Betsy Wickwire's Dirty Secret

by Vicki Grant

  Amy was standing in the hall. She kind of scared me.

  “Oh, hi,” I said. “Hope I’m not late. It’s just me today — Dolores is sick—so I’m a bit behind.”

  Amy smiled but it wasn’t very convincing. “No, you’re fine,” she said. “I’m just running out the door but I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to ask you a few things.” She straightened the magazines on the hall table. “This is so awkward.”

  I felt my face go red from the inside out. Something was really wrong. I had no idea what it could be. Then I did.

  I saw myself opening Amy’s bathroom drawer, going through her makeup, finding the pills. My scalp went prickly. I had to press my tongue against the roof of my mouth to keep from gulping.

  “Look, Betsy. I don’t want to be accusing anybody of anything, least of all you. I saw you on TV the other day and realized your dad is Dr. Wickwire, right? He looked after my mom when she was sick. He was so kind.”

  We both nodded like yeah, he’s a great guy.

  Amy turned away, took a breath, then turned back. “I’m just going to come right out and say it. You know those earrings of mine that are missing? Anyway, when I started looking I realized other stuff was gone too. Nothing that precious, but definitely missing. I’m a pretty organized person. It’s the type of thing I’d notice and, well … They disappeared after you two were here last.”

  I opened my mouth to speak but what could I possibly say? My fingerprints were all over everything. It would be one thing to find them on the furniture I was supposed to polish. It was another thing to find them in the drawers I had no business rooting through. Maybe that’s where she kept her earrings. Had she called the police? Would she call the police?

  Amy held up her hands. “We had a party that night. Lots of people were here. They were all personal friends, though, so it would be odd, you know, for one of them to take …” Her voice trailed off.

  We both stood there.

  “Your friend,” Amy said.

  I didn’t know what she was talking about. My friend? What friend? All I could think of was what my parents would do if they thought I’d been stealing from someone. How horrified they’d be.

  “Do you think she could have …?”

  Dolores. Amy meant Dolores. I actually sort of reared back a little, as if she’d slapped me or something. I shook my head. “No. No. Not Dolores. She wouldn’t …”

  “Oh! I’m sorry.” Amy put her hand on her throat. “I really am. I’m ashamed I even asked you. I’m just, well, beside myself about these earrings. They were my mother’s and she’s gone now and they really mean a lot to me. Sorry,” she said again.

  She reached out and touched my shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” She grabbed her gym bag and started toward the door. “I hope Dolores is feeling better soon.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I know you’re upset. It’s terrible when …”

  Amy waved at me to stop, made an attempt to smile and left.

  My heart and brain were racing so fast I couldn’t think. I cleaned instead.

  I ran up and down the stairs. I washed, I dusted, I tidied, I scoured and then I started to sob.

  I wasn’t exactly sure why I was crying. Because I was tired? Because I was worried about Dolores? Because I was angry that anyone would accuse Dolores—hard-working, generous Dolores—of stealing something?

  Or because I believed Dolores had done it?

  I looked at the list Amy had left me. Sorry, I wrote. I had to leave early to check on Dolores.

  I didn’t touch the money. I found the phone book and called The Flamingo. The guy who answered had an accent. He didn’t know who I meant when I asked for Murdoch.

  I said, “The dishwasher? The tall guy?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” the man said. “He not allowed personal phone calls.”

  I started to cry again and he got Murdoch for me.

  “Do you know where Dolores lives?” I said. I couldn’t believe it. We were friends. How could I not know where she lived?

  Murdoch had dropped her off a few times but didn’t know her exact address. He gave me the street name and said it was a beige house, right across from a convenience store. It had a sign out front that said The Morrises.

  “Are you worried about her?” he said.

  I couldn’t answer.

  “I wish I could help but I can’t. I’m the only dishwasher on and the place is packed.” “I’m fine. I’ve got to go.”

