Revenge of the Homecoming Queen

by Stephanie Hale

  “Well, if it isn’t Detective Buzzkill.” I just can’t resist busting this guy’s chops.

  “Aspen, I need to talk to you,” He says, all business. He glances down at Rand and my intertwined hands.

  “Okay, so talk.”

  “I think it would be better if you heard this alone.” He glances at Rand.

  “No. Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of Rand.” Jeez! This guy is so dramatic.

  He takes a deep breath, then says, “All right, your … ”

  “Wait, I’ll tell her.” My father comes racing around the corner out of breath.

  My stomach drops instantly. I know immediately that this is bad. I tighten my grip on Rand’s hand in anticipation of Dad’s horrible news. I imagine that Mom has been arrested for shoplifting after realizing she couldn’t use her credit card. This is all my fault!

  “Aspen, Mom’s missing. I’ve been trying to find her since I got home.”

  I feel like I’ve just entered some kind of parallel universe. This cannot be happening. Just a few seconds ago, the man of my dreams told me he didn’t want to live without me and presented me with Tiffany jewelry. Now my whole world is turned upside down. How can Mom be missing? Have they checked Neiman Marcus? Maybe they are having a huge sale and she just lost track of time. Even I know this isn’t possible. I should have been worried when she didn’t make it home to help me get ready. I should have done something then.

  “There’s nothing you could have done, Aspen,” Rand says, doing his mind-reading thing.

  “He’s right, sweetie,” Dad agrees, putting a protective arm around my shoulder. I can feel his body trembling. He’s trying to be strong for me, but he knows this is really bad.

  “Why don’t we head back to your house, Dan? I need to ask Aspen a few questions. I’ll be there right after I talk to your principal.”

  We all agree that a hallway filled with hyper, sex-crazed teenagers isn’t the place to discuss a missing persons case. Is Mom really a missing person? I wonder if we will have to make fliers to post around the neighborhood? I have no idea what to put down for her weight. Mom will be mortified if I overestimate. The pressure makes me crack. I bury my face into Rand’s chest. I really hope this Mary Kay makeup doesn’t run or Rand’s new button-down will be ruined.

  Rand leads me to the parking lot. His Jag is parked behind Mom’s car.

  “Why don’t you ride with me and we’ll come back and get your car later?”

  “No, I’d rather just take it home now. It’s only a few blocks,” I reply, unlocking Mom’s driver side door.

  “Whatever you want.” He kisses me on the cheek, then opens the door for me. I slide in and start the ignition. I’m about to put the car into drive when I notice something on the front windshield. I roll the window down and stick my hand out to grab it. It is a single long-stemmed white rose. Rand must have left it here. I think white means purity. Rand thinks I’m pure? I was about to show him serious evidence to the contrary before Detective Buzzkill’s news. Poor Rand gets put on hold again until we find Mom. I glance in my rearview mirror; he smiles and waves to me. If anybody can help me get through this, Rand can.

  * * * *

  A half hour later, I am au naturel after a long, hot shower and some serious help from my assortment of Clinique cleansing products. Mom’s dress is hanging safely in her closet awaiting her return. I am much more comfy in jeans and a T-shirt, which makes me feel a little guilty. What if Mom isn’t comfortable? I’m just walking down the stairs as Rand lets Detective Malone inside.

  We all sit down at the dining-room table. I waste no time with small talk.

  “What do you know?” I ask him.

  Detective Malone lays a large plastic baggie down in front of me on our glass-topped table. There is a note inside that looks like a kindergartener’s cut-and-paste project. Magazine letters of all colors and sizes are pasted to a blank white page. The message reads, “Some people don’t deserve to be beautiful.” Alongside the note is a chunk of ebony-colored hair.

  “That’s not my mom’s hair. Her hair is chestnut,” I say, feeling better now that this is obviously just a huge mistake.

  “We know. We’ve confirmed that the hair sample belongs to Angel Ives. The hair and the note were found taped to your car this afternoon.”

  All this time I was convinced that Angel was faking her disappearance to get attention. How could I have been so wrong? She really has been missing, and possibly dead, for six days. The same maniac that took Angel has Mom. What if? No, I can’t start thinking like that. I have to focus on trying to help Detective Malone figure out who did this.

