Rocky Road & Revenge

by Erin Huss

  Unless that resident was selling Girl Scout Cookies.

  Then it was OK.

  Well prepared, Sophie slapped the oil brochure on the counter.

  My eyeballs nearly jumped out of my head. The little bottles cost thirty-five dollars! "Holy hell. Are they infused with Prozac?" Oops. Didn't mean to say that out loud.

  "I…I could make that blend if you want. You can see the available ingredients here." She placed a chipped fingernail over the ingredients list. "I only just started making them."

  Kevin didn't even attempt to hide his laugh this time.

  "I'll look it over," I said.

  Lumber threw another crumpled brochure at me. I swatted it away before it hit my face.

  Sophie pulled a spray bottle from her purse and spritzed the air above Lumber's head. "Calm, baby!" she sang. "Inhale the peaceful scent, dammit!"

  "No!" Lumber stomped his foot. "Stop, Mom!"

  I didn't blame him. The "peaceful scent" smelled like feet. He flung a plastic ninja star at her nose and ran out the door.

  Sophie sprinted after him. Though the window, I watched her chase Lumber, still frantically spritzing her oils. He made it all the way to the pool gate before she was able to catch him.

  Kevin nearly fell out of his chair from laughing so hard.

  "You're terrible." I sat down behind my desk with the gift bag.

  "It's too big—I thought it would fit you!" He slapped his knee.

  "Glad you're entertained."

  He wiped his eyes. "Is today even your birthday?"

  "Sure is." I held the shirt up to my chest. Yeah, that's gonna fit.

  Kevin gave me a curious look. "You're twenty-nine, right?"

  "Yes," I said slowly. "Why?"

  He slammed a hand on the desk, and I jumped.

  "Still got it!"

  "Still got what?" I asked, utterly confused.

  "I have a gift." Kevin tapped his temple with his forefinger. "I can figure out people's age and weight by looking at them. I've been doing it since I was a kid. Drove my mother nuts."

  I wonder why.

  "Let me guess your weight." He bounced around on the chair like a kid waiting for dessert.

  "No thanks."

  "Come on."

  "Not a chance."

  "It'll be my birthday present to you."

  "I own a scale."

  "It's your birthday?" came Lilly's sweet voice from the doorway.

  Kevin and I spun around. She rubbed her red, sleep-crusted little eyes with her fist.

  "It sure is. Come here." Lilly curled up on my lap, and I kissed her sweaty head. "Did you have a good nap?"

  She nodded and nuzzled into my chest. "Daddy has something planned for your birthday."

  "One hundred and thirty-eight pounds!" Kevin gave a victorious smile and threw his arms up in the air.

  I looked at him, horrified. "No!"

  Yeeeessss.

  "He told me all about it last night," Lilly said, still nestled in my arms.

  "He did?" I asked, feeling both surprised and annoyed. It wasn't a good idea to tell our daughter we were going out. As a matter of fact, it was terrible, awful, deadly! Well, maybe not deadly. But stupid.

  Why would he say anything to her? That was mean. Get her hopes up, have her convinced her parents were going to be together, only to have them crushed when her commitment-phobic father freaked and ran (as he usually did).

  "You're going out with the lawyer?" Kevin leaned back in the chair and put his hands behind his head. "I thought you were dating the cop."

  "Shhh." I covered Lilly's ears. She knew Chase, and the two had a great relationship, but she didn't know he and I were in a semi-committed relationship. Unlike Tom, I didn't tell Lilly about my romantic ventures. Mostly because I didn't have many. Until recently.

  "Mom, you're dating a cop?" Lilly asked with a confused tilt of her head. "You can't date a cop because Daddy has a big surprise for you."

  I mentally slapped my forehead. Then I mentally slapped Kevin. And Tom.

  "You don't need to worry about it, sweetie."

  "Yah-ha. Daddy worked really hards on it. He said it was a very special big surprise and I'm not allowed to tell you."

  A surprise? Tom and I didn't do surprise.

  But we didn't go out either.

  When Tom said he'd take me to dinner, he sounded casual, as if it was an after thought. Like, Hey, I don't have anything better going on tonight. Let's hang.

