Authors: Laura DiSilverio
“Did you hear me, Charlie? I said Dexter could drive you.”
That jolted Charlie out of her reverie. “Dexter? Your son?” She tried not to sound
appalled but wasn’t sure she’d succeeded. She’d only met the seventeen-year-old Dexter
twice, but on both occasions she’d had to restrain herself from slapping the kid or
pulling a gun on him because of his air of entitlement and the way he treated Gigi.
“Of course my son,” Gigi said, sounding so relieved to have come up with a solution
for Charlie’s transportation difficulties that Charlie didn’t have the heart to tell
her she’d rather walk to Aspen. “I’ll call him and have him pick you up at your house.
If you leave right now, maybe you can get me out before I have to spend the night
in jail. I’m not cut out for prison life, Charlie.”
Charlie had no trouble believing that and did her best to reassure Gigi before driving
home to pack an overnight bag. She’d barely tossed her toothbrush in when a honk from
out front made her peer out the window. A shiny red BMW 325i sat in her gravel driveway,
the lanky blond Dexter leaning on the horn. With a growl, Charlie finished packing,
locked the house, and stalked to the car. Rap music with an insistent bass beat vibrated
the Beemer and was probably scaring away every bird, bunny, bobcat, and bear in earshot,
Charlie thought sourly. Dexter didn’t emerge as she approached and yanked open the
back door to toss her bag in. “You’ve never heard of knocking?” she asked as she opened
the front door and slid into the passenger seat.
Dexter Goldman gave her a sullen look. Wearing a ratty T-shirt advertising a band
Charlie had never heard of but was sure she would hate, he slouched in the driver’s
seat. His streaky blond hair brushed his earlobes. Psychedelic jams hit just below
his knee, the lime and puce and orange reminding Charlie of some of Gigi’s more lurid
clothing combinations. The poor kid had inherited his mom’s fashion gene. Despite
the near-freezing temperatures, he had flip-flops on his feet. He was handsome in
a way Charlie was sure appealed to foolish teenaged girls; he reminded her of a young
Brad Pitt, à la
Thelma & Louise
. She reached over to click off the stereo.
“My tunes!”
“Drive,” Charlie ordered.
The teen put the car in gear and stomped on the gas, spewing gravel as he tore out
of Charlie’s driveway. Charlie shut her eyes briefly; it was going to be a long trip.
* * *
Dexter’s passion for speed and his total lack of consideration for other drivers made
the drive shorter than Charlie had anticipated. She spent the trip on her cell phone
and laptop, trying to locate Gigi’s friends in Singapore. It seemed to her that the
quickest way to get Gigi out of jail was to have the Fitzwaters tell the police she
had their permission to be in the house. Accordingly, Charlie had dialed their home
number to hear their message for herself and then the cell phone number Gigi had given
her for them, without much hope. She was right; apparently the Fitzwaters’ cell plan
didn’t include coverage in Southeast Asia. She was reduced to Googling hotels in Singapore
and calling them to see if Cherry and Moss were staying there. Since the time difference
made it early morning in Singapore, she dealt with a variety of sleepy desk clerks
who took a long time to deliver the news that the Fitzwaters weren’t registered at
Hotel X or Y or Z. She didn’t even want to consider the possibility that they were
staying in a private home or rented condo. She shifted uncomfortably in the seat,
her wound complaining.
It wasn’t until they approached the outskirts of Aspen as dusk was settling that Dexter
suggested, “Why don’t you just send them a message on Facebook?”
“What?” Charlie gave him a startled look; the teen had been silent for most of the
trip, earbuds blasting the rap music that Charlie refused to listen to, fingers tapping
the steering wheel in time to the beat.
“Huh?”
Charlie yanked out the earbud closest to her. “I said, ‘What do you mean?’”
“They said they were posting photos on Facebook, so they must be checking it. Send
them a message and tell them about my mom.” The boredom in his voice said he’d long
ago given up hope of finding intelligent life in the generation that preceded him.
“Can I do that without a Facebook account?”
Dexter sighed ostentatiously and talked her through the process step by step. Within
half an hour of Charlie sending the Fitzwaters a Facebook message explaining the situation
and urging them to contact the Aspen police as soon as possible, Dexter was pulling
into a handicapped slot in front of the Aspen Police Department. The police were housed
in an imposing two-story redbrick building fronted by a bushy evergreen that soared
above the roofline, with a long set of steps leading to wooden doors. Piles of snow
were mounded on either side of the neatly shoveled sidewalk.
