Lulu Dark Can See Through Walls (16 page)

I got the point.

“Fine,” I moaned. “I’ll talk to him.”

Right about the time that hell freezes over,
I added to myself.

Genevieve gave me a tentative smile and a pat on the knee. “Good. That’s all I wanted to hear. In the meantime, as a gesture of goodwill, I’m going to give you a piece of information that you might find helpful: I was at Rhonda B’s boutique yesterday, and one of the clerks mentioned that Berlin Silver had been in there recently. You might want to check it out.”

“Berlin Silver?” I gasped. “Like, how recently?”

“Sometime in the last week,” Genevieve reported. “Now, don’t say I never did anything nice for you.” She stood up, gave me a quick peck on the cheek, and was out the door without saying goodbye.

I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths. I was being tugged in so many directions—the thing with Sally Hansen, the stuff with Charlie, the situation with Berlin. I checked my watch. Rhonda B’s was closed. I would have to head over tomorrow and see what they knew.

There was no way, though, that I was going to sleep in this apartment alone tonight. Daisy would just have to let me sleep over at her place whether Svenska liked it or not. I spruced myself up, packed an overnight bag as fast as I could, and hurried out the door.

In the limo I had a thought. I picked up the car phone and dialed Detective Wanda Knight.

“Detective, it’s Lulu Dark,” I said when she answered. “I need police protection.”

I could hear the detective stifling a laugh on the other end. “What is it now, Lulu?” she asked.

After I told her about the incident with Sally Hansen, she sighed. “Lulu, I think you’re overreacting. This young woman didn’t even
say
anything to you.”

“She didn’t need to
say
anything!” I yelped. “She was trying to
kill
me.”

“Well,” Detective Knight said carefully, “I suppose you should be careful. You can call me if anything else happens. But unless this person threatens you directly, there’s nothing I can do.”

“You can’t just give me one teensy police escort?” I whined.

Detective Knight laughed out loud this time. She wasn’t trying to be mean, but I still didn’t appreciate it.

“Maybe this will make you feel better,” she said when she was done chortling. “Berlin Silver is alive and well. I paid a little visit to the Primrose Hotel for Young Ladies today. Melanie Raymond practically talked my ear off.”

“What did she say about Berlin?” I cut to the chase.

“That Berlin called the hotel yesterday and told her she was moving out. A guy came and picked up all her stuff and everything. So the shark girl from the river isn’t Berlin Silver—just as I told you. You can rest easy, Lulu. Your friend is fine.”

I shook my head. This didn’t add up. “Was Mel sure it was
really
Berlin?” I asked.

“She was positive. And you know, a woman like that, she doesn’t miss a beat.”

Sure,
I thought. The woman who ran the Primrose Hotel missed just about every beat.

If Detective Knight or Mel hadn’t seen Berlin in the flesh, I wasn’t buying this story.

“Lulu,” Detective Knight said, “I know you’re on edge, but who knows why you keep seeing the same girl? Maybe she lives down the street from you. Maybe she wants to ask you where you got your glasses. Where did you get your glasses, by the way? They’re very original.”

“Halo Park Eyewear,” I said. I could tell that she was just trying to cheer me up by complimenting me, and it wasn’t going to work. “Well, thanks,” I added.

“Buck up,” she told me. “Berlin’s fine. . . . You’ve got nothing to be concerned about.”

I hung up with a sigh. A lot of help she was. Detective Knight seemed like a smart lady, but I still thought she was missing something. I just had to figure out what it was.

 

At Little Edie’s, I felt slightly better. Seeing Daisy in full waitress mode is so amusing that it gave me a breather from all the day’s puzzles.

That night she was jetting around the café with sparkling aplomb, balancing like five plates on each arm. I sat in my usual chair, waiting for Charlie to show. I was taking small sips from my coffee, trying to make it last because there was no way Daisy was getting around to giving me a refill.

The place was packed, and Katinka, the night manager, was playing hooky as usual. Her dad owns Little Edie’s, making it her prerogative to never show up. As a result Daisy always ends up running the place herself, which is a little like putting the bull in charge of the china shop.

