Rocky Road & Revenge

by Erin Huss

  I grabbed a paper bag and shoved it over her mouth. "Breath," I said. "Calm down and just breathe."

  "Why…does…this…bag…smell…like…fish?" she asked between breaths.

  "Sushi for lunch. Keep breathing."

  There was a knock on the door. I thought Amy was going to faint. "It's the feds!" she cried. I shoved the bag back over her mouth.

  "It's probably a resident," I assured her. "Keep breathing."

  Amy followed me to the door, inflating and deflating the bag. I placed my eye up to the peephole and—crud.

  OK, so maybe she was right.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  See also: Accomplice

  "It's the police," I whispered to Amy, trying to keep my cool.

  She fell against the wall like she'd been shot in the chest. I told her to stay put and opened the door enough to shove my head out. Standing in front of me was Chase, wearing the same suit as earlier, though his tie was pulled loose. Hampton was behind him. His tie was always pulled loose. I was sure Hampton had a first name, but Chase called him Hampton, so I did too.

  "Hi, how may I help you?" I smiled in what I hoped was not an I-may-or-may-not-have-a-person-of-interest-hiding-behind-my-door kind of way.

  Chase narrowed his eyes. "Can we come in?"

  "Inside my house?" Crap. Crap. Crap. "Errrrr…no. Lilly is asleep."

  "Momma, your phone isn't working! There's the spinning thing!" Lilly hollered from the bedroom.

  I reached my foot back and kicked the router on the television stand. "Never mind. It works now."

  "Sleep talker that one." I chuckled. "Um, sorry, I'm not…decent."

  "That's fine with me." The corner of Chase's mouth twitched upward. "I'll come in, and Hampton can stay out here." He took a step toward me.

  I put a hand out to stop him. "I mean, I'm not decent because…it's…personal. I'm having personal problems. Women's problems."

  Chase studied me, and I squirmed, refusing to make eye contact. "Have you spoken to Amy today?"

  Oh hell.

  An episode of If Only came to my head. A dialogue between the lead character, Bobbie Dart, and Detective Russell, about successfully lying to the cops. Don't pause, don't talk too fast, don't give out too much information, no hand motions, and stick as close to the facts as possible so you don't trip on your words.

  Of course, on the show, the cop in question wasn't a romantic interest.

  I looked straight into Chase's eyes and kept my hands still. He had beautiful eyeballs. Bright green with specs of gray… Concentrate, woman! "Yes. I have spoken with Amy today."

  Chase scratched his chin without breaking eye contact. "Her neighbor said she might be with you."

  Yeah, OK, I can't do this.

  "Can you hold on one moment? I…have…to…um…pee." I closed the door carefully, feeling all shaky. Amy had assumed a fetal position. "He wants to come in," I whispered to her. "I think he knows you're here."

  Amy looked up at me with a helpless expression and shook her head. Make him go away, she mouthed.

  "I can't."

  "Please, please, Cambria. I can't do this right now," she whispered. "I have to come up with a better plan before I talk to them."

  "This is a terrible idea. You look guilty when you avoid the cops."

  "Please." She was on the verge of tears, and I broke.

  "Fine," I hissed through gritted teeth. "Don't make any noise." I swallowed a few times. Took a few breaths. Pulled what I hoped was a poker face, and reopened the door. I promptly shifted my eyes to Chase's feet. He had on black shoes with scuffmarks on the right toe. "I'm not sure where Amy is now," I said.

  Chase shifted his weight to his heels.

  "Has she ever talked about her relationship with Jessica Wilders?" Hampton asked.

  I didn't have to look to know Amy was on the cusp of a nervous breakdown. I heard the sushi bag crinkle at a more rapid pace. "I think they had mutual respect as actors."

  "Do you know why she didn't come to work today?" Chase asked.

  "I think she's a bit freaked out about Jessica's death."

  "Could you call Amy and see where she is?" Chase asked.

  "No. If you want to talk to her, then you can call her yourself. She's my best friend, and I can't be in the middle of this." Even though, technically speaking, I was in the middle of the two of them. Quite literally.

  Chase and Hampton shared a look, and I had a feeling they weren't buying it.

