We both start cracking up.
“I’m sorry I drug you into this,” I apologize.
“Aspen, I’d follow you anywhere. You know that. Besides, I thought you were right. Boy, Mr. Lowe’s got some issues, huh?”
“Ya think?” I laugh. “Hey, totally off subject, but I want to ask you something that’s been bugging me.”
“Shoot.”
“Who called you that night in the Ravioli’s parking lot?”
“You mean right before I was about to attack you?”
“You were trying to play it all cool. I knew you wanted me. So, who was it?” I’d never tell Rand this, but it’s been driving me crazy that he went and met Amy later that night.
“It was my mom. She wanted me to pick up a gallon of milk on the way home.”
“You suck. I was totally jealous.”
“It was all part of my master plan to make you fall in love with me.”
“It worked.”
We both agree to get some sleep and talk later. I switch my cell to vibrate and slip it under my pillow. I don’t need Dad confiscating it. I fall asleep the minute my head hits the pillow.
* * * *
Minutes later, I wake up screaming, drenched in sweat.
Dad storms into my room. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?” He wraps his arms around me.
“I just had a bad dream.” I feel better instantly with his arms around me.
I close my eyes and try to block out the image in my nightmare. I open them and glance over at the clock on my bedside table. I was asleep for six hours, but it only felt like a few minutes. I can’t believe all the mental investigation time I’ve wasted. I don’t care what Detective Chia Pet says I’m going to figure this out myself. He will so be kissing my butt when I bring down the Beauty Bandit. This time I’ll definitely be doing my own reconnaissance before tipping him off.
“Are you still mad at me?” I ask Dad. He hugs me tighter and starts to cry.
“Aspen, I’m so sorry about earlier. I just feel so helpless. What if Mom is out there hurt somewhere?”
I pull back to look him in the eyes. “Don’t think like that. She’s going to be fine. I just know it.” I really want to tell him that I’m going to find her myself, but he might lock me in a closet so I better not. Dad wanders back into his bedroom.
Once I make sure that Dad is fast asleep, I try calling Rand on his cell, but just get his voice mail. He must still be asleep. I burrow back into the covers. The horrible image from my nightmare pops right into my thoughts. It’s Mr. Lowe dressed in his cheesy seersucker suit. He’s wearing the leather mask; it’s black, with a candy-colored zipper like my Dooney. He unzips it and laughs maniacally. Then in a high-pitched voice he says, “Do you like my rose?” He just keeps repeating it over and over. It is beyond creepy.
I jump out of bed and decide to shower to distract myself. While curling my hair I try to think of any kind of connection between Angel and my mom. I’m still not buying that their disappearances are unrelated. I make a mental checklist about Mom and Angel to see if I can figure out any similarities.
Angel Ives:
Head cheerleader of CH Seagals
Borderline intelligence at best
Beautiful in a slutty, psycho kind of way
Family richer than Bill Gates
Dates Jimmy McAllister
Blows Lucas Riley (tramp)
Has icky tramp stamp
Extremely devoted to her younger sister (in an attempt to possibly clone herself)
Uses really cheap lipstick
Judy Brooks:
Perfect mom
Perfect wife
Beautiful
Smart
Former geek turned chic
Eliminates stress through several weekly retail therapy appointments (read: shopaholic)
Personal shopper for senior citizens
I’ve got it! Angel was having affair with an old geezer at the senior home where Mom works. Geezer’s wife found out and whacked Angel. Mom happened to find Angel’s bloody cheerleading outfit in the trash, and was about to call 911 when geezer’s wife knocked her unconscious with her cane. Geezer’s wife is holding Mom hostage until her Social Security check comes and she can skip town.
Okay, so it’s not my best theory. I’m drawing a total blank. Maybe it was pure coincidence that Mom and Angel were both kidnapped. I can only hope that they are keeping each other company chatting about Choos, Spades, and Ferragamos when the kidnapper isn’t torturing them.
Maybe if I can get my stomach to quit growling I could figure something out. I bounce downstairs and pull the fixings for a cheese toastie from the frig. Somehow I manage to burn the outer edges of the sandwich, but the middle is soggy and uncooked. Mom’s cheese toasties are always golden brown all over with the cheese melted to the perfect consistency. I try to choke mine down anyway since I’m starving. Leatherface pops back into my head causing me to nearly choke.
