Splitsville.com (17 page)

She laughs. “The difference is mace does last a little longer, but I hope you aren’t going to be around to see.” Vive adjusts her weight to the left side of her body and checks out her nails, “They both will make eyes and skin burn, plus make it hard to breathe.” I swear I see laughter behind her eyes. “You like Bhut Jolokia?”

“Bhu…” I can’t say it, much less like it.

Vive snorts again. I’m glad I’m amusing to her with my lack of knowledge. She continues, “The hottest pepper in the world. My momma loved to use a little in her spaghetti. You know, to give it a kick.” She smacks her lips like she just had a bit of her momma’s spaghetti. “Imagine
that
getting in your eyes. Stops you dead in your tracks. This here is stronger than that.” She points to the smaller can.

The words run out of my mouth before I can stop them. “I’ll take it.” If I wasn’t scared of the threats before, I’m scared now. And I can’t wait to use my spray on threatener.

“I told you.” Vive takes a stab at the Joe Pesci guy, “She may not want to off anyone, but she wants to hurt someone
real
bad.” She disappears behind a curtain, “I’ll be right back with your protective spray.”

I check my watch and realize I’ve been in here over forty-five minutes. My cell rings and I look at the screen.

“Good morning Bradley.” I smile at the thought of how he is going to react when I tell him about my protective spray.

“Why haven’t you called? I’ve been worried.”

Crap! I forgot to call him when I got out of Macro Hard. I told him I would. “I’m sorry. I stopped to get a coffee and made a pit stop. Can we discuss it over coffee?”

“Yes and I’m alone today so I can really use your help.”

Help? The last thing I want to do is work. I’m exhausted from cleaning all night. My silence makes him continue.

“Please? It’s only for a couple hours, just to feed the dogs and take them out to potty.”

I smile when I hear him say “potty.” How can I resist that? My dumps will have to wait and the dumpers will have to put up with the dumpees one more day.

“Of course I will help you.” Plus any alone time with Bradley is a bonus.

Vive comes around the curtain with a box in her hand. She begins to roll her nails on the glass countertop with her head cocked in the air.

I bend my head down so Vive won’t hear me. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll be there in a few.

“The who?” Bradley questions.

“No one. I’ll see you in a minute.” I push the
end
button and turn my attention back to Vive. She is taking the small can out and setting up an assortment of leather cases.

Her hands create a wand, like Vanna White waving across the letters on Wheel of Fortune. “As you can see, we have an assortment of colors to chose from.”

There are pink cases, blue cases, purple cases, black, camo, you name it and Vive has it. I pick each one up and see how it looks in my hand. None of it looks natural, but I continue to repeat “death threats” over in my head.

Vive goes back behind the counter and brings out another box. She carefully opens it while looking around. By this time the store has five or so customers. She bends down close to my ear and whispers, “Come back here.” She waves me around the counter.

I look around to see if anyone is staring like I’m on some spy mission, but they’re too involved in looking for their own protective spray. I follow Vive behind the curtain to the back room. The metal shelves are filled with boxes stacked to the ceiling, all of which are housing her arsenal treasure trove.

I marvel at the warehouse. “I can’t believe how much you have.”

“Oh honey, you haven’t seen anything. We are low compared to last week.” Vive climbs a ladder to get a very small box, no bigger than a pocketknife. “We get shipments every day. This stuff sells like hot cakes.” She hands me the box and helps herself down.

She can’t have any flavor left in her gum. I watch her chomp and move the ladder back to its original place. She takes the unmarked box and goes over to the desk.

She uses her nails as a knife and slices the piece of tape on the box and it pops open. “You seem like a nice girl.” She takes out a tiny pink key case and holds it up. “I see you have several key chains so this won’t be noticeable.”

She hands me the small pepper spray can and I take it very carefully. I have no plans of spraying myself with my own protective spray. It fits perfectly in my hands.

Vive’s eyes light up and her voice climbs, “Great! It will blend in with your everyday life. Just make sure you can get to it if you need to.” She closes the empty pepper spray box and hands it to me. “I’ve been waiting to give this to the right person. Plus, part of the proceeds go the Breast Cancer Foundation. They only made a limited number.” She pats the keys attached to her belt loop with one hand and her boobs with the other.

