by Cindy Brown
I was going dumpster diving.
Chapter 60
A Noble and Generous Heart
Wow. I’d never thought about how many dumpsters a place like the Hotel La Fuente might have. Or how big those dumpsters were. Or how they might be located in dark alleys that silly girls shouldn’t be frequenting by themselves after dark.
Three figures crept closer to me in the darkness. Like the witches from Macbeth, they seemed made of shadows and bad intent. I backed toward the mouth of the alley and the streetlight there.
“Where are you going?” said a voice behind me.
So there were four of them. If this were Macbeth, the fourth would be Hecate, who was sort of the goddess in charge of witches. Not good.
“I wanted to look through the trash.”
“That’s our territory.” One of the figures stepped into the light. He was thin with dirty dreadlocked hair.
“Why do you want to look through the trash?” said the voice behind me.
I wanted to see who it was but was afraid to turn my back on the other three.
“My friend Candy is missing, and I think she might be...hiding in the hotel.”
“Are you talking about that Moon woman?” The second figure, a short woman with a black bandana around her head, approached me. “Your friend, huh? Everyone’s looking for her.”
“No, really. I’m her best friend.” I pulled up the Mexico photo and held out my phone to show them. Someone leapt out of the shadows and grabbed my phone. Smart, Ivy.
“That does sort of look like her.” The man who held my phone, the third witch, wore a dirty gray t-shirt and pants held up with a length of rope.
“Where did you see her picture?” Dreadlocks asked Dirty T-shirt.
“On the TV over at Tom’s.”
“Tom let you watch TV in his place without buying a drink?” Dreadlocks moved closer to the guy.
“Yeah,” said the short woman. “Where you’d get money for a drink?”
“Ladies and gentlemen.” The person behind me joined the first three. She was a tall, straight-backed black woman with an air of authority. “Let me see the photo, Freddy.”
Freddy/Dirty T-shirt handed my phone to her. She examined the photo, then looked at me. “Would you like to make a deal?”
I really needed that phone. “Yeah.”
The woman handed it back to me. Guess she wasn’t Hecate. “Have you sold this photo?” she asked.
“What?”
“Sold it. To the media.”
“Uh...no.”
“Well, then.” She pulled an iPhone out of her pocket. She saw me looking at it. “Don’t ask.” Even in my sorry state I wasn’t that stupid. “So,” she said, “send that photo to me at 602-555-0109.”
“Okay.” I did it. I didn’t ask what I would get out of the deal. Maybe I’d just get out.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Ivy Meadows.”
Dreadlocks sniggered.
“It’s a stage name,” I said. “It’s meant to be memorable. Bet you won’t forget it.”
“Ha, she’s right.” The short woman poked him.
“What happens now?” I said.
“Now,” said the group’s leader, “we help look for your friend’s trash.”
Good thing I had their help. I would have never been able to go through all of the dumpsters on my own before Logan was ready to go.
“Freddy, you and I will take the recycle bins,” said Hecate. “Let’s look for any paper that has Candy or Candace or Moon on it.”
“Or Arrestadt or Babette,” I said. “But don’t worry about newspapers or magazines.”
“Can I keep the soda cans, Mama T?” asked Freddy.
“Of course,” Hecate/Mama T replied. “And Sissy, you and KJ take the trash. What should they look for?”
Wow. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Um...”
“She wear a certain kind of makeup?”
I shook my head. I didn’t know anymore.
“Take special medication?”
I shook my head again. If the blue pills had a name, I didn’t know what it was.
“Any snacks she likes?”
“Yes! MoonPies.”
“MoonPies.” I swear Mama T’s eyes got misty. “Loved me some MoonPies when I was little.”
We all searched for more than twenty minutes, me and Mama T using our cell phone flashlights when anyone thought they might have something. And then someone did.
“MoonPie!” shouted KJ. “I win.”
“No chance there’s a MoonPie in that wrapper?” asked Mama T.
