Authors: Dorothy Howell

Tote Bags and Toe Tags (10 page)

BOOK: Tote Bags and Toe Tags

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Time to get on with the weekend. I got my purse and left.

So much for Friday night car-crash sex.

My apartment was empty when I walked in. No sign of Ty. Not even a note saying where he was, just a kitchen counter covered with toast crumbs and dirty dishes in the sink.

As I reached for my cell phone to call him, my doorbell rang. My heart did its usual maybe-it's-Ty flutter while my brain countered with its usual don't-get-excited-it's-almost-never-Ty buzz kill.

I looked through the peephole and saw Amber waiting outside.

“Hey, how's it going?” I asked, as I opened the door.

She was weighted down with a garment bag and two small duffles, a shopping bag, and her own purse, a department store house brand. Yikes!

I really need to talk to her about that.

“I went to the impound yard today and got Ty's things from the car,” Amber said. “Want these in the usual spot?”

“Wherever you can find room,” I said, pointing toward the hallway and the closet where she'd put Ty's other things. “Want a beer?”

“I'd better not,” Amber called. She came back a few minutes later carrying the shopping bag, and asked,

“Where's Ty?”

“Don't you know?” I asked. Amber almost always knew where Ty was. If
she
didn't know, I guess I shouldn't feel so badâbut I did, of course.

“I haven't talked to him since this morning,” Amber said. She shook her head. “That car of his was completely destroyed. He's lucky to have walked away.”

“I guess he'll go shopping for another Porsche soon,” I said.

“He wasn't driving his Porsche. It was a Chevy Malibu. A rental.” Amber placed the shopping bag on the kitchen counter. “Check this out.”

She unloaded about a zillion greeting cards and a dozen boxes of candy onto the counter.

Jeez, did I pick a bad time to institute a whole-new-me policy with a say-no-to-chocolate clause, or what?

“I'm keeping a log of the phone calls and e-mails from people wishing him well,” Amber said.

Really, I've been under a lot of stress lately. Maybe this wasn't the best time to strictly adhere to my new policy.

“I'll get it to him when he comes back to the office,” Amber said.

I mean, really, what harm can one piece of chocolate do? Or two, for that matter. Three, maybe. A half dozen, at most.

Amber arranged the boxes in a neat stack. “Ty will probably want me to donate this to the homeless shelter.”

Ty wasn't much for sweetsâwhich alone was reason to break up with himâbut I was hanging in there, determined to overcome this vast difference between us. That's the kind of awesome girlfriend I am.

“Unless you want some of it,” Amber said.

Some
of it? How about
all
of it?

The vision flashed in my head: ripping the boxes open, scooping up double handfuls, shoving them into my mouth. The taste of the rich, creamy chocolate, the sugar rush, my brain cells screaming for more, more,
more!

I've really got to get a hold of myself.

But I can be strong when I have to. Okay, I can be strong sometimes. Often. Kind of often. Occasionally.

“None for me,” I said, and with monumental effort akin to the launch of a space shuttle mission, I pushed the boxes away.

Amber gave me a have-you-lost-your-mind lookânot that I blamed her, of course.

I didn't want to get into the reverse world thing, so I said, “I've got this whole-new-me thing going. I'm off the chocolate.”

Her have-you-lost-your-mind expression didn't change to a jeez-I-really-admire-what-you're-doing look, which kind of annoyed me. But, obviously, I was operating on a deeper level of commitment than Amber was accustomed to.

“Okay, anyway, tell Ty I'll call him later,” Amber said. “I need to find outâ”

The front door opened and Ty walked in. He wore the same jeans and pale blue polo shirt he had on when I'd picked him up from the hospitalâstain-free, thanks to my mad laundry skills.

He didn't look so great, though. Kind of subdued. He'd told me earlier that he was seeing his mom. Since she was nothing like my own momâlucky for TyâI wondered if the visit hadn't gone well, or if maybe he was still feeling the effects of the car crash.

“Oh, hi,” he said, spotting us together in the kitchen.

“Gifts from well-wishers,” Amber said, gesturing to the loot on the counter. “Do you want me to donate it?”

“Sure, whatever,” he said. Then he paused and looked at me. “Keep it for yourself. I know you like this stuff.”

“She's off chocolate,” Amber said.