  "Please let her know we're looking for her," Chase said to me. "It's important. If I don't hear from her soon, we can put out an ATL."

  "That means an attempt to locate," Hampton said.

  "She knows what ATL means," Chase said to him. "She also knows what being an accessory is." He looked at me with those beautiful green eyes. "She watches a lot of cop shows."

  If I wasn't mistaken, that was a threat. Chase was threatening me. If I weren't near a stroke, I might have been turned on.

  "I will pass this on to her when I see her—if I do, which I probably won't because—I have a thing tonight. A—" Stop talking, Cambria. Close your mouth and prohibit words from exiting before they arrest you. "OK. I better go!" I closed the door. It bounced off Chase's shiny black shoe, leaving a new scuffmark.

  I may faint.

  "Hey, I haven't had the chance to talk to you." He smiled, flashing all his pearly whites at me. "Did you enjoy your lunch?"

  "It was…pleasant."

  "Are you sure there's nothing you want to say to me?"

  "Thank you?"

  He studied me, and I almost caved.

  "Happy birthday, Cambria," he finally said.

  Oh hell.

  "Thanks," I managed. "You too." I closed the door and fell back against it.

  That was painful.

  Did I just say "you too"?

  Smooth.

  I beat the back of my head against the door.

  "I told you I'm being framed." Amy wept from her spot on the floor.

  "I just lied to Chase." I slapped my hands over my eyes. What was I thinking?

  "So what? I lie to Spencer all the time." She put the bag up to her mouth and breathed.

  "Your boyfriend is a dentist. Mine's a human lie detector. That's what. This isn't good." I went back to beating the back of my head against the door while Amy breathed into her bag.

  We did this for a while until she blew a hole in the bottom of her bag and I got a headache.

  "What am I supposed to do?" Amy finally asked with a whimper.

  "You need a good lawyer." I rubbed my temples.

  "Do you think Tom will represent me?"

  The thought of Tom, Chase, and Amy all together in an interrogation room gave me indigestion.

  "OK, here's an idea," I said. "What if you call Chase and tell him what happened? He's reasonable, and I'm sure he'll believe you. Wouldn't you rather give yourself up than be taken down to the station and questioned?"

  "No. I will never, ever say what happened. Are you kidding me? I'll lose my job."

  I let out a grunt. "You'll also lose your job if you're arrested."

  Amy crossed her arms. "I'm not talking to the police yet. Not until I have a better plan."

  I hung my aching head when another idea trotted into my mind. "What if we go to the studio and see if there are security cameras in the parking lot? If there are, that's your alibi. You don't have to say why you were at the studio. Just that you were. Or you could say it was in the name of character research. We'll see if they have cameras, tell Chase, and he can check the footage. Then by this time tomorrow, you're free and clear, and the network won't know anything about EJ Ryder, and the police can release a statement clearing your name."

  Amy shook her head so fast, her face blurred.

  "Hear me out." I scooted closer. "Someone made sure you were in an empty parking lot by yourself. Suddenly a key to Jessica's house is in your backseat. And the press has already pegged you a suspect."

  "This is not making
me feel better."

  "Let me finish." I took her hands in mine. Her palms were clammy. "As I see it, one of two things will happen. You'll either be hunted down by Chase and taken to the station to be questioned. Or you'll give yourself up willingly. We'll stop at the studio to see about cameras. Then we'll call Tom and get his advice. Either way, you're going to have to come clean, tonight."

  "But—" she started to say.

  "I know. I know. You don't want the press to find out. But if we call Chase first, maybe he'll meet us at your apartment?"

  "I mean—but it's your birthday," she said.

  Oh, that. Happy freaking birthday to me.

  "This is more important. Let me get Lilly." I started to stand, and Amy pulled me back down. "What now?"

  "What about your big meeting tomorrow?" she asked.

  "What about it?"

  "Don't you need to get ready for it tonight?"

  Amy had a doctorate in procrastination.

  "I've got it all ready. Let's go." I pulled her to her feet.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  See also: Just a girl standing in front of a zombie, trying not to faint

  Studio Bea's parking lot was big enough to fit six economy-sized cars if everyone agreed to enter and exit their car through the trunk. The lot sat in front of a large warehouse-sized building with black awnings and steel-framed doors. Two doors belonged to Studio Bea and the third to a business called Cadaver's Cavern. Only in Los Angeles could you find a store named after a corpse and not think twice of it.

