California Schemin' (18 page)

The corgis sprinted back and forth, running
ahead, then running back to us. I was happy to be in the open air
with no one watching me. Wendy was with me of her own free will and
didn’t have the need to keep me in her sights. The air was cool,
maybe fifty-five degrees, and I had only a sweatshirt to wear, but
we moved quickly, and I warmed up.

It took maybe ten minutes to walk to the dog
park. It was fenced along three sides to prevent dogs from taking
off after jackrabbits, was my guess, and keep the poop confined to
one area. There were trees planted along the fence between the dog
park and the kid park. The corgis sniffed and ran from place to
place while we stomped our feet and slapped our arms to keep from
going numb.

I turned and scanned the backs of the houses.
They all had walled yards, the same as the homes near the
senator’s. There was someone watching us from the house directly
behind the dog park. It had floor-to-ceiling windows like the
senator’s, and a person lurked behind the curtained French
doorway.

“Look,” I said, “someone is watching us.”

Wendy turned and took in the view.

“Must not have anything better to do than to
watch the people in the dog park all day,” she said.

“Maybe it’s the poop police checking to make
sure everyone picks up after their dogs.”

“There’s a great job, spying on the
neighbors.”

“I can think of about a million things I’d
rather do than that. Heck, I’d rather pick up the dog poop than spy
on the neighbors.”

“I think I’d draw the line at that,” she
said. “Picking up my own dogs’ poop is bad enough. I’m not
volunteering to pick up other people’s dog poop.”

“Or is it other people’s dogs’ poop?”

Wendy laughed. “Yeah, other people’s dogs’
poop.”

I watched the houses as we walked back. There
seemed to be people in most of them, either half-hidden in the
garden or peering out of a window. I got a shiver up my spine.

“Cold?” Wendy asked me.

“Yeah. Let’s get inside.”

Which was worse: the devil you knew or the
devil you didn’t?

The next morning I told Wallace I was ready
to ID the men. He smiled and told me he’d arrange a meeting as soon
as Fogel was free. I was sick with relief on one hand and anxiety
on the other. What if I couldn’t talk to an officer alone? What if
everything went irretrievably wrong?

I grabbed a book from the library and hid in
my room. Wendy brought me clean clothes, and I used up part of the
morning getting showered. I was antsy. I wanted to be on the move,
away from this house. Being patient was killing me.

Hammie knocked on the door in the afternoon
and asked if I wanted to come watch the football game. I declined;
I didn’t want to have to be friendly to Wallace, even if his
daughter was really very nice. I cracked the book but couldn’t
concentrate on the words, so I walked over to the window and looked
out on the day. Stinking Madison. Why did she have to give me back
to Hammie? It would have made life so much easier if she’d just
kept me.

I finally gave up planning my escape as a bad
job and went out to join the family around the big flat screen TV
in the living room. Moose was putting out snacks when I walked in.
He gave me a wink and a smile, and I found myself smiling back
despite myself. He was like a big goofy dog; I couldn’t help but
like him.

I squeezed myself in between Wendy and Hammie
on the big couch. Wallace was sitting on the love seat with Paris.
They were ignoring the game, heads bent together, chatting. If I’d
been Hammie, I would have been feeling pangs of jealousy, but he
was focused on the game and didn’t seem the least troubled by the
tête-à-tête
on the love seat.

I found I couldn’t really focus on the game.
Alabama was playing Florida, a mishmash of red and white guys
running around on the field. It’s not that I don’t like football. I
love to watch with a group of friends, but this felt awkward. I
thought Hammie was the only one watching the game, and I wasn’t
really sure about him. It was entirely possible he was playing
possum.

I got up and wandered into the kitchen. Moose
was sitting on a stool, watching the game on a screen that was
normally disguised as a painting.

“Hey,” I said. “How come you aren’t out there
with the rest of the Wallace retinue?”

“I’m not really comfortable hanging out with
the boss.” He shrugged. “Want something to drink?”

“Sure. Is there any soda? No, sit. I can get
it. I walked to the silver fridge, but Moose shook his head.

“That’s the food fridge. The beverages are in
a drawer under the counter, next to the ice machine.”

