Uncovering Sadie's Secrets (11 page)

“They’re at a bank. It looks like Sadie is using an ATM machine.”

“She’s giving them money?”

“Wait a minute! Don’t jiggle my arm. This is hard enough.” A few seconds later, she put the glasses down. “Sadie just gave them an envelope. My guess is it’s filled with money. She’s paying them off for some reason.”

“Why would she pay off her mom?” I said.

“Maybe that woman isn’t her mother,” Connie whispered.

“Sadie told me she is.” But then I remembered my conversation with Sadie and how noncommittal and distracted she had been. “At least I think she is.”

“Shhh! They’re turning back!”

“Let’s get out of here,” I yelped.

“Too late. We have to hide.” Connie looked around our dark corner and grabbed a grungy welcome mat. It was black rubber with rough grippers on one side that held all sorts of unmentionable dirt and bugs. To my horror, Connie pulled this mat in front of herself and grabbed me underneath it.

“My blouse!” I hissed to no avail as Connie mashed her purse way back in the corner where it couldn’t be seen. She kicked off her shoes and tore mine off too, shoving everything back into the corner.

“Shut up,” she hissed right back.

To any passer-by who happened to glance our way, we just looked like two homeless wretches sleeping off the night in a warm doorway. A few minutes later, we heard the three walk by. When their footsteps faded out of earshot, Connie pulled the gross mat off of us and laid it on the ground, kicking up a storm of dust that made me sneeze.

“Be quiet,” she warned. “They might still hear you.” She stood and reached for the gate to open it.

“I’m a mess,” I whined, feeling awfully sorry for myself. Here I had planned a look that was so perfect, so casual, yet so alluring. So neat, yet so carefree. So attractive, yet so. . .

“That’s the least of your worries,” Connie said as she yanked at the gate.

And yanked. And yanked again.

It was locked. My eyes widened and my pulse raced as I realized our predicament.

“You got us in here!” I nearly shouted at her. “What’s the problem?”

“The gate was accidentally left open,” she said, fiddling with its lock. “I must have locked it when I pulled it shut on us.”

“Connie! I have a date! My first date with Doug! I can’t be trapped here. It’s getting late! What time is it anyway?” I paced our small cage like an animal, unable to really believe that I was trapped with my sister in a dingy doorway while Doug waited for me at the mall. Connie, meanwhile, let out a curse as she unsuccessfully tugged on the gate after another attempt to maneuver the lock.

“Forget about your date! What do we tell the police when they find us here? Oh, gee, Officer, I thought it would be funny to see what it feels like to be in a zoo? That’ll sit real well with the PI licensing folks.” She worked at the gate lock with fervor, trying various keys and other pointy objects from her key ring that I didn’t know she had.

“Guess you were absent on Lock Picking Day,” I said sarcastically, folding my arms over each other. I didn’t dare look at my blouse. I knew it was probably smudged with dirt from the rubber mat. And my hair—my hair felt like a matted rug that had a certain odor now, what I’d call
L’Air du Wet Dog.
I was sure to make a big impression on Doug. That is, after he forgave me for being late.

“You could help, you know,” she muttered between clenched teeth. “Grab the gate and hold it up a little. If I can jimmy the latch. . .”

I did as she said. And I did it again and again. But a quarter hour later, we were still trapped and I was beginning to see my dating life flash before my eyes. It didn’t take long.

“All right,” she said emphatically. “That’s it. Time to call in the Marines.” She grabbed her purse and pulled out her cell phone, hit a speed dial number and pursed her lips while she waited for someone to pick up.

“Hi. I need your help. . .”

F
OR A HALF
hour, Connie and I hid in the shadows to avoid the gaze of occasional drivers, and I whined about the fact that we were trapped in the doorway of a weird comic book store instead of the vintage clothing shop across the street (“clothes for the tragically hip”). Finally, a hunky specimen of the genus manus arrived.

Despite my frantic state, I couldn’t help but admire this fellow’s appearance and my sister’s ability to summon such a guy with the briefest of calls. His name was Kurt and Connie seemed to know him really well.

Kurt was over six feet and built like a muscle man. He had a military close-shave haircut, a nose that looked like it had been mashed once in a fight, an anchor tattoo on his left upper arm, and thick lips.

But his eyes were so blue I could see their color even through the shadows, and he was kind, and smelled like English Leather after-shave, which was always a favorite of mine. He almost made me forget about Doug. Actually, not even near.

He was Connie’s “friend,” first of all, and too old for me. My guess is he was maybe thirty-five. He pulled some metal objects from his pocket, and soon had the gate open.

“That was a tough one,” he said. “Took me two minutes.”

