“So who all has access to this information?” Lilly asks, with obvious apprehension.
“Me,” she says smartly, “and each town’s local authorities and the Feds, but they have to be granted permission and issued login information before they can use it. They can’t just hack into the system any time they’d like.”
“Do the police know you have access to the system?” I ask, using my best of course I don’t think you’re a criminal voice.
“Why should they?” she asks, smiling. “Does it hurt to have an old lady like me surfing the databases from time to time? I think not,” she says decisively, “especially since all of their equipment was a gift from the Peacock family.”
“So you just sit in here and play God?” I ask and immediately wish I wouldn’t have because I’m heavy on the I was wrong and you are a criminal voice.
“God,” Gloria Peacock says coolly, “is not a woman and I have too much reverence for Him to assert myself in that way.”
“So what do you call what you do here?” I ask and Lilly scowls at me, but keeps her mouth shut.
“I call it my goodwill ambassadorship to people less fortunate than I,” she says and levels a look at me that makes me look at the floor.
“Well, I guess that would cover everybody in the southeastern United States,” I mumble, “at least.”
“Mrs. Peacock,” Lilly begins with an apologetic tone, “please let me apolo-”
Gloria Peacock cuts her off mid-word. “Lilly, it’s perfectly alright,” she says quietly, “I appreciate an honest skeptic. Now, Ace,” she turns her eagle eyes and ivory smile back to me, “let me answer your question about what I do here.”
She brings up a photo of Richard Stacks and a red-headed woman fondling each other next to a dumpster. “Like most people, I know what goes on in and around this little town and when I hear something skewed, I do my research then make a legitimate effort to help the people who deserve it. Some are aware of my intervention, others aren’t. In all honesty, most people have no I idea I play any role in the resolution of their issues. A certain degree of secrecy makes it easy to continue getting things done.”
She pauses, points, and the magic screen produces another picture of Richard Stacks. In this one, he’s parked next to what appears to be the same dumpster and there is a blonde head in his lap. “These are just a few examples of the research I’ve done on Chloe’s husband, but we‘ll get to that later.”
“Okay,” I say, not sure how to proceed.
Lilly just sits there and shakes her head.
29
“First of all,” Gloria Peacock announces like she’s speaking from a pulpit, “I know that Lilly was fired and I know the real reason why.”
“What?” Lilly exclaims and jumps off the couch like her ass is on fire. She opens her mouth to speak but Gloria Peacock holds up a bejeweled hand.
“Mr. Reece Hilliard and Dr. Ryland Lane are both dear friends of mine.”
“How do you know?” Lilly hisses like a cat and I try to figure out how Lilly’s psychotic mood swing factors into this odd turn of conversation.
“I know all about Reece and your Uncle Ryland, my sweet girl,” Gloria says and Lilly looks like she’s about to pass out. “I’ve worked closely with those two fine gentlemen over the years and I have known all along what you and only a few others know now.”
I cover my mouth and gasp.
“Holy shit, Lilly,” I croak like a frog.
Lilly’s face is beet red and her eyes are wild. She is staring at Gloria Peacock like she wants to rip her face off.
“Why are you doing this?” she demands. “Do you just sit in here waving your arms around, collecting pictures of them as well? Do you know what would happen if people found out about them?”
I try to wrap my mind around the fact that Lilly’s uncle, an accomplished and well respected professor at the University of Mississippi, and Reece Hilliard, a prominent banker who has the misfortune of being married to one Catherine Hilliard, really are going stinger to stinger in the story of the bees and the bees. They were the two gentlemen in the pictures I found in Catherine Hilliard’s desk. I wonder if perhaps I’ve been hearing Lilly wrong for the past five months and she’s been saying “The Gentlemen” all along instead of “The Gentleman” and I just didn’t pick up on it. She’s usually not that slick, so I make a mental note to ask her about that later.
She looks like she’s about to lose her ever-loving mind so I dismount the cowhide cloud and put my hand on her arm, but she shrugs me off and continues to stare at Gloria Peacock like she wants to kill her.
