Splitsville.com (6 page)

“I was going to ask how you can stand such a messy house.”

An uneasy feeling bubbles up in my stomach when I see his beautiful blue aura turn more into the Delft blue that is on my Aunt Matilda’s china. 

“My aunt’s been visiting on top of it all." I swing my arms out. "Most of this is hers.” I bite my lip wondering if he’ll buy it. I touch my nose, also wondering if it’s growing like Pinocchio’s. Small. Pert. Phew.

His jaw muscles relax. He bought my little white lie. At least for now.  

My tall tale grows as his freaking strong clean house principles surround him and light up his profile. “I can’t stand this mess." I fluff a cushion and fold a blanket to make my lie seem real. “That’s why I’m taking off tomorrow and cleaning the house.” I vow then and there to live up to my lie and change my attitude about clutter. I'm not too old to change. I've been meaning to clean up my act anyway.

Once in the car, we chat easily about how lucky we are that we met, about dogs, movies, and the sex appeal of the ferris wheel.

“Come by and visit me at the SPCA tomorrow.”

“Absolutely, I’ll bring coffee.”

He smiles, sitting back and stretching his arm out behind me. “What exactly is your dot com job?” My mind comes to a screeching halt and he continues, “You said something about heart research.”

Shit, shit, shit. There is no good way to say I run a break up service. It makes me sound cynical. Greedy. Heartless. “Let’s not talk about work.” I hand him a glass of chardonnay in hopes he will forget about the mess around him and stop questioning about my job. “Cheers,” I say.

“To us.”

Us. I like how that rolls off his tongue.

We each take a sip, and then Bradley takes my glass and finds an empty space on the table. He turns toward me and leans in until his lips meet mine. Even though Erin is on my mind, this night is turning out perfect.

Seven

Every morning for the past couple of days, I’ve been dedicated to reading the paper and turning on the news, searching for anything about Dabi Stone. There are still no leads, not motives, nothing. 

“Now Joyce and Dan Stone are making a moving plea to seek justice for their daughter death.” I stop dead in my tracks, my hair brush dangling in my long hair. I take a long hard look at the television at Dabi’s parents who’s doing a press conference and pleading for any breaks in the case.

My heart aches for Mrs. Stone and I want to reach through the TV and give her a big hug. Tears pool in my eyes and slip down my cheeks. There’s nothing natural about having to bury any child, much less your own. Our children are supposed to outlive their parents, not the other way around.

The same frail woman who’s been splashed all over the newspapers glares at the camera. “Know we will hunt you down until we find you. Money is no object. Michael, where are you?” I jump because her eyes stare through the TV, piercing my soul.

The crowd immediately begins shouting, “Who’s Michael?”

My tears turn to acid. Crap! She blames Michael! My mind races. I yank the brush out of my hair, taking a patch of blonde hair with it. I listen to see if anything else is said about him while I focus the rest of my attention on the squatty bald man with his hand lightly rubbing down Dabi’s mom’s back. I can only conclude, by the process of elimination, it’s Dabi’s father.

The way he consoles her doesn’t look as caring as a man whose daughter has been murdered. I guess I picture an angry man who wants revenge for his daughter. Not a man who is scanning the crowd with a slight smile on his face and a few nods.

I shove the empty cereal boxes out of the way to find a pen and jot notes. Of course there’s not a scrap of blank paper to be found. I have to protect Splitsville.com. It’s my business. My baby. My livelihood. And if Bradley finds out about it, I might lose him.

Dabi’s mother sobs and begins to gasp for air. She’s disheveled from head to toe. Her hair looks like it hasn’t been combed in days, her clothes look like they came off my floor. She’s bent over, and sort of broken. I look closer and notice her buttons aren’t even buttoned right. But underneath it, I know she means what she says about hunting down Dabi’s killer. Dabi’s father stands straight as an arrow, and much calmer than his wife. Too bad I can’t see his aura through the screen.

I rush back to my office and quickly thumb through my filing cabinet, the one thing I do keep organized in my life.

“Michael Schultz,” I say his name and wait for my body reaction. “Michael Schultz.”

Hmm. . .when I generally repeat people’s name I get an instant vibe, but not this time. I wait for a sign, a shiver or a shake. Even a burp will do. I feel nothing.

I dig in my files. The reputation of Splitsville.com, and my new relationship with Bradley, is on the line. With the wonderful technology of the internet, I Google whitepages.com and run a reverse search on his telephone number which gives me his street address. I scribble the address on his file and grab the newspaper clipping, and dash out the door.

I check my watch once I get into the car. 6:50 AM. Way too early for me, but this way I’ll be able to get it over with. I’ll read his aura and hopefully clear my mind. He has to have a clear aura. He’d be the first one the police will suspect. Isn’t it always the boyfriend? And a disgruntled one at that.

