Pickled Page 15

  “This is just atrocious. What has he been eating?” Celeste asked as she gasped for air.

  Marge came over to put one hand on my shoulder. “Oh, hon, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that I laughed the first time you got a load. I had no idea.” She bent down, almost gagging.

  I stepped back from the crime scene, but the smell was everywhere. I thought I might throw up. What I wanted was my mommy. If ever a cleanse was needed, it was right here on this corner.

  “I think it’s settled into our clothes now,” Celeste touched the fabric of her blouse. “We’ll have to throw these clothes away. I’m glad I didn’t wear my good stuff.”

  And if we had to go through all of this, we could at least have caught the bear. How did you catch a panda? That should be on the list of things to do the next day: brainstorming great ideas on how to get Lou back where he belonged. So the next time that we saw him, we would be prepared. It shouldn’t be that hard. He was such a little guy. There had to be some websites for zookeepers, for people who worked with wildlife…

  And we also should consider buying some protection. I’m thinking hazmat suits and gas masks.

  Suddenly, the wind picked up and blew the smell right back in our faces.

  Marge leapt up in the air. “Whoa Nellie! Oh, my gosh. That’s some wicked stuff.”

  I waved my hands around my face, but the funky smell refused to go away. It seemed to get worse, in fact.

  “Why are we still standing here?” Celeste asked. “I think the stink is messing with our brains. Let’s get in the car right now and drive far away from here.”

  I looked toward our car, and my day got even worse. Alex was sitting in his parked Jeep, and there were tears of laughter rolling down his cheeks.

  Did he have a radar that went on, alerting him to every one of my humiliating moments? Did he not have crooks to catch? And if he was so high and mighty, why did he not get out and catch the bear himself? At least the three of us had tried.

  We ran back to the car. Marge locked all the doors.

  Celeste thought that was funny. “No need to press down on the locks like it’s some emergency. That smell’s not gonna waft itself on over here and try to pick the locks so it can jump right in the car.”

  I wished she hadn’t planted that idea in my head. I might well have nightmares about that very thing. I took a long, deep breath. It felt great to breathe again. Normal smelled so good.

  Marge had started the ignition up when Alex tapped hard on the window.

  Marge rolled her window down. “What are you doing here?”

  He leaned into the car and directed his gaze at me. He had a stern look on his face. No more gales of laughter. “I could ask you all the same thing. I’m following up on leads for a case that I’m working on. What’s up with you three? This is not the safest neighborhood for three ladies to hang out.”

  “Thank you for caring,” I said, “but don’t you have better things to do than follow us around?”

  “I am following leads, not ladies,” he said. “I just don’t want you to get hurt…again. Seriously, Charlie, there’s some bad stuff going on. You need to stay away from here.”

  Well, if the stuff is bad, that’s all the more reason to have four detectives on the case rather than just one. But when had Alex Spencer ever tried to be logical? A flashback of him sitting in the hospital chair by my bed, while I was out, came to mind. He did look worried about us then. Or about me. He hadn’t left my room, I was told. And he did look worried right now. It didn’t occur to me up until now that he was telling us to stay away because he was, indeed, worried about us. Mental forehead smack.

  “Alex, we really appreciate you looking out for us. And you’re right. We’ll try to be more careful,” I said and I really meant it.

  Marge, Celeste and Alex stared at me with wide eyes.

  Finally, Alex cleared his throat. “Well then…okay…then…I guess…yes, be more careful. Thank you…for…listening…I guess.”

  He turned and walked back over to his car like he wouldn’t know what else to say.

  Celeste turned to me. “What the hell was that?”

  “I think someone’s got a crush on someone,” Marge giggled.

  I rolled my eyes.

  It’s not like I promised Alex to completely stay away from whatever dangerous things might be going on. We were too deep now to just quit.

  “Ok then. Should we call animal control?” Marge asked. “Or maybe call the zoo?”

  I grinned. “Why? To pick up Alex?”

  Celeste’s honking laugh rang out.

