by Gina LaManna
CHAPTER 22
“A little bit crabby?” A few minutes after we’d been allowed into Bessie’s room, I stumbled back out into the hallway, pulling Anthony behind me. My socks were still wet from being forced to remove my boots on the wet front steps. “She calls that a little cranky?”
Anthony shook his head back and forth, slow, then faster until his eyes almost crossed. “What is that…that thing?”
“That thing…that is not a girl,” I said. “That is a monster.”
I peeked hesitantly around the corner of the room, ducking as a stuffed elephant came flying at my head.
“I’m not done, yet,” Bessie screamed. “I told you to wait outside.”
I widened my eyes at Anthony. “I’m re-thinking my desire to have children.”
Anthony paled.
“If that’s cranky, what is she like during a temper tantrum?” Leaning against the wall, I pushed my hair away from my face. We’d only been introduced to Bessie ten minutes earlier. In that time span, we’d fetched her a snack, read her a short book, and braided her doll’s hair. Then she’d kicked us out of her room so she could “digest” in peace. If I didn’t know better, she was another “Meg” in training. “What does that even mean, digest in peace?”
“I thought she wasn’t feeling well,” Anthony said. “If this girl really does have mono, then she must be strong as a horse when she’s at her healthiest.”
“She could definitely beat me in an arm-wrestling contest any day,” I whispered back. “Okay, I’m going in for another try.”
I ducked around the edge of the doorframe, holding my hands up in surrender. “Hi, Bessie, I’m here to talk to you about a kidnapping,” I said quickly. Maybe if I could get her attention with that hook, she’d stop throwing things at me. “A very dangerous kidnapping.”
“Who was kidnapped?” Bessie’s beetle-like eyes glared at me, the slight sheen of curiosity offsetting the angry pout of her lips. Her chubby face pushed her eyes a little too close together, and her frown made her look like a real grouch. If she just gave a bit of a smile, maybe she wouldn’t give off such an angry vibe. Then again, with a mom like Mrs. Pointy, I might be a sourpuss, too.
“Marissa and Clarissa. My cousins,” I said. “You know them from school?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Why?”
“I’m going to be really honest with you, Bessie, I’m hoping you can help. If you don’t know anything, just tell me so we can stop wasting our time.” I made to leave the room, hoping that the kidnapping talk was enough of a hook to get Bessie to talk. “Please, call me if you think of anything.”
“I don’t have your number,” she hollered after me.
I turned around in the doorway and faced her. She sat on a bed plump with pillows and blankets. “I don’t think you need my number, since it sounds like you don’t want to help. I only give out my number in exchange for information.”
Her beady eyes scanned me up and down. “What if I have information?”
I gave the most disinterested posture that I could muster up. “You seem more interested in knocking my head off with your stuffed animals than talking to me, and I’m kind of annoyed about that right now. You’re making my hair look bad in front of my boyfriend. Friends don’t do that to one another.”
“He’s your boyfriend?” A hint of girly interest appeared in the form of flushed cheeks. Bessie looked over my shoulder. “Really?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s just…really nice looking,” Bessie said finally. “And you’re…dirty.”
“What?”
“You have mud all over. And your hair was a mess even before I started throwing things.”
“You didn’t exactly help matters,” I muttered. “Plus, I clean up okay with a good, hot shower.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “How’d you manage to get a boy like that?”
I tsked softly, taking hesitant steps towards the bed. “There’s your first problem, Bessie. You don’t want a boy; you want a man.”
Her beetle-eyes opened a bit wider. “What do you mean?”
“Here’s the deal. You want to know how I got Anthony into a relationship?”
She nodded.
“Then I want to know all you can tell me about Marissa and Clarissa,” I said. “Let’s trade. How about it?”
“You talk first.” She crossed her arms. “And then I’ll decide if I believe you.”
“Nope, you have to promise,” I said. “This is too important for you to decide after the fact. I need to know now.”
