Splitsville.com (20 page)

Twenty-Five

“Okay, wake up.” Aunt Matilda is standing over me with her notebook and writing away. “I’ve let you sleep long enough.” She jingles out of the room and Herbie jumps down to follow her.

I turn over. It can’t be. Is it? The blue dots on the clock read 12:30 PM. I get out of bed and pull the blinds. It’s definitely day-time. I guess working the night shift at Macro Hard did a number on me or maybe it was the cleaning. Either way I must’ve slept pretty good.

I check on Erin before I go see what Aunt Matilda is up to. She’s sound asleep. Her arm is lying over her eyes. For years I’ve been telling her to get a night mask, but she claims this is the only way she falls asleep.

Quietly I shut the door and walk down the hall. I can see my blinking Blackberry on the counter.  

“I can’t believe I slept that long.” I pick it up and check the new dumps deposited into my email. For a business that’s under scrutiny, I’ve had a lot more clients. “I have to get some of these done,
today
,” I tell myself.

I admit, I’d rather be spying on Brittany, but life does go on. Death threats or not.

“You continue to talk about lipstick and Bree in your sleep.” Aunt Matilda follows me into the office. “I really think you need to check this out. This could be the clues you need.”

Really, it’s not a bad idea. It’ll have to be a time when Bree’s not home. Maybe I’ll see if she’s at the SPCA working. That way, I know she won’t be home. I didn’t get a great look at her place in the rain the other day, so another quick drive by, in the sunlight won’t hurt.

I put the dumps in the back of my head. I won’t be long. I’ll drive by, see what I can and then come home to work.

I decide to make sure and call Bradley.

“Where have you been?” he asks. “Or do I want to know?” He talks a little louder over the dogs barking.

“How about dinner tonight?” I want to go over everything with him and see what he thinks I should do. Whether I should go to the police or wait and see if they come to me. The one thing I don’t want to do is implicate myself anymore than I already have.

“Sounds great. Bree…er…Brittany,” he whispers, “is closing so I can leave on time.”

“What time is she supposed to leave there?” I really do need to do some work today. It will be great if I can squeeze in a dump before doing my drive by.

“Not for a couple hours.” Bradley just made my day.

“I hope she doesn’t know it’s me you’re talking too.” I confess to Bradley. “I’m going to drive by her house again.” If she is emailing me because of Splitsville.com, that is one thing, but threatening to kill me is another. This is what I need to find out before I go to the police.

“Why? What are you going to find out from driving by?” I can hear the disapproval in his voice.

“I don’t know. Anything.” I can tell Bradley isn’t happy with this.

“Listen Olivia, why don’t you go to the police? There’s no reason for you to keep this a secret. Let them do their job.”

“Hey, did you give your brother-in-law the license plate number?” I look up all my new clients on the computer. I don’t have any time to spare. I tap my finger on one that looks pretty cute and dry. Zach is dumping a girl who he’s been on one date with, but she refuses to leave him alone.

“Don’t change the subject. See, the police have more resources than you and I. If you give them the number, they’ll be able to trace it faster.”

“Brittany might not know it’s me behind Splitsville.com, but mystery man from her house does. Call me if she happens to leave work early.”

“She won’t. She’s the one closing at 5 P.M.”

Before I hang up, Aunt Matilda is standing in the door frame with her notebook under her arm. “I’m going to do a drive by her house today.” I point to the notebook because she knows I’m talking about Brittany. “She’s working today so there’s no reason to worry about me.”

“I’m not worried. I want you to keep your eyes open, especially for the person who broke into your car at Macro Hard.” Her words may say she’s not worried, but her aura tells me she is.

God! Why can’t Carl keep his mouth shut?

I stand up and walk over to her. I’d never do anything to put my family in danger. I wrap my arms around her and the space between our hearts becomes warm. I’ll always be grateful for Aunt Matilda. Although I don’t have a living mother, she’s the closest to one.

“I will.” Love radiates out of her eyes and I smile. “I promise.”

