Simply Being Belle (14 page)

Dare raised a hand
to silence her.  “Who knows?  Stop worrying about it.  We’ll get to the bottom
of it.  There’s a logical explanation.  There always is.  And now that we know
we have some sleuthing to do, we’ll get it done.  No worries, Belle,” he said,
smiling and cocking his head to catch her gaze.  “No worries.”

She returned his smile
in spite of herself.  “I’ll do some digging and see what I can find out.”

“Belle, it’s
Friday.  Leave it for Monday.  Better yet, leave it to me.”

“You don’t think I
can handle it,” she accused.  “You think I’ve lost my edge…”

“No, I think you’ve
lost your mind,” he quipped. 

She shot him a
dirty look and he laughed.

“I do not think
you’ve lost your edge.  You’re Belle the Bulldog, remember?”  He flashed a
quick grin, but abruptly sobered.  “I do think, however, that you might want to
take to heart the recommendation of your boss and friends that you relax and
enjoy a well-earned vacation.”  He checked his watch.  “I have to go.”

She ignored the
vacation comment.  “Shall I call you at work after I’ve spent some time
digging?”

“I won’t be
there.  I’m leaving at two.”

“Really?  That
won’t give you much time on the case.”

“As I said before,
there’s always Monday.  At least we can go into the weekend knowing Rosaria and
her fellow tenants are well stocked with drinking water and are readying for a
move.”  Suddenly, he furrowed his brow.  “I wonder where they’re moving to.  We
should have asked her.  Ten to one, she’ll soon be settled into a complex much
like the two you and I visited earlier.”

“I hope so,” Belle
said, happy at least that the woman would soon be out of Elm Place.

She climbed out of
the car then, turning back to catch Dare’s gaze.  “I’ll see you later.”

He grinned.  “If I
don’t see you before, remember, I’ll be at your place eight ‘o clock sharp
Sunday morning.” 

She took a deep,
haggard breath.  “I don’t know if I’m up for a trip to the beach.”

“What?  You’re
going all right.  I kept my part of the bargain—today.  You’ll keep your
part—Sunday.”  His blue eyes twinkled as he waited for her response.

She sighed.  
“Okay, although I can’t promise I’ll be very good company.”

***

Back in her house,
Belle quickly checked on the dogs and the kitten.  She let the dogs out back
and watched Tri dash away to pick up a ball he’d left nearby the apple tree
earlier.  He trotted over to her and dropped the ball at her feet, attempting
to engage her in a game of fetch.  She just wasn’t up to it.  “Sorry, boy. 
Maybe later,” she told him.

The tiny kitten was
curled up in a tight ball in Tri’s dog house and Belle decided to leave her
there.  She went back inside, heading to her room to change out of her work
clothes.  She tugged the clip out of her hair and the golden strands tumbled onto
her shoulders.  She combed a hand through it as she went to her dresser and
found a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.  After slipping into her casual attire,
she headed for her small office downstairs.

She flipped on the
computer and leaned back in her chair.  With a sigh, she watched the PC come to
life.  She knew she could find out just about anything she needed to know about
Biggs by utilizing any number of Internet search engines.  She decided to Google
his name, and was about to type it in when her phone rang.

“Hello.”

“GET OFF THE
COMPUTER!” a deep voice boomed.  An apparently all-knowing voice emanating from
her phone gave her a momentary pause, until she heard Dare chuckling. 

“How did you know
I’d be on my computer?” she asked.

“Where else would
you be?”

“You haven’t really
known me long enough to decide I’m so predictable,” she said in a droll voice.

“Oh, you’re
predictable all right.  I’m not kidding.  Get off the computer.  You’re on
vacation, remember?

“But…”

“If I have to
extract a promise from you, I’m not above doing so.  Okay, I’m doing it.  Promise
me you won’t go on the computer today.”

“Dare…” she
groaned.

“Promise me. 
Today you need to relax.  Hey, why don’t you try your hand at simply being
again?”  She heard his deep, throaty chuckle on the end of the line.  “But
maybe you should simply be—inside, rather than outside.  I’d hate for you to go
into another trance, without adult supervision.”

Belle wasn’t sure
whether to laugh or cry.    

“Promise?” he
prompted.  “Belle?”

