Chapter 13
The next night, at seven, The Bordeline parking lot was packed. Nudge and I convinced her parents to let us go out to celebrate, but we had other plans in mind.
Tuesday was Fang's night off, and Nudge had put it into my head that it would be the perfect time to interrogate his coworkers. I envisioned myself sashaying up to the bar, giving the bartender a coy Lissa The Slut look, then segueing to the topic of Fang. I needed his home address. I needed any prior arrests. I needed to know if he had a connection to the guy in the ski mask, no matter how tenuous. And I needed to figure out why the guy in the ski mask and the mysterious girl were in my life.
I fingered my pocket making sure my list of interrogation questions were there. One side of the list dealt with questions about Fang's personal life. The flip side had flirting prompts. Just in case. Nudge even asked me to get some purple highlights. Mom gave me permission after asking her a million times. I was gonna do blue but purple is fine.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," she said. "What is that?"
"Nothing," I said, folding the list.
Nudge tried to grab the list, but I was faster and had it crammed deep in my pocket before she could get to it.
"Rule number one," Nudge said. "There is no such thing as notes in flirting."
I rolled my eyes and told her what they were. She nodded in approval. She reached behind her and grabbed a skirt, and stiletto heels. Oh god.
"The hell is that?" I asked.
"Stilettos," she squealed.
"I can't walk in high heels," I reminded her.
"Good thing they're not high, then."
"They look high," I said, eying the protruding stiletto.
"Almost five inches. They left 'high' behind at four."
Lovely. If I didn't break my neck, I just might get to humiliate myself while seducing secrets out of Fang's coworkers.
"Here's the deal," said Nudge as we strode down the sidewalk to the front doors. "I sort of invited a couple of people. The more the merrier, right?"
"Who?" I asked, feeling the dark stirrings of foreboding in the pit of my stomach.
"Hunter and Dylan," she coughed out.
Before I had time to tell Nudge exactly how bad I thought this idea was, she said, "Moment of truth: I've sort of been seeing Hunter. On the sly."
I blinked. "What?"
"You should see his house. Bruce Wayne can't compete. His parents are either South American drug lords or come from serious old money. Since I haven't met them yet, I can't say which."
I was at a loss for words. My mouth opened and shut, but nothing came out. "When did this happen?" I finally managed to ask.
"Pretty much right after that fateful morning at Enzo's."
"Fateful? Nudge, you have no idea—"
"I hope they got here first and reserved a table," Nudge said, stretching her neck while eyeing the crowd accumulating around the doors. "I don't want to wait. I am seriously two thin minutes away from death by starvation."
I grabbed Nudge by her good elbow, pulling her aside. "There's something I need to tell you—"
"I know, I know," she said. "You think there's a slim chance Dylan attacked me Sunday night. Well, I think you've got Dylan confused with Fang. And after you do some sleuthing tonight, the facts will back me up. Believe me, I want to know who attacked me just as much as you. Probably even more. It's personal now. And while we're handing each other advice, here's mine. Stay away from Fang. Just to be safe."
"Nudge I can handle myself, remember? If he wants trouble, he'll get some," I sighed.
"Besides I found an article on-"
The doors to the Borderline opened. A fresh wave of heat, carrying the smell of limes and cilantro, swirled out at us, along with the sound of a mariachi band playing through the speakers.
"Welcome to the Borderline," a hostess greeted us. "Just the two of you tonight?"
Dylan was standing behind her inside the dimmed foyer. We saw each other at the same moment. His mouth smiled but his eyes did not. I narrowed my eyes at him and cracked my knuckles. Fear shone in his eyes for second, until he looked down. Yeah watch your back buddy…
He walked over to us. "Hello ladies," he greeted. "Looking magnificent, as always."
I rolled my eyes in response and gave him the finger when Nudge blushed and looked down.
"Where's your partner in crime?" Nudge asked, glancing around the foyer. Paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, and a mural of a Mexican pueblo spanned two walls. The waiting benches were filled to capacity. There was no sign of Hunter.
"Bad news," said Dylan. "The man is sick. You're going to have to settle for me."
"Sick?" Nudge demanded. "How sick? What kind of excuse is sick?"
"Sick as in it's coming out both ends."
Nudge scrunched her nose. "Too much information."
I was still having a difficult time grasping the idea that something was going on between Nudge and Hunter
Hunter came across sullen, brooding, and completely disinterested in Nudge's company or anyone else's.
Not one part of me felt comfortable with the idea of Nudge spending time alone with Hunter. Not necessarily because of how unpleasant he was or how little I knew about him, but because of the one thing I did know: He was close friends with the walking dick.