She turns to walk out and I go sit back in front of the computer to break up with Betty.

***

I use the mouse and scroll down the computer screen to read Zach’s reasons for dumping her when she answers the phone. “Is Betty there?” I pray she’s a quick dump. If I need to post bond, I need to do some dumps.

“Who’s this?”

Zach has paid me extra money because he doesn’t have a photo of her. He went on one date and she’s stalking him. He says he felt if she was dumped from someone else, she might leave him alone.

“This is Jenn from Splitsville.com.” I stop to wait for a reply. “How are you today?” I don’t know where that came from. How do you think she’s doing today, when she’s about to get dumped.

“Who?” Betty begins at number one in “process.”

“Jenn from Splitsville.com.” Oh how I wish I had a picture of her. “Zach is not interested in you. He’s done with you.” How painful can this be? They went on one date,
one
date.

“This is none of your business.” Oh Betty it is my business when someone is paying me and money is involved.

Betty is starting to get defensive. I don’t get it. How could she really care after one date? I mean, if Bradley didn’t want to see me after our first date, I’d be sad, but I’d move on.
I think
.

“It
is
my business. Zach made it my business because he hired Splitsville.com to let you know he’s not interested. Hey, didn’t you meet on a dating website?”

I smile knowing I have a good detail about how they met. Of course it’s not going to work out sweetie, I want to say but don’t.

“Yes, but…” Betty, you better watch it, you’re getting a little testy. I know I’m starting to really get to her.

I have to interrupt her before she makes a mockery of herself, “Listen, Betty. I hate to tell you this, but Brian and his friends made a bet to see how many dates they could get off the dating website. Of course he asked you out and you accepted. Now part of the bet is he has to go out on a date. And
a
date means one, not two or three, but one.” I hold my finger up in the air as if she can see it. “He’s been on one date with you, and several other girls since you.” Wow! He’s a jerk. “Stop stalking him. You’re creeping him out.”

“I’m not stalking him!” I take the phone away from my ear as she continues to scream “no I’m not” without taking a breath.

I hold the receiver up to my mouth and scream back. “Yes you are! You’ve been out on one date.” I look over at the time. Brittany is supposed to be at the SPCA in an hour. I have extra time to do this dump and get ready.

“Do you call him?” I go back to Betty and refocus on the dump. Zach is paying me double to get rid of her ass.

“Yes.”

“A lot Betty. You call him a lot and does he answer?” Zach says he doesn’t answer her daily phone calls and is thinking about getting a new phone number, only he’s had this one for a couple years and changing numbers really is a pain.

“No.” Betty sniffles into the phone. I’m hoping that she’s getting it.

“Okay, there you go. He doesn’t answer because he’s done with you.” Now we’re getting somewhere. I bend down and pick up Herbie’s ball and throw it out the office door. I smile as he scampers after it.

“He can tell me himself.”
Maybe
we aren’t getting somewhere. I rest my head back on my chair and roll it to the side when I hear Herbie run into the room squeaking his ball. I bend back down and grab it out of his mouth. He jerks away and runs off like he won.

“No, he doesn’t need to tell you because he hired me. He doesn’t want to talk to you.” I totally hate to be rude, but in some cases, you just have to be.

“I care about him.” Betty whimpers in the background.

“I’m sorry. I can tell you care about him, but he’s not good for you. A good guy wouldn’t use you as part of a bet. How long has it been since you talked to him?” What is it with these girls? They go on one date and fall, hook, line and sinker.

“A few weeks ago.”

“So you haven’t physically talked to him since the day after your one and only date?” I wish he’d put that on the form. I’d really be driving that little tid bit in.

“Yes. But I’m not going to give back his sweatshirt.”

I laugh. Does she really think he’s worried about a twenty-dollar sweatshirt? “Trust me, he doesn’t want it back.”

“I care…”

I have to stop her. She spent one night with him and hasn’t talked to him since. How does she care about him?

