1 Hot Scheming Mess (7 page)

She felt heartsick at the violence she was doing to the tool shed that had held so many innocent secrets of her youth. Many childhood fantasies had been played out in here. But it seemed this place had been hiding other secrets, too.

Finally, the box was free. It did not appear to have ever been moved, and it was slightly buckled inward at the top from the weight of all those years. Madison picked it up and noticed that although its dimensions seemed the same as the grey builders blocks that held up the shelves, it was not as heavy. It had a latch on the side that had been facing the wall.

Holding the box, she had to balance herself as she stepped across the debris toward the door, her long dress snagging and getting caught as she tried to whip it free in her hurry. She ran back to the house. She had been gone maybe five minutes.

She burst back into the house, running into the living room where she had left Grandpa. The stranger now had hands and ankles securely duct taped so that it would be nearly impossible for him to get up or leave without assistance. Grandpa was kneeling beside him, adding more duct tape around his knees when Madison ran in, breathing fast. Grandpa looked at her with deep worry. “Why haven’t you left?”

“Is this,” she gulped for air, “the box?”

“Yes! Madison!” She recognized his impatient tone as he stood up, wincing, stooped over as he rubbed a knee, “You should be leaving!”

She interrupted him, “I have to know one thing.” She tried to steady her breathing. “Are you dying?”

He stared at her, trying to comprehend. “Was my fighting that pathetic?” He drew himself up to his full six-foot-two height.

“What? No!” said Madison. “No, you were amazing!”

“I know I’ve aged, but—”

“You were kicking ass!” said Madison.

“… I thought I held my own pretty good there,” he said. “Who knew I could last that long—”

“I mean it was old ass, but that’s okay because, you know—”

“…with a trained—” he stopped, looked at her, and asked, “What do you mean ‘old’ ass?” he asked.

“A trained what?” she asked.

He stopped, and panic returned to his eyes. “Baby girl, you still know how to derail my thoughts.”

“You knew something bad was coming, didn’t you?”

“What? No. I mean, not till a few weeks ago. They hacked in and found me.” His frustration mounted. “You have to go! You’ll be safe if they don’t know about you!”

“Who? Hacked… what, that thing with the UW? What’s going on?”

She saw fear in his eyes. He seemed about to say something but then shook his head.

She pressed in. “You have to tell me what—”

“I can’t! Not yet. But I will.”

He put his hands on her shoulders and searched her eyes. “Baby girl, can you do what I’m asking while I go get help?” She stared at him, then nodded her head in fast tiny movements, fighting tears. She looked at his scratched face and wondered for the first time who he was. Old folks had an entire past locked away in their heads, and just when you thought you knew them, something new came out and threw you. It might be something funny or a story of some adventure they once had. But sometimes, it could be something dark. She braced herself for what his answer would be, as she asked, “What were you before you were a gardener?”

Exasperated, he answered, “An unemployed teenager! Please, Madison!”

“Okay, okay! But promise me,” she pleaded, “you’ll tell me everything?”

“I promise.”

A muffled grunt came from the floor. The bound stranger was awake and looking up at them with seething anger. But when his gaze fell on Madison’s eyes, he locked on them in seeming shock.

“Get out of here!” Her grandfather pushed her away. She gripped the box and struggled not to stumble on her long dress as she ran across the room and grabbed the doorknob. She looked back one more time. The stranger’s eyes had followed her all the way to the door. His eyes seemed to be creased at the corners.
Is he smiling?

She ran out.

Dashing to her car in the driveway, she saw nothing but the ground her slippered feet pounded over, holding her long dress up with one hand while holding the metal box under her arm. She fumbled the car door open and threw the box in. It collided with the paper bag containing the whole grain raisin roll. Jumping behind the steering wheel, she slammed the car door closed on a big fold of her dress. In her panic the coffee in the car’s cup holder was bumped and it sloshed on her dress.

