Act One (What Doesn't Kill You Prequel): An Ensemble Mystery Novella

by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

  “Certainly,” Mickey replied and stepped forward.

  Laura slipped in beside him. The blonde reappeared. She grabbed something from the desktop she’d been working at. It glinted, catching Laura’s attention. The blonde looked up, and Laura smiled at her.

  The woman ignored her and spoke to her rosy-cheeked coworker. “I just got a text. There’s a water leak at my place. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Laura stole a glance at the object dangling from the blonde’s hand. It was a silver charm bracelet. The blonde disappeared.

  The clerk working with Mickey and Laura dipped her head. “I apologize. Now, where were we before Pinocchio interrupted us?”

  “Pinocchio?” Laura asked. She read the woman’s name tag: ASHLEY. “Is she lying about something?”

  Ashley giggled. “Oh”—she wiggled her hand toward the door the blonde had left through—“Elaine wasn’t working last night. It’s no big deal, though.” She typed on her keyboard. “Doesn’t look like there are any additional charges. Should I leave it on your card?”

  Mickey nodded. “Yes, please.” To Laura he said, “It’s only eight fifteen. How about we get some breakfast here before we hit the road?”

  Laura barely heard him. She was too busy comparing the bracelet she’d seen last night to the one the blonde had just carried off and thinking it was time to call the police.

  Michele

  The dirty-laundry-airing scene behind us shriveled me up inside. I’d blocked most of it out, and zoned out for a lot of the rest. Apparently it didn’t do much for the red-haired woman either, because she slunk away unacknowledged as the verbal sparring continued. Emily and Katie were making faces at each other across the table about it. But the public yelling and recriminations hit too close to home for me. I didn’t want to remember, but I did.

  Robert and I had already been separated, and we met at the House of Pies on Kirby to talk about Sam. It should have been no big deal. We were setting up a schedule and going over the teachers’ feedback (mostly okay) from the parent-teacher conference I’d attended the night before. Suddenly, Robert wasn’t talking about schedules or school. He was explaining to me why he couldn’t be married to me.

  “Maybe if you weren’t such a tightly wound, emasculating bitch,” Robert had yelled. His words mashed up. Ee-mas-cu-la-ting-bishhhhhhhh.

  He was drunk off his ass. He upset me, but more than that he broke my heart. He’d been drinking more and more over the last year. I couldn’t be married to this man, but I still didn’t want to see him like this.

  He kept yelling at me, unaware of the furtive glances and outright stares directed at us. “If you hadn’t been so disapproving of everything. So frigid about every damn thing behind our bedroom door.” His face had turned purple with rage.

  Pendejo. Humiliated, my hand had itched to slap him, but I wasn’t going to stoop to that level. Besides, some of what he’d said had the stinging ring of truth.

  I shuddered, trying to push the memory away and myself back into the present. I inhaled the bracing scent of coffee and squeezed honey into it. I willed the lovers’ quarrel—or whatever it was—to end.

  The Café Latte door opened. A man charged past us like a bull, literally. My eyes followed a muscular butt in a pair of Levi’s 501s that met a white T-shirt and a trim waist. Had it been so long since I’d had sex that I was ogling? In the middle of breakfast and a brawl? My eyes traced his broad shoulders and the muscular arms with ropes of muscle around the back. Um, yes. Apparently I was. Dios mio, help me. Estoy loca en la cabeza. I turned my head back to face Emily, who was watching the action like a tennis match. I watched her as she telegraphed it all in her expressions.

  A woman with an island accent said, “What the hell are you doing here, Zach?”

  The guy I’d been admiring put his hands on his hips. Zach. “Got a new boyfriend, sweetie?”

  The other woman said, “No, she’s just fucking mine.”

  “Nice,” island girl said.

  “Hey, she’s claiming me as her boyfriend again,” Ryan said.

  This was far, far worse than my fight with Robert in House of Pies had been. Perspective was everything.

  “Holy shit,” Katie whispered.

  Emily put a hand over a giggle. I shook my head at them. This was nasty and going nuclear.

  Emily whispered, “Let’s hope no one brought a gun.”