  I hung up and ran my finger down the list of Morrises until I found one on Edgewood. I dialed. The phone rang and rang until the message picked up. “Hi! You’ve reached the home of Murray, Marleen, Meghan and Mark. You know what to do!”

  I said, “Um …” and hung up. I couldn’t leave a message for a Meghan. And, anyway, what would I say? I didn’t want to alert her.

  Those were the exact words that popped into my head. Alert her. I didn’t like to think what I meant by that.

  I locked the door, put the key back and left. When I got to Tower Road, I flagged down a cab.

  Chapter 40

  I stood outside the little beige house across from the convenience store and tried to understand. This couldn’t be where Dolores was from. People with green hair and eclectic taste in movies don’t live in houses like this. The sign said The Morrises.

  I walked up to the front door and rang the bell. It sounded like Big Ben. When there was no answer, I rang again. I leaned over the railing and looked in the window. There was a television with a framed family portrait on top. I put my hands on either side of my face tod get a better look. I recognized the beige-haired girl as Meghan from Grade 10 drama.

  I turned and looked down the street. A man walked into the store but otherwise there was no one around. I flipped back the welcome mat with my foot. Just a chalky outline of dirt. Nothing in the mailbox either. I found the key under the flowerpot on the front step. It disappointed me.

  I rang the bell again just to be sure, then opened the door.

  “Hello?”

  I slipped off my flip-flops and took a few steps inside. I didn’t know what I was doing here or what I expected to find.

  The house was beige inside too and it smelled of—what? I sniffed. Clean. Mr. Clean kind of clean. Pine-scented clean. Hospital bathroom clean.

  The downstairs was small. Just a living room, a beige version of Frank’s kitchen, and what was obviously the parents’ bedroom off to the side.

  I went upstairs. The third step squeaked, just like at our house. Time froze—but nothing happened. I went up to the second floor.

  The two rooms were tucked under the eaves. I pushed open the door on the left. Mark’s bedroom. It had to be. I didn’t know Dolores very well—that was clear to me now—but I was pretty sure she wouldn’t have a Montreal Canadiens bedspread.

  I opened the door on the right.

  This was her room. Purple walls. Green vintage bedspread and curtains. A doorless closet squeezed full of clothes. A little white Value Village–type desk covered in neatly arranged tubes of makeup, jewellery boxes, and hair clips.

  I had that shimmery feeling again, or something like it. This was a sharper version, a special effect in a scary movie. The girl alone in the house. The sawing of violins on the soundtrack.

  I walked over to the desk. There was the compact Dolores had let Sarah use. It was silver with initials engraved in the top: NFB. I wondered if she’d got that at Value Village too.

  I pulled open the top drawer. Inside was a plastic organizer. There was a little silver bracelet in one compartment. It didn’t look like something Dolores would wear. There were some forks in another compartment. A gift card for Walmart. A couple of hairbands. And a phone.

  Dolores’s phone was pink. This one was brown. I picked it up and turned it on.

  It was Murdoch’s phone.

  The photo on the front was of him painting my face at the Festival.

  Dolores must have taken the photo.

  I flick
ed through the rest of the pictures. Quarry Lake. Sunnyside Mall. The Beach.

  There was something not right about these photos but I didn’t quite know what. I scrolled through them again. There was one of Dolores and, a little while later, another one of her by herself, but the rest …

  The rest were all of me.

  At first, I felt terrible—the way I’d felt when we were watching that Live at 5 segment—but then that went away and things started clicking into place. I remembered Dolores borrowing Murdoch’s phone at the Waterfront Festival.

  She must have seen all those pictures of me then.

  That’s why she’d said she had to go, right away, couldn’t wait.

  The next day at the beach, she’d told me Murdoch liked me.

  I tried to think it through. It was like my brain wanted to tell me something but didn’t speak the language well enough to explain. I was struggling to understand.

  I opened another drawer. There was an old photograph there. I picked it up. It was a picture of Frank and Marie.

