“Oh, this is going to be so fun!” Aunt Sue said, clapping her hands. “I love Disneyland. You know, Hattie Carmichael was the very first Mickey Mouse.”
Lord help me.
* * *
The next morning I awoke to the sight of fuzzy Elvis staring down at me. Again. What I wouldn’t have given to be back in my own room.
I stumbled out of bed, rubbing my eyes, making my way on autopilot through the house toward the scent of coffee. Cal was already at the kitchen table, sipping his cup, reading the paper. Aunt Sue was frying bacon. Or, more accurately, burning bacon.
I wrinkled my nose. “I think it’s done.”
“What?” she asked, over the sizzling sounds.
“I think the bacon’s done!”
“What did you say?”
“It’s burnt!” I yelled.
Aunt Sue looked down at the blackened strips in her pan. “Oh. So it is. Oh well, I guess we’ll just have eggs,” she said, shrugging her shoulders as she reached into the refrigerator.
Just in case, I popped a couple pieces of sourdough into the toaster.
“By the way,” Aunt Sue said, cracking eggs into a bowl, “your cell’s been going off all morning.” She gestured to my purse sitting on the counter.
I popped it open and looked at my phone readout. Four calls. All from Felix. I bit my lip. Apparently he’d read my column.
I was just contemplating putting the phone on mute, when Cal slammed his coffee cup down on the kitchen table behind me.
“What the hell is this?” he asked.
I spun around to find Cal - a very pissed off Cal - holding up today’s Informer.
I guess Felix wasn’t the only one doing some early morning reading.
“Um… my column.”
“Obviously. Are you out of your mind?”
Aunt Sue angled around him to read it, then did a subdued little, “Oh, my,” her big, round eyes going my way.
I crossed my arms over my chest in a defensive posture.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Cal asked.
“What? I should just sit back and let this creep systematically destroy everything around me? I can’t go home, I’m being babysat 24/7, my neighbor’s dead, and someone’s trying to blow me up! Everywhere I go this guy is threatening me. I’m sick of it!”
“The police-” he started.
But I cut him off. “The police aren’t doing jack. You saw them test the scene yesterday - they came up with nothing. I’m tired of chasing leads to nowhere. I’m calling this guy out in the open.”
“And if he doesn’t turn himself in?”
I sighed. “I’m not stupid. There’s no way he’s turning himself in.”
Cal narrowed his eyes. “Then what exactly do you expect to accomplish with this bluff?” He threw the paper down on the table.
“Don’t you watch any cop shows?”
He didn’t answer, just glared.
“If he doesn’t want to see his name in the paper as a murderer, he’s got to shut me up before I turn in my column for tomorrow.”
Something shifted behind Cal’s eyes. “Shut you up.”
I nodded.
“You mean-”
“I mean he’s going to come after me, and that’s when I’ll catch him red-handed.”
A muscle twitched in Cal’s jaw. “No.”
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“No way am I letting you use yourself as bait.”
“This isn’t about you letting me do anything. It’s about me taking my life back.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I countered.
Cal threw his hands up in the air. “This is dangerous, reckless and about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Are you calling me stupid?” I thrust my chin up, hands on hips.
He ground his teeth together. “And just how, exactly, are you planning on catching this guy before he actually silences you?”
I bit my lip. “That’s kinda where you come in.”
“Me.” A statement, not a question.
“Yeah. You’re the trained bodyguard. With you watching my back, we’re sure to get the jump on him before he does on me. Right?”
“No,” he said again, shaking his head.
“You have to. You’re being paid to keep me safe,” I pointed out.
“But not if you’re going to throw yourself into harm’s way!”
“Fine.” I squared my jaw. “I’ll do it myself.”
He stared at me, his nostrils flaring, his eyes flashing. “Like hell you will.”
I planted my feet shoulder width apart, matching him glare for glare. We stood like that in a total silent standoff for a full minute.
Finally Cal broke the staring contest, threw the rest of his coffee down the drain, and slammed his empty cup on the counter.
“Fine. Let’s go to Disneyland.”
