Hush, Hush Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT AT SEVEN, THE BORDERLINE’S parking lot was packed. After nearly
an hour of begging, Vee and I had convinced her parents that we needed to celebrate her first night out
of the hospital over chiles rellenos and virgin strawberry daiquiris. At least, that’s what we were
claiming. But we had an ulterior motive.
I tucked the Neon into a tight parking space and turned off the engine.
“Ew,” said Vee when I passed the keys back and my fingers brushed hers. “Think you could sweat a
little more?”
“I’m nervous.”
“Gee, I had no clue.”
I inadvertently looked at the door.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Vee said, tightening her lips. “And the answer is no. No as in no way.”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” I said.
Vee vised my arm. “The heck I don’t.”
“I wasn’t going to run,” I said. “Not me.”
“Liar.”
Tuesday was Patch’s night off, and Vee 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
Marcie Millar look, then segueing to the topic of Patch. 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 peeked inside my handbag, doublechecking
to make sure the list of interrogation questions I’d
prepared were still with me. One side of the list dealt with questions about Patch’s personal life. The
flip side had flirting prompts. Just in case.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Vee said. “What is that?”
“Nothing,” I said, folding the list.
Vee tried to grab the list, but I was faster and had it crammed deep in my handbag before she could get
to it.
“Rule number one,” Vee said. “There is no such thing as notes in flirting.”
“There’s an exception to every rule.”
“And you’re not it!” She grabbed two plastic 7Eleven
sacks from the backseat and swiveled out of the
car. As soon as I stepped out, she used her good arm to hurl the sacks over the top of the Neon at me.
“What’s this?” I asked, catching the sacks. The handles were tied and I couldn’t see inside, but the
unmistakable shaft of a stiletto heel threatened to poke through the plastic.
“Size eight and a half,” Vee said. “Sharkskin. It’s easier to play the part when you look the part.”
“I can’t walk in high heels.”
“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
Patch’s coworkers.
“Here’s the deal,” said Vee 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.
“Jules and Elliot.”
Before I had time to tell Vee exactly how bad I thought this idea was, she said, “Moment of truth: I’ve
sort of been seeing Jules. On the sly.”
“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? Vee, you have no idea—”
“I hope they got here first and reserved a table,” Vee said, stretching her neck while eying 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 Vee 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 Elliot attacked me Sunday night. Well, I
think you’ve got Elliot confused with Patch. 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 Patch. Just to
be safe.”
“I’m glad you’ve thought this through,” I said tersely, “but here’s the thing. I found an article—”
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?”
Elliot was standing behind her inside the dimmed foyer. We saw each other at the same moment. His
mouth smiled but his eyes did not.
“Ladies,” he said, sanding his hands together as he walked over. “Looking magnificent, as always.”
My skin prickled.
“Where’s your partner in crime?” Vee 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 Jules.
“Bad news,” said Elliot. “The man is sick. You’re going to have to settle for me.”
“Sick?” Vee demanded. “How sick? What kind of excuse is sick?”
“Sick as in it’s coming out both ends.”
Vee scrunched her nose. “Too much information.”
I was still having a difficult time grasping the idea that something was going on between Vee and Jules.
Jules came across sullen, brooding, and completely disinterested in Vee’s company or anyone else’s.
Not one part of me felt comfortable with the idea of Vee spending time alone with Jules. 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 Elliot.
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. My poplin blouse was already clinging to my
back. My sweat might have had more to do with the news about Vee and Jules than with the heat,
however.
“Is this good?” the hostess asked, gesturing at the booth.
“It’s great,” Elliot 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 Elliot.
I was pretty sure he was being slimy. I’d been way too generous in thinking he wasn’t as low as Marcie.
I’d been way too generous about his character, period. Especially now that I knew he had a murder
investigation hiding along with who knew how many other skeletons in his closet.
The hostess swept him an appraising onceover.