  You know, movie props.

  The studio's windows were dark, but Cadaver's lights were on. I leaned over the steering wheel and read the sign mounted to the lamppost—Tenant and Customer Parking Only. Violators Will Be Towed. No mention of surveillance.

  "Let's get out and have a look around. We'll talk to the Cadaver's people and see if they have cameras." I killed the engine and unbuckled my seat belt. Amy didn't move. She sat with one leg crossed over the other, hands folded, face in a pout. "You have to get out first. Then I go," I reminded her. We were in my car. The driver's side door was stuck shut and had been since an unfortunate meeting with a runaway dumpster.

  Amy picked at the tape keeping my passenger seat together. "I shouldn't have called her a gap-toothed troll. I mean, she acted like one, but I shouldn't have said it. I'd never kill her though. What if I go to jail for a crime I didn't commit? Or—" She gasped. "What if my career is ruined and the only job I can get is on Celebrity Tango? I'd die!"

  She would indeed. Beautiful, yes. Charming, always. Rhythm, none.

  It was only slightly concerning she was more worried about doing reality TV than going to prison.

  "Do you want this?" Lilly held up a grease-stained Taco Bell bag she found on the backseat. "You could blow in it?"

  Amy took the offered bag and shoved it on her face. "Ugh. Does everything you have smell like fat?"

  "Pretty much. Oh!" I remembered the oils. "I have something better than a bag." I pulled out the bottle of Unbend and paused. I ran through the list of ingredients in my head. Amy was allergic to nuts. I was pretty certain there weren't any, but before I could be sure, she yanked the bottle out of my hand, flipped the lid, and chugged.

  "Ew, gross! What is this? Sour Vodka?"

  I froze, with what I was sure was a face of horror. "You weren't supposed to drink it!"

  She wiped her mouth with the back side of her hand. "What was I supposed to do with it?"

  "Smell it, or rub it, or diffuse it. Why would I keep vodka in my bag?"

  Amy shrugged. "If I had your job, I'd keep liquor on hand."

  "What's vodka?" Lilly asked.

  "It wasn't vodka. It was a homemade essential-oil blend one of my residents made." I grabbed the bottle from Amy and peered down into the empty vessel.

  Amy fanned her mouth. "I can't feel my tongue."

  "Your breath smells really good," Lilly said.

  I had my phone out. "According to WebMD, you should be fine. But you may experience stomach cramps or vomiting. You should drink milk, or eat yogurt, or sour cream, or cheese, but don't drink water.'" I looked up. "Why are you drinking water? I just said not to!"

  Amy showered the dashboard with H2O. "My mouth is on fire!" She grabbed Lilly's pink canteen from the cup holder, and I swatted it out of her hand.

  "It's almond milk!" I grabbed a container of fish crackers that was wedged between my seat and the console. "Eat these. It'll take the burn away."

  "But essss carbs," she said with her tongue wagging.

  "A handful of fish crackers isn't going to kill you."

  "I'll wait for the burning to sssstop."

  "So be it." We should all have such restraint. I tossed a few fish into my mouth and turned around to the backseat. "You take good care of Auntie Amy," I told Lilly. "I'll only be a minute."

  "Why does hers look like a dog?" Lilly pointed to Amy's extended tongue.

  "It's she looks like a dog," I corrected. Grammar was important. I turned to Amy. "Can I trust that you won't try to kill yourself while I'm gone?"

  Amy gave a pitiful nod.

  Good enough. I wasn't about to bring my child to a place called Cadaver's.

  I climbed over Amy and out the door. After one lap around the small parking lot, I determined there to be no cameras. None visible anyway. I went to Cadaver's. Inside were shelves of skulls in every shape and size. Some had crushed craniums, others broken jaws. There was an entire section dedicated to intestines. Fake dead bodies were on racks with hooks in their backs so you could easily skim through them like you were at Nordstrom looking for a new sweater.

  There was also an entire section of scented candles.