I got the have-you-lost-your-mind look all over again, this time from Ty. So, of course, what could I do but defend myself so I wouldn't look like a complete idiot. I mean, really, did everyone think I was too weak to stick to my new plan?

“I'm going for a whole new me,” I explained, and managed to put some enthusiasm in my words. “No more chocolate.”

“What about Starbucks?” Ty asked, as if he still couldn't believe it.

“I'm off the frappies, too,” I declared.

Ty shrugged, then said to Amber, “Go ahead and donate all of it.”

She loaded the boxes of chocolates back into the shopping bag.

“No, wait!”
I screamed that in my headâI think.

I followed her to the front door, drawn by the vapor trail of chocolate that wafted from the bag. She said something and left. I stood at the door, watching until the chocolate candyâI mean, Amberâwas out of sight.

I stepped back inside and closed the door. Of course, I was doing the right thing. I'd stuck by my reverse world commitment. I was doing something that was good for me

I hate it when I have to do thingsâespecially if they're good for me.

Ty stood in the middle of my living room watching me. He didn't have that have-you-lost-your-mind look on his face anymore. This was something different. Something I'd never seen before.

Yikes! What was going on?

“Haley, I really need to talk to you,” he said.

My stomach jumped, sort of like it does when I learn a totally cool handbag is out of stockâand won't be reordered.

“Something happened,” Ty said.

How was I supposed to get through a conversation like this without chocolate? Jeez, what had I been thinking?

“I know things have been rough between us at times,” Ty said.

Had Amber gotten to her car yet?

“And I know it's been hard on both of us,” he said.

Could I catch her before she left the parking lot?

“So I've come to a decision,” Ty said.

She'd stop if I threw myself on the hood of her car, wouldn't she?

“I want to explain everything to you, completely,” he told me.

Jeez, why does he want to talk about something
now?
It's Friday night. Can't we just roll around in bed for a while, then order pizza?

Ty crossed the room and placed his hands on my shoulders. I braced myself for the worst.

“This car accident has been a real wake-up call for me,” Ty said, gazing into my eyes.

Oh my God. Ty was breaking up with me.

“I've done a lot of thinking,” he said.

How would I explain it to Mom that totally-hot-and-super-successful Ty and I broke up?

“I need to make some changes in my life,” he said.

Could I keep this a secret from Jeanette at Holt's so she'd still be afraid to fight me on the work schedule I requested?

“I've been the worst boyfriend imaginable,” Ty said, gazing into my eyes. “I'm changing that. Starting right now.”

Oh my God. I'll definitely have to buy myself that Temptress bagâjust to get over the breakup, of course. How else will I get through it?

“You've been understanding and kind and generous. And I've been none of those things,” Ty said. “From now on, I'm going to devote myself to you.”

He's going toâwhat?

“I'm not going back to the office,” Ty said. “I'm going to stay here with you, and be the kind of boyfriend you deserve. I'm going to show you exactly how much you mean to me.”

Huh?

Ty pulled me closer. “Please let me do this, Haley. Will you?”

Oh my God.
Oh my God.
I could tell by the expression on Ty's face that he was serious. He really wanted to be the kind of boyfriend I've always wanted him to be. This was greatâsuper great.

He wasn't breaking up with me at all.

But I was still getting that Temptress bag, of course.

C
HAPTER
10

A
ringing cell phone woke me way too early. At first I thought it must be Ty's, then managed to rouse enough brain cells to recall he'd turned his phone off, a key element in the completely-devoted-to-
me
plan he'd announced last night.

I rolled over and grabbed my phone. It was Mom. What the heck was she doing called me this early on a Saturday morning?

“Haley, it's Juanita,” Mom said, when I answered. “She's been kidnapped.”

I shot straight up in bed. “She's
what?
Kidnapped? How do you knowâ”

“I just received a ransom demand,” Mom told me.

“I'll be right there.”

I ran through the shower, put on makeup, styled my hair in an I'm-fun-but-still-paying-attention updo, then threw on khaki capris, sandals, and my favorite don't-my-boobs-look-great scoop-neck T-shirt. I mean, really, I was heading to a potential crime scene. Cops would be there, of course, but maybe some firefighters, tooâand you know how hot those guys are. Not that I was interested, of course, since I have an official boyfriend, but still.