Charlie was about to suggest to Dexter that parking in a handicapped slot was asking
for a ticket when the doors opened and Gigi emerged at the top of the steps, fuchsia
parka practically glowing in the dusky light, champagne blond hair fluffed around
her face like a halo. “You did it,” she cried, spotting the Beemer. “I’m free!” Hurrying
down the stairs, she flung her arms around Dexter, who pushed her away after a nanosecond.
“Let’s not act like you escaped from Alcatraz,” Charlie said, clambering stiffly out
of the car and stretching her legs. “I take it the Fitzwaters called?”
“Oh, yes!” Gigi beamed. “They told the police I was a friend of theirs, not a thief,
and said they should let me go. So they did. The police were very sweet, really, and
very polite.”
“Did the Fitzwaters say anything about Les?”
Gigi nodded vigorously. “I asked,” she said proudly. “They said he called them over
the weekend and asked if they minded if he stayed at their place for a few days. Cherry
said it sounded like he had business in the area. Their caretaker broke four ribs
and his wrist snowboarding, so they were happy to have someone to take care of Knievel.
Oh, no, what will happen to him now?” Her brow creased with concern. “We could take
him with us, but I don’t know if he and Nolan would get along.”
“I’m not having a dog in my Beemer,” Dexter announced, and Charlie found herself sympathizing
with the kid for the first time that day.
“I’m sure the police will stick him in a kennel until the Fitzwaters get home,” Charlie
said quickly, not wanting to get roped into providing a temporary home for a mangy
mutt named after a daredevil. “The kennels around here are probably nicer than most
apartments in Colorado Springs.” Aspen was a ritzy enclave that catered to the super-rich,
and its amenities and prices were legendary. Charlie was sure kenneled pets dined
on venison fritters and drank Perrier. “Where’s my car?”
“It’s still at Moss and Cherry’s,” Gigi said. “They gave me the alarm code and said
we could spend the night.”
Charlie was relieved; her ass was not up to another four hours on the road. She slid
into the Beemer’s backseat and stretched her legs out on the seat as Gigi bundled
herself into the front.
“Guess what,” she said, turning around to look at Charlie, eyes alight. “They put
me in the very cell that Charlie Sheen stayed in.”
9
Dexter and Charlie didn’t have to be so rude about Charlie Sheen, in my opinion. He
wasn’t convicted, after all. Calling him a “dubious, wife-beating, prostitute-patronizing,
profanity-spewing celebrity” was a little harsh. Still, I had a photo of the cell
on my phone and was planning to post it on my Facebook page until Charlie told me
that publicizing my arrest might not be the best advertisement for Swift Investigations.
We all spent the night at Moss and Cherry’s, but Les didn’t come back as I was halfway
hoping he might. Charlie searched the room he slept in but didn’t find anything that
would tell us where he went or why he’d left Costa Rica. She asked me if he’d said
anything that might be helpful, and I didn’t have the nerve to tell her we hadn’t
talked much, that a little Scotch and kissing had led to other activities I was embarrassed
to confess to, especially with Dexter standing there. It was bad enough that he found
my panties under the kitchen table. I said they must be Cherry’s and was glad he’d
never met her, because she’s smaller than a midge and definitely wouldn’t own a pair
of size sixteen pink lace undies. Thank the good Lord Charlie wasn’t in the kitchen
right then or she would have put two and two together and come up with five, like
she always does.
Knievel showed up all wet and mud-covered as we were sitting down to eat the KFC we’d
picked up on the way to the house, and Charlie let me put him in the Subaru when we
were leaving the next morning so we could drop him at a kennel on our way out of town.
Dexter took off while we were loading up Knievel and locking the house.
“Why do you suppose Les set the alarm before leaving?” Charlie asked as I was arming
the system the next morning.
“Habit?” I suggested. “He always set our alarm, even if he was just running to the
7-Eleven for milk.”
“Or he wanted to slow you down,” Charlie suggested. “Make sure you weren’t on his
trail again.”
It took me a couple of seconds. “You mean he deliberately got me arrested?” I was
indignant.
