Fearsome Foursome

by Pierce, Nicolette

  “You’re not the office manager.”

  “Yes I am. You can ask Brett yourself.”

  “I will.”

  She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Suit yourself. He has a long night ahead of him. I doubt he’ll have time for you.”

  “He’ll make time.”

  “Has he made time for you yet?” she asked innocently.

  “What game are you playing?”

  “I’m not playing games. But, if I was, you wouldn’t even be on the same playing field.”

  “Were you like this when you were Eve’s friend?” I probably shouldn’t have brought up a painful subject for both her and Brett, but I had to know if Emily had always behaved this way or if it was just because I was Brett’s girlfriend.

  Emily paused for a moment before saying, “Eve’s dead.”

  “I know. Judging by your actions, I don’t think you were a very good friend to her.”

  “That’s your opinion. The only opinion that matters is Brett’s.”

  I turned to Emmy. “Can I get that address?”

  Emmy scribbled on a sticky note then handed it to me.

  “Whose address is that?” Emily asked. “We aren’t allowed to give out company information.”

  “It’s for a doctor,” I said, stuffing the paper into my pocket. “I’m suddenly feeling very sick. Emmy, call me later.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  I blasted out the door, controlling the urge to scream all the way to my car. While I suppressed it in the parking lot, I couldn’t contain it once I was in my car with the door closed.

  Why did I allow Emily to crawl under my skin? She was a parasite. This had to stop. I was miserable, Emmy was miserable, and Brett trotted off to work, leaving a mess in his wake.

  Taking the address from my pocket, I wondered if I should go. Brett and T wouldn’t appreciate me showing up at a new client’s place, yet they were never around to have a discussion. Weighing the options, the last conversation with Emily still buzzed through my head. I figured I could at least drive past the business and see if I could locate the boys without a big fuss.

  I drove out of the lot, wondering why the address seemed familiar. It wasn’t until I reached the building that I knew. I had been there before. It was where I had met Brett. He had been slicked in oil, wearing his cowboy outfit, and waiting for his number.

  I screeched to a halt in front of Longhorn’s. He wasn’t working as a stripper again, surely. I knew money was tight, but there had to be other ways.

  However, the more I looked at the building, the more that idea slipped away. Perhaps it was because of the posters of naked women with censor bars barely covering their privates.

  Longhorn’s had been turned into a gentlemen’s club.

  And this was where Brett spent his time?

  I tried to reason with this new information that had now engulfed my insides with lightning bolts and hurricanes. It was no use.

  He was working at a strip club filled with naked women! And he hadn’t touched me for days! The two put together made for an unwelcome conclusion. One that had to be wrong.

  And yet . . .

  One thing I knew for certain: I wouldn’t go inside.

  Turning the car back onto the road, I slunk away like a coward.

  Chapter 8

  “Mars!” Kym scolded. “What’s the matter with you? Is something wrong?”

  I glanced at her, shaking away wayward, gloomy, and downright depressing thoughts.

  Kym sat across the table, studying me. “Did you spike your hot cider while I wasn’t looking?”

  “No.”

  “Do you need me to?”

  “No, I’m fine. Sorry. I just have so many things going on that I’m a little overwhelmed.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Yes, you can help by taking my mind off everything that isn’t baby-related.”

  “That’s easy to do.” She lifted a box filled with catalogs. “Shall we get started?”

  It looked like an all-day project. “Yes, please.”

  She set the box onto the table and then disappeared into her bedroom down the hall. Two minutes later, she returned, wheeling a whiteboard down the hallway. “It’s my idea board.”

  “Wow.” Both sides were written on with colorful markers. Empty spots were reserved for hanging catalog photos.

  “I thought we could start with one of the more challenging items.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “The baby monitor.”

  “How is that challenging?”

  She put her hands on her hip as she prepared to lecture me on monitors. She reminded me of Mrs. Janowski. I think they even had the same whiteboard.