I can’t shake Mr. Stone’s TV demeanor. I know that if my loved one was murdered, I wouldn’t be so—together. But he’s the dad. Why would her dad want to harm his daughter? Who else would want her dead?

If my hunches are right, Michael didn’t do it and Splitsville.com is free. I’ll hunt the killer down because there’s no way my company’s going to be saddles with the word murder.

Plenty of time to stake him out, read his aura, come up with my next plan of action, and still get ready to meet Bradley at the SPCA.

My car hugs the road as I weave through Park City back-roads, taking the quickest route from the westside to the southside of town. It would’ve taken me twice as long to get there if I’d gone through town with all the pedestrians milling around.

Michael lives on the outskirts, where all the old buildings have been turned into one of the trendy areas to live in. It’s not expensive, but the park draws the walkers and animal lovers. It’s the same park where Dabi and I made our distaste for each other known.

I pull into a spot right in from of his building. The yellow brick three story tall apartment complex doesn’t look like anything Dabi Stone would step foot in. Granted there aren’t many high-end apartments in Park City, but there are a lot better looking buildings than this.

It’s no big deal if he sees me. He’ll think I’m here for the walking trail in the park across the street—another perk to being an anonymous name behind a computer.

My phone rings, signaling a new dump has been delivered by email. I ignore it. It’s commute time. Wednesday morning. People pour out of the building, and if I don’t keep my eye out, I’m sure to miss him.

I look at each guy carefully and back at Michael’s picture. The first guy’s nose is too long compared to Michael’s button one. Michael’s shoulders are definitely more slim compared to the second guy.

I sit up a little taller and crane my neck to see the third guy coming out of the building. I strain to see under his baseball cap, but the blonde curly hair sticking out the back is not Michael’s black short spiky cut.

Nothing. Nada. Not a one of them looks like Michael Schultz. 7:15 AM.

I roll the ball on my Blackberry. Might as well read the email dumps I’m going to have to catch up on. I begin making up some of the conversations I might have with the dumpee, but a little black yapping dog breaks my concentration. The malti-poo is rushes across the street with Michael attached to it.

The real life Michael and the photo of him don’t jive-much smaller in the picture. With his muscular build, he looks like a guy that’d own a larger dog, a little more masculine. I snicker at the idea of the pint-sized dog. I would’ve figured him as a big dog man.

I slip my sunglasses down on the bridge of my nose and watch him. I’ve got one good shot at this. I fervently hope I’m not wrong and that he’s not involved.

My eyes adjust to a pretty lavender aura surrounding him. It flutters lightly behind each step the malit-poo pulls him.

I sigh, almost forgetting why I’m there. I look at my steering wheel so my eyes will go back into normal-vision mode and take notes on his file. First off, he has a dog, which shows he’s caring and so lavender. Second the dog is leading Michael so he’s not tense, so lavender. His aura makes me feel good. He’s a free spirit, a dreamer. Far from a killer.

He crosses the street heading straight toward my car. I slink down in my seat and pretend to bury my head in my BlackBerry to hide from him. “Shh Belle,” I hear him say as he passes my open window. He’s walking directly in front of my car towards the park.

Belle? Strange name for a man’s dog. This guy is not what he seems.

Once he’s out of hearing distance, I turn the key to start my old Toyota. Only it doesn’t start. A flash of panic sweeps over me. I check the air conditioner to make sure it’s not the culprit that drained the battery. The lights are even off. I take the key out and put it back in and turn. Still nothing.

Click. Click.

Great. Of all the times I need it to start, it won’t. Dead as a cold fish, as Aunt Matilda would say.

Please start, please start. I beg to myself with my eyes tightly closed and turn the key one more time. If I need good karma, right now would be the time.

Click. Click.

There’s a knock on the driver’s side window. Startled, I practically leap across my seat. Michael is smiling down at me. “Do you need help?” he asks.

I glance out the window and see Belle sniffing my tires.

Click. Click.

“It’s not going to start,” Michael affirms what I already know, and reclines himself up against the car, arms crossed. He doesn’t budge. He nods to a pedestrian passing by. For a guy who’s just been dumped by his girlfriend who turned up murdered, he sure does have an upbeat personality. “I can check under the hood.”

I glance at the photo wedged between me and the seat to make sure I’ve got the right guy. Yep, positive. The slightly turned front tooth is a dead give-a-way as his lips turn up in a smile.

The steering wheel jabs my breastbone as I lean into it. Surely I misread his aura, I make my eyes to go out of focus and scan his profile as he picks Belle up. The overwhelming lavender confirms there is no way he killed Dabi. He couldn’t kill a fly. I’d bet money on it.

With a groan, I get out of the car. Maybe my aura reading is a little rusty.

He puts the Belle back down and steps up on the curb away from my car. “Every morning Belle meets all her friends at the park,” he explains.