  When I'd told Tom I was pregnant, he immediately shoved me into the friend zone. I referred to it as the Alcatraz zone, escapable only by death. Over the last six months, he'd thrown me several life rafts (a lingering touch, a flirty goodbye, a peck on the cheek) but had yet to make an actual move. Was tonight the night?

  Oh geez.

  I wasn't the type of gal who had more than one guy interested in her. I wasn't typically the type of gal who had one guy interested in her. I was the type of gal who sat on the couch in her sweats, eating ice cream straight out of the carton on a Friday night, by herself. If this weren't a no-pet property and I wasn't allergic to most things with fur, I'd have at least five cats.

  Maybe ten.

  I had no idea what to make of Tom planning a surprise for my birthday.

  Of course, my source was a three-year-old.

  But still. The kid was sharper than any three-year-old I'd met.

  I was so confused.

  This was right about when I'd call Amy. She'd help me overthink the situation. I sent her a quick text but got no reply. I suppose murder trumps my baby daddy troubles.

  The uneasy feeling returned to my stomach.

  Gah, I really hope it isn't the sushi.

  CHAPTER SIX

  See also: Alibi

  Because it was my birthday, and because the noise of the hydroxyl machine gave me a headache, and because Mr. Nguyen had to turn off the power to rewire the lobby, Patrick permitted me to close early for the day. Now I had plenty of time to get ready for my dinner with Tom and to call my mom back.

  She immediately asked, "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing!"

  "If you tell me, I promise not to judge."

  "Nothing is wrong, Mom." I was in the bathroom with my phone on speaker. Every piece of makeup I owned was on the counter, and the flat iron I'd had since high school was plugged in and set to Max.

  I decided on the purple top Sophie had given me. It fit like a glove and, even better, looked good (if I do say so myself). It hugged my curves, and the opening in the back was so risqué, I felt quite naughty.

  Granted, this was coming from a person who wears Mossimo T-shirts on the daily.

  "Cambria, something is wrong. I can hear it in your voice."

  Mom was relentless. She worked as a secretary at a busy meat-packing company in Fresno, and I could overhear the machines in the background. All the warehouse guys were afraid of her.

  "Does it have to do with Jessica Wilders? Is Amy OK?"

  "I haven't spoken to her yet."

  "Why haven't you spoken to Amy? You two haven't gone more than a few hours without talking since the third grade. Did you get in a fight?"

  "No, she's…not allowed to talk about it right now." I hoped I was right about that. It was getting harder to keep the worst-case-scenario portion of my brain quiet though.

  "Is that why you're so upset?"

  "I'm not upset, Mom." I leaned over the counter and applied a thin layer of eyeliner. "What's new with you?"

  "Nothing. I called you this morning, and you didn't pick up."

  I could hear her eyes rolling.

  "That's because I was sleeping." I leaned back to check out my eyeliner skills—which were lacking. One side was thin. The other looked like I'd used a crayon.

  "Anyway, happy birthday…something is wrong. What is it? Work?"

  "No." I wiped the liner off and mascara'd my lashes. "Work is good."

  "Is it a boy?" Her voice took on a curious tone. Here we go. "You're way too
young and far too pretty with way too much potential to still be single. You should get out more."

  "I get out," I said, feeling defensive. "Sometimes."

  "Just tell me what's wrong."

  "I'm fine."

  "Sweetheart, I'm your mother, and I can tell when something is wrong."

  I strangled my phone.

  To the rescue, Lilly shuffled in with my black heels on and struck a little teapot pose. "You talking to Grammie?"

  "Yes, here." I took the phone off speaker and handed it to her.

  "Chào bạn." Lilly shuffled back into my closet in search of a matching handbag.

  I returned to preening.

  Einstein tamed. Teeth brushed. Cheeks blushed. Deodorant applied—twice because I sweated a lot when I was nervous. And when I'm excited. And when I'm hot. And when I'm breathing.

  Done.

  Now it was time to practice my surprised face, in case Lilly was right and Tom did have a surprise for me. When I was genuinely surprised, I looked constipated. When I knew I was about to be surprised, I could provide a better reaction.

  I stared at my reflection in the mirror and opened my mouth wide. It looked like I was preparing for a dental exam.

