All Hallow's Eve (9 page)

Her mother mouthed “thank you,” as Helen and Francesca whooped, dragging her out of the kitchen and up the stairs. They were in her room within seconds.

Helen became the fashion slave driver. “Cecilia, get that dreck-a-tude of a dress off. Francesca, get the makeup ready, and I will—”

“Hold on,” Cecilia said. “I don’t need a bunch of eyeliner and mascara.”

“Um,” Helen said as she brought up an expensive-looking shopping bag. “You are going to need it and want it when you see what we brought you.”

Helen pulled out the most gorgeous crushed velvet dress that Cecilia had ever seen. It was midnight black, with the tiniest golden symbols sewn into the fabric. It was as though a fanciful dream was given physical form.

“Wow! How could you guys afford this?”

Francesca carefully smoothed the fabric. “Let’s just say you need to keep the tag tucked in, and do not spill anything on it.”

Cecilia backed away. “Oh, no! You mean, you are going to try to return it?”

“Heck, yeah. All three of our dresses.” Helen snorted. “And before my dad figures out that I borrowed his plastic.”

“No,” Cecilia stated. She did not want that kind of responsibility. If anything happened to that dress, and Helen got into trouble… Cecilia couldn’t bear it. “I can’t.”

But Helen shook a finger at her. “Don’t start, or I will drag your mother back into this.”

Oh, if her mother saw this dress, she would insist that Cecilia put it on. There’s no way that her mom would be on her side in this argument. When Cecilia didn’t fuss anymore, Helen shoved her toward the bathroom.

“Well, then, sit in that chair so that Francesca can give you one of her ‘speed’ makeovers, and I will wrestle that hair of yours into submission.”

Cecilia did not bother to resist as Helen pushed her down into a chair. Immediately. Francesca began tweezing and plucking and exfoliating—sometimes at the same time. “Speed makeover” was right. And Helen never met a can of hair spray she did not like. As her friends worked, Cecilia began to worry that maybe she was being punked—that after all of this primping she was actually going to look like a clown.

But after another few short minutes, Helen patted Cecilia’s hair. “Perfect. Francesca, is her beauty ready to be let out into the unsuspecting world?”

Francesca plucked one more especially stubborn eyebrow hair and nodded. “Yes, Helen, I believe the world is ready.”

Cecilia tried to swivel around to see herself in the mirror, but Helen blocked her. “Oh, no. No premature looking. You have got to see the whole thing together.”

Francesca held out the dress. “Helen’s right.”

“Fine,” Cecilia said, waving them off. “You guys turn around.”

After her friends complied, Cecilia pulled the sundress over her head and tugged on the velvet dress. It felt like cream was being poured over her skin. The fabric hugged her hips, and even though the hem was above her knee, Cecilia didn’t mind.

“Okay. You can turn around.”

Francesca’s mouth just opened, and stayed open, without a word coming out. Even Helen seemed stunned into silence. Was that a bad thing, or a good thing?

The two girls parted so that Cecilia could see herself in the mirror. A completely new girl stared back at her. Francesca’s makeup job had actually hidden all those dark circles. Cecilia looked fresh and alive. But she wasn’t the girl who had worn the sundress last year. The smoky eyeliner and dark red lipstick made her look every bit the woman. And the dress clinging to every curve only added to the impression.

Helen finally found her voice again. “I. Am. So. Jealous.”

“Oh, Cecilia, you look so J. Lo,” Francesca said, then rushed on. “You know, for a white girl.”

Her two friends descended into a laughing fit as they hugged her. Even Cecilia couldn’t help but join in. She, too, was a bit giddy.

“All right. I’m ready for Paula’s,” Cecilia announced, which made her friends hug her again.

“Yes! Let’s go!” Helen said, picking up Cecilia’s hand and urging her out the bedroom door and down the stairs.

They found Cecilia’s mom in the living room watching a show. She, too, looked stunned when she saw Cecilia. When she recovered, she began searching for her purse. “I need to find my phone so we can take pictures.”