The glasses were in a cupboard next to the
sink. I filled one with ice and grabbed a soda out of the beverage
drawer.

“Since when do they refrigerate drawers?” I
asked. “This kitchen is wild.”

“Where you been? The rich and famous have had
cold drawers for years.”

“Not hanging out with the rich and famous,
obviously, but even the ritzy hotel I used to work for didn’t have
drink drawers. They put dorm fridges in the rooms.”

I popped the top on my soda and poured it
into the glass. It immediately foamed up, and I bent and sipped the
foam off the top.

“I always pour too much in. You’d think I’d
learn.”

“It’s habit. You do it the same way every
time without thinking. You want to change it, you have to focus on
it.”

“Guess I can’t be bothered to focus on a
soda.”

“You can try putting your finger in it when
it foams. Someone told me that works.”

“If I remember,” I said. I picked up my soda.
“I think I’ll take this back to my room. I’ve got faces to
memorize.”

“I don’t think you should be talking about
that. Be careful.”

“Wallace didn’t tell me not to talk, so I
assumed everyone in the house knew what was going on except Wendy.
I have the feeling he didn’t tell her the whole truth.”

“Probably not.”

“Who do you think did the actual
killing?”

“I don’t watch that show.” He looked around
and whispered in my ear. “You need to watch what you say. The walls
may not have ears, but they definitely have bugs. Wallace doesn’t
leave anything to chance.”

A puff of air escaped me. I wasn’t going to
be getting any information from Moose. I was pretty sure he was
some kind of agent, too, but maybe not. Do agents pretend to be
chefs? Probably, if it got them where they needed to be. The stool
tipped and righted itself as I slid to the floor. My glass had
started to sweat, and I grabbed a napkin to use as a coaster.

“Going back to your room? I’m thinking you
spend too much time alone in there.”

“Well, I can’t very well study those pictures
out here.”

I glanced back into the kitchen from the
hall. Moose was pulling Plexiglas parts out of a cabinet under the
island.

“What’s that?”

It’s a fountain. I’m going to put melted
chocolate in it. Serve pretzels and berries to dip in it. Fresh
pineapple slices. Stuff like that.”

“Where did you learn to cook?”

“Oh, you know. Took a crash course in
chauffeuring and cooking from the Chauffeuring and Cooking
Institute.” He laughed.

He got the fountain assembled, and I migrated
back into the kitchen, watching. He stuck chocolate into the
microwave to melt and started pulling trays of fruit out of the big
fridge.

“Did you prepare all that stuff?” I
asked.

“Nah.” Moose smiled. “Bought it like this
from the grocery store. No shortage of money in this house, so I
take the easy way.” He pulled packages of shortbread cookies and
pretzels out of the pantry and added sprinkles and doodads. Then he
carried the fountain out of the kitchen, presumably to put it on
the dining room table. I looked at the chocolate melting in the
microwave and was struck by a thought. I set my soda on the counter
and jogged down the hall to the bathroom.

The shelves in the medicine cabinet were
disappointing. Tums, Tylenol and toothpaste. Nothing useful. I ran
up the stairs to the master bedroom, crossing my fingers that
Wallace wouldn’t catch me there. I hit the jackpot. Chocolate
laxative, ipecac and diet pills. Stuffing the pockets of my jeans
with likely items, I looked further. Two bottles of Valium. Bingo!
Prescription drugs make me nervous, and I toyed with leaving them.
I slipped them in my pocket anyway, just in case.

Downstairs, I unloaded my pockets and shoved
everything under my pillow. I wandered back into the kitchen and
picked up my soda. Moose was stirring the melted chocolate.

“Not quite done,” he said and put the bowl
back in the microwave.

“Moose? Is there a computer where I can do
some shopping? I’d like some stuff, and I thought I could put some
stuff in a cart, and the senator could pay for it and have it
shipped. Do you think that would be all right?”

“Sure. See this cabinet over here?” He opened
what looked like a pantry. Inside was a laptop computer, a printer
on the shelf above and a scanner beside it. Three digital cameras
were plugged into their docks, all charged up and waiting for
someone to come along and use them.

