by Sam Cameron
“Who was the guy she was with?”
“I don’t know. He wasn’t a celebrity or anything.”
Karen Francine had very specifically said that Liam and Juliet went to dinner at Angelo’s the night before she disappeared. Now that busboy at Angelo’s and Lina had both said otherwise. Either Karen was wrong or she’d been flat-out lying. Robin swallowed more coffee, hoping the bitter taste would distract her from the disappointment blooming in her gut.
Toni emerged from her bedroom wearing a green sundress and a wispy green scarf around her neck. She turned to the side and cupped her padded bra. “Do my boobs look even?”
“Perfectly balanced,” Lina said. “Gorgeous.”
Toni gave her a kiss for the compliment. A long, drawn-out, mouth-to-mouth kiss, which answered Robin’s unvoiced questions about her orientation. Though she was surprised at Lina, who’d never before indicated she liked anyone but biological girls. Not as if they’d ever discussed it, though. Robin looked away from the kiss at Millie, who was daintily licking one paw and flicking her tail.
“You’re still not dressed,” Toni said to Lina.
“The pest control guys like my bathrobe,” Lina replied cheekily. “Hey, do you have the number for your friend Melanie? The girl who just started working with me?”
Toni dug into the closet for a pair of sandals. Her legs were clean-shaven, her toenails bright red.
“I don’t know. She’s always changing it. Why?”
“She waited on Juliet Francine the other night. Robin’s a big fan.”
“You’re not a celebrity stalker, are you?” Toni asked.
“Absolutely not.” Robin figured neither Lina nor Toni needed to know about her crawling through the bushes at the Truman House. “It’s for a project I’m doing about how media distorts our perceptions.”
A knock on the door announced the arrival of the pest guys, who wore uniforms and shoulder packs in a way that reminded Robin of Ghostbusters. Lina used her charm to buy a ten-minute reprieve and rushed off to get dressed. Toni was ready to go to work at a time-share company near Duval Street. Robin grabbed her backpack and walked Toni down to the parking lot while Toni looked for her friend’s number on her phone.
The parking lot was unremarkable under the hot morning sun except for the fact Robin’s car was missing. Gone. Utterly disappeared.
She gaped at the empty grass.
“I saw them towing cars this morning,” Toni said sympathetically. “Look, there’s the sign.”
“That wasn’t there last night,” Robin insisted, glaring at the pole and metal plate that warned about parking violations.
Toni keyed open her own car, an ancient blue Toyota that looked like it was more rust than steel. “The impound yard’s on my way to work. Come on, I’ll drop you off.”
Robin asked skeptically, “Does this thing even work?”
“Sure. Except for the air conditioning and fifth gear, and the brakes are pretty soft.” Toni slid behind the wheel. “My very own Conch cruiser. Hop in.”
The Toyota smelled like fresh pineapple, thanks to one of those poison-filled cardboard trees hanging from the rearview mirror. But it was otherwise a mess, filled with water bottles and flyers and time-share brochures. Robin threw her backpack into the backseat and cleared the passenger seat. Toni rolled down her window.
“If I bought something better I couldn’t pay for the HRT,” she said.
Robin buckled her seatbelt. “What’s HRT?”
“Hormone replacement therapy.” Toni pulled out of the lot and turned onto South Roosevelt Boulevard, where the morning traffic was light. “I’ve got to pay for it all myself.”
Robin asked, “Expensive?”
“Ain’t cheap,” Toni replied. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’re looking a little more butch these days.”
Robin tried not to get annoyed. “I don’t like labels.”
They passed the Key West International Airport and Smathers Beach. Robin wasn’t sure how it was possible, but it seemed like even more resort complexes had sprung up in the last few months. Soon they’d overrun the island and move out onto stilts in the ocean. Which would actually work in a global-warming scenario, but Key West was already too damned crowded.
“Why do you want to talk to Melanie?” Toni asked. “Don’t tell me it’s for some school project. School’s out.”
“I have a website and YouTube channel,” Robin said. And Facebook pages, Tumblr, Twitter, Pinboard, LinkedIn, Vmeo, and Instagram. A girl had to stay connected these days.