The hostess plucked three menus out of a slotted cubbyhole and led us to a booth so close to the kitchen I could feel the fire of the ovens coming through the walls. To our left was the salsa bar. To our right glass doors moist with condensation led out to a patio.
"Is this good?" the hostess asked, gesturing at the booth.
"It's great," Dylan said, shrugging out of his bomber jacket. "I love this place. If the room doesn't make you sweat, the food will."
The hostess's smile lit up. "You've been here before. Can I start you with chips and our newest jalapeño salsa? It's our hottest yet."
"I like things hot," said Dylan.
I was pretty sure he was being slimy. I'd been way too generous in thinking he wasn't as low as Lissa.
The hostess swept him an appraising once over. "I'll be right back with chips and salsa. Your waitress will be here shortly to take your orders."
Nudge plopped into the booth first. I slid in beside her, and Dylan took the seat across from me. Our eyes connected, and there was a fleck of something dark in his. Very likely resentment. Maybe even hostility. I gave him my death glare, and clenched my jaw.
I wondered if he knew I'd seen the article.
"Purple is your color, Nora," he said, nodding at my highlights. I nodded gratefully, when I really wasn't.
Nudge nudged my foot. She actually thought he meant it as a compliment.
"So," I said to Dylan with an artificial smile, "why don't you tell us about Kinghorn Prep?"
"Yeah," Nudge chimed in. "Are there secret societies there? Like in the movies?"
"What's to tell?" Dylan said. "Great school. End of story." He picked up his menu and scanned it. "Anyone interested in an appetizer? My treat."
"If it's so great, why did you transfer?" I met his eyes and held them. Ever so slightly, I arched my eyebrows, challenging.
A muscle in Dylan's jaw jumped just before he cracked a smile. "The girls. I heard they were a lot finer around these parts. The rumor proved true." He winked at me, and I scoffed.
"How about Hunter? Why didn't he transfer as well?" frowned Nudge.
"Hunter's parents are obsessed with his education. Intense doesn't begin to cover it. I swear on my life, he's going all the way to the top. The guy can't be stopped. I mean, I confess, I do okay in school. Better than most. But nobody tops Hunter. He's an academic god."
The dreamy look returned to Nudge's eyes. "I've never met his parents," she said. "Both times I've gone over, they're either out of town or working."
"They work a lot," Dylan agreed, returning his eyes to the menu, making it hard for me to read anything in them.
"Where do they work?" I asked. Crossing my arms over my chest.
He took a long drink of his water. It seemed to me like he was buying time while he devised an answer. "Diamonds. They spend a lot of time in Africa and Australia."
"I didn't know Australia was big in the diamond business," I said.
"Yeah, neither did I," said Nudge.
In fact, I was pretty sure Australia had no diamonds. Period.
"Why are they living in Maine?" I asked. "Why not Africa?"
Dylan studied his menu more intensely. "What are you both having? I'm thinking the steak fajitas look good."
"If Hunter's parents are in the diamond business, I bet they know a lot about choosing the perfect engagement ring," Nudge said. "I've always wanted an emerald cut solitaire."
I smiled at Nudge. She is full of it sometimes…
Our waitress paused at the end of the table long enough to ask, "Anything to drink?"
Elliot looked over the top of his menu, first at me, then at Nudge.
"Diet Coke," Nudge said.
"Water with lime wedges, please," I said.
The waitress returned amazingly quickly with our drinks. Her return was my cue to leave the table and initiate step one of the Plan, and Nudge reminded me with a second under the table prod from her fork.
"Nudge," I said through my teeth, "would you like to accompany me to the ladies' room?" I suddenly didn't want to go through with the Plan. I didn't want to leave her alone with Dylan. What I did want was to drag her out, tell her about the murder investigation, then find some way to make both Dylan and Hunter disappear from our lives.
"Why don't you go alone?" said Nudge. "I think that would be a better plan." She jerked her head at the bar and mouthed Go, while making discreet shooing motions below the table.
"I was planning on going alone, but I'd really like you to join me."
"What is it with girls?" Dylan said, splitting a smile between us. "I swear, I've never known a girl who could go to the bathroom alone." He leaned forward and grinned conspiratorially. "Let me in on the secret. Seriously. I'll pay you five bucks each." He reached for his back pocket. "Ten, if I can come along and see what the big deal is."
Nudge flashed a grin. "Pervert. Don't forget these," she told me, stuffing a black grocery bag in my arms.
Dylan's eyebrows lifted. I fake laughed.
"None of your business, buddy boy," I said. I got up, my arms loaded with costume gear, and swallowed my burning frustration.
After I got to the restroom, I changed into a miniskirt, and the stiletto heels, a black tank top and did my hair in a bun so the purple highlights were more visible. I put on some really dark sunglasses and walked out.