“Do you like my rose?” He keeps asking me in that major creepy voice.
“Piss off, freak.” I respond to an empty kitchen. Great, now I’m losing it. I pitch the rest of the offending sandwich in the trash and head back upstairs. I have to shove my door hard to get it to budge open just a little. My room is a complete disaster area. If Mom saw this she would not be happy. I get to work sorting clothes into piles of dry clean only and normal wash. Mom is going to have a lot of laundry waiting for her when she gets back.
Mom’s hot-pink pumps are thrown carelessly in a corner. I pick them up and tiptoe into Mom and Dad’s closet. I replace them in their shoebox and slide them back on the shelf. I turn to leave and something really hard smacks me on the head. “Shit.” I yell. I peek out to make sure I didn’t wake Dad. He’s still snoring. I reach down to pick up the nearly deadly weapon. It’s Mom’s yearbook. I take it back into my room and crawl into bed. I flip through pages of black-and-white photos until I get to Mom’s senior picture.
I was so horrified when she showed this picture to me the other day. But when I look at the picture now I just see my beautiful mother smiling back at me. I can’t stop the flood of tears from spilling down my cheeks.
I miss my mommy! I sneak back into Dad’s room. Very gently, I pull Mom’s pillow from Dad’s sleeping grip. Gripping it safely in my arms I go back to my own room. I hold the pillow in front of my face and take a deep breath of Mom’s scent. The perfume she wears that I’ve always hated fills my nostrils. It’s really not so bad after all. I read somewhere that scents evoke powerful memories. Memories of Mom fill my mind. Mom holding a bouquet of white roses. Mom holding a pink picture frame. Mom performing cheers with just one turquoise pom-pom. I put the pillow down. That’s weird. I don’t remember any of those things actually happening, but how could I have memories of them if they didn’t happen?
The yearbook has fallen open to the picture of Dad with the good-looking blonde. Suddenly I hear my mom’s voice as clear as if she was in the room with me.
“He dumped the homecoming queen to be with me.”
I get another whiff of Mom’s perfume again, and I’m bombarded with a collage of images. I look down at the picture again. There isn’t a doubt in my mind this time. I know who the Beauty Bandit is!
I jump off my bed and grab my backpack. I tip it over and dump everything out on my bed. I grab my cell from under my pillow and the student directory. In a panic I find Mr. Lowe’s phone number and dial it.
“You people stop calling here. I’m not a kidnapper!” he screams into the phone.
“Mr. Lowe, it’s Aspen. I need to know who gave you the white rose at the dance,” I plead.
“Oh, hello, Aspen. I guess I have you to thank for being strip-searched and having all of my orifices checked for contraband last night. It really was a night to remember. Now I’m unemployed as well. So, just what is it that you need me to do for you?”
Yikes! Bitter much?
“Listen, Mr. Lowe. I am super sorry and I promise to help you get your job
back. But right now I need to know who gave you that white rose.”
He reaffirms what I already knew. I click off and rush to wake up Dad.
* * * *
He’s lying on his stomach, face turned to one side, snoring like a bear in hibernation. I gently shake him but he’s not responding. I start to shake him harder, but he just keeps snoring. Then I notice a pill bottle and a half empty bottle of water on the bedside table. I pick the bottle up and read the label. Valium. Shit! He’s OD’d because he can’t face living without Mom. I dump the remaining pills in the palm of my hand and count nine. The label says the prescription was for ten pills. He only took one pill. Probably just to fall asleep. I’m getting a little paranoid. One thing’s for sure, he’s not going to be any help. I bend down and kiss his cheek.
I rush back to my bedroom and throw open my closet door. Which Dooney do you take to confront a kidnapper? Too bad they don’t make one with mini skulls and crossbones, something like that would be perfect. I think maybe I’ll e-mail that idea to the company when all this mess is over. I grab my black Doodle since it matches the outfit I had on last night that I just threw on again. I can’t believe I’m wearing an outfit twice without washing it. A few more days of this intense stress and I’ll be reduced to wearing something with an elastic waistband. The horror!