She was looking sporty that particular night, or at least Sporty Spice, in striped jogging shorts, a white T-shirt, flip-flops, and red terry-cloth wristbands. She glided around the place like some out-of-whack figure skater, keeping everyone waiting and mixing up all the orders. When Daisy is your waitress, you’re lucky to get your food at all, but it’s okay because of the adorable way she laughs and spins and tosses her ponytail.

You would think that Daisy being the manager would be a sure-fire recipe for disaster, but in the end it never failed to be fine. The cash register balanced itself; the dishes got done. Things fall into place for Daisy—they just do. She should take up gambling, I often think. Daisy would be the queen of the roulette wheel.

I’d been contenting myself for the past hour just people watching and trying to ignore the fact Charlie hadn’t arrived. He was supposed to show up soon and—given my conversation with Genevieve—the last thing I wanted was for there to be awkwardness.

At the heart of it, though, I was anxious for him to walk through the door. I hoped that once I saw him, all this confusion between us would just melt away. I had no idea where things were going between us, but I was pretty sure I could count on him not to get all weird at a time when I needed him.

I focused my attention back onto the scene at Little Edie’s. All the regulars were there, and they were a constant source of fascination. Daisy and I had given them all their own nicknames.

In the corner Doughnut and his red-faced girlfriend, Raspberry, were crammed together on the divan, deep in an ostentatious lip lock since my arrival. Right next to me, on a velvet ottoman, was the guy we called Aladdin. He always wore the same thing—a red sequined vest over a bare, flabby, plucked torso, accessorized with a golden fez the size of a Dixie cup. Aladdin was obsessed with word finds, the kind old ladies buy in books at the supermarket. He would sit at Little Edie’s for hours, barely looking up, just flying through stacks of them.

I glanced at my watch again. Why was Charlie Reed always,
always
late?

I was getting totally bored. I needed a distraction.

Daisy, having a mild case of ESP, could tell I was getting antsy, so she put me to work for her. “Lulu!” she shouted from across the room. “How about finding these people seats?”

She pointed toward a bored cluster of biker ladies by the door.

Daisy was shimmying and bouncing to the song on the jukebox while she absentmindedly tossed the food in her arms onto random tables. I sighed and stood up to help.

I told Doughnut and Raspberry to get a room and moved Aladdin onto a makeshift seat to make room for the bikers. As I was handing them menus, Charlie breezed in, with Genevieve in tow. She was carrying her annoying Boston terrier, Viking, in a wicker picnic basket. I gave Genevieve a quick smile, which was returned with an icy, furious glare.

I shook my head. Sometimes I swear that girl is bipolar. Hadn’t she been sort of
friendly
with me just an hour earlier?

I glanced at Charlie and gave him a tentative grin as well. Rather than reciprocating, he barely met my gaze.

“Lulu, my lady,” he said, with a hint of sarcasm. “I’ve been hearing about your adventures.”

“Ugh.” I sighed. “It’s been terrible.”

“It didn’t sound so terrible to me,” he retorted.

I was about to correct Charlie when Viking freed himself from his carrier and began chewing on my ankle.

“Genevieve,” I said, half jokingly, “all Vikings must control themselves or be sent to the pound.”

“Oh, Lulu, you’re such a little jokester.” She scooped the dog into her arms and glared at me—again.

“Don’t blame me,” I told her, returning the mean look this time. “It’s management policy.”

I wanted to ask Charlie why, precisely, he thought that being chased by a killer sounded anything less than horrifying, but he had already moved on. He hated listening to me bicker with his sister, and from the looks of things, he was hungry. He stood and wandered the café, busing plates and eating the leftovers as he did it.

“Fried chicken?” he offered, sidling back over to us and hoisting a half-eaten drumstick in Genevieve’s face.

She shuddered. “No, thank you.”

Finally Daisy appeared from the kitchen. She threw her arms around me, Charlie, and Genevieve all at once, gathering us into a cramped embrace. My nose ground right into Genevieve’s cheek-bone.

“Friends!” Daisy proclaimed with a theatrical sigh. “Now the night is perfect.”

She sent Lionel the cook home early and announced to the customers that the kitchen was closed. There was some grumbling throughout the place, but no one moved to leave. Daisy plopped the coffeepot down on the table. She perched herself on the windowsill while Charlie pulled up some chairs.

