Pineapple Puppies

by Amy Vansant

  “Got your picks?” asked Darla, holding up a small nylon case. She tried to smile but looked as though she might be sick.

  Charlotte looked at the case and knew it to be filled with lock picks. One of Darla’s ex-husbands had been a thief, and he’d taught her how to pick locks—a talent she used at the slightest excuse. She’d taught Charlotte the skill, and even bought her professional lock-picking tools, which she’d dubbed My Very First Lock Picks, like Playskool toys for baby burglars.

  Charlotte frowned. “Sweet baby corn, what are you two up to now?”

  “What are you talking about? We’re sneaking into Alice’s house to clear my name,” said Mariska.

  “Tonight?”

  “That’s what I said,” muttered Darla. “My head is still pounding from the limoncello, but I can tell you now, you won’t talk her out of this.”

  Charlotte took a step back to let the ladies inside. “We don’t even know if Crystal’s home or not.”

  “She’s not. We checked,” said Mariska.

  Charlotte frowned. “I guess Frank told you they found almond in all the loaves.”

  “He told me, I told her,” said Darla, melting into a chair. She rubbed her temple. “I swear I’m going to sue Tilly. That stuff should come with a warning.”

  Charlotte turned to Mariska. “When we were talking about sneaking in there I don’t know that I was serious.”

  “I am. Serious as a heart attack,” said Mariska, setting her jaw to be sure she resembled her sentiment. “I need to clear my name. I know that girl is up to no good.”

  “It might not be her. I met her boyfriend today. Talk about up to no good.”

  “See? I know it wasn’t me. We just have to find out who it was.”

  “Maybe it was just an accident,” said Darla, sounding as if she could barely find the energy to talk.

  Mariska ignored her and started a frenetic tapping on Charlotte’s arm. “Go get changed.”

  Charlotte sighed. Comfy evening, shot. She cast an apologetic look toward Abby, but the dog was too giddy getting her chin scratched by Darla to care about losing her mother’s lap.

  “I’ll change.”

  “I’ll die,” muttered Darla.

  Charlotte padded back to her room and rooted around her drawers for black clothing. The dark uniform probably wasn’t necessary, but if you can’t beat ‘em...

  She returned wearing a thin long-sleeve navy scoop neck and dark gray leggings. Not black-on-black, but she sorted out a plan while changing that involved strolling around the neighborhood and then slipping behind Alice’s house. If they all looked like over-stuffed ninjas, someone might raise an eyebrow.

  She found her own lock-picking set and brought it to the kitchen. “Got my picks. Not that you’ll give me a chance to do it.”

  “That’s true,” said Darla. “Hangover or not, I still love picking locks. It’s such a rush.”

  “Do you have a ski mask?” asked Mariska.

  “No. I grew up in Florida, remember? You’re lucky I have leggings. And you’ll forgive me if I don’t greasepaint my face.”

  Mariska slapped Darla’s arm. “We should have painted our faces.”

  Darla stood slowly. “I’m pretty sure mine’s already green.”

  Charlotte said goodbye to Abby and they headed outside.

  “Maybe you should bring her so it looks like we’re walking her,” suggested Mariska. “Abby could be our cover.”

  “And have her running around Alice’s house once we’ve broken in?”

  Mariska grunted. “Good point.”

  “Most everyone’s headed for bed anyway. Are you sure Crystal isn’t home?”

  “Her car was gone when we checked,” said Darla.

  “Still gone,” said Mariska, as they rounded the corner and Alice’s home came into view.

  “Good,” said Charlotte, though she wasn’t sure she meant it. It might have been nice to round the turn and see Crystal sitting on her porch. At least she could have gotten back to Abby and her television.

  “She’s out whoopin’ it up,” said Darla. “I told you. She’s a party-muffin.”

  “You’ve got a lot of room to talk,” said Charlotte.

  Darla groaned.

  “Everyone look to see if anyone is coming and then we’ll run around the back,” said Mariska.

  “Clear!” whispered Darla, looking behind them.

  “No one this way—I mean, clear!” said Mariska at nearly full volume. Whispering wasn’t her strong suit.