I know that I should call Rand and tell him my suspicions, but he’d never let me go alone, and I don’t want to put him in danger. Harry wouldn’t listen to me, and even if he did, he’d never let me use myself as bait. I’m that kick-ass action heroine again, only this time in real life. Right about now I’m really wishing I had stuck out a few more years of karate. I slip into my pink UGGs and slide my phone into the side of my left boot.
I’m about to leave the house when I realize I should probably leave a clue behind in case no one ever hears from me again. I grab the school directory from my Dooney along with a red Sharpie and circle a name and address, then prop it up on the table next to Dad’s bed. I bend down and give him another kiss. Now I’m ready to save the day!
Cookie is still in police impound being processed for evidence according to Detective Folically Unchallenged. I think he’s full of shit and just thinks if I don’t have wheels that I’ll stay out of his way. Wrong.
I slide into Mom’s Acura and head toward Walgreens. I have a brilliant plan, but I need a few supplies. I fly into a handicapped parking space. I think getting ready to make yourself the equivalent of human chum and dangling yourself in front of a great white shark qualifies for a handicapped spot. If not, freaking bite me.
A very Goth-looking twenty-ish-something guy behind the counter looks up from his National Inquirer as I stomp on the rubber mat causing the glass door to slide open. We both nod an acknowledgment to each other’s presence, then I go tearing down the aisles in search of supplies.
Three minutes later and my arms overflowing, I dump everything in front of the Marilyn Manson wannabe. I see a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. I look down at my purchases and can’t blame him for laughing. My supplies consist of three bottles of eyedrops (the kind the stoner kids use to disguise their bloodshot eyes), a package of razor blades, one giant sampler box of Bachrach chocolates, and a very discounted pair of one-size-fits-all thong panties leftover from last Valentine’s Day that say “yummy” on the cotton panel. Classy, I know. I was walking by the giant bin of thong panties wondering to myself, how desperate would you have to be to buy undergarments at Walgreen’s? when I had another brilliant idea. So I snatched a pair up. Besides, Rand might think they are funny once all this is over with.
I peel two twenties off my roll of allowance cash. I wonder if Harry will be able to reimburse me for this stuff? I mean, this is supposed to be his investigation, so he should be footing the bill or at the very least, the tax-paying citizens of Comfort, not some allowance-challenged seventeen-year-old who has to scrape for every last penny. Marilyn hands me my change, scoops everything into a plastic bag, then tells me to, “take it easy on the wacky tobacky.” If I weren’t in such a huge hurry, I would challenge him on his stereotypes of people’s purchases. Luckily for him, I’ve got two people to save.
I pull into Cedarbrook Senior Center at 3:30 p.m., otherwise known as dinnertime in these parts. The card sharks have a hella pot going. I’d buy in if I didn’t have this mystery to solve. I stuff the Walgreens supplies into my purse then head toward Rosie’s condo.
The gamblers are careful to offer greetings instead of consolations this visit. When I reach Rosie’s door I tap gently. It flies open and Rosie’s dressed in the “porn star” T-shirt my mom bought for her. She’s got jean capris and ballet flats on to complete the outfit. Rosie is like the Kate Moss of the retirement home. In the supermodel way, not the big cokehead way. She squeals and throws her bony arms around me. After a moment we retreat into her condo.
A really old looking guy is sitting on her couch watching Dr. Phil. He is chubby and has on gray sweatpants, a blue sweatshirt, and these funny-looking weaved plastic slippers. His head is bald except for a few sprouts of grayish-black hair. But when he smiles at me, his cheeks start glowing scarlet, and his tired eyes twinkle blue. He’s adorable, in a grandpa kind of way. This must be Ned. I try really hard not to picture him and Rosie getting it on.
“Aspen, this is Ned,” she says, making our introductions. Ned lifts his hand and gives me a small wave.
“Any news about your mom yet?” Rosie asks, cutting the small talk short. I can tell that Rosie is trying really hard to keep it together.
