Keeping Secrets in Seattle

by Brooke Moss

  Kim and Betsy’s eyes rolled off the screen and onto me. “Hey, Violet. What’s up?” Kim chirped.

  “How was the dress fitting?” Betsy added.

  “It was interesting,” I said, dropping my purse on the table. “I’ve never seen four women go from thinking they’re the bomb to wanting to do a colonic all in the course of one dress fitting.”

  Betsy snorted. “Awesome.”

  “It really was.” I opened the box and held up the dress. “What do you think?”

  Both girls glanced at the dress and oohed in unison.

  “I know. She picked out a great dress.” I laid it across the back of a chair. “You guys should have seen Alicia in action. She’s like a drill sergeant.”

  “And you made it out unscathed?” Betsy asked.

  “It was touch and go for a while.” I pulled a chair out from the table, setting it between them and their view of the television. “Guess what Shawn told me today at the dress boutique?”

  Kim cocked her head to the side. “Who’s Shawn?”

  “One of the bridesmaids.” I plopped down on the chair and faced them. “Seriously. You are not going to believe what she said.”

  They exchanged a glance.

  “If she told you to lose weight, I am going to find her and kick her ass. I mean it this time,” Betsy said.

  “No, nothing like that.” I shook my head. “Think bigger.”

  Kim played with her eyebrow ring. “Did she confess to murder?”

  I rubbed my eyes. “Smaller than that.”

  “Did she tell you she was gay?” Betsy smiled proudly and elbowed Kim. “I’ll bet that’s it.”

  “What? No. Sorry to disappoint you.” I laughed. “She’s got a boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, but when he catches her making out with her best friend, the cat’ll be out of the bag.” Betsy nodded knowingly.

  “That’s how my high school boyfriend found out I was gay,” Kim added.

  Betsy turned to her. “No kidding?”

  Kim put a hand up. “I swear. It was hilarious. He walks in, and—”

  “Hey.” I snapped my fingers in front of their faces. “This is about me. Me. Focus.”

  They both looked at me.

  I took a deep breath. “Back to the subject at hand. Shawn is on my side. Well, maybe not my side, per se, but she certainly isn’t on Alicia’s side anymore. She said some interesting things about Miss Von Longorial. And I have an idea.”

  “Violet has an idea?” Kim mused. “Dangerous territory if I remember correctly.”

  “Mmm-hmmm, remember when she had the idea that we should go foam dancing, and I dislocated my knee?” Betsy reached down and rubbed her knee.

  “No, nothing like that. Nothing dangerous.” I waved my arms dismissively.

  “You’re not going to try to convince us to move downtown again?” Betsy looked around. “I like our little place.”

  Kim snapped her fingers. “Oh, that reminds me. Chloe called for you today.”

  “No kidding?” I got up and walked over to the phone, where a message had been scrawled out on the back of a cereal box. I read it, my eyes widening. “Chloe wants to meet with me?”

  “Please tell me that you’re not still thinking about moving to Portland,” Betsy said, frowning.

  “Yeah, why would you want to leave us?” Kim scowled at me. “For Portland, no less? Look what kind of people Portland breeds. Alicia is from Portland.”

  Betsy snapped her fingers. “That’s proof that this is a bad idea.”

  “You guys.” I sat back down across from them. “Listen, I need a change of scenery. Or, I will, come May.”

  Both of them looked at me like I was nuts.

  “You mean to tell us that you’re moving to Portland to get away from Gabe and Alicia?” Betsy grunted.

  “Not entirely.” My eyes dropped to the floor. “I would be lead stylist, guys. My income would double. That’s huge.”

  “Ask Lizzie for a raise, then,” Kim said. “Hell, if money’s tight, talk to us. We can divide the bills differently.”

  Betsy nodded. “I don’t want you to move.”

  Kim pointed her finger at me. “Besides, you’ve got a boyfriend now. What does Landon think about this?”

  Shaking my head, I sighed. “He thinks he’s going to convince me to stay.”

  “Well, more power to him.” Betsy folded her arms across her chest. “Maybe he can convince you that this is a dumb idea. Portland is, like two, and a half hours from here, Violet. You don’t really want to have a long-distance relationship, do you?”

