Milly looked a bit put out. She didn’t like to share the stage. Especially when she had a juicy role to act out. She scooted over begrudgingly.
“Oh. Sure. Have a seat.”
Cold Cuts slid into the booth beside her. Milly smiled thinly. “So tell us, Cold Cuts. How did you get that name? Let me guess. Because you cut men off cold?”
Cold Cuts smirked good-naturedly. “That, and I adore salami.”
“Well, they don’t have salami here.”
I shot Milly a look. She sighed and softened her tone. “But they do make a nice cheese omelet.”
“Oh yeah?” Cold Cuts asked. “You’ve been here before?”
Milly beamed proudly. “Every Saturday for the last...I dunno...five years or so.”
A wormy-looking waiter in his late thirties with a soul patch and a 20-inch waist dragged himself over to our table. He pulled an order pad from the back pocket of his size-zero pants and stared at it blankly as he spoke.
“What’ll it be?”
“I’ll have the Saturday-morning special,” Milly said politely.
“What’s that?” Cold Cuts asked.
The waiter sighed heavily. “Cheese omelet, toast, orange juice and coffee.”
“Sounds good. Make it two,” Cold Cuts said and closed her menu.
“Make it three,” I said.
The waiter gave a quick nod of his head and ambled away. I would have killed for an butt his size.
“I get the same thing every time,” Milly said. “It’s so good.”
Cold Cuts studied Milly for a moment, then looked back at the waiter. “So, is that guy new?”
“Jackson? No. He’s been here for years. Why?”
“He didn’t seem to recognize you at all. And he didn’t know your order, either.”
“Oh, that. That’s the ‘woman of a certain age’ curse, Cold Cuts. Val and I call it ‘The Cloak of Invisibility.’ You’re too young, but you’ll get yours one day.”
Cold Cuts crinkled her nose. “What are you talking about?”
Milly shot me a knowing smirk. “I’m impervious to attention. Nobody notices me. At least, nobody I want to notice.”
Cold Cuts looked over at me. “You, too?”
“Yeah. It happens all the time.”
The waiter returned with two more coffees and a stack of paper napkins big enough to thwart an oncoming tsunami. Cold Cuts studied him as he unceremoniously dumped the items from his tray.
“Hey buddy. See my friends here?”
Jackson glanced dully at me and Milly, then over to Cold Cuts. We were as interesting to him as drying paint.
“Listen to me. These two are not –”
I kicked Cold Cuts under the table. She glanced at me, then at Milly. She picked up on Milly’s look of dread and switched her attitude in the blink of an eye.
“– ones to waste napkins.”
Cold Cuts grabbed half the napkins and handed them back to the waiter. “Take these back with you.”
“Your wish is my command,” Jackson replied robotically. With the speed of a paralytic sloth, he placed the napkins on his tray and headed to the kitchen. When he was out of earshot, I scolded Cold Cuts.
“What are you doing? Drop it!”
“Are you serious? You guys don’t care?”
“It’s not exactly something you can fight.”
Cold Cuts bared her teeth in disgust. “When did you know you had this...cloak of...?”
“Invisibility,” I said dryly.
“I remember exactly,” Milly said. “It was like, ten months ago. I was leaving a restaurant after a horrible MatchMate date.”
“Of course,” I interjected. Milly smirked and continued.
“I couldn’t find my phone. So I talked to the maître de about it. You know, I described my phone, left my name and address. Anyway, I went to my car and my phone was ringing. It had fallen under the seat.”
Cold Cuts folded her arms. “Yeah, so?”
“So I went back inside the restaurant to tell the guy. You know what he said?”
“What?”
“Good evening, ma’am. May I help you?”
Cold Cuts’ mouth fell open. “Oh no he didn’t! Ouch!”
“Yes. Me, Ms. Milly Halbert. Gone less than a minute and completely erased from his memory banks. That’s the day I knew I’d gotten my cloak.”
Cold Cuts turned to me. “And you?”
I shrugged. “I dunno when it started, exactly. But like I said, it happens all the time.”
Cold Cuts shook her head. “Unbelievable!”
