Bubbles Ablaze (23 page)

“O
kay, you two reprobates, out of the car,” I ordered as Mama and Genevieve stepped sullenly from the Rambler. Genevieve had a black and blue mark on her shin where Vilnia had struck a low blow. Mama had a bruiser on her right eye.

Donohue must have been in a generous mood because he didn't charge them and he didn't charge me—on two provisions: that Mama and Genevieve go home right after the Hoagie Ho and that they not pick any more fights.

“We would've worked it out just fine if you hadn't gotten the fuzz involved, Bubbles.” Mama trudged up the walk to Roxanne's. The cigarette behind her ear had snapped in two and her Righteous Red lipstick was smeared all over her upper lip.

“You need a steak for that eye,” Genevieve added. “I'm glad I didn't get hit in the face. Pete asked me to the Hoagie Ho tonight and I want to primp up. I don't know what kind of action you can expect, LuLu, looking like that.”

Mama opened the door to Roxanne's. “When you're as much a woman as I am, Genny, you don't go looking for action. It comes to you.” They headed to the kitchen to rustle up some raw meat. I changed my shoes and then went into the salon to find out what had happened with Sasha and if Jane was back yet.

What I found was G with an orange silk ascot around his neck, using a purple pick to fluff up Mrs. Wychesko's hair.

“Wasn't Mrs. Wychesko here just a few days ago?” I ask Roxanne, who was taking a cigarette break by the cash register.

“I know. It's fantastic. Word's spread around town like
wildfire.” Roxanne sipped her cup of coffee. “I'm booked. Everyone's clamoring for a G Spot.”

I tried not to gag. “A what?”

“A G Spot. That's his catch phrase. Like Marky Mark. I think it will go over well when he graduates to the New York salons.” Roxanne exhaled and smiled at G like he was her new pet puppy. “Isn't he cute with that ascot? My Saturday at eleven bought it for him.”

“Do you know that Chief Donohue listens to Slagville phone calls?”

Roxanne ground out her cigarette. “Sometimes. Tourists call this place Petticoat Junction and they're right.”

“You have tourists?”

“Are you kidding? How can you resist a trip to the bottom of a mine in a coal car?”

That brought back memories of Wednesday night. I cringed. “I can resist. Some weirdo was going to kill me and Stiletto that way.”

“All the more reason I'm in favor of Donohue listening in. It makes me feel a bit safer. And it should make you feel safer, too.”

“How come?”

“Wasn't the fax to you sent from a pay phone outside the Hole? Maybe Donohue listened in to that conversation.”

“I don't know how you can listen into a fax, Roxanne. I'm more upset by the possibility that Donohue's been tapping into my conversations with the
News-Times
,” I said. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Why didn't you tell me that Stinky told Jane to tell you that you should meet him at the Hoagie Ho tonight?” Roxanne folded her arms in triumph.

Busted. “Well . . . I asked you if you knew about the Hoagie Ho and you didn't.”

Roxanne smiled thinly. She was ticked. “You asked me if there were any hoagie joints in town. A Hoagie Ho is not a hoagie joint.”

“How was I to know?”

“I think you didn't want me to join in.” Roxanne walked over to the sink where a client was waiting to have her color rinsed. “Lean back, Mrs. Frazier,” Roxanne said, running her hand under the faucet to check the water temperature. She eyed me dubiously. “Isn't that right, Bubbles?”

“My assumption is that Stinky is in hiding for a good reason, i.e., your safety, Roxanne. What would happen if you met up with us and got caught in the crossfire?”

Mrs. Frazier stopped reading her
Cosmo
article to listen to us as Roxanne spritzed the water through her hair.

“I don't care if I get hurt, Bubbles. I love him and I need him. I want to see him and apologize and kiss him all over his naked, skinny body.”

“My!” exclaimed Mrs. Frazier.

“All right, Roxanne. You can come with me to the Hoagie Ho,” I said. “But you've got to play by my rules. Deal?”

