Lulu Dark Can See Through Walls (15 page)

“Hmm,” I mumbled, trying my best to be vague.

It was getting late. The incense in the corner had burned itself out, and the candles were down to the nubs. I had to get going, but I was a little afraid of trying to go home all by myself.

More than a little, actually. More like terrified.

“Thanks for helping me out, Sunny,” I said. “It means a lot.”

I turned to Marisol. “Thanks,” I told her. I owed her big time, but I didn’t want to lay it on too thick.

“Whatever, Lulu,” she said. “Anything I can do. Just promise you’ll pay me back someday. Sooner rather than later.” She broke into a big grin and gave me a hug. I didn’t want to leave; I would have been perfectly content to spend the rest of my life in the Blooms’ living room, drinking tea and talking about global warming or whatever hippies talk about when they’re not being psychic. But I knew that it was time to get home. I was supposed to meet Daisy and Charlie at Little Edie’s later that night. I knew that between the three of us, we would be able to figure out a logical explanation for everything that had happened. In the meantime, my hair needed some serious attention.

“Do you want us to call you a cab?” Sunny offered. “After what happened today, you shouldn’t be wandering around Halo City all by yourself.”

“That’s okay,” I told her. An idea popped into my head and cheered me up. “I’m going to call a friend of mine to come get me.”

“That’s good,” Sunny said. “Already following the cards’ advice.”

I wasn’t sure what she was on about, but whatever. I slipped into the kitchen and punched up Charlie on my cell.

“What’s up, Lulu?” he buzzed.

“Charlie, I need some help.”

“Hold on, I’m eating at Le Pince Nez with my grandparents.”

There was some shuffling while he excused himself from the table. Charlie’s grandparents are kind of snooty, but he has to be nice to them because, you know, they’re related.

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

I gave him the story in a nutshell, trying not to be too hysterical about it. There was a long pause on the other end. He didn’t know what to say.

“Look,” he finally decided, “I’m going to call my dad and get you a car for the night. You can’t be walking around by yourself with all this going on. I’d come get you myself, but you know. Grandparents just don’t understand.”

“Charlie,” I said, “you’re awesome.”

“Quit it,” he told me firmly. “The car will be at Marisol’s in ten minutes.”

That’s what I love about him. He’ll be generous as hell, but you have to look in the other direction or it makes him uncomfortable.

I couldn’t help grinning as I hung up the phone.

 

Marisol and I went out front and waited together. Any animosity she’d had toward me seemed to have been replaced by sympathy. As for me, there was no way I would ever be mean to her, or by extension Rachel, again. After all she’d done for me, I owed her that much.

“Hey,” I said remembering the scene at Medardo. “Can you tell Rachel that I wasn’t talking about her behind her back? I don’t know where she got that idea, but she was really mad about it last night. I know she doesn’t have much of a reason to believe me, but I swear I haven’t been. And I’m sorry I suspected her of taking my purse.”

“You mean you
haven’t
been telling everyone that she has a third nipple?” Marisol was dubious.

“No way!” I said. “Where on earth did she get that idea?”

“Millie Stratford told us. She said that she was at some party with you the other night and that you couldn’t stop talking about Rachel’s third nipple. She said you told her it looked like a pink Mike and Ike, right in the middle of her chest.”

Normally it would have been hard to keep a straight face at the thought of that, but I was too annoyed by the first part of the news to be amused.

“
Millie Stratford?
I don’t think I’ve spoken three words to her in my entire life,” I defended myself. “And I haven’t been to a party in weeks. I’ve been too busy obsessing over my purse.”

“That’s strange,” Marisol said thoughtfully.

But it was more than strange. It was the second time that someone had accused me of hanging out with the Stratfords in the space of one day. I didn’t know what to make of it, but combined with everything else that was going on, it was beyond bizarre.

From my back pocket I retrieved my notebook.
FRIENDS WITH THE STRATFORD TWINS?!
I jotted furiously.
AS IF!

Marisol gave me a curious look. “Taking up journaling?” she said, half teasing.

I scoffed. “I just have a bad memory, okay? It’s not like it’s a diary or something. Jeez.”

