Ligia slammed on her brakes at the last minute, lurching them forward.
“How is living with your Godmother?”
She bit her bright pink lip. “It’s okay...”
“Is Brooke doing all right?”
Ligia’s normally cheerful face fell. “Yeah, she’s okay.”
Yeah, right! Brooke just sobs on her runs for no reason.
Her phone buzzed. The number was local.
“This is Annabeth King.”
“Hey Anna, this is Mike.”
Michael Dickinson, their secretive contact with the Bureau, hadn’t called in weeks. Her heart thrummed in her chest as she waited for him to share the bad news. It was going to be bad, no doubt about it. “What did you find out?”
“The police are dropping the hit-and-run investigation.”
“What?” How could they do that? Marcus could have died!
A deep sigh and a long pause later he spoke again, this time in a hushed tone. “I think that the group has paid off the police. The case is effectively closed. You can appeal, but I don’t think that will do much good. From what I have gathered, this group has deep pockets.”
A throbbing pain shot through to the back of her eyes. It felt like a migraine coming on.
“There’s more….”
Of course there is.
“What?” She pinched the bridge of her nose and a wave of nausea rolled over her. Definitely a migraine.
“I heard on the scanner this morning that the local P.D. found a body wrapped in paper and ribbons.” The sound of ruffling papers filled her ears. “Seems to me, it may be connected to your guy and his group.”
Annabeth’s breath caught in her throat. Oh, no! “He said...he said he had a gift for me.”
“Anna, this is messed up. I don’t know how much longer I can help you. My boss is asking lots of questions. I think he’s onto my little moonlighting gig. I can’t afford to lose my job.”
Ligia shot her a sidelong glance.
“I appreciate all that you have done to help us. I don’t want you to get in trouble on our account so if you need to back off, I understand.”
He cleared his throat and dropped his voice to an almost-whisper. “That’s the rub. I don’t know that I can. The more I learn about this group, the more I want to catch them and kill them with my own bare hands. Someone needs to stop these assholes, and since the FBI dropped the case and the local PD isn’t doing diddly squat...”
Annabeth took a trembling breath. “I know, which is why we appreciate any help you can give us.” She bit her lip and blinked away the tears that threatened to fall. “Let me know if you hear any more about the body.”
“Of course.”
“Thanks again.” She ended the call and sank back into the seats.
“That didn’t sound good,” Ligia said.
“Yeah, hon, it’s not.”
Her phone lit up with a new message.
I hope you like your gift. It’s hard to know what to give the girl who has everything.
Chapter Eleven
Brooke
Brooke was running late… again. The old her would have never shown such an obvious shortcoming to the world, but the new, tired Brooke didn’t care. Besides, Texas and Tiaras was Ligia’s business and thus her responsibility—whether or not it was Brooke’s name on all the paperwork. At least that’s what she kept trying to remind herself over and over again.
She glanced up at the clock on her bedroom wall: Five-oh-five PM. Their first ever group consulting class started at five thirty sharp, and with rush hour traffic offering zero mercy, she needed to get gone now. But in an industry that was all about looks (no matter what anyone said to the contrary), she also needed to make sure she looked good. Perhaps if she crept in just five minutes late it wouldn’t be so bad?
She shrugged into the new top she’d purchased just for the occasion, then pulled her favorite Guess jeans up—but not over—her hips. Struggling with the button for a moment, she finally admitted defeat when a sharp pain rocked her midsection. Okay, okay, sorry, baby, but you’ve gotta give me a break here. What am I supposed to wear now?
She rummaged through her closet to see if the jeans Vi had once left at her place were still wedged somewhere in the back. Success! Normally she wouldn’t wear such cheap, plain clothes, but she had little choice here. Hopefully the expensive top would balance out the presumably Target-bought blue jeans when it came to this particular ensemble.
Five-ten. She ran her fingers through her hair as she rushed through the door, Princess Tiara at her heels. She clicked the remote start button on her keychain then hopped into her Mercedes, which idled in the garage. Strangely, her toes couldn’t even reach the pedals. Had Brian taken her car out for a spin before he’d left for his big business trip earlier that morning? She noticed the tank was full, so maybe. After all, she rarely filled the thing herself. She adjusted the seat and mirrors, then took off toward the private hall they’d rented to host these meetings.
There would be twelve students in attendance, some with their mothers and some on their own. Their ages ranged from three to thirty. As it turned out, every girl, no matter her age, wanted to do her best to look beautiful. To be acknowledged and rewarded for that beauty was really just icing on the cupcake.
It didn’t take long to run into the ginormous backlog of traffic; MoPac was a veritable sea of brake lights. Why had she ever suggested they hold this thing in Austin when she already knew well from experience that there was no harm in making your clients travel for the sheer pleasure of doing business with you? Why did she have to be the one to travel all this way?
Yes, she was definitely going to be late, but at least Ligia would be there early, since she just had to travel a few blocks from the University from her late afternoon class. A fresh wave of nausea hit her, thanks to all the stop and go traffic, so she rolled down her windows to let in a bit of fresh air. Perhaps some upbeat music would help make the time fly a little faster? She turned the radio dial and heard, not the croony pop music she’d expected, but rather, a mix of trumpets and guitars along with a Spanish funk vibe serenade.
