Splitsville.com (10 page)

I turn into the closest neighborhood and pull over. I look around to make sure no one is following me.

And then I stare at my laptop. Do I dare?

Hell yes I dare, especially if my life is on the line. I open it. I boot it up, and start driving slowly in front of every single house until I get a wifi signal.

UNSECURE NETWORK. Music to my eyes. Desperate times call for desperate

measures. “Okay, come on,” I beg my laptop to connect fearing some rogue PTA mom is going to come out, guns blazing because I’m stealing her internet.

I look in the rearview mirror to see if any internet sniffing dogs or FBI are on my tail for

Internet theft. I look at the two story red brick colonial with the free wifi, and watch to see if there is any movement past the windows. Any sign of life, dog, cat, or people.

The coast is clear.

This is good, I tell myself making me feel a little better about tapping into their system.

“It will only take a few minutes to clear all of this up.”

I know there has to be some sort of mistake. I hadn’t really given Erin a chance to explain or deny. Maybe I’d jumped down her throat too quickly. A wave of guilt washes over me. Carefully I type in the login for Splitsville.com. Due to the case sensitive passwords, I take my time because I have no time to spare.

Get it right the first time.

Enter.

I smile, knowing I imagined the whole thing. The dump emails pop up and I run my finger down my laptop screen. I stop when the tip finds “you” in big, red letters.

“No, no, no,” I moan. I close my eyes, and slowly inhale pressing the return button so I can read the entire email.

Name: You’ll find out soon enough.

Type of Dump: Death.

Dumpee: Your body in a deep lake.

Reason for Dump: I am going to take
your
heart and smash it into bits like you do to others.

Pictured Attached:

“NO!” I scream slamming the laptop shut. This day started out to be about Erin, and now my email threats have gone from bad to worse. First Dabi Stone. Now me. And all for helping people end bad relationships. 

“Oh God.” I groan as I recognize I’ve hit stage one in “the process.” And I know

what’s next on
my
checklist that
I
made up.

Quickly I peel out.

“This is not happening,” I repeat over and over, “This can’t happen.” I check my

reflection in the rear view mirror. I wish I could see my own aura, I know what’s coming next. Unfortunately I have no idea what to do about it.

Twelve

As far as I can tell, no one’s following me home. I take the long way around Park City to my house, just in case. Keeping my eye on any car that gets behind me. I hit the garage door button, slip my car in, and shut it before I even get it in park.

I’ve got to be better off in the house than out, I think slinking out of my car, and running into my kitchen in a crouching position. I lock the door behind me, and prop a chair up against it for extra protection. I lie on the floor only to be pounced on by Herbie, who’s trying to give me kisses or telling me he’s really thirsty.

Damn! I forgot to get him a bowl. It’s the
last
thing on my to-do list right now.

I army crawl to the first set of windows. I slide up the wall and pull on the blinds. Only it takes me a couple tries to figure how to get it down. With the distraction of Herbie jumping on me, I figure out I have to turn the stick to close it before I can put it down. I slide back down the wall and army crawl to every single room, taking all of thirty minutes to get the house dark.

I jump at the vibrating BlackBerry in my pocket. My hands fly to my chest. “God please don’t let me die.” I whisper in fear that someone is outside my window listening, trying to torment me, and sending a new email when they see I am home.

My phone is like a hot stone in my hands. I don’t want to look at the email. With my hands shaking, I scroll down the menu. Slowly I click on the envelope icon.

“Two new messages?” One is from PayPal signaling the other email is a valid dump.

I slide back down the wall with my knees propped up like a tent and read the dump. My mouth drops open and I know my eyes are playing a trick on me.

Name: Kent Goodwin

Type of Dump: The General Break-Up

Dumpee: Erin Lee

Reason for Dump: Not exactly what I thought she was.

I hardly register what I’m reading. This doesn’t make sense. Why would he use my service when he knows I’m Jenn from Splitsville.com?

“Ah!” I gasp. For a moment I forget about
my
death threats. I close my eyes trying to remember the day’s events. What are the odds of Erin telling me she told Kent, me getting a death threat and Kent dumping Erin—all in one day? Herbie licks the back of my hand, and I absently pet his head. “I know, I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

“Okay think, Olivia.” I tap my temple and pace the hallway. I take a deep breath realizing there are no windows in the hallway. I breathe in relief, a little more at ease. I speak out loud, processing what’s happened.

“First I went to meet Erin because she was upset.”

“Two, I get there and she’s happy.”

“Three, I get the death threat.”

“Fourth, Erin told Kent I’m Jenn.”

A light bulb goes off in my head. “He knows my identity and made the death threat to scare me. And then he sent the dump email knowing who I am.” I bite my bottom lip. I can’t believe he would go to such lengths to break up with Erin or go to make me uncomfortable. He is a jerk.

I have to call Erin immediately. No! I have to see her and show her the dump. It isn’t right to tell her over the phone. I need to see her expression. I need to tell her everything. She has to know. I have no time to spare.