I smile. Even if I wasn’t in the market for pepper spray, I’d still buy from Vive.

“We have a deal,” I say, following Vive back out into the store to pay.

“If you need anything thing else, you let me know.” Vive winks, “I mean
anything
.”

I’m not for sure, but I believe Vive would track down the person making death threats towards me and get them herself.

“Thanks Vive.”

“Let me know how it works out,” she calls after me between chomps on her gum. “By the way, don’t stand down wind when you’re spraying it.”

I turn around and Vive is leaning back on the counter the way she was when I came in over an hour ago with the same shitty grin.

Downwind?

How am I going to have time to determine downwind if someone is attacking me? I guess I’ll figure it out. I secretly pray I won’t have to find out.

Twenty-Two

“What’s going on with you?” Bradley takes the extra coffee out of my hand. I’m careful to put my key chains in my pocket in fear the pepper spray will go off without me touching it, even though the instructions say it can’t happen. I’ve come to realize anything can happen.

I follow him into the kennel area. I look down the line of cages “I’ve had the worst night.” The little black noses sticking out through the bars in anticipation of getting fed, warm my heart.

Bradley takes the stack of silver bowls out of the cabinet. “What happened? More threats?” He lines the bowls up on the floor.

We fill up them and the howling begins. They know the ping of the pebble dog food hitting the inside of the metal bowls means food is on its way.

“It looks like I’m a suspect in the murders.” I drop the measuring up in the bag and turn to Bradley, “And if you don’t like seeing me in an orange jumpsuit, we’ve got to figure this thing out.”

“What?” Bradley’s voice has disgust in it. He tries to dump a scoop of food in the bowl but loses most of it on the ground. I bend down to help him pick it up.

“Carl came by the house last night before work.” I stand up and brush the food crumbs off on the front of my jeans. “He has a picture of me and Kent arguing at the kissing booth. Can you believe someone took a picture?” I look down at Bradley.

He stands up. “It only means one thing to me.” He comes closer and brushes crumbs away from my cheek. “Someone has been plotting to murder Kent and is completely setting you up.”

I put the clues together. “It looks like we are fighting. He’s dating my best friend and I killed him over jealousy or something. But why would I want to kill Dabi?”

Bradley and I walk down the kennels, sticking bowls in for the dogs to eat.

“Same thing. Jealousy is the number one reason for murder. Money is second.” Bradley sounds exactly like Aunt Matilda.

Money is involved, I know it. Somehow, information about that is what I need to get my hands on at Macro Hard. Kent and Dabi had some kind of deal. But what? I recall Dabi’s dad’s conversation with the mystery man.

“There has to be a lead somewhere.” I tell Bradley about the file and intruder at Macro Hard and my plans to snoop more tonight. Hopefully it will be my last night as a cleaning lady.

“Really, the only thing you have from the email threats is they are all sent from different locations.” Why does he always have to be so logical?

“And the lipstick on the cup?” I remind him.

“Lipstick on a cup in a coffee shop means nothing. There are a lot of women who drink coffee with lipstick on.”

He’s right.

“But the threat came from one of that computer. It’s strange the coffee was hot and the threat was just sent.” Could it be a coincidence? I don’t think so.

I’m so exhausted from no sleep, I can’t even speak.

“I’ll finish putting the bowls out. Why don’t you go to the office and rest your eyes for a little bit?” He points down the hall.

It’s awfully quiet here today. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.

I walk down the hall and ask, “Where is Bree again?”

“She called in sick.” I watch him walk the opposite way with the empty bowls stacked up in his arms and his hair is flopping.

The coffee didn’t do what it was supposed to, and keep me awake. All I need to do is rest my eyes and I’ll be like a new sleuth. . .er. . .woman.

“The light above the desk needs a good swift hit with the broom handle.” Bradley yells in my direction.

The musky smelling office is one part of the building where Bradley hasn’t used any of the fix-up fund. He says the animals don’t use it and he can do paper work in the kennels if he needs to. But it’s a place to get away from the barking. I can rest my eyes, regroup, go back and finish letting the dogs out. Then I can go home and get some real rest before my cleaning job.

When I switch the lights on, they flicker and buzz. I grab the broom that’s leaning in the corner and jab the light like Bradley told me to do. It makes one big long buzz followed by a wave of light.

