by M E Harmon
“Abby,” I said leaning down a bit to get her attention, “What did the text say?”
Her shoulders tensed, and I could see an artery throb in her neck. “I know what you did and I'm going to tell.”
Another text. Was it coincidence that a text had set Hannah off too?
I said, “What did you say in your text to Hannah?”
Abby's eyebrows furrowed. “What text to Hannah? About the bachelorette party?”
The last question had been bait, and Abby didn’t bite. If she had sent the text to Hannah, the bridesmaid meltdown would’ve been resolved. But her response came off as genuine, so I attempted a different approach. “Did you forward that text you received to anyone?”
“So they could ask me what I did? Heck no, I didn't send it to anyone else. Gwen has had it out for me for a while now, so I just knew it somehow came from her.”
I thumbed through my mental Rolodex of the bridesmaids. I couldn’t picture Gwen. “Is she the brunette?”
“No, she’s has the really short hair, you know, like a boy’s haircut.”
Yeah, I remembered her. She was the only bridesmaid that didn’t have a total meltdown. In fact I kind of recalled a smirk on her perfectly lipstick applied mouth. I said as much aloud. “Has she threatened to tell your secret before?”
The other woman drew back until her back hit the banister. “What have you heard?”
“Nothing, nothing. Relax. You wouldn’t be upset unless the threat of being exposed was real. I’m just putting two and two together.”
“Maybe you should put two and two together somewhere else and mind your business.”
In that instant, Abby reminded me of a little lap dog that loves to yap-yap-yap threats all day but runs away the instant any person or dog looks in their direction.
Abby’s bravado didn’t intimidate me, but it was a barrier I didn’t have the time nor inclination to surmount. Maybe I would sic Anna Carter on her. I popped up and just as I did, movement on the landing above us caught my eye. But when I peeped at the second floor, I didn’t see anything. Something had moved, maybe it was just my own shadow?
That explanation didn’t feel right either, but I let it go. And I doubted this house had a rodent problem. I searched for whatever I’d caught a glimpse of but then seeing nothing, I turned back to Abby. “I thought you would do anything for Jenna?”
“Yeah, well, I guess anything doesn’t mean everything. If you want to find out what happened, go talk to Gwen. She’s always causing drama with her stupid fixations. She’s probably in the middle of all this.”
I looked down at Abby. “Sure, I’ll go have a chat with her. Thanks for your time,” I finished dryly.
“By the way, Hannah said something about you two going out for birthday drinks and you knowing some secret of hers.”
Abby’s eyes narrowed for a second. “Oh, is that why she was throwing chairs at me?” She snorted in disgust. “Because I got drunk and mouthed off? Hannah did some serious flirting that night with some guy despite getting serious with her boyfriend. Then she tried to play all innocent. That’s the only thing I called her out on that night. Why? Does Hannah have some deep, dark secret?” she asked but then put up her hands. “Wait. Don’t tell me. But I bet it has something to do with either a hook-up with a guy or her temper. All of that is old news and everybody knows that about her. So, whatever Hannah told you about me is nonsense.”
With that, I headed down the steps. Once again on the first floor, I glanced at my watch. I wasn’t sure how long the Carters had postponed the party. But I still had to bake, but at least the goodies didn’t have to be ready the second the tea started. I had a while, but I wanted to get into the kitchen soon.
Now where should I go to find Gwen?
“Hey,” Abby called from behind me.
I turned. She hadn’t moved from the step. “Listen, don’t believe much of what Gwen tells you.” She leaned forward as much as she could in a sitting position. “She can be sweet when she wants to but Gwen is crafty.” Abby tapped her temple and said, “Watch her, real careful.”
Suddenly she brought a hand to her throat. A brief look of alarm spread on Abby’s face. She hurriedly fastened the top button of her shirt dress while searching my face. And I knew what she was thinking. Did she see?
Yes, Abby, I did see. And now I know your secret too.