“Lilly,” I say, “you need to calm down.”
“Calm down!” she screams. “I lost my job because of this and Catherine Hilliard accused me of having sex with an 18 year old kid to justify it! Do you know how humiliating that is?” She turns that crazy nutcase glare on me, “Even you doubted me and you are my best friend! I ditched our trip to Panama City Beach for this and I thought you’d never speak to me again, then when Drake ran over from the pool so we could discuss why Catherine Hilliard was trying to frame us, here you come with some damned Chinese food and then you throw all of my shit out in the yard!” She has tears in her eyes. “I went through all of that to protect them because what they have is so special and so sweet and I thought nobody knew, but people know,” she looks at Gloria Peacock and the tears start rolling, taking heaps of mascara down with them, “you know. So what was the damn point? Why did I have to wreck my whole life being part of a cover up if people already know?”
“People don’t know, Lilly,” Gloria Peacock says softly. “Reece, Ryland, and I are part of an elite and very private circle of friends. We don’t have to be told things.”
“I know I’m about to call Uncle Rye right now and tell him he’s full of shit.”
“Lilly, please sit down,” Gloria Peacock takes a seat on the sectional and pats the cushion next to her. “Ace, could you please get her some water out of the cooler?”
“Uh, sure.” I look around for a cooler and see nothing that resembles an igloo or a fridge so I wander toward the wall and stand there like I’m expecting water to fall from the sky like manna from heaven.
“Third cabinet door from the left,” Gloria says, nodding. “Would you please bring me one also?”
“Sure.” I say and step over to a line of cabinets that look like they cost more than my car and count down to the third door. Sure enough, it’s some kind of little refrigerator stocked with imported beer, bottled water, and plastic bags stuffed with cut vegetables and fruit. I lust after the beer for a second then grab three bottles of water and return to the sofa because I can’t wait to hear the rest of this story.
Lilly’s face is in her hands and she is sobbing uncontrollably. Gloria Peacock is rubbing her back and telling her everything is going to be just fine because we are going to set things straight and make things right and I don’t know about Lilly, but I believe her. I wouldn’t be any more convinced of victory if I were eavesdropping on Pat Summit in the Tennessee locker room.
Gloria Peacock looks up at me, holds up two fingers, then points back at the cabinets. I place my water on the marble top coffee table and go back to see what’s behind door number two.
Behind that door, I find all shapes and sizes of blue and white towels. I grab a small one, wet it in the sink, and take it to Lilly. She wraps it around her face and calms down to heaves and sniffles. I pick up my glass bottle of water and sit back down on the sofa.
“Okay girls,” Gloria Peacock begins, “back to the facts.”
“Okay,” Lilly and I say in unison and I can’t wait to hear the facts.
“My use of this surveillance equipment could be construed as unethical or even illegal, yes,” she looks from me to Lilly then back at me, “but so is speeding and I’ve never run over anyone with my little plastic mouse over there,” she pauses, smiling, “not literally anyway. And as far as ethics go, I can’t see a single thing on that scre
en that anyone standing on any street corner in the city couldn’t see at any given time.”
No! I don’t want to talk about surveillance ethics and legality! I want to hear about Reece Hilliard and Ryland Lane getting it on like pot of neck bone! Dammit! I take a sip of water and try to hide my disappointment.
“So you have constant access to what anyone walking down the street can see with their own two eyes?” Lilly asks and she sounds like she has marshmallows stuffed up her nose.
“Basically,” Gloria Peacock says. “I’m kind of like a high tech Robin Hood, if you will, watching out for people,” she pauses and does the ping pong glance again, “and when I saw Lilly put that tracking mechanism on Richard Stacks’ lovely white Lexus, I knew that you were the kind of girls that I could help. So I came home and did some research.”
Oh. Forgot she witnessed that little foray in small time criminal activity.
“So how does this thing work?” I ask, nodding toward the super computer system. “How did you get those pictures?”