  Scary.

  “There are so many options. Do I just want audio, or do I want video too? Do I want the one that comes with a phone app? There are hundreds of brands and models. I don’t even know how to narrow the search.”

  I sat forward. This seemed like a task I could handle without breaking down and crying, which was what I had been on the verge of doing after driving away from Longhorn’s. “What are the options?”

  She dumped out the box, spilling catalogs into a pile. “Each one has a different kind.”

  “What about the Internet?”

  She looked at me in horror. “The Internet?” Tears bubbled from her eyes. “Do you know how many more there will be? All with different prices and shipping rates?”

  “Don’t worry about prices and shipping.”

  “But I don’t want people to over pay. Maybe I shouldn’t have a baby shower. I can just buy everything myself.”

  Oh boy.

  “Is there one local store that has the most choices?” I asked.

  “I guess Babies and Me would have the most.”

  I stood and picked up my purse. “Then let’s go there. We might be able to test some of these. Hopefully that’ll make it easier to decide.”

  “What about Aaron?”

  “Isn’t he in school?”

  “Yes, but you promised to see him.”

  “I will, when we get back. By then he should be home and looking for a snack. We can swing by the pretzel place. I could go for one too.”

  Kym smiled and slipped on a hideous pair of men’s slippers with rubber soles. While I didn’t verbally question her choice, my expression must have.

  “Don’t judge. I’m retaining water and my shoes pinch.”

  “I don’t judge. I’ve just never seen you in anything less than fashionable. It’s about time you lowered your standards to something I can compete with.”

  “You are such a poop,” she said with a smile. “On our way to the store you can tell me all about what Brett did to make you look like a sad puppy.”

  “How did you know it was Brett?”

  She laughed. “Jim does the same to me.”

  “What do you do?”

  She slipped her purse over her shoulder. “I remember he loves me. Normally, whatever he did to make me mad was unconsciously done. It’s not until after I point it out to him very loudly that he finally understands.”

  “If Brett doesn’t understand without me having to tell him, then there’s no hope.”

  “That bad?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know. I’m just mad, and I don’t want to think about it.”

  “Good thing we’re going shopping.”

  “Yeah, good thing.”

  “Oh, before I forget, Aaron wanted you to have this. He was afraid he might miss you today.” She pulled out a rectangle object wrapped in tape.

  “What is it?”

  “He said that you should hold onto it. Something about good luck.”

  Odd. I stuck it into my purse. I’d have to ask him about it later.

  * * *

  Unfortunately, I never had time to ask Aaron about the good luck charm he gave me. I had seen him for all of five minutes before a nine-one-one text came in from Mrs. Janowski. There was enough time to see the n
ew additions to his room, but not enough to ask about anything else. It wasn’t until I arrived at Mrs. Janowski’s that it became clear.

  “Did you get the package?” she asked.

  “What package?” I sat down at the dining room table with the other gals. “And what’s the emergency?”

  “Our leads are dead. Literally. It’s like the whole Hog population kicked the bucket. Anyone who knew Wade is six feet under.”

  “That might explain why Hank didn’t have any customers,” I said.

  “We have to try another angle. Ida needs a good defense. And we all know a good defense is a good offense.”

  “Which one is which?” Edna asked.

  “Which one is which what?” Mrs. Janowski asked.

  “Well, Sylvia made me watch football the other day—”

  “Just love a man in tight pants bending over,” Sylvia said with a small shiver.

  “—and they kept saying defense and offense. But sometimes we were defense and sometimes offense. So are we defending the ball, or are we defending our right to take the ball? And is it offensive to be offense? And how does that relate to Ida?”

  “Dear lord, Edna,” Sylvia sputtered. “It was just men in tight pants. You’re not supposed to figure out what they’re doing. Just enjoy it.”

  “Either way,” Mrs. Janowski interrupted, “we need to tear down Wade’s character. Make him into an evil villain. Then Ida can say it was self-defense.”