Charlie gave me a “could be” shrug.
I was still huffing and puffing about Les getting me arrested when we arrived at the
kennel and handed Knievel over to a slim redhead who cooed at him. Charlie made out
like it was a big deal, taking time to drop off the Doberman pinscher, but I could
tell she was just as concerned about the dog as I was. He was really pretty sweet
when he wasn’t knocking you into the snow and threatening to rip your throat out.
I dropped Charlie off at her house round about eleven o’clock. She looked pooped,
and I was afraid she had overdone it, but she wouldn’t let me come in and make her
lunch or anything. I moved my overnight bags to the Hummer, said good-bye to Charlie,
who said a long soak in her hot tub would cure what ailed her, and headed for home.
On the way, I had to pass the turnoff for Chapel Hills Mall, and somehow I found myself
in the parking lot, pulling up in front of Macy’s. After the encounter with Les and
being arrested, I deserved a new sweater or pair of shoes. I felt anxiety draining
from me as I breathed in the smell of the store, a mix of fibers, cosmetics, and stale
air from the heater. Oh, yum. I’d gained two pounds, according to the scale in Cherry’s
bathroom, so I steered clear of fitted clothes it would depress me to try on and headed
for the jewelry counter.
Rows of sparklies tempted me, and I found myself trying on earrings and bracelets
and necklaces. On sale, they weren’t any of them more than a hundred dollars. Letting
them drip through my fingers made me feel better, helping me forget how stupid I’d
been to sleep with Les and the humiliation of getting arrested. I particularly liked
a pair of drop earrings set with Swarovski crystals in pink, yellow, and blue. I didn’t
have anything to wear them with, but I was sure I could find something in the cocktail
dress section. As I was headed to the cashier with the earrings and matching bracelet
in hand, I thought about what Albertine would say, and my footsteps slowed. The earrings
weren’t on my financial diet. Scrunching my eyes closed, I practically flung them
back at the display and dialed Albertine’s number.
“Help!” I squawked when she answered.
“Gigi?”
“I’m in Macy’s.”
“Get out now,” Albertine commanded. “Don’t touch anything. I’ll meet you in the food
court in ten minutes.”
“Thanks.” Hanging up, I almost giggled at how much she’d sounded like a 911 operator
giving instructions to someone reporting a fire.
Get out of the house. Don’t go back for anything
. Still smiling, I made it out of the store without checking a single price tag or
running my hands down a silky blouse or fuzzy sweater and marched the few steps to
the food court without ducking into any other stores. To reward myself, I drifted
to the new Baskin-Robbins counter and ordered a scoop of jamoca almond fudge ice cream.
Only one scoop, and in a cup, not a cone, so I wouldn’t blow my diet. I got Albertine
a cup of mint chocolate chip, which I knew she liked.
As I was paying, Albertine arrived in a swirl of scarlet and gold caftan that she
definitely hadn’t found in Chapel Hills Mall, and I handed her the cup and a spoon.
She looked from her ice cream to mine and burst out laughing, a rich sound that made
several people look around and smile. “Gigi, you are something else,” she said.
“What?”
“You did good to call me.” She spooned up some ice cream as we settled at one of the
tables.
“Thanks for coming.”
“You didn’t buy anything, did you? Because if you did, you can take it right back.”
She peeked under the table, looking for shopping bags.
I shook my head. “Nope. Just the ice cream.”
“Good. That’s progress. Come on. It’s the lunch rush and I’ve got to get back. I’m
walking you out of here, though, to make sure you get out safely. And you’re coming
down to the restaurant after work to tell me what triggered this.”
“Okay,” I said meekly, licking the last of the coffee-flavored ice cream off my spoon
and putting the cup in the trash.
We parted in the parking lot, and Albertine watched until I made it through the mall
exit to Briargate Boulevard.
* * *
Dexter’s BMW was in the garage when I got home, and I found him in the kitchen, glugging
orange juice from the container. Nolan greeted me with shrill yips of joy and demanded
to be let into the yard, which made me wonder if Kendall had remembered to let him
out before she left for school.
“Dexter—”
Without answering, he put the juice carton back in the fridge and slouched past me,
probably planning to disappear into his bedroom or meet up with some of his friends
at the mall.