Helen did not even stop as she replied. “No worries, Mrs. Knight. We are going to strobe all night. You can watch my Facebook page for status updates!”

Her mom seemed confused, so Cecilia clarified. “They promise to take a lot of pictures that I will show you when I get home.”

“Ta-ta!” Helen waved good-bye as she dragged Cecilia out the front door. Francesca wasn’t far behind. It was all so fun and light and delightful—until they got to the end of the driveway. Where Francesca’s mom’s minivan should have been was Michael’s car.

Cecilia skidded to a halt. “No. You two lying, hair spray-sniffing addicts…”

“Keep it down,” Helen whispered as she tried to pull Cecilia along. “It was all three of us, or Michael wasn’t going to take us.”

Francesca, too, painted on a happy smile, urging Cecilia forward. “Just look at Connor in the back. Do you see those blond frosted tips?”

“For me, I like a guy with a bit more meat on his bones,” Helen said, as she nodded at the huskier of the boys, Quentin.

Michael hopped out of the SUV. “Ladies.”

“I’m sorry. There has been a horrible misunderstanding,” Cecilia said, trying to pry herself out of Helen’s viselike grip.

Michael’s face clouded. “Helen said that you changed your mind. That you were looking forward to coming?”

Cecilia stepped on Helen’s foot. Her friend just smiled, though. “Yep, she sure is. Cecilia just wanted to make sure that she rode in front with you.

Before Cecilia could argue, Francesca whispered into Cecilia’s ear, “Before you answer, look behind you.” Reluctantly, Cecilia glanced over her shoulder. Her mother was in the kitchen window, beaming and taking pictures. Francesca continued, “Don’t make us disappoint her.”

Sighing, Cecilia turned back to the car. In truth, a stupid goth concert did actually sound better than staying home tonight. That was how low her life had sunk.

“Okay, but I need to be home early. I have a lot of homework.”

Helen clapped. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Here you go,” Michael said, as he opened the door for her. Who knew goths had manners?

* * *

Paxton lifted the crime scene tape for Ruth as they entered the YMCA’s locker room. Time did not improve the odor. If anything, it smelled even more like athlete’s foot and ass. The place was far less cluttered, however, than the last time he was here. All the CSIs and uniforms had gone home. Except for the guard posted at the door, the place was deserted.

“All right, Wonder Woman, do your stuff.”

“You could help.”

“What? I already did.”

When Ruth raised an eyebrow, Paxton clarified. “I cuffed the perp.”

His partner sighed as she started her search. As Ruth searched, pointing her flashlight in every nook and cranny, Paxton found a nice bench and sat down. Leaning back against the wall, he positioned himself just right. With his legs outstretched, he might be able to get in a good nap. And no Darby to interrupt it.

It had been a long-ass day. Make that two days.

Closing his eyes, he imagined a nice, juicy porterhouse steak with a double-baked potato, and maybe corn on the cob on the side. Now
that
was how he wanted his evening to go. Which reminded him—he really needed to feed that cockatiel.

Intruding on his thoughts, Ruth asked, “Darby was barefoot, wasn’t he?”

“And going commando, I might add,” Paxton responded, without even opening his eyes. But his ruse would not last long. He heard his partner walk across the tile floor.

“But look at this …”

Very reluctantly, Paxton opened his eyes to find Ruth’s cell phone in front of his face. “They found a bloody shoe print in the blood.”

Paxton shrugged. “Probably one of the beat cops.”

“No, this print was made while the blood was still wet.”

Paxton raised an eyebrow. “With the humidity in there, that blood would have remained sticky for hours.”

It was Ruth’s turn to look a bit contrite. “You’re right.” But then, she chewed at her bottom lip as she enlarged the image on the screen. “That doesn’t look like a duty boot, though. The imprint looks like a…a…tennis shoe.”

Her face brightened. “A ‘Speed Demon’ tennis shoe, to be exact.”

“Speed Demon?”

Ruth sat down next to him, typing into her browser. “You know, the hottest tennis shoes. You bought Jeremy a pair, so then I had to buy Evan a pair?”

