by Niecey Roy
“Very true,” I said, thinking of my own dysfunctional little family. My parents split when I was thirteen and my relationship with them had been strained ever since.
She turned to point out a portrait hanging on the wall near the hallway entrance. Three teenaged boys smiled back at us, all as handsome as their father. One had a spattering of freckles across his nose. “Those are my grandsons, Matthew’s boys. They’re all three in college now. Attending Columbia, Henry’s alma mater.” Her words were swollen with pride. “All three are smart as a whip, just like Henry.”
I noticed she hadn’t said like their father.
“Why don’t you walk me through the events leading up to Pretzels’ disappearance,” I suggested. “Every detail. You told me you first heard a prowler outside your bedroom window. When was that?”
“Two weeks ago.” She pointed to the hallway. “My bedroom window looks right out into the backyard. The second night, it sounded as if someone was tapping on my window. I called the cops right away and an officer came out.”
“So, that first week you heard noises two nights in a row, but you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary?” I jotted this down, though I’d recorded the same note at the office earlier. I would compare them later—I didn’t want to miss anything.
“The idea of a prowler in my yard rattled me. I decided to sleep on the couch right here in the living room.” She gestured to the plush sofa behind me. The open blinds left an unobstructed view of the patio door and the backyard beyond. “But as I lay here, I heard a noise. I got up and through the door I spotted a flash of grey.
Beverly’s eyes were drawn to the open blinds covering the glass door, as if reliving that night. “Nothing definitive. I’m a very rational woman. The idea it was an alien prowling around did not cross my mind.” Beverly’s brows creased with apprehension, as if she were anxious I didn’t believe her. “I was tired. I assumed I was seeing things.”
“Assumed, until two nights later when you heard noises again and found an alien on the other side of your patio door?” I asked, recalling what she’d said at the office.
“Yes. That night, I had settled into my reading chair. I was very tired. I’d had a long visit with family; my eldest grandson was back from college. And then there was the Rummy party at Linda’s. I forgot to pull the blinds before sitting down. I dozed off while reading a book. I looked up and saw . . . it. An alien on the other side of the patio door, just staring at me. I was so tired, and my body didn’t want to cooperate, so I lay there, staring right back at it. Then it made the strangest noise, like a . . . a . . . hiss. And then it disappeared.”
Gen and I exchanged glances.
“Like, disappeared, as in beamed up?” she asked.
“Into a spaceship?” I asked.
Beverly’s brows wrinkled in thought, and her head tilted a bit to the side. “You know, I don’t believe so. I think it ran around the corner of the house. For some reason I just couldn’t get my legs to move. It was like I was paralyzed and so tired.”
“I’ve heard of that.” Gen’s voice was nearly a whisper.
“I hadn’t, but since that night I’ve watched a few documentaries on aliens with Linda. She’s the only one I’ve told about what I saw. She insisted we get educated.”
I scribbled like mad across the notebook, trying to keep up with Beverly’s story. “And you’re positive this thing was an alien?”
“Those eyes. They weren’t normal. They were so . . . glassy. And its fingers.” She shuddered. “It was almost as if it waved at me before it ran across the patio and disappeared. The bastard is taunting me. I was so shaken I even called Matthew.”
“You sound as if he would be the last person you would call.” I looked up from the notepad. “Why is that?”
“Matthew and I get along now. I love his children, and they love me. But we’re not close, Mathew and I.”
“And he came when you called, because you saw an alien outside your house?” I tried not to sound skeptical, but I had to get to the truth. And that meant asking things to make her question everything she’d been through the last two weeks, question everything she’d seen, or thought she saw.
“I didn’t tell him about the alien.” She shook her head at the absurdity. “I do not make a habit out of sounding like a loony-tune.”
“And, I think it’s a good idea to keep that detail between us.” I waved my pen in a circle between me, her, and Gen. “And Linda. Tell me what happened next.”
“Matthew came right away. He came straight from his office, so it didn’t take him long at all to get here.”
