Secret Lives Of Husbands And Wives (30 page)

The timing is fortuitous. I hand him one of the candy canes I snitched off the Max’s counter. “So, what gives?”

“A big ol’ drug bust. Apparently your neighbors there were running a grow house.”

“You’re kidding! Right here on my street?” I crane my neck to take in this new point of view of the Lonely House. “They’ve owned it, what, for three years now?”

“Yep. And never a peep from the neighbors about anything suspicious happening.” As always, Fife is the last to know, but the first to cover his butt.

“So, what gave them away?”

“An anonymous tip was sent in. Even gave info on where the suspects sell the stuff. I guess someone had it in for them. Oddly, no one is stepping up for the reward.”

“Maybe it’s just some upstanding citizen.”

“Hope so. Considering the number of break-ins we’ve had over the past week, we can use some more of them.”

“Wait—what break-ins? I haven’t heard of any.”

“It’s a fact. They haven’t really been taking anything, just moving things around. We’re guessing it’s a smart-ass kid or two. Tomorrow Pete’s putting a warning in the
Boulevard Bugle
’s online edition. We’re going to reinitiate a neighborhood watch.”
He turns just in time to see Mallory-formerly-Activist-Mom accost a DEA agent with her petition about weapons control. “Aw, heck! Mallory’s about to get herself arrested. Gotta run. . . . 
Mallory!
Just let the man do his job, please.”

Going home can wait. I U-turn so that I can hit the next place on my list: Pete Shriver’s paradise on the hill, where Harry is the new cabana boy.

As befitting the scion of the family that owns one of the biggest tech conglomerates in the world, Pete Shriver’s pad is a veritable Xanadu. In fact, that is its nickname within the Heights. This stucco miniature (albeit not by much) of Hearst Castle sits on five very lush acres on the one lofty peak that gives our community its name. The view from the house takes in the whole valley. The streets of Paradise Heights uncoil from the base of Pete’s hill.

The cabana house, which flanks the Shrivers’ infinity pool on one side of the property, enjoys this vista too. A telescope has been set up beside the huge picture window. Harry is playing voyeur, scoping out his old house. When he sees me trudging through the gate and up the slope, he waves me over.

“
Mi cabana, su cabana.
The pool’s a nice touch, wouldn’t you say? Speaking of which, did you bring your bikini?”

“You wish.” I peek through the scope to see what’s holding his attention. Apparently it’s Lucky, who is busy chasing a squirrel around the backyard.

“I want my dog back. I miss that little pain in the ass. DeeDee shouldn’t get too comfortable in the old homestead, since neither of us can afford it now—unless this new guy she’s seeing is going to be her sugar daddy.” He frowns at the thought. “What do you think are the odds of that? Be honest.”

“Considering the commissions he’s known to pull down, I’d say pretty good.”

That gets Harry’s attention. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Yeah, sort of. Unless my eyes are lying, I’d say there’s a pretty good chance that I’ve cracked the case.” I plop down on one of the cabana’s rattan chairs and prop my feet up on one of Harry’s two unopened suitcases. He has packed light. He’s making it apparent he doesn’t plan on staying. “I just got back from lunch with Brooke. We went to the Max’s Diner by the expressway. DeeDee was snuggled up in one of the booths—with Max Karloff.”

“The realtor guy with the billboards all over the place?”

“The one and only.”

“Well, I guess that makes sense. If she can’t afford the house, she’s going to need someone to sell it.” He goes back to looking through the telescope. “Bev Bullworth is certainly going to be disappointed. She thought she had that listing in the bag.”

“Sure, they may have been meeting about the sale of the house, but . . . well, I have to tell you, it looked a little cozier than that.”

“Oh, you’re just trying to make me laugh, right? DeeDee with
that
slime bucket?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “My, how the mighty have fallen.”

“He’s got quite a reputation, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know: Satisfaction Guaranteed. The way he lets it all hang out in the men’s locker room at the club, I can see how that might be the case. The dude is hung like a horse. I guess we now know the attraction.”

“Harry, I’m sorry you had to hear it from me.”

“Really? Well, I’m not. I’m glad I was forewarned.” He smirks. “If you’d told me two months ago that DeeDee had anything in common with Masha, I would have said you were crazy.”

“Masha’s seeing him too? How do you know that?”