  I shrugged. “It takes two hours to get from one end of Seattle to the other. What’s the difference?”

  “When does Chloe want to meet you, anyway?” Kim asked, her mouth pulled into a line.

  I looked down at the cereal box I was holding, and an idea sprouted in my mind. “Wednesday. Getting back to what Shawn said about Alicia, want to help me do some research while I’m in Portland?”

  Betsy cringed. “If I dislocate my knee again…”

  “No. No dislocated joints, I promise. Just a road trip to Portland. I’ll go talk to Chloe for a while, and then we can scope out Alicia’s folks’ house or something.” My pulse sped up as the idea grew. “What are you guys doing on Wednesday?”

  Betsy pointed across the living room to a stack of file folders. “I was going to work from home this week.”

  Kim grimaced. “I’m supposed to give Lizzy a bikini wax.”

  Betsy and I shuddered in unison.

  “Can’t you get out of it? For the sake of a covert operation?” I reached over and squeezed Kim’s hand.

  “Okay, fine. But you…” She grinned right at me. “Have to be my assistant when I reschedule Lizzy’s wax.”

  “Ugh. Fine. Do you have gas in your car?” I asked Betsy.

  “Um, yes, a little.”

  “I’ll pay to fill it up. We’ll need to leave early—Chloe said she’s in her salon by ten. I should be done within an hour. I want enough time to do some serious stalking. Time to catch Alicia in her lies.”

  Kim’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you going to do if you dig up something major?”

  “I don’t know.” I gulped. “If it’s major, I’ll tell Gabe. If it’s not, I’ll have to find a way to make nice with Miss Von Longorial.”

  Kim yawned, then pulled her girlfriend toward their bedroom. “This had better be worth it.”

  …

  Driving with Betsy behind the wheel was always an experience. After having been raised on an eastern Washington farm for the bulk of her formative years, she drove all motor vehicles like lumbering combines, weaving in and out of traffic like she was herding charging cattle. Her faded Chevelle cut through the other cars on the interstate like a scene reminiscent of NASCAR, and her radio blasted rock music so loudly that our morning coffees vibrated in our hands. The bulk of the ride was spent listening to Kim and Betsy debate whether or not to paint their bedroom orange, so I decided to sit back and watch the buildings of the city slowly give way to the green western Washington landscape outside my window. Miles and miles of lush green fern and thick, mossy cedar trees stretched out ahead of us.

  When we arrived in Portland, Betsy and Kim parked the car in front of Chloe’s salon. I stood on the sidewalk outside the historic brick building, adjusting my bright yellow pencil pants and black tuxedo shirt.

  “We’re going out to breakfast. There’s a doughnut shop around here that puts bacon on their maple bars,” Kim announced with wide eyes.

  “Bacon!” Betsy called from the driver’s seat.

  I laughed as I backed away. “Okay, meet me back here in an hour, and bring one for me.”

  Kim cast a scowl at the building. “Say hi for me.”

  The meeting with Chloe went well. I was impressed by her salon layout, and even more impressed with the amount of responsibility I would have working there. At The Funky Fox, I was just a stylist. No real responsibility beyond cutting a
nd coloring hair for Lizzie’s bevy of drag queen beauties, and a scattered female client here and there. In Portland I would manage the entire style floor and the aestheticians, as well as ordering products for the salon.

  The idea of moving away from my beloved Seattle made my heart heavy, but the idea of getting out of Gabeville, and all of the painful memories that resided there, made my stomach dance with excitement. The idea of starting fresh in a new city made me feel empowered.

  As soon as Kim and Betsy pulled up, bacon maple bar in tow, we headed into the suburbs. The thick downtown vibe of Portland gave way, allowing more space between houses and larger, damper green yards.

  We sought out South Summit High School, then scoured the surrounding neighborhoods. Every time we came across a row of houses that appeared to be upper middle class or nicer, we cruised down the street, scanning mailboxes and front stoops for the names “Von Longorial” and “Long,” but found nothing.

