by Kristy Tate
“Make sure they’re laced with something that will put her to sleep.”
He grinned. “You don’t mean that.”
Grace didn’t confirm or deny.
“I better text Dillinger. He kept mentioning the ‘little men.’” He made air quotes. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Chase still likes Gabby,” she blurted, not sure why she thought Brock needed to know that, but it seemed really important.
“What makes you say that?”
“I just know that he does.”
“They break up and get back together faster than some people change their underwear, and by some people, I mean him.”
“You don’t like Chase?” Maybe he did know about Chase, Alicia, and the beach make-out session.
It was Brock’s turn to neither confirm nor deny. He held out his phone. “Do you want to call them? If we don’t tell them you’re okay, they’re going to hound me.”
“Can you do a group text?”
“Here. I’ll send a selfie of us.” He stepped beside her, put one arm around her shoulders, and used his other hand to snap their picture. He felt warm and comforting, and for a brief moment she thought about confiding in him.
But she didn’t want him—or anyone else—to think she was crazy.
Even though she probably was.
CHAPTER TEN
After Brock left for the beach, Grace went back into the house, spotted Toby parked in front of the TV watching cartoons, and headed for his bedroom. She found the cell phone in his backpack. Knowing calls were free on the weekend, she slipped the phone into her pocket and headed outside. She had to tell someone about the kidnapping.
Before settling down at the base of an orange tree, she glanced at Brock’s house, trying to see if he’d already gone surfing, like he’d said he was going to. Since she couldn’t look through the garage walls to see if his surfboard or car were there or not, she hunkered down, trying to be as invisible as possible, pressed Kelly’s number, and waited.
“Hey,” she answered. “How was the circus?”
Keeping her voice low, Grace gave her a much different answer than the one she’d given Heather.
Kelly listened in stunned silence. After Grace had filled her in on everything from the pig costume to the kidnapping, Kelly said, “This is so not you.”
“I know, right?”
“You have to tell the police.”
“The police? What if they don’t believe me? Besides, what am I going to say? I’m being stalked by short people and kidnapped by guys driving carriages and carrying swords?”
“It does sound crazy.” Kelly sounded thoughtful. “You have to come home.”
“I can’t!”
“Yes you can. I’ll make it happen.”
“How?”
“I’ll send you the plane fare.”
“No. I can’t take your money. Besides, I’m not going to run away. That would kill my mom.”
“But what if these loons kill you?”
“If they had wanted to hurt me, they would have. Instead, someone brought me home and put me in bed.”
“Ew. Kinky.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it like?”
“Weird. Just weird.”
Kelly didn’t respond, but Grace thought she heard clicking on the other end of the phone line.
“What are you doing?” Grace asked.
“I’m checking flights.”
“You’re what?”
“There,” Kelly said after a minute. “I’m coming to visit.”
“What?”
“I just booked a flight from Portland to John Wayne Airport.”
“What’s your mom going to say?”
“She’ll be cool with it.”
Grace wondered why Janet Abernathy was so cool about everything, when Grace’s own parents were usually somewhere between scalding and sizzling. She knew it had something to do with Janet’s fat attorney paycheck and the fact that Kelly was an only, largely unsupervised child.
Inside, Grace found her mom doing the breakfast dishes.
“I saved you some chicks and sticks,” Jeanie said, using the family’s pet name for eggs and sausage links.
“Thanks,” Grace said, “but I’m not really hungry.” She picked up a dishtowel and began to dry the dishes Jeanie had loaded onto a drying rack. Her grandparents didn’t have any newfangled luxuries like a dishwasher, microwave, or garbage disposal. She was surprised Grandpa had sprung for a toaster, washing machine, or dryer, although she could imagine his excuses for those things, too, even though at some point he must have ponied up for them. Who needs a toaster when you can build a fire and roast your bread using a fork? If the Good Lord wanted you to have a washing machine then he wouldn’t have created rocks and streams. Who needs a dryer when you live in sunny California?