The thoughtless waiter returned. He slapped an omelet in front of Cold Cuts and me, then placed a plate of fried eggs and grits on the table in front of Milly. Cold Cuts nearly lost it.
“Uh, dude, that is not what she ordered.”
Milly shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s close enough.”
“Are you kidding me?” Cold Cuts objected.
The waiter turned to leave. Cold Cuts lost it for real. She stood up, grabbed the waiter by his choker-sized belt, and hauled him back to the table.
“Dude, see what’s on my plate? We ordered three of the same thing!”
“Excuse me,” he replied, in a tone that was anything but apologetic. We watched with piss in our eyes as Jackson picked up Milly’s plate and headed to the kitchen. Halfway there, he turned around and dropped the plate in front of an old, grey-haired woman sitting alone.
Cold Cuts stared at us, dumbfounded. She flopped back down into the booth as if she’d just finished a marathon. “Geeze! I hope you two aren’t contagious!”
I blew out a jaded breath. “Like we said, it’s –”
Cold Cuts bolted upright and slapped her hand on the table. “This is ridiculous! You two are...gorgeous! You know what? I think it’s time you two put your powers to work. Against this...evil!”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“I think it’s time we get the hell out of this stupid place.”
“The restaurant?” Milly asked.
“Yeah.”
“Now?”
“Hell yeah! Before Captain Oblivious returns.”
I looked over my shoulder. The waiter was heading into the kitchen. He paused a moment to pull his pants out of his tiny little butt crack.
“Okay. I’m in,” I said.
Milly gave me a shocked look. “Really?”
Cold Cuts and I jumped up. She grabbed Milly’s hand and tugged her out of the booth. We made a run for the door, me trailing behind. As Milly and Cold Cuts made it out the door, I looked back just in time to see the waiter delivering Milly’s omelet to our empty booth. He looked up as if in slow motion. I could almost see the scales fall off his dull eyes. He focused in on me. I panicked, shot him a bird and ran out the door.
Milly and Cold Cuts were waiting for me just outside.
“Woooo hoooo! That was killer, ladies!” Cold Cuts screamed.
“What have we done?” Milly cried out, then laughed nervously.
“Let’s get the hell out of here!” I said, and ran past them.
We hooted and hollered and screamed with laughter as we ran to our prospective getaway cars. You’d have thought we’d just robbed the place.
“You know, I can never go back there,” Milly yelled as she climbed into her Beemer.
“Why the hell would you want to?” Cold Cuts yelled back.
Yeah. Why the hell, indeed.
Chapter Twenty
I SQUEALED INTO MY driveway and slammed on the brakes. Milly’s Beemer pulled in behind me a second later. She climbed out of her car and wobbled, weak in the knees, to my driver’s side door. We both stared at each other, speechless. A moment later, we heard a vehicle backfire. Milly flinched as if it was a gunshot aimed at her head. We looked back at the road and the old RV came into view, Cold Cuts at the wheel. Milly and I both exhaled loudly. Hopefully, her safe arrival meant we’d made a clean getaway.
Cold Cuts waved an arm out the win
dow and touched her thumb and index finger together to form an okay sign. She pulled up behind Milly and shut off the RV. It shuttered and coughed and finally cut out.
“Wow! That was fantastic!” Cold Cuts yelled. She jumped out and sprinted to join us.
Milly chewed off her last fingernail and looked over at me, her face marred with guilt and fear. “Do you think they’ll call the cops on us?”
“Who?” Cold Cuts asked.
“The restaurant!” Milly cried, exasperated. “Jackson!”
Cold Cuts shook her head confidently. “No way.”
“How can you be so sure?” I asked.
“Think about it. Your cloaks of invisibility. He could never pick you guys out in a lineup.”
Milly’s fear gave way to relief, then a grin. “You know Val, she’s probably right.”
Cold Cuts cocked her head and pointed a thumb at her own chest. “I know I’m right.”
“Yeah, I agreed,” I said. “But please, both of you, not a word to Tom.”
“Who’s Tom?” Cold Cuts asked.
I shot Milly a “keep quiet” look. “Even better,” I said.
I MADE MY PARTNERS in crime a consolation breakfast of strawberry Pop Tarts and coffee. We munched them while Cold Cuts gave us a tour of the RV.