“Stop! I know you care about him, but he’s freaked out. You call and leave plans for the two of you and he only wants you to leave him alone.” I pause for a second and go back in for the kill, “Betty, do you understand that Zach has hired me to break up—well, you technically aren’t even dating. Regardless, he’s hired me to tell you he will no longer be asking you out on any more dates.”

“But we made plans.”

“I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you, but your calendar is now free. I hate to be rude, but it’s over. He only wanted to go on one date with you and other people on the dating website.”

“We had great sex. He said so,” she blubbers in the phone.

Whoa! I scan the form quickly and don’t see anything about sex on there. “Sex? You slept with him on your first date? Obviously he didn’t like it because he never called you again.” No wonder she’s so hung up on him.

“He said it was the best blow job he ever had.” Betty sounds pretty proud of herself.

I roll my eyes and take a deep breath. I glance around the corner just to make sure Aunt Matilda isn’t around because if she heard these next words out of my mouth, she’d fall dead of a heart attack.

“Blow job? You didn’t even have sex? You know what you need to go brush your teeth and move on.” I don’t want to know any more details about Betty’s abilities or talents.

“Arrgh! Fine!” Betty slams down the phone.

Twenty-Six

I drive by Brittany’s house twice to make sure no one’s there, or—no unexpected guest. Even though Bradley said she’s at work. You never know. She might have a killer melt down and need to come home, or just plain leave.

I park a couple houses down, by the corner, so the neighbors won’t know exactly which house the unfamiliar Toyota is visiting. I look out the window and stare at the “neighborhood watch” sign. I’m sure there’s been a lot of good come out of this program, but hopefully not today.

I glance over at Brittany’s immaculate manicured lawn. I’ve always wondered how they make grass look 3-D with all the lines going every which way and I can picture her edging it with a pair of scissors that she just took to a sharpening stone.

And. Those. Flowers! There isn’t a single tulip that’s wilted or the slightest bit drooping. I snicker as I realize she’s planted the tulips flowers in the order of the rainbow.

The other houses in the cookie cutter neighborhood aren’t as tidy as Brittany’s, I notice driving by.

I look in my rear view mirror and my side view mirrors to make sure no one is around. The coast is clear. I get out of my car and walk down the street towards Brittany’s.

The house numbers are painted on the side of the curb. Who ever came up with modular homes is a genius. All the homes look the same, maybe different colored shutters between them or the garage is facing the side instead of the front.

Brittany’s garage is one facing the front, but the dead give-away is the yard. I bet her neighbors hate how pristine it looks.

Not a life in sight. The neighbors don’t seem to be home. Nothing.

I walk through the grass up to the flower garden and lift up every lawn ornament that’s sprinkled throughout her mulch. Surely there’s a spare key somewhere. Doesn’t everyone have a spot?

Walking around the house, I see a small shed is situated in the right-back corner of her yard. I bet Brittany keeps all her tools in there, spic and span. I’ve always heard you can tell a lot about a man by how well he keep his tools. I bet the same goes for Brittany.

I glance at the windows above the patio and see one that’s cracked—only it’s about six feet off the ground. I run my finger along the teak bench directly under it and realize it’s not going to be easy to climb into.  

I look back at the shed, hoping something is in there I can use to climb on because there is no way I can drag the bench under the window to hoist myself up. I slip through the cracked shed door. The slightest bit of sun shines on the most welcome sight. A step ladder.

“Perfect.” I grin, wiping off the cobwebs. Obviously she hasn’t used this in a while. Of course she hasn’t, I think, she’s been too busy murdering people.

Quickly I carry it back to the porch and move the bench slightly to the left. I climb up the step-ladder to look in at the perfectly folded laundry on the dryer. “My luck.” I shake my head. I don’t know what I’d do if my laundry looked like that. It wouldn’t be natural if I didn’t have to search the basket for something remotely not stinky.

I hoist myself up, turn my body like I’m getting on a horse and slide down on my belly, feet first. So much for a quick drive by.