  Charlotte had already scanned the surrounding area and found conditions optimal for running behind the house. Even the neighbors’ lights were off.

  “Let’s go.” Charlotte jogged around Alice’s house with her friends in her wake.

  With no moon visible and far from the street lights, Alice’s backyard proved nearly pitch dark. Worried she might step on something, Charlotte stopped short and Mariska banged into the back of her. She threw out a foot to catch herself before she sprawled across the backyard.

  “Easy,” Charlotte whispered. “I can’t see a thing.”

  She heard a squeak and, as her eyes adjusted, she spotted Darla squatting in front of the back door, squeezed between the door and the screen. She’d gone right for the lock and already had her pack in her lap.

  “I can’t see,” she hissed.

  Charlotte pulled a small flashlight from her pocket and shone it on the lock at the dimmest setting, holding her hand around the beam to hide it from the neighbors’ view.

  “Ooh, that’s a nice flashlight for this sort of thing,” said Darla.

  Charlotte smiled. “Thank you. It came with my private investigator starter kit.”

  “Really?”

  “No.”

  Darla inserted her tools into the lock. A minute later, they heard a soft pop and she turned the knob.

  She stood. “Not my best time. I’m getting rusty.”

  “That’s probably a good thing,” said Charlotte slipping inside.

  A light in the kitchen had been left on, saving them the decision of turning on a light or working by flashlight. The house felt very different than it had the last time Charlotte visited. Gone were all the family photos, throw blankets and most of the furniture. The walls were bare and riddled with nail holes. The sofa remained, positioned in front of an ancient television. Boxes lined the walls, filled with Alice’s tchotchkes. Other smaller tables had been pushed against the wall and tagged with dots of white and neon orange. It looked as if Crystal might be preparing for a yard sale.

  “It looks so sad,” said Mariska.

  “It’s like Alice was just erased,” agreed Darla.

  “Okay, no time to be maudlin,” said Charlotte. “Mariska, check the pantry. Darla, let’s look around for almond flour. I doubt Crystal was dumb enough to leave a bag of it laying around, but it doesn’t hurt to look.”

  Darla clapped her hands together and then squinted as if the noise hurt her head.

  Mariska opened the pantry and poked around while Darla and Charlotte systematically searched each cabinet.

  “Nothing,” said Darla.

  Charlotte shook her head. “Nope.”

  “The dried fruit is still in the pantry and all the measuring cups and other things I used. Just how I left them,” said Mariska, beginning to pout. “What if we don’t find anything?”

  Charlotte sighed. “It doesn’t make you guilty. You know you didn’t do anything.”

  Mariska’s lip began to quiver. “But what if somehow I did?”

  “You didn’t.”

  Mariska sucked in a breath and moved to a large ceramic jar on the counter. Opening it, she gave it a sniff and then dipped her finger in it. Her hopeful expression darkened again.

  “Nothing. Just regular flour. This is what we used. I swear.”

  Charlotte wandered towards the bedrooms. “We should check Crystal’s room while we’re here. That’s where people hide things.”

  Darla sighed. “Not
me. I hide things in the laundry room because Frank hasn’t gotten within ten feet of it since we were married.”

  Mariska hurried after Charlotte. “Maybe she kept a diary about how she was going to kill Alice.”

  Charlotte stopped and turned to raise her eyebrows at Mariska. “You really think she’s special dumb, don’t you?”

  Mariska and Darla both nodded.

  Charlotte opened the door at the end of the hall to reveal what appeared to be Alice’s room. The bed had been stripped and everything pulled from the walls. The top of the large bureau was clear.

  “She hasn’t moved into the master yet. Maybe she has a bit of heart.”

  “Maybe she’s just afraid Alice will haunt her,” suggested Mariska, poking in her head. “She certainly didn’t have any trouble emptying the room.”

  Charlotte glanced into a hall bathroom and then moved to the only remaining bedroom. Clothes lay strewn on every available surface and the walls had been painted a vaguely disturbing deep maroon, which peeked out from behind posters obviously hung back when the girl was in high school. A large jewelry box lay on its side on top of the dresser, costume jewelry spilling from it.