“Just the wrapper,” he said. But it was enough. Candy, whose official room was at the Courtyard Marriot, had been staying at the Hotel La Fuente.
My enthusiasm only lasted a few minutes. The wrapper was a good sign, but not a certain one. Maybe the hotel shared dumpsters with the theater. Or maybe Candy and her MoonPies had been in Arrestadt’s room before she disappeared. I couldn’t check out the trash schedule right then, but I could try something else.
I slipped inside the Hotel La Fuente and took the stairs up to the fourth floor. I checked the hallway. No one around. I crept up to the door for Room 427, put my ear to the door, and listened. Was that the murmur of voices, or just the TV? Hard to tell. I turned around and tried listening with my other ear—which is why I didn’t see the elevator doors open.
“Hey, whatcha doin’?” said a big guy with a buzz cut. I backed away from the door, smiling, hands up—a nothing-to-see-here pose. He looked me up and down. “Hey, do I know you?”
I shook my head.
“She’s being very quiet,” said one of his friends. There were four of them, all with that red-faced cheer that comes from a night on the town. “Are you a spy?” he asked me. They all laughed uproariously.
“She’s not,” said the first guy, pulling out his phone. “I think I’ve seen her before.”
I turned toward the stairway, and escape.
“I got it!” he shouted after me. He held up his phone. “You’re that Candace Moon’s sister.”
I yanked open the door to the stairwell and ducked inside—but not before hearing a hotel-room door open behind me.
Chapter 61
A Horrible Day
“I’m just calling to tell you I’m not speaking to you.”
“What?” It was nine o’clock on Saturday morning, which meant I wasn’t really awake. “Cody?” I croaked. Great, the garlic cure had worn off too.
“You are so mean.” He hung up.
I speed-dialed the landline at Cody’s group home. Someone finally picked up. “Hello?”
“Hi, this is Olive-y—Ivy.” It seemed wrong to use Cody’s pet name for me when he was so mad. “Could I speak to Cody? Aflecchh!”
“He’s gone to work.” I recognized Stu’s voice. “And God bless you. But I’m mad at you too.” He hung up.
I redialed, but the phone just rang and rang. Stu was probably guarding it. I pulled up Cody’s texts and tried his new number. “Hi, this is Cody,” said his voicemail. “Leave me a message. If you want to hire me as a model, please call Essence Talent Agency.” Dang, he was really invested in this.
I called Sarah. “Hello?” she said.
“Sarah, it’s Ivy. I just got a call from Cody.”
“He’s really mad at you.”
“I know.”
“They canceled his contract. Because of what you did.” Her voice broke. “He’s mad at me too. He said if I hadn’t told you...”
“Sarah,” I said firmly, “Cody can be mad at me, but not at you. You did nothing wrong. That so-called talent agency, they’re the ones in the wrong.”
“I know.” She hiccupped a little, trying not to cry.
“That’s why they ga
ve Cody his money back. They knew they did something wrong.”
“But they didn’t. They didn’t give him all his money back.”
“What? They canceled his contract but they kept his money?”
“They kept two thousand dollars. They said it was a deposit. It’s in his contract.” Sarah began to cry in earnest. “Now he doesn’t have two thousand dollars or a modeling agent. And he is so mad.”
The phone rang while I was in the shower breathing out rage and breathing in steam and trying to rinse off the garlic smell that still clung to me. I scrambled out of the tub/shower combo, still wet and with soap in my eyes. Which is why I ended up on the floor. I stayed there for a moment, then picked up the phone. “Hello? Cody?”
“Good morning, Ivy. Sorry it’s not Cody. Were you expecting a call?” It was Arrestadt.
I got up and sat on the toilet seat. “Kind of. Cody’s my brother.” It felt weird talking to Arrestadt naked, so I got up and wrapped a towel around me.
“Any news about Candy?”
Sure, I think she’s in your hotel, probably in your hotel room. “No,” I said out loud. I wasn’t sure what to do with my new info just yet.
