“And I learned how to make a gun,” Violet said.
Emily’s relaxed air was long gone now. “Gun?”
“What happened to your window?” Ray asked.
“A cherry-pit-related accident,” Sofia said. “Nobody was hurt.”
“Get your backpacks!” Emily said. She turned to Sofia. “I’ll call you tomorrow for details.”
“Tomorrow probably isn’t a good time,” Sofia said. “My phone is broken, and I’m going to—”
“What happened to your phone?” Ray had spotted it sitting half submerged in a bowl of rice.
“A wave hit it.” Violet was already back. She held her princess backpack in one hand and her toy shark in the other. “Sofia got me this shark at the zoo. Isn’t it gruesome?”
That was a pretty good word for a second-grader, Sofia thought, but Emily didn’t seem impressed. “What kind of a gun did you build?”
“There’s this case,” Sofia said. “About a musician, and—”
“You can build all kinds of guns with ordinary household objects.” Van had appeared. For the first time, Sofia noticed his pants were on inside out. He struggled to hold his new Lego set and crocodile.
“Where’s your backpack?” Ray asked.
Van turned around and went inside again.
“I’ll be checking into Waves.” Doggedly, Sofia kept going.
“Don’t take your phone by the waves,” Violet said. “I hope you learned your lesson about that.”
“My lesson?” Sofia shook that off. “They don’t allow phones where I’m going.”
“I have my backpack,” Van yelled, from inside the trailer. “Can I take a slice of pizza with me?”
“You can take the whole box,” Sofia answered.
“You fed them pizza?” Emily asked. “Did they eat any vegetables all weekend?”
“The pizza had mushrooms,” Sofia said. “Isn’t that a vegetable?”
“It’s a fungus.” Van now carried his backpack, his Lego creation, his shark, and the pizza box. He looked like a tiny Sherpa about to climb Mount Everest.
“I don’t want you to worry about me,” Sofia said.
“About you?” Emily took the pizza box from her son.
“Thanks for having them,” Ray said. “We can reimburse you for the window and the phone.”
“Not a problem,” Sofia said. “Accidents happen.”
She followed them down the path. She wasn’t sure Emily had heard a word she’d said.
“I talked to Gray,” Violet said. “He asked if I was working on my stance, which I am.”
“And we met a sad lady who told us we’re good training officers.” Van hugged his crocodile closer.
“So, I think you probably need to explain it to Mom ...” Sofia trailed off.
They’d reached the parking lot, and Ray loaded kids and items into the minivan, like an Indy pit crew.
“I appreciate you taking them,” Emily said. “I know it’s a lot to ask.”
“I’m going into rehab for work.” Sofia wanted to make sure Emily grasped this. She needed to be briefed before the news hit the press, because everything hit the press eventually. She wanted to call her mother, but there wasn’t cell-phone service on the cruise ship, and she didn’t have a phone any more anyway. “It’s not real. It’s under cover.”
“Honestly, Ray!” Emily yelled. “You didn’t throw away that screwdriver?”
Emily gave Sofia a quick hug. “Thanks, sis.”
A black screwdriver shot out of the side of the minivan and landed in the parking lot at Sofia’s feet. It was the one Van had ‘found’ there on Saturday morning.
“Sorry!” Ray called.
“I’d love to talk more, Sofes, but it’s a school night.” Emily climbed into the minivan.
“So long as you understand,” Sofia said. “It’s not real.”
“Of course not,” Emily said. “You’d never let them build guns!”
“Well, actually—”
Emily slammed the door and made a ‘call me’ motion with her hand. She mouthed, ‘Tomorrow,’ and pulled away.
Except Sofia didn’t have a phone, and tomorrow she’d be in rehab. But she’d explained all that to Emily. Everything should be fine.
CHAPTER 9
Sofia went into her house and collapsed on the sofa. She stood back up and pulled a half-slice of pizza from the crack between the cushions. She took out all the other cushions, but she didn’t find any more food, just a blue Lego brick and a quarter. She hoped the Lego brick wasn’t important for Van’s airport.
