CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rand and I are sitting at the local coffee shop when tree-trunk-arm Steve squeezes himself into the booth across from Rand and me. He slides a black folder toward us. He’s been officially “on the job” for three hours. I’m about to freak out wondering what he’s learned about Mom.
Rand removes the single piece of paper from the file. One piece of paper? This does not look good. My eyes scan the document that I can see now is a timeline. It starts at 11 a.m., which is when my mom left the house, and concludes at 5 p.m., which is when mom signed out of Cedarbrook Senior Home. The only thing Rand’s private eye turned up that Detective Malone didn’t have was that Mom stopped to fill up Cookie before going to the senior center. Somehow, I don’t think this holds the clue to her disappearance.
I allow myself to lean against Rand and he puts an intoxicating-smelling arm around me and squeezes. I don’t know how I would be functioning if he wasn’t here with me. Dad just keeps crying and burying his face in Mom’s pillow so he’s not exactly a huge support system. This whole scene is like a really bad Lifetime movie.
“So this is it, huh?” Rand says, obviously disappointed.
“It’s like she just dropped off the face of the earth, sir,” Steve grunts, forgetting that he is talking about the person who gave birth to me, but at the same time remembering who his boss is. On a normal day it would be hilarious to think of someone calling Rand, “Sir.” Today it just makes me sad. Tears form in the corners of my eyes and threaten to spill over onto my cheeks. I don’t want a coffee shop full of caffeine junkies seeing me cry. I turn my head and wipe a few stray tears, then compose myself. I pretend that this is all a bad dream and Mom is actually back at the senior home making Mrs. Winterbaum try on a skintight T-shirt that says “porn star” on it. She actually did this once. I start to laugh, eliciting strange looks from Steve and Rand. They both obviously think I’ve taken that short leap to total insanity.
I try to focus on Rand’s short list of suspects that he wants Steve to start surveillance on but my mind drifts.
Last night once it sunk in that Angel really had been kidnapped, I realized that she couldn’t have been the one doing all the bad things that have been happening to me. There is no way that Angel could have taken the pictures that were printed by the school newspaper. Could the kidnapper be the one behind those pictures and some of the other strange things that have been going on?
I called Theresa Brown, editor of Comfort High’s daily student newspaper. At first she wouldn’t give up her “source” for the photo. Rand took the phone from me and threatened to cut off all funding for extracurricular activities including the newspaper (apparently Bachrach Chocolate has been infusing the budget of Comfort High for a few years); she admitted that someone had left the photos on her desk anonymously. No lead there, but the fact that the kidnapper may have been in my school doesn’t exactly make me feel secure.
Rand and I are now on our way to the Cedarbrook Senior Center just to see if maybe Steve or Detective Malone may have missed something. Besides, half the people there have Alzheimer’s so they might remember something now that they didn’t earlier. I’ve felt a little like one of those people. Like something is catching in my brain, a nagging feeling, like I’ve forgotten something. Like when you “save” a really good memory to savor for a later time then when you go back you can’t remember it the way you want to. Only I feel like this “memory” could help Mom and it’s driving me crazy.
“Hey, we’re gonna find her.” Rand takes one hand off the steering wheel and places it on my knee. I look around the car confused. I don’t even remember leaving the café.
I turn to look at my gorgeous new boyfriend. Mom will be so overjoyed we got together. “I know we will,” I say, not really believing my own words.
Rand pulls up to the retirement community that looks more like a row of frat houses and cuts the engine. He rushes over to my side to open the door and help me out. Together we walk past several elderly gentlemen playing a not-so-friendly game of poker. I heard “cheating bastard” before they saw us coming. A huge pile of money sits in the middle of a plastic picnic table. These guys aren’t messing around.
“Excuse me, gentlemen. I was wondering if we could ask you a few questions,” Rand asks, interrupting their game. His request is met with a few scowls until I pipe up with, “It’s about my mom, Judy Brooks.” The scowls disappear and one of them rushes to scoot two more chairs to their table for us.
