'd been afraid of.
My fingers closed on the familiar soft cotton of my Mickey Mouse T-shirt. I gave it a shake, pulled it over my head, and went to the door. But I didn't open it. "Is everything alright?"
"Why do I think I should be asking you that?" Curt asked. "Are you going to let me in?"
I rested my forehead on the door. "That's complicated."
"What do you mean, it's—" His voice trailed off. Then, "What are you wearing?"
I didn't answer.
"Jamie? Are you wearing the nightie?" he asked without a bit of lecherousness but as if the idea surprised him. Good to know I could surprise him. Now if only I could surprise myself by opening the door.
Except I couldn't.
"Maybe," I said. I closed my eyes. It's only a nightie, for crying out loud. Sure. Except I was underneath the nightie. And I wasn't ready for primetime. Curt had probably dated women much more…womanly than me. Women with unfrizzy hair who knew how to apply makeup and walk in heels and had some fashion sense. Those women wouldn't be cowering behind their door in a Mickey Mouse T-shirt when a hottie like Curt was waiting on the other side.
He wasn't saying anything. Probably wondering what was wrong with me. He wasn't the only one.
"Jamie, open up," he said quietly. "I won't come in unless you want me to. At least let me give you what I brought."
I bit my lip and opened the door.
True to his word, he didn't make a move. I didn't, either. I'm not even sure we breathed. We just stood there looking at each other. His gaz
e took in the T-shirt, the socks, and the portion of black silk visible between the two. It might have been a trick of the light, but I thought his expression softened. Then, very slowly, he leaned in and kissed me softly on the forehead. "Here." He handed me a bulky shopping bag. "I thought you might need this." And he turned and went back down the steps. A few seconds later, I heard his back door open and close.
I reached into the bag and pulled out a floor length terry bathrobe.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"Will you stop staring at me?"
I couldn't help it. I'd never seen Maizy like this before. Un-blue. Her hair was now a middle-of-the-road shade of dark brown, albeit with a single purple streak that paid homage to her indomitable essence. She must have spent hours with a flat iron, straightening it into a gleaming sheet. Her eyes seemed bluer and softer without the heavy Jack Sparrow eyeliner. Forget the crazy disguises. This was a Maizy no one would recognize.
I shook my head to snap out of it. "Sorry. I'm not used to seeing you looking so…"
"The word is boring." Her nose wrinkled. "I look like a nine-to-five drone. I look like you."
Hardly. My hair never looked that good.
"This isn't working for me," Maizy said. "I feel like I should be wearing support hose."
I rolled my eyes. "Your hair is brown, Maize. Not gray."
"Well, it's just an experiment," she said. "I might go with black. It's more me. Maybe swap out the purple for pink. What do you think?"
"Stick with brown," I said. "It blends."
"Blending goes against everything I stand for," she said. "My whole life is about not blending."
Then it was a life well lived so far.
A week had passed since I'd endured a trip to the Pine Barrens. It was Thursday night, with a bright moon hopscotching between high patchy clouds, and we were on our way to the Virtual Waste show at the Golden Grotto to watch Curt in action. I still had warm feelings about the bathrobe, and a new resolve to model the nightie for him. Just as soon as I gained ten pounds. Easier said than done for me. By the time that happened, he might not want to see it anymore. But I had a plan, and it was sitting in my lap. I stuck my hand into the bag of caloric Hershey's Kisses and grabbed a few more.