“Mom, Kelly is coming to visit. I hope that’s okay.”
Jeanie’s dishrag stopped swishing and she turned to study Grace.
“She’s paying for it, not me.”
“Doesn’t she have school?”
“Remember, Salmon Dale High doesn’t start until after Labor Day.”
Jeanie put on a bright, fragile smile and returned to washing dishes. “You know I love Kelly,” she said slowly.
“You’re wondering what your parents will say.” Grace wiped a glass and put it in the cupboard to her left.
“I know she doesn’t eat very much…”
“Oh, Mom. That just makes me sad.”
Jeanie shot a glance over her shoulder. “I know. And Janet has always been so thoughtful and generous, but…it’s not my food.”
“She can eat my food. Maybe we can just pilfer the oranges off the neighbor’s trees, or scrounge the trash bins behind Trader Joe’s.”
Jeanie let out a strangled laugh and plucked a soapy bowl out of the sink. Suds clung to her forearms like frothy lamb’s wool. “I know you think living here is easy for me, but it’s not.”
“I know. I’m sorry if this will give your parents more to complain about.”
Jeanie bumped Grace with her shoulder. “Hey, want to hear a joke?”
Grace really wanted to talk about her stingy grandparents and why their family was forced to cater to them. She also wanted to know what her mom and dad had been fighting about before he left for Korea. And while they were having a heart to heart, maybe Grace should tell her mom about the dwarfs, the men who had kidnapped her, the sword fight, and her mysterious reappearance in her own bed this morning. But she guessed that if Jeanie would rather tell a joke, she could listen.
“A nun enters a convent and a pledge of silence. After five years, she’s allowed to speak two words. ‘Hard bed,’ she tells the priest. After ten years, she tells him, ‘Food cold,’ and after fifteen years she says, ‘I quit.’ ‘It’s just as well,’ says the priest. ‘You’ve done nothing but gripe since you’ve been here.’”
Grace smiled, even though she felt like she didn’t have a whole lot to smile about.
#
Gabby showed up at Grace’s door around seven that evening. “What are you doing?” she asked, running her gaze up and over her. “Why aren’t you ready?”
“Ready?” Grace echoed, looking down at her holey sweat pants and Oregon Ducks T-shirt.
“The party?”
Gabby rolled her eyes when Grace stared back at her.
“Didn’t Brock tell you? He told me he invited you!”
Grace scratched her head, trying to remember. The entire morning was a little fuzzy.
“Never mind.” Gabby held up her makeup bag. “I came prepared.” She pushed through the door. “But you can’t go like that.”
Grace’s thoughts skittered over her wardrobe before wandering into Heather’s side of the closet. She was surprised, and proud of herself, that it hadn’t gone there first.
“Where are we going?”
“Liza Stanley lives around the corner. She’s kind of a mouse, but since her
parents are loaded, she gives the best parties. It’s her birthday.”
“But I don’t know her.” Grace hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. “I don’t have a gift.”
“No worries,” Gabby said, pausing on the third step from the top. “I collected some beauty supplies from work. You can sign your name on the card.”
“Are you sure?”
Gabby climbed down the few steps separating them and took Grace’s arm to pull her up the stairs. “I’m positive…but only if you wear something that doesn’t reek Salmon Pile.”
They met Heather in the hall. “You should come with us,” Grace told her sister, feeling bad that Heather had to stay at home.
Heather shook her head. “I already graduated high school.” She must have overheard Gabby slamming Grace’s sweats, because she asked, “Want to borrow my New Occult jeans?”
Grace threw her arms around Heather’s neck. “You’re the best.”
“I know,” Heather said on her way downstairs.
“She’s gorgeous,” Gabby whispered once Heather was out of sight.
“I know. She should take up modeling or something.”
Gabby grabbed Grace’s arm and froze as if an idea had struck and turned her into a statue. “Abso-freaking-lutely!”