“You’ve heard of auto face recognition?” she looks back and forth and back and forth again and we both nod yes, but I’ve never heard of it and I’m sure Lilly hasn’t either. I mean, if they don’t print it in Cosmo, she doesn’t know about it and if it’s not on basic cable, then I don’t. Gloria Peacock obviously senses that we have no idea what she’s talking about because she provides us with a brief explanation of the basics.
“So you just say a name and then you get a list of options like when you search for an image on Google?” I ask and my mind fills with names I’d like to holler at that computer.
“Yes,” she answers, “simple as that.”
“But how,” Lilly asks, “how does it know what we look like? I mean, how does it know what face goes with what name?”
“Do you have a driver’s license?” Gloria Peacock asks and the light of understanding begins to shine in Lilly’s eyes. “Would you like to see a demonstration?”
“I would love that!” I say with a bit too much enthusiasm.
Gloria Peacock returns to the center of the room and starts conducting her invisible orchestra again. When she stops, she says, “Search Catherine Hilliard.”
Lilly and I look at each other then back at the screen where about six million thumbnail shots pop up.
“Let’s narrow it down,” Gloria Peacock says with a smile, then clearly articulates, “Search file for Ardie Griffith.”
“Why is she searching for the superintendent in Mrs. Hilliard’s file?” Lilly whispers and before I could think up a response, a photo flashes up on the screen and we both gasp and start laughing like two idiots fresh from the nut house.
“Ladies,” Gloria Peacock asks with a triumphant smile, “do you both understand that I have what it takes to set things right in this little town?” Gloria Peacock looks up at the image and indulges in a very dignified little giggle.
“Just remember,” Gloria Peacock says and smiles her big ivory toothed smile, “complete confidentiality.”
30
When Lilly drops me off, I feel like Oscar the Grouch and not because I’m grumpy or have a pet worm, but because compared to the majesty of The Waverly Estate, my humble abode looks like a garbage can.
I had suggested on the ride home that she track Richard Stacks from the comfort of her home and we would stalk him only if he left town because if he did anything local, Gloria Peacock had it covered.
I imagine there isn’t much that Gloria Peacock doesn’t have covered.
I can’t help but wonder how rich she really is. She said her first husband was a General in the Army so between his salary and that high tech spy machine he invented, he must’ve made some serious dough.
Maybe I should start looking for an Army man to marry. Lilly’s brother is a Master Sergeant stationed at Fort Carson, Colorado, so I could call him up and ask him if he wanted to marry me. Ha. Who am I kidding? I know for a fact that he’s in a committed relationship with a snow board and collects ski bunnies like some folks collect unicorns. He wouldn’t have any use for my chubby ass. He’s an asshole anyway. A very beautiful asshole, but aren’t they all?
I throw my lovely dress onto the mountain of clothes I left in the floor then go dig through the dryer for a clean pair of cut off sweat pants and a tank top. I unpin the bun and slick my hair into a pony tail and throw myself onto my fluffy bed. I wiggle around and get really comfy, then realize that something is missing. I haven’t seen Buster Loo since I got home and that’s not normal. At all.
I call him a few times and when that doesn’t work, I go with my old reliable tricks, “Buster Loo wanna treat? Buster Loo wanna go for a walk?”
Silence.
Feeling a mild sense of panic, I jump up and check the doggie door to make sure it’s working right then search the backyard, but Señor Buster Loo Bluefeather is nowhere to be seen. I open the fridge and rattle some stuff around then go to the pantry and crinkle up a potato chip bag and shake a can of peanuts. No luck. I grab his leash and sling it around for a minute, but still no Buster Loo.
In a full state of panic, I run out the front door holding my breath as I scan the street then jog up and down the road checking the ditches and I’m relieved that I don’t see a little brown carcass. I run back to the house and check my car, my gardening shed, and search the full perimeter of my property. Having exhausted all of my immediate resources and my nerves, I slump down in a patio chair and start to cry.