“Scrounging for money to support your habit?”
Sofia jumped about a foot in the air and landed in a Krav Maga pose, hands up and ready. She felt like Violet.
Aidan threw up his hands. “Easy there, killer! The door was open. By the way, when you do that, you look like Jackie Chan. If Jackie Chan was a ninety-year-old lady with arthritis and a double hip replacement.”
She ignored the jibe. “Sorry about that. I guess I’m jumpy.”
Aidan looked around her trailer. “Wow.”
She followed his gaze—the kitchen was covered with newspaper, the window the kids had broken still had cardboard taped over it, beach towels were strewn around the living room, a trail of sand led from the front door to the back bathroom, and the leg from her outside bistro table had mysteriously migrated to the top of the television.
“I don’t know how Emily does it.” She flopped back down on the couch and cleared off a spot for Aidan. “I’m ready to fall face first into bed, and I only had them for two days. More like a day and a half.”
“Emily’s house is pretty clean, too.” Aidan sat next to her.
She wasn’t sure if she ought to be insulted or not, but the trailer really was a mess, so she nodded.
“This is why ‘does not want children’ is on my checklist, page one,” Aidan said.
“Is that before or after ‘only wears two-piece swimsuits’?”
“After. You can hide a lot of sins under a one-piece.”
“You are such a pig.” She didn’t even have the energy to fight with Aidan. “Any news on the Craig Williams case?”
“Just what Dad told you. It looks suspicious, but we don’t have anything concrete to give the police.”
“Guess I’d better find something at Waves.”
“Are you sure you want to do that? My old man doesn’t understand the media firestorm that’s going to rain down on you the minute you go through those doors. Do you?”
She thought back to the last case where she’d been the number-one trending topic on Twitter. Strangers had stopped her in the street to chastise her about her non-existent drug problem, or to tell her about their own problems. And then there was the video of her squatting next to her car—that would be on the Internet forever. “Everything I do is going to get splashed all over the Internet.”
He snorted.
“Please tell me you’re not doing that because I said splashed.”
Aidan grinned like an idiot. Van was more mature when it came to juvenile humor.
“Anyway.” The best course was to ignore him. “Anything I do could land me in Internet hell, so I might as well do something good, no matter how it looks.”
“Then pack your bags.”
“Tonight?”
“Dad thought there would be less fanfare if you checked in on a Sunday evening. The paparazzi will be covering the clubs instead of the rehab centers. Usually peak rehab intake is Tuesday or Wednesday morning.”
“Why Tuesday or Wednesday?”
“Weekend for things to get really out of hand. Monday for someone’s family to stage an intervention or for the person to recover from whatever they did at the weekend, and then maybe a day to organize an emergency admission.”
“Well, I don’t suppose it could get much worse here.” Maybe rehab wouldn’t be so bad. At least it would be tidy.
She rubbed her eyes and went to pack. Ten minutes later, she was back
in the living room, carrying a small suitcase.
“That’s all you’re taking?” Aidan asked. “A big celebrity like you?”
“Most centers allow you to bring in just one suitcase,” Sofia said. “They sent Zoe’s extra suitcase back with her manager when she checked in.”
Zoe had treated that as a giant joke, laughing about how they didn’t understand divas in rehab. But it turned out the diva didn’t understand rehab, either.
“Ready?” Aidan asked.
Sofia pulled on a long trench coat, even though it was a warm evening, donned a pair of oversized glasses, and topped it off with a baseball cap. She wished she’d had time to build a character bio for her new self. She didn’t like to have to wing it.
“Masterful disguise,” Aidan said.
“I figure that Sofia Salgado the Drug Addict would try to get admitted quietly.”
“Why are you talking about yourself in the third person?” Aidan asked. “Does Sofia need to do that for Sofia to understand what Sofia wants?”
“Sofia really wants you to shut up,” Sofia told him. “And Sofia might pop you one if you don’t.”