It was unrecognizable inside. All the dragonfly stickers on the walls were gone, as far as I could tell. They’d been replaced by clothes, scarves, belts, hats and bags full of wigs and shoes. They covered every wall, hung from sturdy hooks screwed into the paneling. I noticed one dry-cleaning bag had a name on it. Sherry Perry. Inside was the blonde wig and purple rhinestone shirt that had saved me from the oaf in Publix.
“What do you do with all this stuff?” Milly asked, beating me to it. She picked up a small hairpiece and studied it.
“I’m a freelance makeup artist, slash wardrobe consultant, slash whatever I have to be to get hired. I work on local TV commercials and low-budget indie films.”
“That’s so cool!” Milly said. She played with the little wig and giggled. “Mind if I use your mirror? After that run for it, I might need a disguise for a while.”
Cold Cuts raised her eyebrows, then shrugged. “Knock yourself out. There’s one in the bathroom.”
“Are all of these costumes for your movie clients?” I asked.
“Well...sort of.”
“Where do you get the ideas?”
“Some from client requests. Most, though, from my imagination. This one’s Scary Kerry.” Cold Cuts held up a clear plastic bag containing a rainbow-colored Mohawk, tattoo sleeves, a pair of ripped jeans and a piece of cardboard poked through with piercing jewelry.
Milly peeked out from around the bathroom door. “Yes! She’s the one who saved me from Dexter!”
“Dexter the dweeb,” Cold Cuts corrected.
“How do you remember all these characters?” I asked. “I mean, how do you keep them straight in your mind? What they would say?”
Cold Cuts shrugged nonchalantly. “Back stories.”
“Back stories?”
“Yeah. You know. Little quirks to make them more real. Odds and ends to give them depth. Motivation.”
“Motivation?” Milly came out of the bathroom wearing the little wig on her chin.
“Yeah. A reason to act.”
Milly giggled and lowered her voice. “So, what’s my motivation?”
Cold Cuts grinned. “You tell me. By the way, that’s a merkin, not a beard.”
Milly scrunched her brow. “A merkin?”
“Yeah. For nude scenes. Everybody’s shaved nowadays.”
Milly cocked her head like a puzzled gnome. “Huh?”
“It’s a pubic wig.”
“Aaargh!” Milly ripped the curly wig from her chin and tried to fling it away, but it stuck to her finger like a piranha on a tube steak. “Eeeww! Get it off me! Val! Help!”
But alas, I couldn’t help Milly. I was too busy trying not to pee my pants.
Milly screeched like a bat and flailed her fingers back and forth in the air like a miniature helicopter. The little wig finally flew off, but it landed on top of Milly’s head. She screamed and tore at her hair like it was on fire. The merkin finally let go and fell to the floor like a dead tarantula.
“I think she just invented a new dance,” Cold Cuts sniggered. “The Merkin Jerk!”
I crumpled over and grabbed my gut. Cold Cuts and I nearly choked to death on Pop Tart crumbs and our imaginations.
“Quit laughing! This thing is disgusting!” Milly shrieked. She ran a hand through her hair to smooth it down, then looked down at her fingers as if they might have picked up an STD. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you knew,” Cold Cuts sniggered. “Hell, I didn’t know you were going to sixty-nine the poor little thing.”
Cold Cuts stuck out her tongue and waggled it. She and I grabbed onto each other to keep from falling over laughing.
“Ha ha. Very funny.” Milly stomped the three feet to the kitchen and turned on the tap. “Do you have any bleach?”
“No,” Cold Cuts managed to choke out. “But there’s wig sanitizer under the counter.”
Milly shot us both a look that could have curdled milk. I turned my back and tried to regain my composure before Mount Halbert blew her top.
I bit my lip between words. “So...what’s...Scary Kerry’s...back story?”
Cold Cuts eyed Milly once more, smirked, then gave me her full attention.
“Mohawk Kerry? Let’s see. She’s a rebel without a clue. She wants to right the wrongs of the world, but all she’s got to work with is a warped sense of humor and a rusty old hammer.”