  “Because Lou is still here somewhere,” Marge said. “Who knows how long it might be before we spot the little guy again? And I’m not going near him!”

  “Put down your phone,” Celeste said. “I won’t give Bert the pleasure of thinking that we failed. Somehow, some way, we’ll catch that bear. And we’ll do it someday soon. For now, let’s head to Baxter’s, just like we planned.”

  “Let’s do this,” I said.

  “Here’s our plan for now.” Celeste said. “We’ll knock on the guy’s door, introduce ourselves as neighbors, like we talked about before. Marge, can you find a way of distracting Baxter while me and Charlie look around?”

  Marge smiled and tossed her hair. “I might have a way.”

  “That is just disgusting,” I said.

  “Not that,” she replied. “I’ll just flirt a little. I’d never let him touch!”

  “Think of another plan,” Celeste said, popping a stick of gum into her mouth. “You’re not at your most alluring when you smell like Lou.”

  Marge backed out of the parking space. “Oh yeah, I forgot. I’ll just ask him lots of questions then. Questions about himself. Most men love to talk if the subject is themselves.”

  “You got that right,” Celeste said. “And the subject’s usually so much duller than they seem to think.”

  Once we got to Baxter’s, Marge parked across the street. We didn’t want him to recognize our car. My first glimpse of the fire escape gave me the heebie jeebies.

  “Does everyone understand the plan?” Marge asked.

  We all started talking at once, which was the precise moment that we heard a tapping on the driver’s side window. Sheesh. What did Alex want know? I’d told him we’d be more careful. But we won’t back down.

  Still intent on our conversation, Marge waved her hand in the air as if telling him to shoo. As for me, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of even looking up. Whether he liked it or not, I had a job to do.

  But the tapping just got louder.

  Marge and I looked up at once to see a gun pointed straight at us.

  I recognized the owner; I didn’t have to see his face. I’d seen that hand before, and I’d seen the dirty bandage in the spot where once there was a finger.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “For the love of cookie dough!” I yelped while Marge let out a squeal that made me jump.

  “Will you two cut it out?” Celeste spoke very calmly, as one can only do if one has failed to see the gun that’s pointed at one’s face. “Just settle down.”

  “That’s a little optimistic,” Marge whispered in a trembling voice.

  I needed a barf bag and my mother. I could barely breath.

  Then Celeste caught sight of Baxter at the window. She was struck silent for a moment. Then she rolled her eyes. “Oh, for the love of God!” I heard her breath in deep. “Okay, let’s just stay calm. We’ve got this, girls.”

  Marge rolled down the window and squeaked in a tiny Minnie Mouse voice. “Can we help you?”

  “Get out of the car right now,” Baxter barked, moving the gun with a shaky hand so it pointed to each of us in turn.

  We got out very slowly.

  “You see my van around the corner?” he asked. “I want you troublemakers to head over to my van. I’ll be right behind, so no funny business, hear? I’ve got lots of bullets, and I don’t mind shooting you.”

  His v
an? How did we not notice a van that was parked right there, pulled in all haphazardly into a no-parking zone? Like the driver had parked it in a hurry. That should have been a clue. And we called ourselves detectives. But it was way too late to make brilliant deductions now.

  I looked around me wildly, but didn’t see anyone that I could signal to for help. Save us! Please! Someone? Anyone? Anyone at all? A cold chill swept right through me. I had just moved into my new apartment. I hadn’t slept in my new bed. I had never known real love or learned to play a classic rock song on guitar. This was not the best moment to die.

  Baxter took his time ambling behind us. You’d think he’d try to hurry us along. After all, it did look a bit suspicious: a young grungy-looking dude following three ladies and holding up a gun. There were few cars in the parking lot, no residents in sight, but several cars sped by us. Hello! Pay attention, people. Kidnapping going on here! Passengers, look up from your phones. Were shootings so common in this part of town that people were unfazed by the three of us held at gunpoint?

  Once we reached the van, Baxter got all up in my face. His breath smelled like very old and sour beer. “Open up the door there, and climb in the back.”