“So how does that tie to Juliet Francine?”
Robin pulled out her phone and started to check her favorite websites. “That’s more for a friend of Juliet’s. She’s worried about her. I said I’d help.”
“You know a friend of Juliet’s?” Toni asked skeptically. “I think you’re better off sticking to the giddy fan routine.”
“No, I really do,” Robin insisted.
Toni peeked at herself in the rearview mirror and applied lip gloss. “It’s okay to be infatuated. I used to have crushes all the time when I was your age.”
“You’re not that much older,” Robin pointed out in annoyance.
“As Indiana Jones said, it’s not the years.” Toni wagged her eyebrows. “It’s the mileage, baby.”
Robin stared at her. “You’re really a lot different than you were in high school.”
The boulevard ended and turned into the island. Toni said, “I was miserable in high school. I would have thrown myself off the roof, but it was too low. I kept trying to steal my aunt’s estrogen pills, but she’d lock them up.”
“How long did you know you wanted to be a girl?” Robin asked.
“Since forever.” Toni turned left and drummed her pink fingernails on the steering wheel. “Ask my psychiatrists.”
Robin didn’t want to ask about that. It was too personal, and she didn’t want to know the gritty details. She tapped on her phone again.
“I’m not lying about Juliet Francine,” Robin said. “We’re trying to help her.”
Toni shrugged. “Whatever you say. But I don’t think Melanie can tell you much. She’s kind of scatterbrained. I helped her get that job at Lina’s place, but it won’t last. It never lasts.”
“Then why do you keep helping her?” Robin asked.
“What else am I going to do?” Toni asked. “She’s a friend.”
Robin glanced down at Monica Mell’s website. It had been updated: Juliet’s stomach flu isn’t going over well with worried studio heads. With several crucial scenes remaining, they’re thinking of replacing her. Save Juliet! Sign the online petition now!
“That’s not fair,” Robin said aloud.
“What’s not?”
“Getting fired for reasons beyond your control.”
“Happens to me all the time,” Toni said and pulled to a stop. They were in a mostly residential neighborhood of small Conch houses and bungalows. Across the street was an old coffee mill with tin walls and red shutters. It was the dojo for Conch Nation Martial Arts. Denny and Steven Anderson studied karate there. Robin thought karate was too patriarchal and hierarchical. During the off hours, the old mill was used for dance, yoga, and other classes. Through the large open windows, Robin could see women stretching their bare arms toward the ceiling.
“I don’t see the impound lot,” Robin said.
Toni gestured toward an apartment building on the corner. “Melanie lives there. We might as well stop by. She owes me money.”
They left the Toyota unlocked. Yoga music floated on the breeze as they approached the two-story blue house, which had a fenced-in yard and a second-floor porch. The place looked ramshackle, but the yard was well tended and the mailboxes were all neatly lettered.
“Melanie Love-Sweet,” Toni said, tapping her friend’s nameplate. She rang the doorbell. “And that’s not even a porn name.”
From high above them came the sound of breaking glass. Robi
n stepped back, shaded her eyes, and saw a man climbing past a broken window and out onto a fire escape.
“Help!” yelled the woman who appeared in the window behind him. She was blond, frantic, and bleeding from a cut on her forehead. “Stop him!”
Chapter Nine
“Call the police,” Robin told Toni as she dashed around the building.
The thief swung down from the fire escape into the back alley and started to vault over a white picket fence. He got one foot over the side before a dog started barking ferociously. Robin stopped several feet away to watch. The thief was dark-haired with burly shoulders and tattooed arms. He was maybe only twenty-one or twenty-two years old, and deeply tanned under his shorts and T-shirt.
She took her phone and snapped a picture.
“Hey, buddy,” she said. “There’s a pit bull over there.”
He paused at the top of the fence and glared at her. Robin knew that pit bulls had an undeservedly bad reputation. Most of them were sweet, well-behaved family dogs. But incompetent owners and despicable dog trainers had tainted the image of the whole breed.
