Ten
After phoning the tip line, I did two things. First, I called Daddy and told him my plan had worked. Hearing the relief in his voice hit home how scared he really was. The second thing I did was celebrate. Sienna and I hit PF Chang’s in the Beverly Center. I sprung for an appetizer and quite a few drinks. My body woke up at 8:00 a.m. the next day. My brain didn’t wake up until noon.
Once operating at full capacity, I checked my email. I’d created a Google alert for Haley and fully expected my inbox to be overflowing with articles about a suspect being apprehended. There were none. Either Google was broken or there hadn’t been an arrest. I was disappointed, then reminded myself these things took time. Montgomery Rose would be in police custody by the end of the business day.
I didn’t think Betty should have to wait that long to find out. I jumped in the car and drove across town to Clothes Encounters. She was alone when I got there. She also seemed a bit wary about seeing me, but I knew how to change that. “Did you hear the news about Haley?”
Her expression said she hadn’t. I was about to share when the door banged open. It was the Asian woman I’d met the first time I came here. She carried her USC book bag. “Sorry,” she said. “Class ran a bit late.”
“No problem,” Betty said. “Marina, this is Dayna. Dayna, this is Haley’s roommate. Dayna was telling me there was some news about Haley.”
I sure was, so I launched right in. “I found Haley’s killer!”
Their reactions were just as I’d hoped. Marina squealed and immediately pulled me in for a hug. Betty soon joined us. “Wow,” Betty said when they finally both let go.
She kept repeating that single word, giving it different meanings each time. Excitement. Disbelief. Shock. I gave a quick version of how we’d ID’d the car and wrapped it up by saying, “He’ll be in jail by tonight.”
Betty hugged me again, patting my back as she gently rocked me from side to side just like my mom used to do. “You don’t know Haley from a can of paint, so for you to go above and beyond … It’s amazing,” she said. “Thank you.”
It felt so good to hear her say that. I just smiled and decided not to remind her about the reward money.
“We probably should tell Victory,” Marina said. She sounded like even she knew this wasn’t one of her best ideas.
“He still badgering you about Haley’s stuff?” Betty asked.
Marina nodded. I was surprised. “You still have her things?” I asked. “What about her parents?”
“They’ve been meaning to come get it,” Marina said.
“Meaning to for the last six weeks,” Betty added.
“You don’t sound like their biggest fans,” I said. Now that I’d found the killer, my “no personal info” ban on Haley was lifted. I was more than ready to be nosy.
“They weren’t the most supportive. They wanted her to be a bank teller. In Kentucky.” Marina made Kentucky sound like outer Pluto. “They’re super conservative and felt she was living in sin. My one convo with them after she died, her mom told me she was praying Haley wasn’t in Hell.”
Wow. And I thought my mom was bad.
When I got home, Sienna was on the couch playing with her phone and there were a load of shopping bags littering the front hall. Her therapy of choice was the retail variety, and it cost her at least $150 per hour. “Audition go well?” I asked hesitantly.
The bags made me think that maybe it hadn’t. Luckily, I was wrong. She lifted her eyes from her phone long enough to squeal excitedly, “They gave me a note!”
“Nice,” I said, relieved the bags were the result of happy shopping.
A note is when a casting director asks you to redo a scene a bit differently. They’re a good thing. It means they like you and want to see if you can take direction. You have no chance in Hades of getting a callback if, when you finish a scene, you just get a “Thank you.”
Sienna motioned to the bags. “I already bought an outfit to wear to the callback. I got you a little something-something as congratulations for the whole Haley thing.”
“You didn’t have to.” But I was sure glad she did.
Finding my gift wasn’t hard. It was the only thing in the bags that wasn’t red. Sienna had bought herself five dresses, four pairs of pants, three shirts, two jackets, and quite possibly a partridge in a pear tree. All in varying shades of red. “Thanks for the blouse,” I said.
She smiled but barely looked up from her phone. She had to be voting for herself on the Anani Miss site.
“Sienna, what’s up with the red?”
She shrugged like it was no big deal. “The stuff I liked happened to be red.”