  “Aspen, do you know any possible connection between Angel and your mother?” Detective Malone removes his tiny spiral notebook from his shirt pocket. I wonder if he still has my little rant about not being a couple with Rand still in there. Jeez! What a jerk I’ve been. All I’ve been thinking about is myself. I have to make amends with Angel, and more important, find Mom.

  “No. My mom doesn’t even know Angel. Well, except for the things I’ve told her.” I hang my head with guilt as I remember all the times I’ve ripped on Angel.

  “Don’t worry Aspen. We’re going to find her.” He touches my hand to comfort me. I don’t even notice all the hair on his knuckles, I’m just grateful he’s being so nice because I know I don’t deserve it.

  Detective Malone asks my father a few basic questions about Mom’s normal schedule. Dad is seriously falling apart and can’t even answer him when asked where Mom usually goes for lunch. Something inside me kicks the fear aside and takes over.

  “Dad, why don’t you go upstairs and lie down for a little while. I can handle the detective’s questions.”

  Dad rises from his chair, kisses the top of my head, then makes his way slowly up the stairs. Detective Malone looks grateful. I don’t think Dad has been much help in the investigation. He and Mom have been together almost every single second for eighteen years, and I don’t think Dad has a clue how to function without her.

  “I can’t imagine anything that Angel and Mom would have in common except maybe the whole beautiful thing. They are both very beautiful.” A few minutes ago I wouldn’t have been caught dead saying Angel was beautiful, but she is.

  “We know that they were both compulsive shoppers so we have someone questioning any strange behavior at some of the more popular boutiques and department stores.”

  My eyes widen at Harry’s statement. “Did you tell Dad?” I ask.

  He shakes his head no. “I figured your mom could do that when she gets back,” he answers. I sigh with relief. Dad doesn’t need to be worrying about money now, too.

  A department store stakeout? That sounds weak. They’ve got nothing. The fear creeps back into my stomach as I picture Mom and Angel tied to a stake with flames curling the ends of their feet. I run to the downstairs bathroom and hurl the Fruit Roll-Up I ate before the dance. Rand follows me to the bathroom and holds my hair out of the toilet. Now that’s true love. He wipes my face with a cold washcloth and I feel better immediately. I brush my teeth, then we rejoin Harry in the dining room.

  “I’m really sorry about this, Aspen. I promise you I’m going to do everything I can to get your mom back safe and sound. Here’s my card. If you think of anything, don’t hesitate to call me, anytime.” Before I can say anything he steps quietly out of the house. The house feels so empty without Mom’s hyena-style laughing. I feel sick again. I start to sink down into a chair again when Rand folds me into his chest. I collapse into him, sobbing.

  Rand lets me bawl my head off for a good fifteen minutes. My head is buried in his wonderful-smelling chest. I want to kiss him so bad, but now is definitely not the time. I have to focus on finding a connection between Angel and Mom so that hopefully I’ll have something for Detective Malone to go on.

  “There has to be some connection. Serial killers, or whatever this guy is, don’t just do things randomly. They always have a detailed plan. I
learned that in psych class.”

  “What does your Mom do for a living again?” Rand asks, while stroking my damp hair.

  “She’s a personal shopper for senior citizens.Why?” I respond, realizing that Mom may need to find a career less threatening to her addiction when she gets back home.

  “I just thought maybe someone had a grudge against her for business reasons.” He gently wipes away my last tears.

  “I don’t think Mrs. Winterbaum hit her on the head with her walker, then took off with her driving twenty miles an hour if that’s what you were thinking.” I start to laugh a little. I cut it off quickly feeling guilty for cracking a joke when Mom could be in pain. Or worse.

  “I know my family gets death threats all the time, and we just make chocolate. There are a lot of angry overweight people out there just waiting to pounce on someone for making them so fat.” He’s trying hard to cheer me up. I give him a quick peck on the lips for the effort.

  “I’ve got to find her, Rand. She’s Dad’s whole world.”

  “Then it’s settled. We’ll have to find her ourselves.”

  * * * *

  I wanted to start our investigation immediately, but Rand convinced me we couldn’t do anything in the middle of the night. After tossing and turning for hours, I’m up at the butt crack of dawn ready to find Mom.