  “There’d be no one to contradict her except Hank,” Sylvia said, tugging on the collar of her Fearsome Foursome shirt. “I hate this thing. I told you I need a v-neck or scoop. This damn shirt is strangling me.”

  “It’s a standard T-shirt,” Mrs. Janowski said. “It’s not strangling you.”

  “It kind of looks like it is,” Edna said. “She ordered it two sizes too small.”

  “It’s the correct size,” Sylvia stated. “I just have curves. T-shirts are designed more for your frame. Stick straight.” She gestured to Mrs. Janowski.

  I knew I couldn’t be included in the stick-straight category. My love of cheesecake kept me far away from that problem.

  “Give me your sewing shears,” Sylvia said to Edna.

  “I don’t have them with me.”

  “You haul them around in your knitting bag. I know you brought the bag with you. I’ve been listening to you clicking those damn knitting needles together all day. Everyone can hear them, even if you’re trying to hide them under the table.”

  Edna flushed pink as she untucked her project from under the table and set it on top. She leaned over to dig through her bag. “They’re for cloth only. If you ruin them, you’re buying me a new pair.”

  “I won’t ruin them.” Sylvia stated. “I’m just going to modify the shirt a little.”

  “No, that’s your uniform,” Mrs. Janowski stated. “They all have to look the same. That’s why it’s called a uniform.”

  Sylvia took the shears from Edna. “Either you let me fix mine or I’ll go without.”

  Mrs. Janowski eyed her for a moment before muttering, “Fine, but make sure it’s G-rated.”

  “It’ll be fine,” she said as she stripped off the shirt.

  Hastily, I averted my eyes. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quick enough and read the words on her pushup bra: Man Eater.

  Commencing memory erase in three, two—

  “Did you get the good luck package from Aaron?” Mrs. Janowski once again turned her attention toward me.

  “Kym handed me something wrapped in tape.” I dug through my purse and pulled out the mysterious object.

  Mrs. Janowski grabbed it. “All might not be lost, ladies.”

  “What is it?” I asked, watching as she peeled off the tape.

  “Aaron got us some intel.”

  “Mrs. J, we all promised Kym that Aaron wouldn’t help us anymore.”

  “This was just a simple click and save. No harm done.” She handed the memory stick to Edna. “Fire up the machine. We have work to do.”

  Edna reached into her knitting bag and pulled out a laptop. She set it in front of her to open, then popped the stick into the USB port.

  “Why didn’t Aaron just email you the data?” I asked.

  “He kept using words like compressed and zip. We had no idea what he was talking about.”

  Edna nodded. “We’re only in our first Getting to Know Your Computer class at the senior center.”

  “What have you learned so far?” I asked.

  “How to turn it on,” Sylvia said with a yawn. “Much easier to turn on a computer than some of the men. I swear they have no more oomph anymore.”

  “We learned more than that,” Mrs. Janowski said. “You were too busy filing your nails instead of filing electronic documents.”

  “Do you remember how to open it?” Edna asked, looking to Mrs. Janowski.

  “Doesn’t something just pop up and you click on it?”

  They both looked at me.

  “Wait for a few seconds,” I said. “Your computer might still be booting.”

  “I wonder where they get all of these names,” Edna said. “Booting, rebooting, drive . . .”

  “Maybe it’s an Army term,” Mrs. Janowski suggested. “Like boot camp.”

  “That doesn’t seem right,” Sylvia said.

  “Then where do you think the terms came from?” Edna asked.

  Sylvia shrugged. “Maybe there was a kinky computer engineer who likes booty and hard drives.”

  Edna shook her head. “I was thinking it sounds like a man’s boot. Like you have to kick it to get it started. You know, give it a boot. And then it’ll drive on its own.”

  Before they could discuss it further, the computer made a popping sound, indicating the computer found the drive. Edna clicked on it.