Gwen
I left without saying anything else to Abigail. The front door shut behind me with a gentle click, and I stood looking out at the expanse of the Carter’s front yard. A circular driveway paved with dark gravel allowed cars to drop occupants at the front door. A little further off to the right, the driveway continued to a two-door garage, however, the Carters let guests park on a rectangle of gravel closer to the front door. Several cars lined up like neat little expensive soldiers. I read off brand names off the bumpers, Benz, another Benz, Range Rover, Lexus, before my very reasonable Toyota van broke up the elite car monopoly.
At least, I washed her before heading up here today. My reliable delivery van appeared ultra modest against the expensive cars, but at least she was clean. I’d started to sink into a reverie about owning an automobile like one of those gleaming ones, when a rustling to my left caught my attention.
My nose brought me up to speed before I could turn my head. When I did look left, a hulking man built like a side of beef openly scrutinized me. He leaned against a corner of the house. A cigarette, a real one, not one of those silly vapor cigs, dangled from the corner of his mouth. It was Magnus Donovan, Dorrick Carter’s so-called partner. From the look of the man, and from the way he’d bullied everyone at the Carter’s charity auction, I guessed henchman was a more apropos title.
He pointed, “I remember you. You’re that cook.”
“Baker,” I corrected.
Magnus uttered a noise, part-grunt, part-guffaw. “Pardon moi, madame baker,” he said in what I assumed he thought was a French accent. “What’cha doin’ outside the kitchen?”
In truth, it wasn’t an unreasonable question to ask the hired help, which technically I was. Now, I wouldn’t exactly call myself a feminist, though I actively advocate for woman’s rights. However, the way Magnus asked the question irked me as if someone had injected vodka into one of my arteries. He might as well have said, ‘Hey you silly broad, take off those shoes and get back to the stove.’
I shot back at him, “What’cha doing stinking up the Carter’s yard?”
Yeah, I could’ve been referring to the cigarette smoke, but I wasn’t. Magnus assumed otherwise.
He clipped the cigarette between two fingers and flicked ashes onto the grass. “Yeah, bad habit I know. Anna raises hell if I smoke in the house.”
“I wouldn’t guess a big strapping man like you would come to a bridal shower party. I didn’t know Jenna had made it a co-ed event.”
His eyebrows dipped. “Shower?” He took another moment to puzzle it out then said, “Oh, no. I’m not here for that. Didn’t even know it was today. I’m here waiting on Rick. We got business.”
I frowned at a cloud of cigarette smoke that seemed unwilling to dissipate. If I was Anna, I’d be annoyed about that as well. “Business on a Saturday?”
He flicked more ashes and shrugged. “Work is work, don’t matter what day it is.”
“Did Jenna pass through this way?”
“Nope. But one of her girlfriends been wearing down the pavement in front of the house.” He exhaled a plume of smoke and pointed at the road. Just then, someone in a peach flounce skirt jiggled past at a fast clip.
I headed in the woman’s direction but said over my shoulder. “Jenna sent Dorrick to the supermarket. I think he’ll be back soon.”
“Thanks for the tip, sweetheart.”
Oh, the way he said sweetheart, made my back ripple with disdain. He said it the way some men do when they’re speaking down to a woman, when sweetheart really means stupid.
I continued down the driveway, doing my best to abo
lish the man from memory—if only temporarily. At the charity auction, Dorrick and his partner Magnus had been as thick as thieves. When a journal had gone missing from the auction, it had been Magnus who’d bullied the help (including me) in an attempt to fish out the thief.
Whoever had sent that message to the bridesmaids last night wanted to see the effects play out today at the bridal tea. That meant the sender planned to be in attendance.
I could see Dorrick bragging about his conquest with Hannah to his partner. Visualizing Magnus sending an anonymous message meant to stir up trouble didn’t take much imagination. But Magnus was an ‘in your face’ type of guy. Sending a text seemed too covert for his style.
But he could’ve been lying about knowing the bridal tea was today. Who knows how long he’d been lurking around the house. He could’ve had a nice ringside window seat inside the house when the bridesmaids had their meltdown. I made a mental note to ask Jenna if she knew what time he arrived.