  This was getting worse. Nobody could find us in the back of a window-less van. I was so freaking out.

  It was kind of strange (and creepy) that the van looked just like the one that had blown up. How many vans did these guys have? Or was there only one now, after the explosion? A new wave of fear shot through me. What if this van was rigged too?

  I couldn’t think about that now. I opened the door and climbed in, squeezed myself in tightly among a sea of boxes. I closed my eyes and tried to think of cookies. Oatmeal, chocolate chip…but all I could think about was dying.

  Soon Marge and Celeste were huddled in beside me. As Baxter glared from the opened door, we traded wide-eyed looks, and Celeste reached across to squeeze my hand, which didn’t help to stop my trembling. Things had turned tragic just like that.

  Then Marge patted her purse and gave us a knowing look. Well, that at least was something. The Persuader was on board. Probably thinking that Marge was gonna be too hasty with the gun, Celeste shook her head just slightly so Baxter couldn’t see.

  Part of me was wishing that Marge would pull that baby out and blow the dude away. But something kind of told me that Celeste was right. If Baxter saw that she was armed, he’d probably shoot us all before she could even aim at his ugly face. Better to wait until his back was turned.

  He shot us one more evil look. “Keep your pretty traps shut or you’re gonna be really sorry.”

  Up close, he looked younger than I’d thought he was – with bad teeth and oily hair and a small scar on his forehead.

  Then he shut the door.

  I held my breath when he started the ignition up. We were off and moving at a jerky pace with a lot of speeding and sudden stops. Whew. Well, at least the whole thing hadn’t blown.

  “What now?” Marge whispered. “How do we get out of this one?”

  Celeste pulled out her cell. “Darn. I don’t have a signal.”

  I pulled my phone out and tried as well.

  “Nothing,” I reported.

  “Nada here,” Marge said as she, too, looked up from phone.

  Baxter, in the meantime, was making lots of turns that sent the three of us tumbling into each other.

  “I wish he would just drive straight,” Marge said. “Then if we ever get a signal, we’d have some blooming idea about where this dude is heading. Are we going north or south? Or east of town?”

  “I don’t have a clue,” I said. I might throw up anytime. The terror and the jerky ride were making my stomach feel sickly.

  “This is a mess all right,” Celeste flipped her phone shut and put it back into her pocket.

  What exactly would we say now if our stupid phones came on? Come and get us. Hurry! But hurry to where? It’s anybody’s guess.

  She looked around the van. “Well, I guess we’ve got our chance to peek inside the boxes. Careful what you wish for.”

  She got out her lighter. Then she used her fingernail to very, very quietly slice through the flimsy tape on the box that was closest to her knee. She pulled out a large green sneaker.

  “A shoe?” I asked.

  “Let me see, let me see.” Marge huddled closer to me.

  “Whoa. This brand is majorly expensive. Bert bought a pair one time. Those things cost a fortune. Dirtball did not deserve those shoes.” Celeste looked closer at the sneaker.

  “Is the whole box filled with shoes?” I asked, being very sure to talk in an almost whisper.

  Celeste felt around inside. “Looks like it it’s all shoes. Very pricey shoes. Hmm.” She paused. “What’s up with the shoes?”

  I pushed another box toward her, and she used her nail to slice through the tape on it. I’d thought her fingernails were just part of her charm. Apparently, those things could be mega useful. It was like a toolbox on her hands.

  She reached into the box and pulled out a purse. Then another and another and another.

  “This is good stuff here,” she said. “Very high-end bags.”

  She took out a small black box and peeked inside. She held her lighter closer. “One of the most expensive brands of watches that they make.”

  “I want to see!” Marge said.

  “Hmph. Who wants to see a stupid watch? I just want to go back home.” I shuffled a little on the hard floor to try to get a bit more comfortable. At this point, I didn’t care what was in the boxes anymore. I just wanted to come out of this one alive and in one piece.