Never in a million years did I think sneaking in and out of Aunt Matilda’s house when I was a teenager was preparing me for this.

“Shit!” I pull my foot out of a ceramic dog bowl and shake it in the air. Brittany has a dog? Bradley never mentioned a dog; maybe if he did, I might not have been so willing to break into her house.

I leave the tipped over dog bowl and decide to clean it up on my way out. Something Brittany would never do. She’d clean it up immediately.

I take a quick glance around to get my bearings and make sure a dog isn’t going to attack me. I swear Good Housekeeping could come in here, right now and not have to stage a thing.

I look through the kitchen and down the hall to what I’m guessing is Brittany’s room. Maybe she doesn’t keep it as clean as the rest of the house. Everything matches. Everything. The comforter, pillows, shams, curtains all have the same print.

I smile, knowing my thread barren Scooby Doo pillow cases, up against my plaid comforter and Mickey Mouse sheets would send her into a tizzy.

I’m careful not to touch anything. I walk across her bedroom into her bathroom.

I look for anything that’s not meticulously clean. A little dot of mold will make me feel good. I get the gloves out of my back pocket and put them on. The cabinet door under her sink whines as I open it. Glancing in, everything is in a glass container. I’m lucky to find a stray tampon in the junk drawer, much less keeping them all neat in a glass container under my sink.

I take my key-chain mini mag out and twist it on. I don’t want to touch anything without seeing what it is. I reach in the back for one of the many black tubes. I select one like the black tube I’ve been carrying around for the past couple days and have grown very fond of. I turn it over to get a true name color because the one I took from the SPCA has been rubbed off.

“Passion Pink.” Go figure. I could’ve come up with that name. I put the tube back in the container because when I tell the police all about my discovery, they will be able to compare the two or twenty she has under there.

I go back into the bedroom. I don’t see any pictures, jewelry, or anything personal. I have to find something to tie her to Dabi and Kent. Something that will give her a reason for murder.

I walk down the hall and a ping of jealousy strikes me when I turn the corner to her office. If I had an ounce of OCD, maybe I could have a neat tidy office too.

The hard wood floors creak as I walk over to the small cabinet next to the leather chair. The leather groans when I sit and pull open the top drawer. I rub my fingers along the tabs of the dozen or so files all neatly color coordinated.

I hesitate. I watch my gloved fingers cross over the typed labels. “Yes!” I pump my fists into the air. I’d know those labels anywhere. It’s the exact same label used on the file missing from Dabi’s office. Nice and neat, just like someone who has OCD.

With a little luck and a lot more searching, I’m sure I’ll find the missing file somewhere in this Martha Stewart house.

I sit down in the floral print high back chair in front of the computer and text Bradley a quick message.

“Still looking for some clues. Is she still there?” I hit the green send button.

“She’s still here,” he texts back.

“Let me know when she leaves,” I quickly respond.

“Slap.” Slap? I read Bradley’s text again.

“Slap?” I have no clue what he’s talking about. Brittany’s computer is on and I type in “slap in text language.” Goggle pulls up “sounds like a plan.”

It is a plan.

I use the mouse to drag the arrow across the computer screen and search the pull-down menu in her history so I can delete what I just googled. The last thing I want is for her to find out someone has been here and messing with her computer.

But what is a little snooping going to hurt?

I search through Brittany’s history. There may be something she looked up that can lead to the murders. J Crew, Gap, Macro Hard products, Splitsville.com…

I gasp, “Splitsville.” I look at the date and time she last viewed it. According to my calculations she was on it 20 minutes before I received an email threat sent from the internet café, which is almost ten minutes from her house.

I have definitely tied her to the emails. But I have to find the file in order to tie her to the murders.

My phone vibrates. I look down and see a text from Bradley in all capital letters. “GET OUT! She’s coming home for lunch.”

I look at the drawer where the files are. And for a split second I want to grab them, but I don’t.

I text back, “Is she working tomorrow?”  