Arrestadt sighed. “Well, I want you to keep looking.” It sounded like the job wasn’t as important to him anymore. Probably because he knew she was safe.
Still, I tested him. “Because she’s in danger from the killer?”
“Do you think she is?” He threw the question back at me.
“No,” I admitted. “I think she’s holed up somewhere.” That was true.
“Me too. But I do want you to keep looking. Her...health wasn’t great.”
Omigod, how did I forget about that? Was Candy still popping blue pills or purging her meals?
“Though I’m sure she’ll come to her senses pretty soon.”
Was he trying to tell me not to worry? I almost asked him straight out. Instead I said, “Kaflech! Sorry about that.” I grabbed a piece of toilet paper and wiped off my phone.
“It’s okay. It sort of brings me to what I really wanted to talk about...You know that The Wizard moves on to Tucson next week...”
“Right.”
“Well...”
I was pretty sure what he would say next.
“You won’t be moving on with it. We’re not going to keep you on as understudy.”
Yep. That was it.
“We want you to do the show tonight, of course, but the woman who played Glinda in the off-off-Broadway production is available. We’ll sub her in in Tucson. If Candy comes back to the tour to play Glinda, our new understudy will step in for Eden.” Arrestadt sighed. “I’m sorry, Ivy. I saw both of your performances. I know you’ve been sick during this run, but...”
“Yeah.” He didn’t have to say anymore. “Thanks for giving me a chance.”
Chapter 62
Very Weary, Very Low-Spirited and Very Sad
There were so many reasons why I felt depressed: I wasn’t offered the touring gig, I hadn’t found Candy, I’d pissed off Matt and Cody, and I still had this stupid cold. I decided to make coffee—that always helped. And the thought of it did make me feel better until…“Kaflooey!” I sneezed all over an entire French Press worth of ground coffee. Dang. Should I throw it out? Coffee was expensive.
Nah. I poured boiling water over it. That’d sterilize it.
I really thought I’d be over this cold by now. The raw garlic had worked last night, but I didn’t think I could stand being in the same room with myself if I ate another clove. And I really shouldn’t subject the rest of the cast to that if I could help it. Eden had mentioned another home remedy. I searched through my cupboards while the coffee brewed: several cans of beans (I loved beans); a box of mac and cheese; a tin of anchovies—to put on my half of any pizza I had with Matt; some mesquite honey; and aha: apple cider vinegar. I sometimes made coleslaw with it. Eden said to take two tablespoons. I’d do it after coffee.
I poured myself a cup, then sat down on the couch with my phone. I called Bette first. I got her voicemail, which didn’t surprise me. After all, cell reception in Rocky Point wasn’t the greatest, plus she was on a romantic vacation with my uncle on Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s Day. I suddenly regretted calling Bette before Matt, but went ahead and left the message I’d intended to. I was pretty sure she’d hop right on the issue, being an investigative journalist and all.
Now, Matt. I’d texted him a few times since our argument. He’d responded, but I couldn’t tell if he was still mad. I needed to hear his voice. I dialed him. “Good morning, my valentine,” I said.
“Good morning.”
No pet names, no “Happy Valentine’s Day.” Still mad. “Listen, I am really sorry about not telling you about the tour. And you’ll be happy to know I’m not going.”
“Why not?” Matt asked. The connection was bad, crackly. “Didn’t they give you the contract?”
“No. But I’m not sure I would have taken it anyway.” Was that true? I didn’t know.
“Right.” Matt’s voice was curt—or was that just the phone line? It didn’t matter. I knew I’d screwed up royally. “We can talk about this later,” he said. “The reception’s not great up here.”
“Up where? Where are you?” It came out as a wail. I couldn’t help it.
“At Jesse’s cabin, outside of Payson.”
Payson was a small town far enough north of Phoenix that there were pine trees. Jesse was...I didn’t know who Jesse was.
“I’ll call you Sunday night when we get back,” Matt said.