“Deal,” she said. “How about a royal blue dress with cubic zirconias?”

“Yeah. Blood looks good on blue.”

I went off to talk to the G Spot.

“How's it going?” I asked.

G removed a pair of scissors from the deadly disinfectant. “Brilliant,” he said, leaning down to cut an imperceptible stray from Mrs. Wychesko's flip.

“You need a license, you know. You can slip by cutting one head, maybe, but you'll need more schooling if you want to make a profession out of this.”

“Not with my genius.”

“I keep forgetting,” I said. “G stands for God or genius, depending.”

“And now it stands for G Spot,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“How was Sasha doing when you left her at the hotel?”

“I don't know.” G put down the scissors and picked up the hairspray. “I didn't take her to the hotel.”

Figures. G couldn't follow instructions to heat soup. “So, what did you do with her?”

“I didn't do anything with her. We drove about a mile from the salon and a cop pulled us over. He took her. I was back here in ten minutes.”

Zeke Allen's caution about the nineteen ninety-nine Wal-Mart lights must have really made an impression because I was immediately suspicious. “What cop? What did he look like?”

G handed Mrs. Wychesko a mirror and unsnapped her plastic apron with a flourish. “He was an old guy. Older even than Stiletto. White hair, gut. Put Sasha in the back of the cruiser and said he was taking her to the police department.”

Of course, Donohue. He must have found out about Chrissy's car at Le Circe and tracked down Sasha. “And Jane? Is she back yet?”

“What am I, your personal secretary?” G hissed as Mrs. Wychesko hobbled over to the cash register. “No, Jane hasn't called. She's still off with that professor of hers. And I could care less. I got a life to lead. I can't wait around . . . Hey, where are you going?”

Out the door, Tallow's press release in hand. It was two
P
.
M
. and my daughter wasn't home yet.

She was in trouble.

My Camaro was dangerously low on gas and I was dangerously low on cash. So I stopped at the Slagville Savings and Trust in search of an ATM. When I asked the old guy sitting on the bench by the bank's entrance where it might be, he put his hand to his ear and said, “Aunty Em?”

That's when I realized that of course Slagville did not provide automated banking. I entered the bank, prepared to put up a big stink about how the heck I was supposed to get cash in this time-warped town and was caught off-guard by a super friendly teller.

“Sure, no problem,” she said, cheerfully accepting one of my Lehigh No Credit Union checks. “You look like the kind of woman who keeps her account in tip-top shape. Here's your fifty dollars.” And she slid the money under the iron grate. “Have a great day!”

I felt like a bank robber.

Next, I drove to the Texaco, where the sprightly stepping, white-suited whistling Texaco man skipped over to my car and almost gleefully began filling her up. I paid for a full tank of gas—five bucks—bought some mints, a pack of gum, a Diet Pepsi and a street guide to Columbia County.

I had barely passed the Slagville softball field on my way to Limbo when two flashing blue lights appeared in my rearview. I predicted Donohue eager to wave me bon voyage after such a pleasant stay. Either that or it was one of those Wal-Mart pervs tagging me on a deserted country road. I mentally tossed a coin and decided I couldn't stop and take the chance. Didn't have time to get assaulted today.

I zoomed so fast the Camaro began to rattle (seventy-five miles per hour—it's old). Even so I couldn't keep ahead of the black vehicle with its better acceleration, which was soon by my side in the oncoming lane.

“What are you doing?” Stiletto asked, the wind whipping through his gorgeous brown hair.

I slammed on the brakes and headed onto the berm, forcing Stiletto to yank a U-turn and nearly roll his Jeep.

“Sorry,” I said after he parked behind me and walked up. “I didn't know it was you. The Jeep has a top. Your Jeeps never have tops. Besides, I wasn't sure if you were a cop or not.”

“So what? I bought a Jeep with an attachable top and I wanted to see what it's like with it on. Maybe I'm getting conservative in my old age. Not you, I take it. You thought I was a cop so you gave chase, is that what you're telling me?”