  “Stay low,” Katie added. Katie’s eyes were bloodshot, but it was the only lasting effect of her drunk-capade the night before. If I’d had as much to drink as she’d had, I’d still be hugging the commode.

  The door opened again. I prayed it was the police to break this up and end our torture, but it wasn’t. It was a blonde in a uniform. I squinted. A uniform I recognized. The Hilton, our hotel, if I wasn’t mistaken. She had a jangly look to her that shot my curiosity and tension meter up. Six . . . seven . . . eight. It climbed higher as she stalked past us. I couldn’t help noticing her nails were bitten to the quick like mine.

  Of course she was headed to the brouhaha at the table behind me.

  A new female voice—I assumed it was the blonde woman that had just joined the lovefest—said, “So this is how it is, Zach?”

  Zach said, “Criminy, Elaine. Really?”

  I had a flash, a vision where the blonde whipped a knife out of her purse. Blood spurting. Bodies slumping. Mouths screaming. But in reality, that’s not what happened.

  She said, “You need to be done with this whore.”

  “Who you calling a whore, sugar?” the island voice said.

  “Get away from her,” the Elaine woman said, her words stressed to the breaking point. She moved into my peripheral vision, pulling Zach’s arm.

  “Let go of me,” he said.

  “Don’t you see? I’m trying to save you. I’ve taken care of you.”

  He jerked his arm out of her grasp. She’d left white marks in his tan skin. He shook his pretty-boy golden curls. “I don’t need saving, Elaine, or your money. I’m just fine. How’d you find me, anyway? Were you following me?”

  She backed away, dropping something as she passed us. It landed on the floor by our booth. I reached down for it.

  “Wait,” I said. “You dropped your bracelet.” I picked it up, but she turned and kept going, her feet making clackety noises on the tile.

  “That’s James Avery,” Katie said. “And with all those charms, it’s expensive.”

  I jumped out of the booth and ran out the door after the blonde. “Your bracelet, miss,” I called after her. “Wait!” Rain pelted my face.

  She stopped. When she turned to me, her face was ravaged by tears. I walked halfway into the street. A horn honked, and I held up my hand. The car swerved around us, splashing up water as it zoomed by. I dropped the bracelet in the blonde’s hand. She stared at it, rooted where she stood for long seconds. Then, without a word to me, she ran the rest of the way across the street to the hotel.

  When I returned to the table, a waiter was setting food at our places. “I’m not hungry. Can I get that to go?” I headed for the bathroom before I even heard his answer. The party next to us, if you could call it that, was breaking up.

  “Elaine is one crazy-ass bitch,” Zach said, as I scurried past them. “So. Why am I here?”

  Maggie

  Ava’s next to leave, pushing past Maggie. “What part of ‘over’ you not understand, dumbass?” Then she stomps away.

  Just when Maggie thinks she’s rid of her, Ava spins back around. “I onto you, Zach. My bank account, my credit cards, stealing my identity. You think you can just take everything and walk in here, pretend like you own me. But you can’t.”

  Maggie grins. Maybe it’s okay for Ava to stick around after all. This is getting good. Maggie looks toward Zach. His face scrunches up, and it looks like it’s hurting him to think. He’s far too beautiful to be brainy.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” he finally says. “I didn’t take anything from you.”<
br />
  “Somebody did, and you the only somebody who knew all my passwords.” Ava shoots him the bird and then she’s outta there. Now it’s Zach’s turn, and he lights out after her. Maggie moves to the window by the front door so she can get a better look. Ava’s booking it and jaywalking, or jay-running, rather, across four lanes of congested traffic. Zach gets stuck on the near side, yelling after her. Then he grabs his beautiful curls in both hands and yanks them.

  Maggie giggles. Ryan slips up behind her. All the way up behind her. She shivers as his body presses into hers. He rests his chin on her shoulder.

  “You’re evil,” he whispers.

  A voice behind him says, “Excuse me. Are you Ryan Jones?”

  Ryan peels his body away from Maggie’s. It leaves a cold spot behind. She bares her teeth, ready to tear some hair off of whatever woman’s coming on to him now. But when she’s about to launch, she sees a girl-next-door blonde with big bangs holding out a paper menu/place mat to Ryan with a pen.

