Barbie & The Beast (17 page)

Sleep was elusive. Barbie sat up and rubbed her eyes. More milk, maybe? Did warm milk contain tryptophan, or was that turkey?
She was always sleepy after Thanksgiving dinner.

Barefoot, she scuttled through the living room and around into her compact green and gold kitchen. Without turning the lights
on, she opened the refrigerator door, took out the milk carton, and thought about calling her mother to ask about the calming
effects of organic moo juice. What time was it, anyway? Three o’clock? It couldn’t be! Only a couple hours had passed since
her romp in the graveyard. Was it possible the micro wave’s clock had stopped?

Flipping the cardboard milk container, Barbie poured eight ounces into a mug that next went into the micro wave oven for one
minute. Leaning on the counter and tapping her fingers, she waited. Then she stopped tapping and listened.

Was that a noise?

The micro wave beeped. Barbie left the milk and walked to the window, but there was nothing out there, not even many passing
cars. Not at this hour. She looked to the front door, suddenly wary, scanning the flat space where her new and unbreakable
deadbolt should have been, but wasn’t.
Instead, the old gold chain was in place across the door, a chain that wouldn’t slow down anybody with a hefty set of clippers.
Nor would it stop anyone with a strong shoulder. All it might do was make a bit of noise if an attempt to break it was made.
Noise that might wake her neighbors. She could add more noise by screaming.

The sound came again. A scratching noise. Mice? Not mice—it came from outside.

Stepping closer to the door, placing her ear to the wood, Barbie listened hard. The scratching sound continued. Followed by
a sort of. . .rumble? Was it Mr. Meaker snoring loudly in the next apartment? Eighty-year-old Mrs. Granger sleepwalking?

“It is not safe to open this door,” Barbie said aloud. “I am not Sydney Bristow, or any other kick-ass CIA agent.”

The scratching noise grew louder. Her curiosity expanding beyond all tolerance, Barbie sucked in a breath and turned the knob,
ready to scream. She opened the door a crack, leaving the chain on. . .and came face-to-face with a monster! A nightmare
animal with black pointy ears, a gothlike studded collar, and a whole lot of teeth, looking very much like the devil himself.

It was—Geez, it couldn’t be. Only one thing looked like this.

Dog.

Yelping, Barbie jumped back. Darin’s pet let out a growl, sounding somewhat like a submerged torpedo, then lunged at the door
with all of his bulk, which was quite considerable.

The gold chain snapped in two. The door flew open and smacked the wall behind it, the knob punching a baseball-sized hole
through the drywall.

Dog bounded inside the apartment. No contest about him being the largest thing in it. Giant pink tongue extended, lips drawn
back in what was either a snarl or a laugh,
the Rottweiler had Barbie prone on the couch, paws on her chest, before she could count to three.

“Down!” Barbie shouted. “I am not a toy!”

Dog’s breath was. . .doggy. Before Barbie could bat him away, however, her eyes locked on a shiny object dangling from the
beast’s spiked collar, hanging very near to her face. Her cell phone.

“Easy does it, boy. I’ll take my phone, and you can go back to your master. Deed done. Nighty-night.”

No movement from Dog. Nothing too intelligent in his eyes, either. Carefully Barbie unclasped the canine’s collar and slid
the phone free. Dog, close as he was, didn’t utter another peep. At least his breath, Barbie decided, smelled like canned
dog food, not human flesh.

Riiiinnnnng.

Frightening the daylights out of Barbie, the ringing device caused her to lose her grip on it. The cell phone soared into
the air. Barbie pushed Dog off and made a grab for it.

“Hello?” Her voice was shaky but determined. “What do you mean by calling me like this? By delivering this huge furball to
my doorstep? Why are you panting on this phone instead of explaining yourself?”

“I beg your pardon?” her mother said.

A mysterious illness settled over Barbie, causing instant paralysis. Able to move only her eyes, she found the kitchen clock.
3:10.

“It’s three in the morning,” her mother said. “Is everything all right? Why did you call us at three in the morning?”

“I didn’t call, Mom.”

“Don’t be silly, dear. Of course you called. Your number is right here on our caller ID.”

“I. . .must have hit autodial by accident,” she lied. “I’m sorry. I dropped my cell. Can you go back to sleep?”

