“Do you think Charlene knows we’re behind her?” Libby asked as she watched Charlene exit the development a couple of minutes later and turn left on Victor, then go down another block and turn right onto Reunion Avenue.
Bernie shook her head. “She’s certainly not driving as if she does.” Then she fell silent again and slowed down even more. There were vehicles on Reunion, and Bernie had to turn on her lights so she wouldn’t get in an accident with one of the other cars.
Three miles later, Charlene turned into a small strip mall that housed a pizza place, a tanning salon, a Thai restaurant, a dentist’s office, and a high-end used clothing store. “Maybe Charlene’s going to get takeout,” Bernie suggested, killing her lights again as she followed her in.
“I hear Thai East is pretty good,” Libby said, thinking that she could do with some pad thai right around now and then wondering if they could do a riff on the dish this fall using sweet potatoes instead of noodles.
“So do I. We should try it sometime,” Bernie told her as she tried to figure out where to park.
There was a clump of trees at the entrance to the strip mall, and Bernie decided to stop behind it. It was the best she could do under the circumstances. Hopefully, the trees would allow Bernie and Libby to see and not be seen by Charlene. Bernie half expected Charlene to go into one of the restaurants, but she didn’t. Instead, she drove to the far end of the mall. Then she parked her vehicle and got out. She was carrying something, but Bernie and Libby couldn’t see what it was. Only that it was on the small side. Bernie whipped out her phone and started filming. The sisters watched as Charlene walked over to a Dumpster, lifted up the top, and threw whatever she was carrying into it.
“Interesting,” Libby said as Charlene got back in her car, started it up, and sped out of the lot.
“Very interesting,” Bernie agreed, looking at the video she’d made. It wasn’t crystal clear, but it was good enough.
Chapter 37
“The question is—” Bernie began, but Libby interrupted her before Bernie had a chance to finish her sentence.
“I’m not doing it,” she declared, anticipating her sister’s request.
“Not doing what?” Bernie asked, as if she didn’t know.
Libby pointed to the Dumpster they were now parked in front of. As soon as Charlene had driven away, Bernie had driven over to it. “Obviously, climbing in there to retrieve whatever Charlene got rid of.” Libby shuddered. “I don’t want to think about what’s in there.”
“Garbage.”
Libby glared at her.
“Don’t you want to know what Charlene threw out?” Bernie wheedled. “Aren’t you curious?”
“Not as curious as you are.” Libby scratched her wrist. My God, was the poison ivy spreading to her arms, too?
Bernie raised an eyebrow. “It has to be something pretty important if she came all the way here to throw it out. Otherwise, she would have tossed it at home.”
“Fine,” Libby said, conceding defeat. “So, maybe you’re right. I am curious. It is something important. I just think you should be the one going Dumpster diving. After all, you were the one who suggested it.”
“You know I would if I could,” Bernie cooed, having anticipated this. “But I can’t.”
“And why not?” Libby asked.
“It would be a waste of money.”
Libby cocked an eyebrow. “How do you get that?”
Bernie pointed to Libby and then pointed to herself. “Look at you and then look at me.”
“So?” Libby didn’t get where her sister was going.
“So, I’m wearing a Stella McCartney dress and a vintage Prada sweater, and you are wearing old sneakers, khaki shorts that should have been thrown out two years ago, and a weird color brown T-shirt. That’s why.”
Libby drew herself up. “It’s not weird. It’s purply brown.”
“It’s ugly,” Bernie informed her.
“I like this shirt,” Libby exclaimed, plucking at it. “What’s wrong with this shirt?”
“Aside from the color, everything,” Bernie told her.
“What’s your point?” Libby demanded.
“My point,” Bernie explained to her, “is that my clothes are worth considerably more than yours.”
“If that’s what’s holding you back, Bernie, you know what? I have a suggestion. Take your clothes off and dive in.”