  “Can I get your autograph?” she says, her voice hesitant, but upbeat. “I saw you at the Fort Worth Stock Show last year. You were fantastic.”

  Ryan reaches out for the paper and sets it on the nearest table. “Thank you,” he says. You could have melted butter in his mouth. He morphs into the rising country star persona that he slips in and out of so easily, leaving behind the sexy party animal that Maggie knows so well.

  “You did ‘Doughnuts Make My Brown Eyes Blue.’ Cool version.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “Doughnuts?”

  “Uh, yeah, that Crystal Gayle—”

  He laughs. “I know which song it is. But it’s not ‘doughnuts.’ It’s ‘Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue.’”

  “That’s what I said.” The girl flushes. “Anyway, you were awesome.”

  As Ryan signs, he asks, “Who do I make this out to?”

  Maggie watches him carefully. He catches her and grins. Dimples, even under two days’ worth of stubble.

  “Emily,” the woman says.

  “You know I was just the opening act for the opening act.” Ryan scrawls his name. He bites his lip and scrutinizes the paper to make sure it’s just right. It still isn’t an everyday thing for him to get autograph requests. Not like it had been for Maggie over the last few years.

  Little Miss Former Homecoming Queen says, “Well, I’m sure that you’ll be the main attraction in no time. Really. My husband thought you were fantastic, and he usually poo-poos my taste in music.”

  Maggie’s shoulders relax. Husband.

  Ryan hands the autographed place mat back.

  “And can I get yours, too, Ms. Killian?”

  Maggie shrugs, takes the pen and place mat, and scrawls her name.

  The woman-girl beams and takes them from her.

  Ryan sends her off with his trademark lady-killer smile. “From your mouth to God’s ear, Emily. God bless you, and thank you so much.”

  “Thank you,” she says, and returns to a table with an icy-cool redhead.

  It’s right next to where Ryan and Ava ate their breakfast.

  Maggie leans into Ryan. “That little Barbie doll heard every word of our conversation a moment ago.” She points back at the table. “She’s probably sending it off sealed with a kiss to Perez Hilton or TMZ right this second, with our autographs as proof of identity.”

  Ryan’s lids flutter downward, and his eyes take on that bad-boy look she likes a whole lot better than his sweet southern image. “Is that so?” he says. With one hand he spins her by her shoulder so she’s facing the door. He opens it with the other and gives her a little push in the small of her back.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  If he could see her smile, he’d know that he’d already won himself back into her good graces. She stops suddenly, and he bumps up on her. She turns around, grabbing his lip between her teeth and his package with her right hand.

  “You sure as hell better be taking me back to your place.” She pushes her pelvis against his. Once, twice, three times. She releases his lips from her teeth, but keeps her mouth on his. “We’re going to rub the smell of that woman out of your sheets.”

  Ava

  The tears on my cheeks shame me. I scrub them away. I left my car at the theater last night, and there’s no way I can escape Zach on foot. I need a place to hide. I duck into the hotel across the street and search for bathrooms. I don’t see any, so I run to the front counter to ask. Only then do I realize that Zach’s whack bitch, Elaine, is standing right behind the counter.

  She doesn’t look much better than I do. Before I can backtrack, she sees me.

  “You!” She sprays saliva as she chokes the word out, but her eyes are off me in an instant. She’s wild-eyed at something behind me.

  Zach’s hand grasps my shoulder. “Come on. We need to get you out of here.”

  “Zach?” Elaine wails. There are people waiting for her at the desk, but she’s oblivious to their horrified expressions.

  Her coworker notices, though. “Excuse me, folks,” she says, and grabs Elaine by the arm. She pulls her toward the door behind them, much like Zach is pulling me away.

  There’s a buzz, a mumbling, but it fades as Zach whisks me around the corner.

  “Leave me alone,” I hiss at him.

  “Ava,” he says.