Chapter Eighteen
When I was a kid, Disneyland was just one theme park, and it was all about the kiddies. Lots of rides, no security gates, characters roaming throughout the park being mobbed by children of all ages.
Now, Disneyland has become a virtual city that’s as much for the adult members of your party as the little ones.
Downtown Disney spans a full mile of shops and restaurants, sporting such grown-up fare as the house of Blues, ESPN Zone, and Tortilla Joe’s, where the margaritas are to die for. (You know, if I was ever touching tequila again.) Past the movie theater, shopping mall, and street performers, sit the two Disney theme parks - the California Adventure and the original Disneyland. While Disneyland is all balloons and lollipops in the shape of mouse heads, California Adventure is the big kid version, featuring a winery, a ‘beers of the world’ stand, and roller coasters that launch you upside down at near NASA speeds.
I looked longingly at the twelve-foot-tall “California” sign across the walkway as the aunts grabbed me by the arm and propelled me toward the security gates on the kiddie side. Cal grumbled a step behind me, still put out that he had to leave his gun in the Hummer.
I watched a perky college kid search Aunt Sue’s huge beach tote and held my breath, hoping he mistook the Hello Kitty container for a sandwich and not our neighbor’s ashes. Luckily, he’d been trained to look for weapons and drugs, not dead people, and gave us a cheery, “Enjoy your day at the Magic Kingdom!” and waved us through.
I gave a mental sigh of relief.
Aunt Sue gave me a co-conspiratorial wink.
Cal gave an eye roll.
Millie gave us a, “Let’s go on the pirates ride first!”
I put a hand on her arm. “Uh uh. No way. We’re here to do one thing. We’re going to do that, and then we’re going home.”
She pouted. “But I love the Pirates of the Caribbean.”
“And we did pay full admission,” Aunt Sue complained. “We should get our money’s worth.”
I clenched my jaw. “Fine. One ride.”
The two suddenly ten-year-old octogenarians clapped their hands with glee and led the way through the mass of tourists toward New Orleans Square.
Cal remained a silent shadow behind us.
Ever since this morning, he hadn’t said one word to me. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. He’d said. “Get in,” when he’d held the Hummer’s door open for me. That was it. Clearly, this whole bait plan didn’t put him in the best mood.
I’ll be honest, it wasn’t doing a whole lot for my nerves either. I’d looked over my shoulder a dozen times on the escalator ride down from the main parking structure. On the tram ride into the park, I’d done at least three double takes at the guy in the Panama hat and sunglasses seated opposite us before ascertaining that he was, in fact, just an innocent tourist and not some ominous stalker.
Even though I’d set up this whole thing, it was still a scary thought that I could, in theory, be staring straight at my stalker and not even know it. He knew what I looked like, but I had no idea
who he was. Or even if he was a he for that matter.
I now knew how those ducks in a barrel felt at the county fair.
I kept my head down, staying close to the aunts, infinitely glad for the hulking bulk of Cal behind me, even if he was giving me the silent treatment.
We wound past the Jungle Cruise and Tarzan’s Treehouse, narrowly avoiding collisions with at least three strollers, and jumped into line for the Pirates of the Caribbean.
Two minutes into it, my phone buzzed from my pocket.
“Your pants are vibrating,” Aunt Millie pointed out.
“I know.”
“You gonna answer it?”
Considering I was pretty sure it was Felix calling? “Nope.”
She shrugged, as if to say the younger generation’s logic escaped her.
Aunt Sue opened up her tote bag. “This ride is going to be so fun! You’re going to love this,” she said to the contents.
“Please tell me you’re not talking to Mrs. C,” I said.
She blinked at me. “Well, of course I am. This is her trip.”
I tried not to roll my eyes.
“Did you just roll your eyes at me, young lady?”
Okay, I didn’t try all that hard.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I mumbled as the line crept forward.
Fifteen minutes later we were being hustled into a soggy boat by a guy dressed like he’d just escaped from some 1980s version of Pirates of Penzance. The aunts took the front seat (‘cause Millie complained she couldn’t see a darn thing from the back) and Cal and I scrunched into the middle, while a family of four was seated in the seats behind us.