“Fine.” She crossed her arms. “How do I get myself a man?”
“First rule of advice.” I tested my limits now, perching on the edge of her bed. The comforter dented beneath my weight, and Bessie eyed the indentation with skepticism. But she didn’t comment. “You don’t need a man now. You have to do Bessie before you can worry about boys.”
“I thought you said I needed a man and not a boy?”
“Yes, but way down the line. You’ve got about ten years at least before you should start looking. Probably twenty.”
“Probably fifty, if I wait until I’m as old as you,” she pointed out. “You’re old, huh?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” I furrowed my brow. “And that’s step number two. Don’t be rude. You won’t have girlfriends if you’re rude to them.”
“I don’t want girlfriends,” Bessie said. “I want a man.”
“Alright, we don’t have time to waste, so listen up. I’m no guru, but I’ve got twenty years on you, and that counts for something, I think.”
“Hang on.” Bessie reached to the side of her bed, grabbed a pink spiral notebook and a feathery silver pen, holding both at the ready. “Okay, go.”
“First, focus on your girlfriends,” I said. “For the next ten to twenty years, the boys in your life will be knuckleheads. All of them. Every single one.” I reached out a finger and tapped it against her paper. “Write that down. No, K-N. Knucklehead starts with a silent ‘K.’”
“Is he a knucklehead?” She pointed with her pen towards the door. “I thought you said Anthony was a man.”
“He is now, but that doesn’t mean every once in a while he’s not a knucklehead,” I said. “I didn’t know him when he was younger, but I’m sure he was just as much of a knucklehead as the next boy.”
She narrowed her eyes, disbelief on her face.
“You don’t believe me? Anthony, come in here a second,” I called. When he walked into the room, trepidation scrawled across his face, I gestured to Bessie. “She wants to know if you were a knucklehead when you were younger.”
Anthony shrunk against the wall. “Um…”
His eyes flicked towards me, where I very slowly moved my head up and down.
“Uh, yes?” he said. “A big one.”
I patted Bessie’s arm. “See? You’re dismissed.” I waved a hand at Anthony.
Relief showed on his face as he slunk out of the room with tiny baby steps, as if the floor had been crafted with egg shells.
“It’s just a phase they all go through,” I said, resuming my speech to Bessie. “It’s nothing personal. And you’ll go through many duds, many heartbreaks, before you find the one who wants to put all the pieces back together.”
“Anthony puts your pieces together?”
I sat still for a moment, considering my own advice. The more I thought about it, the more I realized the truth behind it. “Yes, he does.” I cleared a teensy lump in my throat, remembering all of the times that Anthony had been the one to boost my confidence, to hold me when I cried, to encourage me to take risks. “He takes very good care of all my pieces.”
“Even the kissing ones?”
A funny sound came out of my throat. “Um, yes. He takes very good care of those pieces, too.”
“So why do I have to go through all the knuckleheads? I just want a nice one.” Bessie gave a sigh, making her seem far older than her years. “Why can’t I j
ust wait to find a nice one?”
“You can try, honey,” I found my hand patting her leg as I scooched slightly up the bed to sit closer to my new friend. “But it’s hard sometimes, and you can’t always tell the boys from the men on the first date. That’s why you need your girlfriends. Because until you find your man, those are the people that will protect all the pieces of you.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Bessie’s eyebrows raised, as if it were hard to believe I might have both a man and a girlfriend.
“Yes, I do,” I said. This time, my memories flooded with images of Meg cuddling me when we were Bessie’s age, alone in the middle of the night. Of her holding me, feeding me, forcing me to continue living, even after my mom passed away. Of all the times she’d made me laugh until I cried, of all the times she’d tried to shoot someone for me, and of the time she had taken a bullet. When I spoke again, I meant it. “She is very special.”
“What happens now that you have a man to watch your pieces?” Bessie’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “What happens to your special girlfriend?”