Or it just happened she was hoping the more red she wore, the better chance someone would recognize her from Anani’s site. I just nodded and vowed that if she came home with a package of Red Vines tatted barbwire-style around her arm, I’d stage an intervention.
We spent the rest of the evening cooking (her), eating (me), and voting on Anani Miss (both) while watching reality TV. I checked my email again before bed, but there was no news. Sunday was more of the same. Lots of voting and email checking and wondering about the lack of an arrest. I was pretty sure detectives didn’t take weekends off. On Law & Order, they never even went to sleep.
When I woke up Monday morning, I was not a happy camper. I checked my email while hiding under the covers. Not a word. What the fudge? I needed there to be an arrest. Not just for me, but for Betty and for my father. I didn’t want to disappoint either of them. Not again. I stomped down the hall, hoping to be greeted by French toast. That was the only thing that would make me feel better. I found Sienna at the kitchen table, looking as sad as I’d ever seen her. “I lost.”
She showed me her phone. Hussy of the Week was already posted, and it had gone to something called Dopey Cat. I was appalled. “There is no way a dopey cat is more of a hussy than you. Today already sucks! There’s still no arrest.”
Sienna immediately went from sad to angry. She snatched a carton of eggs out the fridge and slammed it on the nearest counter. “After you handed them that guy’s name and address? You need to find out what’s going on!”
She was right. “I’m gonna call the tip line and demand answers!” I said.
“Use my phone.”
The tip line rang three times before someone picked up. I immediately heard gum smacking and knew it was her. The Voice. “Tip line.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m calling to follow up on a tip I submitted a few days ago.”
“Code number, ma’am?”
“1018, ma’am.”
The clacking of keys joined the symphony of smacking gum. “We received your tip, ma’am.”
“I know you received it because I spoke with you, ma’am. I wanted to know the status.”
Sienna gave me a nod of approval as she cracked eggs into a bowl. The Voice spoke. “The status, ma’am, was that it was received.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I made sure my ma’ams sounded as despicable as hers. “Three days ago. There has been no new information in the news. Ma’am.”
“We don’t work for the news, ma’am. We don’t publicize everything we do.”
“So you’re saying an arrest is coming?”
“I’m saying we don’t publicize everything we do, ma’am.” Her last “ma’am” sounded like a metaphor for “Duh.”
“How will I know if I’m eligible for the reward?” I asked. She didn’t say anything. I took more pride than I care to admit in stumping her. “Considering it was my tip, ma’am, I have a right to receive an update.”
“You do not, ma’am. This is an open investigation.”
“Ma’am,” I said. Translation: Don’t let me see you in the street.
“Ma’am,” she countered. Translation: Bring it on.
“Ma’am,” I said and slammed the phone down just to be sure I got the last word in. Then I remembered it was a cell phone. I would have had to hit the red icon to end the call. Not as effective, but too late for that now. I could hear her saying “Ma’am” as I hung up. Darn it.
“So?” Sienna acted as if she hadn’t eavesdropped on the entire thing while starting breakfast.
“They won’t tell me Sugar Honey Iced Tea,” I said. “I gave them the name of the killer.”
“And address!”
“And proof the car was fixed right after Haley died. And the stupid police are just sitting on that information.”
“Doing absolutely nothing.”
“Except not telling me anything. It’s probably sitting there in some file while this Montgomery Rose is driving around.”
“In his murder mobile,” Sienna said.
We’d worked ourselves into a frenzy. She was beating eggs like she was in the third round of a UFC fight. Even the prospect of an impending meal did nada to make me feel better. “I’m going over there!” I said. “Talk to this Montgomery Rose myself!”
Sienna slammed the mixture down. “Let’s go!”
Montgomery Rose lived a few streets east of the Grove, this fancy-shmancy outdoor shopping mall off Third and Fairfax. The road was technically two lanes, but the planners of yesteryear hadn’t anticipated a world of SUVs and minivans. With cars parked on both sides, the street was essentially one way. If another car was coming in the opposite direction, you had to play chicken and hope for the best. I idled my pink Infiniti in what was the general vicinity of Montgomery Rose’s house. It didn’t have the address listed, but then it didn’t need it.
