Apparently I’d been wrong. There was still one act of the Terrible Tragedy left to go. The last, bloody act.
Tom handed me the article he’d been reading. RED EARLY ESCAPES FROM CUSTODY IN LOS ANGELES.
“Before he quit, his lawyer got the judge to grant him bail. The next day Red took off. He’s been out for almost eight months and no one knows where to find him,” Tom said. “They think he might have had help, but no one knows who it was.10 He skipped on a million-dollar bail bond, so all the best bounty hunters are after him.”
I saw what Tom meant about him looking for Fiona. Right after he disappeared, Red sent her a letter with the cheery message: “If you give me Fred, I will leave you alone. Otherwise I will hunt you for a hundred years.”
“Ooh, a love note!” Roxy said. “What a romantic.”
I decided to assume she was kidding.11
There was a kind of bad photograph of the note in Us Weekly with the headline RED INK: THE RED EARLY NO ONE KNEW. I couldn’t tell from the picture if it had been written by the same person who sent me the “Stay Out of It” message. Some of the letters might have been the same. Or not.
And I hoped not. Because a handwriting expert had been called in by Us Weekly to study the note to Fiona and determined from the way the letters were formed and words were spaced that the writer was “organized, calculating, and unscrupulous, the classic criminal. He is usually pragmatic, but occasionally lapses into the dramatic, possibly due to a stunted childhood. He lies easily and without compunction, and probably kills the same way.” The article also suggested that the person enjoyed diverse hobbies and most likely drove a nice car.
“A nice car. Well, that helps narrow it down,” Tom said.
“I wonder what kind of car Jack drives,” I said. “I bet it’s not nice.”
“Of course you do,” Polly said, patting me on the head.
Tom pointed to a photo of Red Early in his prison uniform that accompanied the handwriting article. “Do you recognize him at all? Could he be the man you saw on the surveillance tape? Caftan Man? Like, in disguise?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t get that good a look at him—it was dark the first time I saw him, and the tape wasn’t that clear. There is something familiar about Red Early.” I put the picture aside. “But Caftan Man wasn’t the person Fred was running from.”
“Jack,” Polly said.
I nodded miserably. “He definitely doesn’t seem to like Ms. Bristol, and Fred was really scared of him. Maybe he is the one helping Red Early. Maybe he is working for Red, trying to kidnap Fred.” I couldn’t help it. I sighed. “I wish I just knew what his connection with them is. Why he is doing it.”
No sooner had I said that than there was a knock on the door and I got my answer.
Well, sort of.
The bellman at the door asked me if I was Miss Callihan, and then handed me an envelope.
“Who gave this to you?” I asked.
“No one. It was in a pile of items submitted to the concierge to be delivered.”
Untraceable. Of course.
On the outside my name and room number had been typed. But inside there was a ticket to Madame Tussauds wax museum and a handwritten note. My heart started to pound like crazy.
MISS CALLIHAN,
I MUST SEE YOU, ALONE. MEET ME AT MOHAMMAD ALI AT 5:30 TONIGHT SO I CAN EXPLAIN EVERYTHING AND APOLOGIZE FOR MY ABRUPT DEPARTURE TODAY. COME, IF NOT FOR MY SAKE, FOR FRED’S.
YOURS,
JACK
The writing was the same as on the first letter. The one that told me to stay out of It. And again, there were similarities to the note in the magazine. The one written by a person who “lies easily and without compunction and probably kills the same way.”
“What are you doing?” Polly asked.
“Calling Mr. Curtis. This has gone too far.”
Polly made a face, but Roxy and Tom nodded. Tom said, “I agree with Jas. She should consult a professional.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“And put it on speakerphone so we can all hear,” Roxy added.
I had to talk to three people before I could get transferred to Mr. Curtis’s cell phone. It sounded like he was chewing when he finally answered. “What can I do for you now, young lady?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I just got a note that made me nervous.”
“A threatening note? What did it say?”
I read it to him. He chuckled. “Do you always consider it a threat when a boy asks you out, Miss Callihan?”
Wow. Mr. Curtis had different ideas about dating etiquette than I did. “No,” I said, “but I got a note earlier today that said I should mind my own business, and it was in the same writing.”
“Can you read me that one?” Mr. Curtis said. I was pleased to notice he sounded more interested now and less like he was snacking. When I was done sharing my most intimate correspondence with him, he said, “I’ll tell you how it sounds to me. There’s a boy who spotted you at the pool and liked you. Today he finds you, talks to you, and has to leave for some reason. Now he’s trying to make it up to you, romantically. Make it seem exciting.”
“You think I am overreacting.”
“Miss Callihan, you seem to have a very active imagination. Go and have fun with this young man. You’re only young once.”
“Thanks for the reminder.” Roxy and Tom and Polly and I stared at the phone speaker for a few seconds after I’d hung it up.
“He said you are only young once,” Tom repeated, dazed.
Polly looked at me piteously. “You’ve been punished enough, so I’m not even going to say I told you so. But we have our work—” She interrupted herself when she saw what I was doing. “Wait! Stop it! You can’t use a blush brush with eye makeup! Haven’t I taught you anything? And where do you think you’re going with that green eye shadow? I haven’t even decided what you’re wearing yet.”
“I’m dusting the letter for prints,” I told her. “I tried to do things the responsible way. Now we’re doing things my way.”