  Our phone started ringing off the hook as soon as Harry released the news of Mom’s disappearance to the media. Half a dozen news crews are already camped out on our front lawn. This kind of fame would normally dazzle me, but when I remember that Mom could be hurt or worse, I just want to go outside and scream at them to quit stepping on Mom’s tulip beds. She is going to be super pissed if they don’t bloom in the spring. Hopefully she’s here in the spring. No. No. No. Of course she’ll be here. She has to be here.

  Harry is going to stop by and escort us to the police station to fill out some required paperwork. As I part my blinds I see him pull up in a black monster truck. Why does this not surprise me? I run downstairs and tell Dad he’s here.

  I grab Mom’s keys and my Dooney. Dad is just coming down the stairs. He could easily get the lead role in Night of the Living Dead with the way he looks.

  “Dad, I’m going to let you ride with Harry. I’m going to follow you guys so I can meet Rand later.”

  He nods his head even though I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a clue what I just said. I gently push him out the front door. Detective Malone is waiting to shield us from the reporters. As the three of us push through the crowd they shove cameras and microphones in our faces. They are all screaming questions at us. Is it true she had a Latin lover? Was she really a swinger? Did she really run off with a man twice her age from the senior center? Their questions are so hilarious I have to force myself not to laugh. We are almost to our cars when a short, slimy-looking reporter darts under Harry’s arms and gets right in my face.

  “So, Aspen. Who do you think will be the Beauty Bandit’s next victim?” It seems the media has dubbed the kidnapper the Beauty Bandit. I guess it fits, but it’s not very original.

  Harry gives him a shove and he falls flat on his back. He is still screaming obscenities about police brutality when I jump into Mom’s car.

  I pull out of the driveway behind Harry’s scary truck. He’s got this thing loaded down with accessories. Fog lights, mud flaps, bumper guards, the works. Plastered across his back windshield is a bumper sticker proclaiming “Cops do it with their cuffs on.” Huge red block letters on his tailgate spell out, “WWDHD?” I’m drawing a blank on this one, but I’m pretty sure Jesus wouldn’t mind his initial being replaced if he saw this truck. The piece de resistance is the metal scrotum hanging from his trailer hitch. Aw, yes, nothing quite says “you’re a manly man” like a pair of Truck Nutz. They are scarily realistic complete with veins. I’m a little surprised Harry didn’t shave off some of his chest hair and superglue it to the Nutz to make his truck completely anatomically correct. I cannot believe the man responsible for bringing my mom home drives around voluntarily with metal balls hanging from his vehicle.

  I need to call Rand and tell him to get started on our investigation without me. I’m not about to leave Mom’s fate in Harry’s hands. Once stopped at a red light, I grab my purse and start digging through it for my cell. Something sharp pricks my finger and when I pull my hand out my right index finger is bleeding. I look into my purse for the culprit. I see the withered white rose with a drop of blood on a thorn. I forgot all about it. I feel bad that I didn’t put it into some water, but Rand will understand with everything I’ve been through.

  The meeting at the police station yields no new clues. Harry is afraid for my safety since Mom was driving Cookie when she disappeared so he insisted that I go straight home. Which I did, and then I bolted as soon as Rand pulled his Jag into the driveway.

  We cruise through Comfort in style. Rand pulls off on a side road I didn’t even know existed. I’ve really got to start being more observant. The Jaguar glides effortlessly over the dusty dirt road. After several bends we arrive at a twelve-foot-tall black iron gate. Rand pulls up to what looks like a McDonald’s drive-thru speaker. A small television screen comes on above the speaker and I see the face of a burly man dressed in security garb.

  “Good afternoon Mr. Bachrach,” he says, then the gate magically slides open allowing the Jaguar access to a smooth concrete driveway. We drive for a full minute until we are in front of the biggest house I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I don’t even think this monstrosity can be classified as a house. More like a stone-covered castle. It’s fabulous. I can’t believe anything like this even exists in boring Comfort. But then again, a week ago I wouldn’t have thought Comfort would be home to a psychotic kidnapper either.