  Not good.

  Moving on. I placed my hand on my chest and gasped.

  Even worse.

  Suddenly, Amy's reflection joined mine in the mirror, and I stumbled back. "Hey, what are you—"

  Amy pressed her finger to my lips and shhhh'd me.

  She mouthed, Who is Lilly talking to?

  My mom, I mouthed back, unsure of why we were silently conversing. Then I took her in—the leggings, sport bra, and loose-fitting tee. Her blonde and green streaked hair shoved into a trucker's hat, her makeup-less face fraught with distress.

  Amy dropped her hand. "Why are you so dressed up?"

  I stared at her in disbelief.

  "Oh no. I'm the worst friend ever." She brought her hand to her mouth—looking more authentically surprised than I ever could. "It's just…it's just…" Her breathing became quicker and quicker. "Someone is trying to frame me for the Jessica Wilders murder, and I'm kinda freaking out about it. I'm so sorry. I totally forgot today was your birthday."'

  I wasn't sure how to respond, so I said "Ummmmm" until my brain could think of something better.

  Amy sat on the toilet seat and bit at her nail bed, a habit she'd kicked in high school. And her forehead was crinkled, a habit she'd kicked when we moved to LA. You know—wrinkles.

  "Hold on…" My brain spun. "Is this real? You seriously think you're being framed?"

  "Yes!" Amy was now up and pacing the length of my bathroom, twirling a loose tendril of hair between her fingers. I slid one butt cheek onto the counter, to give her more pacing space. My bathroom wasn't that big.

  "Tell me what happened?" I said calmly.

  Amy had a tendency to be overdramatic. As did I, but I typically kept mine in my head, while she made ordering a pizza sound like a dire situation.

  "OK, so…" She paused to chew off her cuticle and spit it out. "On Monday afternoon, I got a call from the EJ Ryder."

  "Who?"

  She stopped pacing long enough to gape at me. "The major television producer."

  I shrugged. No idea.

  "She created that show you love, If Only."

  "Oh. I do love that show." It was about a woman who was on the hunt to find her late husband's killer but ended up falling for the lead detective on the case. Just when things heated up between them, the husband returned and she had to choose between the father of her children and her lover. I never missed an episode. "Right. EJ Ryder contacted you, and…"

  "So when EJ Ryder wants a meeting, you take it. The thing is, you know we're negotiating my contract with Ghost Confidential, and if they found out I was meeting with EJ Ryder, they'd totally write me off. So I don't tell anyone I'm meeting with her. Like, anyone. Not even my agent. I get to the place—it's a studio in Culver City, a small one, but whatever. The thing is, it was closed. So I wait, and wait, and wait, and no one ever showed up! I was there for almost two hours waiting like a total idiot, pulling at the doors and knocking."

  "Are you sure you had the right place?"

  "Positive. And I couldn't call EJ's assistant back because she'd called from a blocked number. So I waited until yesterday morning to call her office, and I left a message. Later in the day, after I talked to you, the assistant's assistant called me back and said EJ's been out of town for the past two weeks, and she'd never planned to meet me, and no one had called me to set up a meeting. Then I heard about Jessica and how the cops were questioning everyone on the set today. They said Jessica was killed between eight and ten on Monday night. And I realized at that same time, I was waiting in an empty parking lot by myself with zero alibis. So I called in sick and stayed home so I could figure it out."

  The timing was fishy. I'd give her that. "Why don't you pull up your phone records and show the police you had a call from a private number to corroborate your story? Did you tell Spencer about all this? What did he say?"

  By the look on her face, telling him hadn't occurred to her. "I told him when I got home where I was because he asked. I didn't tell him that your boyfriend was pounding on my door today, demanding to speak to me."

  "He didn't pound on your door. He knocked. If anything, you not answering makes you look guilty. Plus, he bolted out of here. I think they might have a lead now, and maybe he doesn't even need to speak with you anymore. Why don't you call him?"

  "And say what?"

  "The truth?"

  She looked at me as if I'd lost my mind and said, "You've lost your mind. I can't say that. I'll sound crazy. I can't be seen at any police station right now either, and there's no way I'm telling anyone where I was. I'll lose my job. What if I say you and I were together Monday night?"