I got to my front door and stopped short. Oh, crap. I forgot Tyâagain. I rushed back to my bedroom, saw that he was still sleepingâhe's saving himself for a full day of catering to my every whim, I'm sureâthen hustled back to the kitchen, dashed off a quick note, and left.

I rushed downstairs to the parking lot searching for my car keys in my purseâa totally fabulous Fendiâwhen it hit me. Oh my God. That Temptress bag would look perfect with this outfit. I absolutely had toâ

A guy on a bicycle shot right in front of me. I jumped back.

“Hey!” I shouted.

He didn't look back. He didn't even slow down. Jeez, he nearly hit me.

I watched as he pedaled furiously through the parking lot, then looped around another row of parked cars. He had on a helmet and full cycling gear, so I couldn't get much of a look at him, but he wasn't a kid. He looked old enough to be more careful.

I kept an eye on him until he rode out of the parking lot into the street. A yellow VW bug pulled out behind him. They both disappeared. I hurried to my car.

I hauled out to Mom and Dad's house, berating myself the whole way. Why hadn't I taken Mom's concern over Juanita's absence more seriously? Why hadn't I investigated sooner, more thoroughly? Why hadn't I called Detective Shuman for help?

And now Juanita had been kidnapped. The family had received a ransom demand. Days had gone by when the police could have been searching for her.

I whipped into the driveway and skidded to a stop. No police cars, no plain vanilla Crown Vics the detectives drove, no news crews, no helicopters circling overhead, no firefightersânot that I was really anxious to see them, of course.

I hurried into the house. Everything was silent. I didn't bother checking in the kitchenâwhy would Mom be in there?âbut caught sight of her through the patio door.

Mom sat under an umbrella table by the pool wearing a bathing suitâmaybe she expected firefighters, tooâsipping a fruit drink. She had on a loose wrap, two-inch heels, sunglasses, and full-on jewelry.

As I walked outside, Mom gestured to her cell phone and day planner on the table in front of her.

“Don't worry. I have everything under control,” she said.

If my mom has everything under controlâthat's the best time to worry.

“Everyone will arrive this afternoon at two,” Mom said.

Police detectives were scheduling appointments now?

“Mom, what's going on?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

“The caterer, of course,” she said. “For this evening's dinner party.”

“What about Juanita?” I might have yelled that.

Mom bristled slightly. “This entire incident is very disconcerting,” she said. “It's nearly taken all the joy out of my dinner party.”

I drew in a big breath and forced myself to calm down.

Where was my
real
family when I needed them?

“Mom,” I said. “You told me Juanita had been kidnapped. You received a ransom demand.”

“Yes. A rather disagreeable young woman showed up here this morning jabbering incoherently about Juanita and money,” Mom said.

“What did she sayâexactly?” I asked.

Mom waved her perfectly manicured hand. “I have no idea. She must have been speaking some arcane language, because I understood only a few words. And you know how fluent I am.”

Mom's idea of fluent was knowing how to ask, “Do you take American Express?” in multiple languages.

I got a weird feeling.

“Like maybe Romanian?” I asked.

I'd had a run-in with a Romanian womanâlong storyâa few weeks ago. It hadn't turned out so great.

“Perhaps,” Mom said.

My weird feeling got weirder.

“Or Russian?”

Around that same time, a maybe-or-maybe-not Russian mobster had vowed he wouldn't forget meâor what I'd done.

“Possibly,” Mom said.

“What did you do?” I asked.

“I insisted she leave, of course, and assured her I would call the authorities if she came here again,” Mom said.

“Did you call the police?” I asked.

A few strands of her hair fell across her cheek. She spent a full minuteâwhich seemed like an hourâsmoothing them back into place.

I thought she'd forgotten my question, then she finally said, “I didn't call the police. Why would I? I called
you.
”

Mom rose from her chair and gathered her phone and day planner. “The important thing is that my dinner party will be handled properly this evening.”

Chin up, shoulders back, Mom pageant-walked into the house.

I left.

I drove to Juanita's house. When I'd been here before, the place had looked empty. Now it looked deserted.

I got a yucky feeling in my stomach.

I rang the bell and knocked on the front door. No response.