“We were so sorry to hear about Judy. She was a true lady, not many of them around anymore. No, sir. I am truly sorry, miss,” says a scruffy-looking gentleman who is quite obviously the alpha male of this dilapidated pack. I know I should be grateful for his kind words but I’m not. I’m pissed.
“She’s not dead, you know, just missing. They are going to find her. She’s going to be fine!” I scream while pounding my fist on the plastic table, causing the bills in their pot to go flying everywhere.
“Of course, ma’am. I’m sorry to have implied anything different. Please forgive me,” he says, lowering his head.
Great. Now I’ve went off on some sweet old man who has about ten minutes left to live. I’m turning into a monster. Rand helps me out of my chair and escorts me inside while muttering an apology to the senile card sharks.
Inside the lobby he takes me in his arms. I know I’m wasting time having mini-breakdowns every five minutes. I need to be focusing on finding Mom, but I don’t even know where to begin.
“Are you sure you don’t want to just go back home?” he asks, burying his face into my hair.
“No, we need to be here. Let’s go talk to Rosie.” I lead the way to Condo 204.
Once there we knock gently on the door. No use giving an eighty-year-old woman a heart attack on top of all the other crappy things going on.
“Ned, get the hell outta here. I’m not putting out today,” says a gruff voice behind the door.
Rand looks at me and we both start cracking up. To say that Rosie Winterbaum tells it like it is would be the ultimate understatement. She is almost an extension of our family since my mom met her two years ago. Mom bugs me to visit her more, but I’ve always had some lame excuse not to. I’m hit with a wall of guilt as I realize that Mrs. Winterbaum may have been the last person to see Mom alive.
I whisper something into Rand’s ear and he repeats it word for word. “Aww, come on, Rosie, just rub my old fireworks a little bit.” Fireworks are Rosie’s favorite term for male genitalia. The door flies open and a tear-streaked Rosie looks ready to give Ned/Rand a piece of something, but it isn’t what he wanted.
She sees me and grabs my shoulders, bringing me to her. “Aspen, honey, I’m so sorry. Get in here, you might be in danger.” Surprisingly strong for an old lady, she pulls both Rand and I into her condo before we can disagree.
Rosie insists on making drinks. A few minutes later, at ten-fifteen in the morning the three of us clink our salt-rimmed margarita glasses together, toasting my mom with virgin margaritas. Rosie’s not your average cookie-baking grandma. She prefers mixed drinks and naked Twister. I guess that’s why she and Mom get along so good. Not that my mom likes naked Twister, just because she is so unique. My mom is the smartest person I know. If anybody can outsmart a kidnapper and escape it’s Mom, especially if they make the mistake of taking her to a department store.
“So what did you and Mom talk about yesterday?” I ask, anxious to hopefully find out some new information.
“Well, she said that her and your dad were planning a trip up north in a few weeks for some “freaky-freaky” time.”
“Rosie!” I shout, trying to pull her into the seriousness of the situation.
“Oops, sorry. It was nothing out of the ordinary. We talked about you and she was thrilled that Lucas was finally out of the picture. She said there was some new guy she hoped you realized could be ‘the one.’ I take it you’re him?” She puts her hand on Rand’s arm, making his face flush slightly.
>
“I hope so,” he says shyly, making my heart skip a few beats.
* * * *
We visited with Rosie for two hours and didn’t learn one clue. We spent the rest of the afternoon driving around trying to figure out who the kidnapper was. We have nothing.
“I better get home,” I tell Rand, looking at the clock. It’s already four in the afternoon. “I don’t want to leave my dad alone tonight.”
Rand agrees and drives me home. A few of the reporters have returned. Lightbulbs flash as I kiss Rand good-bye. For a split second I feel like a fabulous celebrity being stalked by the paparazzi.
I rush through them doing a fantastic job of ignoring their questions. Then I hear a female reporter make a very uncalled-for comment.