“Okay. I will,” Bernie promptly answered. As Libby watched, her sister took off her sweater and handed it to her. Then she began unbuttoning her dress. “Of course, Brandon got me my panties and bra, and I wouldn’t want to get those dirty, either,” she mused, “so I guess those will have to go, as well.”
“Stop,” Libby cried, horrified.
“Why?” Bernie smiled sweetly. “I’m just following your suggestion. Here.” Bernie took off her shoes and handed them to Libby. “I wouldn’t want to ruin my Manolos.”
“But what if someone comes out?” Libby demanded. She was pretty sure that Bernie was kidding, but she wasn’t positive. She could see her sister carrying out her threat. Bernie did take things to the extreme.
Bernie shrugged. “Then they’ll see me naked. So what?”
Libby put both hands up in a gesture of surrender as she pictured the scene. It wasn’t worth it, she decided. She didn’t even want to think about what her father would say. “Okay. You win. But you owe me for this. You owe me big.”
“I was willing—”
“Don’t even bother saying it,” Libby said, cutting her sister off, wanting to get it over with. She asked Bernie to move Mathilda closer to the Dumpster to make it easier to get in. Once Bernie did, both sisters got out of the van and Libby climbed onto the hood.
“Very graceful,” Bernie commented as she watched her sister bend over, grip the edge of the Dumpster and half step, half fall into the metal container.
“Then you do it,” Libby snapped as she righted herself. She’d stepped on something she didn’t want to speculate about. “This is disgusting,” she said.
“Oh, come on,” Bernie replied, trying to jolly her along. “It’s not that bad.”
“It’s bad enough,” Libby told her. But Bernie was right, not that Libby was going to say that. It was pretty bad, but it wasn’t “hold your nose and try not to throw up” terrible.
Despite the smell of rotten vegetables and the yucky stuff on the walls of the Dumpster, the origin of which Libby refused to speculate on, most of the garbage was contained in black plastic bags. In addition, the Dumpster must have been emptied recently, meaning it was less than half full, which was a godsend.
“I don’t see anything,” Libby said as she looked around.
Bernie peeked over the edge. “I bet whatever Charlene threw in fell between the cracks and went down to the bottom,” she said, speculating.
Libby groaned. This certainly gave new meaning to the term Dumpster diving. She began lifting up the garbage bags on the right side and piling them on top of each other on the left side. Fortunately, most of them were light. When she finished, she studied the Dumpster floor.
“Find anything?” Bernie asked as Libby looked.
“Nope.” That is, outside of rotten lettuce leaves, moldy slices of pizza, a sprinkling of white cheese that had turned green, and eggshells. “If Charlene got rid of something, I’m not seeing it. Maybe we’re wrong. Maybe we imagined the whole thing.”
“No. We didn’t. It has to be down there. Maybe a little light would help.” Bernie took out her phone, activated its flashlight, and handed it to Libby.
Libby played the light around the Dumpster. She didn’t see anything on the floor. She moved one of the bags and heard a squeak and jumped.
“I think I hear a rat,” she said.
“It’s probably a mouse,” Bernie said, trying to reassure her.
“No. It’s probably a rat, and I’m going to die from the bubonic plague,” Libby said as she kept looking.
“No one dies from the p
lague anymore,” Bernie replied. “They have antibiotics for that.”
“I’ll be the first,” Libby told her, moving another bag. This one had some sort of slimy stuff on it, and she wiped the stuff from her hands onto her shorts. Then she moved a couple more bags. Two round metal containers slid down to the Dumpster floor, along with something that looked like a plaque of some kind or other.
“I think I found what Charlene got rid of,” Libby said, picking the items up. She was just about to hand them to Bernie when Bernie heard a noise, someone whistling.
“Duck down,” she whispered to Libby. “I think someone’s coming.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“Shush.” Bernie put her finger to her lips. “Keep it down, and no, unfortunately, I’m not.”
