Authors: John Locke
“I’M SEVENTEEN,” WILLOW says.
“
Shit
!”
“Wait.” She puts her hand on mine. “Before you get angry, can I say three things?”
I sigh. “Go ahead.”
“First, I’m nearly eighteen.”
“How nearly?”
She looks up and to the right, like she’s counting. Then says, “Eleven days.”
“We’ll have to celebrate. What’s the second thing?”
“The sex wasn’t that bad.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. I think it was mostly the circumstances.”
“I get that.”
She looks at my expression and laughs.
“What?”
“You’re suddenly happy, aren’t you!” She shakes her head. “Men.
Jesus
!”
“What’s the third thing?”
“The third thing is even though you’re angry about shagging a minor, can we have a nice, quiet dinner, and pretend we’re an ordinary couple? Just once?”
“A couple? Us?”
She laughs again. “Don’t get any ideas. I just want to pretend I’m on a real date with a nice guy.”
It suddenly dawns on me that Willow—Amy—has never been on a real date before.
“You don’t think the people around us will notice our age difference?” I say.
“Not if we don’t bring attention to ourselves. Can we do that? Just this once?”
I nod.
“I need to use the restroom a minute,” she says. “Will you excuse me?”
I stand when she does and she says, “That was nice of you. Thank you. And thanks for holding the door for me earlier.”
“Just because I’m a jerk doesn’t mean I don’t have good manners.”
She cocks her head.
“I think it sort of does mean that,” she says. “But thanks for doing it, anyway.”
While she’s gone I fight the urge to check my phone. Dani said there’d be much more information coming. But things are going really well with Willow—Amy—right now, and if she catches me checking my phone again it might hurt her feelings. Whatever it is can wait till after dinner.
When she returns, I stand and hold her chair for her. As she sits I say, “Should I call you Amy?”
“No.”
“In eleven days you’ll be legal. It won’t matter if your uncle finds you.”
“True. But I’ve had better luck being Willow.”
“
That’s
hard to believe.”
She smiles. “I met you, didn’t I?”
I remember what Rose said about how I’d find the right woman where I least expect to. Could she possibly have meant Willow?
No.
Yes!
I mean, here’s the thing. I’m not kidding myself. I know in the real world Willow would never have the slightest interest in me. But we’re in her world, and it’s a private hell. She has no family, no money, no best friend or boyfriend, and she’s dying.
She needs me.
Am I afraid she might be using me?
No. It’s obvious she’s using me. And I’m okay with that.
I like her. I genuinely do. She’s got a hell of an attitude, and…
And she makes me happy.
What doesn’t make me happy is how the lights have suddenly gone dim. A broken-down warhorse with Tammy Faye Bakker makeup struts onto the stage and asks the crowd if we’re having fun.
Well, I was, till this happened.
The lady on stage tells the crowd she hopes we love Karen Carpenter half as much as she does, because she’s going to open her set with a tribute to her. Some audience members appear less annoyed at the intrusion than I am, and applaud politely. She asks someone named Claude to cue her music. He does, and she starts singing. I bet the audience wishes they could get a refund on their previous applause. While Karen Carpenter’s velvety voice speaks to my heart, this bleached bimbo’s over-the-top karaoke impersonation makes my teeth itch.
Willow notices the look on my face.
“Which do you hate, the song or the singer?”
I point at the stage slut, who notices me and reacts as if I just volunteered to be her shill.
She tells Claude to stop the music and says, “Well, hello, handsome!”
I look around to see if she might be speaking to someone behind me.
She’s not.
She walks over to Willow and says, “Please dear, introduce me to your father.”
The crowd cracks up.
“He’s not my father,” Willow says, “He’s my boyfriend.”
“
Really
? What a shock!” the lady says, and the audience laughs again.
She sticks the mike in my face and says, “Aren’t you afraid she’ll give you a heart attack?”
“Fuck off,” I say, before realizing everyone in the place can hear me.
She says, “Ooh, I
love
it when cute guys talk dirty to me! How about a kiss, doll?”
“How about I rip your lips off?”
“OOH!” she says. “Daddy likes it rough, does he?”
Willow gives me an urgent look and whispers, “Please. Play nice!”
To the audience, the singer says, “Hey everyone, did you hear? Daddy likes rough sex!” They reward her with a smattering of nervous laughter.
“Do you like Karen, sweetie?” she says.
I look at Willow, who’s trying not to look embarrassed. I nod. I’ll play nice.
“Karen Carpenter?” I say. “Absolutely.”
“Quick,” she says. “Favorite Carpenter song!”
“Rainy Days and Mondays.”
She sings, “Rainy Days and Mondays always get me down.” Then says, “You like that, sugar?”
“Not anymore.”
This time the audience laughs for me.
“You know what I like?” she says.
“Apart from annoying me?”
More laughter
She laughs. “Funny
and
cute! Girls, hands off this one. He’s mine!” She looks at Willow and says, “After you max out his credit cards, of course.”
The crowd murmurs their disapproval of her picking on Willow.
Undaunted, she says, “My favorite is
Close to You
. Am I right everyone? Who doesn’t like
Close to You
?”
“Me,” I say.
“What? Daddy doesn’t like Close to You?”
“That’s right.”