Two minutes later I eased myself on top of a bar stool at the bar.
The bartender eyed me. "Sixteen?" he guessed. "Seventeen?"
He looked about ten years older than me and had receding brown hair that he wore shaved close. A silver hoop hung from his right earlobe. White T -shirt and Levi's. Not bad looking…not great, either.
"I'm not an underage drinker," I called loudly above the music and surrounding conversation. "I'm waiting for a friend. I've got a great view of the doors here." I retrieved the list of questions from my miniskirt back pocket and covertly positioned the paper under a glass salt shaker. I am so killing Nudge later.
"What's that?" the bartender asked, wiping his hands on a towel and nodding at the list.
I slid the list farther under the salt shaker. "Nothing," I said, all innocence.
He raised an eyebrow.
I decided to be loose with the truth. "It's a…shopping list. I have to pick up some groceries for my mom on the way home." What happened to flirting? I asked myself. What happened to Lissa?
He gave me a scrutinizing look that I decided wasn't all negative. "After working this job for five years, I'm pretty good at spotting liars."
"I'm not a liar," I said. "Maybe I was lying a moment ago, but it was just one lie. One little lie doesn't make a liar."
"You look like a reporter," he said.
"I work for my high school's eZine." I wanted to shake myself. Reporters didn't instill trust in people.
People were generally suspicious of reporters. "But I'm not working tonight," I amended quickly.
"Strictly pleasure tonight. No business. No underlying agendas. None whatsoever."
After a count of silence I decided the best move was to plow ahead. I cleared my throat and said, "Is the Borderline a popular place of employment for high school students?"
"We get a lot of those, yeah. Hostesses and busboys and the like."
"Really?" I said, feigning surprise. "Maybe I know some of them. Try me."
The bartender angled his eyes toward the ceiling and scratched the stubble on his chin. His blank stare wasn't inspiring my confidence. Not to mention that I didn't have a lot of time. Dylan could be slipping lethal drugs into Nudge's Diet Coke.
"How about Fang Walker?" I asked. "Does he work here?"
"Fang? Oh yeah he does. Some nights and some weekends too."
"Was he working Sunday night?" I tried not to sound too curious. But I needed to know if it was possible for Fang to have been at the pier. He said he had a party on the coast, but maybe his plans had changed. If someone verified that he was at work Sunday evening, I could rule out his involvement in the attack on Nudge.
"Sunday?" More scratching." The nights blur together. Try the hostesses. One of them will remember. They all giggle and go a little screwy when he's around." He smiled as if I might somehow sympathize with them.
I said, "You wouldn't happen to have access to his job application?" Including his home address.
"That would be a no."
"Just out of curiosity," I said, "do you know if it's possible to get hired here if you have a felony on your record?"
"A felony?" He gave a bark of laughter. "You kidding me?"
"Okay, maybe not a felony, but how about a misdemeanor?"
He spread his palms on the counter and leaned close. "No." His tone had shifted from humoring to insulted.
"That's good. That's really good to know." I repositioned myself on the bar stool, and felt the skin on my thighs peel away from the vinyl. I consulted my list.
"Do you know if Fang has ever had any restraining orders? Does he have a history of stalking?" I suspected the bartender was getting a bad vibe from me, and I decided to throw all my questions out in a last ditch effort before he sent me away from the bar—or worse, had me evicted from the restaurant for harassment and suspicious behavior. "Does he have a girlfriend?" I blurted. Oh hell…
"Go ask him," he said.
I blinked. "He's not working tonight."
At the bartender's grin, my stomach seemed to unravel.
"He's not working tonight…is he?" I asked, my voice inching up an octave. "He's supposed to have Tuesdays off!"
"Usually, yeah. But he's covering for Benji. Benji went to the hospital. Ruptured appendix."
"You mean to tell me that idiot is here right now?" I asked. I looked over my shoulder, scanning for him.
"He walked back to the kitchen a couple minutes ago."
I was already disengaging myself from the bar stool. "I think I left my car running. But it was great talking to you!" I hurried as quickly as I could to the restrooms.
I undid my hair and put away my sunglasses. I splashed some cold water on my face and took in deep breaths.
Secretive people didn't like their lives pried into. How would he react when he learned I was holding him under a magnifying glass?
And now I wondered why I'd come here at all, since deep inside, I didn't believe Fang was the guy behind the ski mask. Maybe he had dark, disturbing secrets, but running around in a ski mask wasn't one of them.
I turned off the tap, and when I looked up, Fang's face was reflected in the mirror. I jumped and swung around.
He wasn't smiling, and he didn't look particularly amused.