  I looked at the compact again. NFB. Where had I seen those initials before?

  Nancy Something Burton. Mrs. Burton. The Senior Women’s Championship cup.

  I didn’t know where all the other stuff was from exactly, but suddenly I knew it was from our clients.

  I knew Dolores had taken Amy’s earrings. And I hated her for it.

  I put my hands over my face.

  My parents. This would be a nightmare for them. My grandmother. My friends. My teachers.

  The girls I’d played basketball with.

  The little kids I coached in soccer. Their parents. The people I used to babysit for. The people I used to work for. The people I used to work with.

  Nick and Carly.

  I had to find the earrings and sneak them back into Amy’s house. I had to stop this before it got out of control.

  I pulled open all the drawers. There were earrings, lots of earrings. My hand hovered over them as I tried to figure out which ones to take. I didn’t know what Amy’s earrings looked like. I couldn’t just dump a pile of earrings at her house.

  I had to find Dolores. Dolores would have to give me the earrings so I could return them to Amy.

  Where was she? I put my fist on her vanity and steadied myself.

  How was I ever going to find Dolores? I didn’t know anything about her except that she couldn’t swim. And that she was a thief.

  I glanced around the room, not really looking for anything, just trying to figure things out. I noticed the closet. Something about it made me uneasy. I didn’t know why. It was almost as if I expected to find her hiding in there.

  I walked over to it and started rifling through the hangers like I’d done at Value Village.

  I recognized a lot of the clothes—the square-dancing skirt she’d worn to Frank’s once, the ‘80s jumpsuit with the NFL shoulder pads—but most of it was new to me. Had she stolen this stuff too? I started really looking now, kind of studying each item, to make sure it didn’t belong to someone I knew. That’s probably the only reason I noticed the Ugandan Girl Guide uniform. It was just a navy blue shirt-dress with a couple of badges on it, but it stopped me.

  I stared at it for a couple of seconds, then I thought, Oh no. I was terrified before I fully knew why.

  I looked beside it, around it, behind it. What had Dolores said? Marilyn Monroe. Something about Marilyn Monroe.

  Black with polka dots.

  Purple.

  No, pink polka dots.

  I ripped through the closet. Nothing even close. She’d said it was right beside the Girl Guide uniform—she told us that specifically—but it wasn’t there.

  I ran downstairs. I ran back upstairs, grabbed Murdoch’s phone, and bolted out of the house. I threw the key under the flowerpot.

  How long do I have? I thought.

  Please, Dolores, I thought. Wait.

  Chapter 41

  The cab driver said, “Here? You want me to leave you here?” “Yes. Yes. Here. Just stop.”

  He pulled over to the side of the highway and I handed him a twenty. He said, “That’s too much,” but I was already out of the car by then.

  I darted across the highway. I heard the cab driver scream at me and a truck honking and brakes screeching but it was all just background noise. I jumped over the median and booted it to the other side.

  Pebbles got wedged in my sandals but I barely broke my stride. I only stopped once to ask a bunch of guys if they’d seen a girl with green hair and a black dress. They started making Addams Family jokes and I swore at them and kept going.

  I thought of calling Murdoch but he’d still be at work. I thought of calling 911 too, but that might make this real. I was still hoping I was wrong. I ran faster.

  Branches slapped me in the face and rocks scratched my legs and in a weird way I was sort of glad. I was mad at Dolores, but somehow I felt like I was to blame too. Like this should hurt me too.

  I ran down the path and over the spot where it was washed out and through the line of trees and down by the water and up the rock again—and there she was. In her black polka-dot dress.

  Lying on the rock.

  Not moving. Jut like she’d said she would be.

  I started to shake. Oh my god oh my god oh my god. I wanted Dad. I really wanted Dad. I closed my eyes and said something like a prayer.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I opened my eyes and Dolores was sitting up, staring at me. Her face was pale and grey and streaked black with mascara, like some cheap zombie get-up.