My body melts in the heavily padded black desk chair and I close my eyes. I recall all the dreams I have had so far concerning Dabi; the initials, the hand-written file, lipstick, and her break-up using Splitsville.com. Nothing is coming to me, only darkness.

I must have fallen asleep because I jump when a kennel door slams and the chains rattle. I open my eyes and gaze at the desk drawer. I pause. I don’t want to think anymore. I close my eyes and visualize a drawer. A steel drawer and a black tube with faint writing. Writing that is almost rubbed off.

I open my eyes and hunt around for a piece of paper. My journal is at home and the visual of this drawer opening and closing with this black tube rolling around in it keeps playing in my mind. It must be important. I’ll forget if I don’t write it down.

Just like a kid, I open the old long metal drawer to Bradley’s desk and sort through the junk to find a pen. I root through the usual items, stray paper clips, chewed pen tops with no pens attached, pencil with broken lead, a couple rubber bands, box of tissues, a tube of…

I pick up the black tube.

“Lipstick?” It has to belong to Bree. She’s the only girl who works here. Most of the time she is so gloomy. I can’t imagine her wearing lipstick especially as the shelter’s in-house pooper-scooper. “Hmmm, does Bree have a girly side?” I laugh while taking the top off the tube.

I laugh picturing pale, meek Bree in red-hot lipstick, slowly pulling her hair out of her little pony tail holder as she begins to wave it around.

Streaks of pink line the shaft of the tube. “Ha.” I roll the lipstick up revealing the full color. “I don’t figure her for pink.” I continue to talk to myself and swipe a little on my finger to apply to my lips.

I put the tube back in the drawer and continue to look around for something to write with. Of course there’s nothing in here, but maybe the front desk will have something.

I grab a tissue from the box and rub the lipstick off. No matter how pretty pink is, it’s never been my color. I fold the tissue and rub harder. The pink is staring me right in the face. The pink is…

I pause. Only one image comes to me. Coffee. Mug. As my eyebrows narrow, I purse my lips together. I fling the drawer back open and the tube rolls up to the front of the drawer, just like my dream. I grab it and rush down the hall in the direction of Bradley’s voice talking to the dogs.

“Bradley!” I scream and run faster. “Oh my god, who’s lipstick is this?” I plant my hands on my knees and bend over to gain my breath. I really need to exercise, but right now isn’t the time to start. I guess that’s one thing I can do in jail-exercise.

All the dogs bounce around and wait for Bradley to throw the balls. At least the rain has stopped.

He throws one ball and looks at the tube in my hand. “Bree’s. Why?” The dogs scatter after it. He takes the tube from my fingers. He rolls it up then down. “You aren’t a pink girl, are you?”

I take it back. I straighten up. “No, but the person sending the emails is.” “That’s the exact same color on the coffee cup. The cup from the coffee shop where the email threat was sent from! I’d know it from anywhere. I need to see her file.” I jab the lipstick in his face. “Somehow Bree is connected to all this.”

Bradley throws the last ball and we hurry to the office. He walks over to the old filing cabinet in the corner. While he thumbs through the files, I continue to inspect the lipstick and figure out how Bree is associated with Splitsville.com. I’ve had hundreds of clients plus their dumpees and I can’t recall one named Bree.

I see the file in his hands. I can’t wait to get my hands on it.

Bradley sits at his desk and opens the file. He starts to look through it. “Nothing unusual.” He pauses as he reads. “Good background check and her day job is at…” I watch as his finger stops. He looks up with fear in his eyes, “Macro Hard!”

I swing the file around on the desk to face me. I start from the beginning and read everything.

“Brittany.” I point to the name at the top of the application. I shudder when her name leaves my lips.

“Okay?” Bradley doesn’t put two and two together. “So her real name is Brittany.”

Hello? Brittany. “Bree for short.” I want to shake him, but I will take my time and explain all the ideas whirling around in my head.

“Kent, Terry Kent Goodwin, dumped Brittany, Bree, using Splitsville.com.” I recall the poor meek OCD Brittany’s picture. “She doesn’t look the same. Similar, but she’s let her hair grow and she’s colored it. And her working here really throws me for a loop.”

I clearly remember her short red-haired bob and she was neatly wrapped up in a cardigan.