She snapped his picture again.
“You better delete that, or I’ll make you eat that phone,” he said.
Robin clicked again. He started to climb down as if to come after her, but then Toni appeared at Robin’s elbow.
“Cops are on their way,” she said. “Who’s this creep?”
The thief changed course and dropped over the other side of the fence, exactly where the dog was. Snarls and yaps followed the sound of his running footsteps. She tried peering over the fence slats, but it was too high.
Toni said, “Let’s go see Melanie.”
The door to Melanie’s apartment was open. Melanie had a wet tea towel pressed to her forehead and was yelling at someone over her phone. “And then he grabbed it! Ripped it right out of my hand!”
Toni knocked on the door. “Are you okay?”
Melanie stared at them and hung up her call. “What are you doing here, Toni?”
“Doesn’t matter. Did he hurt you?”
Melanie slumped on her futon sofa. The cluttered studio apartment was a lot smaller than Toni and Lina’s condo, with cheaper furniture and sloppy piles of clothing everywhere. Robin could see dirty dishes in the kitchen sink and a cat litter box that needed changing, but no cat. Melanie was wearing tiny pink shorts and a flimsy top that barely covered her creamy white breasts. If she ever did decide to be a porn star, Robin would definitely watch the videos.
“He pushed me and I hit my head,” Melanie complained. “That’s what you get for doing a good deed.”
Toni sat on the coffee table. “What good deed?”
“Guy left his phone at the restaurant on Sunday. He came to pick it up. Promised me a reward and then got all pissy about it.” Melanie lifted the tea towel. “Do you think this will scar?”
Robin asked, “Sunday night? Was he with Juliet Francine?”
Melanie asked, “Who are you?”
Toni patted Melanie’s knee. “Just a friend. What’s the creep’s name?”
Melanie’s gaze shifted back to Toni. “I don’t know. Bob something. I don’t know. Bob the Jerk.”
Robin thought Melanie was lying. Maybe not about all of it, but definitely some. “He left his phone on Sunday night but didn’t come to pick it up until three days later?”
“You sound like my mother,” Melanie sniffed. “I had to call around his contacts to reach him. He promised me a hundred bucks.”
Toni said, “That’s pretty dumb. You can I.D. him to the cops. Doesn’t seem worth it for a phone.”
Footsteps in the stairwell made Robin turn. Officer Michelle Boyle was in uniform today, complete with a gun and handcuffs on her belt. She glanced past Robin into the apartment and Robin was both glad and disappointed that Boyle didn’t seem to recognize her.
But Boyle obviously recognized Toni, because she greeted her by name. “Hi, Toni. Someone call the police?”
“Hi, Michelle,” Toni said. “This is Melanie. She was robbed.”
Melanie said to Toni, “Is there anyone you don’t know on this island?”
“Her girlfriend does my hair,” Toni said.
Once Boyle had figured out who was the victim and who were the witnesses, she asked Robin and Toni to wait downstairs while she took Melanie’s statement. The yoga class was ending, so at least they had pretty women to watch. Toni kept checking the time.
“I’m so late for work,” she said.
Robin studied the picture of the thief on the phone. “Does her story make sense to you? That some guy would promise the reward and then renege? And she doesn’t know his name?”
Toni sighed. She kicked the wooden step they were sitting on. “The thing about Melanie is that she has sticky fingers sometimes.”
“You think she stole it?” Robin asked.
“Sssh,” Toni said. “Don’t tell Michelle. I don’t know if she did or not. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Robin tried to sound casual. “What about her? Michelle? She a good friend?”
“She’s got a girlfriend.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Robin said quickly.
Toni smiled. “Yeah, sure it wasn’t. Like I said. Girlfriend. Best hairdresser from Cuba to Miami. You don’t want to mess with her. Michelle, though? Sweetheart under that steel exterior. She served in the army in Afghanistan. Got a medal.”
Robin knew the part about Afghanistan. She’d found it online. Local girl returns from war as a decorated hero, gets job with police force. She was only twenty-four years old, and the picture in the news article had showed her somber and unsmiling. Robin also knew that she had done well in track and field in Key West High School, but had not gone to college.