  “Looks like she was rifling through Alice’s keepsake boxes,” said Charlotte, shining her flashlight across the mess.

  Darla took the light from her and entered as Mariska tapped Charlotte on the shoulder. “I don’t know how we’re ever going to find anything in this place. You never kept your room like this.”

  “I know. I’m an angel.”

  “You are. You just had piles of books—”

  The sound of a door opening and a man and woman laughing echoed from the front room. Mariska gasped and Charlotte pushed her into Crystal’s bedroom, closing the door behind them without securing it. Darla had been hunched over a drawer searching through clothes for incriminating evidence, but now stood ramrod straight, her eyes so wide the whites nearly lit the room.

  Charlotte took the flashlight from her and extinguished it. They could still see the shape of each other by the dim kitchen light slipping through the cracked-open bedroom door.

  “She’s back! What are we going to do?” hissed Darla.

  Mariska opened her mouth to say something and Darla slapped her hand over her friend’s mouth.

  “Mariska, you don’t say a word. You are incapable of whispering.”

  Mariska nodded and Darla dropped her hand.

  Charlotte glanced at the window. There was no way they could open it and crawl outside without making a racket. Out front, Crystal and her male friend cracked open cans as they talked and laughed in the kitchen. They sounded drunk.

  Charlotte made a decision.

  “We might have a second to make it to Alice’s room. We’ve got a better chance they won’t go in there.”

  She opened the bedroom door and guided Mariska and Darla past her into the hallway, where the ladies bolted for the other bedroom. Charlotte was about to follow when she heard voices growing closer, followed by a wet, sloppy noise that sounded like kissing.

  Ick.

  Fearing her chance to sneak into the hall had closed, Charlotte jumped back into Crystal’s room. She ran to the closet and opened it, flashing her light inside.

  Full. She’d never fit inside without boxes raining on her head. Snuffing her light, she dropped to the ground on the far side of the bed as the smooching couple banged into the bedroom door, bumping it open. The light flicked on.

  Flattening herself, Charlotte shimmied beneath the bed, both stunned and relieved to find the area clear of debris. No sooner had she slipped under, than the lovers collapsed on top of the bed above her.

  Charlotte closed her eyes.

  Oh no. Oh please no. Don’t let this happen.

  “Ow! You’ve got a ton of crap on this bed,” said the man. Charlotte assumed it was Mark.

  Crystal giggled. “Sorry. Hey, you want to smoke a little first?”

  “You got some?”

  Charlotte heard no answer but saw Crystal’s bare feet appear on the floor beside her. They walked to the closet, where she heard rustling as the young woman searched for what Charlotte assumed was marijuana. After hearing Mariska and Darla talk about the girl for two days, she had every reason to suspect worse, but Crystal’s drug problems were the least of hers right now. She had to get herself and the ladies out of the house. Preferably before the couple had sex on her head.

  The rustling noise stopped, but Crystal’s feet remained planted in front of the closet.

  “What are you doing?” asked Mark.

  “Sshhh.”

  “What are you shushin’ me for? You got the stuff or what? I don’t have all day.”

  “Shut up!”

  Charlotte heard Crystal’s voice crack. The vehemence with which she’d delivered her command and the sob in her voice sounded wildly out of synch with her previous mood.

  “Did you just tell me to shut up?” roared the man. The bed shook and Charlotte guessed he’d sat up.

  “I’m readin’ somethin’!”

  “Well quit readin’ somethin’ and get over here.”

  Crystal’s voice dropped. “Get out.”

  “What?”

  “I said get out!”

  “Hey!” Something clattered and what looked like a small wooden pipe and a shoebox skittered across the floor where Charlotte could see them. She guessed Crystal had thrown her box of drug paraphernalia at the man.

  Charlotte winced. Mark didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would take kindly to things being thrown at him. She feared his response.

  Mark’s feet appeared on the floor as he marched toward Crystal.

  “Who do you think you’re throwing things at?”