  “Are you sure this is the high school she said she went to?” Betsy squinted through her windshield with a frown, after an hour of searching had passed. “There aren’t very many fancy houses around here.”

  The homes surrounding South Summit High were mostly modest houses. Old cars were parked out front. Toys littered the sidewalks. Bikes were parked in front of the porches. Some houses looked clean and well kept, but many of them were in need of a fresh coat of paint, and a few of the houses on each street had fairly neglected yards. The neighborhood didn’t fit the mold Alicia described.

  “I think I’m gonna google an address,” I murmured from the backseat as Betsy wove the Chevelle up and down streets slowly.

  “Good idea.” Kim pointed into the parking lot of a gas station, where the sign was flickering and someone in a low rider had the bass up way too high. “This is like looking for freaking Waldo.”

  Betsy turned off the car while I powered on my BlackBerry and searched for the name “Von Longorial.”

  “It’s not here,” I said to the girls, who’d started humming the Mission Impossible theme. “I’ll check for Long.”

  “What about a phone number?” Kim asked, checking her eyeliner in the visor mirror.

  I scoured the Internet for a few more minutes. “Nothing. They must be unlisted.”

  “What? Let me check.” Kim grabbed the phone from me and began pushing buttons. “Well, crap. You’re right.”

  Betsy shrugged. “We’ll have to figure out where they live another way.”

  “How?” I scanned the neighborhood. There was nothing around us except a warehouse and a few older homes that looked vacant.

  “Let’s just ask where the wealthiest neighborhood in the school district is and then drive around there,” Betsy announced wisely.

  I scowled. “How am I supposed to recognize Alicia’s parents’ house?”

  Kim turned around in her seat and stared at me. “We didn’t drive all the way here just to give up. It’s sunny today. Maybe her mom will be working in the yard. We’ll look for red hair.”

  Betsy adjusted her glasses. “Bulimia Betty strikes me as the type who’d have a gardener. Just sayin’.”

  “Good idea.” Kim smiled encouragingly. “Then we’ll ask a neighbor.”

  “All right…but you do realize people are going to think we’re casing houses to rob?” I blinked at a passerby who was looking at us while clinging to her grocery bag tightly.

  “Let ’em stare.” Betsy waved. “Hey, a woman in a minivan just pulled in. Go ask her.”

  “Argh…fine.” Grumbling, I got out of the car.

  Kim giggled. “The things she’s willing to do in order to stalk someone.”

  Betsy covered her mouth. “I know, right?”

  I teetered across the parking lot to a woman filling the tank of her minivan, wishing that I’d skipped the spiked zebra-print boots this morning.

  “Um, excuse me, ma’am?” I waved at her cheerfully.

  She turned to face me. Her nondescript brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, and one knee of her sweats had a tear.

  “My friends and I are from out of town, and we were just wondering…um, where is the rich neighborhood?”

  She frowned at me. “The what?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry. I’m looking for a more affluent neighborhood in the South Summit school boundaries?”

  The line between her brows deepened, and I heard a baby wail inside the van. Her eyes flicked between my friends—who were now singing along with Led Zeppelin at the top of their voices in the Honda—and me. “Why?”

  “Oh, no. I’m sorry.” I laughed and stepped forward. She immediately backed away from me. “We’re looking for an old friend. She’s, well, her family is wealthy. And so we just have to figure out which part of town she lives in. But we know that she went to the high school here.”

  The woman bit her lip. “South Summit?”

  I nodded and blushed as Kim and Betsy began to sing the chorus to “Dazed And Confused.”

  “Well, there’s Minting Heights. That’s a development a few miles south of here. Those are some pretty nice houses.” She shrugged at me. “You can try that.”

  I charged back to the car, and cursed Kim and Betsy out for terrifying the woman. She was probably calling the cops as we drove away to tell them that a bunch of stoners was out casing the rich neighborhoods. We headed due south, and sure enough, we came to a gated community with rows and rows of cookie-cutter houses, all in varying shades of taupe. This was Alicia’s type of neighborhood. Lucky for us, the electronic gate was open, so we cruised right in.