With a second to spare he types back, “YES GET OUT!”

I click out of her computer and go back to the laundry room. Looking at the spill, I take the entire roll of paper towels and throw it on the mess without rolling them out.

I look around for a place to throw them away. If I leave them in the trash next to the dryer, she will know. So I open the dryer door and throw them in there. Hopefully by the time she finds them, I’ll have this thing solved.

I look at the window and decide to use the door. I figure it’d take me longer to climb back out the window than taking the real way out of a house.

I run around the back of the house to get the ladder and stop when I feel my shoe squish something. I can smell it before I pick it up. “Eww!”

I rub my shoe into the grass to get off the large clumps of dog poop as I walk to the ladder.

I grab the ladder and run to the shed. The buzz of the garage door chain roars and I quickly shut the shed door and tip toe run to the side of the house.

I plant my body up against the warm brick house with my palms flat to the heat. As if my hands have suction cups, I make my way along the side of the house and peek around the corner.

“Crap.” I roll my eyes and whisper. I’m on the wrong side of the house. I can’t just go back around or she’ll see me out her windows and if I cross in front, she’ll see me there too.

I look over at the neighbor’s house and bolt across their lawn. If I cross to the other side of the street, I can keep my head turned away from Brittany’s house in case she does see me.

I nod at a young couple walking their infant in one of those strollers with the net. What are those parents worried about? A bird swooping down to get their young or the sun giving them a good dose of vitamin D?

“No!” The mom screams.

Startled, I look up to apologize for being in her space. “I’m sorry.” I plead to the crazy looking woman.

“Not you.” She points. “Him!” The cute little family takes off down the street.

Tramp, Kent’s dog he got from the SPCA fund raiser, is galloping full speed ahead right towards me. I take off in the opposite direction of the parents, toward my car. I don’t think I’ve ever run before. Or I can’t recall a time when I needed to. 

Brittany is running out her front door screaming.

She sounds desperate. “Stop!” I look back and Tramp closing in on me. Brittany is not far behind him flailing her arms in the air. “He won’t hurt you!”

My mind yells RUN and my legs continue to follow.

“Stop! If you don’t I can’t catch him!” I hear Brittany scream as she stops. “Hey, Hey! Olivia?”

If I don’t take her advice, I may have a heart attack. Tramp smells my shoes. He is surrounded by his silver aura indicating he understands why I am there. I bend down to catch my breath and stroke his furry coat.

With one hand planted on her hip and her other hand pointing at me, Brittany states, “You are Olivia.” Her eyes cross examine me, “Do you live near here?”

For a split second I thought she knew I was in her house only seconds ago, but by the expression on her face I can tell she doesn’t.

She takes Tramp by his collar. “Well? Do you?” Her eyebrows turn slightly in.

I smile, relief flowing through me. She doesn’t know I’m Jenn from Splitsville.com. “No.” I pick up the community newspaper in the front yard we are standing in. “I deliver these.” I hold it out to her.

Her face becomes distorted and she cocks her head to the side. “Really? Bradley said you work in the dot com world.”

My smile broadens. “Extra cash with the economy and all.” I change the subject, “Your dog?” I have to know how she got Tramp.

I really can’t believe Erin didn’t know where Tramp went and Bradley didn’t tell me Brittany had a dog.

“No, er, yes. Um…no.” She looks confused.

I question, “Which is it?” If she’s not confused, I sure am. “Yes or no.”

She strokes Tramps head. “My ex boyfriend’s dog.” Her face scans mine. “Tramp showed up at the SPCA one day and I took him. I didn’t tell Bradley so if you can keep it between the two of us that’d be great.”

“Sure.” Sure I won’t! “Well, I’ve got to go to another neighborhood now.” I walk away.

“Funny.” She turns back to face me as I continue to walk. “I’ve always seen them thrown from cars.” She throws the paper back in her neighbor’s yard.

I keep my eye on the prize. My Toyota. I can’t get to it fast enough. I have my man…er…woman and I know it.