“Sofia sounds cranky,” Aidan said. “Bring back the old Sofia.”
She picked up her suitcase and pushed him out of her trailer, pocketing her broken phone on the way. Maybe the rice had fixed it.
Fred landed on the railing. He squawked at her in a way she could only describe as angry.
“I know those kids were a little intimidating.” She left her suitcase on the porch and went back inside. She came out with the piece of pizza she’d pulled out of the couch. “But they’re really very nice.”
“She’s lying, Fred,” Aidan said. “Save yourself.”
“I’m going to give you the whole piece, because I won’t be around for the next few days.”
Fred tilted his head and stared at her, as if he were listening.
“You’re going to have to find your own food.” She felt a little ridiculous talking to the bird in front of Aidan, and guilty that she’d be abandoning Fred.
“Are you going to give him a good-bye kiss?” Aidan asked. “Maybe a cell phone number in case of a bird emergency?”
She flipped him off before setting the alarm and locking the front door. Right now, she really wanted to be Fred. As if he knew it, the gull squawked once before going back to pulling pepperoni off the pizza. He’d have liked it better if she’d ordered anchovies.
“Ready for rehab?” Aidan asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” As she carried her suitcase down the stairs toward the path, she tried to ignore her feeling of dread.
CHAPTER 10
A idan drove his Porsche through an open gate of wrought iron and into a grand roundabout that faced the entrance to Waves Rehab. The Spanish-style house spread across gently sloping lawns with grand wings to either side. It was painted white with a terracotta tile roof, and tiled steps spilled down from a massive wooden door. The property was bounded by a white wall, which looked about twelve feet high, with no trees anywhere near it. Nothing she could climb to get out.
“It’s a pretty bad set-up for me,” observed Aidan.
“For you?” He didn’t have to stay there.
A German shepherd loped across the lawn and stopped in front of the car. He sat down and looked at them. Not barking, just making it clear he was there.
“No place to park outside to stake this place out. Security is tight, the wall is a tough barrier, and that dog isn’t letting anyone in or out without permission,” Aidan said. “Not ideal.”
She gulped.
“You won’t be able to call us for the first few days.” He handed her a pair of earrings.
They looked a little steam-punky, with a couple of gears. “You’re giving me jewelry?”
“There’s a microphone hidden in there,” he said. “State of the art. Smallest one around.”
He always did love gadgets. She put them on. “And?”
“I’ll be monitoring you from a few blocks away, as close as I can park. Just say ‘cavalry,’ and I’ll come running.”
“Cavalry.”
“Like that,” he said. “Spend the first few days getting the lie of the land. Once we can see you for daily visits, you can tell me the security situation inside, where cameras are, rooms that are locked, things like that.”
“Just talk to people, win their trust.”
“You’re good at that,” he said. “Very good.”
She reached for the door handle. No point in putting this off.
“I’ve got something else for you.” He handed her a small packet.
It was made of soft plastic, like a really thick sandwich bag, and it contained a yellow liquid. “What’s this?”
“Urine.”
She dropped the bag on the floor.
“Be careful with that!” he said. “I don’t want it all over my interior.”
“Why did you hand me a bag of pee?”
He picked the bag up off the floor and tried to hand it back to her. “You’re going to need it for the drug test.”
“This is druggie pee?”
“I paid twenty dollars to a guy down on Skid Row for it.”
“It’s a bum’s pee?” She wanted to toss the bag back onto the floor, but she took it.
“Said it would test positive for heroin. I figured that was a good thing, since that’s what Craig Williams was addicted to.”
“I’m supposed to be addicted to heroin?” She glared at him.
“What do you want to be addicted to? Chocolate-chip cookies? This is drug rehab.”
“I was thinking something less hard core, like OxyContin or something. It’s my first time.”
“So, you’re saying my pee isn’t good enough?”
She handed it back to him. “For any number of reasons.”