“Things change a little bit,” I said. “The dynamic of the relationship changes, but not how I feel about her. Your heart doesn’t have a limited amount of love and friendship. It has as much as you can ever imagine giving, and then even more.”
“So now you have two people protecting your pieces?”
“That’s a good way to put it.”
“So you built up a little army of people to protect your pieces.” She frowned, still turning the idea over in her head. “I suppose that’s cool.”
“It is very cool,” I said, liking the image of my own little army of heart-protectors. “And the more you protect the pieces of others, the more they’ll protect yours.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Bessie said. “But what about the next ten to twenty years? If all the boys are knuckleheads, what should I be doing?”
“Focus on Bessie. Find a job you like and go to school. Go out with your friends, make new friends, and get rid of the mean ones. Spend time with your mom, even if it’s not ‘cool.’ Maybe travel a bit if you’re into that, or try a new hobby. While you do all of those things, the knuckleheads will grow up. And by the time they’re ready to become men, you’ll be happy; you’ll be ready to find the one meant for you.”
Bessie looked down at the stuffed animals surrounding her chubby figure, animals that no longer looked like missiles preparing to launch at my head. Now, I saw them for what they were: a little army to protect the pieces of Bessie.
“I’m sorry,” Bessie said, hanging her head low. “Really, really sorry.”
“About what?” I scooted one inch closer to the army of stuffed animals.
“I don’t know anything about your cousins,” Bessie whispered. “They don’t even like me.”
My heart sank a few notches. “You have no clue where they might be?”
“I just wanted someone to talk to, so I pretended I knew something about them.” Bessie’s eyes closed, and a tear slid down her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
My heart tanked a few more notches. “Bessie, that’s okay.”
For a moment, the two of us sat in helpless silence; me, because I was no closer to finding my cousins, and now I’d made a little girl cry. Bessie, because she was so clearly lonely.
“Hey, you,” I said, reaching for a stuffed animal. I wiped her tear with the fur of a fuzzy monkey. “Don’t cry. See? You have all these animals, you have me, you have your mom…you have your own army that doesn’t want to see you cry.”
Bessie looked up. “You don’t mind telling me all that stuff even though I can’t trade you for it?”
I shook my head. “Not at all. I hope it helps.”
“Your cousins don’t like me,” Bessie said. “Nobody likes me.”
“You’re a great person, Bessie. Just try smiling. A smile works miracles.” I stood up. “Well, if you can’t think of anything else, I really should be going.”
“Why did you think I knew something?” Bessie interrupted. “I’m not friends with them, so why would you come here?”
Thank goodness someone was thinking. I nearly smacked myself on the forehead, but held back. “A text message. Do you have a phone?”
Bessie hesitated, then gave a nod. “Yes.”
“Do you have Marissa or Clarissa’s number?”
“No. I only have my mom and grandma in the phone.”
I frowned. “Do you have the phone with you now?”
Again, the hesitation came back.
“Are you hiding something from me?” I stepped forward, trying to keep my tone even. “I’m not mad, but I need to know. For the girls’ safety.”
“I’m not supposed to have my phone on me.” Bessie dropped her voice low. “My mom thinks she has it locked in the drawer downstairs, but that’s just a decoy. It’s a case. An empty case. My real phone is here.”
“May I see it?” I asked.
Bessie reached under a pillow, her movements stealthy, as if her mom might be watching from around the corner. “Here.”
“Can I poke around in your messages?”
She nodded. “There’s nothing there.”
“Bessie,” I paused, looking up. “Would you like me to put my number in here?”
“So I can call you about knucklehead questions?” Her voice turned three octaves higher. “Yes, please.”
I added my number, then quickly flipped through the contents of the phone. It didn’t take long; there was only one text thread, and that was between Mrs. Pointy and her daughter. The internet browser didn’t show any recent searches, and the camera was filled with pictures of Bessie’s left nostril, photos I think were supposed to be selfies, but had somehow misfired.