Knowing Kent won’t really cap me, I move the chair away from the door and jump in my car. Then I realize I have no idea where Erin is.

 Her apartment. She’d be home by now, I think. 

There are more people walking around town than normal. Each time my car passes someone, they look at me. Paranoia sets in and for a brief moment I fear each one of them might be the one who’s sending the threats.

Deep down I know they are enjoying the nice spring day, and I don’t make eye contact with anyone else.

A few minutes later, I’m driving up Erin’s street. Blue and red police lights flash and a vice clamps around my heart. Am I too late? Are they here for Erin or her crazy neighbors? 

I always tell her, “Why are you living here, Erin? You’ve got money. You could live in the Hyde Park area.” Every week the police are here on a domestic violence or disturbing the peace with all the loud music. I’ve tried to get her to move, but she loves the comings and goings of apartment life. “It’s like the childhood I never had,” she always says. 

Whatever’s going on this time is big. It’s like a circus on the sidewalks of Park City, Kentucky.

I have to park halfway down the block, and hoof it the rest of the way, thanks to the lookie-loos. “Excuse me.” I walk past the police officer who’s standing outside Erin’s apartment building.

I actually feel much safer here with my death threats looming over my head. Being surrounded by police isn’t a bad thing right now. If only I could tell them and get real protection.

The metal stairs creak underneath my feet as I ascend to Erin’s apartment. Each apartment door has the number of the either missing or hanging by a thin nail. The concrete flooring is cracked in most places and chipping beneath my feet.

I deduce that it must be Erin’s neighbor and his yahoo girlfriend who are fighting because the police officers are lined up along the outer wall leading toward Erin’s apartment.

“Excuse me.” I smile at the officer standing outside apartment ***8A-Erin’s place. The tag on his shirt is not from the Park City’s PD. It must be a really bad domestic violence case to have neighboring police. I reach for the doorknob. 

The policeman puts his arms out to the side to block me from passing him in the hallway. “You’re not going in there,” he says. His voice is sharper than a Ginsu knife.

“I’m going in there.” I point to the door behind him. “If you’d be so kind to move a little that way.” I notch my head in the directions of the Erin’s noisy next door neighbors. “I’ll just slip right by.” I smile. He may be dealing with domestic violence, but I’ve found a little sugar goes a long way. 

I reach for the door knob.

“No, you’re not.” He steps in front of the door to completely block it. “No one is going in there.”

A cold sweat begins to gather at my brow as I quickly realize the police officers aren’t there for Erin’s neighbors, they are there for her.

“Why not?” Where’s Erin?” I become frantic. I peek over his shoulder into her apartment as another officer comes out the door. My blood pumps behind my eyes as I try my hardest not to read any aura’s in the room. The mixture of black and grey hangs in the air.

“Are you family?” The officer at the door asks.

“Sister,” I say. How’s a little white lie going to hurt
this
situation? She doesn’t have a sister so technically I’m the closest thing.

“She’s down at the police station being questioned.”

“She’s okay?” I look for any clues in his eyes. “I swear if that guy did anything to hurt her, I’ll kill him.”

He just stares at me, like he’s trying to read my mind.

“Is she okay?” I demand. His lips are sealed. He isn’t giving me any more information. He keeps his lips tights, but finally nods.

I breathe out. Erin’s okay. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” Carl walks up behind the officer.

“This is the renter’s sister,” the police officer says, gesturing to me.

One of Carl’s eyebrows lifts. “Sister? Is that right?”

Shit! I don’t have time to sit here and explain while Erin’s off being questioned for who knows what. I glare back at Carl. “Might as well be. Why’s Erin at the station?”

The police officer stood a little taller and puffs out his chest like a banty rooster. “Sir, I did not tell her anything about the shooting.”

I jerk and poke a finger in my ear. Did I hear right? “Shooting? Who was shot?” A wave of nausea flows through my stomach. I clasp my hand over my mouth.

Carl gives the guy a look that says, “You’re an idiot. You just told her.”

“If you want to see your friend, er, sister, you can find her down at the station.” Carl has become as tight-lipped as his buddy. I turn, ready to bolt down the stairs, but he stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, we may want to talk to you about this too. You being the renter’s sister and all.”

Goosebumps cover my legs and arms. He can talk to me all he wants, but later. Right now I need to be by Erin’s side. I nod, jerk free, and rush back to my car.

My mind has a field day, racing through the possibilities. Robbery? Rape? I have to get to the police station as quickly as I can. Kent? Oh god! I think of every possibility. Maybe he admitted the girl in the bar was more than right. Maybe she was threatening him. What if Erin lost it, they got in a fight, and he hit her? Or maybe Kent didn’t wait for me to do his dirty work. Maybe he totally dumped her, they argued and he threatened her. Or. . .my imagination ran wild. .Maybe he told her he contacted me at Splitsville.com.