There was a rumble and a huge, sparkling white limousine came rolling smoothly around the corner. It stopped right in front of me, and a chauffeur in a tuxedo stepped out and walked around to the passenger side.

“Ms. Dark?” the man boomed in a smooth baritone.

I was dumbfounded. A white limo? It must be Charlie’s idea of a joke. What was this,
Pretty Woman?
I had to give it to him—he knew how to cheer a girl up.

Marisol gave me a wide-eyed smirk. “Friends in high places, huh?”

I tossed my hair like a movie star, gave Marisol my best Hollywood air kiss, and stepped up to the car with mock haughtiness.

The driver opened the door for me. A moment later we were off.

As the car drifted along the glittery Halo City avenues, I imagined myself as the Princess of Swords, carried in my royal chariot. I lay back, put my feet up on the seat, and lounged on the white leather upholstery. I picked up the car phone and found, to my amazement, that there was a dial tone. Impulsively I called my mother in California. Maybe she would have some advice about all this.

“Mom!” I said excitedly when she answered. “I’m in a white stretch limo!”

“That’s a weird coincidence,” she said breezily. “So am I. One of those big ones that sort of look like pickup trucks.”

I was put off. Leave it to Isabelle Dark to steal my thunder.

“Why are
you
in a white stretch SUV?” I asked.

“Penelope Cruz sent it for me. We’re having a get-together in Malibu. I’m playing her secretary in this movie—some fake-o artsy neo-noir. You know the drill.”

“Do you die?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“She stabs me with my own letter opener,” she admitted, slightly dejected. Then she brightened. “It’s the climax of the first act, though. My death scene is going to be brilliant. Lots of eye rolling and wheezing. Like this.” There was a long, strangled noise from California. I held the phone a few inches away from my ear while my mom
ack-argh-hack-hack-argh
ed. The icing on the histrionics was a high-pitched, thirty-second scream that slowly faded to a gurgle.

“How do you like it?” she finally asked, finished.

“Great, Mom. You’ll be great.”

“Too bad you couldn’t see the eye rolls. They’re the best part. It’s not like I’m going to win an Oscar, but it’s all about your personal best, you know? That’s what they always tell you at those change-your-life seminars. Don’t try to compete with others; compete with yourself. It’s always middle-aged B actresses at those things, by the way. I wonder why. So how are you?”

“Fine,” I said. “I just wanted to tell you that I was in a white stretch limo.”

“Well, enjoy,” she said. “But don’t stick your head out the sunroof. I knew this poor girl who got decapitated that way. She could have been famous if only she hadn’t stuck her head out the sunroof.”

“C’mon, Mom, it’s not like I’m at some tacky bachelorette party,” I said. “Have a little faith.”

“I have all the faith in the world when it comes to you. You know your mom, though, always fussing over nothing.”

“Listen, Mom, could you give me some advice about something?”

“Of course, darling. What do you need to know? I hope it’s not to do with getting a stain out of your dress because I’m really not good with that Hints from Heloise stuff.”

“Well—” I began, but I didn’t get to finish my sentence.

“Sorry, babe,” Isabelle said. “I’m going to have to cut this short. I’m here at Penelope’s.”

“Okay, Mom,” I said, resigned. “Talk to you soon.”

“You too, honey.” And
click.

It was a typical conversation with Isabelle. Her head is always in the clouds, if not on the moon. It’s not like she doesn’t love me; it’s just that she never seems to pay any attention to what I have to say. If I’d bothered to tell her that I was being pursued by an evil murderesses in pink hot pants, she probably would have laughed and told me about some movie where she had to die while wearing hot pants herself.
Oh, well,
I thought—at least there was Dad. That was more than a lot of people could say. For instance, Daisy.
Both
of her parents are crazy.

I took out my notebook and wrote,
CHILDBIRTH AND INSANITY. IS THERE A MEDICAL CONNECTION?

Signs pointed to yes.

 

The limo dropped me off in front of my house, and the chauffeur idled across the street. He’d be there as long as I needed him. This was the life.

Back in the loft, there was a note from my dad on the kitchen counter. Somehow the fact that he and Theo were going to be out of town for a week at some big art opening had slipped my mind.