“My heart is racing, Barbie. How can I go back to sleep? I thought you might have had an accident!”

“No accident. I’m here at home, in my pajamas. Do you have any sleep meds?”

“Of course I do,” her mother said.

“Can I come over and get some?”

“Have you been drinking, Barbie?”

“Warm milk only. I’ve had a strange night.”

“Honey, we love you, but it’s too late for you to come over. Have some turkey, or cheese,” her mother suggested.

Sage advice, Barbie thought. If only she had a supermarket on the premises.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” her mother asked.

“Right as rain.”

“Night, then. Dad blows you a kiss.”

“Right back at you.” Barbie disconnected, melting down onto the couch beside Dog to eye him studiously. The fact that he hadn’t
eaten her yet was a plus.

“Some he-man attack dog you are,” she said, since it was evident that Dog liked soft places on which to set his gigantic behind.
When she reached to pat him, however, his lips peeled back from his teeth and she rescinded the gesture. With horror, she
watched a great big gob of saliva drip from the corner of the beast’s mouth.

Glancing first at her new beige microfiber couch, then back to the saliva, Barbie thought about her cup of now likely tepid
milk, and rose to go and get it. She set the mug on the coffee table, close to the edge, and pointed it out to the humongous
animal on her sofa. “Yum.”

This got his attention. Of course, she’d have to trash the cup after Dog slobbered on it, and maybe a couch pillow or two.
The trick was to get him to drink.

“Okeydokey, Dog. Milkfest. Tryptophan. Sleepy time.”

The cell phone rang again. More paralysis struck, before the remembrance that her mother usually rang right back with a tidbit
forgotten the first time around.

“Hello, Mom,” Barbie said.

She encountered nothing but static on the line, followed by irregular breathing sounds. Probably not her mother.

“You can take him back now,” Barbie declared with a pained glance at Dog, who now sat on the floor with his paws on the table,
wrapped protectively around the cup. “Joke’s on me,” she added, willing to bet Darin was laughing his guts out.

What had seemed a date from paradise was in actuality the date from hell. There was a very good probability Darin could be
Satan himself, and Dog his minion. But she couldn’t return Dog to his master because she didn’t know where Satan lived. Another
truly disgusting thought. . .If Dog was this big, think how big his poop would be.

“Darin?” Desperation rang in her voice. Dog
had
to go.

There was, however, no answer from the phone. Darin had hung up without uttering a single word, leaving her helpless
in this crummy predicament.

Bastard! Think of how much time she had wasted imagining him in a kilt, imagining what he wouldn’t be wearing under that kilt.
Imagining
herself
under that kilt.

Dog picked that particular moment to bark, making her jump a full foot. “Stop that!” she commanded. But Dog continued to bark
with his head turned toward the window. The beast barked with zeal, at a decibel level even dinosaurs might have shunned.

Barbie’s nerves were frazzling. How many glasses of milk would it take to bring down this pony-sized canine, anyway? There
weren’t any sleeping pills in her medicine cabinet. She didn’t even take aspirin on a regular basis. Dog barked louder.

Oh, all right. It was going to have to be another trip to the cemetery. She could tie Dog to a bush and let him scare away
visitors. No one would dare attempt to steal the beast, of course, or even get close. But in order to manage her plan, she’d
have to call a cab and wait for it. She’d have to try to stuff Dog into the cab. What if Dog didn’t like taxis? What if Dog
didn’t like cabbies? Remember the slasher-style rips in the leather seats of Darin’s Porsche? Would a cabbie charge extra
for repairs?

Dog was at the window, his growls sounding like thunder. Barbie glanced over his wide back, her mind seizing with sudden insight.
What if Darin had let Dog free, then waited around to enjoy the show? What if he was out there right now? Could Dog know this?
Could Darin and Dog be in on this together?

Skin riddled with angry chills, Barbie sprinted to the door, whistled to Dog, pointed into the hallway, and watched him run.
“Free at last,” she whispered, slamming the door behind the creature, then dashing to the window in time to see Dog race past.

As the canine moved in and out of a bit of meager illumination cast by a streetlamp, a dark shape much bigger than the Rottweiler
appeared. Only a shadow, it stretched across the sidewalk as if the figure wore a bulky fur coat.