As luck would have it, just when I’m getting super snotty, I hear a vehicle pull up in the driveway. I run inside to blow my nose and throw water on my face and just as I’m patting my eyes dry, Buster Loo bursts through the doggie door and starts running around like he’s being chased by an invisible vacuum cleaner. I pick him up and hug him like crazy and start crying again, all the while telling him how much how much I love him and how scared I was that he was gone forever. I wipe my face again and, still clutching Buster Loo, go outside to thank whoever was kind enough to bring my little chiweenie dog back home.
When I step out the door, I see Mason McKenzie standing in my yard. I decide to wait and get the facts before beating him to death for abducting my dog.
He’s all smiles as he walks toward the patio, but when he gets close enough to see my puffy eyes and red nose, he starts to look like he just ate some bad eggs.
“Ace,” he begins, holding out one of his big, beautiful hands, “I’m sorry. I just miss him so bad so I just borrowed him for a little while. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Have you ever heard of a note?” I demand. “Or a phone call? Maybe a text message or any form of communication that might let someone know their little dog is not grave yard dead or gone forever?”
“Look, I’m sorry,” he says earnestly. “I meant to have him back before you got home,” he pauses. “I miss him. I miss you. I miss us. Ace, please,”
“Go get your own dog!” I yell.
“He is my dog!” Mason yells back. “You really don’t get it do you?”
“Get the hell away from me,” I say a little quieter. “Get the hell out of here. Get away from me and don’t you ever, ever steal my dog again.”
“He’s our dog,” he says quietly. “I bought him for us.”
“Oh, my God! Are you serious?” I yell. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
“Ace, I want you back. I never wanted you to leave. Please, can you just calm down and talk to me?”
“What the hell is wrong with you, Mason?” I ask in my super-smart-assed-sarcastic voice. “It’s over between us. It’s been over for three years if you haven’t noticed. I wasn’t good enough for you, remember?”
“Could you try to calm down, please?”
“What happened to make you come back?” I ask with a smirk. “Some little Hawaiian Tropic girl dump you cause you’re closer to 40 than 25? Start losing your hair so you come running back to your old reliable chubby-lover?”
“I’m not losing my hair,” he
mumbles, rubbing his head.
“Well, why now? Huh? Why now?” I stare at him and he stares at the ground. “You stole my dog! You stole my fucking dog! I don’t need this! Your sense of self-entitlement makes me sick!”
“What?” he looks at me like I’m speaking Hebrew. “Why can’t you just settle down? Could you please, for once in your life, settle down and stop being so mad? You’re mad all the time. Have you ever noticed that?”
“How in the hell do you know I’m mad all the time?” I ask then I start lying for real. “For your information, I’m very happy with my life right now.”
“Right, right,” he says quietly and nods his head, “of course. Well, I’m sorry for coming here and trying to wreck your happy home. I won’t bother you anymore.”
And with that he turns and walks out the gate. I want to run after him and tell him how much I’ve missed him and how much I love him and that I want to have little Mason babies with him. Instead, I just stand there and watch him go.
I hear my cell phone and know by the ring tone that it’s Lilly and I’m as thankful for the distraction as I am that she didn’t send me a stupid text instructing me to call her because that would’ve pushed me over the edge.
“Hey,” I say trying to sound normal. “What’s up?”
“Richard Stacks left home thirty minutes ago and he’s on Highway 72 headed west.”
“He’s going to Memphis, isn’t he?”
“Yep. And so are we.”
“Alright then, I’ll be there directly.”
“Ready and waiting!” Lilly exclaims.
“Hey,” I ask before she hangs up, “would you mind if Buster Loo comes along?”
31
Before I back out of her driveway, I make it clear to Lilly that we will not be discussing Mason McKenzie unless she wants to start dishing about her Uncle Rye and Reece Hilliard. So we hate on Principal Catherine Hilliard all the way to Memphis.
Diary of a Mad Fat Girl Page 10