  We rolled up and down the streets, eyeballing the houses carefully, watching for any visible sign of “Von Longorial” or “Long” on a mailbox, or red hair. Finally, after twenty minutes of peering into the front windows of house after house, I told Betsy to pull over next to an old man who was mowing his grass while his wife weeded the flower garden nearby.

  As soon as he cut the engine to kick a pinecone out of his path, I said, “Excuse me, sir?”

  He glanced at me. “Hmm?”

  “We’re looking for the Von Longorials.” I tried to sound as polite as possible. “Could you tell us which house is theirs? We’re late for a cocktail party.”

  “At noon on a Wednesday?” Betsy whispered.

  I kicked the back of her seat and laughed innocently at the man, who was scratching his head.

  “Well, I don’t know.” He looked at his wife, whose backside was sticking up in the air as she tenderized her flower garden with a trowel. “Hey, Marian.”

  She turned, squinting her eyes. “Yes?”

  “Von Longorial? Sound familiar?”

  “No. Maybe have them go ask Nancy.”

  “Nancy?” I repeated when the man turned back to me.

  “Yup. She’s the chairman of the neighborhood association.” The man nodded. “She’s around the corner. In the taupe house. Should be out trimming her roses. I saw her there just a bit ago.”

  Of course she’s in the taupe house, I thought. “Thank you, sir.”

  We drove around the corner, and sure enough, a silver-haired woman tenderly pruned her rose garden. We pulled up in front of her, and I offered her the same excuse I’d offered the man with the lawn mower. She thought for a moment, tapping a finger on her chin. “Sorry. I don’t know of any Von Long…what was it?”

  “Von Longorial.”

  “Right. No, I don’t know any Von Longorials here in Minting Heights.” She pushed a pair of half-glasses up on her nose.

  I bit my lip. “Is it possible that you just don’t know them?”

  She frowned sourly. “I’m the resident association chairperson. I know everyone. That’s my job.”

  “Congratulations,” I muttered, rolling my window back up. “Er, sorry. Thank you.”

  We drove around in circles again, looking for another neighborhood that fit the description, but came up short.

  “It’s okay.” Kim searched the passing houses while I pouted in the backseat. “Non
e of the houses in that place looked big enough to be Alicia’s house, anyway. Didn’t you say that her dad owns all of the waste management facilities around here?”

  I stared out the window. With every dead end we hit, it became more and more clear to me that I’d been right about Alicia all along. “Guys, I don’t know if there are any bigger houses in the South Summit boundaries. It’s very average around here. Working class people like us live here.”

  “Maybe Alicia’s parents are the miser type?” Kim was pushing it now. “You know, they have all sorts of money, but live in a humble home, because they sit on all their money? Like Silas Marner?”

  I snorted. “Silas Marner?”

  “I have a hard time believing that Alicia was a product of a Silas Marner lifestyle.” Betsy shook her head, and her pigtails danced. “She wears the most expensive clothes I’ve ever seen.”

  “Maybe she’s rebelling against her frugal upbringing?”

  I glared out the window. “I was just hoping for confirmation that…” Closing my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Either Alicia was lying, or Shawn was. Or…I don’t know. That my best friend isn’t marrying a complete phony.”

  Kim turned around in her seat. “Or were you looking for confirmation that he is?”

  Guilt nagged at me. I hated it when Kim busted me. It was time to give up and buy my friends some food for their trouble. We pulled into a truck stop cafe close to the highway, disheartened. Once we were seated at the tiny counter facing the kitchen and all of our menus were open, Kim bumped me with her shoulder. “So what exactly were you going to do if you’d found Alicia’s house?”

  I fidgeted with a pepper shaker. “I don’t really know. I guess I just wanted to know if Shawn was wrong about her.”

  “Wrong? Why? You hate Alicia,” Betsy said.

  “Yeah, but I love Gabe.” I looked down at the speckled countertop wistfully. “I wanted to know that she isn’t lying to him.”

  The waitress, a girl in her mid-twenties, took our orders, eyeballing us. “Bad morning?”

  Kim looked up from her menu. “We were trying to stalk someone. Unsuccessfully.”