The Carter’s property was set pretty far from the road. It sat on the crest of a small rise, so from my viewpoint walking down the drive, I could see over the hedges that lined the street.
This was a quiet neighborhood for the most part. The occasional car drove by. A white van with a blue cable company logo broke up the monotony of expensive family cars parked along the street. Kids don’t play outside much anymore, so I didn’t spot any young people playing ball or riding bikes. Just as I started to ogle the fancy-schmancy Tudor house across the block, the bright yellow head of hair bounced by again.
By the time I reached the edge of the Carter’s property, the woman had paced to the end of the block and did an about-face. Her hair reminded me of candy lemon drops. She was about my height (around 5’6”), and when I saw the short pixie cut, I knew I’d lucked out and found Gwen.
Like a dummy, Gwen walked along fully absorbed in her cell phone. I really don’t get why people do that. What if there’s dog poo on the sidewalk, or gum, or someone you don’t like coming up the block? You’re not going to see it if your head is down.
So it wasn’ t surprising when Gwen didn’t see me coming. I stopped walking toward her when we were about six feet apart.
“You know you shouldn’t walk and text,” I said sugaring my critique with a smile.
Ever see a cartoon character get spooked and jump out of his skin? Her head snapped up, and she startled so severely, it was almost violent, like I’d smacked her instead of saying hello.
I took a step back. “Are you Gwen? I’m Ali, a new friend of Jenna’s.”
She blinked so many times I lost count. Her mouth formed a little o.
I frowned. Did I get it wrong and she was just some random neighbor walking in circles?
She clutched the cell phone in her fist and shifted into a stance I recognized from a self-defense class I took years ago. “I won’t go down easily,” she said through gritted teeth. “You people need to leave me alone.”
What? I took another step back and pointed to the honeybee logo on my button down shirt. “See this, I’m the owner of HoneyBun Sweets and Sandwiches.” I lowered my voice as if I was soothing a frightened kitty during a thunderstorm. “I delivered cupcakes for Jenna’s bridal tea but Hannah sent them flying. Guess she doesn’t like chocolate mousse. Ha. Ha.”
When I mentioned the names of her friends, she relaxed—some. The raised arms dropped to her sides.
OK, this was a start. I said, “Are you Gwen? Did Jenna send a text saying that I might want to speak with you?”
“A text? From Jenna? No, I must’ve missed it.” She unclenched the phone but seemed reluctant to take her eyes off me.
“Call her then, to confirm I’m who I say I am. Jenna didn’t understand why everyone started fighting and asked me to help. I know, it’s weird but Jenna will explain.” I said backpedaling slowly, “I’ll go wait over by the driveway. OK?”
Gwen’s head bobbed down then up one time. She watched me suspiciously until I eventually turned around to see where I was going.
Jeez. The woman was super spooked. What was going on here? Did she get one of the I know what you did texts too? I remembered years ago there was a teen slasher movie by a similar title. The main characters in the film had been in a hit-and-run accident, and the victim had come back for revenge. I hope I hadn’t stumbled into something like that.
I reached the Carter’s driveway and glanced back at Gwen. She had one arm wrapped around her torso as if she was cold, or afraid. The other arm held the cell phone to her ear.
So, now what? I had a full view of the house. Magnus no longer lurked about. I kicked some loose gravel with the tip of my shoe, and I considered going to check if Dorrick had returned with my ingredients. But a car door slamming made me look up.
From my left, a woman with long raven-colored locks walked toward me. Ah, Brunette Barbie had just reappeared. A manila folder stuck out from the crook of her arm.
The engine of the black sedan she’d just left cranked up. It eased away from the curb like a sultry predator. The windows were slightly fogged up. I glimpsed the driver: a thirtyish guy with sandy hair. His eyes darted about checking the block. When he spotted me staring right at his mug, he flinched and did a double take. On second look, he must’ve discerned I wasn’t important, because the look of relief that washed over his face was palatable. Then the car finally passed by.
“Hello. You need help?”