She punched the accelerator as she backed out of the driveway, swinging the steering wheel wild, the back end of her car just clipping the edge of another car parked along the curb. A woman behind the steering wheel was opening her door just as her car was jostled a few inches with the sound of tiny broken glass. Madison ignored it and screeched out of there.

She didn’t notice her surroundings for a few blocks. A day that had started out with so much hope and resolve was fast disappearing in her rearview mirror. She stole a glance at the old metal box on the seat next to her. A corner of the smashed raisin roll bag underneath the box stuck out from the side. How could this box not be one ugly piece of bad news, waiting for her to find out? Her attention to traffic was sporadic, and she had to hit the brakes hard at one point, sending the box down with a muffled thud as it hit the carpeted floorboard. She was dying to know what was in it but also frightened to find out.

Perhaps Grandpa, like many men, had sown some wild oats in his youth? He didn’t want the police involved. And come on, no one would want controlling, know-it-all Ann involved.

Obviously, he’d been hiding something in the box from the tool shed. A box that for many years he’d felt no need to get into and no need to get rid of. And she had to face it; it was never a good sign to see someone duct taping an unconscious man, although she had to admit she didn’t have any kind thoughts for the man with the salt and pepper unibrow. Seeing him hit her grandfather had brought out a side of her that was new. It scared her. But uncomfortable or not, she would hit him with a drill again if he tried to hurt her grandfather.

What haunted her was that Grandpa had gestured to the unibrow man saying that he’d been used, too, indicating that they’d both been blackmailed. By whom and for what?

Her only knowledge of Grandpa was her ordinary life with him. He was always willing to listen to her hare-brained ideas, her mad schemes. At the age of thirteen, when Madison had discovered the joy of the performing arts, she had thrown her schooling to the wind. Ann, working for the FBI, was stationed in Philadelphia at the time and was furious over the news of Madison’s plummeting GPA, but Grandpa was there to promise Ann it was temporary, and he then made it clear to Madison that taking school seriously was like a voucher she could cash in for his support. He kept tabs on her homework and drove her to auditions and rehearsals. He paid for dance lessons, costumes, acting classes, and most importantly he attended every ridiculous show she had been in.

When she’d gotten older she’d discovered camera work in a few commercials and bit parts, and some real money started to come in. But it wasn’t steady work, and Madison hadn’t found a way yet where she could relax and enjoy life. Life was a series of small paychecks and the occasional big one. She hadn’t been able to admit it to herself until this morning. But turning her life around would have to wait. Grandpa needed her and she wanted to be there for him the way he had always been there for her.

Right now, she needed to keep an iron grip on her composure. She finally started making turns in traffic on purpose and drove home. She swung into the parking lot of her new apartment complex and wondered when she would stop thinking of it as new. She parked, grabbed the metal box and her purse, and ran into her apartment building. She rushed down the hallway toward the stairwell with images of the fist fight returning to her as she bounded up the stairs to the second floor. She had no idea that old men could get so fierce with each other. The desperation and passion with which they had fought was truly frightening. She had been shocked to see that her grandfather could fight like that. He had a mean right. Who knew? Must be all the landscaping work keeping him strong. But what had made the stakes so high for them both? The mystery of it all drove her nuts, and was really starting to piss her off.

She reached her floor and hurried towards her door. She just might make it inside without having a breakdown out here in the hallway. She dug out her key and jammed it in her doorknob.

That’s when Toonie’s door opened up and Toonie stepped out and said, “Hey, I saw you pull up outside and I just wanted to say—”

Slam! Madison made it inside. She hurried into the living room, sat down on the floor with the box, and stared at it.

Now what?

It was covered in a lot of dust and gave off a mottled rusty mud color, except for the top. The top was a clean dark grey since that was where the shelf had sat for so long and had kept years of dust off of it.

I totally trust Grandpa. Totally. He’ll call and explain everything.
She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and looked at the time on it. She waited an eternal thirty seconds. Then she set about trying to figure out how to break into the box. She grabbed the latch and tried to force it open. She wiggled it hard and hit it with her fist a few times.
Damned thing is probably rusted shut.