The lots were intended for small one-story houses, and that described every house on the block except for Montgomery Rose’s. He’d shoved a sprawling two-story fiasco into his tiny lot. It was the equivalent of a size sixteen trying to fit into a size eight. I didn’t know what had happened to the original house, but I guessed the new house probably ate it.
There was a spot open in front of the neighbor’s house—that poor, poor man or woman—on his right. After two attempts, I parallel parked. We got out and I had to wait for Sienna to catch up. She had on a newly purchased pair of red patent-leather pants. They looked great but were so tight she could barely move. These pants weren’t made for walking, and neither were the boots. They were five-inch stilettos.
When we finally made it, I rang the bell and waited for someone to answer. No one did. “I lost to a dopey cat,” Sienna said.
“At least you know you lost,” I said. “I don’t know anything.”
Sienna took her anger out on the doorbell. There was no movement inside. “He’s not home,” she said. “We should wait for him! Maybe we’ll see him get arrested.”
Sounded like a good idea. What would make it a great idea would be some food. I’d skipped breakfast, after all. “Can we get snacks first? We passed a 7-Eleven.”
She nodded. “I have to pee anyway.”
We drove to 7-Eleven, where we loaded up on snacks and unloaded our bladders, then made our way back to Montgomery Rose’s street. Our spot was still there. I parked and we settled into a comfortable rhythm. I opened my bag of chips. Sienna took out her Red Vine licorice. We asked the other if they wanted some. She said no. I said yes. I ate more of her candy then she did and then took a small sip of my Big Gulp, making a promise to the bladder gods I would take my time.
“Candy. Oversized drinks. You next to me. It’s like we’re at the movies,” Sienna said.
“I know! So exciting.”
After forty-five minutes, I wanted to amend my earlier statement. It wasn’t like the movies at all. It was like the commercials they play on a loop before the previews before the movie. Boring and repetitive. We tried listening to the radio, but after the same Kandy Wrapper song came on four times in one fifteen-minute span, we shut it off. Sienna caught me up on the latest gossip, but there wasn’t much new to report.
Mostly, we just sat there willing something to happen. I didn’t care if I just pointed at him and said “You, killer. Bad.” I needed something. I was this close to literally twirling my thumbs when Sienna asked, “You want to run lines with me? I have another audition in a couple days.”
She handed me the script pages. It was a crime drama. Sienna was up for the sassy minority female cop. She’d highlighted her lines in pink marker. I read the part of her gruff male partner. We were supposed to be interviewing a suspect. “Anything you want to tell us, creep?” I read.
Per the script, the creep had nothing to tell us, so Sienna jumped in with her line. “Don’t be shy now. Sharing is caring.”
The next line belonged to said creep. Since there were just the two of us, I read the line in my best version of a deep male voice. “I swear, I was—”
“Save it,” Sienna snapped. “Don’t act like this is your first time at the rodeo. You know we gotta read you your Miranda rights.”
The script called for Sienna’s sassy minority to literally snap her fingers. I was getting Chubby’s flashbacks. It only got worse from there. After we finished the scene, we did it again and again while Sienna tried to go “off book,” AKA do it from memory. We were on our fifth go-round when her phone rang. Emme popped up on FaceTime. “You’re in a car,” she said by way of greeting.
“We’re outside Montgomery Rose’s house,” I said.
Emme stopped her constant movement to look at me. “You’re sitting outside the house. Of a murderer. WTF?”
When she put it that way. I immediately got defensive. “It’s just a hit-and-run. It’s not like he’s a serial killer targeting broke black chicks trying any crazy way to get money.”
“And what if he sees you?” Geez, she was acting like we were the ones who’d killed someone.
I was about to say that when my back door suddenly opened. Sienna and I screamed, causing Emme to scream even though she was miles away. I looked back at our future rapist/killer and saw Aubrey slide into the backseat. He was the last person I wanted to see, here or anywhere else for that matter.