“I’ll be right back with chips and salsa. Your waitress
will be here shortly to take your orders.”
Vee plopped into the booth first. I slid in beside her, and Elliot 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 wondered if he knew I’d seen the article.
“Purple is your color, Nora,” he said, nodding at my scarf as I loosened it from my neck and tied it
around the handle of my handbag. “Brightens your eyes.”
Vee nudged my foot. She actually thought he meant it as a compliment.
“So,” I said to Elliot with an artificial smile, “why don’t you tell us about Kinghorn Prep?”
“Yeah,” Vee chimed in. “Are there secret societies there? Like in the movies?”
“What’s to tell?” Elliot 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 Elliot’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 an icecold
feeling shot from my
head to my toes.
“Why didn’t Jules transfer too?” asked Vee. “We could have been the fabulous four, only with a lot
more punch. The phenomenal four.”
“Jules’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 Jules. He’s an academic god.”
The dreamy look returned to Vee’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,” Elliot agreed, returning his eyes to the menu, making it hard for me to read anything
in them.
“Where do they work?” I asked.
Elliot 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 Vee.
In fact, I was pretty sure Australia had no diamonds. Period.
“Why are they living in Maine?” I asked. “Why not Africa?”
Elliot studied his menu more intensely. “What are you both having? I’m thinking the steak fajitas look
good.”
“If Jules’s parents are in the diamond business, I bet they know a lot about choosing the perfect
engagement ring,” Vee said. “I’ve always wanted an emeraldcut
solitaire.”
I kicked Vee under the table. She jabbed me with her fork.
“Oww!” I said.
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 Vee.
“Diet Coke,” Vee 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 Vee reminded me with a second underthetable
prod from her fork.
“Vee,” 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 Vee alone with Elliot. What I did want
was to drag her out, tell her about the murder investigation, then find some way to make both Elliot and
Jules disappear from our lives.
“Why don’t you go alone?” said Vee. “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?” Elliot 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.”
Vee flashed a grin. “Pervert. Don’t forget these,” she told me, stuffing the 7Eleven
sacks into my arms.
Elliot’s eyebrows lifted.
“Trash,” Vee explained to him with a touch of snark. “Our garbage can is full. My mom asked if I could
throw these away since I was going out.”
Elliot didn’t look like he believed her, and Vee didn’t look like she cared. I got up, my arms loaded with
costume gear, and swallowed my burning frustration.
Weaving through the tables, I took the hall leading back to the restrooms. The hall was painted terracotta
and was decorated with maracas, straw hats, and wooden dolls. It was hotter back here, and I
wiped my forehead. The Plan now was to get this over with as quickly as possible. As soon as I was
back at the table, I’d formulate an excuse about needing to leave, and haul Vee out. With or without her
consent.
After peeking below the three stalls in the ladies’ room and confirming I was alone, I locked the main
door and dumped the contents of the 7Eleven
sacks onto the counter. One platinum blond wig, one
purple pushup
bra, one black tube top, one sequined miniskirt, hot pink fishnet tights, and one pair of
size eight and a half sharkskin stiletto heels.
I stuffed the bra, the tube top and the tights back inside the sacks. After sloughing off my jeans, I pulled
on the miniskirt. I tucked my hair under the wig and applied the lipstick. I topped it off with a generous
coat of highshine
lip gloss.
“You can do this,” I told my reflection, snapping the cap back on the gloss and blotting my lips
together. “You can pull a Marcie Millar. Seduce men for secrets. How hard can it be?”
I kicked off my driving mocs, stuffed them into a sack along with my jeans, then pushed the sack under
the counter, out of sight. “Besides,” I continued, “there’s nothing wrong with sacrificing a little pride
for the sake of intelligence. If you want to approach this with a morbid outlook, you could even say if
you don’t get answers, you could wind up dead. Because like it or not, someone out there means you
harm.”
