Diary of a Mad Fat Girl (14 page)

She pauses, points, and the magic screen
produces another picture of Richard Stacks. In this one, he’s
parked next to what appears to be the same dumpster and there is a
blonde head in his lap. “These are just a few examples of the
research I’ve done on Chloe’s husband, but we‘ll get to that
later.”

“
Okay,” I say, not sure how to
proceed.

Lilly just sits there and shakes her
head.

29

“
First of all,” Gloria Peacock
announces like she’s speaking from a pulpit, “I know that Lilly was
fired and I know the
real
reason why.”

“
What?” Lilly exclaims and jumps off
the couch like her ass is on fire. She opens her mouth to speak but
Gloria Peacock holds up a bejeweled hand.

“
Mr. Reece Hilliard and Dr. Ryland
Lane are both dear friends of mine.”

“
How do you know?” Lilly hisses like a
cat and I try to figure out how Lilly’s psychotic mood swing
factors into this odd turn of conversation.

“
I know all about Reece and your Uncle
Ryland, my sweet girl,” Gloria says and Lilly looks like she’s
about to pass out. “I’ve worked closely with those two fine
gentlemen over the years and I have known all along what you and
only a few others know now.”

I cover my mouth and gasp.

“
Holy shit, Lilly,” I croak like a
frog.

Lilly’s face is beet red and her eyes are
wild. She is staring at Gloria Peacock like she wants to rip her
face off.

“
Why are you doing this?” she demands.
“Do you just sit in here waving your arms around, collecting
pictures of them as well? Do you know what would happen if people
found out about them?”

I try to wrap my mind around the fact
that Lilly’s uncle, an accomplished and well respected professor at
the University of Mississippi, and Reece Hilliard, a prominent
banker who has the misfortune of being married to one Catherine
Hilliard, really are going stinger to stinger in the story of the
bees and the bees. They
were
the two gentlemen in the pictures I found in Catherine
Hilliard’s desk. I wonder if perhaps I’ve been hearing Lilly wrong
for the past five months and she’s been saying “The
Gentle
men”
all along instead
of “The Gentle
man
” and I just
didn’t pick up on it. She’s usually not that slick, so I make a
mental note to ask her about that later.

She looks like she’s about to lose her
ever-loving mind so I dismount the cowhide cloud and put my hand on
her arm, but she shrugs me off and continues to stare at Gloria
Peacock like she wants to kill her.

“
Lilly,” I say, “you need to calm
down.”

“
Calm down!” she screams. “I lost my
job because of this and Catherine Hilliard accused me of having sex
with an 18 year old kid to justify it! Do you know how humiliating
that is?” She turns that crazy nutcase glare on me, “Even
you
doubted me and you are my best
friend! I ditched our trip to Panama City Beach for this and I
thought you’d never speak to me again, then when Drake ran over
from the pool so we could discuss why Catherine Hilliard was trying
to frame us, here you come with some damned Chinese food and then
you throw all of my shit out in the yard!” She has tears in her
eyes. “I went through all of that to protect them because what they
have is so special and so sweet and I thought nobody knew, but
people know,” she looks at Gloria Peacock and the tears start
rolling, taking heaps of mascara down with them,
“
you
know. So what was the
damn point? Why did I have to wreck my whole life being part of a
cover up if people already know?”

“
People don’t know, Lilly,” Gloria
Peacock says softly. “Reece, Ryland, and I are part of an elite
and
very
private circle of
friends. We don’t have to be told things.”

“
I know I’m about to call Uncle Rye
right now and tell him he’s full of shit.”

“
Lilly, please sit down,” Gloria
Peacock takes a seat on the sectional and pats the cushion next to
her. “Ace, could you please get her some water out of the
cooler?”

“
Uh, sure.” I look around for a cooler
and see nothing that resembles an igloo or a fridge so I wander
toward the wall and stand there like I’m expecting water to fall
from the sky like manna from heaven.

“
Third cabinet door from the left,”
Gloria says, nodding. “Would you please bring me one
also?”

