Killing America's Sweetheart: A Natalie Miller Mystery (13 page)

“Who told you that?” I demanded, my outrage growing by the minute.

He looked to the floor and paused.

“Emma. Emma Phillips. She mentioned it, said that you were a big drinker and you had an addiction,” he said.

That evil fucking bitch, I’
d kill her.

“She told you about my addiction?”

His face softened and he smiled.

“Look, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Out of all the addictions, being a sex addict is probably the best one.”

I stared at him in disbelief. She told him I was a sex addict? Oh, I was definitely going to murder her.

“I am not a sex addict! And if I really wanted to, I could sue the shit out of you and the company for sexual harassment!” I yelled, not caring who heard.

Eric rose to his feet raising his arms in a pleading manner.

“Okay, Natalie. I’m really sorry about that misunderstanding. There’s no need to drag lawyers into this. What do you want? Morning shifts? Done. An assistant store manager title? Done. Whatever it is, just tell me and it’s yours.”

I backed myself up against the door, in an effort to put as much distance between us as possible.

“I don’
t want anything, except to never see you again, you arrogant son of a bitch!”

I grabbed the door handle in an effort to make an escape.

“I quit!”

With that I spun around and exited his office, slamming the door hard and ran right into Debbie, who was obviously
eavesdropping.

“What did he do?” she asked me.

“Not here,” I muttered and walked out of the office and exited the store heading toward my car. Debbie was hot on my tail.

“
You’re shaking. I don’t think I‘ve ever seen you so angry. What happened?” she asked with concern.

“After you went home, it was just the two of us. Business had slowed down and he brought me change, and…” I trailed off, not being able to repeat the incident.

“And?” she asked.

“He started rubbing
my shoulders and then he started grinding his dick into my back. He said I looked tense and knew of a way to relive it. Thankfully Simon came in, if he hadn’t I don’t know what might have happened.”

Debbie looked horrified and stayed silent for what seemed like an
eternity.

“But, that’s not the worst
part; he just told me that Emma Phillips is the one who egged him on.”

“Those
fuckers,” she finally said with a growl.

“I know, right?” I said.

“So, you quit?” she asked.

“Yeah. There’s no way I can work with him anymore.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Well, after the police release my apartm
ent. I’ll clean it. Beyond that, I have no idea,” I said rubbing my neck in agitation.

“What happened
at your apartment?” she asked.

“Oh, I forgot all about that. Last night when I came home from work, Simon and I discovered that someone had broken into my place and left a threatening message for me on my bathroom mirror.”

Debbie forehead wrinkled.

“Oh my God! What the hell is going on?” she asked.

I shrugged my shoulders.

I didn’t know. My only guess was that I was getting too close to something that someone didn’t want me to know.

“What about psychic impressions? What are you getting?” she asked eagerly.

“Nothing. I didn’t get anythin
g from the crime scene,” I said omitting my ghostly visit with Hannah. I didn’t get anything from my apartment, and Gilles was no help, but it really wasn’t a surprise. My abilities never worked too well when it came to my own life.

“Do you need a
place to stay? ‘Cause you can stay with me,” she offered.

“Thanks
. I’m staying with Simon right now, but I’m sure my apartment will be ready later today,” I replied gratefully.

“You’re staying with Simon?” she asked with surprise.

“It was just last night,” I informed her.

Debbie stood eying me. I felt like she was skeptical of my answer.

“Simon suggested that I stay at his house, and I suspect he felt partially responsible for the break-in.”

“I guess it’s the least he could do,” she finally answered glancing down at her watch.

“You need to get back to work?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Hey, let’s go out sometime? Maybe grab some dinner later on in the week?”

“That sounds good,” I agreed.

I had always liked Debbie, but we had really never hung out beyond work.

“I’ll call you,” she said before heading back inside.

I was just about to get into my car when I heard her say, “Be careful!”

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

The police did release my place a few hours later. Thankfully my apartment manager was able to repair my door and ev
en changed the locks. So, by 5pm I was back in my own place. I phoned Simon to let him know, who sounded a bit disappointed. I told him that I was perfectly fine, and besides that, I felt like I was intruding on him and Bebe. He informed me Bebe had jetted off to New York for a book signing and had actually left yesterday afternoon. Automatically I thought of many indecent activities we could have engaged in, images of naughty Simon doing things to me filled my mind…oh, what could have been. I sighed. It was always my luck. Not that anything would have happened. He’s still mourning Hannah and there was no way a man like Simon Bellamy would go for a small town, minimum wage, reformed alcoholic/drug addict. TMZ would have a field day with that! I assured him that I was fine and I wouldn’t be alone, as Karen was spending the evening with me. She called me earlier and I told her about everything that had happened the night before and how I had just quit my job. We both agreed a bitch session was in order. I promised I’d call Simon in the morning and then proceeded to try and clean my place.

Karen arrived a little past 9pm
. She came armed with pizza, Diet Pepsi and Corona for herself. I don’t drink anymore, but I’m not the fragile type who can’t be around it. I can honestly say that it doesn’t bother me to be in close proximity to an adult beverage. Now, put a bottle of Vicodin in front of me and that’s a different story. I still don’t believe I am or ever was addicted to alcohol. I merely think it was an additional means of escape on top of the drugs. I know it probably sounds like I’m in denial, but I can’t help but think it’s true. I have absolutely no craving for beer, wine or any other hard liquor. The only thing that I crave these days is Diet Pepsi, and if my recycle bin is any indication, I might need another twelve step program soon.