"What are you doing here?" I snarled. I put my walls back.
"I work here."
"I mean here. Can't you read? The sign on the door—"
"I'm starting to think you're following me. Every time I turn around, there you are."
"I wanted to take Nudge out," I explained. "She's been in the hospital." I sounded defensive. I was certain that only made me look more guilty. "I never dreamed I'd run into you. It's supposed to be your night off. And what are you talking about? Every time I turn around, there you are."
Fang's eyes were sharp, intimidating, extracting. They calculated my every word, my every movement.
"Purple highlights?" he raised his eyebrows.
"Nudge begged me to," I lied.
"Want to explain where you've been? You missed the last two days of school." I changed the conversation.
I was almost certain Fang wouldn't reveal his whereabouts, but he said, "Playing paintball. What were you doing at the bar?"
"Talking with the bartender. Is that a crime?" Balancing one hand against the counter, I raised my foot to unbuckle a heel. I bent over slightly, and as I did, the interrogation list fluttered out of my pocket and onto the floor.
I went down on my knees for it, but the ass was faster. He held it over his head while I jumped for it.
"Give it back!" I said.
" 'Does he have a restraining order against him?'" he read. " 'Is Fang a felon?'"
"Give—me—that!" I hissed furiously.
Fang gave a soft laugh, and I knew he'd seen the next question. " 'Does Fang have a girlfriend?' "
He put the paper in his back pocket. I was sorely tempted to go after it, despite its location. I did something unexpected. I slapped him. On the cheek. After a few minutes he recovered and rubbed his cheek. If I were wearing other clothes I would so beat him up.
He leaned back against the counter and leveled our eyes. "If you're going to dig around for information, I'd prefer that you ask me."
I snorted and rolled my eyes. "Those questions"—I waved where he'd hidden them—"were a joke. Nudge wrote them," I added in a flash of inspiration. "It's all her fault."
"I know your handwriting, Max."
I shrugged, hunting for a smart reply, but I took too long and lost my chance.
"No restraining orders," he said. "No felonies."
I tilted my chin up. "Girlfriend?" I told myself I didn't care how he answered. Either way was fine with me.
"That's none of your business."
"You tried to kiss me," I reminded him and shoved his chest. "You made it my business."
The ghost of a pirate smile lurked at his mouth. I got the impression he was recalling every last detail of that near kiss, including my sigh slash moan.
"Ex -girlfriend," he said after a moment.
My stomach dropped as a sudden thought popped into my mind. What if the girl from Delphic and Victoria's Secret was Fang's ex? What if she saw me talking to Fang at the arcade and— mistakenly—assumed there was a lot more to our relationship? If she was still attracted to Fang, it made sense that she might be jealous enough to follow me around. A few puzzle pieces seemed to fall into place…
And then Fang said, "But she's not around."
"What do you mean she's not around?"
"She's gone. She's never coming back."
"You mean…she's dead?" I asked.
He didn't deny it. I took a step back and glared at him. I hadn't expected this. Fang had a girlfriend, and now she was dead.
The door to the ladies' room rattled as someone tried to enter. I'd forgotten I'd locked it. Which made me wonder how Fang got in. Either he had a key, or there was another explanation. An explanation I probably didn't want to think about, such as gliding under the door like air. Like smoke.
"I need to get back to work," Fang said. He gave me a once over that lingered a bit below the hips.
"Killer skirt. Deadly legs." I rolled my eyes, but he didn't see. He left. I changed into my old clothes and threw the other ones in the trash. The older woman waiting for admittance looked at me, then over her shoulder at Fang, who was vanishing down the hall. "Honey," she told me, "he looks slippery as soap."
"Good description," I mumbled.
She fluffed her short, corkscrew gray hair. "A girl could lather up in soap like that."
I returned to the booth and slid in beside Nudge. Dylan checked his watch and lifted his eyebrows at me.
"Sorry I was gone so long," I said. "Did I miss anything?"
"Nope," said Nudge. "Same old, same old." She bumped my knee, and the question was implied. Well?
Before I could return the bump, Dylan said, "You missed the waitress. I ordered you a red burrito." A creepy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. I saw my chance.
"Actually, I'm not sure I'm up to eating." I managed a nauseated face that wasn't altogether contrived.
"I think I caught what Hunter has."
"Oh, man," Nudge said. "Are you okay?"
I shook my head.
"I'll hunt down our waitress and get her to box the food," Nudge suggested, digging in her purse for keys.
"What about me?" said Dylan, sounding only half joking.
"Rain check?" Nudge said. I nodded in agreement and mouthed Later, dumbass, at him.
His eyes twitched. And we continued walking.