“Reminds me of someone I know,” Milly quipped. She’d come up behind me. She eyed me with a mixture of hurt pride and embarrassment. I returned her volley with a scowl.
“What about the one you did with me – Sherry Perry?”
Cold Cuts’ eyes looked upward, as if she could see into her brain better that way. “She’s an ex cheerleader. Now an aging beauty-pageant has-been. Lives for gossip and glamour magazines. And she always seems to get the crap-end of the stick when it comes to relationships.”
“Hmmm. Reminds me of someone I know,” I deadpanned.
It was Milly’s time to scowl.
WE LEFT THE RV AND moved into my kitchen, so Milly could give her hands a “proper washing.” As she used up the rest of my bleach and Ty D Bol, I realized from her surreptitious angry glares at Cold Cuts that the two had gotten off on the wrong foot. Big time. I needed to fix this situation, pronto. I liked Cold Cuts. I wanted Milly to like her, too. The last thing I needed was to tick this strange girl off. Besides, if I did, I might never find Glad’s ashes.
I offered my most potent olive branch. Wine.
"Wow, Cold Cuts. How do you stay so thin?" I asked, and handed her a glass of pinot grigio.
She shrugged. “Poverty helps.”
Milly’s hard glare softened a notch. I handed her a glass. She slurped down half of it in one gulp.
“Your work sounds exciting,” I said, like the ultimate hostess – or, perhaps, peace negotiator.
“It can be,” Cold Cuts admitted. “I got to see Channing Tatum once when he was here filming Magic Mike. But mostly, it’s just grunt work. And I never know when my next gig is coming.”
“My job is mind-numbingly steady,” Milly said unexpectedly. “I’ve done the same thing for twenty years. Monday through Friday, rain or shine. Boring, boring, boring.” She drained her glass. I sprinted back to the fridge to grab the bottle.
“What do you do?”
“I work in an accounting office.”
“Oh,” Cold Cuts said without judgment. “Did you always want to be an accountant?”
Milly was taken aback by the question. I refilled her glass as she thought about how to answer it. “No. I mean, it was a process of elimination, I guess.”
“What were your other choices?” Cold Cuts asked with genuine interest.
> The wine seemed to be working its magic. Milly sat up and made a joke.
“Well, princess and mermaid didn’t seem like valid options once I hit junior high.”
Cold Cuts laughed. “Hey, it’s never too late to change careers.”
Milly shook her head as if it weighed 80 lbs. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I mean, who would hire me at my age?”
“Who says you have to find someone to hire you?” asked Cold Cuts. “You could be your own boss.”
The reply stumped Milly. She scrunched her eyebrows and uttered one syllable. “Huh.”
“Listen, I’m going out to the RV,” Cold Cuts said. She set her glass of wine on the counter. “I need to change my clothes and head out. Mind if I change them in your place, Val? You’ve got a little more elbow room.”
“Oh. No. Not at all. Take a shower, if you want. Save your water.”
Cold Cuts grinned appreciatively. “Great! Thanks, I will.”
When Cold Cuts left, I turned to Milly. She was busy downing the last of her wine. “What’s your problem with Cold Cuts anyway?”
Milly shrugged and looked confused. “She took your mom’s RV, Val. And won’t give it back.”
“Not yet. She still might. Maybe. And she did say she’s going to help me find piggybank. I’m okay with it. Why can’t you be?”
Milly pouted. “Val, she’s just so...young. And perky.”
“There’s no law against perkiness.”
“Well, there ought to be.”
My best friend and I grinned at each other with the soft comfort of knowing we had each other’s backs. The front door cracked open. We watched Cold Cuts reenter with a bag of clothes.
“Bathroom’s that way,” I said and pointed down the hall.
“Thanks!” Cold Cuts smiled and headed in that direction. Milly eyed her with a sad, envious look.
“Val, who would you be – if you could be anybody?”
“I dunno. I like my life fine.”
“Even the schlepping files part?”
“Well, maybe not that part.”
“You know, I wouldn’t mind working for myself, like Cold Cuts said. Mrs. Barnes is a pain in the neck. And poor Mr. Maas. He’s so old he could go any day. They both could. Maybe I should work on a plan B.”
Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 1 Page 58