  Marge stared at the box with interest. “I bet all of this is stolen. That’s what they are. They’re thieves!”

  “I don’t think that’s it.” Celeste carefully repacked the box. “I think I know exactly what these guys are up to. They’re selling counterfeits.”

  I had become the most disinterested detective that there ever was.

  “So, nice to have a clue that breaks the case wide open right before we die,” I said, blinking away my tears.

  “Hon, I’ll keep you safe,” Marge said. “Before that creep can even open the door, The Persuader will be ready. And this Baxter person won’t know what kind of annihilating super force just hit him.”

  “But what if he calls for backup?” I asked. “What if we’re outnumbered?”

  Marge winked. “Don’t worry, hon. I’m good.”

  I took one deep breath, then two, trying to calm myself. It seemed crazy. Just the day before, I’d hated my life with a passion. But at that moment in the van, I’d have given anything to be back in my parents’ kitchen, the very place I’d wanted so badly to escape. I wanted to hear a knock-knock joke, the sound of my brother’s stupid game…I wanted to be safe. And to think that this was all my idea, driving to Baxter’s place to sneak a peek. I should be more responsible when it comes to the decisions I make. I can’t be wishing to go back home when things don’t turn out the way I expect them to.

  Suddenly, the van screeched to a stop. Okay, here we go.

  Marge rifled quickly through her purse. “Why do I carry so much junk? Why do the things you need always sink down to the bottom? They make little pockets for phones and lipsticks and keys. Why not a pocket for your gun?”

  Why not, really? No one ever needed to grab their lipstick super-fast in an attempt to save their life.

  The door flew open, bringing a flood of sunlight into our eyes. Baxter and some tall guy glared inside the van, pointing guns at us. This was just great. Now there were two of them.

  I stole a glance at Marge, and saw that her hands were empty. Damn and double damn. Tall Dude grabbed me by my shoulders and pushed me out so hard that I stumbled. This was one rough dude. He’d left a bruise, I bet.

  I looked around me warily. We seemed to have ended up in somebody’s backyard. The house was large and made of brick. Kind of a classy place, not the type of neighborhood I thought Baxter’s friends might live. I
t looked like a quiet, well-kept street with swing sets and newer model cars, grills out on big back decks: a place to barbecue steaks or throw a football, not to blow somebody’s face off in the middle of the day.

  I didn’t dare to scream for help, what with two bad guys beside me who had their guns all cocked and ready. I bet these were the kinds of guys who shot things just for fun. Why give them an excuse?

  But if someone was watching (please, please, please be watching), these were the kinds of neighbors who’d call 911. I hoped the person in this nice brick house had nosy neighbors.

  “Get in the basement. Now!” our captor barked. “And if I hear a peep from you, you’ll get an even closer view of my trusty little pistol.” He shoved a gun into my back as he pushed me toward a back door that looked like it might lead into a basement. Was he about to rob these people? Or was this the tall guy’s place? It looked too normal for either one of them. It looked a lot, in fact, like the street that I’d grown up on.

  Marge stumbled, almost falling, as they herded us inside. We took the stairs down to the dimly lit basement.

  “Trouble-making broads.” Baxter shoved me roughly onto a leather couch.

  “See what you made us do.” Tall Dude pointed his gun at Celeste, directing her to sit beside me. His face turned red with anger, making his acne marks stand out. “You just had to go and stick your noses in.” His face turned even redder.

  Soon my friends were shoved in on either side of me. Marge kept a tight grip on her purse while she hummed a Disney song. Quietly, but still audible.

  “Shhh!” I grabbed her hand. Why risk making these guys even madder? They didn’t seem like Disney fans. I bet they’d never in a million years guess she had a gun in that purse. At least we had that going for us: the element of surprise.

  I glanced around the room, but couldn’t tell a lot about it. Only one overhead light was on, and there were no windows. I could just make out a TV and a tall lamp and I think a bookshelf.

  Baxter glared at me. “Quit your crying right now. I hate when women blubber.”

  Well, then don’t point guns right at their faces. Duh.