“Huh.” I shook my head. “That’s strange. Nothing here. But the girls have a text from this number, I’m sure of it.”
“The phone hasn’t moved from under my pillow,” Bessie said. “I’m hiding it, and I don’t have their number.”
“Well, thank you for sharing,” I said. “I’ll admit, I’m stumped. Anyway, I’m going to head out. Text me if you have any questions. Or call me if you think of anything about my cousins. You’re sure they didn’t say anything at school?”
Bessie shook her head, but stopped abruptly at a knock on the door.
In walked Mrs. Pointy, her arms crossed, lips drawn together as her gaze raked over my body. “You’re still here.”
“Bessie and I were just chatting.”
“Bessie, is this…woman bothering you?” Pointy looked at her daughter, expecting a yes.
Bessie inhaled, exhaled, and looked at me. She played with the edges of the blanket, and when she spoke, it was in a soft voice to her stuffed animals. “Not really.”
Not really? This kid. I’d just given her a lifetime worth of love advice, and all she could conclude was that I wasn’t really bothering her? “Loyalty,” I said, patting her on the head. “That’s also important. And sticking up for what’s right.”
“The nurse is here to prepare her for bed.” Pointy leaned against the doorframe. “I think it’s time you left Miss Luzzi.”
I pretended not to notice as Bessie inched her phone back under the pillow. I stood up and gave a little wave. “Well, it’s been fun chatting.”
The little girl frowned. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you find your cousins.”
“It’s alright,” I said. “I hope you remember what I said.”
“What did she say?” Mrs. Pointy’s nose inched higher. “Bessie, what is this woman telling you?”
“Nothing, Mother.”
“Bessie, what is she putting in your head?”
I took a few steps towards the door as Pointy headed towards her daughter.
Bessie looked up at me, and I could tell she had a half-truth ready to go; then, I saw a flash of determination flicker in her eyes, and she outright lied. “Miss Luzzi told me to sleep a lot and drink plenty of fluids. And not to talk to strangers.”
In my head, I did a little cheer. Good job, Bessie, I thought. Gathering Anthony and stepping around the nurse headed to check on Bessie, we left the house with more questions than when we’d entered.
CHAPTER 23
“That could’ve gone better,” Anthony said. “We didn’t learn much.”
“I think it was worth our time.” I hid my smile. “Bessie is kind of sweet.”
“She was horrible!”
“You didn’t see her come around,” I said. “She’s making progress. And with a mother like that, it’s lucky she’s open to advice at all.”
Anthony pulled away from the curb. “So, where to now?”
I glanced between us. “The shower?”
“Are you hinting at me?”
“No, but I have enough dirt on me to stock an entire bakery with mud pies.”
“That’s a good point,” Anthony said. He focused on the road, turning the car towards home. “We need to step back for a second and think. Unless you have an idea for next steps?”
“I’ll let Clay know we didn’t find anything, then I’ll ask whether it’s feasible for someone to be able to text a phone from a computer using a different number. But other than that…” I trailed off for a beat. “Nicky’s at the estate and the police are working on the case already. My dad is nagging them to speed things up, and we haven’t heard head nor tail from the girls. Bessie was a dead end. Anything on the ice hut man?”
Anthony shook his head. “My men say he packed up and went home. There hasn’t been any suspicious activity.”
“Then I don’t know what to do next.”
“The answer to that is shower. I think we even have hot chocolate.”
“But we’re out of mini-marshmallows.” I could feel my eyes smarting. On a normal day, the absence of mini-marshmallows wouldn’t qualify as a minor trauma. But combined with the stress of searching for my cousins and my exhaustion from being outside in the cold, I could feel a breakdown coming on, and coming fast.
“No!” Anthony turned towards me, his eyes widening in alarm. “Don’t cry!”
“But, how can I drink hot chocolate without mini-marshmallows?” My lip quivered. “It’s not the same.”