“Yeah.  Yeah. 
I’ll log off.”  She’d stay off of the computer today, but there was always
tomorrow…

“Okay, I have to
go.  Be talking to you,” he said.

“Uh huh.”

She hung up the
phone and with a heavy sigh, padded into her living room.  She glanced around. 
What to do?  She needed something to keep her mind off the case, and the
realization that she might very well have made some mistakes in her handling of
it.

Her eyes lighted
on the large armoire opposite the sofa.  Behind its doors was a television she
hadn’t watched for several months.  She just didn’t have the time to sit around
watching TV.  But it seemed time was about all she had these days.

She opened the
doors, exposing the large screen, and reached for the remote on a shelf above
the set.  She aimed it at the screen, and the TV seemed to flicker to life
slowly, as if coming out of hibernation.  Belle dropped onto her couch, put her
feet up on the coffee table, and began channel surfing.

After several
minutes of indecisiveness, she finally settled on a soap opera.  She had never
watched soaps before, but recalled Lacey often tivo’d her favorites to watch
after she got off work each afternoon. 

Initially, as she
watched, she practically rolled her eyes with disbelief at each bit of high
drama on the screen, but curiously, she soon found herself drawn into a
storyline. 

In the current soap, some poor
woman had developed a case of amnesia while in the jungle—why she was in a jungle,
Belle could only hazard a guess—and the unfortunate soul had fallen for a
guerilla in some equally unfortunate war torn country.  She had married the
man, but lo and behold, had come out of her amnesia and realized she had a
husband and several children back home in the states.  The woman had attempted
to escape her jungle life and her new husband—well muscled, and with a handsome,
chiseled, camouflaged face—but to no avail.   

As the story
progressed, Belle found herself sympathetic to the guerilla.  Despite the
camouflage face paint, he did have nice bone structure, startling white teeth,
and most importantly, dearly loved his new wife.  When the soap finally came to
a close with sweeping, symphonic music, she had to wipe away a tear.  Once
again, this was proof there were people in the world with problems worse than
hers.   

Belle wondered if
there might be another soap to follow, but was disappointed to find a game show
on the schedule instead.  Oh, well.  She watched, solved several puzzles, and
won the grand prize to the tune of a million dollars.  Too bad she couldn’t
collect, she thought. 

She watched several
other programs and realized it was now early evening.  When her stomach growled
midway through a made-for-TV movie, she realized she was famished. 
Understandable, since she’d skipped lunch. 

She rose from the
couch, stretched, but her eyes remained fixed on the screen.  When a commercial
came on, she took the opportunity to dash into the kitchen to grab a TV
dinner.  She popped it into the microwave, set the timer, and hurried back into
the living room.

With great relief,
she noted the TV was still on a commercial.  She stood poised in front of the
set, not wanting to miss a second of the movie, but fearing the microwave timer
would beep too late.  When a second commercial came on, followed by a third,
she practically cheered.   She startled when the microwave timer did sound off
and she dashed into the kitchen. 

She grabbed a
plate out of the cupboard, a fork from the drawer, and hurriedly stabbed the TV
dinner and slid it onto the plate.  She made it back to the living room just as
the movie resumed.

She ate, eyes
fixed on the screen.  Suddenly, she realized she was thirsty, but her thirst
would have to wait until the next commercial.  But when the next commercial
came, she began channel surfing, returning to the same one time and again to
check if the movie was back on.  Finally, it resumed playing, and when the
credits finally rolled down the screen, Belle sighed with satisfaction.  It had
been a great movie.

She glanced at a
clock on the mantel.  It was already close to seven-thirty!  Where had the time
gone?  She grinned suddenly.  Up until today, her vacation hours had dragged.  She
realized she had perhaps found the magic bullet for passing the time.  The magic
of television.

She settled in,
watched the tail end of a game show, and then searched the television guide to
see what prime time programming held in store for her.  Her eyes widened with
pleasure.  An adaptation of a Stephen King novel was slated to start at eight
‘o clock.  She realized she had just enough time to grab a quick shower, slip into
her comfy pjs and slippers, and settle in for the evening. 