“Really?” Bradley straightens himself up. “OCD? Isn’t that the neat freak thing?”

My eyebrows lift and I nod. “Yes.”

“And she picks up poop here?” He rubs his chin. “That sure doesn’t add up.”

“Only one way to find out.” I grab the file and try to dart out the door.

Bradley steps in front of me. “No!” he says. “You’re not going over there?”

I dare him to try and stop me. “Oh yes I am.” I confirm. I may have uncovered my ticket to freedom and the murderer. “Me and my pepper spray.” I tap the pink canister dangling from my keys and head for the Toyota.

***

According to my GPS, her apartment is only ten minutes from both the SPCA and Macro Hard. I imagine her in a board meeting sitting all prim next to Dabi. I picture the perfectly put together Brittany jumping up and strangling Dabi, but that would be too easy.

What did Brittany do at Macro Hard? Is that where she met Kent? I wonder if Brittany was the reason for his divorce.

Oh. My. God. Did Brittany pose as Kent to break up with Erin? I need to check the email address and see. At a stop light, I reach over for my dream notebook and jot down my dream of the lipstick and add a note to look up the Erin dump from Kent. I need to see the email and find out where it came from. Kent might have been a snake, but maybe he didn’t break up with Erin after all.

The cloud cover remains low and rain drops slowly dot my windshield as I drive down the tree-lined residential area. Although I wish it hadn’t started raining, it will create a distraction for any comings and goings on the street. People will definitely be running to their cars from their homes or paying more attention to the rain than to a spy.

As I make my way in front of Brittany’s house, I notice the neighborhood-watch sign along the edge of the curb. I notice her car in the drive. The car I’ve seen her pull in and out of the SPCA. A car that’s too cheap to be executive material. As a matter of fact, knowing what I know about her, the Ford Thunderbird is the last thing I think Brittany would drive. Bree I can see driving it, but knowing Bree is Brittany, no way.

I don’t recognize the BMW behind the Thunderbird, so I pull down the street and turn around in a driveway a few house down from Brittany’s and park. I have to strain to see through the rain to get a good view.

I look at my watch. I have a few hours to kill before work. I can sit here and wait. I have no idea what I want from sitting here, but I figure it will come to me. I turn the engine off. I formulate a new list. Reasons Bree is the murderer. I reach for all my files on the passenger seat. I want to read through them and see if anything jumps out at me.

When I open it, her perfect picture Kent had sent is almost unbelievable. She does a great job cleaning up after the dogs, but it’s not a job I’d picture someone with OCD having.

I begin my comparison list.

1.
   
Dyed hair—something a murderer would do. (Or at least they do in the movies.)

2.
   
Longer hair—something a murderer would do.

3.
   
She works at Macro Hard where she has to see Kent’s ex-wife (Dabi) on a daily basis. A motive for murder. Jealousy.

4.
   
Kent uses Splitsville.com to break up with her and she’s hurt, and angry. More motives for a murder.

5.
   
She kills Dabi first and Kent figures it out. So now she has to kill him too. A reason for another murder.

6.
   
I bet she used Splitsville.com to break up with Erin so Erin can look like a possible suspect. Need to check on that.

7.
   
She begins to threaten Splitsville.com because she’s angry, but she doesn’t know Jenn’s true identity.

8.
   
Is Brittany the girl that smacked Kent? Did Erin see her at the SPCA that day? Was Brittany the woman in the coffee shop?

I read slowly over my list a couple of times and make a couple notes on each item, creating more and more reasons why Brittany is the murderer. All evidence points to her. I know I can’t confront her—yet. With one more night at Macro Hard, I may be able to dig deeper and find out what her job was there.

A car door slamming catches my attention. I look up to see Brittany in the baseball hat with a guy also in a baseball hat. I skew my vision, but the rain makes it too hard to read her aura. They are running to the car. They look like they are exchanging a few unpleasantries and the mystery guy stomps in a puddle.

I grab my camera and snap pictures of them.

I zoom in to get a better picture. I pull the camera back and look at the photo. “White. Puma. Shoes.” If I were under oath, I’d swear those are the same shoes the intruder at Macro Hard had on last night.

9. The mystery guy with Brittany is the same guy who took the file at Macro Hard.