by Kelly Rey
She clomped down the stairs behind me. "I hope your plans are to help me ditch the Caddy 'cause Uncle Curt's not home. He went to the Phillies game with my dad."
I froze. "He what?"
"Hurry up, and put on some clothes. I promised Honest Aaron the Caddy would be history by five, only I used it to run some errands and lost track of time. Now the drop-off point has changed, and I need you to give me a ride home."
I turned around and trudged back upstairs, each step weighted with an odd mixture of disappointment and relief. Might as well help Maizy. It wouldn't do me any good to sit at home eating Hershey's Kisses and feeling sorry for myself. I'd have much more fun watching Maizy drive a car into a marsh.
Thirty minutes later, I followed the big Caddy as it sailed onto Route 295 southbound toward the Delaware Memorial Bridge. Traffic was light as it passed through one of the few less developed areas left in the state. Twilight had surrendered to darkness, making it harder to keep Maizy in sight. That, and the fact that she'd floored it as soon as we'd hit the highway. I'd need wings to keep up with her.
And I wished I had them when a giant pickup roared past me in the fast lane. It could have been any giant pickup, but the tingling in my spine told me it wasn't. I hunched over the wheel, trying to pick out some identifying features. Dark in color. The driver sitting too high to get a good look at him. I squinted at the plate, but by that time it was too far away for me to read it.
Well done, Jamie.
Then I realized he must be going after Maizy. Who was surrounded by two thousand pounds of metal but was completely alone inside it. And he had the horsepower to catch up to her, while all I had was—
Morning star. I had a morning star. And I could have had a bazooka, if only Maizy had taken advantage of Herbie Hairston's clearance sale.
I mashed the gas pedal to the floor. I might not be able to catch up, but I would get there eventually, hopefully before any harm was done to Maizy. She was right; I needed a new car, a faster car. Maybe a bigger car. I needed the Batmobile.
There, up ahead, I caught a quick flash, like headlights reflecting off a metal bumper. I wasn't as far away as I'd feared. Probably Maizy had slowed down when she'd lost sight of me in the rearview mirror. But then I saw more lights, red lights, off to the right, at an odd angle, as if—
The Caddy had gone off the highway and into the marshy wetlands. The red lights were its taillights. And as I stared with my heart in my throat, they went out.
I didn't see the pickup anywhere, but I didn't care. Maizy was in that car, and I had to save her. I skidded to a stop on the shoulder of the highway, leaped out, and raced toward the Caddy, which was all but invisible now, settling into the murky marsh.
"Maizy!" My voice was high and thin with panic. Could you swim in a marsh? Or was it full of dangerous things like water snakes and old Cadillacs? I cupped my hands around my mouth. "Maizy! Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." Maizy stepped out of the darkness. "Took you long enough. Want to go for some gelato?"
I stumbled backwards, nearly falling onto the slow lane of the highway. "Don't do that!" I yelled. "Why aren't you in that car?"
"Should I be?" she asked mildly.
"Didn't you get run off the road?"
"By who? I did that on purpose. What part of 'ditching the Caddy' didn't you get?"
"But the pickup…" I trailed off. Had it been the same pickup? Maybe I'd been wrong. It was a crowded state. Plenty of people drove pickups. Everybody drove too fast. Still… "A pickup truck raced past me," I said. "I thought it was him, coming after you." I swallowed. "I was afraid I wouldn't get to you in time."
"You didn't," she said. "I've been sitting here for five minutes. I'm a busy woman. Why don't you let me drive? You seem a little freaked out."
I took some deep breaths. "I thought you'd gotten hurt. Or worse."
"You're not really made for ditching cars, are you?" She took my keys. "Next time I'll ask Herbie Hairston to—"
A deafening air horn tore into the night. Maizy and I spun around to watch the giant pickup truck speed past going the opposite direction, separated from us by the grassy median and too many yards to discern detail. We stood rooted while it disappeared into the night.
"What are the chances that's another pickup with a horn like that?" Maizy asked.