“No, I just came by to see if you remembered anything else from the last day you talked to her.” This is total bullshit. But I know if I tell Rosie the real reason I came, she’d call the police and screw up my plan. I feel bad, but I just can’t take that chance. My mom’s life depends on this. Oh yeah, and Angel, I keep forgetting about her.
“It was a wonderful visit. The highlight of my week, just as usual,” Rosie says, fighting back tears. I hate that I had to come here and get her all upset, but I didn’t have a choice. She has something that I need.
“Rosie, can I use your restroom?”
“Why, of course, sweetheart. You go right ahead.”
I grab my purse and head down the hall. Once I get there I quietly pop open the door on Rosie’s medicine cabinet. On the second shelf I find exactly what I’m looking for and pop it into my purse. I pull the panties out, slip out of my jeans and Victoria’s Secret panties, and slip into the Walgreens thong. My butt cheeks feel immediately chafed from the imitation cotton blend of the cheap panties. I am so going to need a full-body sugar scrub after this! I bet Harry has never made this kind of sacrifice to solve a case.
I dig through my purse for the velvet bag that Rand’s mom gave me. Finding it, I slip the knife out of the bag. I slide the knife’s clip over the string on the back of my thong. Having a knife placed pretty much in your ass crack isn’t the greatest feeling, but I’m just hoping I can smuggle this thing in. I put my jeans back on and wash my hands.
I return to the living room and make forced small talk for a few minutes. I’m itching to get out of here and rescue Mom. Before bolting out the door I hug Rosie tight and make a mental note to visit more once this is all over with.
* * * *
I pull up to the local park and line up all of my supplies on the dashboard. First, I take a razor blade and slice open the bottom of the plastic on the chocolate sampler. Gently, I lift the plastic lid I’ve cut and place it into the passenger seat. If the Beauty Bandit suspects the chocolate is tampered with, I’m screwed. I remove the cardboard Bachrach lid and set the chocolates in my lap. I remove the hypodermic needle I stole from Rosie (thank God she’s still diabetic; well, not really, but you know what I mean) from my backpack. After removing the plastic wrapping from the eye drops I dip the needle into the hole in the bottle and fill the needle with the clear liquid. One by one, I pick up the chocolates and inject the eye drops into the bottom of them. The mark the needle
makes is so tiny you can’t even tell they’ve been tampered with. After filling the last piece of candy I replace both lids and set the box down carefully in the passenger seat. I pick up my cell phone and dial Rand’s number hoping I still get his voice mail. I do. I leave a message telling him how much I love him and that I always will. Just in case. I hang up, guzzle my twenty-ounce Jolt cola, and head toward Primrose Lane.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I pull into the driveway and am amazed at how immaculate the yard is. You’d never guess that a total lunatic resides here. I didn’t inherit Mom’s love of gardening, but even I can see that in the spring this yard bursts with blooms. How can the same person who kidnapped two people delicately tend to these blooms every spring? The blooms are dead now. The only remains are the brown corpse clippings sticking harshly out of the ground. Dead. Stop it. I can’t start thinking like this. I have to be strong. Mom is depending on me. Oh, yeah, and Angel. She is so going to owe me.
It’s amazing to think that just a week ago, I was nearly having a meltdown in Macy’s because the sling backs I wanted to go with my homecoming dress were sold out in my size. Damn that Amy! Now I’m about to face down a cold-blooded psychopath. I think I’d rather relive the sling back meltdown!
Anger twists and turns in my belly pushing the fear aside. It’s now or never. I reach into the back of my jeans and feel the cold metal of the knife still residing in my butt crack. I grab the box of chocolates and slam the car door. My UGGs pad my steps down the brick sidewalk and up to the door. I take a huge cleansing breath and ring the doorbell. As I hear heavy steps coming toward the door I say a tiny prayer that my plan doesn’t backfire.
The front door flies open with such force that the cheesy Halloween wreath is knocked off its peg and lands at my feet. Suddenly, I’m frozen with fear. The caffeine and adrenaline rush I’ve been on for the last few minutes has drained into my toes. This is real. I’m actually face-to-face with a cold-blooded kidnapper and possibly even a murderer.
Revenge of the Homecoming Queen Page 17