She took his phone off the dash and Googled to find the withdrawal symptoms for OxyContin. Restlessness. Agitation. Sweaty. Bone pain. Chills. Insomnia. Vomiting. Nausea. Faking those shouldn’t be too tough, except for vomiting. She hated to throw up. She was going to have to pretend on that one. “How long before I go into withdrawal, do you think?”
“Didn’t you research your addiction?” he asked.
“I had the kids.” She would keep herself up tonight, and tomorrow she could move on to the other symptoms.
Someone rapped on the window, and she jumped.
“Are you guys going to sit in the car all day?” Brendan asked. “It’s time to check in.”
“She doesn’t like my pee,” Aidan said. “Even though it’s high-grade stuff.”
Brendan looked at her. “I know it’s a little gross, but—”
“It’s not that,” she said. “I don’t want to be addicted to heroin. I want to be addicted to OxyContin. It’s more of a gateway drug, better for a first-timer.”
“Can you get her some Oxy-urine?” Brendan asked.
“I had a hard time getting this,” Aidan said. “Why can’t she use what we have?”
“She gets to pick what she’s addicted to,” Brendan said. “She doesn’t have to be a heroin addict if she doesn’t want to.”
This whole thing sounded ridiculous. Her mother would have a heart attack if she were listening. But Sofia had standards. She’d pretend to be an addict, but not a heroin addict.
“Hello!” A woman with curly red hair, green eyes, and freckles bustled across the lawn toward them. She wore a pink and white dress and wiped her hands on a clean white apron with strawberries embroidered along the edges. She bore more than a passing resemblance to the cartoon character Strawberry Shortcake.
The woman pressed the button on a device in her hand, and the gate closed behind them. Sofia tapped down a tiny shiver of panic. Now she was locked in.
“You must be Sofia. We use first names here. I’m Polly.” She held out a hand, and Sofia took it. Polly had a warm, gentle handshake, and her eyes crinkled when she smiled. “I know it’s tough saying good-bye.”
A few silver strands threaded through the woman’s red hair. She looked like a kindly grandmother. Grandma Shortcake, killer.
“Let’s get you inside so you can get settled,” Polly said. “You’ll be wanting to get straight to bed.”
Sofia got out of the car, and Aidan took her suitcase from the trunk.
Polly herded them all toward the front steps, smiling at the dog. “This is Muffin. He’s our mascot. He wouldn’t hurt a fly! But he sure keeps the paparazzi out.”
And the residents in. Sofia held her hand down for Muffin, and he sniffed it. He didn’t wag his tail or lean over to be patted, just stared at her. He reminded her of an on-duty cop—polite, conscientious, but someone who wouldn’t take any crap either.
“Good dog,” she said, and he lowered his head as though he agreed with her.
“We’ll get you checked in. There are some forms to fill out, and then we can show you up to your room. The rooms are very nice. Each one has high-thread-count sheets and a private bathroom. We have the loveliest towels you’ll ever find.” Polly took hold of Sofia’s elbow and propelled her up the steps to the front door.
She was talking about the sheets as if this was some kind of spa. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Polly waved a card at the door, and the light on the keypad turned green. Spas didn’t have that kind of security.
Polly pushed open the door, and they all stepped into a high-ceilinged hall with a grand wrought-iron chandelier, whose bulbs looked like real candles. To the left, leather chairs and a leather sofa were grouped around a rustic coffee table in the living room. It looked friendly, and that made Sofia suspicious, although she didn’t know why. She hadn’t been expecting an antiseptic hospital painted some gross shade of green, after all. This was Malibu.
“Does everyone need a card key to get in and out?” Sofia asked.
“Access is strictly controlled within the facility, and you earn the right to more privileges as you go,” Polly said. “In a week or so, you’ll be able to move around on your own. The first few days can be a little disorienting, I know.”
“What kind of privileges do I have right away?” Sofia didn’t like this at all. She’d envisioned rehab more like a hospital, where she’d be free to walk around and check out at any time.
B is for Bad Girls (Malibu Mystery Book 2) Page 6