  I don’t answer him. He presses my back against the wall, but gentle, like I’m a Waterford vase or something. The wall is granite, and it’s cool through my clothes. I smell baby powder. Zach is obsessed with it, although he doesn’t like people knowing it. Memories rush in, not all of them bad. I feel shame knowing I reek of Ryan Jones, but Zach puts two fingers under my chin and lifts. His blue eyes lock on mine. I used to think I was in love with this man, and it hurts.

  “Ava,” his voice caresses me like his soft, actor hands used to. Never a day’s labor for him. He’s leading-man material. I harden. “Ava,” he repeats.

  He leans so close I’m afraid he’s going to kiss me. I jerk my face away and say, “What?”

  “What’s going on? What did you mean back there in the restaurant?

  I shuck him off, slipping out from under one of his tan, golden-haired arms. “You know what I mean. You never work. You cheat on me. I kick you out. Then all my money start disappearing, and everywhere I go you livin’ high. You a thief, and I reporting you to the police.”

  “But I didn’t take anything from you.” He looks confused, sincere.

  I snort, trying not to let him see that I may believe him. With a blinding flash, it hits me. Elaine. He had all my information. She could have taken it. Well, even if he hasn’t stolen from me, I paid for every move the user made in the last six months, and it was his betrayal that made it possible for her to steal from me.

  I harden my heart. “Tell your story to cops dem when they come callin’.” Remembering the frantic blonde, I jerk my head back in the direction of the check-in counter. “You better go tell your new boo everything okay now.” I walk away from him, trying for a can’t-touch-this strut.

  His voice is strangled. “I love you, Ava. I would never hurt you. Never steal from you.”

  I flap my hand at him and keep walking. I need to get far enough away that he can’t see me wipe the tears away.

  Katie

  The fall sun after all that rain felt marvelous, even if my head was pounding like Ringo Starr on a bass drum. It was nice to have the morning off from the reunion while other people—men mostly—golfed, especially after the drama at breakfast. The speakers around the pool blared Gwen Stefani singing about “The Sweet Escape.” I took a sip of mine, a strawberry daiquiri. Yummy. It was melting, so I went ahead and drained it off. I felt my cheeks lift as I smiled. I peered out at the pool area from under my floppy-brimmed hat. It was so low, I was barely able to see past it to my shiny white skin and the blue water, potted plants, and umbrella-topped tables beyond dripping water onto the slick tile and concrete deck. The pool was flanked by matching brick fountains
with water trickling down from what looked like extra free-standing bathroom sinks. Sweat trickled between my thighs onto the thick cushion. Time to reapply sunscreen. Redheads have no business in the sun, and I was so sensitive to it that it was almost an allergy. I sat up and slathered 50 SPF all over myself.

  “You smell like a piña colada.” Michele lay back in her reclining pool chair with an arm over her eyes.

  “Did you bring a whole suitcase of that stuff?” Emily laughed.

  I sniffed. “It wouldn’t hurt you to use a little.” I held it out.

  She shook her head, sipping her lemonade through a straw. Her two-piece bathing suit was pink gingham, and she was so damn cute she needed to be slapped, but not by me. I loved the girl.

  Michele sat up, tenting her eyes. “You guys are like ghosts. I’ve got built-in SPF.”

  “Is that so?” I worked white lotion into my arm. “I heard that naturally dark-skinned people can still get skin cancer.”

  “We can,” Michele said. “Just not as easily as you pasty types.”

  “Don’t look now.” Emily closed her eyes. “Here comes Creepy Joe.”

  Joe was walking toward us from the passway into the hotel, an oily smile on his face. He shot Michele a frosty look and stopped in front of me. Michele blanched. I busied myself applying lotion in already-lotioned spots.

  “Katie.”

  I stalled, rubbing a hole in my arm, wishing him away, but he didn’t go. I glanced up, eyes only. “Oh, Joe. Hi,” I said, in a tone I could have used to say, “Oh, diarrhea.”

  His eyes darkened. “Did you give any more thought to what we talked about yesterday?”

  What in blue blazes was he talking about? Another daiquiri was sounding really good right now. I fixed my eyes back on my arm. The spot I was abusing was an angry red, so I squirted more sunscreen in my hand and started a second coat on my shin, which also allowed me to hide my body by folding over. “Um, no?”