  A Christmas tree stands directly in front of a huge picture window on the first level near the entrance. Rand catches me looking at it and says, “My mom likes to decorate the tree for every holiday. This month it has orange and black lights and ghost decorations for Halloween. She’s a little eccentric.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” I smile at him as he opens my car door. He leads me through the heavy wooden front door and removes his shoes in the foyer. I follow his lead as I notice the cream Berber carpeting throughout the first floor. For the first time in my life I feel a little bit intimidated. What if Rand’s mom doesn’t think I’m good enough for him? My parents do okay, but the Bachrach’s are obviously banking. His mom probably had a blue-blood debutante from the country club all picked out for him. I’m not exactly on my game today either with Mom missing and all. My stomach lurches again as I picture Mom gagged and hogtied to a chair. I better get control of myself because purple Fruit Roll-Up vomit would not come out of this carpeting. Rand gently places his hand on my shoulder and guides me down a corridor into a great room with a thirty-foot vaulted ceiling.

  “Mom, I have someone I want you to meet.”

  A petite woman of no more than five feet tall turns from the Halloween tree and shouts with joy.

  “Aspen, I’ve heard so much about you.” She rushes toward me as fast as her short legs will take her. She is dressed for the holiday in a black sweatshirt adorned with candy corn, blue jeans, and matching candy corn socks. Not exactly the Banana Republic/diamond tennis bracelet/perfectly applied Elizabeth Arden makeup-wearing specimen that I was expecting. As she buries her head against my chest and gives me a bear hug I am so glad that I was wrong. She’s the perfect mom and it makes my heart ache missing my perfect mom. For what seems like the hundredth time since the dance, I start bawling. My tear ducts have taken a serious beating the last two days.

  Rand gives his mom the Cliff’s Notes version of the kidnapping situation as she sits silently stroking my hair. I haven’t met Rand’s dad yet, but I’m thinking Rand is a carbon copy of his mom.

  “So I was thinking we could get Steve on this and see if he can pick anything up,” Rand says, confusing me.

  “Who’s Steve?” I ask, raising my hea
d off Mrs. Bachrach’s now tear-stained sweatshirt.

  “He does a little private eye work for the family,” Rand’s mom answers. “And I’m going to make sure he is at your disposal. Rand, I don’t want you leaving Aspen’s side. If she goes anywhere outside her home, you go with her. Do you have protection?” she asks me.

  I shake my head no and pray she’s not talking about condoms. She walks into another room and returns holding a small black velvet bag. Ooh, gifts already; I really like this lady.

  “This will protect you.” She tugs on the drawstring of the velvet bag. She slips her tiny hand inside the bag and pulls out something silver. I can’t tell exactly what it is until she flips her wrist and a two-and-a-half-inch serrated blade flies out. I jump back, bumping Rand.

  “It’s okay. Mom’s a pro.”

  “Aspen, this is a Spyderco Harpy. This little knife will get you out of some big jams. Now just flip it like this,” she says, folding it shut and flipping it out again. She’s definitely had some practice. “To close it, just press down in the middle and fold it down. If you have to stab somebody, try to go for the leg, and after you stab them, twist the knife. That’ll slow ‘em down.” I think she starts to notice the blood draining from my face. Either that or she’s finally noticed Rand making the throat-slicing motion beside me that he didn’t think I saw. “I just want you to be safe.” She unzips my purse a little and drops the velvet bag in. Dad always said, “dynamite comes in small packages.” I never understood him until now.

  I watch her as she walks over to the wall to press a button. A minute later a man with arms the size of tree trunks waltzes in. He is wearing a navy blazer whose seams are being pushed to the limit by his size. Any minute now those sleeves are going to split off. I stifle a laugh. Rand’s family has some heavy hitters on the payroll. I feel safer just being here.

  “Steve, this is my girlfriend, Aspen. Her mother is missing. We need you to find out anything you can.” Rand starts listing all the times and places my mother was spotted before disappearing. Steve takes mental notes. Their conversation loses me as I’m stuck back on the “girlfriend” part. Why am I suddenly so giddy? I’ve been somebody’s girlfriend lots of times so why the butterflies this time? As I look over at my new boyfriend talking animatedly with his hands, trying desperately to help me find my mother, it comes to me. I know what the butterflies are from. I thought I’d been in love before, but I never even got close until Rand came along.