  “You’re okay. You’re okay.” That’s all I could say.

  “No, I’m not.”

  My head jerked up. “What? You didn’t … you didn’t, like, take anything, did you?”

  “Take anything?” Dolores laughed, all tough-girl again. “Depends on what you mean. Like a bottle of pills? Some rat poison? Sorry to disappoint you but no. I’m afraid I can’t even do that right. All we had at home was antacid pills and even I wasn’t prepared to burp myself to death.”

  I was breathing well enough to feel angry now. Who did she think she was, making jokes at a time like this?

  She put a finger to her cheek like she was running through her options. “I thought I’d maybe drown myself but, thanks to you, I can’t even do that any more. There was the risk I’d start to swim. Knives, of course, are gruesome and you’d get nothing for this dress at the consignment store if it had any bloodstains. Guns—same problem. Rope …”

  “What’s going on?” I said. I was sick of her pathetic need to shock.

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  I refused to play.

  She took that stupid look off her face and sneered at me. “Why are you even asking?”

  She had no right to talk to me that way. “You’re here,” she said. “I presume that means you know.”

  “No. I don’t know.” My insides were hissing with rage. I held up Murdoch’s phone. “What’s this?”

  She looked at it. She looked at me. “You … were in my room?”

  I shook the phone at her. “What is this? And why did you take Mrs. Burton’s compact? Why did you take Amy’s earrings? What else did you take?” Why did you screw everything up? Why did you ruin my life just as it was getting good again? That’s what I really wanted to know.

  Her lower jaw stuck out like a drawer you’d bang your ankle on. She was panting. Tears streamed down her face.

  “Why?” she shrieked. “Why shouldn’t I be able to have anything? Why should you get to have everything and I get nothing?”

  “What does this have to do with me?”

  She wiped her nose on her arm. A string of snot drooped from her face to her wrist. She saw it but she just let it hang there. “You get to be tall and beautiful and slim and rich and you get to have the cutest guy in school for two years and when that doesn’t work out you get to be a little bit slimmer and get the cutest guy not in school.”

  I was barely liste
ning. She was just talking garbage. “What does the fact that you stole people’s stuff have to do with me?”

  “You get everything! They get everything! The beautiful houses. The perfect families. Even just having enough money to pay some schmuck like me to clean for them. Why can’t I have something too?”

  I wanted to kill Dolores. She wasn’t making sense. She’d stolen stuff just because she thought she deserved it?

  “You’re a child,” I said.

  “Yeah, right. And you were really mature when Nick dumped you. Everyone knew what was going on but you wanted to play make-believe and skip around, la-di-da, like nothing was happening.”

  I was shocked by how much that hurt, but fine. I could be mean too. “At least I didn’t steal anything,” I said.

  “Murdoch’s nothing?”

  It was like she’d hit me.

  “You told me you didn’t want him! You told me you liked Jack Connolly!”

  “Jack who? … Oh, right. The goalie. How stupid are you anyway? I didn’t even know his name. Are you deaf, blind and stupid? Of course I wanted Murdoch.”

  This was so unfair. “So why didn’t you take him?”

  “Why? Because he obviously wanted you.”

  “That’s not my fault!”

  “Oh, sorry. I forgot. You can’t help being beautiful. You can’t help ruining things for me.”

  “I wouldn’t have had anything to do with him if you hadn’t said to go for it. You told me to go for it.”

  “Of course I did. Why would I even want him if he wanted you? Not all of us are masochists, you know.”

  She had no shame.

  Dolores turned away and swayed back and forth on the edge of the rock. She was destroying both our lives, but somehow it was my fault. I would have loved to just push her in the lake and be done with her. I leaned against a tree and looked at the sky. I was missing dinner at Murdoch’s. His mother would probably hate me now too.

  I’d been crazy to think things were all better. This was my life now. This was the way things went for people like me. Cleaning ladies. Losers.