The whistling grew louder. Now Libby could hear it, too. A moment later, a middle-aged Asian man wearing khaki slacks, a short-sleeved white shirt, and dark shoes rounded the corner. He was carrying a large bag of garbage in either hand. When he saw Bernie and the van, he came to a dead stop.
“What are you doing?” he asked Bernie. Then he read the sign on the van and said in a louder voice, “Trying to get rid of your garbage?”
“Don’t be silly,” she told him, deciding that he was the owner of the Thai restaurant. She recognized him from Sam’s Club.
“I’m not paying the haulage fees to have you use this Dumpster,” he told her angrily, pointing at the logo on the side of the van.
“We have our own service, thank you very much,” Bernie snapped back. But she could understand why he was annoyed. She used the same company, and they were not cheap. None of the trash removal companies were.
The owner’s frown deepened. It was obvious he didn’t believe her. “I have a good mind to call the police,” he told her.
The last thing we need, Bernie thought as she gestured to herself. “Call the company and check.” She sighed. “Look,” she continued, “would I be wearing this if I was throwing garbage in your Dumpster?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” the owner asked, unimpressed with Bernie’s argument.
Obviously, a man with no fashion sense, Bernie decided.
She was just about to explain her statement when the owner said, “Okay. If you’re telling the truth, then what are you doing here?”
Bernie explained. She waved her hands in the air, doing her best damsel in distress imitation. “I thought someone was following me, so I slipped in here to lose him.”
The owner nodded and tossed the garbage bags in the Dumpster. “I see,” he said as he reached over and closed the top. Bernie flinched at the thud. “I don’t know why everyone can’t remember to shut this thing,” he continued. “How hard is it?” he asked Bernie.
“We have that problem, too,” Bernie replied, trying not to think about what Libby was feeling right now. Especially since Libby didn’t like closed-in spaces.
The owner turned to go, but then he turned back and faced Bernie. “There’s no one out there now,” he remarked.
“Thanks,” Bernie told him.
The owner nodded.
“I guess I should be going,” Bernie said.
“I guess you should,” the owner replied, and he planted his feet on the ground and crossed his arms over his chest.
Clearly, Bernie thought, he wasn’t going to leave before she did.
“Have a good evening,” she said to him as she got into the van. She started Mathilda up.
Libby is going to kill me, she decided as she put the van in drive and motored out of the parking lot. But there was nothing she could do about the situation now. As she exited, she could see the restaurant owner in the rearview mirror. Now he was standing in front of Thai East, smoking a cigarette and watching to make sure that she left. She took the first right that presented itself and went down Veil Road. Chesterton Street was the next right, and she turned onto it.
Now she was in the Hidden Valley development, a development that was newer and considerably cheaper than the one Marie’s and Charlene’s houses were in. The houses here were smaller and closer together, the lawns were edged with white pavers and dotted with ceramic gnomes, and the cars in the driveways were Kias and Hyundais instead of BMWs and Infinitis. Kids’ bikes littered the driveways, and there was an abundance of portable basketball hoops set back near the garages. Two of the houses Bernie went by had small RVs parked in front of them.
Normally, the street would have been crowded with kids and parents, but it was late, and everyone was in for the night. Bernie went up a couple more houses and parked on the side of the road in front of a brick colonial that had a FOR SALE sign out front and no vehicles in the driveway. As a precaution, though, she took out an old phone—since Libby had hers—and pretended to talk on it in case someone was in the house and called the police because they wanted to know what she was doing there. But no one came.
It seemed to take forever, but finally five minutes was up and Bernie made a U-turn and drove back to the strip mall. This time, she drove in from the other side of the mall, taking care not to cross in front of the Thai restaurant. Then she pulled up next to the Dumpster, parked, and got out.
“He’s gone,” Bernie whispered as she lifted up the Dumpster top.
Libby popped up like a jack-in-the-box. “You certainly took your bloody time getting back here,” she snarled as she glared at her sister.
Bernie decided that if looks could kill, she’d be dead. “I couldn’t help it. I had to make sure the guy was gone.”