“Thank goodness that’s over,” Daisy said, stretching her arms to the ceiling. “All night it’s all, ‘Bring me food; bring me water; bring us the check.’ Don’t these people have mothers?”

Genevieve, who had ensconced herself regally in a throne-like armchair, snorted and set her dog loose again, much to the delight of the rest of the patrons. They didn’t seem to realize what an obnoxious little rodent Viking was. When I looked over, the biker chicks had all turned to mush, cooing embarrassingly and feeding him french fries. “So Lulu,” Charlie said. His voice was even. “Tell us about your wild Friday night.”

Genevieve gave me a wan smile, drumming her vampy red talons on the table in expectation. Daisy leaned forward eagerly, looking back and forth at the three of us. “I didn’t hear about this part,” she said, already famished for fresh gossip.

“My wild Friday night?” I asked, confused. “You were with me Friday night. You know as well as I do that it was the opposite of wild.”

“Yeah. Sure,” Charlie grumbled.

Genevieve couldn’t contain herself. “Lulu,
everyone
is talking about you—saying you’re trying to make a name for yourself as bimbo of the month.” She sneered, and I sneered back. It was one thing for Genevieve to be bitchy to me—that was the normal course of events. But when I looked at Charlie, he seemed genuinely pissed as well. He hadn’t cracked a smile yet—just sat there stony-faced, staring with what I interpreted as low-level malice.

I tried to offer an olive branch, even though I had no idea what was eating him—or what Genevieve was talking about.

“Thanks for the limo, Charlie,” I said. “It’s been a lifesaver.”

“Yeah, well,” Charlie said. “A stretch limo should come in handy for your social exploits. I bet the Stratford twins love it.”

That was it. I slammed my coffee cup down on the table. “Okay. For the last time today I am not, I repeat,
not
friends with the Stratford girls! I haven’t even laid eyes on them since Genevieve’s Halloween party. Yet everyone in Halo City seems to think that we’re tight. So someone, please tell me what is going on here!?”

Daisy was leaning so far into the table that it looked like she was going to fall face-first into the coffeepot. Her eyes were big and incredulous. She was eating this up.

“Tell!” she squealed at Genevieve. “Tell!”

She Who Should Not Be Named shifted prissily in her seat, gearing up for a doozy. “Well,” she said. “I saw Wendy Levine about
an hour ago.
” Genevieve paused, narrowing her eyes at me before continuing. “Wendy told me that Lulu was spotted at Club Halo last night with Mr. Many Handsomes himself—and that she was making out with Alfy Romero in every manner imaginable. Borderline X-rated, you might say.”

“Congratulations, Lulu,” Charlie snapped as he stood. “I can see tomorrow’s headline already: ART SCION AND ROCK STUD—A MATCH MADE IN MAKE-OUT HEAVEN.”

With that he stomped out of the café and Genevieve stormed along behind him, leaving me with my mouth hanging open, still staring at their vacant seats.

NOTHING GETS ME OUT OF BED before noon on a Sunday morning. I get so little sleep during the week that I make up for it in spades when the weekend comes. This Sunday, however, was different. How could I sleep after Charlie’s little scene the night before? Not only was I the only person aware of Berlin Silver’s death, but someone was putting some serious effort into ruining my rep. Something had to be done.

It was ten o’clock. I’d been up for close to an hour, and I’d already gone through an elaborate beauty routine. Normally I’m pretty low-maintenance (with the exception of my all-important eye makeup and lip gloss), but on the off chance that I ran into Sally Hansen again and met my untimely demise, I was going to look good doing it. So I’d flat-ironed my hair and put on my Sunday best—my tinted sunglasses, cowboy boots, a summery blouse, a pair of white corduroy shorts, and around my waist, fashioned into a belt, a vintage Pucci scarf from the sixties. The scarf had been my mom’s. She’d actually worn it in her first movie, the one where she got to be the ingenue, and it was kind of a lucky charm for me.

It was not only a stylish outfit, but a functional one. The shorts gave me the freedom of movement to run if I needed to. The sunglasses would augment my already-killer deadpan. And the steel-toed cowboy boots were my self-defense. As an afterthought, I used a pink ribbon to wrap my dark hair into a high ponytail for that intimidating Amazon look.