What the heck? Who had turned her radio to Latin 102.7? She’d only ever listened to it a couple times before at Vi’s insistence whenever Cinco de Mayo, or Dia de Los Muertos, or some other unavoidably Hispanic holiday rolled around. Brian said the tinny notes sounded like a dead cat being dragged by a pickup, and he wasn’t really all that wrong. So why would he have changed the station to this? Was he trying to get a rise out of her?
An odd tingling sensation worked its way up her neck and onto her cheek. It was that same feeling all over again. Why was she constantly on edge? Why did it always feel like someone was trying to creep on her? She turned quickly to prove to herself that she was worrying about nothing, only to find an unfamiliar man staring at her from the next car over. He smiled to reveal tobacco stained teeth—ick!—then tipped his cabbie hat her way.
The light changed, and she stepped on it. When finally she arrived at the SoCo hall on South Congress, the Texas and Tiaras group orientation was a full ten minutes underway. Or at least it should have been. Brooke trotted out her old pageant walk as she sauntered into the room and smiled graciously at the twenty or so women who all sat quietly watching her.
“Good evening, ladies,” she trilled. “The first rule of fashion, of course, is that the show doesn’t start until you arrive. Why? Because you’re the star.” She tittered nervously, hoping her discomfort didn’t show. “But in all seriousness, don’t be late to a pageant. They won’t wait for you, no matter how bright your star shines. Although I’m sure my co-coach, Ligia, has already jumped on the chance to let you learn from my bad example.”
She looked around the room, but couldn’t spy Ligia anywhere.
“I—is she in the bathroom?”
“No, ma’am. Miss Liggy isn’t here yet,” a six or seven-year-old pupil explained.
“My, well!” Brooke said, just narrowly
stopping herself from cursing in front of all the young, impressionable minds and their hovering, no-doubt hypercritical, moms. “Seems we aren’t off to the best start, are we? Let’s fix that now. Get up, you’re going to learn how to walk.”
They weren’t the worst group of young protégées, it turned out. Brooke felt beside herself with guilt, so she gave them all an extra thirty minutes at the end of class to make up for her tardiness and Ligia’s complete absence. And no, she couldn’t even manage to show for the next hour and a half—nor did she call, text, Facebook, Snapchat, nothing!
For their parts, the forgiving students seemed to have genuinely enjoyed the night’s lesson. All that amounted to was that now Brooke had two booming businesses to manage and zero helpers to do it. If Ligia didn’t turn her act around—and fast—she’d need to take on a PA or at least an intern to help her make it through the next six months.
After that? She could wrap up the semester for the Texas and Tiaras students, build a wait list for clients of Parties by Brooke, and—oh, yeah—hire a nanny to take care of the child who would be making its grand entrance into the world right about then. That is, if Brian didn’t go psycho controlling and try to make her give it all up again—as he had done in the early years of their marriage before—to focus on being a full-time wife… and mom.
Yikes, yikes, yikes.
The clock was ticking right along its merry way, and she still had no idea what she was going to do. She would keep the baby, that much was obvious, but would she keep her husband too? Would she find a way to win back her former BFF, who despite not actually being a mom herself was the most maternal person Brooke knew?
Life wouldn’t be getting any easier for her, at least not in the next eighteen years or so. She needed to stop doing it all on her own. She’d hoped that Ligia would take her business seriously, and she’d tried and failed to make amends with Vi, but she hadn’t once tried giving her own husband the benefit of the doubt. It was time to come clean, let the chips fall where they may, get all the facts, and make her decision from there. Brian would be overjoyed when he found out about their little bundle… probably.
No, she just needed to stop thinking and do. “Siri, call Brian,” she commanded, and, just like that, the car’s bluetooth beeped to life.
Brian answered almost immediately. “Brooke?”
She realized too late that it was past midnight where he was. She’d probably woken him. Crap. “Yes, it’s me. Sorry, Bri. I—”
“N—no, it’s okay. I’m here, what’s up?”
“I just wanted to talk to you about—”
A rustling sound of fabric cut her off.
“Bri, is everything okay?”
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry. It’s actually not a good time. Can I call you in the morning?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, talk to you then. Bye.” Click.
He hadn’t even said he loved her, which she now realized was something she really needed to hear—if not from Brian, then from somebody, anybody.
She bent down to let Tiara lick her nose.
“I love you too, sweetie,” she said, choking back a sob. Ugh, she was so tired of being emotional all the time. Would it get better before the baby arrived, and would she be able to tell her husband before that time came? Oh, how the clock was ticking.
By the time she arrived back home, night had already fallen. She made herself a cup of chamomile tea and took her iPad to the wrap-around porch to catch up on some reading and enjoy the clean night air.
Only the air reeked of—what?—smoke and ash. Looking around, she quickly discovered a small pile of cigarette butts as if somebody, probably the new gardener, had been using her bedroom’s window frame as an ashtray. Disgusting. And not at all good for her baby!