“Wait, what time was this, do you remember?”
“Maybe two o’clock in the morning?” She thought about it for a few moments then nodded. “Yes, it was after two a.m.”
“And he was still at his office?” I found that odd and jotted the time down.
“Yes.”
“What did you tell Matthew when he arrived?”
“I told him I hadn’t gotten a good glimpse of whatever was outside, but that I was worried about it.” She turned and rounded the breakfast bar. Opening a cabinet, she said, “He wanted details and I wasn’t ready to speak about it. He stayed for thirty minutes and promised to check on me the next morning.”
“Did he?” I asked.
“Yes, he did. He’s been very different lately. Friendly, even. I think he regrets not reconciling with his father before he passed away. Henry died of a heart attack in his sleep. I think everyone expected him to live forever. He was more active than men half his age.”
I thought of my dad, and how we weren’t really speaking at the moment. Not because we were fighting, but because my dad wasn’t the kind of guy who enjoyed phone conversations, and I knew he was upset about me not joining his company. I’d chosen my own path, as he chose his when he moved out to chase his dreams, without me. Our relationship had been strained over the last ten years, but I loved him.
“The night Pretzels disappeared did you see the alien again?”
She shook her head. “No. I haven’t seen the alien since. In fact, nothing happened for five days. I returned to sleeping in my bedroom. Then two nights ago, I heard noises from across the house. Pretzels jumped up, but I couldn’t go after her because I was sick as a dog. Nauseated. I might have had a touch of the flu. When Pretzels didn’t return, I knew something was wrong. I called Matthew again. He looked all over for her, but didn’t find her. She was gone. Vanished without a trace.”
“Holy . . . whoa,” I breathed. I’d barely stopped the expletive, but Beverly didn’t seem like the type of woman who cussed. I glanced over at Gen—her lips trembled. I handed the notepad to her, and told Beverly, “Just to cover all our bases, I’m going to interview your neighbors, your stepson, and put out some flyers. Do you have a picture I can borrow of Pretzels? I’ll bring it back as soon as I’ve scanned the image.”
While she went to find a good photograph of Pretzels, I walked outside with Gen. We walked the perimeter of the house, and Gen jotted down notes for me. I took pictures of everything—her patio door, the flower beds around the house, then checked for footprints—any sign that a person might have been prowling around. There was no sign of forced entry, and the house had a top of the line security system. This wasn’t a fresh crime scene, either. There’d been rain in the two days since Pretzels disappeared.
After saying goodbye to Beverly, I settled into the driver’s seat of my SUV. I set the camera in my duffel bag full of PI gear—binoculars, a taser gun, and the high tech tiny electronic gadgets I used to invade people’s privacy—anything a girl might need to work a case. Leo had helped me pack it. He called it my survival kit.
As Gen buckled her seatbelt, she said, “It’s so hard to believe—I mean, a real alien. As cool as it is, it’s kind of freaking me out.”
“It’s too soon to make any assumptions either way.” I put the vehicle in reverse and backed out of the driveway. “All I know is that her cat is gone, th
ere’s no sign of forced entry, and she saw what she thought was an alien outside on her patio before her cat disappeared.”
There’d been a little part of me—okay, a big part of me—that, on the drive over to her house, had chalked her story up to an aging woman hearing and seeing things. Now, after visiting with her in her home, I didn’t at all question her mental health. Whether or not an alien abducted her cat, the cat was missing, and her house had been entered without the security system being tripped.
I finally had a case that wouldn’t involve a money-shot with someone’s pants down. This was exactly what I needed, something to shake things up and once again get my brain firing on all pistons. This case was sure to unfreeze my writer’s block.
Chapter Five
“I’m drying up.” I threw myself back onto the sofa lounge beside Gen, who was sprawled out, her nose in a magazine. “Like a dusty old prune.”
“Dusty?” Gen said without a glance in my direction.
