Jex Malone (14 page)

It's like fireworks are going off in my head! Patty freaking Matthews! Maybe she is a ghost who is haunting me now.

“Any thoughts on the case? Any idea where she's buried? We're doing a three-part special,” Katt announces. “I'm calling the three-parter: ‘Teen Queen—Thirteen Years Gone, But Never Forgotten. Where Is the Body Buried? And Are Your Kids Really Safe?'”

My eyes pop and under the table, I begin to work on another cuticle.

Now, this is getting interesting.

“You know, young girl. Vanished. Lived around the block from you, Mr. Robocop. Case never solved. Ring any bells, handsome?” Katt continues to prod. It's like poking a stick into a raging bull. Dad just continues to sneer in her direction.

Katt feigns the biggest fake smile I have ever seen—including the one that Sandy just bestowed on my father when he ordered low-fat guacamole. Accompanying that gash of red lipstick are the straightest teeth on the planet. I figure this woman is either on TV or works for an orthodontist.

Dad is stonefaced now, and Sandy has pasted on her usual look of confusion, which I don't think is necessarily an act. So, Katt pounces in another direction. It happens so suddenly that I almost spill my delightfully sugary soda. Who knew a Mexican soda actually had extra sugar in it?

“Katt Kaetan,” the woman says, holding out those talons for me—
me!
—to shake.

I offer my hand because I was raised to be polite, right? Katt grasps it as she continues to talk. “I'm an investigative reporter for KTNK-TV. And true to my name, when I see a story I pounce.

“Are you … the daughter?” Katt directs her laser-beam stare into my face and I lean forward to loudly sip what remains of that drink. I need this soda. For energy. Katt is not grossed out and keeps asking questions as I avoid chewing the ice out of nerves.

Be cool. You're on a case now. You're part of a freaking girl detective agency. You're a Drew-Id. You are Nancy for a new age. Don't let her see you sweat. Bad. For. Business.

“Why, I don't think I've ever seen you around. Did your mom think your father's neighborhood was just too unsafe for a young girl? You live right around the corner from the Teen Queen. That's what I dubbed tragic Patty Matthews. A gorgeous little girl whose reign on earth ended so sadly when she … expired,” Katt continues in machine-gun fashion.

“That's more than enough, Katt,” Dad says in a low voice that sounds absolutely lethal now. “Two more seconds and this restaurant won't be safe. For you.”

“Well, I've never,” Katt begins.

“I'm sure you have,” he interjects, standing up and hovering now like a grizzly bear. “This conversation is over.”

“Detective Malone, you never change,” she says, merrily blowing him a little kiss. “Anyhow, Katt knows when she's not wanted, but don't be surprised if you see me and my crew in your neighborhood for our anniversary piece. Pouncing—just like I said.

“Toodles,” Katt tosses out, turning on her high heels.

“Toodles?” Sandy repeats a few seconds later. “What does that even mean?”

Dad stands for a few seconds longer than necessary to be intimidating, never taking his gaze off this reporter woman. Then he sits down again and takes a big swig of beer. I almost feel sorry for him—emphasis on
almost
.

“Where is that guacamole made at the table?” I insert, trying to break the tension. “And clearly, I'm going to need another soda here. Throat. Very dry.
De-hydration
.”

No one seems interested in my medical diagnosis.

Clearing the rage out of his throat, Dad says, “That was unfortunate, girls, but we won't let it ruin our evening. Now … Sandy, you were saying something about giving Jex a few free gym passes. Maybe we could all work out together. I could stand a few hours in the weight room.”

Nice way of flipping your emotions on a dime, Dad.

“Heavens!” Sandy purrs and rubs his muscular arm like she's in a forest trying to rub one thin piece of wood and a large one together to create fire. She earns a broad grin and a little arm tap, which is more than someone else on this Titanic ride known as our big night on the town.

“Hey, Detective,” I suddenly call out to my father, whose head snaps my way because it is a weird way to address him.

“Hey, what?” he retorts with a cautious smile, carefully modulating his voice back to normal.

“Hey, do you think I'm actually safe home alone all day long?” I toss out, trying to sound casually concerned. “I mean, the girls were telling me that it's not always such a safe neighborhood—and now this woman with her dead-girl report is making me a little nervous.”

“It's very safe,” interrupts my father, narrowing his eyes. “The neighborhood is on my beat, so it's virtually a crime-free zone. We haven't had anything happen, let alone a major crime, in years.

“Why do you ask?” he demands.

I gulp some air for courage.

“I ask because the girls were telling me about Patty Matthews, too. I guess the neighborhood wasn't so
virtually
safe for her,” I pose.

Then I wait.

For him to react.

But he doesn't even flinch.
He's good, too.

“Is that the major crime you're talking about?” I add, nervously clutching my fingers under the table because I'm pushing it pretty far.
And where the heck is that soda for courage?

Dad shoots me a hard stare. “You don't have to worry about that,” he states, locking me in his hard-edge cop gaze. “And by the way, that girl isn't missing. She's dead. Gone. Her own drunken father probably tossed her down a staircase and then buried her in the desert.”

I snap my new taco chip and then let the pieces fall to the table.

“How can you be sure she's dead?” I demand, lasering in on my dad in just the same way he did to me. Like father, like daughter.

Like it. Or not.

“My friends inform me that nobody exactly found a body, you know,” I say. “No body. No murder victim.”

“I watch
CSI
,” I gulp, chugging my water now.

Looking like he might just reach over and strangle me, Dad keeps his voice lethally low and his fists balled up on top of the table.