Connie smiled at him and patted him on the arm. “So I should-n’t feel bad for not getting it?”

“It was rusted. Show me what you were using.”

This, I decided, was no time for a comparison of lock-picking tools. I had a guy of my own waiting for me. At least I hoped he was still waiting for me. I could barely bring myself to look at my watch. When I did, I let out a muted scream. It was seven-thirty, an hour and a half after the time I had said I would meet Doug.

“Connie! My date!” I pleaded with her.

“Okay, okay,” she said to me, brushing dust off my shoulder.

“I can give you a ride,” Kurt said, pointing to his Jeep. Connie graciously sat in the back so I could hop out of the front seat the second we got to the mall. Kurt pulled away from the curb with the speed and precision of someone used to maneuvering vehicles through tricky situations. In less than a minute, we were not only at the mall, but at the exact entrance closest to the prearranged meeting spot. Maybe, just maybe, Doug was still there.

“Do you want me to wait?” Kurt asked as I unfolded myself from the front seat.

“No, no thanks.”

Connie piped up from the back seat. “You can call me if you need a ride.”

With that optimistic send-off, I ventured into the mall.

I
WAS
already too late. I couldn’t risk stopping in a ladies room to undo the damage of my evening of investigating. So, my plan was to locate Doug, give him a breezy kiss on the cheek that would make him oblivious to the fact that I looked and smelled like I had crawled out of a sewer, and then excuse myself, making a quick trip to the ladies room, where I would spray myself with perfume, brush my hair, reconfigure my make-up, and assess the damage to my self-esteem.

Good thing I had to think of that plan. It kept me from thinking of the inevitable—that I wouldn’t hook up with Doug at all. Why should he wait nearly two hours for a no-show, I thought mournfully as I scanned the area in front of the food court where we’d agreed to meet.

I walked around hoping against hope to find Doug window shopping while he waited for me. No luck. I ran to the door we would have taken to walk to the theater, and scanned the crowd there. Still no Doug. I wandered slowly back to the Food Court, a lump in my throat now as I contemplated my loss. What must he have thought?

But wait! Maybe he had gone into the movie. I ran back to the mall door, and jogged down the road to the theater. I should have had Kurt drop me off there!

Breathlessly, I shelled out the money for a ticket, giving myself a quick surreptitious spray of vanilla bean body mist, and went into the flick we had agreed to see. While flames and explosions lit up the screen, I methodically looked over each row. Couples, groups together, no individuals sitting alone, no head that looked like Doug’s.

I turned around, skulking out of the theater and toward the pay phone in the lobby. First, I called Tony to see if anyone had called. But I got the voice mail, a sure sign he was tying up the line or mom was on the computer. If Doug had tried to call me, he would have gotten the same non-response. Then, I dialed Connie’s cell phone. She picked up on the second ring and I could hear the sound of traffic.

“Hi,” I said sadly. “It’s me.”

“He wasn’t there,” she said softly. She actually sounded sympathetic. “Don’t worry. I’ll come back. Where are you?”

A
CHEESEBURGER,
chocolate milk shake, Boardwalk Fries, and chocolate mousse cake later, Connie and I were on our way home. She had treated me to a meal at the Food Court, even forgoing her health food diet to share the fries. And, she handed over her cell phone so I could try reaching Doug, but his line was busy both times I dialed.

It was nearly ten o’clock by the time we got home, my stomach full of the unsatisfying substitute for losing out on the big date. I didn’t like to call people after nine-thirty whose family habits I wasn’t aware of, so I fought off the temptation to try Doug again before crawling into bed.

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well that night. As I tossed and turned, I thought of the different ways I could explain myself the next day to him, trying to make my story sound as pitiful as it really was.

T
HE NEXT
morning, we all went to church together. We don’t always manage to pull this off. Sometimes, Connie doesn’t go. Or Tony says he’s going to the later Mass (but I know he just hangs out for forty-five minutes at the Dunkin’ Donuts; I’ve smelled chocolate éclair on his breath), so it’s just Mom and me. I figure it’s the least I can do for Mom, and besides, you never know, right?

We got home close to eleven and I immediately checked the phone. No messages. Connie started reading the newspapers and watching the Sunday talk shows. Tony grabbed some books from his room and headed out to the college library. Mom tried to interest me in going to the fabric store with her to buy material for a tablecloth, which was just a subterfuge for getting me interested in sewing a Christmas dress. Ordinarily, I would have jumped at the chance. Not today.

As soon as she left, I went up to my room, cordless phone in hand, and dialed Doug’s number. My hands were clammy as I heard it ring. By the third ring, I was getting ready to leave a cheerful message apologizing and asking him to call me when he answered the phone with a listless “Hello?”