“I think it’s really hard to be a model.” Grace pulled Gabby into the room she shared with Heather.
“Not if you know someone!” Gabby watched Grace rifle through the laundry pile.
Grace fished out Heather’s best jeans and her favorite macramé top from their closet. “You know someone?” Because Heather had long legs, Grace had to wear heels when she borrowed her sister’s pants…but because she really liked the way the pants fit, she’d gladly spend the night tottering—as long as she didn’t trip over anything or anyone.
“My cousin Roger is a photographer for KYP.”
“Know Your Peeps, the celebrity magazine?” Grace slipped on the jeans and pulled the top over her head.
Gabby beamed with pride. “He knows all sorts of people—Daniel Heartwood, Mac Trevor, Lady G.”
“Wow.”
“You could be a model, too, if you weren’t so tiny.”
Grace tried to imagine herself walking down a runway or giving a camera a Zoolander look. “I’m okay with my size.”
“As you should be,” Gabby said, taking Grace’s shoulders and steering her to a chair in front of a mirror. “What happened to you last night? Brock didn’t say.” Gabby opened up her makeup bag and pulled out the foundation and a sponge.
Grace debated on what to tell her. “I looked for the little men, but when I couldn’t find them, I walked home.”
Gabby poured some makeup on a sponge and fixed her gaze on Grace.
“Do you think I’m making this up?” Grace asked, glad that she’d left out the poisoned apple and swordfight.
Gabby snorted a laugh. “Maybe I’d think so if I hadn’t seen those guys trailing after you.”
“Do you think I should tell the police?”
Gabby selected a tube of lipstick. “It does sound pretty crazy.”
“I know, and I’d really rather not tell my mom. She has enough to worry about without adding a psycho daughter to the mix.”
“You should probably tell someone about them.”
“I told you.”
#
Liza Stanley lived in a giant white colonial that looked like it belonged on the New England coast rather than in a California subdivision. Music thrummed through the hedges that separated the front lawn from the back.
“Her dad has a band,” Gabby whispered. “They’re Red Hot Chili Peppers wannabes.” She shrugged. “How can you tell your dad you’d rather have a DJ?”
Grace followed Gabby across the lawn, up the front steps, and through the open doorway. A girl with long straight blonde hair waved when they came in. She was slightly taller than Grace, and her wide eyes made her look like Alice in Wonderland.
A giant cake covered with candles on the dining room table told Grace that Liza had to be at least Grace’s age. Bowls of chips, platters of cookies, and a fruit tray surrounded a punch bowl. Wine goblets stood on one end of the table.
Someone touched Grace’s elbow.
“We looked for you last night,” Amy said. She wore a black and white striped T-shirt dress that hung to her mid-thighs and a pair of red Converse tennis shoes. All her fingernails matched her shoes, except the little one on her left hand that had been painted black.
Grace curled her own blasé nails into her fists. She repeated her lie. “I walked home.”
“We would have given you a ride,” Oliver said, looking paler than usual.
“I know, but I didn’t want to make anyone leave.”
“You walked home in that suit?” Oliver asked, disbelief in his tone.
“I got some strange looks…”
Chase, who’d been talking to Liza in the dining room, met her gaze and immediately headed their way. Gabby noticed and after screwing her lips into a scowl, disappeared down the hall.
Chase’s expression clearly said he wanted to go after her, but Grace stopped him. “Hey, where’s your pig suit?”
He grinned. “I ditched it, just like you ditched us last night.”
“It wasn’t you, it was me,” she told him.
“I get that.” His grin faded, and she looked over her shoulder to see what had caught his attention.
Gabby leaned toward Charmant, chatting and batting her eyelashes. He looked as perfect today as he had yesterday. He still wore the loose white shirt and tall boots, but tonight he had on a pair of well-fitting jeans.
Last night’s memories flooded Grace. The canyon, the carriage, the swordfight—had it all been a dream? A warning? Had it really happened?