Just then Toonie pounded on the door and her muffled voice yelled, “I realize that you’ve returned to being rude again, so it’s hard to do you any favors. But you might want to know that someone is breaking into your car right now.”

What?
Disbelieving, Madison got up and went to her window. Down in the sunny parking lot she saw long slender legs attached to a shapely bottom in a black pencil skirt bent over and sticking out from the open door of Madison’s car. A woman was rummaging around in the glove compartment.

Madison muttered, “What the hell?”

Chapter Eight

After everything that had happened in the last few hours, Madison flew into a rage at this final indignity, went tearing out of her apartment door, and slammed headlong into ExBoy.

“Uuff!” she yelled into his chest, as he stumbled back in surprise, just managing to catch her before she could fall. “Whoa there, what’s going—” he started to ask. She regained her balance and broke loose. “Not now!” she cried as she ran down the hall.

She hiked her skirt up, her anger propelling her into the stairwell and down each step. The last thing she needed right now was complications. And ExBoy was a complicated part of her life.

She jumped the last few steps to the bottom, then flew out of the building into the parking lot. But by the time she got out there the woman was gone. Madison looked left and right, trying to understand what had just happened. How did the woman disappear so fast?

Her anger had made her willing to face anything. But now that she stood here, alone, her mind filled in the holes that her haste had ignored. The memory came rushing back to her that she had clipped a car in front of Grandpa’s house and a woman had been behind the wheel. Her indignation melted as fear took its place. The whole time Madison was driving around, trying to figure out what to do, that woman had been following her. She had this one lousy task of hiding the box and already she was screwing it up.

She checked inside her car to see if anything looked missing. Nope. All the trash was still there. At the very least, the would-be thief could have taken some, just to be polite. She checked in her glove compartment. Everything looked fine. She slammed it shut and saw her tote bag on the floor, with the balloon pump sticking out. Realization sank in on her.
The birthday gig! Oh my God, I no-showed!

Standing there, a filthy fairy godmother with a supreme case of paranoia, she was at a loss as to how she would explain this to Phil her agent. Some angry mother was probably on the phone chewing him out right now. Jobs were scarce enough without pissing off her agent. And Phil found ways of making you pay for it.

Someone, please just shoot me now.

At the very least, Phil needed a chance to call the client with an apology that things had not worked out in time. Maybe try to save the job with an offer like “The fairy godmother just died, but I have a clown who can be there in an hour.” Clients could be pretty understanding if given a little explanation.

She needed to call Phil immediately.

Her cell phone was back in her living room, so she snatched her tote bag and the sad little paper bag with the smashed whole grain raisin roll out of the car and ran across the parking lot back up to her apartment.

She just needed to think of an explanation as she ran. In her mind she offered varying explanations but none of them sounded right.

“Phil, I’ve been vomiting nonstop since dawn!”

No. I’ve used that one before.

She reached the stairs and took them two at a time.

“Phil, there were vicious foaming dogs in their driveway, trying to attack me through the car window!”

No. Phil loves dogs.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she ran down the hallway to her door.

“Phil, dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course I did the gig. What? They told you I never showed? Why those awful people.”

She ran into her apartment and found ExBoy standing in her living room holding the box, shaking it and…
smelling it?

“What are you
doing
?” she screamed.

He was so startled he dropped the box with a loud clang and the lid popped open. In a panic, Madison ran and dove on top of it protecting it with her arms, her body splayed out flat on the floor. She yelled, “Would you please just go?” She was terrified of what might have fallen out. Body parts? Counterfeit money? Vintage girly magazines? She made sure the lid was closed but not enough to lock.

“After I get my lucky t-shirt back. I need it for the convention. And then we need to talk.” He walked off into the bedroom.

Incredulous, she called, “What lucky t-shirt?”

From the bedroom she heard, “The one I left here the day I helped you move?”