"No better than our detective skills," I said. "You know that's him. He must be following you." And we were nowhere near his home turf in the Pine Barrens, which meant he'd gone out of his way to do it. He might have been following Maizy for days. He might have followed her home. He might have followed her to my home.
That thought seriously freaked me out.
"That seals it." Maizy stuck her hands in her pockets and headed for the Escort. "Guess there's only one thing I can do now."
I followed her. "Call Curt? Call the police? Call the National Guard?"
She rolled her eyes at me. "Go back to blue hair."
Oh, sure. That should solve everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
"What's his best side, do you think?"
Eunice had asked that question so many times since we'd left my apartment that I didn't care anymore. As far as I was concerned, Hank didn't have a good side. I'd agreed to help her get photos of him, not shoot him for Playgirl. Then again, it was entirely possible I was just in a mood from Tuesday night's romantic failure to launch. That hadn't been how it was supposed to go down. I'd seen enough Nicholas Sparks movies to know that not in one of them had the plucky if underweight heroine made a move on her man only to find he'd gone to a baseball game with his brother.
"Howard's not finicky," I told her. "Just so long as it shows Hank doing something he claims he can't do."
"Like bench pressing amplifiers," Maizy added.
"Oh, no." Eunice gave a vigorous headshake. "Hank's a gentleman. He'd never."
Maizy snorted. "What a noob."
On the plus side, Eunice had offered the use of her car, which was both good and bad. She drove a reliable Legume with a full tank of gas, but it was a little short on leg room. In fact, my legs were currently tucked in behind my earlobes. Maizy was sitting sideways across the back seat and still had her knees bent, resting on her backpack. And Eunice was driving, positioned close enough to the wheel to steer with her nose.
"I wish we could get a little closer to him," Eunice added. She had the telephoto lens already fastened to the camera to assure that we wouldn't. "There's no fun in lusting from afar."
Oh, ick.
"You're looking at it the wrong way," Maizy said. "It's like surveillance. Sort of like we do, only you're getting paid for it."
Eunice brightened. "I guess that's right, isn't it? And there's no reason Hank should have to know about it. I'll take my picture, and Howard will be happy, and I'll be able to keep my job, so I'll be happy. Plus I've already made a big pot of gravy, so Hank will be happy."
There was only one problem with that scenario. Howard was never happy.
Maizy tapped me on the shoulder. "About Tuesday night."
I sighed. I'd really been hoping she would forget all about that. I'd had trouble sleeping all night, replaying the Caddy sinking into the muck, this time with Maizy inside.
"What happened?" Eunice asked. "I bet it was more exciting than what I did. I sewed up some holes in my comforter. I want it to look nice, just in case…" Pinkness crept into her cheeks.
"That's what Jamie did," Maizy said. "Only her 'just in case' turned into 'not tonight' 'cause Uncle Curt went to a baseball game."
"That wasn't very nice of him," Eunice said.
"He didn't know," I said on a moan. I'd really been hoping Maizy would forget all about that, too. I know I wanted to.
"You two should work on your communication skills," Eunice said. "You make an adorable couple, but you'll never make it if you can't communicate."
This from the woman who fake-fainted her way into a one-sided relationship.
"She's working on other
skills," Maizy said. She stuck her hand between the seats. "Here. This ought to help." She dropped two silicone chicken cutlets into my lap.
"You know you have to cook those first," Eunice said.
"They're not food," I told her. "They're…" I hefted one in each hand to chest level.
"Boobage," Maizy said.
"Really?" Eunice stared at them. "How do they work? Maybe I could get some. Do they come in different sizes?"
"Give them a try," Maizy said. "You're among friends."
I reached into my neckline and plastered one inside my bra. I shifted my shoulders around a little. "It feels like I'm being groped by sweaty hands."
"I want to try one," Eunice said immediately. I passed it to her. She stuck it in her bra and wiggled around some. Her face lit up. "You're right. It does. Where can I get these?"
"I have a source," Maizy said. "She's bound to buy another set soon."
I scowled at her. "You stole them?"
She shrugged. "It's not my fault she didn't wear them in the shower after gym class."
I squirmed around some more before yanking the cutlet out of my bra and tossing it back to her. "This feels terrible. I'd rather use tissues."