“Gabby’s reined in Hot Horse Guy,” Amy said.
“Remember, his name is Roy Charmant.”
“Figures a guy with a horse would be named Roy,” Oliver scoffed.
“Why do you say that?” Amy asked.
“Roy Rogers!” Oliver said.
“Who?” Grace asked.
“Don’t you people ever watch Ned at Night?”
“We don’t get cable,” Grace said.
Oliver gave her a blank stare. “It’s just as well. Net-movies are better anyway.”
Grace thought about explaining to him that they didn’t get that either but decided to let it drop.
Amy elbowed Grace. “Looks like Gabby could use our help.”
“With what?” her brother asked.
Amy silenced him with a sharp glance. Oliver and Chase looked at each other and rolled their eyes as Amy took Grace’s arm and steered her through the crowd.
“Hey, Gabs,” Amy said when they reached the dining room.
Gabby rested her butt against the dining room table and crossed one ankle over the other. “Hey guys. You remember Roy?”
It was Amy’s turn to bat her lashes, but Charmant wasn’t paying any attention to her. His gazed met Grace’s.
“Who are you really?” he asked.
“I told you, I’m Grace James.”
He swallowed a long drink from his bottle of soda. “This is what you said last night.”
“Because it’s the truth.”
“You bear a striking resemblance to someone I know well.”
“And her name is Blanche.”
He flinched. “Did you enjoy the circus?”
If he had kidnapped Grace then he would know the answer to that. “It’s kind of a blur for me,” she told him.
“She walked home!” Gabby blurted out. “In the pig suit!”
The tension in Roy’s shoulders eased and the muscles in his face softened. He lifted his eyebrows at Grace. “’Tis a pity I wasn’t there to save you.”
“Is that what you would have called it?” she asked him, her voice hard. True, he had saved her, but after that, he’d taken her somewhere.
“But of course!” He looked offended and placed his hand on
his heart.
“I don’t trust you,” she told him.
“You cut me to the quick, child,” he said.
“I’m not a child. You can’t be much older than me.”
“You would be surprised.” Charmant reached behind his back and pulled out a glass flute full of an amber liquid. She wondered where it had come from and if he’d been carrying it around just for her. “Would you care for a drink?”
“No.” She laced her voice with resolve and hoped it sounded more confident than scared.
“I’ll take it,” Gabby said.
Thinking fast, Grace tottered on her heels and bounced against the glass. It fell to the floor and landed on its side. Most of the liquid puddled on the hardwood floor. “Oh geez, I’m so sorry. I’ll clean this up.”
“That’s okay, no worries.” A middle-aged woman dressed like a hippie pushed through the crowd. She grabbed a handful of napkins off the table and knelt beside Grace.
“You must be Liza’s mom,” Grace said, grabbing her own fistful of napkins and sopping up the spill.
She grinned. “How can you tell?”
“I’m Grace James.”
“You must be new. I thought I knew all of Liza’s friends.”
“I came with Gabby, and you’re right, I just moved here from Oregon.” Grace stood, her hands full of soaking napkins.
Roy stared at Grace with suspicious eyes.
“Here, give me those,” Mrs. Stanley said, holding out her hands.
Grace itched for her microscope. She wanted to analyze the napkins and see if Charmant had really thought he could poison her two nights in a row. She curled her fingers around the napkins. “I need to wash my hands,” she told Mrs. Stanley.
“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Stanley said. “Let me show you the powder room.”
Was Orange County the only place in the country where people called the toilet a powder room? Grace followed Mrs. Stanley to a tiny room tucked underneath a massive staircase.
She closed the door and locked it. Staring at herself in the mirror, she willed her heart to slow down. With Gabby’s make-up, she looked the same, but different. Better, and yet not quite herself. She studied the napkins. Of course they couldn’t tell her anything. Yet. She needed her microscope for a better reading. If she put the napkin in her jeans pocket, she’d have a wet spot in a place that she’d rather not.