She readied in
record time and entered her living room just as the movie began.  She dropped
onto the couch, grabbed a throw pillow to hold onto during the scary scenes,
and settled back for a frightening ride.  She wasn’t disappointed.  Wide-eyed,
she watched the screen, nearly jumping out of her skin on several occasions. 
When her doorbell rang around nine o’clock, she actually let out a high-pitched
scream.

Suddenly, her
front door burst open.  Dare charged into her house, followed by Lacey and
Steven.  “Belle, are you all right?” Dare asked, eyes wide with concern.

Belle glanced up,
surprised to see her friends tumble into the room.  “Hi,” she said numbly, and then
glanced back to the TV.  Thankfully, it was on a commercial now.  She turned
back to her friends, her brows knitted into a frown.

“Belle, are you
all right?” Lacey asked fearfully.

“I’m fine.  Why?

“We heard you
scream.”

“I screamed?” she
asked, perplexed.

“You screamed,”
Steven confirmed.

“Sorry,” she
mumbled, then glanced back at the screen.  With relief, she realized it was
still on a commercial.  She glanced back at Lacey.  “Must have been during a scary
part of the movie,” she acknowledged distractedly. 

When the movie
came back on, she turned away from her friends as if pulled by an invisible
string.  She missed the chagrined glances they sent one another. 

Suddenly, Steven’s
face loomed in front of her face.  “Earth to Belle.”

She waved him
away, but suddenly, his hand was suspended in front of her eyes.   Vaguely she
registered his snapping fingers.  She slapped them away and leaned around him
to see the screen, and nearly fell off the couch. 

“Oh, man,” Steven
said.  “Now she’s in a TV induced trance.”

“Belle, have you been
sitting here all day?” Lacey demanded in frustration.

“Huh?”

“Have you been
sitting here all day?” Steven repeated.

“Oh, uh, no.  Not
all day.  Steven,
move
!”  She clutched the pillow to her chest.  Oh,
this was a scary part of the movie. 

“Belle, we came by
to see if you wanted to go out to Shoreline Restaurant for seafood.  We thought
you could use a night out,” Dare said, watching her curiously, though she
didn’t notice.

“I’m already in my
pajamas,” she muttered absently, eyes still fixed on the screen.  “Thanks
anyway.”   

“Belle, turn the
TV off,” Lacey said in measured tones.  When she made no move to turn it off,
Lacey started toward the set.

 “Don’t touch the
TV!” Belle shrieked.  “This is the best part!”

“Belle,” she heard
Dare’s smooth voice, “have you been sitting here all afternoon and evening?”

She ignored the
question—hadn’t somebody already asked her that—and instead clutched the pillow
tighter against her chest.  If her friends weren’t so annoying and distracting,
she’d have probably been glad for the company.  This was indeed a scary movie. 
    

“Belle?” Dare
persisted.

“Shhh.  This is
the best part.”

“Belle, we need to
talk,” Lacey said.

“When the movie’s
over,” she snapped.  “Quiet!  This is the best part.”

“I don’t think we
should leave her alone,” Lacey said tiredly.  “Who wants a soda?”

“I do,” Belle
murmured.

Lacey threw her
hands in the air and flounced into the kitchen.  Steven dropped into the
rocking chair, and Dare joined Belle on the couch.  She hardly noticed him
until he nudged her with his elbow.  “Is that the best part?” he asked,
pointing to the screen.

“Yeah.”

He chuckled, and
she wasn’t sure why.  She shot him an annoyed glance before turning her
attention to the movie again.  Stephen King could certainly weave a tale of
terror, she decided.  When a commercial came on again, she relaxed contentedly
against the plush cushions of the couch.  “I’d give a million dollars to spend
even a few moments in Stephen King’s head,” she mused aloud, to no one in
particular.

“My guess is you’d
feel right at home,” Lacey said with a frustrated shake of her head as she
stepped into the room carrying sodas.  She passed them around. 

Belle took hers,
but didn’t open the can.  Dare gently took the can from her and popped open the
top, before returning it to her.    

“Oh, it’s back
on.  Quiet!” she said.

Dare glanced at
her, and then back to the television screen.  He shook his head.  He decided
then and there that Belle was incapable of doing anything halfway.  He’d never
seen anyone as enthralled by a television program.  The woman certainly needed
balance in her life.  Maybe, just maybe, he was the man to give it to her.