Cody was mad at me. Matt was mad at me. I hadn’t found my friend, and I’d embarrassed myself as an actor.
And I thought things couldn’t get worse.
“Aiyaaah!” I yelled to no one in my empty apartment. “Ow, ow, ow.” Dang, that apple cider vinegar burned going down. Lots. “Aiyaaaah!” I yelled again. Not only did the vinegar sting going down, but I’d had a cup of coffee beforehand, which was not nearly enough caffeine for the morning, but was way too much when mixed with poison (okay, vinegar) in my stomach. Maybe if I put something else in my stomach...I found some cottage cheese in the fridge. It was just four days past the “sell by” date and looked okay, so I chanced it.
An hour later I was still very unhappy. Was Eden trying to kill me or something? Wait, was she? Nah, vinegar couldn’t kill you. I didn’t think. I googled it on my laptop while I put in a call to Eden: “I’m dying here. From that apple cider vinegar cure. My throat and my gut are killing me.”
“That’s strange, it never bothers me,” she said. “Did you take it like I said?”
“Yeah, I took two tablespoons...” Oh. My Google search told me what I suspected Eden would say next.
“Did you dilute it with water?”
Yeah, that was it. “I kinda forgot that part. And I had coffee beforehand and cottage cheese afterward. Semi-old cottage cheese.”
“For a smart woman—”
“I know,” I said. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“If I were you, I’d stay home today. Relax in your PJs, maybe have some mint tea and crackers in an hour or two, then some real food later.”
Needless to say I didn’t have any mint tea, but I did have hot water and some Saltines from when a restaurant gave me four packs to go with my cup of chili. “Yeah, I think I will. Hey, could you do me a favor?” I asked. “Check my costume for me? It’d be great to get through a show without splitting open my spacesuit or losing my heel.”
A pause. “Sure. And I’ve got your magic panties for you. Sort of a going away present.”
“So you know I’m not going on with the tour.”
“Ivy,” she said gently, “I think we all knew.”
Chapter 63
The Truth Was Slow to Enter My Mind
I rarely took downtime. If I wasn’t wo
rking one of my jobs, I spent time with Matt or Cody or Uncle Bob or my friends. So I didn’t really know what do with myself. I tried to watch TV but kept thinking about The It Girl. Would someone else take over Babette’s show? If Candy turned up, would she still be on the show? I tried to read, but all I had were mysteries. I started several of them, but real-life mysteries kept taking center stage: Who killed Babette? Where was Candy? Were the two incidents connected?
Finally I gave up on the idea of mental rest. I could rest up physically for my show tonight—my shows tonight: I had the aerial dance gig at the Exotic Art Festival after The Wizard—and I could take this downtime to really think about Babette and Candy. I lay back on my couch and let my mind wander over the past week’s incidents.
Babette died of an overdose of Botox, sometime between the time I last saw her in her hotel room party on Wednesday night and the next day when they wheeled her out under a sheet. The police suspected foul play and had questioned me, Eden, Desirée, and Logan. I didn’t kill her, and I didn’t think any of the others would have been able to get back into Babette’s room to kill her. Candy was probably also a suspect if the police’s questions about her were any indication.
But Candy wouldn’t have done it. I just knew it. “No, Ivy,” I heard my uncle’s voice in my head, a mash-up of several conversations we’d had in the past. “You think that Candy wouldn’t have done it. You feel that Candy wouldn’t have done it. But you don’t know it. What do you know?”
Okay. I knew Candy was taking dangerous diet pills, probably supplied by Babette. I knew she had been in the spring room at some point. I knew she had seen Babette at the Taverna Real after her disappearance. I knew she had been at the hotel, and might still be there. Ah, I needed to follow up on that. I called the Hotel La Fuente. “I was meeting a friend there a few days ago,” I told the man who answered the phone. “And I’m pretty sure I inadvertently left a little ring in the ladies’ room—you know one of those plastic ones you get in a gumball machine?”