We floated past the bayou, the fake star-studded sky, crickets chirping, and the old guy playing his banjo on the porch of his swamp side home. I fidgeted nervously in my seat, every diner at the Blue Bayou a potential threat ready to strike.
“I’m scared,” I heard the little girl behind me say, ducking under her dad’s arm.
Join the club, kid.
Only it wasn’t an animatronic version of Johnny Depp I was freaked about.
I tried to settle into the ride as we slid down under the ground, past shipwrecks and ominous skeleton heads talking about ancient sea curses. Down here, it was just my boat mates and me, so unless the little kid behind me was some mini stalker, I reasoned that I was pretty safe. I sat back and tried to enjoy the ride. Though I would never admit it to Aunt Sue, it was actually one of my favorites, too. It was cool down here, the scenes were flashy, and it even had kind of a catchy tune. I almost started singing along when we got to the piles of gold and pirates singing, “yo ho,” on top of their barrels of rum.
Almost.
That is until I heard a sound that made my heart stop. A Tupperware lid burping open.
I leaned forward in my seat. “What are you doing?” I whispered to Aunt Sue.
She turned around and gave me the big innocent cow eyes. “Nothing.”
“I heard you pop the top on Mrs. C.”
Again with the innocent act, complete with eyelash fluttering this time.
“I thought we had a plan,” I hissed. “Remember the soda cup? Small World?”
Millie leaned in, joining in our whispered conversation. “Hattie loved this ride. I think she’d like a little of her to be here, too.”
“Do not, I repeat, do not, dump Mrs. Carmichael into the Pirates of the Caribbean waters!”
“Relax,” Aunt Millie told me. Which was so impossible at this point that it was almost laughable. “It’s dark. Who’s gonna see us?”
Cal had been silently listening to the exchange until now, but he leaned forward, poking Millie in the shoulder. Then pointed up to a skeleton head mounted on the ceiling with red, glowing eyes.
“Security cameras,” he explained.
Aunt Sue guiltily clutched her tote bag closed.
“This whole place is wired. You’re being watched by at least two security guards at all times on this ride.”
I looked up at the glowing eyes. “How can you tell?”
“Trust me. I know security. You’re being watched.” He pointed to a particularly shiny jewel in a pile of pirate booty. “There’s another one.”
I squinted at it, half thinking he might be bluffing. Not that I was going to call him out. If it kept the aunts from tossing Mrs. C’s remains overboard, I was all for it.
We made it through the rest of the ride without incident (unless you counted the kid in back of me whimpering as we passed through the burned-out pirate town—which, I didn’t) and exited back into the blinding sunshine of day.
“Not to put a damper on anyone’s plans,” I said, navigating the streets of New Orleans Square back to the main thoroughfare, “but if Pirates has security cameras, doesn’t it stand to reason that Small World will, too?”
“One step ahead of you, peanut,” Aunt Sue responded. “We already checked.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “How did you check?”
“Hidden Mickeys dot org,” Millie piped up.
“Hidden what?”
“Hidden Mickeys. See, Walt Disney had a bunch of likenesses of Mickey Mouse hidden all over the park, and it’s a game people play to try to find them all.”
I gave her a blank stare.
“Anyway,” she said, waving me off, “this website is the foremost authority on all things Disneyland. We checked. There are no security cameras, lasers, or any other sort of devices inside the Small World ride.”
“Apparently singing dolls don’t make people frisky the way pirates do,” Aunt Sue said, elbowing me in the ribs and waggling her painted on eyebrows up and down.
“There is a rumor,” Aunt Millie went on, “that there’s some sort of guard tower hidden in the ride, and employees can watch you from up there, but it’s unsubstantiated. And besides, it’s gotta be a real pain to climb down from it. I’m thinking no one’s gonna bother for a couple of old broads dumping their Coke into the water, right?”
For all our sakes, I hoped so.
“Great. Fine. Dandy. Let’s go ride Small World then.”
“You think I could get a pair of those mouse ears while we’re here?” Aunt Sue asked, watching a little girl in pink ones walk past. “I want my name embroidered on the back in gold.”