“Yeah. Dusty.” I heaved a long, deep sigh. “It’s a good thing I don’t write romance—the way I feel right now, my sex scenes would not be swoon-worthy. They’d be snooze-worthy.” I opened my mouth and pointed my finger to the back of my throat. “Blech. Mechanical.”
“Like a bull?” Gen winked at me.
Lexie snickered. “A mechanical bull.”
Gen and Lexie were twins and identical pains in my ass. We met when I almost ran them over with the new scooter I got for my eighth birthday. They slowed their bikes down as I beeped my little handlebar horn and yelled at them to get out of the way, but they ended up in a pile of bicycles and legs on the grass, with me begging them not to sue my parents. The three of us had been best friends ever since. Somewhere along the line, Lexie had fallen for my cousin Leo. They were together now.
Both Gen and Lexie were bossier than either would admit, and they also had a tendency to think they knew what was best for me, especially in the relationship department. That’s where the similarities in their personalities ended. Everything about Lexie whispered strawberries and cream. Gen, on the other hand, was an artist who lived and breathed color. Right now the hair framing her face was violet; two months ago it was pink; months before that, teal.
“It’s not funny. I’m feeling blah. And that’s unacceptable.” Blah wasn’t a word I ever wanted to be associated with. The word gave me hives.
In the two days since my conversation with Kelsey, I’d been dwelling on what she said. And worse, it was as if knowing she might be right had done a total black-out on any creative juju I had left. Last night, I’d typed out Chapter One, and then proceeded to stare at those two words for what felt like hours. And then I started thinking about all the sex I wasn’t having, which made me go in search of a cocktail. I left the document open on my laptop and hadn’t been back since. The laptop would have powered off by now, but I was a little afraid of returning to my office and writing nothing again.
I was willing to try anything at this point to get over this slump. A slump I’d never experienced before. It was terrifying. What if it’s too late and I’m all pruned-out—sexually and creatively? I shuddered with the thought.
The weekend couldn’t come soon enough. In two days I’d be at the Moss family lakeside cabin. Beautiful views, cocktails, friends, basking in the sunlight’s warmth and swimming in a crystal clear pool. The thought of leaving town for the weekend made me giddy. I needed a mental break.
“You need laid,” Gen said, yanking me from my thoughts.
“Probably, before all my sexy dries up.” I sat up and nudged Gen's magazine down so she would have to look at me. “This is serious.”
“You are not drying up.” She rolled her eyes and yanked the magazine from under my hand. “You’re twenty-three years old.”
“Twenty-three going-on-spinster. A lonely, passionless spinster,” I stressed.
“By choice.” She raised her brows as if she dared me to challenge her. “And, by the way, I am more than happy to help you out with that problem. I know this super-hot doctor . . .”
She’d been trying to set me up with Matt’s best friend for months now. I wasn’t taking the bait. Dating my best friend’s boyfriend’s best friend? That had disaster written all over it.
I chose not to respond. I turned to Lexie who flipped channels on the TV. “Hey, you going to chime in here, or what?”
“Sure, but I already know you won’t listen to me.” She turned another channel then glanced over at me. “You never listen to me.”
“Yes, well, finding prince charming then getting married in his castle in the mountains isn’t on my list of ever-going-to-happen.”
She rolled her eyes. “I was going to say you should borrow the book I just finished. It had the hottest sexy scene ever. I was sweating by the time I finished reading it.”
Lexie only read romance. That wasn’t my thing. In those books, love was all tied up with a pretty pink bow. But in real life? Romance ended up in marriage that ended in divorce. I’d had a front row seat to all of my parents’ failed relationships since their divorce.
I hadn’t read a romance novel since high school. Now, if the sexy came from a dark and angsty paranormal story, I’d be all over it.
But, you’re desperate . . .
“Yeah, maybe I will. Message me the name and I’ll look it up later.”
“You’ll love it, I’m telling you, if you aren’t inspired to write after that you’ll definitely be inspired—”“
“For penis,” Gen interjected with a snicker.