I dangled the sharkskin heels in my line of vision. They weren’t the ugliest things I’d ever seen. In fact,
they could be considered sexy. Jaws meets Coldwater, Maine. I strapped myself into them and practiced
walking across the bathroom several times.
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 Tshirt
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
handbag and covertly positioned the paper under a glass salt shaker.
“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 Marcie Millar?
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. Elliot could be slipping
lethal drugs into Vee’s Diet Coke.
“How about Patch Cipriano?” I asked. “Does he work here?”
“Patch? Yeah. He works here. A couple nights, and weekends.”
“Was he working Sunday night?” I tried not to sound too curious. But I needed to know if it was
possible for Patch 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 Vee.
“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 was sweating. If rule number one of flirting was no lists, I was
fairly certain rule number two was no sweating.
I consulted my list.
“Do you know if Patch 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 lastditch
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.
“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 Patch is here? Right now?” I glanced over my shoulder, brushing the wig to cover my
profile while I scanned the dining area 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.
Inside the ladies’ room I locked the door behind me, drew a few breaths with my back pressed to the
door, then went to the sink and splashed cold water on my face. Patch was going to find out I’d spied on
him. My memorable performance guaranteed that. On the surface, this was a bad thing because it was,
well, humiliating. But when I thought about it, I had to face the fact that Patch was very secretive.
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 Patch 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, Patch’s face was reflected in the mirror. I shrieked and
swung around.
He wasn’t smiling, and he didn’t look particularly amused.
“What are you doing here?” I gasped.
“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 Vee 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.”
Patch’s eyes were sharp, intimidating, extracting. They calculated my every word, my every movement.
“Want to explain the tacky hair?” he said.
I yanked off the wig and tossed it on the counter. “Want to explain where you’ve been? You missed the
last two days of school.”
I was almost certain Patch 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 sharkskin heel. I bent over slightly, and as I did, the interrogation list fluttered out of my
neckline and onto the floor.
I went down on my knees for it, but Patch was faster. He held it over his head while I jumped for it.
“Give it back!” I said.
“ ‘Does Patch have a restraining order against him?’“ he read. “ ‘Is Patch a felon?’”
“Give—me—that!” I hissed furiously.
Patch gave a soft laugh, and I knew he’d seen the next question. “ ‘Does Patch have a girlfriend?’ “
Patch put the paper in his back pocket. I was sorely tempted to go after it, despite its location.
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.”
“Those questions”—I waved where he’d hidden them—“were a joke. Vee wrote them,” I added in a
flash of inspiration. “It’s all her fault.”
“I know your handwriting, Nora.”
“Well, okay, fine,” I began, 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. “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 sighslashmoan.
“Exgirlfriend,”
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 Patch’s ex? What if she saw me talking to Patch at the arcade and— mistakenly—
assumed there was a lot more to our relationship? If she was still attracted to Patch, it made sense that
she might be jealous enough to follow me around. A few puzzle pieces seemed to fall into place… .
And then Patch 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.
Patch didn’t deny it.
My stomach suddenly felt heavy and twisted. I hadn’t expected this. Patch 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 Patch 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,” Patch said. He gave me a onceover
that lingered a bit below the hips.
“Killer skirt. Deadly legs.”
Before I’d formed a single coherent thought, he was through the door.
The older woman waiting for admittance looked at me, then over her shoulder at Patch, 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.”
After I changed back into my clothes, I returned to the booth and slid in beside Vee. Elliot checked his
watch and lifted his eyebrows at me.
“Sorry I was gone so long,” I said. “Did I miss anything?”
“Nope,” said Vee. “Same old, same old.” She bumped my knee, and the question was implied. Well?
Before I could return the bump, Elliot 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 Jules has.”
“Oh, man,” Vee said. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head.
“I’ll hunt down our waitress and get her to box the food,” Vee suggested, digging in her purse for keys.
“What about me?” said Elliot, sounding only half joking.
“Rain check?” Vee said.
Bingo, I thought.