“Cal loaded in the SATCOM program two days ago. Pete pulled together all the baseball, basketball, football, and soccer league emergency info—you know, names, telephone numbers, e-mail addresses—and cross-referenced them with DMV records of license plates, as well as what the camera has picked up over the past
forty-eight hours.” He shakes his head sadly. “Let me tell you, the Heights is a regular Melrose Place! But hands down, Masha is Slut of the Year. She’s got it going on with at least four guys, from what we can see.”

“Wow. . . . How has Pete reacted to it?”

“Let’s just say that my divorce won’t be the only one rocking the Heights. It should be interesting, to say the least.”

“Listen, Harry, whose satellites is Cal using anyway?”

“From the way he talks, I’m guessing it’s the Feds. Why?”

“Well . . . isn’t that against the law?”

“Let me worry about that—if and when the time comes that we actually have to.”

“What you’re doing is very foolish, Harry. It could mean you’ll never see your kids again. Have you thought about that?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ve thought about it. But that worry is outweighed by what I can get back if we take this chance: my life.”

Harry’s wrong. That life is gone. It went out the door on Halloween, with DeeDee.

It suddenly dawns on me how much superior Cal’s system is to Brooke’s, and that’s saying a lot. The CIA could certainly make it a part of their ongoing study as to whether human intelligence is better than image intelligence.

I’ll suggest to the boys that they submit a full analysis to the Feds before being sent to prison. Maybe they can use it to negotiate an early release date.

“Marriage: A word which should be pronounced ‘mirage.’”

—Herbert Spencer

Wednesday, 18 Dec., 2:45 p.m.

Christmas break officially begins after school ends today. The kids have been restless all week in anticipation of our annual trip to Cabo San Lucas, the four days after Christmas Day. Of course, we’ll be back by New Year’s Eve.

The call from Ted comes right as I’m heading out the door to pick them up. “So, listen, hon . . . I’ll just come out and say it: Cabo is off this year.”

“You’ve got to be crazy! The kids have so been looking forward to this! Why—”

“Sales are way off, Lys. You know that. And the boss wants next year’s projections on his desk by the second of January. He’s just looking for an excuse to cut some fat. And we don’t want that to be me, now, do we?”

He hears my anger in my silence.

Ted softens his tone. “You and I both know that a lot of our friends aren’t traveling this year. The kids are already spending one week in the PH recreation department’s holiday camp. Why not just sign them up for the second week, too? Besides, this time of year in the Heights is always a fun time to hang in the ’hood. Isn’t there
something going on tomorrow night?”

“Yes, the lighting of the big tree, in the park at seven o’clock. You know, with Santa and an elf, the whole works. Then Christmas caroling around the neighborhood afterward.”

“Well, there you go. Ho, ho, ho.”

I feel a headache coming on. “Look, I’ve got to go pick up Olivia at Miss Judith’s. Since you brought it up, I presume you’ll be home in time for all of this?”

“At the very least, in spirit.”

Bah, humbug.

3:06 p.m.

“I have a peace offering.” DeeDee Wilder leans toward my car window, one hand clutching Temple’s and the other holding out a small basket.

I pause before taking it. Of course I’m wary. These days, anyone can make a bomb. The information is all over the Internet.

As if reading my mind, she gives a shaky chuckle. “Look . . .” She unfolds the napkin that covers the gift within, to reveal gingerbread men, perfectly iced and nary a one burned to stone.

But of course not.

“Gee . . . thanks.” I put the basket on the floor of the passenger seat, but that doesn’t stop Olivia from begging for one. My look to DeeDee says:
These better not be poisoned or I will hunt you down and make your death slow and painful. . . . 

She gives a confident wave, so I grab two. But before I pass one back to Olivia, I sing out: “Temple, sweetie, want a cookie?”

God forgive me for making this child the canary in the mine. . . . 

It’s a good sign that DeeDee doesn’t slap it out of my hand before it reaches Temple’s lips, so I pass the second cookie back in the direction of Olivia’s car seat, where it is eagerly plucked from my hand
and devoured.

DeeDee’s shoulders relax visibly. “Temple told me how much fun she had, making gingerbread men with you and Olivia and . . . Harry.” This last word is so crisp I’m surprised it didn’t crack a tooth coming out of her mouth. “I thought, since those didn’t come out as planned, she and I could make it our own little mother-daughter project. Right, Temple?” She pats her little one’s mop top. “I’m sure it would have been more fun if you and Olivia had joined us.”