Paxton looked down at the scene. Oh, yeah, those two-hundred-dollar tennis shoes. He hated to tell his nephew, but the shoes were
not
what made Kobe Bryant jump higher. But try telling that to a teen.

“Hey, uncles are supposed to spoil nephews and nieces. Besides, every student at Our Lady of Sorrows has them. Hell, every kid in every high school and half the weekend warriors across the country have got them, too.”

Ruth sighed beside him and leaned back as well. “And a men’s size 10 is not going to help narrow the search, either.”

Paxton followed Ruth’s logic forward. “So let me sum up your current theory. A knife-wielding, cape-wearing, tennis shoe-clad perp killed our guy?”

“Well, when you say it that way…”

They both stayed there for a few heartbeats. Her strawberry shampoo overcame even this locker room’s stale air. She smelled like happiness, or dessert. Paxton couldn’t decide which one.

Ruth was all about the case, though. “I know that it was chaos when we came in, but I think we would have noticed a guy in a cape escaping.”

“My point exactly,” Paxton replied, glad that Ruth was finally catching on.

“No, actually, it is
my
point.” His partner sat upright. “It means that he stashed the cape somewhere.”

Paxton closed his eyes again. “
You
get to make the call to search all of these lockers on a fishing expedition.”

“Don’t need one.”

He looked up to find Ruth smiling. Why, he did not know, though. “Um, unless the laws regarding search and seizure have suddenly changed, you most certainly do need a warrant.”

But Ruth just opened an empty locker. “Not if the locker is unsecured. No lock, no warrant. Someone can’t have an expectation of privacy on a locker he does not legally occupy.”

Damned if she wasn’t right. “Knock yourself out.”

“We will get out of here a lot faster if you helped.”

Normally, he would grumble. But he really was hungry and tired, and the sooner he could get to that porterhouse, the better. With a groan, he rose. Most of the lockers were secured. This really shouldn’t take long. Then, once he proved that there was no caped menace, he would talk Ruth into doing the final paperwork so he could head to the steak house before it closed.

Rapidly, he opened five in a row. Granted, he found $2.89 in change and a condom, but otherwise, they were largely empty. Ruth was working her way down the aisle, flashing her light in each.

Okay,” Ruth said, as she got to the end of her row. “Maybe we will need a warrant for the rest that are locked.”

Paxton was about to say, “I told you so,” when he opened an upper locker. Sure enough, a damned bloodstained cape fell out.

God, he hated it when Ruth was so very right.

* * *

Cecilia tugged the edge of her hem down. It was weird to have so much leg showing, especially sitting next to a boy. The car pulled into a nearly packed parking lot. She glanced around. She didn’t recognize the area, and she hadn’t paid much attention to where they were driving, since she was too busy rehearsing ways to still get out of this really ill-conceived concert.

“Oh, my Gawd!” Helen yelled, pointing out her side window. “Look at that!”

Cecilia’s stomach lurched at the sight. Yet everyone else seemed extremely excited that a rather large and gaily lit yacht, the
High Jinx
, sat at the dock.

“The concert must be on Diablo Island. Score!” Quentin said from the backseat as everyone hurried to unbuckle. Everyone but Cecilia.

Teens poured from the parking lot toward the gangplank. But each time the yacht banged up against the dock, creaking and clanging, Cecilia tensed. It just wasn’t natural. And each gulp of sea air she took in only made matters worse. She was already seasick, and she hadn’t even climbed aboard yet.

“You okay?” Michael asked, but he sounded far away and tinny. All Cecilia could do was try to keep her breath steady and her hands from shaking. “Cecilia?”

“Nobody said anything about a yacht.”

“Um, we didn’t know. The tickets just said to meet here at seven. I take it that you aren’t all about water sports?”

Cecilia shook her head. The thought of all those creatures beneath the surface, out of sight, lurking, creeped her out. Whether the seasickness came first, or her phobia of fish, she wasn’t certain. All she was certain of was that she was not getting on that yacht.