I raced around back. Her car was still in the garage. In the kitchen, dirty glasses still sat on the counter.

These things had seemed so normal. Now they looked sinister. The Chevy in the garage meant Juanita hadn't left on her own. The dishes on the counter told me she'd left in a hurry.

The yucky feeling in my stomach got yuckier.

I walked around to the front of the house and stood under the covered porch. Already, the day was heating up. The neighborhood was coming to life. Down the block, a guy was washing his car. A few kids were playing across the street.

How could everything look so normal?

Of course, there could have been a lot of reasons Juanita left dirty dishes in her kitchen and her car in her garage. But why hadn't she called Mom saying she wouldn't be at work? And who had showed up at Mom's place this morning demanding money?

Juanita had worked for our family for years, and I'm sure she'd shared some choice stories about Momânot that I blamed her, of courseâwith her friends and family members. So most everybody knew who Juanita worked for and that our family was somewhat well-off.

Was this some kind of new kidnapping scheme? Take the servants instead of the children? The servants would be less trouble, and some families probably liked their help better than their kids.

I mean that in the nicest way, of course.

Stepping off the porch, I crossed the front yard and went out the gate. I had to call Detective Shuman. Yeah, okay, I knew there could be a reasonable explanation for Juanita's disappearance, but I couldn't wait any longer to figure it out.

Jeez, I really hope I hadn't waited too long already.

As I rounded my car to get in on the driver's side, I pulled out my cell phone.

“Hello? Excuse me,” someone called.

A young woman pushing a baby in a stroller waved from across the street, then checked traffic and crossed.

“Excuse me,” she said again. “Are you a friend of Juanita's?”

I figured her for about my age. Her blond hair was in a ponytail and she had that I-didn't-put-on-makeup-and-I-don't-care look.

I didn't want to get into the whole maybe-she-was-kidnapped thing with her, so I said, “She's been a friend for years.”

“I'm worried about her,” she said. “Maybe it's nothing, but, well, I live across the street, and the other night I was up with Riley.”

She gestured to the little girl in the stroller, who was smiling and chewing on the toe of her shoe.

“I saw Juanita leave,” she said. “Two men were with her. She was crying.”

Oh my God. Juanita really had been kidnapped.

Oh my God.
Mom was right.

“Listen, if you should see her, or anything else weird going on, would you let me know?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said.

I got her name, and we programmed each other's numbers into our cell phones.

“Do you think we should call the police, or something?” she asked.

“I'll handle it,” I told her.

I jumped into my car and drove away.

I didn't know what was going on, exactly, but that maybe-Romanian-or-maybe-Russian woman at Mom's house this morning weirded me out big time.

I only knew one thing for sure.

The cops wouldn't do.

I needed the Russian mob.

“I want another one of these,” the woman across the counter from me said.

I stood behind register number three, two hours and forty-six minutes into my four-hour shift at Holt'sânot that I was counting, or anythingâproviding my own personal brand of customer service to the shoppers who passed through my line.

This particular shopper was a woman who appeared to be already over the hump and on the downhill side of sixty. She had that I've-hurried-for-decades-and-now-I'm-taking-my-own-sweet-time look about her.

Maybe when I get that oldâeek!âI'll feel the same. Right now, I just wanted to keep my line moving.

She opened her massive handbagâa brocade satchel that had probably arrived in California via wagon trainâand rooted around, finally pulling out an ink pen.

“I bought this here the other day,” she said. “I want another one.”

I glanced at my line. Customers were stacked seven deep.

In a totally screwball how-crazy-is-this moment, I recalled seeing that particular pen in our Back To School aisle last week.
Someone
had ripped open the package and taken the pen.

“They're in aisle five,” I told her, using my move-along-lady voice.

She didn't move, except to look down at the pen and roll it around in her fingers.

“Aisle five,” I said, and amped up to my stop-holding-up-my-line voice.

“Those pens are in packs of three,” she said. “I only need one.”

Two more customers got in my line.

“The single-pen package was a special promotion. They come in three-packs now,” I told her.

I have no idea if that's true, of course.

The woman studied the pen in her hand for another few minutes, then said, “I only need one.”

“They only come three to a pack now,” I told her again.

A mom and baby got in my line. The baby started screaming.

BOOK: Tote Bags and Toe Tags

5.25Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub