Matchpoint (29 page)

“Is Belinda Womble here? Is she, er, done with her interview?”

“I think so. Let me get the chief.”

I tried to stop him, but he had long legs and was much faster than I was, especially in my dress. I held my breath and tried to become invisible. Then a miracle happened. Instead of Spencer Bolton appearing, Belinda Womble, in her finest purple-flowered ensemble, walked right toward us, most likely on her way to the exit. She didn’t recognize me at first. The moment she did registered on her face. Disbelief. Disgust.

“What in the h—” she started, and then noticed George and his shirt—in that order—and her mouth dropped open but nothing came out. George seemed equally impressed.

He pointed at her chest. “Autumn crocus. The beauty of the deadly flower.”

Belinda giggled and patted her hair into place. I expected a Matchmaker of the Year award. A medal. A parade in my honor.

“I hear there’s some lavender blooming chaparral just outside of town. It should be quite a sight. Care to join me?”

He put his arm out, and Belinda slid her arm in the crook of his elbow. She giggled again but never said a
word. There was nothing to say. She had found her George Clooney.

I watched them go. He held the door open for her and escorted her outside to his truck, where he opened the passenger door and helped her up. It wasn’t until after he drove out of the parking lot and they were out of my line of sight that I realized I was alone at the police station, in a giant pink polyester-and-tulle
Gone with the Wind
reject, which I had been sewn into, without a ride home. And to make matters worse, Fred had found the chief of police.

“Pinkie, Pinkie, Pinkie. Or should I say,
Pinkie! Pinkie! Pinkie!
’Cause that’s a hell of a lot of pink, Gladys Burger.”

“Don’t call me Gladys, Spencer.”

Spencer wore a form-fitting suit and shiny shoes. He was clean shaven and not a hair on his head was out of place. Obviously, he was no longer worried about his Facebook friends, because he was the old Spencer again. Cocky, arrogant, with his annoying smirk permanently planted on his (more than likely) moisturized face.

“New look for you?” he asked.

“I’m the maid of honor at Calamity Weiss’s wedding tomorrow.”

“And you wanted to get a head start on it? Show off your pretty dress in town? To me?”

“Trouble took my clothes, and I can’t get the dress off.”

“So you came to me,” Spencer said, smirking his annoying little smirk. “Because you know that if anybody can get a dress off you, it’s me.”

“You are five years old.”

“Me? How about you? ‘Can’t get the dress off.’ Sounds like a line to me.”

I grabbed a fistful of Spencer’s perfectly ironed shirt and pulled him close. “She sewed me into the damned
thing,” I hissed between my teeth. “I can’t get it off.” I let go of his shirt, and he straightened himself out.

“All right, come into my office and I’ll get some scissors.”

“No! I need it for tomorrow. Get me home. Grandma will know what to do.”

“Fine,” he said. “I need to pick up my TV, anyway. I had no
Family Guy
with my breakfast this morning. Made my Frosted Flakes soggy.”

“I can’t keep the television?” The question came out whinier than I had planned. I really enjoyed watching old movies in bed. I would miss it.

“You wanna work out a trade?” He smiled and arched an eyebrow.

“I have to hand it to you, Spencer. At least you’re consistent.”

AS WE walked to Spencer’s car, I updated him on Dr. Dulur’s sadistic behavior.

Spencer stopped dead in the parking lot. “You went with who to where?” he asked. “Have I gone deaf? Has your dress affected my hearing as well as making me half blind?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” I said. “Rosalie asked me to go.”

“Listen, Disco Scarlett,” he said, sticking his finger under my nose. “Stay away from the crazies. Stay away from the killers. Stay away from my cases. You got me?”

“Uh—”

“You got me?” he asked, raising his voice.

I stuck three fingers in the air. “No crazies. No killers. No police cases. Girl Scout’s honor.” Not that I had ever been a Girl Scout, but I loved their cookies.

“Meanwhile, what have you learned about the cult and
Mr. Steve?” I asked. “Maybe he thought of Dr. Dulur as a threat and offed him. He gives me the creeps.”

“Maybe you don’t understand English,” Spencer said. “You just said you wouldn’t get involved in my cases.”

“He pretends to be reasonable, but he’s not,” I said. “I mean, he’s the leader of a cult, Spencer. Sure, he has great taste in shoes, but I don’t think we can trust him.”

“ ‘We’?”

“And it doesn’t matter if he has an alibi, because he has henchmen. Did you see those bodybuilder gong guys last night?”

“I think your dress is giving me seizures. My eye keeps twitching.”

“Sometimes I don’t think you take me seriously,” I said.

“Sometimes?”

“I would hit you, but I can’t move my arms in this dress.”

IT HAD started raining by the time we made it to Spencer’s car. Big drops hit the windshield. “Wet autumn,” I said. “I wonder what this means for the apple season.”

Spencer turned the ignition. His car came to life and so did his police radio. “Freaks in sector three!” The town was still complete mayhem with the townsfolk battling the cultists.

“You know, this town is getting weirder,” Spencer said. “I didn’t think it was possible, but it’s like a lunatic factory on this mountain.”

Meryl the librarian, dressed in overalls and carrying a saw, waved at us, and Spencer rolled down his window. “I thought that was you, but I wasn’t sure,” she said to me. “What are you made up as? Some kind of
play on Scarlett O’Hara? Are you going to a costume party or something?”

“I’m Calamity’s maid of honor.”

Meryl shook her head. “Oh, that Trouble. Putting on a wedding in the middle of all this mess. What is she thinking?”

I was feeling weak since my Chinese diet tea ordeal, and I had missed lunch. I wished Spencer would hurry up and get me home so I could get out of the dress and grab something to eat before I had to go out to Bliss Dental.

