You Had Me at Halo (19 page)

“Fine,” Holly said as she launched into the how they had tried to avoid Andrew and Co but had ended up being found out.

“But Fluffy’s so sweet and kind.” Gemma widened her eyes once Holly had finished her story. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know, that’s what I thought, but apparently Fluffy doesn’t like Vince.”

Gemma looked shocked. “You don’t like Fluffy?”

“Hey. I never said I didn’t like Fluffy,” Vince protested. “I said that Fluffy didn’t like me.”

“But why? You know even though my roommate, Irene is crazy, she’s often said that if a dog doesn’t like someone it’s because there’s something wrong with the person. Like they’re evil or something.”

“Don’t be silly. Vince isn’t evil. You’re not evil, right?”

“No, I’m not evil,” Vince assured them both.

“Well why doesn’t Fluffy like him, then?” Gemma clutched at her purse in panic. “Oh no, please tell me you didn’t kick her, because if so, even if Holly’s stuck in the same body as you, I just don’t think I’d be able to talk to you anymore.”

“Of course I didn’t kick her.” Vince sounded just a bit outraged.

“Well, what then?” Gemma narrowed her eyes and shot him a glinty gleam.

Vince let out a reluctant sigh. “I guess it’s a positive that I never had any credibility to begin with because it probably would’ve gone straight out the door.”

“Vince, please. Just tell us what happened,” Holly tried not to chew on his lip. But for some reason this was important. After all, he was a nice guy. She didn’t want to find out he was cruel to animals.

“Do you remember how cold it was last November? Like really, really cold.”

Gemma nodded her head. “Holly used that as a great excuse to buy the most adorable cashmere coat you’ve ever seen.”

“It was gorgeous wasn’t it? Hey, now that I’m dead, perhaps you should have it?”

“Isn’t that a bit weird to be wearing a dead person’s coat?”

“Of course not,” Holly assured her before she realized that Vince was rolling his eyes. “Anyway, back to Fluffy.”

Vince made a sound that could possibly be construed as a sarcastic snort. “Well, one day when I got to work Fluffy was doing the rounds of the workshop, wearing a blue sweater.”

“And?” Holly was still confused.

“And it had a big F in the middle of it.”

Gemma stared at him blankly.

“Well, I thought it was funny. I mean dogs are covered in fur. It’s designed to keep them warm. They don’t need clothes to do the job. It’s dumb.”

Holly could feel her eyes widen. “You laughed at Fluffy?”

“You shouldn’t do that. Dogs are very sensitive,” Gemma added.

“Yeah, and apparently they have a very long memory as well. Look can we stop talking about this now? It’s embarrassing enough that a twelve inch dog holds a grudge against me, but it’s worse that people know about it now.”

“So you’re sure you didn’t do anything else besides laugh at the sweater?” Gemma double-checked.

“Scout’s honor.” Vince lifted his hand up in something that made him look more like a trekkie than a Boy Scout and Gemma seemed satisfied, but before she could say anything else, the front door swung open and Rochelle Jackson emerged.

She was wearing some sort of oversized pink belt, which was masquerading as a skirt, with an equally non-existent piece of material on her top half.

For a step class?

And boy, she had enough perfume on to kill flies. Honestly the girl was a walking tart shop. But the thing that made Holly and Gemma really drop their jaw was the size of Rochelle’s hair. It was like a Dolly Parton wig, but without Dolly’s spunkiness to pull it off.

“Do you think the fact that Todd’s single again has gone to her head?” Gemma whispered.

“Something’s gone there,” Vince agreed as they slunk further down behind the bush.

It seemed to take Rochelle ages to lock the door and even longer to redo her hair but finally she walked over to her car, and the minute she finished grinding the gears and driving off down the road, Holly jumped to her feet. It looked like this was it.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Right,” Gemma barked. “Go, go, go. And please Holly, don’t do anything stupid like stop and read her diary or try on her clothes. We want this to be a quick operation. Just go in there, find the pills and out again. Agreed?”

“Of course. I’m only here for another day. The last thing I want to do is spend my time in Rochelle Jackson’s bedroom.”

“Okay then. Well I’ll stay here and keep a watch out, and if I see anyone coming, I’ll call you.”

“Agreed.” Holly nodded as she hunched her shoulders and ran toward a group of brightly colored pots. As she lifted up the second one, she turned around and gave Gemma the thumbs up. As predicted, the key was there. Thank goodness it wasn’t like Todd’s where you needed three codes and a swipe card just to get through to the foyer. She was fairly certain that retinal scans were just around the corner.

“You do know this is breaking and entering don’t you,” Vince reminded her as Holly twisted the door open. “Not wanting to be a spoilsport but if we were to get caught, I’d probably be in big trouble.”

Holly glanced down and once again reminded herself that she was in the body of six-foot guy. Vince was right. If the police came around, he would be in big trouble. Mind you, so would she, since she would fail her mission.

“It’s all right,” she said in a decisive voice. “We just won’t get caught.”

“Comforting.” He sighed. “Very comforting.” However he made no protest when she stepped in over the threshold and shut the door behind them.

Rochelle’s apartment was a tribute to too much money and not enough sense, but thankfully Holly had been there before so she didn’t pause too long to stare at the mock plaster nude statues that adorned the cream and gold hallway. However, she couldn’t quite miss the huge portrait of Rochelle, which was hanging up the top of the stairs.