“Thanks.” I sat down and pulled up the
website for Old Navy. I signed in and pulled up an old wish list.
There was enough stuff in the list to cover any need I might have
except underwear and bras, so I added the first matching cotton
bras and panties that came up on the search and saved the entire
wish list to my cart. I looked around. Moose was fussing with
burgers now, slicing tomatoes and flipping patties.

Leaving the cart showing to the side, I
opened a new page and pulled up a search engine. Keeping an eye on
Moose I searched the effects of the drugs I’d pilfered from the
medicine chest. Then on a whim I searched the combination of
laxatives and ipecac. Three minutes of reading convinced me that
the ipecac was going back in the cupboard. I wasn’t interested in
killing anybody. The laxatives and diet pills, however, had
definite possibilities.

I cleared the browser history, although it
was doubtful anyone would be looking for it until after I’d already
done the damage. I left the shopping cart up on the screen. If
things didn’t go the way I wanted, at least I’d have new
underwear.

Moose took a tray of fruit into the dining
room, and I helped myself to an extra large mug from the cabinet,
taking it down the hall and into my room. I locked myself in my
bathroom and unwrapped all the laxatives, shoving them into the
cup.

Trying to look as if nothing’s up when you’re
carrying around a mug full of stool softener isn’t easy. I felt a
complete fool, and my heart was banging away, making me feel
flustered. I smiled at Moose as he passed me with a bowl of chips
and hurried over to the microwave. I set the timer and nuked the
laxative. You can learn some very interesting things on the
web.

Moose came back in the kitchen as I was
pulling the mug from the microwave. I smiled at him, trying to look
innocent and feeling like a complete failure.

“Make yourself some hot chocolate?” he
asked.

“I hope that’s okay.”

“Sure. Make yourself at home.” He grabbed a
beer and headed for the living room.

I made my way into the dining room, admiring
the beautiful fountain and fruits. I snagged a piece of pineapple
and bit into it, wiping the juice from my face. I poured the melted
laxative into the fountain, snagged a strawberry and took the mug
into the kitchen. I rinsed it out and dried it. I wandered back
down the hall into my bathroom, trying to look inconspicuous and
probably failing horribly. Luckily no one came into the hall to see
me. After locking the door, I grabbed the diet pills and pried open
the capsules. I dumped the powder into my mug and snuck back into
the dining room.

I mixed the powder into the spicy guacamole
and the cocktail sauce for the shrimp, using the serving spoons to
make sure there weren’t any traces. The next part was going to be
more difficult, the Valium needed to be crushed. Back in the
bathroom, I put the pills on the marble counter and looked around
for something heavy and hard to smash them with. One blow with the
ceramic soap dispenser cured me of that idea. It sounded like I was
trying to demolish the bathroom. I put the pills on the tile floor,
pulled off my sneakers and slid on the blue heels. I stepped on the
pills one at a time, crushing them under my heel. A piece of paper
from the little desk worked as a scooper, and I poured the powder
back into the prescription bottle, trying not to feel too guilty
about the dirt from the floor and shoe.

I rejoined the family and stood in the
archway to the living room. Wallace was drinking scotch. I leaned
against the door jam waiting. It wasn’t long before he was waving
his empty glass in the air.

“Mr. Moore! Refill!”

“I’ve got it,” I said, reaching over the back
of the couch and snagging his glass from his hand. I took it over
to the bar. I checked to make sure that everyone still had their
backs to me and pulled the prescription bottle out of my pocket. My
hands were trembling, and I had trouble getting the lid off. I
shook some of the crushed Valium into the glass.
God, please
keep me from killing anyone.
I added Scotch and stirred with my
finger.

A while later I realized that I was going to
have to do more than knock the senator out. The girls weren’t
eating the drug-laced food. Wendy had a couple of pieces of fruit
with a miniscule amount of chocolate, but not enough to really
incapacitate her. Paris wasn’t eating at all. I shook Valium into
the blender with the margaritas, ignoring the panic building in my
belly.

Eventually the drugs began to take effect.
The girls were asleep in front of the TV. Moose had disappeared
into the bathroom off the kitchen, Hammie was upstairs, and the
senator was incoherent.