“I’m hungry,” Aunt Millie said, eyeing the Bengal Barbecue down the walkway.
I looked from her three-inch bifocals to the restaurant. “How can you even see that? It’s like fifty yards away?”
She gave me a blank stare.
“No, no stops. We’re on a mission,” I said, shaking my head.
“But I’m hungry,” she moaned. “My doctor says I have to be very careful about keeping my blood sugar levels even.”
I crossed my arms over my chest.
“And Sue has to take her heart medication. She can’t do that on an empty stomach.” Millie’s magnified eyes blinked innocently up at me.
I threw my hands up. “Fine! We’ll go eat.”
“Oh,” Aunt Sue piped up, “and after we eat, can we get mouse ears? I’d love some with my name embroidered in gold.”
I thought I heard Cal snicker behind me, but he had the good sense to put a poker face in place by the time I turned around.
Reluctantly, I led the gruesome twosome to the barbecue and ordered them both chicken on a stick and pineapple coolers. By the time they’d finished the last of their meals, the crowds were beginning to pick up - families in every shape and size wearing sneakers, cargo shorts, and pasty white legs that had yet to see the California sunshine walked past. Mixed in with packs of teenagers, honeymooning couples, and groups of overseas tourists that snapped photos of anything that stood still.
I didn’t like it.
The more people who jammed the walkways, the smaller my chances of spotting my stalker before he spotted me. The crowd made me feel antsy, exposed. And I was more anxious than ever to get this done and get out of here. Preferably back to somewhere Cal could carry his gun ag
ain.
I could tell Cal felt the same way. During the meal he barely spoke a word, his body rigid as if ready to jump at the slightest provocation, his eyes relentlessly scanning the crowd. Which should have made me feel better, but the tenser he got, the tenser I got. And the more I just wanted to get the hell out of there.
“There,” I said, pointing to a vendor’s booth, as the aunts wiped their fingers on a paper napkin. “Soda bottles. Let’s go.” I jumped in line and purchased a large, plastic souvenir Buzz Lightyear soda bottle with a sparkly purple shoulder strap and handed it to Aunt Sue.
“Go put Mrs. C in this,” I told her.
Aunt Sue gave the bottle a once over. “I’m not sure Hattie was a Toy Story fan.”
“Just do it!” I shouted, my nerves frazzled to their breaking point.
Luckily, Aunt Sue recognized a woman on the edge when she saw one and scuttled off to the ladies’ room to transfer our passenger. Ten minutes later she came out, the bottle slung over her shoulder and a grin of triumph on her face.
I glanced down at Buzz Lightyear. “She in there?”
Aunt Sue nodded and gave me a wink.
“Good. Let’s get this over with,” I said, leading the way toward the Small World castle.
“Oh, look!” Aunt Millie said as we exited Adventure Land, “The Enchanted Tiki Room. Can we-”
“Not on your life,” I yelled, cutting her off.
She snapped her mouth shut. “Killjoy.”
I ignored her, instead navigating around a line of kids waiting to have their picture taken with Cinderella, and skirted the Sleeping Beauty Castle, pressing through Fantasyland, which, at this time of day, was bumper to bumper strollers. I pushed my way through, only getting dinged in the heel twice.
We reached the Small World ride just as the big moon-face guy and cuckoo clock people with their drums and cymbals were chiming the hour. We hopped in line, winding our way through a maze of ropes and shrubbery trimmed to look like zoo animals until we reached our boats.
The last time I’d been here the ride had been shut down for refurbishment. When I’d asked why, I was told that they had to dig a deeper moat. When Walt Disney had first opened the ride, it was built to accommodate six average-sized men. Well, the size of your average American has almost doubled since then, and the weight of our fatter selves meant that the boats frequently bottomed out, getting stuck along the narrow canals. Every time this happened, the ride had to be shut down and the larger persons had to be escorted off the ride in a flurry of apologies and embarrassment. Consequently, the ride had been shut down to outfit it with deeper canals and new boats that were designed to hold guests of every size.
Hollywood Scandals Page 20