  Crystal screamed and Charlotte heard slapping noises as the two wrestled. Charlotte’s heart raced. She couldn’t hide there while Mark killed Crystal. She was about to slide from her hiding space to help, when Mark spat a final profanity and stormed from the room.

  A moment later, the front door slammed.

  Crystal released a string of loud, racking sobs and the bed shook as she threw herself on it. “I’m sorry,” she moaned. “I’m so sorry.”

  Charlotte released a long quiet sigh and lay still until Crystal’s crying stopped. Not long after that, she heard a snort. She recognized the sound.

  Snoring.

  Charlotte slid out from under the bed as quietly as she could and stood.

  Crystal lay passed-out on the bed, her hands balled at her chest, pink paper poking between her fingers. Charlotte squinted at the paper, but couldn’t tell what it was.

  Should I try to get it? Pull it out of her fingers?

  No.

  Too risky.

  Tip-toing through the clutter, Charlotte moved into the hall and opened the door to Alice’s old room.

  “Mariska? Darla?” she whispered.

  Two heads peeped from the closet.

  “She fell asleep. Let’s get out of here. Quiet.”

  The three of them crept out the back door, the way they’d come.

  Back on the street, they released a collective sigh.

  “I thought we’d be in that closet the rest of our lives,” said Mariska.

  “We didn’t know what to do. We didn’t know if that man was killing you,” said Darla. “I had to hold Mariska to keep her from flying into the room.”

  “I was going to beat up that boy,” said Mariska.

  Charlotte chuckled and then sobered at the memory. “I was under the bed during the whole thing. I was about to help her when he left. It was terrible.”

  “What happened?” asked Mariska.

  “I don’t know. The two of them were going to smoke pot, I think, but when Crystal went to get it from her closet, something happened. She started crying. The man got mad and they fought. She threw something at him and I thought he was going to kill her.”

  Mariska clucked her tongue. “She shouldn’t be hanging out with men like that. You’d never hang out with a
man like that. Declan is a sweetheart.”

  Charlotte had to agree. “I guess I’m lucky.”

  “You’re not lucky. You’re smart,” said Darla.

  “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, as soon as her boyfriend left, Crystal threw herself on the bed and cried herself to sleep. That’s when I was able to sneak out.”

  “I heard her, it was heartbreaking,” said Mariska.

  They fell quiet as each dealt with her own nerves during the walk back.

  Darla broke the silence.

  “Did I hear Crystal talking when she was crying?”

  Charlotte nodded. “That’s what I was just thinking about. She kept saying, I’m so sorry, over and over.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “Do you think she was crying over what she did to Alice?” asked Mariska, as they reached the point where they’d each turn off to their respective homes.

  Charlotte sighed. “I don’t know.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mina heard the girls’ boots on the tile kitchen floor before she saw them. The twins both wore their riding clothes.

  “No breakfast?” asked Payne.

  Mina looked at her watch. It was already eight and she hadn’t even made coffee.

  “I’m sorry. Make yourself some toast or cereal.”

  “But we always have bacon on Sunday,” moaned Gemma.

  Mina sniffed. It was true. They always had bacon on Sundays. “Do you have time before your lesson? I could put it on now.”

  “I’m good with cereal,” said Payne opening the refrigerator door to grab milk.

  Gemma scowled at her sister and then did a double take at Mina. “Were you crying?”

  “No. I’m tired.” Mina wiped at her eyes, unsure how much she wanted to share with the girls. She wasn’t exactly lying. She’d been unable to sleep for most of the night, which was why she’d overslept. Thank goodness Kimber wasn’t alive. He would have lost his mind to wake up bacon-less on a Sunday.

  The girls will be fine. Both without bacon and without Kimber, who had only ever had two speeds: blustering and unavailable. The girls hadn’t been close to Kimber. Which was a shame, considering. He’d acted as little more than a provider of food, clothing and money, and that was the way he liked it. While he’d done the right thing and taken the girls in after his brother’s death, it hadn’t been a choice he’d made happily. At first he’d refused and then, shortly after his brother’s will was read, he had a sudden change of heart. It might have had a little to do with her own constant harping.