I let my silence speak for me, along with a look that reads
Not on your life, bitch.

“Listen, Lyssa, I know we got off on the wrong foot. I know I haven’t been exactly—well, fair to you. You’ve gone out of your way to help my children through this very trying time. They’ve both told me how kind and welcoming you’ve been to them. That means a lot to me.”

“Oh . . . thank you for that. They’re sweet kids. I know it’s been wearing on all of you.”

“Yes, all of us.” She closes her eyes and sighs. “The tree-lighting ceremony is tomorrow. I was thinking—well, if you want, why don’t we take the girls to see it together? And perhaps go to the caroling event afterward? It would give us a chance to get to know each other better.”

“Mommy! We get to sit on Santa’s lap tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, Olivia, that you will.” If I say no, I’m a bitch.

If I say yes, I’m a traitor. To Harry.

“Great, Mommy. I want to remind him about our party.”

“Oh yes, your party!” DeeDee chimes in. “New Year’s Day, isn’t it? We’ve already got it circled on our calendar. We’re really looking forward to it. You know, Olivia is Temple’s closest friend.” Her eyes, starred with dampness, beseech me to absolve her of all past transgressions, to bury the hatchet.

Preferably in Harry’s back.

“Let me think about it, okay?”

She nods, resigned to the obvious: it ain’t gonna happen. “In case you’ve forgotten the phone number at the house, I’ve put it in the basket with the cookies.”

Is that supposed to make me feel guilty, that I know the number to her house as well as I know my own, thanks to her ex?

Whether it is or isn’t, it does.

In my rearview mirror, I see Temple waving good-bye to me.

4:15 p.m.

“You’re being foolish. Seriously, you should go with her. You know the girls would have fun.” Despite being bombarded by Miley Cyrus caterwauling through our den’s television, Harry sounds as if he means it.

He also sounds tipsy. Make that drunk.

And that makes me nervous. Or at least, it gives me an excuse to down three of DeeDee’s gingerbread men in one sitting. It pisses me off that her recipe is better than mine.

“Of course the girls would enjoy it, but I’d hate every second of it. And I’m guessing DeeDee would too. So why put ourselves through the misery of it all? Just to keep up appearances?”

“Exactly.”

Relief flows through me along with my sugar high. “Good. I’m glad you feel that way. Now I don’t feel so bad about blowing her off—”

“Whoa, hold up, cowgirl. I mean, yes, you
should
go with her, even if it’s just for appearance’s sake.”

“But—”

“Listen, Lyssa, I know it won’t be easy for you. But I think we should face facts: both of us will always put our kids first. And that’s the way it should be. It also means making every attempt we can to
get along with the others in our lives—you know, Ted
and
DeeDee.”

Of course he’s right.

“I do appreciate you putting up with Ted. So . . . yeah, okay, I’ll make an attempt with DeeDee.”

He rolls with laughter. “At least she won’t give you a black eye.”

“Hey, the week’s not over.”

“Even so, my money’s on you.”

Of course it is. I’m the heavyweight in that ring.

I sigh. At this point, one more gingerbread man won’t hurt. I bite headfirst. It feels great.

“Lovely! Wonderful!” DeeDee sounds downright exuberant.

“Well . . . okay then. It’s a date.”

“Yes. . . . But just one little thing.” I hear her suck in her breath. After a long pause, she lets it out again. “I had planned to do some last-minute Christmas shopping in the city before the tree lighting. As you can imagine, Harry hadn’t even put up the tree with the kids. Oh, sorry, I guess that was cruel. . . . Look, would it be too much of an imposition to ask you to pick up Temple from rec camp at the same time you get Olivia? I’ll meet you there as soon as I get home.”

The nerve of this bitch!

But if it had been Harry who’d asked, I would have said yes.

So I say yes to DeeDee.

“Thank you, Lyssa! You’re a lifesaver. I’ll come as quick as I can! I promise.”

As I hang up the phone, I wonder if I should have suggested she take her time. Not that I can put off the inevitable.

The phone rings. I’m willing to bet it’s DeeDee calling again. Now that she knows I’m such a pushover, I’m sure she’s thought of at least one more little favor I can do to cement our BFF status.