The fact that it’s a shooting, throws me. Erin doesn’t even own a gun let alone know how to shoot one. Who did she shoot? Or who shot at her?

I peel out of the parking space, and head east to the Police Department.

My phone chirps from the depths of my purse. With one eye on the road, I dig, my hand finally finding it. I rush to answer when I see Erin’s cell number pop up on the screen. “Erin, I’m on my way.”

“How do you know where I am?” Erin’s voice is trembling. I can picture her clutching the phone in one hand, her other one twirling her hair out of anxiety.

“I stopped by your place to tell you.” I stop. There’s no way I can add to whatever she’s going through by telling her what a first-class loser Kent is. “The police have it surrounded. They told me you’re making some sort of statement.”

“Olivia.” She begins to sob, heaving so I can hardly understand her. “Kent is dead.”

My vision blurs, and my foot lifts off the gas pedal. I’ve heard people talk about out of body experiences. And I’m definitely having one of those. This isn’t making any sense. Kent was the bad guy, not a victim.

“He was at my place.” Her words are barely audible. “S. . .someone came in and killed him.”

“That can’t be right.” He sent me a dump.

“Can you pick me up?” Erin sniffs, her crying under control. “I can’t go back to that apartment. Ever. Olivia,” she whispers. “What if Kent was just in the wrong place at the wrong time? What if-what if I was the one who was supposed to die?”

The dark sky seems to be folding around us on our drive back from Park City’s police department. The sky looks bruised just beyond the hilly park, the closer we get to the middle of town. The only noise is the sound of Erin’s whimper.

There are two deaths in Park City and both can be traced back to me. My heart palpitates at the thought of how cop Carl are going to love throwing this at me.

Slowly, I descend through each stoplight. I glance down Aunt Matilda’s street to make sure she’s tucked in for the night. The old rusty Chevy isn’t there. I put the pedal to the metal. If Aunt Matilda isn’t home, she better be at my house. With murders and death threats looming around this city, I need to make sure she’s safe.

My hearts melts when I pull into my driveway with Erin next to me, and see Aunt Matilda’s truck. The lights in the kitchen signal she’s made a new pot of coffee which means she knows about Kent’s death.

Aunt Matilda is reaching for a couple of coffee mugs as we walk into the house. “Just in time. How you doing, sweetheart?” She pours the coffee while keeping one eye on Erin.

Erin walks right into Matilda’s arms, and gets wrapped up in her love. 

I bend down and pick up Herbie. Having his little heart beat next to mine makes me feel better.

Erin lets go of Matilda, slumps down on the barstool, and leans across to take a cup of coffee. “I guess you heard about Kent.”

Aunt Matilda puts her hands around Erin’s which are cupped around the mug. I look at their intertwined hands and recall the same scene when Erin’s parents died. Funny, I never realized that Aunt Matilda has also been there for Erin all along. I only wish we were enough for Erin, that she wouldn’t seek out these men that are no good for her.

“Yes, honey. Carl told me all about it.” Aunt Matilda brushes Erin’s bangs out of her tear-stained eyes.

Both Herbie and my ears perk up at the mere mention of Carl’s name. “Why? Why are you talking to him?” I blurt out shocked that Aunt Matilda would be the first person Carl would call. Especially when he was giving me such a hard time.

“Let’s just say he wanted to see if I’d come out of retirement.” She jingles her way back to the coffee maker to refill her cup. Hmm…her sway has a little too much sashay for me to believe that’s all the contact was about.

“And?” I have to wonder if Carl has an ulterior motive.

“And, I told him no.” She turns around and she puts her nose in the steady steams to smell the fresh brew. “I’m officially retired.”

I watch her make her way to the couch and sit down with Herbie right alongside. “Are you sure that’s all he wants?” I don’t even bother to be subtle. Aunt Matilda should have a social life, but Carl?

She gives me the look I know all too well. The stepping-over-the-boundary look.

With a stiff upper lip, I sit on the stool next to Erin. She seems to be comatose, unresponsive. I break her silence. “Think Erin. Is there anything, a reason why someone would want Kent dead?” I have to get to the bottom of Kent’s murder.

She looks up and her eye-lids are as red as blood. “No. Nothing.”

“No conversations? Nothing?”

“No.” Her whisper is barely audible.

I think back to what few conversation she and I have had about Kent or what little I know. “There’s only one path to pursue. What about the girl who slapped him?” There’s a motive. “Who was she?”

Her eyes widen like she just remembered something then they dim again. “No. She was mad because he dumped her. He said she was the first girl he dated after he stopped ...um...that other life. He started his straight and narrow act with her.” Erin takes a sip of her coffee.

Hmm, so this girl really doesn’t have a reason to kill him, but she could know something.

“Wait!” Erin stands up and paces between the couch and the bar stool. Aunt Matilda peeps up from the couch to hear. “He did say something about that heiress from Macro Hard. You know, the one who died.”