"Tissues cost less," Maizy said "but they don't offer the same mileage or quality. You want boobage that will stand up to inclement weather and be an eye-catcher in the summer months. Factor in cost per wear, and I think you'll find chicken cutlets are your best investment."
"Sold!" Eunice said. "When can I take delivery?"
"I'll get right on it," Maizy told her. She looked at me. "What do I have to do to put you in a set today?"
I shook my head. "Thanks, but I'll stick to Kleenex."
"Have it your way," she said. "But don't come running to me when you catch a cold and your bra size shrinks."
"I never have before," I said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
"I hope this isn't poison ivy," Eunice whispered a little while later, when we were huddled behind some unidentifiable flora or fauna (I could never keep those straight) with Eunice's telephoto lens trained between the leaves on Max's Garage. "I don't want to have poison ivy on my first date with Hank."
"It's not poison ivy," Maizy said. "Are we done here yet?"
"We've only been here for five minutes," I said.
"How many does she need?" Maizy asked. "He's not exactly a hard target."
Hank was talking to someone in the garage bay while they huddled under the hood of a vintage Corvette. I could tell it was Hank because his jeans-clad legs were a foot longer than the other set of jeans-clad legs and his work boots were three sizes bigger than the other set of work boots.
"That's a nice car," Maizy said. "I wish Honest Aaron would get one of those. I always wanted to drive a Vette."
"That Vette is broken down," I pointed out before realizing that observation added nothing to the conversation since it could be said of Honest Aaron's entire inventory.
"I wish my car would break down," Eunice murmured.
"That's not so hard," Maizy said. "Got any sugar? Maybe some marbles?"
"No, but Curt promised to break it," Eunice said brightly. She squinted through the telephoto lens, licking her lips. "I can't wait for Hank to fix my car." She shifted a little. "Are you sure this isn't poison ivy? I feel itchy."
"It's too soon to be itchy," Maizy said. "Maybe it's no-see-ums. Or spiders."
I looked up with alarm. "Spiders?"
"Probably not," Maizy said. "You'd know it if it was spiders. They're the size of saucers down here."
Great. Another fresh horror: saucer spiders.
Maizy stuck an elbow in my ribs. "The pickup's gone."
I'd already noticed. And I knew why. It was out trolling the interstate highway system looking for Caddys to terrorize.
"We'll never know," Maizy said sadly. "I never got to blow the horn."
"You can blow my horn if you want to," Eunice told her. She hesitated. "Why would you want to?"
"I wouldn't," Maizy said. "Your horn is irrelevant."
Eunice's mouth twisted. "I've heard that my whole life."
Hank's massive arm came up to rest on the upraised hood, the curl of his triceps bulging from beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt.
A little sigh escaped Eunice. "I should take some pictures of that. Of him. Pictures of him."
"Yes," Maizy said immediately. "Take some pictures. We've been here forever."
Eunice glanced at me with uncertainty.
"Might as well," I told her. "You only need a couple for Howard. You can keep the rest for yourself."
"I hadn't thought of that." Eunice smiled. "I'm going to use continuous shooting mode so I can make a whole album."
Nothing stalkerish about that.
Maizy checked her cell phone. "We're going to be late. Is the ginormous doofus that important?"
"Yes," Eunice whispered.
"It's a work thing," I told Maizy. "Why don't we go get the car while she finishes up here. I'll come with you." I nudged Eunice. "Make sure he doesn't see you." I turned. "Maizy, let's—"
Maizy was already gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Miranda Law would have been right at home on a college campus. She was cute and perky, with dark eyes and dark hair worn in a high ponytail. She wore denim shorts and a yellow top with spaghetti straps.
But she wasn't on a college campus. We'd met her at her apartment in an aging three-building complex tucked in beside a strip shopping mall.
And she was lying through her perfect white teeth.
"I don't know why you asked to see me," she said. "I don't know anyone named Gilbert Gleason." She rocked gently in a plush leather recliner, the very portrait of placidity. Despite the hard-luck exterior, the apartment was spacious, decorated with taste. It reminded me of cracking open a rock and finding sparkling amethyst inside.