“Hey, Aspen? Did the Beauty Bandit steal all your couture when he took your mom?” She asks, taking in my jeans and ratty sweatshirt.
This stops me cold in my tracks. I turn to face the offending journalist. Fear crosses her face as she realizes what she’s done. I’m about to rip her last-season Prada pantsuit to shreds when I realize that it doesn’t matter what she’s wearing or what I’m wearing. It only matters that I get Mom back. I decide that holding a mini press conference might be just the thing to rattle the kidnapper’s chains.
“What’s your name?” I politely ask her. A bright camera light points straight at my face.
“Lindsey Waters, Channel Seven News,” she responds proudly, thrusting her cheesy business card at me.
I shove it in my purse without even looking at it, which elicits an evil look from Lindsey. “Well, Lindsey. I just want to thank you for your concern. I appreciate all of you getting the word out about my mom. My dad and I are devastated. I think all of us, myself included, tend to be a little too concerned about appearances. When you lose someone you love the last thing on your mind is looking fashionable. I hope that none of you ever have to experience what my family is going through. If anyone has any information about Judy Brooks, please call Detective Malone at the Comfort Police Department. Thank you.” I turn to walk inside, then get an idea. I turn back around, stare straight into the camera, and say, “Beauty Bandit, if you’re watching, you better pray that Detective Malone finds you first, because if I do, I’m going to rip your balls off.” I hear cheering as I turn and enter the front door.
As I walk through the great room my stomach drops as I hear my mother’s voice. It’s coming from the living room. I drop my purse and run to her. When I get to the living room it’s just Dad watching home videos. It’s from our family vacation to Florida last spring. Mom is building a sand castle. I drop to the floor in front of the TV and sob uncontrollably. I’m heaving so bad I barely feel Dad wrap his arms around me.
After taking turns crying, Dad and I try to pull ourselves together. We both know that we have to stay strong and take care of each other until Mom gets back. I follow him into the kitchen while he makes us a dinner of burgers and fries, which is pretty much the only meal he knows how to make since Mom does all of the cooking.
I hop onto the kitchen island and hang my legs over the counter. This is something I could never get away with if Mom was here. Maybe if I start doing bad things she’ll come screeching in threatening to ground me. I wish. Not like Mom could ever stick to a punishment anyway. The only time I ever got grounded she ended up getting so bored having to stay home and monitor me that we ended up going to St. Louis for a shopping spree. In hindsight I guess maybe she needed a fix.
“So, you and Rand, huh?” Dad asks, eyebrows raised, while flipping a burger.
I sigh as the butterflies coming rushing into my tummy at the mention of my new boyfriend’s name. “Yeah, I’m in love.”
“Sweetie, that’s fantastic.” He puts one arm around me while holding the spatula with the other. “He’s a super guy, but I didn’t think he would be your type.”
“He’s exactly my type. It just took me a while to quite being an idiot and figure that out.”
“High school’s hard. Everybody’s trying to be popular and the people who are popular are trying to live up to the conformities that come along with popularity.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t sound like you ever did. Mom said you ditched the homecoming queen for her. That was a pretty bold move.”
“Oh, Aspen. Your mother just took my breath away. Something about her just had me mystified. I couldn’t get enough. I still can’t … ” He trails off, huge tears forming in his eyes.
“It’s okay, Dad. We’re gonna get her back. I promise,” I say, rubbing his back.
We both nibble at our dinner in silence. We are both too upset to eat.
Dad finally breaks the unbearable silence. “Aspen, I need to ask you a question and I want you to tell me the truth. Deal?”
He catches me off guard so I just nod my head yes. Please don’t let him ask me if I’ve had sex!
“Is Mom having an affair?”
“What?” I scream.
Very calmly, he repeats the question. “Is your mother having an affair?”
“Stop saying that,” I say, getting angry. “Those reporters are stupid. Don’t listen to them. One of them just had the nerve to question my fashion sense.”
“It’s not them. Detective Malone said she had a secret post office box and they found a white rose in her purse.”