“I thought I’d die in there.”
“Let’s not exaggerate,” Bernie told her sister. Then she was sorry she did, because a statement like that didn’t help matters.
“You didn’t have garbage bags thrown on your head.” Libby picked up a speck of white on her shirt and held it up. “Oh, my God,” she screamed. “It’s a maggot.”
“It’s a grain of rice,” Bernie said.
Libby took a second look. Her sister was right.
“Here,” Bernie said, and she reached over and brushed some more grains of rice from Libby’s hair and shoulders. “Let me help.”
Libby was not placated. “What if I’d been attacked by rats? What if I’d suffocated to death?”
“But you weren’t, and you didn’t,” Bernie told her.
“But I could have been,” Libby replied.
Bernie sighed. “Can I see what you found?”
“All I can say is I hope it was worth it,” Libby said as she handed the items to her sister.
Bernie studied them. “Let’s go see what Charlene has to say about this, shall we?”
“Yes, let’s,” Libby agreed, and then she said, “Oh, by the way, Lucy called while I was in the Dumpster.”
Bernie’s stomach flip-flopped. “What did he want?”
“To see how we were doing.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“That we were doing great. He said he’d drop by our flat later to hear about our progress.”
“Wonderful,” Bernie said.
Chapter 38
Bernie looked at Libby. She was rubbing the scrape on her leg she’d gotten from climbing out of the Dumpster. Getting in had been easy. Getting out had been a lot harder. Libby wasn’t strong enough to pull herself out, and Bernie didn’t have enough upper-body strength to make up the difference.
In the end, Libby had had to pile the garbage bags on top of each other so she could use them to scramble out. Just in time, too. As they left the strip mall, Bernie saw the owner of Thai East in the van’s rearview mirror. He was coming out of the restaurant with another two bags of garbage in his hands.
“Well, that was close,” Bernie observed as Libby got a tissue out of the glove compartment and blotted the scrape on her leg.
“I should probably get a tetanus shot,” she said.
Bernie had the good sense not to say anything.
Libby looked at her watch. It was covered with slime. “I loved this watch,” she sai
d mournfully.
“It’ll be fine,” Bernie said.
“Yeah. But every time I look at it, I’ll think about being in that Dumpster.”
“I’ll get you a new one,” Bernie told her.
“I’ve had it forever,” Libby moaned, trying for maximum guilt.
“You bought it last year in Chinatown. I was with you.”
Libby couldn’t think of an answer, so she just grunted and moved away from the window. It had started to drizzle, and she didn’t want to get wet.
“I don’t suppose we could close the windows,” Libby said.
“Not unless you want the smell of garbage in the van,” Bernie said. “You should burn those clothes when we get home,” she added.
Libby moved a tad closer.
“Stop it,” Bernie said as she inched farther away.
“Stop what?” Libby asked, all pretend innocence. She was enjoying watching her sister squirm. “I’m not doing anything.”
Bernie snorted. “Stop trying to stink me out.”
Libby didn’t say anything, because it was true. They arrived at Charlene’s house ten minutes later. It was a little after twelve. All the houses on the street were dark except for Charlene’s.
“No big surprise there,” Bernie observed as she parked at the end of Charlene’s driveway. Then she got an umbrella out from behind the driver’s seat and stepped out of the van. Libby joined her, and they marched up the driveway and climbed the five steps that led to the house.
Bernie leaned over and rang the bell. When no one answered, she rang again, this time keeping her thumb on the button. A moment later, the door swung open.
“What are you doing here?” Charlene demanded. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Indeed, we do,” Bernie said. “I believe it’s a little past the witching hour.”
Then Libby took a step forward, and Charlene took a step back, flinching at the smell coming off Libby. “Here.” Libby held out the two tins and the plaque she’d found in the Dumpster. “We thought you’d want these back.”
Charlene swallowed. Twice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, looking at what was in Libby’s hands, then looking away.
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