“No, we didn't find a body floating in Lake Mead or buried in her front yard under a grapefruit tree, but there was evidence that … ” he bites out and then a female shriek stops him mid-sentence.

“Oh my God! All this talk of death! I can't take it anymore. I will have a breakdown,” Sandy interrupts, desperately trying to change the subject.

We ignore her.

“So, you really think she's dead, like as in dead-dead?” I say, leaning closer.

He is clearly furious, but won't unleash it.

“I really think that's none of your … concern,” he states in a blunt tone as we continue to lock eyes in our own game of father-daughter chicken. When he leans in, it takes everything in me not to retreat, but I hold my ground. So does he. And then it happens when we least expect it.

“Everyone, freeze!” shouts a female voice. “Look at Sandy right now. Eyes on me.”

I glance at Sandy for one reason, which is that she's so freakin' weird.

“I'm going to the little girl's room,” Sandy announces in an easy-breezy voice that's so annoying I want to throw the entire basket of chips at her … and these are damn good chips.

“When I come back, I don't want any of this scary talk. In fact, Jexy doll, you should come with me to the bathroom because us girly girls always do that together,” Sandy chirps, winking at my so-called father.

I'm not even sure what makes my strappy sandals rise to the standing position, but suddenly I'm following the powder puff to the powder room, chips in my mouth and crunching loudly as I clomp along wondering why my mother couldn't have raised me to be a rude brat who just told off her father's love interests.

The bathroom looks like a little trip to Mexico complete with hand painted tiles on the sink and maps of Cabo and Acapulco on the walls.

“I'll just wash my hands and wait for you out here,” I say in a glum voice and earn, yes, an actual minihug from the prom queen. No one told me that there would be actual touching.

A few minutes and two washes later, I can't decide if I should abandon Sandy and go back to my seat to face Mad Dad or wait for Sandy to give birth to something in that stall.

The question becomes moot when I hear the tap-tap of stiletto heels making their clacking sound across the hand painted tile floor.

Katt Kaetan chooses the sink next to me on the Cabo side and looks in the mirror while slowly washing her hands like she's about to do surgery, which in a way she is. It takes her at least six tries at the water, but I learn she's patient. Very patient.

“So, you're the daughter. Do you live here? Why are you here now?” Katt asks, not skipping a beat. Her voice is so pleasantly smooth and calm and contains such authority that she sounds like a high school principal.

At that moment, something inside me just snaps.

“That's a great question, Katt. Why am I even here?” I say to the older woman. “I've been wondering that myself, although by
here
do you mean this dumb restaurant or
here
as in the stupid, overheated state of Nevada?”

Instantly, Katt's brows furrow. That wasn't the answer she expected.

“You seem … unhappy with your father,” Katt lobs. “I mean, I totally sympathize. Your dad is a really intense guy.”

I just nod, praying that I won't lose it.

Katt continues, “So, how is your summer going? I'm sure it isn't fun to eat out with Daddy's girlfriend. If I were in your shoes, I'd be climbing the walls.

“Bimbo,” Katt mouths so Sandy can't hear her.

That makes me almost laugh. Maybe this woman does understand me. She certainly has a line on Sandy. For some reason, I really feel like talking to her.

“I barely know my dad,” I say in a low voice.

“How is that even possible?” Katt asks, putting down her hand sanitizer to place one hand gently on my shoulder. The look of concern in her eyes is warm, protective, and even motherly.
God, I really miss my mom.

“Oh, I don't know. I just never saw him much over the years,” I respond.

“That's terrible,” Katt replies. “But maybe that's because of the big case. Is that the reason your parents' marriage broke up? There is always a personal cost of murder. For everyone involved.”

“Yes,” I blurt. “They broke up because he was so obsessed. My mom couldn't take it anymore. We even moved across the country to get away from it all.”

“And then he started dating Patty's teacher, Miss Sandy,” Katt offers. “Another helping of terrible.”

“I sort of didn't know that Sandy was her teacher until this summer,” I state, eyes wide with shock. Katt even looks a little bit surprised.

“PE. Not a real class that mattered,” Katt shares. “Anyway, you were saying that your dad was obsessed. Maybe that's why he really bungled the case. Do you know anything about the case?”

In one horrible moment, I know that I've said too much. It dawns on me that saying anything is too much. Even worse, I just said it to the wrong person who could probably really hurt my father. I'm not his biggest fan, but I don't want to actually harm him.

It's not my fault! This woman has a magical way of making me say much more than I ever wanted to say. Suddenly, I just can't shut up. And I keep on talking almost against my will!

“I know a little bit about the case. Maybe … I don't know,” I ramble on. “Actually, I know nothing. And I shouldn't say anything more.”

At just the right moment: a loud flush. I can hear Sandy in the stall breathing hard and adjusting that tight skirt before she comes out. She's probably even breaking a sweat while she rolls her outfit back on.

Katt puts a hand on my shoulders.

“My parents were divorced. I know how hard it is,” she says in that kind voice. “Why don't you come to my station later this week and we can talk more? We can get to know each other better—and I'll give you a tour of a real TV station. It will be fun.”

And with that, she clacks across the floor and out of the bathroom just in time for Sandy to emerge from a bathroom trip that took so long that I probably sunk my father while she was having a kidney transplant in there.

“Sorry, baby,” Sandy says to me. “Lactose issues.”

Sandy then hears the clacking.

“OMG! Was that woman in here?” she demands. “Jex, don't ever talk to that woman. She's a word that rhymes with witch … and she hates your father's guts.”