"Sure you do," Maizy said. "Einstein with a JD? Used to represent Virtual Waste?"
"Sounds interesting." Rock, rock. "Doesn't ring a bell, though."
The small leather sofa we'd crowded onto might have been tasteful, but it certainly wasn't comfortable. And I was pretty sure I didn't look placid. I looked disheveled and sweaty, especially since I was balanced on my left cheek thanks to Eunice's cushion depression, our thighs practically heat-fused together. The apartment apparently predated air conditioning, and there wasn't a window unit or a fan in sight.
"That's strange," Maizy said. "Didn't he help you out once when you got arrested for—"
"Oh, him." Miranda took a sip of her iced coffee. "I'd forgotten."
I didn't like coffee all that much, but I would have killed for a sip from her cup. Or a glass of water. Or an ice cube to chew on. Despite the suffocating humidity practically dripping from the ceiling, Miranda seemed oblivious to the heat. She wasn't even perspiring. Eunice wasn't perspiring, either. She was sweating. Especially her thighs. But she was too engrossed in her pictorial retrospective of Hank Sedgwick to notice.
"I get it," Maizy said. "You've seen one arrest, you've seen them all, right?"
All? Miranda was a serial arrestee? But she looked like she could be a counselor at a summer camp for postulants.
"How do you know that?" Miranda snapped. "Who did you say you were again?"
"That's right," Maizy said. "So why did you do nicky-nack with Gilbert Gleason?"
"Why not?" Miranda shrugged. "He's a man, isn't he?"
Talk about low standards. Also, having seen Gilbert Gleason, I wasn't quite sure about that.
"Besides." Miranda's gesture encompassed the room. "What do you think paid for all this?"
If by "all this" she meant this Inquisition-worthy sofa I was melting into, I didn't care what she paid for it. I only cared how to peel myself off it without losing a layer of skin.
Wait.
"Gilbert Gleason's your sugar daddy?" I blurted out.
Another sip of iced coffee. A little cool trail of condensation trickled down the outside of the cup. I
tried to imagine it splashing onto my forehead, but no, Eunice's moist and meaty thighs got in the way.
"He was that night," Miranda said.
That night? But that would make her…
"You're a sugar baby?" I asked.
Maizy rolled her eyes. "Better let me handle this." She looked at Miranda. "Who hired you?"
Hired her? But that would make her…
"What does it matter?" Miranda shrugged. "It was a business transaction."
"Your other five business transactions didn't include filing an ethics Complaint," Maizy said evenly.
Five? Math wasn't my strongest subject, but even I could put two and two together. Or five and five. Five business transactions, five arrests. Gilbert Gleason was only a transaction for one night. I could be wrong, but that would make her…
"What made Gilbert different from the others?" Maizy asked.
Miranda's tone dripped disdain. "Very little. Emphasis on the little."
Oh, eww. Way too much information.
"Gilbert wasn't in the same financial ballpark as my usual dates," Miranda added.
Oh.
"But I was hired to do a job," she said. "And men are all alike, after all. He's no different from any other."
I didn't know much about men, but I knew that wasn't true. For example, there was an unbridgeable chasm between Curt and Gilbert Gleason.
Wait again. Hired? But that would make her…
"How well did you know Nick DiBenedetto?" Maizy asked her. "And don't bother denying that you knew him. We found your name and number in his apartment."
We had? Was that a bluff, or had Maizy gone rogue? I hoped not. Maizy sometimes skirted the edges of legality, but even she drew the line at—
Oh, who was I kidding. Maizy drew no lines, ever, at anything.
Even though she seemed to be drawing one now, from Nicky D straight to Miranda Law, with a stop-off at Gilbert Gleason.
"Nicky D." A little smile touched Miranda's lips. So much for her theory on men's homogeny. "He was just a business deal."
Maizy sat back and crossed her arms. I noticed Eunice's leg wasn't pressed tight to hers. Their elbows weren't even touching. It was like Maizy had an impenetrable force field or something. A force field where air circulated freely.