It was in a ghastly mix of blues and violets and the artist had been very conservative with the way they’d depicted Rochelle’s rounded belly and fat ass. Holly started to giggle and was almost tempted to grab a marker pen and add a moustache and some glasses, but remembered Gemma’s warning. There was no time to muck around.

She hurried up the stairs and into Rochelle’s room. It was full of frills and flowers and Holly wondered if some of Vince’s testosterone was rubbing off on her as she glanced around in distaste.

It didn’t take her long to spot the Chloe bag, which had been casually abandoned onto the floor. Holly immediately bent down and could barely stop her fingers from shaking as she unzipped it and rattled the contents out in front of them. Make-up, hairbrush, more make-up, ticket stubs, umbrella...

No, no, no.
This wasn’t right. Holly checked again but there still wasn’t any sign of motion sickness pills or even a diary with the specific details of everything leading up to the event. Holly tried to hide her disappointment. She had been so certain it would be in the bag.

“I’m sorry,” Vince said but Holly just shrugged as she started to scoop everything up and thrust them back in.

“It’s no big deal. We still have the rest of the room to search, anyway.”

As soon as the bag was once again zipped up, Holly headed for the dressing table. There were a ridiculous number of photographs of the last Baker Colwell day out and Holly couldn’t help but notice Todd was in nearly every picture.
What a slut
, she thought, while discreetly slipping one of them into her back pocket. After all, he was Holly’s boyfriend, not Rochelle’s. And besides, he looked so cute and preppy in his dark jeans and white polo shirt.

Vince made a pained noise from the back of his throat, which reminded Holly she was actually putting Todd’s picture in Vince’s pocket. He could destroy it later she supposed.

She finished with the dresser and moved on to under the bed, but again there was nothing but boxes of winter clothes and a ridiculous number of stuffed animals.

Holly wiped her brow. She was running out of places to look and she couldn’t bear to think about what would happen if she didn’t find the proof she needed. Except she knew exactly what would happen. She would just been seen as yet another statistic who chickened out of life and killed herself.

Well she couldn’t fail, because she didn’t want to be that person—the sort of person who committed suicide; the sort of person her beloved father would have been ashamed of.

For a moment Holly froze. Where had that thought come from? That was the problem with being dead. It gave her far too much time to think. She turned toward the wardrobe with renewed vigor.

“You know,” Vince said half an hour later. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything.”

“Don’t say that. We can’t give up.”

“Holly, you’ve opened up every tube of lipstick and looked in the pockets of every jacket.”

“She could’ve hidden them,” Holly defended.

“In a can of hairspray?”

“It’s possible,” Holly muttered, but she knew he was right. They had been here for ages and apart from knowing Rochelle’s panties were in as bad taste as her clothes, they hadn’t learnt anything.

Before she could decide what to do next, Vince’s phone rang.

“Hide,” Gemma snapped from down the other end. “She’s back early for some reason and she’s on her way up. Right. Now.”

“Shit.” Holly swore as she started to dive under the bed just as she heard the front door open. She desperately tried to wriggle underneath before she finally worked out what the problem was.

“This is no good,” she wailed. “Why are you so tall?”

“Sorry, next time we’re breaking into someone’s house I’ll put on my short legs. Come on, we’ll have to go in the wardrobe.”

She managed to squirm her way back out and throw herself into the wardrobe just seconds before the bedroom door opened.

Holly sucked in her breath, but thankfully Rochelle was on the phone and didn’t seem to be aware that her bedspread was rumpled or that the wardrobe door was still slightly ajar.

“No,
you
hang up,” Rochelle said with an annoying giggle. “No...you. I mean it, Tiger. I’ve got to go and get a shower unless you want me to be late...oh, behave. Of course I’m not going to tell you what color my bra is.”

Holly had to stuff her fist in her mouth to stop from making a vomiting noise.

But could she just say—Gross.

Had she really come all the way back from heaven to listen to Rochelle Jackson have phone sex?

At least on the bright side it meant Rochelle obviously wasn’t that interested in trying to flirt with Todd if she already had a mystery boyfriend on the go. She must see if Gemma could find out who it was.

So how long do you think she’s going to be?
Vince shifted uncomfortably in the cramped space.

Well, she doesn’t seem in a hurry to hang up from Tiger.
Holly sighed.
I guess we should just talk amongst ourselves so that we don’t have to listen.

I’ll second that.

Okay, so...hey, what are you doing?
Holly silently demanded as Vince started to wriggle his leg.

I’ve got a cramp. Can’t you feel it?

Holly paused for a minute. She’d been trying hard not to notice every aspect of Vince’s physical body since it somehow seemed a bit intrusive, but now that he mentioned it, she could feel his right calf muscle was tightened. He gave his leg another wriggle and Holly tried to ignore how firm his thigh was. She had the feeling that if someone had been thrust into her body, she would be found wanting since most nights
The Rich and the Restless
won the battle over the gym.

Vince on the other hand had nothing to worry about it. He was strong and lean and unlike Todd, it didn’t feel like his muscle had merely come from repetitive weight lifting. Not that Todd didn’t have a nice body of course, but there was something...harder...about Vince’s.

Shit, Holly, you’re doing it again. I don’t know what the hell you’re thinking about but you’d better stop it, okay.

Crap. Holly glanced down and groaned. What was it with her, Vincent Murphy and bedrooms? She immediately switched her attention to a boring accounting lecturer she’d had at college and things soon returned to normal.

Well, apart from the fact she was well and truly mortified of course. Thankfully, at that moment Rochelle finished the call and a couple of minutes later Holly heard the bathroom door shut and the pelting noise of the shower being turned on.