“You got a girl somewhere?” Toni asked.
“Not exactly,” Robin admitted.
“You will.” Toni sounded confident. “When it’s the right place and right time, you’ll meet the right person.”
Robin felt her temper flare. The last thing she need was romantic advice or platitudes, and what did Toni know about it, anyway? She watched the yoga studio until Officer Boyle came down the stairs.
“Okay, your turn,” Boyle said, notebook out. Robin was struck again by how attractive she was, especially in her snug uniform that showed off her narrow waist and long legs.
“Is Melanie okay?” Toni asked.
“She’s refusing medical attention,” Boyle said. “She’ll be fine. Tell me what happened.”
Robin went first. She had to give her name and address and show her driver’s license. Boyle didn’t ask what a girl from Fisher Key was doing in Key West so early on a Wednesday morning. She was very keenly interested in Robin’s cell phone pictures, however, and waited while Robin forwarded them to her official e-mail. Toni’s part of the story was much shorter. She said nothing about Melanie maybe having stolen the phone and then trying to resell it to its owner.
When she shut her notebook, Boyle said, “Thanks for your help, ladies.”
“I’m so horribly late for work that I can’t stand it,” Toni said. “Can you take Robin to the impound lot? Her car got towed.”
Boyle said, “Sure. A police car is just like a taxicab.”
Maybe she was trying to be funny, but Toni took her seriously.
“Love you,” Toni said, blowing air kisses, and rushed off to her Toyota.
“Wait!” Robin called after her. “My backpack.”
Once she got her stuff from Toni’s backseat, Robin hesitated. She’d never been in a squad car before. She wasn’t sure whether to sit in the back or the front. Boyle said, “The front smells better,” and that settled it.
“Thanks for the ride,” Robin said. “I appreciate it.”
Boyle’s gaze was on the street as she pulled out. “How goes the quest to get Juliet Francine’s autograph?”
Robin felt her face flush. “So you remember.”
“Hard to forget,” Boyle said.
>
“I’m not some psycho stalker fangirl,” Robin said.
“That’s what all the psycho stalker fangirls say,” Boyle said, straight-faced. “I heard she was sick with the stomach flu.”
“I heard that, too.”
“You won’t get her autograph if she’s holed up in her room. Seems like a long way to drive for nothing.”
Robin didn’t know what to say to that. Was Boyle questioning her as some kind of suspect? Did she need a lawyer?
“I went to high school with Toni,” she offered. “Back when she was a guy.”
“Toni was a man?” Boyle asked.
“You didn’t know?” Robin asked, crestfallen. She shouldn’t have said anything. Then she saw Boyle’s smile.
Robin sighed. “I must have a gullible face.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Boyle said.
That almost sounded like a compliment. Maybe Boyle was flirting with her. Robin glanced at the traffic on North Roosevelt Boulevard, which was thick with tourists, tour buses, and harried locals. She hated this part of town. It was just one ugly strip mall after the other, commercial development gone wild.
Boyle drove with her attention split between the road and the other cars, professionally scanning for potential problems. “Are you still in high school?”
“No, I’m going to UM this fall,” Robin said. “Electronic media studies.”
“What does that mean?”
“Television, radio, film—making it, distributing it, everything. I already do a lot of that, but this’ll be more official. And harder.”
Boyle asked, “Is that why you’re so interested in Juliet Francine?”
Robin cleared her throat. “Sure.”
“I don’t think a movie star is worth an arrest record,” Boyle said mildly.
“There’s no one you’d get arrested for?”
Boyle didn’t answer for a moment. Robin wondered if she was thinking about her girlfriend—the fierce hairdresser, or some of the soldiers she’d served with in Afghanistan.
“Not someone I didn’t know,” Boyle finally said. “My experience is that famous people aren’t who you think they are, once you get the chance to actually know them.”
“Maybe they’re even better in real life,” Robin proposed. “Maybe they get a bad reputation and deserve a chance to prove it wrong.”