I faced Brunette Barbie. She was about two inches taller than me, but then she was in high-heeled wedges. Where Jenna and the rest of her friends I’d spoken to so far were all size 4, this chick was thicker. I’d wager she was no bigger than an 8, nowhere near my own size 12 dress, but I’d bet in her circles she was considered chunky.
I folded my arms, trying not to read anything into her question. “No, I’m waiting for Gwen.” I jerked my head in the other direction.
She glanced that way, looked back at me and shrugged. “Oh, OK. Excuse me,” she said, tossing a strand of hair over her shoulder and sidling past me.
“Are you Bree?” I asked.
That got her attention. She stopped less than a foot away. Way too close. I resisted an impulse to take a step back.
She said while squinting, “No, I’m not Bree.”
I counted to three before her brain deduced and output a logical answer.
“Oooh,” she said in realization and shifted to one side giving us both some breathing room, “Yeah, Jenna said I might be seeing you. Sorry if I was rude. I’m Madison.” She tucked the envelope under an arm and held out a French-tipped manicured hand.
Her grip was firm but wasn’t bone-crushing like some women adopted when they work predominantly with men. She wore a white blouse and knee length skirt with horizontal black stripes.
The envelope caught my eye. It had a stamped return address label that I recognized.
I introduced myself then said, “It’s been a weird morning so far, huh?”
“That’s an understatement. Have you found out anything from the other girls? Everyone is royally peeved off.”
Was she innocently curious or mining me for information? OK, Madison, let’s play.
Avoiding her question I quipped, “You were pretty angry, too, if I recall.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t like being accused of something I didn’t do. You haven’t spoken to Gwen yet, right?”
“No, she wanted to confirm with Jenna who I was. She seems...,” I paused hunting for the right word but Madison filled in the blank.
“Skittish?”
I looked back to where Gwen had stood biting her nails. “That word fits,” I said, “Know what’s up with her?”
Madison followed my line of sight. She sighed but managed to sound annoyed at the same time. “Oh, it can be any number of things.”
“Like? Before I could introduce myself she thought I wanted to hurt her.”
She slapped her forehead. “What? Really? If that’s what happened, who knows what she’s gotten herself int
o now. Gwen and I used to be roommates until recently. We sort of stopped talking when I moved out. I still care but she’s so draining.”
A flurry of emotions crossed Madison’s face. She stroked an eyebrow absentmindedly before pulling at the already sparse hairs.
I said, “If you think Gwen is in some type of serious trouble, maybe I can help. I have a few contacts in the NYPD.” I wasn’t sure that was one hundred percent accurate, but it sounded good. The one guy I’d sort of been dating, had been reassigned to some special task force. Other than an occasional email, I hadn’t heard from him in forever.
“No. Hopefully it’s nothing that serious,” Madison said, pulling me from my thoughts. “Gwen is...you know how housewives back in the fifties would be diagnosed with a nervous condition? It sounds stupid of course, but Gwen fits that description. She gets really into something, then gets paranoid, then manages to sabotage herself.”
Housewives in the fifties? Scores of women, unhappy with the roles they were forced into, were diagnosed with bogus conditions when they dared to voice a complaint. But sometimes those unhappy housewives had serious medical conditions, like postpartum depression, that were dismissed or misdiagnosed.
I said, “That sounds serious. What has she done?”
Madison lowered her voice, “Out of our group, Gwen is the smartest one of us. She’s in a PhD program now for biology. But she has an addictive personality. Like in school, she fixated on this fashion model—Dahlia Graham. Ever heard of her?”
I shook my head no.
“Most people haven’t. She wasn’t even that popular, but Gwen had a bout of bulimia because she was trying to get her weight to match Dahlia’s to the ounce. Gwen’s parents ended up hospitalizing her a month that time. Then when that phase was over, she got into Japanese animation, and spent thousands on getting these stupid collectible action figures. But then she started stalking—well, maybe stalking is a strong word—but she started following a popular animator online and most of her social media accounts were banned when she started trolling this guy all over the Internet.”
“Is she under medical care now?” I asked.