He’s much taller than I envisioned him from his picture. Dabi sent a photo from the chest up and definitely a few years old. His hair is much shorter and he’s not as preppy in person.

I can see why Dabi’s dad wouldn’t approve. I’m positive he would prefer the clean cut type, not the disheveled Orlando Bloom look that Michael seems to favor. Plus the little tuft of hair under his lip makes him appear to be more of a bad boy than he really is. He’s not fooling me. Or should I say his aura’s not.

“Funny name for a man’s dog.” I want to get some answers and fast.

“My girlfriend, er, ex, er, dead ex girlfriend gave her to me.” The look on my face must’ve said all the words swirling around in my head. “My girlfriend broke up with me and then turned up murdered.”

His face turns solemn. He reminds me of the guys who cry during Barbara Walter’s interviews. Nonetheless, I still don’t let my defense down.

“Hh!” I gasp out loud. I can’t believe he’s just unloaded on me—a perfect stranger. What else will he tell me?

“What?” He stands up tall, and jabs a finger at me. “No, hell no. I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Well I’m thinking it.” I take a step back closer to my car. If he’s willing to talk about it, I’m willing to ask. “You don’t run into someone who tells you their girlfriend broke up with them and then she’s murdered. Are you a suspect?”

I want to tell him anyone with a lavender aura couldn’t kill a spider, but I don’t I stay on guard.

“I don’t think so. At least no one’s come to see me.” He looks off into the distance. “I have my suspicions, but I’ll leave it up to the police.” His eyes dip. “Do I know you?”

Shit! Shit!

“A…no.” I change back to my girly voice and open my car door to retrieve my phone. I have to change the subject. I quickly dial Erin’s phone number. “I walk the park.”

“I swear I’ve heard your voice.” Michael inquisitively looks me over. Now I know it’s time to get out of here. If he recognizes me as Jenn from Splitsville.com, he’ll know this isn’t a coincidental meeting.

“Hi, I need you to pick me up at Pleasant Ridge Park.” Erin tries to ask questions as to why I’m out at 7:30 in the morning when I never get up any earlier than 10 a.m. “I’ll explain when you get here. Come
now
.”

I turn back around coming face to face with Michael.

“I swear I know you.” His eyes narrow and he scratches his head. “But where?”

“No, nope you don’t.” I shake my head. God Erin, hurry up. I rock back and forth on my heels out of nervousness and look side to side for any sign of Erin’s car.

“Where do you work?”

“Daycare,” I blurt out the only job I’ve never tried. All those little auras running around would give me vertigo. I wouldn’t last a day.

“Hmm.” Michael rubs his chin like he isn’t buying it. “So you’ve got a ride?”

Relief flows through my veins as slick as blood. “Yes. I’m just going to wait inside.” I open my door.

“One more question.” My stomach churns when I turn back to face him. He points to Belle who’s biting my feet. “Do you always come to the park in pink fuzzy slippers?”

I look down, flustered. Sure enough, my toes wiggle inside the fluffy slippers. “Uh, um. . .good-bye,” I blurt out and shut the door on him. I don’t have to answer him.

I did what I came to do. Read his aura. I’m just glad it’s telling me he’s not Dabi’s murderer. I turn back to look at Michael walking to the park as if everything with the world is okay.

***

“God what took you so long?” I grit my teeth.

She doesn’t answer.

“You okay?” I ask Erin once I gather all my stuff from my car and put it in hers. “Are you mad that I woke you up?”

“No,” she finally says. She starts driving, her hands gripping the steering wheel. “Kent and I had a fight last night.”

I seize the opening. “Well, his aura. . .”

“Don’t start with that aura stuff Olivia. I’m not in the mood. His 
aura
 is fine.” She tears up. Her voice breaks, then she says, “We went out for a drink last night. I came out of the bar bathroom and this girl. . .this girl said something about him only dating women for their money. Then she slapped him!”

“For their money?” I’m not really surprised. It’s the story of Erin’s life. Though I wish I was wrong. That explains a lot of Kent’s aura color and changes.

She stops at the red light, turns to me with furrowed brows and says, “Don’t even think he’s dating me because of my money. That’s what he wanted to talk to me about when we left the Spring Fling.” She speeds the car up.

I’m cautious with the words I chose. “So initially he sought you out because of your money and then changed?” Yea,
right
! If only she’d listen to what I see.

Erin’s quiet personality begins to seep through and a tear trickles down her cheek.

“That’s what the fight was about. He said he wasn’t a grifter anymore and was trying to change his ways.” Her sad eyes want to believe him and every word he says. “I just don’t understand why a man would do something like that.”

I do. I break up with on people on Splitsville.com for this same reason. Only Kent seems to be dating women for their money as a job. I think about the dumpee Mac. Carla dumped him for being a freeloader. It's an epidemic. What happened to the man taking care of the woman?