Her baby. That was the first time she had thought about it like that. A fragile little thing she needed to protect. Maybe being a mom wouldn’t be so bad, after all. At least then she’d have somebody to love her.
She fired off a quick text to Jesse. You’ll never guess who stood me up tonight.
Brian? Big surprise. Wanna join the neglected spouses club? I’m the president. :P
No, LOL. It was Ligia. She...
“Arf! Arf!” Tiara called from back around the house.
BRB, she typed to her friend, then called out to her dog, “Ti, come here!”
When Tiara didn’t come, Brooke rose and began the short walk around the house. The white roses she noticed were already beginning to open their blooms. Man, that was fast. She shivered as she crossed through the tiny gate that was more decorative than functional. Again her skin crawled as if unwanted eyes were roving over it. But whose eyes, and from where? Pregnancy was apparently making her paranoid.
She looked around just to be sure, but again no one was there.
Tiara barked again and then pointed to a half-eaten dish of slimy wet food by the back door. The little dog whined and then began to snarfle and hack as she tried to shake loose something that had gotten lodged in her throat.
“Ti? What’s going on?” Brooke’s voice shook and she looked around once more to see if she was being watched. She never fed Tiara outside, and she definitely wouldn’t serve her little princess this yucky congealed loaf of food. No, Tiara only ate organic nibblets, which meant someone else had put this here for her.
Finally, Tiara hacked up what looked like a tiny green pellet, then ran back toward the dish with her jingle bell tail wagging. Brooke picked up the little object to inspect it. She’d seen this before but couldn’t place it. A quick Google image search provided the answer in a matter of seconds, though.
Rat poison. Some psychopath had poisoned her baby!
First blind rage, then panic. Tiara could die. She could die!
Brooke quickly picked up her Pom, and then rushed back to the car. The emergency vet hospital wasn’t too far. If she drove fast enough, she could save Tiara, right?
But who would want to hurt such a sweet, little girl? Who would want to hurt Brooke this badly and would know that Tiara held the direct line to her heart?
When she found out, there would be hell to pay.
Chapter Twelve
Vi
Vi awoke to a stiff breeze blowing through her open bedroom window. She blinked hard until the red numbers of her alarm clock came into view. Seven PM. Monday was lit up, not that it mattered what day it was anymore. Before the shooting she had never slept in later than seven o’clock, even on her days off. But now? It was practically time for bed again, and she was only just now slipping out from under her comforter.
A half-drunk glass of water sat on her end table, beside her first pair of ballet shoes that her mother had gotten bronzed. Her mouth felt like she had swallowed a whole bag of cotton balls. She stretched her arms and legs as best she could and reached out for the cup. Pain ran through her shoulder and down her arm. She dropped the glass and it shattered on the hardwood floor. Great. Just great. A part of her thought about rolling over and going back to sleep. But the pain-filled part of her mind talked her out of it.
She slipped out of bed and popped another pill. Perspiration slid down her face as the pain radiated through her. Maybe a hot shower would help. It would at least get rid of the persistent funk that clung to her. She flipped on the radio and turned the shower on the hottest setting. A song by the Smiths came on. She was too tired to change the station so she jumped in the shower and tuned out the annoying hipster music. Give her a slow angst melody any day. The kind she used to dance to. Music and dancing were all things from the past. She pushed all those thoughts aside before the reminder of that loss stung her heart anew.
The hot pellets of water massaged her tender skin. A groan escaped her lips, and she took a mouthful of the water that burned down her raw throat. Her phone rang inside her bedroom, but she ignored it. Whoever it was could wait. She adjusted the shower-head so it pointed directly on the spot between her shoulder blades. Her back muscles twitched in spasm as the jets dug dee
p into the knotted tissue. She stayed that way until the water began to turn cold, then dried off and padded through her room to answer the phone. Her feet left a trail of wet prints behind her. She was so out of it from the pain that she wasn’t paying attention to where she was stepping. A sharp pain shot through her big toe.
“Ouch!”
The broken glass shards covered the floor. She lifted her foot and plucked out the glistening sliver of glass. A crimson drop of blood slid off her toe and onto the floor with a tiny splash. A miniature crime scene. A wave of nausea washed over her and her vision swirled like the room was spinning. Her heartbeat quickened and she grabbed hold of the bedpost to keep from falling.
“Vi?” A meek female voice called out to her from behind.
Vi slowly turned her head toward the sound and her vision began to tunnel. She reached out and a soft hand guided her out of the room and over to the couch where she lay down. After a moment, the feeling passed. Her heart rate and vision returned to normal. She opened her eyes to see Ligia hovering over her with a look of concern.
“Are you all right, Vi?” The poor girl’s hands trembled. “You look totally wrecked.”
Vi licked her lips and tried to sit up. Another wave of dizziness washed over her and she was forced to lie back down. “I’m fine.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.
The young woman’s gaze dropped to Vi’s foot. “You’re bleeding.”
Vi let out a deep sigh. “Yes, I am. Could you please grab me a Band-Aid out of the bathroom medicine cabinet?”
Brooke’s underling seemed thrilled to be put to work. She came back with a smile and a handful of first aid supplies like she was Florence Nightingale. “It’s just a little cut, Ligia.”
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