“You really should keep your doors locked at all times, Ms. Anderson,” he said.
“What’s going on?” Emme asked.
“Still alive. Gotta go, Em.”
I hung up just as Aubrey was introducing himself to Sienna. “Hello, I am Aubrey S. Adams-Parker. That color is stunning on you.”
Nothing like a compliment from a man to brighten Sienna’s mood. “Sienna Michelle Hayes.” She smiled at him and then noticed me glaring at her. I’d told her all about Aubrey. Traitor.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“The neighbor reported a suspicious car in the area. It was, and I quote, ‘extremely old and the color of spoiled Pepto-Bismol.’”
Hmmph. “That doesn’t even make any sense,” I said. “Pepto-Bismol can’t spoil.”
He ignored that valid point. “I recognized the car description when I heard it over the scanner.”
Scanner? Once again I found myself wondering, who was this guy? He clearly didn’t have a day job. He apparently listened to police scanners for fun. And, once again, he had on that horrible orange reflector jumpsuit. If he was a vigilante, someone really needed to tell him that Bruce Wayne was doing it way better. He needed some tips.
Unaware of my internal diatribe, Aubrey kept talking. “Lucky for you both, the LAPD will not be able to send a patrol car for at least another two hours. So what is going on?”
Part of me didn’t want to tell him, but a bigger part wanted to brag. “We found the car that killed Haley. This is his house.”
“We’re doing a stakeout!” Sienna piped in. She was staring at him, entranced.
“I see you are not going to take my suggestion to stay out of this, so let me give you some advice,” Aubrey said. “Rule Number One of stakeouts: do not park directly in front of the house.”
“Good thing we’re next door,” I said. That got me nothing. “What’s Rule Number Two? Bring lots of donuts?”
“Drive an inconspicuous car. Sit in the backseat.”
“That’s actually two rules.”
“Perhaps, but both equally important,” he said.
“Great. We’re gonna get out of here.”
“Where are you going?” he asked.
I had to pee, but he didn’t need to know that.
“She probably has to go to the bathroom,” Sienna said.
Really, Sienna? Really?
“You did not bring a bottle to use?” There was an incredulous tone to Aubrey’s voice.
I was going to ask if that was Rule Number Four when Sienna suddenly punched me in the arm. “Look!”
A black BMW with a rose insignia was pulling into Montgomery Rose’s sliver of a driveway. He was home.
“Let’s go,” Sienna said, already halfway out the car. She took rapid-paced mini-steps up the driveway. She was quicker than I expected.
I had no choice but to follow her. Aubrey tried to come with us, but the child lock was on. Oops.
“Hey, you!” Sienna screamed. She literally banged on his driver-side window.
“Sienna,” I said. Suddenly this didn’t seem like a very good idea.
The door opened and Montgomery Rose jumped out. He was not pleased. “What are you doing?” he asked as both Sienna and I took a step back. “I’ll call the police!”
Technically, they were already on their way, but that didn’t seem like helpful information to share at the moment. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I opened my mouth, fully expecting something genius to come out that would completely save this situation. Instead, I blurted out, “We are the police!”
I could tell he didn’t believe us. Can’t say I blamed him. There was a moment of awkwardness, and then I said the first thing that came to mind. “Anything you want to tell us, creep?”
After a brief pause, Sienna jumped in. “Don’t be shy now. Sharing is caring.”
“What are you talking about?” Montgomery asked. That wasn’t in the script, but I could forgive him for not knowing his line. He was coming in cold.
“They are not cops, Mr. Rose,” Aubrey said, having somehow made it out of my car. “I’m Aubrey S. Adams-Parker. I am a former cop turned private investigator. This is your black BMW, correct?”
Montgomery looked suspicious but answered anyway. “Yeah.”
“Where were you on the night of August 18th?” Aubrey asked.
Montgomery visibly relaxed. “This is about the robbery.”
Huh? All three of us must’ve looked lost, because he continued on. “The Rack Pack stole my car and used it to rob Kandy Wrapper.”