“Your apartment doesn’t look so bad,” Karen said plopping down on my futon with a cold Corona in her hand surveying the studio.

After cleaning non-stop since 5pm, the place looked surprisingly back to normal.

“You should have seen it last night. Not a pretty sight,” I grumbled.

“Do the police have any leads as to who did it?” she asked taking a slice of pizza from the box on the coffee table.

“No. Not that I expected anything different.”

I sat back next to Karen on the couch with a suppressed sigh. I must have been running on adrenaline all day, because now as I sat down for the first time all day, the weariness and exhaustion finally hit me. I looked over to the kitchen counter, where the 20 oz. of soda sat. I licked my lips and felt my weakness growing.

“Jesus!” Karen muttered putting down her slice of pizza and beer. She got up off the couch and walked over, grabbed the soda and thrust it into my hand.

“Drink the fucking thing,” she said.

I
eagerly opened the cap and put the bottle to my lips with anticipation. I then gently leaned my head back and raised the bottle. The first wave of sweet decadence hit my taste buds. The cold wave rushed through my body and I instantly felt relief. Pure heaven. It was like an orgasm, only better I might argue.

“Good God, you need help,” she said eying me with disgust.

I simply smiled at her. The first sip was always wonderful. I instantly felt all the tension ease from my body.

“You know I never actually bought into the fact that you had a drug and
alcohol problem. This shit,” she said pointing to my ice cold bottle, “is the real issue. It’s like fucking crack for you. Your car is littered with empty cans and bottles, which roll around every time you make a turn or rattle whenever you hit a bump.”

It was true. My car was a disaster. I was forever grabbing a can to take with me on the drive to work, or buying a bottle at the end of my shift. I was a
caffeine addict and kind of proud of it. There were worse things to be addicted to, I knew all too well.

“So, now what? What are you going to do?” she asked, breaking the silence.

I thought for a moment, not sure of what my next more would be.

“I don’t really know,” I admitted candidly.

“Well, I think now might be a good time to cash that check,” she said reaching for another slice of pizza.

“I guess you’re right. I’ll have to be extremely conservative with it.”

“It’s not like you’re living in the lap of luxury,” she mused gesturing to my modest abode.

“You know what I mean. Jobs are kind of scarce. Who knows when I’ll
be able to get another,” I replied taking another intoxicating sip.

Karen was quiet for a moment and said, “Why don’t you open your own detective agency?” she asked quietly.

I’ll admit it was something I had always thought of doing, but here in California you had to have a license, and in order to get a license you had to have some kind of law enforcement background. Something I didn’t possess. I could find someone to apprentice with, but I would still need at least three years of experience. I didn’t think my 20K check would last that long.

“I don’t think that would work. The laws her
e in California for P.I.’s are pretty strict,” I finally replied.

“Then don’t be a private eye
, be a psychic eye,” she said offhandedly.

I was unsure of her idea. On one hand it would be nice to be my own boss and be in control of my life, however I wasn’t certain opening a ‘psychic eye’ business in small town Treeville was the smartest move. Even if I did manage to find some cheap office space, I’d probably still need to have a real job
just to make ends meet.

“You mig
ht be on to something,” I said quietly, still thinking things over.

“I might
?” she asked. “Maybe they added more caffeine than usual into that bottle.”

“No, look. Why shouldn’t I put my abilities to use? There are a lot of people out there who would pay money for me to help them with an array of problems. Love life, money, family, you name it.”

She chewed on her pizza for a moment contemplating my words.

“That’s true. There are plenty of
fucked up people just looking to part with their money in order to hear what they want. Especially in this area, the elite peeps are just swimming in so much cash; they don’t know what to do with it.”

“That’s not exactly what I mean,” I said. “I can’t lie to someone, just because the truth is not what they want to hear.
Besides that, I don’t know how lucrative a business like this would be in Treeville.”

“So, don’t advertise here. Just find some office space and lease it privately. We can place ads online and you can do consultations at your leisure.
I’m going to guess the people who will come to you will be a lot of the white upper middle class wives dying to know if their clean cut/all-American husbands are cheating on them.”

I made a face. This was probably true. In fact I heard
Gilles laugh; I swear it was in agreement. Great, not exactly what I wanted to do, but Karen was most likely correct. For being such a small town, Treeville had a high number of infidelities. I think I mentioned earlier, we also have our fair share of home wreckers. I shouldn’t be so biased, as it takes two to cheat. The silver spooned men of Treeville and surrounding areas were not jacking off by themselves, they were clearly being aided.

“Shit,” I said heavily.

“Shit is right. This might get hairy, but if those rich bitches pay you, who cares? You have rent to pay and Honey to provide for,” she said tearing off a piece of pizza and feeding it to a patiently waiting Honey.

“Don’t give her too much pizza, it will give her the shits. Then I’ll be out front at all hours tonight,” I informed her.

Honey ran off to her kennel to eat her score.

“You could run the business out of here, to save money,” she said, although the look on her face showed she objected
.

It made since to work from home, as there would be no additional rent to pay. The downside would be that my tiny studio wasn’t exactly a place my imaginary clients would choose to frequent.
Especially the locals who wished to remain anonymous.