  I had to stop and think about what I did Monday night. When you have no life, it's hard to differentiate one day from the next. Let me think… I must have been home watching If Only. "Nope, won't work. Chase stopped by for a few hours Monday night after Lilly went to bed. What if this person who called you is the same person who killed Jessica? A crazed fan that is targeting stars of the show? Think about it. They sent you to a vacant parking lot at night?"

  "That really helps me feel better. Thanks."

  I knelt down in front of her. "Maybe you misunderstood the assistant? You weren't meant to meet EJ Ryder, but someone else?"

  "I thought about that, but then…" Amy made a face.

  I knew that face. Nothing good came after that face.

  "Oh no. What happened?"

  She was up and pacing again. I was sure she'd met her daily step goal by now.

  "So you know how I love smoothies in the morning?"

  "Yes, and?"

  "This morning I was making my smoothie and heating up my face bag. It's this new thing you put on your face to help with morning puffiness—"

  "Yeah, yeah, get to the more."

  "I spilled my smoothie on my shirt, so I ran to my car to get stain remover, 'cause I'd just bought some."

  "You're killing me! Get to the point."

  Amy pulled a key ring from her back pocket and handed it to me. "One of those keys is to Jessica's house," she said. "Someone planted it in my car."

  Ahhh! I dropped it on the ground. "Why'd you hand it to me?"

  "So you could see it!"

  "How do you know it's a key to her house?"

  Amy was frantic. "Because look at it. It has her address and gate code on the tag!" she screamed. "I think these are her assistant's keys!"

  "How do you know?"

  "Because it has her assistant's name on it!"

  "I thought you wanted to keep quiet?"

  "I do!"

  "Then stop yelling at me!"

  "Oh." She covered her mouth. "Sorry," she whispered.

  I bent down and examined the keys. Attached to the metal ring was a black Toyota car key, a metal circle with Z sta
mped on it, a house key, and a keychain tag, the same brand I used to label apartment keys. On one side, Gate code: 9876 was written. I flipped the tag over, using an eyeliner pencil—1164 Malibu Way.

  Crap.

  I looked up at her. "Are you sure this is to Jessica's house?"

  "Yes! On Monday, Jessica's assistant, Zahra, was asking everyone if they'd seen her keys. She said they were missing from her purse. I didn't think anything of it. I lose my keys all the time. But now…crap! Cambria, the keys were on the backseat of my car. Now it looks like I took Zahra's keys so I could get access to Jessica!" She clawed at her neck. "You've read about this, right? What they're saying in the press? They've already named me a suspect, and now this!"

  "Who is 'they'?"

  "Everyone! TMZ, C-Leb Mag, a new blogger named Dirty Dan who is smearing me online. It's awful, Cambria."

  I pulled the flat iron plug from the wall. "Leave the keys. Let's go comb the internet for information."

  Lilly had hung up with my mom and was now on the bed, watching Netflix on my phone. Which meant she'd be occupied for the next three days if I left her alone.

  I sat behind my desk and googled "Jessica Wilders and Amy Montgomery" while Amy paced. At the top of my search was a news article written an hour ago titled, Vicious On-Set Fight the Day before Jessica Wilders Found Dead.

  I clicked on the website and scanned the article. "Amy! This says you called Jessica a gapped-tooth troll?"

  "Because she kept fumbling her lines and blaming me for it. She called me an amateur. I wouldn't have called her a troll if I knew she'd end up dead the next day."

  I continued to read. "Did you throw your kale smoothie at her?"

  "I didn't throw it at her. It fell out of my hand and…landed on her. She was on edge all day, snapping at everyone. I couldn't take it anymore."

  Well, crap.

  I went back to Google and clicked on the next article, posted an hour ago by Dirty Dan.

  Top Ten Reasons Why I Think Amy Montgomery Killed Jessica Wilders.

  "Oh no."

  "What?" Amy demanded. "Tell me."

  "Nothing." I tilted the screen away from her.

  "Not nothing. I can tell by your face!" Amy gave me a hard shove, and I rolled to the window. "Ahhhh! They made a top-ten list! I told you…the public…jury…has already…convicted…me!" Her breathing quickened.