  A guy named Jack, per the tag pinned to his suspender, was stocking the severed-foot section. He had a derby cap on his head, wing-tipped shoes on his feet, tight pants, a nice butt…wow, I mean…he was a good-looking gentleman. Reminded me of Clark Kent. Like he should be reporting from the Planet, not working with fake dead bodies.

  "What can I do you for?" Jack tipped his hat.

  I fanned my face. A wave of nausea slid through my stomach, and I went light-headed. There were a lot of limbs lying around.

  They're fake.

  They're fake.

  They're all fake.

  I gulped. "Hi. Do you know if they have cameras in the parking lot, by chance?"

  Jack stood and looped his thumbs in his suspenders. "Nope. Property manager around here is too cheap."

  Ew. It was a turnoff when anyone insulted his or her property manager. But I had to move past the blunder. "What about inside the store? Maybe one pointed toward the front?" The door and windows were tinted, but you could still see outside.

  "Of course. There's a lot of money here."

  I glanced at the eyeball section. Blech. "Good. Um, where exactly are they?"

  Jack raised a brow. "Why? You planning on robbing the place?"

  "No, no, nooo," I said. "Not at all. Sorry. I should have explained first. It's just that I'm not used to all these…corpses. Hey, that one looks familiar."

  "Which one?"

  "The one with the Elvis lip and bow tie over there on the rack." I pointed.

  Jack followed my gaze. "He was on Miami PD fall finale. He'll be on If Only next week, if you watch for him."

  "Really? I love that show!"

  "This foot appears in Episode 217."

  "Really? Whose foot? Wait…" Concentrate, woman. "Never mind. That's not why I'm here. I'm asking about the cameras because my friend was here Monday night around 9:00 PM and I need to prove it."

  "We close at seven. Sorry. She couldn't have been here."

  "She was in the parking lot. She was supposed to meet someone at the studio next door, but they never showed. Do you know if they have outside security cameras?"

  "Nope. They closed down."

  Oh no. "When did they close?"

  Jack thought for a moment. "About a month ago? They moved the studio to Vegas. Fewer
laws and taxes."

  Crap. "Did EJ Ryder ever film there?"

  Jack's eyebrows drew together. "EJ Ryder, the mega television producer?"

  "Yes, that's the one. Did she ever film next door?"

  Jack laughed. Not just a chuckle either, but a full-body someone-told-a-hilarious-joke-and-I-might-pee-my-pants-from-laughing-so-hard laugh. I took that as a no. "There's not a chance EJ Ryder would be caught dead at Studio Bea."

  "Why not?"

  "They filmed mostly adult material."

  I blinked. "Porn?"

  "Yep." Jack snapped his suspenders. "They had some big hits in their heyday."

  This was getting worse by the minute. I could picture Amy banging on the door of an old porn studio, demanding to be let in. No doubt she was dressed in something skimpy—proudly displaying all her surgically enhanced assets.

  If there were cameras, it would have gone viral by now.

  "Can I see your security footage from Monday evening, from around 8:00 to 10:00 PM?" I asked. "My friend does this pacing thing when she's nervous, and she may have passed your door. Several times."

  "No pro-blemo, my dear. The boss will be in tomorrow morning. He'll be happy to help you out," Jack said.

  "Is there any way you could check the security footage for me right now?"

  Jack was shaking his head before I even finished. "Chuck doesn't want people touching his equipment."

  "What if we don't tell him?" I winked.

  Jack leaned in. He had enough aftershave on to perfume a small nation. "You never told me your name."

  "It's, um, Cambria."

  "Well Um Cambria, that's a pretty name for a pretty girl."

  Is he…flirting with me?

  What an interesting place for a meet-cute.

  I fought the urge to retort with a self-deprecating remark like—are your eyeballs cadavers? ha-ha—but chose to use his interest to my advantage. I stifled a sneeze, because sneezing isn't sexy, and seductively ran a hand through Einstein. My finger got caught in a tangle. I wrangled it out and took a chunk of hair with it.

  Clearly, I wasn't going to seduce my way into Chuck's equipment. I tried a different approach and batted my baby blues. "Jack, my friend is in trouble, and if I could get the footage of her in the parking lot, it would potentially save an innocent person's life. Please help me out?"