  “There are hundreds of files on here.”

  “Send them to the printer,” Mrs. Janowski said. “We can all take a batch and weed through them. There has to be something that we can use for Ida’s defense.”

  “We might be able to use Hank,” I said. “When I was at his house earlier, we were talking and then all of a sudden he had to leave. It was as if he remembered something. I’m sure it had to be about Ida or Wade.”

  “Are you sure?” Mrs. Janowski asked. “For all we know he forgot to place a bet on the ponies.”

  “Hank doesn’t bet,” I said. At least I didn’t think he did. “Plus, he wouldn’t leave when there were two dozen reporters in his yard. He would’ve called in his bet. Something made him want to leave.”

  “Do you know where he went?”

  “No.”

  Mrs. Janowski tsked. “You were quite the little Nancy Drew the other day when you followed me. Couldn’t you have put those skills to use on Hank?”

  I ignored the jab since I had thought the same thing. I should have followed him.

  “No sense in worrying about it now,” Edna said. “The first batch is printing. Let’s start reading through these and see if we can’t dig something up.” She blanched. “Excuse my poor choice of words.”

  Mrs. Janowski distributed the papers. The pile she handed me was from an ancestry website. Other than finding out Wade was a descendant of a Viking, there wasn’t anything of use. From what Mrs. Janowski said, no one who had known Wade back then was alive except Hank and Ida. I scanned his family tree. Someone had to be alive. A second cousin, perhaps.

  “Mrs. J, do you have a list of the deceased people? I want to cross-reference with this family tree.”

  “Good idea.” She picked up a worn notebook from the table and leafed through it. “Here. These are all of the names.”

  I took the notebook from her and scanned both the names listed and the names from the ancestry site. Ten minutes later I confirmed what Mrs. Janowski had already surmised. The tree was dead.

  By the time I reached that conclusion, there was another stack of papers sitting in front of me. “You said there were a hundred documents?” I asked, wondering how long
it would take to get through each of them.

  Edna nodded. “At least.”

  Mrs. Janowski stood with a stretch. “I’ll brew the coffee.”

  Sylvia looked up from her papers with a sly smile. “Brett might be pining for you over there.” She nodded in the direction of my house. “It’s getting late. Why don’t you sneak over and give him a goodnight kiss?”

  If anyone other than Sylvia had said it, it might have sounded innocent. But the way she lowered her voice had Edna turning red, sputtering on a surprised cough. I might have turned the same scarlet shade if Brett was at home, but he wasn’t. And I wasn’t going to waste a single thought on where he was or what he was doing or who he was doing it with. I trusted him.

  I had to.

  Mrs. Janowski bustled back into the dining room. “Coffee’s on. Let’s get to work, ladies.”

  Thankfully, I could always count on Mrs. Janowski for distractions.

  Chapter 9

  The next morning, I met Rand at the lot to make sure construction was underway and there were no more delays.

  Everything looked to be in order and we were back on course. The crew had arrived on time and the police tape had been cleared.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Rand asked after I yawned for the tenth time. He took a long drag on his cigarette, eyeing me.

  “I took a sleep aid last night. I’m not used to them. I should’ve only taken half.”

  He nodded. “Let’s go to the café. I could use some coffee myself. I have paint samples we can go over.”

  He did look tired. I hadn’t noticed before. “Didn’t you get any sleep?”

  “None.” He turned away, and that was the end of the conversation.

  Maybe I should be more like Rand. He didn’t seem to let his lack of sleep get to him. I, on the other hand, couldn’t shake the fog that permeated my mind. It was as if my brain and body weren’t attached properly.

  Along with feeling like a complete slug, I had no idea if Brett had come home last night. He wasn’t there when I finally fell asleep, and he wasn’t there when I woke up.

  I trudged over to my car to follow Rand to the café. Before I could get in, he hollered, “You’re coming with me.”