“What?”
“She has a secret … ”
“No, about the rose.”
“They found a white rose in her purse.”
I bolt from the table and grab the cordless. I speed dial Rand’s cell. I don’t bother greeting him when he picks up.
“Did you leave a white rose on my car last night?”
“No,” he answers, cautiously.
“Okay, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.” I click off and turn to face Dad.
“Mom has the post office box so you don’t see the credit card bills. She’s a shopaholic. We need to get her some help when she gets back.”
“Huh?” Dad replies, looking confused. “You don’t have to cover up for her, Aspen.”
“Dad, listen, she’s not cheating on you. We’ll talk about the other stuff later. I had a white rose on my car yesterday, too. I assumed it was from Rand, but it wasn’t. It’s a clue.”
“I’ll call Detective Malone,” Dad says, reaching for the phone.
I hear Dad tell Harry about the white rose clues then he starts apologizing for some reason. After he hangs up, he turns to me, and says, “He isn’t too happy about your impromptu news conference. He’s been bombarded with kooks calling in false tips.” Oops.
“I was just trying to help.”
“I know, sweetie.”
We switch on the Channel Seven News, and Dad thinks my speech is perfectly lovely. Until they show me saying, “I’m going to rip your bleeps off.”
* * * *
I’m driving myself crazy trying to figure out who would have left the roses for Mom and me. I finally flip on the TV in hopes that if I stop thinking about it, it will just pop into my mind.
I find an old rerun of Full House. I love this show. The Olsen twins were adorable before their eating disorders. John Stamos is such a hottie even with a mullet.
Blue and white. Reeks of Lands’ End. Something is coming to me. I don’t want to focus on it or I might scare the rest away. Focus on Full House. This is the episode where Stephanie is stressing because she is being pressured by some older girls to smoke. I wish she could hear me because I’d tell her to go ahead and light up. In a few years, when she’s an ice head, a few cigarettes won’t be such a big deal.
Wrinkled. Seersucker. Mr. Lowe. Why in the world am I thinking about Mr. Lowe’s tacky-ass suit at a time like this? My uncanny fashion sense can really be a disability sometimes.
Wait a minute. Now I remember. Mr. Lowe had a white rose boutonniere pinned to his lapel. Mr. Lowe is the beauty bandit! It makes perfect sense. He was at the bonfire and could easily have kidnapped Angel. He could have taken the pictures
of me and Rand and Tobi and Pippi and easily sneaked them to Theresa’s desk. Then he somehow wrote that despicable note saying I wanted to have sex with him. Maybe he was mad that I screamed in horror and that’s why he kidnapped Mom. I always thought he was a little strange. It’s all coming together now. I should call Harry with my lead, but I can already hear his annoyingly nasal voice telling me that he needs more proof. So I dial Rand instead.
“Hey, come get me right away. Drive your most inconspicuous car,” I tell him.
“Do I even want to know what this is about?”
“I think it’s better if we don’t discuss that on an unsecure line.” I click off and head toward my closet. I pull down several Gucci, Jacobs, and Choo shoeboxes until I find the black leather case I’m looking for. I place the case into my Dooney bubble-gum pink Heart mini gym bag.
I change into a black baby-doll tee and black cigarette pants. While fondling my pink UGG boots my better judgment takes over and I lace up my Nikes instead. I might not win any best-dressed awards tonight, but at least I’ll be able to make a run for it if I have to.
Headlights shine through the cracks in my blinds. I run downstairs to tell Dad that I’m leaving. He’s crashed out on the couch with the cordless phone resting on his belly. If Mom saw how pitiful he was without her, she would love it. Quietly, I slip out the front door. Rand is waiting in a nondescript gray Camry. He is such an exceptional listener.
“You look hot,” he says as I slide in.
“I know who has Mom and Angel,” I reply, ignoring his comment.
“What? Who?” He puts the car in park and stares expectantly at me.
“Mr. Lowe.”
Revenge of the Homecoming Queen Page 15