“That material doesn’t look like it breathes too well,” Meryl said.

“I’m sweating gallons under here,” I told her. “And I think I’ve got the start of a rash.”

“Looks like your boobs are going to explode out of there any minute,” she said. “They are like springs strung tight. I keep staring at them, waiting for them to pop out like a jack-in-the-box.”

Spencer shot a quick look at my cleavage and then turned to Meryl. “Ma’am, where are you going with that saw?” he asked her.

Meryl tucked it behind her back. “What saw?”

“See? Librarians are running around with saws,” he said to me.

“Meryl, where are you going with the saw?” I asked diplomatically.

“To show those pagans once and for all the real reason why this mountain is sacred. That cult is dangerous. Did you hear what they did to Holly Firestone?”

“That might not be strictly their fault,” I said.

“And Dulcinea,” Meryl continued. “She’s chewed off half her hair after what they did to her. The mayor is fighting mad about his donkey.”

I nodded. “You shouldn’t get between a man and his donkey,” I said.

IT TOOK awhile, but Spencer convinced Meryl to hand over the saw. Then he started the car up again and peeled out of the parking lot while he whistled a tune. I think it was a Nicki Minaj song.

“You’re in a good mood,” I noted.

“You’re not?”

“I have to see the dentist, there’s a killer on the loose, and I’m hungry.”

“I can solve the third problem,” he said. “I’ll take you to Herbie’s Hoagies. I hear he’s got a new meatball sub
that’s out of this world. Out of this world!” he repeated, and broke out in hysterics.

“You’re back to your old self,” I said. “You’re not scared of your Facebook friends anymore?”

“They seemed to have quieted down after Rosalie stopped her rampage. Besides, I wasn’t really scared of them.”

“Are you kidding? I think you peed in your pants at one point.”

Spencer put his arm around the back of my seat and leaned in close. “I love when you talk about my pants.”

HERBIE’S HOAGIES and Pies had transformed itself into battle headquarters for the townsfolk. A sign on the front door read:
WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE TO ALL ALIEN LOVERS
.

We grabbed a seat close to the counter, and Herbie himself took our order. “Holy cow, that’s a bright color,” he told me.

I had stuffed most of the skirt down under the table, but enough had poofed out to make me look like I was being strangled by a large pink inner tube.

“It’s a maid-of-honor dress,” I mumbled. I crammed a little more skirt down under the table.

“It’s burning holes through my cataracts,” Herbie said.

“It will be less painful if you’re in the back, making our sandwiches,” I said.

“Are you sure it doesn’t go through walls? Like Superman’s laser vision?”

Spencer patted my hand. “I think you look great,” he said. His eyes flicked down to my cleavage. “Like you’re some kind of deranged disco Scarlett O’Hara.”

“Thanks, Spencer.”

“Like Scarlett O’Hara on ecstasy.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Also, in a pinch I could use you to control traffic at night,” he added. “Or guide in aircraft.”

“Are you done?”

Spencer tapped his forehead and looked up at the ceiling. “Um …,” he said. “No, I’ve got one more.”

I put my hand over his mouth. “Save it. Unless you want to sing soprano in the Vienna Boys’ Choir, I would be quiet if I were you.”

Herbie’s meatball hoagie was delicious, even though my tooth shot pain into my head with every bite. I could feel my body swell up after eating a half of a sandwich, my breasts pushing upward against the bodice. I needed to get out of the dress as soon as possible before I popped out altogether. I caught Spencer ogling my chest, his eyes moving with the rise and fall of my breathing.

“Your dress is growing on me,” he said, his mouth full of sandwich. “I’m not at all embarrassed to be seen with you anymore.”

“Hard to believe women were chasing you,” I said. “I could understand if they were fleeing
from
you.”

Spencer downed his root beer and wiped his mouth. “So, what’s new with you? I mean, besides the dress and the tooth and loverboy.”

“Loverboy?” I didn’t put it past Spencer to know every detail of my relationship with Holden, Holden’s true identity, and the fact that he was leaving town. But there was a chance Spencer was in the dark about all of it, and I had made a promise to Holden not to say anything.

“Yeah, I don’t want to hear about the neighbor,” he amended. “How’s the matchmaking going?”

I had almost forgotten that I had matched Belinda with George. My week wasn’t a total bust after all.

The bell on the door rang as two women walked into the hoagie shop. The blonde and the brunette, both attractive
and middle-aged and perfectly made up despite the rain, froze when they saw our table. “Look who it is. Spencer Bolton,” said the brunette, approaching.

“Oh, Lord,” I said to Spencer. “Tell me she’s not holding a cleaver.”

“Hi, Joanne,” Spencer said to her. “You’re looking good.” He tapped his foot on the floor, and his knee knocked the table. Nervous.

“What the hell?” she said, noticing me.

“It’s a maid-of-honor dress,” I said. I had had enough. If I had had scissors, or at least a sharp knife, I would have cut myself out of the dress right then and there.

“Joanne unfriended you,” the blonde announced. “So did half the women in this town.”

“You’re a Facebook pariah,” Joanne said. “A leper.”

It was meant to be a dramatic pronouncement, but I caught Spencer trying to hold back a smirk, the corners of his mouth curved up in a tiny smile.

“Come on, Joanne,” the blonde said. “Let’s grab a seat before it fills up.”

The door dinged again and a large group entered.

“Wow, Herbie’s meatball hoagie sure is popular,” I said.

“I think something else is happening here,” said Spencer.

He was right. The townspeople had united to strategize. So far they had failed miserably at getting rid of the cult, and it looked like the alien lovers had settled into Cannes for the long term. Not only was it upsetting to the day-to-day life in town, but the apple season was coming, and the cult invaders could possibly disrupt Cannes’s number one moneymaker.