Chapter Six
A lot of things ran through your head
when you’re going in to relieve in a tight spot.
One of them was, “Should I spike myself?”
— Lefty Gomez, pitcher
Mary Margaret, always the lady, gave out with a genteel burp, then smiled at Keely.
“Yes, that was lovely,” Keely complimented her, one eye on the kitchen clock. “All done now? Good. Because now we go find Da-da, okay? He’s going shopping with us this afternoon, whether he knows it or not.”
Keely stood up, carried the plate holding the last of her tuna fish salad sandwich to the sink, and looked out the window, hoping to see Jack’s car still parked on the edge of the drive that wound around to the garages that sat lower on the hillside, out of sight of the house. Why the man didn’t park in the garage eluded her, but maybe he had a reason—a stupid, male reason, but a reason.
“Good. He’s still lurking around here somewhere, doing his pity poor little me impersonation. I’ve got the car seat in the car, the stroller in the trunk, and a shopping list as long as an orangutan’s arm. I drive the car, he pilots the van, and we won’t come home without a mattress for Aunt Keely. How does that sound? Now, we’ll just go get your sun bonnet and we’ll be on our way to—oh, nuts.” Keely turned away from the window, wishing she hadn’t seen Sadie Trehan wave to her as she headed up the path from her apartment over the distant garages.
“Okay, kiddo, look busy,” Keely said, grabbing up the sun bonnet covered in tiny pink rosebuds, then reaching for her car keys. “Busy, busy, busy, just ready to head out the door, right? Places to go, people to see, no time to chat, so sorry.”
“Yoohoo! Kee-ly!” she heard through the open kitchen window, then turned, smile in place, ready to get rid of Jack’s aunt as fast as she could. Not that she didn’t like the woman. She barely knew her. But she had plans.
The back door opened and Sadie Trehan stepped inside. “Ah, there you are. And with the baby, too. Wonderful. Stay there, I’ll be right back.”
Keely had already opened her mouth to say she had just been on the verge of leaving to run some highly important errands, but she shut her mouth again rather than speak to an empty, open doorway.
She looked around the room, spotted Mary Margaret’s empty bottle on the table, and picked it up, carried that to the sink as well. That took about ten seconds. Still, with Mary Margaret on her hip, she went over to the refrigerator and yanked open the freezer door while mentally debating defrosting some veal for cutlets, or hoping she and Jack wouldn’t have killed each other before she could talk him into grabbing some takeout at the local KFC. This “a woman’s work is never done” crap was beginning to get on her nerves.
Reaching inside with her free hand, Keely tried locating the package of veal. What her hand landed on was a plastic bag filled with ice. One bag, two bags. Three. The refrigerator was the kind that came with a service bar built into the freezer door, the kind that shot out ice water or crushed or cubed ice on command. There was no reason, no need, to store ice in plastic bags. “Now, why in the world would—?”
“All right, I’m back. And we’ve got company,” Sadie trilled, so Keely put back the bag of ice—not really cubes, but a misshapen lump of ice that probably had once been cubes, then melted and refrozen—and turned around.
“Hello,” she said, blinking, trying not to stare. “Who’s this, Sadie?”
What’s this would have been a better question.
What—who it was, was a female, that much was obvious. But from what solar system? Tiny, no more than five feet high, and probably weighing less than a hundred pounds (Keely hated her already), the girl nevertheless seemed to fill the kitchen. With color. She wore lime green Seventies-retro bell bottoms that hung low enough to expose the slim silver ring through her navel. Her striped crop top of lime green, hot pink, and putrid purple was reproduced in the matching streaks in her long, straight blond hair. Her eyelids were purple, her cheeks hot pink, and her lips—good God almighty, her lips were green.
She had another silver ring through her left eyebrow and at least six silver hoops marching up her left ear, half as many on her right earlobe. And when Keely at last found her voice and said hello, the multicolored creature gave herself a small shake, spread her arms wide, and said, “Right back at ya, Keel,” then wagged her tongue at Keely, exposing a small silver ball, stuck in the center of that pink, wiggly... oh, yuk!
“This is Petra, Keely,” Sadie said rather proudly, putting one arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Mitzi’s stepdaughter, here for the summer. She’s studying art in Philadelphia. Isn’t that nice?”
Petra was already moving toward Keely, who had instinctively wrapped both arms tightly around Mary Margaret, in case whatever Petra had might be catching. “So this is the little squirt? She’s outrageous! Those big eyes, those curls. I mean, can you even deal? I can’t even deal!”
“Deal with what?” Keely asked, stepping back a pace.
“With how outrageous she is, how cute.” Petra put out her hands, waggled her heavily ringed fingers invitingly. “Can I hold her?”
Keely felt her mind going blank, as if she were some small animal being mesmerized by an exotic snake. “No-o-o-o, I don’t think so...” she began, just as Mary Margaret cooed and reached out her arms to the Technicolor Teen.
“Well, would you look at that,” Sadie Trehan said. “It’s just like Mitzi told me. Petra, you certainly do have a way with children. Instant rapport, don’t you think, Keely? Go on, let Petra hold her.”
Mary Margaret was squirming in her arms, so that Keely didn’t really have much choice. She handed the baby to Petra. After all, it wasn’t like the kid could get far before Keely tackled her.
Keely looked at Sadie, the woman’s Hawaiian print pedal pushers and “Bite Me” T-shirt having very little power to shock now that Petra was in the room. “Well, this has been... grand, really, but I’m afraid you caught us just as we were leaving.”
“Leaving for where, dear?” Sadie asked, lifting the lid on the cookie jar Keely hadn’t been able to resist—a round, squat creation that looked an awful lot like Cartman from “South Park.” “Oh, you’re going to the supermarket?” she asked, lowering the lid once more on the empty jar. “Jack says you’re a pretty good cook, so I had hopes. Do you bake, dear?”
Keely watched as Petra stuck out her tongue, exposing the silver ball, and Mary Margaret reached for it, giggling. How bad could exposing a child this young to a walking, talking Piercing Pagoda be? “Huh?” she said belatedly, realizing that Sadie had been talking to her.
“Bake,” Sadie repeated. “Do you bake? Cookies, cakes? Pies?”
“Cookies,” Keely answered absently, walking over to retrieve Mary Margaret before any serious contamination could set in. The baby turned her head, ignoring Keely, and began playing with Petra’s rainbow hair. Abandoned—Keely had been abandoned by a fickle little turncoat in a sun bonnet. She put down her arms, pretending Mary Margaret’s defection hadn’t hurt, and turned back to Sadie. “Not that I’ve had time...”
“Ah, but you will now, dear,” Sadie said; crowed, actually. “Keely McBride, meet your new baby-sitter, Petra Polinski. It’s all settled. You need more time to get the echo out of this place, and Petra needs some spending money now that George—that’s Mitzi’s husband—cut off her allowance because of some silly parking tickets she got while at school. A solution that suits everyone. I already asked Jack, and he said it was fine with him. So? Am I a genius or what?”
Keely leaned one hip against the counter. How had this happened? Rejected by Mary Margaret. Replaced by an air-headed kid with a hole in her navel and several dozen in her head, most of them between her ears. All without warning.
It hurt. Damn, it hurt.
“Oh, God,” she mumbled under her breath. And then she got mad. With one last look at Petra Polinski, who was now seated in a chair, bouncing a delighted Mary Margaret on her lap, Keely headed fo
r the door, intent on killing Jack Trehan—and no jury in the country would convict her.