She shows me her shocked expression and I suddenly realize this isn’t just a Karen Carpenter impersonator, she’s a
female
impersonator! She says, “
Close to You
? Are you
kidding
me? Burt Bacharach? Hal David? Be careful, doll, those are local boys.”
“The song makes no sense,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“Birds suddenly appear every time you are near.”
“It’s romantic,” she says.
“It’s insane. Would you want to date someone who, every time he approaches, is surrounded by a flock of birds?”
Audience laughter.
“Just like me,” she sings, “they long to be…close to you!”
The audience laughs louder. A number of diners clap their hands, enjoying the show, convinced I’ve been planted to enhance the show.
“See? It’s romantic,” she says.
She puts the mike in my face and I say, “What about the stars falling from the sky every time you walk by? That’d be pretty damn dangerous, don’t you think?”
The audience laughs.
She frowns, thinking about it, then looks at Willow and says, “You can keep him, sweetie, he’s a jerk!”
She abruptly turns and walks back to the stage to continue her set.
I lean over to Willow and say, “That’s a
man
!”
“Ya think?” she says, sarcastically. “What tipped you off? His Adam’s apple, his voice, or his hard-on?”
“He had a hard-on?”
She sighs. “So much for not calling attention to us.”
“Sorry.”
THE SINGER FINISHES her set, the lights come back on, we order soft drinks and drink them, then order our dinners and eat them.
“Can I ask you a question?” Willow says.
“Please do.”
“What did you do with the garage door opener?”
“Cleaned it, stepped on it, threw it in the trash. Why?”
“If I had blackmailed you, how much would you have paid?”
“Seriously?”
“Uh huh.”
“A quarter million.”
“You answered quickly.”
“That’s my number.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I used to gamble to relieve stress I’d play till I won or lost two-fifty. That’s my threshold. If you had blackmailed me and asked for anything above that, I’d take my chances with the police.”
“That’s very interesting.”
“I’ll probably spend that much on your cancer treatment anyway,” I say.
She laughs. “You’re a good sport, Gideon.”
“You too,” I say, and mean it.
Willow says, “You keep looking at your phone.”
“I’m sorry. That’s rude.”
“You should check your messages. I know you’re worried about the little girl.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods.
“Thanks.”
I power up my phone and check for new text messages.
And see this:
REMEMBER WHAT I SAID ABOUT BEST FRIENDS?
THE NURSE CAME THROUGH! MEDICAL RECORDS SHOW
CAMERON WAS DYING OF HODGKIN’S DISEASE, NOT WILLOW!
“Is something wrong?” Willow says.
I check the next text and see this:
AMY STOLE WILLOW’S IDENTITY AND
PRETENDED TO HAVE CAMERON’S DISEASE!
THE LOOK ON my face tells Willow my mood has turned sour.
“What’s wrong?”
I hand her my phone so she can read the last two text messages. After she does, she takes a deep breath and says, “Okay. Plan B.”
I’M FURIOUS. I want to kick and scream and break into someone’s house and rob them at gunpoint. I could probably even strangle Willow with my bare hands.
But I need to know what she’s talking about.
Through clenched teeth I ask, “What’s Plan B?”
“You’re angry,” she says, cool as a cucumber.
“Of course it was Cameron,” I say. “She was practically a scarecrow.”
“It’s not that big a deal. Cameron was sick, but had no credit. As Willow, I had built an excellent credit rating. I let her use Willow’s name and social security number for the credit check. Once it was on the medical records, it stayed there.”
I clench my fists.
“What’s Plan B?”
“I should probably start by explaining Plan A,” she says.
“Please do.”
“Okay, so here’s the thing. Plan A was to come here, make you feel sorry for me, and talk you into giving me a hundred thousand dollars.”
“For cancer treatment.”
“No. I was planning to work on you, get you to take me on a nice vacation. My last one, while I could still enjoy it, you know? Pity for you we didn’t, since I was going to let you seduce me. Plan A called for me falling in love with you. Then I’d refuse the treatment, and…oh well, it doesn’t matter. You had to spoil it all by hiring a private investigator.”
Something crosses my mind. I don’t believe it, but I toss it out anyway.
“You killed Cameron.”
Willow frowns. “What can I tell you, Gideon? Cameron was dying, and wanted to come clean about something we’d done. I couldn’t let her do that.”
“When we were at the hospital she kept mumbling something about needing to confess.”
“She said it after she got shot, too. Before you stitched her up.”
“What did you and Cameron do?”
“None of your business.”
“How’d you kill her?”
“I’m not admitting I did.”
“Her cause of death is being investigated.”
“They won’t look too deeply. She had Hodgkin’s. She’d been gunshot!”
I nod my head. “Bingo!”
“Bingo?”
“Before we took the twins home you went in Maggie’s house to pee.”
“So?”
“I’ve never met a grandmother yet who didn’t have a spice rack with nutmeg in it.”
She smiles. “So?”
“You saw what the nutmeg did when it hit Bobby’s bloodstream. What did you do, inject it in Cameron’s IV somehow?”
“Where on earth would I get a syringe.”
I think about it.
“You stole one from my medical bag when you got it out of the trunk.”
Willow smiles and says, “Let’s don’t dwell on Cameron right now.”
“Okay. What’s Plan B?”
Willow reaches into her handbag and pulls out two zip lock plastic bags and places them on the table in front of me.
What’s inside them is the last thing I would have expected.
Just as she planned.