Surely she was seeing things, imagining this. After a stern head shake, a slow blink of her eyes, she looked again. Nothing.
No big shadow, no big dog, no more barking. Only somewhat relieved, Barbie was out the door before sanity intervened.

Nancy Drew she was not, however. How did a person search for clues in the dark on a residential street? How could she possibly
prove that Darin had been there? The street was quiet. No wind, no loiterers, and no cars—none other than the usual parked
ones. Oh, and there were some
pretty flashing lights in the distance. . .coming closer. A cop car. And there was no time to hide.

The pretty lights seared Barbie’s eyes quicker than she could have said Jack Robinson. It was the good old Miami PD, keeping
the streets safe.

A window beneath those flashing lights rolled down. A head appeared. “You all right, miss?” a reproving voice asked.

“Yes, officer, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

The head stayed framed in the open window. “Have you, by any chance, been drinking?”

Why was everybody asking her that?

“No, sir. Except for warm milk.” In truth, she hadn’t even had that.

“Could you be sleepwalking?”

“I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

“Aren’t those pajamas you’re wearing?”

Crap. Not only was she in pajamas, but pink poodle pj’s. Don’t act shocked, Barbie told herself. Act friendly.

“Yes sir,” she said. “Got them as a gift last Christmas. From my mom.”

See? Nice, friendly, all-American girl here.

Silence from the cop, then, “Do you live around here?”

“Right up those stairs behind me,” Barbie assured him.

“Do you think it might be wise to go back inside, seeing as how it’s after three in the morning and you’re wearing pajamas?”

“Yes, sir, I do think it would be wise,” Barbie agreed. “I was trying to call my dog. He ran off, chasing after something.”

“Maybe you could wait inside and I’ll go and look for the dog. How would that be?”

“That would be great. Terrific. Thanks.” It’d give Darin a jolt, too. “The dog is a big black Rottweiler. Name’s Dog. Can’t
miss him.”

“Got it. Shall I wait to make sure you get inside?” the cop asked.

“Yes, thanks. Mind if I ask you something first?”

“What would that be?”

“Do you know Darin Russell?”

“Russell? Yes, ma’am, I do.”

Uh-oh.
Surely the cop was now looking at her in an even stranger fashion. What had Darin said he did for the PD? He investigated
what? Oh yeah, people with unusual physical and mental problems. In that case, shouldn’t Darin be investigating himself?

Barbie smiled at the cop, waved, then turned and took the steps back home two at a time. Her life, she decided in that instant,
was spinning out of control.

An idea struck that came on so strongly that it sent Barbie careening into the hallway. What if Darin had put the cop up to
this to keep her off his scent? What if he was still out there, chuckling? What if he and the cop were laughing now? Another
conspiracy?

Darn. She just had to get her life back in order. Darin had the Miami PD on his side, and she had just loosed a really nasty
beast on a public street. Could things get any worse? Yes. The truth was, Angie was right: she needed a date, any date, to
cancel out the negativity and lingering bad taste of this last one. She certainly would try out for a shot on that stupid
upcoming local version of the Dating Game. At worst, it was a charitable endeavor—the country club was planning on planting
trees in and around the city with the money raised—and at best, she might meet someone nice. There was always a chance.

She would try out for the game, indeed. Barbie Bradley would be so darned personable that they’d
have
to choose her. The three guys vying for her attention would be drooling— much like Dog—and fighting amongst themselves to
win a
date. She would be queen for a day. Who wouldn’t want that?

Oh yes, and as a result of this game, she would show Darin Russell what he had thrown away. Show him what a catch she was.
Show him what he had missed by preferring a damn b-l-o-n-d-e.

From the corner alley, Darin watched Barbie’s encounter with the cop. As soon as she had gone inside and the cop had driven
away, however, he let out a howl. He howled until his insides were putty and Dog began to bark in counterpoint.

Several shades and shutters opened. Someone yelled for whoever was out there to can it.

Emotions were high. With a hand on Dog’s head to quiet him, Darin wondered about this dating game Barbie had mentioned. The
question plaguing him was
why
she would consider dating to be a game? Why would she do this? Just to spite him? After all the feelings they’d shared? He
had those feelings still. No mistaking that.