I told him about Zeke's warning and Stiletto leaned in the window. His eyes were blue. So very, very blue.

“Where'd you get those lights, anyway?” I asked.

“Wal-Mart, nineteen ninety-nine,” he said. “Helps me zip through traffic when I'm on assignment. Mind if I get in?”

Without waiting for answer, Stiletto opened the passenger door and was beside me. “Hi, babe.” He put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me toward him, kissing me tenderly. “We got a big problem,” he said, after we broke apart.

“You and me both.”

“Exactly.” He pushed back the seat and turned toward me. “I got hold of Zeke in Colorado. Supposedly I sent him to look for Yablonskys in Colorado Springs, relatives you might be staying with.”

“I have relatives in Colorado Springs?”

“I love it when you play dumb.” Stiletto touched me on the nose. “No, you don't. Someone wanted Zeke out of the picture, fast, in case he met up with me in Slagville and we put two and two together.”

I sat back and stared at the St. Christopher medal on my dash that Mama had stuck there after all my parking tickets. I had tried to explain that St. Christopher was for traveling, not for parking, but she said that as far as she knew there wasn't any parking saint.

“Who is pretending to be you?” I asked.

“How about who knows my itinerary, who knows every detail from my past and who knows my home phone number back in Lehigh?”

Come again. “Back in Lehigh?”

That sexy muscle in Stiletto's jaw twitched. “After I reached him in Colorado, Zeke contacted the telephone company which did a search an hour ago on all the calls he received at eleven o'clock over the past week, supposedly from me. They came from my house back in Saucon Valley. Not even from my apartment in New York.”

“Ohmigod.” I brought my hand to my mouth. Someone had broken into Stiletto's mansion. “Did you call the police?”

“Had to,” he said. “Was the only way to get the bank to reveal who's been wiring money directly into Zeke's account. Police said they didn't find anything unusual at my house. And the bank's researching the money transfers. As we speak, Zeke's on a flight back to meet with state troopers. I'm going to pick him up at the Lehigh Airport in a few hours.”

“You're leaving?” Why was this man incapable of staying in one place for more than a day?

“I have to check out my house, Bubbles. But this is why I tracked you down.” He played with a strand of my hair. “I love you, Bubbles. If anything happened to you, especially because of me, I don't think I could take it.” The Adam's apple in his throat rose and fell. “Come with me. If you're by my side, I can protect you.”

Let me just say that the depth of emotion in this man's voice, this model of risk and passion, this gift to women everywhere, was breathtaking. Which is why it was so hard for me to say, “I can't. Jane's missing.”

“Missing!” Stiletto dropped his hand. “Why didn't you say so?”

“Because I'm not exactly sure she's missing, missing. She's off with her professor who I've got some concerns about, but if I overreact and call in the Mounties she'll never, ever forgive me.”

“I see,” Stiletto said. “At least I think I see. You want me to help you find her?”

“Thanks, no,” I said, recalling the spectacle Dan, Wendy and I had made at the dig. “I can do it on my own. But I'll make a compromise. If I don't find her by midnight, I might call you in.”

“Just say the word and I'll be there.” Stiletto leaned into me and I let go, tears creeping out the corners of my eyes. “Come here, you.”

I put my head on Stiletto's shoulder and let it all out. It's the way of women, mothers especially, to keep it in until we find that one safe moment to be ourselves. Jane missing. A Stiletto impersonator sending Zeke to spy on me. It was a lot for a hairdresser to handle.

“You're not made of fluff, Bubbles,” Stiletto said after awhile. “You've got inner resources—almost as intriguing as your outer ones.” He smiled and kissed me first lightly and then more passionately. The Camaro seat creaked as I pushed myself against him and his arms enfolded me, our tongues exploring each other's, his hand sliding up the back of my shirt and over my skin, sending goose bumps up and down my spine.