“
Sure.” I say and step over to a line
of cabinets that look like they cost more than my car and count
down to the third door. Sure enough, it’s some kind of little
refrigerator stocked with imported beer, bottled water, and plastic
bags stuffed with cut vegetables and fruit. I lust after the beer
for a second then grab three bottles of water and return to the
sofa because I can’t wait to hear the rest of this
story.

Lilly’s face is in her hands and she is
sobbing uncontrollably. Gloria Peacock is rubbing her back and
telling her everything is going to be just fine because we are
going to set things straight and make things right and I don’t know
about Lilly, but I believe her. I wouldn’t be any more convinced of
victory if I were eavesdropping on Pat Summit in the Tennessee
locker room.

Gloria Peacock looks up at me, holds up two
fingers, then points back at the cabinets. I place my water on the
marble top coffee table and go back to see what’s behind door
number two.

Behind that door, I find all shapes and
sizes of blue and white towels. I grab a small one, wet it in the
sink, and take it to Lilly. She wraps it around her face and calms
down to heaves and sniffles. I pick up my glass bottle of water and
sit back down on the sofa.

“
Okay girls,” Gloria Peacock begins,
“back to the facts.”

“
Okay,” Lilly and I say in unison and
I can’t wait to hear the facts.

“
My use of this surveillance equipment
could be construed as unethical or even illegal, yes,” she looks
from me to Lilly then back at me, “but so is speeding and I’ve
never run over anyone with my little plastic mouse over there,” she
pauses, smiling, “not literally anyway. And as far as ethics go, I
can’t see a single thing on that screen that anyone standing on any
street corner in the city couldn’t see at any given
time.”

No! I don’t want to talk about surveillance
ethics and legality! I want to hear about Reece Hilliard and Ryland
Lane getting it on like pot of neck bone! Dammit! I take a sip of
water and try to hide my disappointment.

“
So you have constant access to what
anyone walking down the street can see with their own two eyes?”
Lilly asks and she sounds like she has marshmallows stuffed up her
nose.

“
Basically,” Gloria Peacock says. “I’m
kind of like a high tech Robin Hood, if you will, watching out for
people,” she pauses and does the ping pong glance again, “and when
I saw Lilly put that tracking mechanism on Richard Stacks’ lovely
white Lexus, I knew that you were the kind of girls that I could
help. So I came home and did some research.”

Oh. Forgot she witnessed that little foray
in small time criminal activity.

“
So how does this thing work?” I ask,
nodding toward the super computer system. “How did you get those
pictures?”

“
You’ve heard of auto face
recognition?” she looks back and forth and back and forth again and
we both nod yes, but I’ve never heard of it and I’m sure Lilly
hasn’t either. I mean, if they don’t print it in Cosmo, she doesn’t
know about it and if it’s not on basic cable, then I don’t. Gloria
Peacock obviously senses that we have no idea what she’s talking
about because she provides us with a brief explanation of the
basics.

“
So you just say a name and then you
get a list of options like when you search for an image on Google?”
I ask and my mind fills with names I’d like to holler at that
computer.

“
Yes,” she answers, “simple as
that.”

“
But how,” Lilly asks, “how does it
know what we look like? I mean, how does it know what face goes
with what name?”

“
Do you have a driver’s license?”
Gloria Peacock asks and the light of understanding begins to shine
in Lilly’s eyes. “Would you like to see a
demonstration?”

“
I would love that!” I say with a bit
too much enthusiasm.

Gloria Peacock returns to the center of the
room and starts conducting her invisible orchestra again. When she
stops, she says, “Search Catherine Hilliard.”

Lilly and I look at each other then back at
the screen where about six million thumbnail shots pop up.

“
Let’s narrow it down,” Gloria Peacock
says with a smile, then clearly articulates, “Search file for Ardie
Griffith.”

“
Why is she searching for the
superintendent in Mrs. Hilliard’s file?” Lilly whispers and before
I could think up a response, a photo flashes up on the screen and
we both gasp and start laughing like two idiots fresh from the nut
house.