Roxy said, “Does that mean we’re investigating?”
“Yes.”
“Hurrah! Hot dog! Dyn-o-mite!”12
Tom was leaning over the paper on the other side of the desk. “You really think you can find something?”
“It’s possible,” I said, “but they disappear fast, especially on paper. If there are any, my only chance to find them is to try it now.”
“Couldn’t you at least use blush? You know, so the brush isn’t ruined?” Polly asked.
“This is long-wearing eye shadow. It works by adhering to the oil in the skin. Since fingerprints are oily deposits left on paper, it adheres to them and shows up better than blush does.”
“Been practicing behind the Thwarter’s back, haven’t you?” Tom asked.
“A little.”
I dipped the brush in the eye shadow and started twisting it over the paper as lightly as possible. Too hard, and you could see there was a print there, but the ridges would be destroyed. Too soft, and you wouldn’t even make them come up.
“I guess you can get another brush at Sephora,” Polly said with a sigh after a little while. “But if you do find prints, what will they tell you?”
Which was a really good question. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe they will be useful later. When we have something to match them to.”
“You’re just trying to stay busy and keep your mind off Jack,” Polly told me in a voice that showed she knew she was right. “Which is okay. But make it snappy. We’ve only got three hours until you’re supposed to meet him and you don’t have a thing to wear.”
“I brought half my wardrobe to Vegas.”
“Yes, I see that. Maybe next time you can bring the half that goes together. Jas, can you look at me for a second?”
I turned toward her, expecting a talking-to. Instead I got a Bioré pore strip across the nose. “Don’t touch it,” Polly said. “You go on about your business, we’ll take care of the rest.”
Which was comforting until I saw her heading toward my French Kitty T-shirt with her pinking shears.
I knew the sound of my wardrobe screaming out in pain would be a distraction, so I put on my headphones, turned up my iPod, and focused on my work. Two hours later, I had clean pores, two partial prints from the back of the note, and a new outfit. Polly described it as “assignation chic,” which meant my transformed (and much cuter, I had to admit) T-shirt with a skirt and a pink ribbon belt. Or so it appeared. “You can use the belt to tie him up if you need to,” Polly explained. “And I made a pocket in the shirt for this.” She held out a square foil packet that said PIZZA HUT on it.
“What is it?”
“Hot red peppers. Throw them in his eyes if you need to create a diversion. Here’s your watch,” she went on, handing me an object I’d never seen before, which I knew did not belong to me. “My father brought it back from Japan. Push the top button.”
I pushed and the opening bars of that old *NSYNC song “Bye Bye Bye” started to play.
“It stops if you push it again,” Polly said, and I did. Fast. “That’s so you can attract attention if you need to.”
“‘Bye Bye Bye’ is universally regarded as the most annoying song in history,” Roxy explained. “It is bound to get you noticed.”
“Plus, it only plays the first twenty seconds,” Tom said. “Over and over.”
I was moved. And a little frightened. “Thanks, you guys. This is really…super.”
“That’s not all,” Roxy said.
“We modified this ring,” Polly explained, slipping a big plastic flower on my finger, “so the petals are sharp. If anyone ties your hands up behind you, you can use it to cut through the ropes.”
“It’s a trick I learned from reading about the Russian Mafia,” Roxy explained.
How quaint. “Ouch,” I said, cutting myself on one of the handy, sharpened petals. “I think this is dangerous.”
“That is the point, precious,” Polly said.
“Is there anything else I should know about? Any other way my clothes might try to attack me?”
“Forget it,” Polly said. “If you’re going to be that way—”
Roxy shook a finger at me, then turned to Polly. “Come on, P, show her the boots.”
“Boots? You did something to my cowboy boots?”
“Just a little alteration, calm down,” Polly said. “Plus, it was to the blue ones with the birds on them, which aren’t even your favorites. Look.” She slid her finger to the side of my left boot and reached into an incision between two layers of leather, pulling out a thin tube.
“What is it?” I asked. “Bobby pins dipped in spider venom?”
“Close,” Polly said. “Cyanide pills.”
“What?”
“Just kidding.” Ha ha. “It’s lip gloss, for touch-ups. In case Jack turns out to be one of the good guys.”
Which was thoughtful and made me feel kind of bad for thinking mean thoughts. “Thank you,” I said. I felt around the same place on the other boot and pulled out a different tube. “And this?”
Polly shrugged. “Designer Imposters perfume. In case he’s not. It’s completely debilitating if sprayed near the face.”
“Obsession,” Roxy filled in. “The Russian Mafia uses it to disorient their prey.”
“It works, too,” Tom said. “Roxy sprayed some on me during the drive here and I still can’t smell out of one side of my nose.”
Roxy nodded. “I can’t either. And sometimes I feel my eye twitching.”
“That’s really super,” I said, making a mental note to get rid of it as soon as possible. I just knew I would try to apply it instead of the lip gloss and end up with oozing sores where my lips were supposed to be. And also probably unable to taste food.
Polly looked me over from head to toe to head again, then smiled. “I think you’re ready.”
I wished I felt ready. On my way out, I stopped at the door and gave the two partial green fingerprints one last glance. They didn’t look like a kidnapper’s fingerprints. Really.
Little Life Lesson 22: Ha!