Lulu!
the note read.
Have fun by yourself. No wild parties OR ELSE. Or parties of any kind, for that matter. The credit card’s on the coffee table and there’s plenty of food in the fridge. If you need anything, just call my celly. Be good, and if not, be careful. Love, Dad.

Crap. This was not what I needed when I was being pursued by a killer lunatic! Normally I would have been thrilled to have the apartment to myself, but under these circumstances? No way.

I was still studying the note when I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Aaaaaaaa!” I let out a bloodcurdling scream.

I WHIRLED AROUND, READY TO fight to the death.

Standing behind me was none other than Genevieve—with a very sour look on her face. Yeah, I know, you thought it was going to be Berlin’s murderer. Well, needless to say, I’m happy it wasn’t, but trust me, being snuck up on by Charlie’s fink of a sister is almost as bad.

“Hello, Lulu,” she said, glowering. “I think we need to have a little chat.”

She was standing with her arms crossed, eyeing me up and down while I backed slowly toward the kitchen counter. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I knew it couldn’t be anything good.

“What do you want?” I snapped. “And how did you get in here?” I was feeling a little paranoid, I guess.

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “Lulu, your dad let me in before he left. We need to talk.”

“Talk about what?” I said with suspicion.

Genevieve smiled condescendingly. “Just a little girl talk, Lulu. Woman-to-woman. Now, can you please chill out? You’re being a real freak.”

She was right; I was just on edge. “Okay, Genevi
evil.
Talk. But get to the point. I need to meet your brother in a few minutes.”

“Fine,” she said, sniffing. She put a hand on her hip and cocked her head. “I know that you and I don’t always get along. But I respect you, sort of. And I’m concerned for my brother. You’re being a real bitch to him, Lulu, and that’s not okay. If you do anything to hurt him, then you and I are
really
going to have problems. Are we clear on that?”

I looked at her incredulously. “You’re going to have to explain, Gen, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Listen, you obviously know that Charlie is completely in love with you. Everyone does.” Genevieve looked at me meaningfully.

I blinked.
Everyone knew that Charlie was in love with me?
That was ridiculous! Just last night he made it perfectly clear that he only wanted to be friends.

I squinted at Genevieve. Someone in this room was smoking crack, and it definitely wasn’t me.

“Anyway,” Gen went on, “if you think you’re too good for Charlie, you’re obviously deluded. All I’m saying is that you’d better stop jerking him around like this. Seriously, you do not want to be on my bad side any more than you already are.”

Jerking him around? This had to be some kind of joke.

I was so stressed out already—Charlie’s alleged infatuation was the last thing I wanted to think about. My palms grew clammy and my stomach churned. This was worse than the time my dad decided to sit me down and talk to me about my “cycles.” I had to end this conversation. Quickly.

“Genevieve, I don’t know where you’re getting your information from, but Charlie is not in love with me. He told me only last night that we were just friends.”

She raised her eyebrows at me like I was a moron. “Yeah, he told me all about last night, Lulu. You’re sending him all kinds of mixed signals. Of course he wanted to save face.”

I let out a groan and dragged myself over to the couch. I slumped down in it with my face in my hands. I had to collect my thoughts, and Genevieve was only making my brain more cluttered and confused.

“Gen, this is too much. I’m not trying to screw with Charlie’s mind. In fact, maybe it’s the other way around. I mean, when he dresses up and takes me out to Medardo only to tell me it’s not a date, what am I supposed to think?”

Gen had followed me onto the couch. She sat next to me.

“Lulu.” She sighed. “For such a know-it-all, your feminine intuition is seriously deficient.”

“Feminine intuition is so sexist.” I sniffed.

“Well, whatever. How do you feel about my brother?”

I threw my hands up in the air. “I don’t know! I think Charlie’s cute. I think he’s great. I think he’s the best friend I could ever ask for.”

Genevieve twirled a tendril of her blond hair around her pinky finger. She looked at me appraisingly. “Fair enough,” she finally said. “But you really need to talk about this with him or things are just going to get worse. And if you hurt him . . .” She let her thought trail off, raising her eyebrows again.