“
Ladies,” Gloria Peacock asks with a
triumphant smile, “do you both understand that I have what it takes
to set things right in this little town?” Gloria Peacock looks up
at the image and indulges in a very dignified little
giggle.

“
Just remember,” Gloria Peacock says
and smiles her big ivory toothed smile, “complete
confidentiality.”

30

When Lilly drops me off, I feel like Oscar
the Grouch and not because I’m grumpy or have a pet worm, but
because compared to the majesty of The Waverly Estate, my humble
abode looks like a garbage can.

I had suggested on the ride home that she
track Richard Stacks from the comfort of her home and we would
stalk him only if he left town because if he did anything local,
Gloria Peacock had it covered.

I imagine there isn’t much that Gloria
Peacock doesn’t have covered.

I can’t help but wonder how rich she really
is. She said her first husband was a General in the Army so between
his salary and that high tech spy machine he invented, he must’ve
made some serious dough.

Maybe I should start looking for an Army man
to marry. Lilly’s brother is a Master Sergeant stationed at Fort
Carson, Colorado, so I could call him up and ask him if he wanted
to marry me. Ha. Who am I kidding? I know for a fact that he’s in a
committed relationship with a snow board and collects ski bunnies
like some folks collect unicorns. He wouldn’t have any use for my
chubby ass. He’s an asshole anyway. A very beautiful asshole, but
aren’t they all?

I throw my lovely dress onto the mountain of
clothes I left in the floor then go dig through the dryer for a
clean pair of cut off sweat pants and a tank top. I unpin the bun
and slick my hair into a pony tail and throw myself onto my fluffy
bed. I wiggle around and get really comfy, then realize that
something is missing. I haven’t seen Buster Loo since I got home
and that’s not normal. At all.

I call him a few times and when that doesn’t
work, I go with my old reliable tricks, “Buster Loo wanna treat?
Buster Loo wanna go for a walk?”

Silence.

Feeling a mild sense of panic, I jump
up and check the doggie door to make sure it’s working right then
search the backyard, but Se
ñ
or Buster Loo Bluefeather is nowhere to be
seen. I open the fridge and rattle some stuff around then go to the
pantry and crinkle up a potato chip bag and shake a can of peanuts.
No luck. I grab his leash and sling it around for a minute, but
still no Buster Loo.

In a full state of panic, I run out the
front door holding my breath as I scan the street then jog up and
down the road checking the ditches and I’m relieved that I don’t
see a little brown carcass. I run back to the house and check my
car, my gardening shed, and search the full perimeter of my
property. Having exhausted all of my immediate resources and my
nerves, I slump down in a patio chair and start to cry.

As luck would have it, just when I’m getting
super snotty, I hear a vehicle pull up in the driveway. I run
inside to blow my nose and throw water on my face and just as I’m
patting my eyes dry, Buster Loo bursts through the doggie door and
starts running around like he’s being chased by an invisible vacuum
cleaner. I pick him up and hug him like crazy and start crying
again, all the while telling him how much how much I love him and
how scared I was that he was gone forever. I wipe my face again
and, still clutching Buster Loo, go outside to thank whoever was
kind enough to bring my little chiweenie dog back home.

When I step out the door, I see Mason
McKenzie standing in my yard. I decide to wait and get the facts
before beating him to death for abducting my dog.

He’s all smiles as he walks toward the
patio, but when he gets close enough to see my puffy eyes and red
nose, he starts to look like he just ate some bad eggs.

“
Ace,” he begins, holding out one of
his big, beautiful hands, “I’m sorry. I just miss him so bad so I
just borrowed him for a little while. I didn’t mean to upset
you.”

“
Have you ever heard of a note?” I
demand. “Or a phone call? Maybe a text message or any form of
communication that might let someone know their little dog is not
grave yard dead or gone forever?”

“
Look, I’m sorry,” he says earnestly.
“I meant to have him back before you got home,” he pauses. “I miss
him. I miss you. I miss us. Ace, please,”