“You’re not taking this seriously.” I grabbed her by the shoulders and stressed, “You’re supposed to be sympathetic to my plight.” I gave her a firm shake “You don’t understand.” I shook her again. “I need my sexy back. I think it’s giving me writer’s block!”
“This is a self-inflicted problem, Roxanna Leigh.” She shook off my hands. “I know where there’s a perfectly good penis, but you don’t want anything to do with it.”
“Ugh,” I grumbled, and threw myself down into the couch beside her.
My friends both claimed I had a flair for dramatics, which sometimes meant they didn’t take me as seriously as I wished they would. Like right now. While I was having a crisis of epic proportions.
I was not amused. This was serious shit. I mean, I was passionate about things—writing, reading, shoes, sleeping in, hazelnut lattes, and I was a huge movie buff. Oh, and I also liked vacations, because vacations meant room service and housekeeping. Plenty of things made me passionate. So why did I not feel passionate right now? Why did I feel so blah?
“I need chocolate,” I said, which was the next best thing to sex.
I pushed myself off the couch. Just that morning I’d bought a bag of milk chocolate truffles. I definitely had passion for truffles. I’d been eating them all day, especially since my phone call with Kelsey this morning. I was worked up about all the nothing coming from my fingertips. She told me that a good writer tapped into all of their emotions. Then she asked if I’d ever been in love.
Ha! Of course not. Love? I learned a long time ago that loving someone meant opening yourself up to pain. And, based on relationship statistics I’d read somewhere—I should have saved the URL—a relationship was more likely to perish than last into the happy-ever-after stage. Ten years after my dad left me and my mother, I could still remember how broken she’d been. I still remembered the time she’d taken me into her arms, her face still wet with tears, and said: “One day, anak, you will meet a man who will try to change you. Don’t let him be your everything. Love will break your heart. Men are bastards.”
There’d never been any sugarcoating things with either of my parents. They’d never even attempted to fight behind closed doors. I heard every curse word, every accusation, and every slammed door.
Despite watching my parents’ relationship fail, I wasn’t so narcissistic that I didn’t believe love existed, and sometimes it even thrived. I knew too many couples in love to deny it. But I�
��d also seen every one of my parents’ failed relationships following their divorce to know that for some people, it just didn’t happen. And even after all this time, I was pretty sure my mom was still tragically in love with my dad, which was probably why none of her relationships lasted. She denied it, but I knew better. She kept a photo of him in her nightstand. Happiness and love didn't run in my family, and I had no intention of becoming my parents.
But I could do passion! I just hadn’t found a guy with the right chemistry. Not like you’ve been out there looking, either.
“You should at least be dating.” Lexie removed her feet from the ottoman and curled them up beside her on the couch. Lexie paused on the cooking channel. People darted around the kitchen, mixing batter for a cupcake bakeoff.
Last year after Lexie’s almost-wedding, she turned to cupcakes for comfort. The carb binge had gotten out of hand, really. When cupcakes hadn’t cured her problems, she’d taken off alone to the Caribbean to get drunk on her honeymoon voucher. I think cupcakes stirred up bad memories. She’d never been a sweets kind of person anyway.
Lexie’s evil almost-in-laws did their best to ruin Lexie’s bridal boutique. They were a family of old money, with sway in the social circles of Lexie’s clientele. When Lexie was forced out of a bridal expo, we decided drastic situations called for drastic measures.
Crashing the Buchanan’s charity masquerade ball was a great idea in theory, but escalated into a shit storm of epic proportions. It was my twitchy trigger finger with a taser gun that started the downward spiral of crazy that night. Not my finest moment—that’s when Leo benched me.
I wasn’t sure what worried my overprotective, ex-special forces cousin the most—the fact I tased someone or the fact the tasing was accidental. Since the woman I tased was the devil incarnate, I was pretty sure Leo was more concerned about the latter. He and I spent a lot of time out on the shooting range working out what he’d called trigger nerves.
