The following morning, the Security Squad ladies — and Aaron — sat around Mrs. Janowski’s dining room table wondering what to do about the graffiti.
“We have a crime spree on our hands, ladies,” Mrs. Janowski stated from the head of the table, her back resting against a heating pad.
“T apprehended one of the men the other night,” Sylvia said. “What else can we do?”
Mrs. Janowski’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know, but the arcade is docking our wages.”
Ida snorted. “They pay us in tokens. I hardly care.”
“True. The games are not all they’re cracked up to be,” Mrs. Janowski said with a wince. “However, docking our wages is just the first step. We’ll get the boot next.”
“I can honestly say I wouldn’t mind getting the boot,” Ida said. “I leave there every night with a headache.”
“But this is our stepping stone,” Mrs. Janowski argued. “We have to follow through with this assignment or we’ll never get another.”
“But what can we do?” Edna asked.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” Mrs. Janowski said. “We need to get to the root of the problem.”
“What’s the root of the problem?” Sylvia asked.
“Spray paint,” Edna said, working her knitting needles. “Spray paint should be banned.”
“You can’t ban spray paint,” Ida said.
“Even if you could, they’d just use something else,” Kym added.
“Gangs,” Ida said with a nod. “They’re the root problem.”
“T said it wasn’t a gang,” I interrupted.
“When did he say that?” Mrs. Janowski asked.
“Last night. He said he could make out part of the message, and it wasn’t from a gang.”
“Who was it then?” Ida asked.
“I don’t know. He told me to go away.”
Mrs. Janowski perked. “If he told you to go away then it’s something he doesn’t want us to know about.”
“Oh good,” Edna said with a relieved sigh. “I was hoping we weren’t going to get involved.”
“Which means,” Mrs. Janowski continued thoughtfully, “that we’re going to have to figure it out ourselves and get to the bottom of this.”
Knitting needles clattered to a stop and a round of groans filled the dining room. Only Aaron looked pleased.
“Who knows about graffiti?” Mrs. Janowski asked.
Eyes darted around the table but no one spoke.
“Well, there must be some way to learn,” she said.
“There’s probably an information website that can help,” Aaron offered. “But it’s not graffiti. It’s just vandalism. Real graffiti is hip-hop. These toys couldn’t hit a scrub or throwup if their lives depended on it. I bet I could burn a wildstyle before they could even point their can at me. I’ve got tons of flix and none of them were that bad.”
The ladies blinked with open mouths.
Mrs. Janowski snapped her mouth shut and pointed to Aaron. “The kid’s in charge.”
“I agree,” Edna said. “As long as I don’t have to scrub throw up.”
Aaron laughed.
“What do we do first?” Mrs. Janowski asked Aaron.
“Let’s start with a web search,” he stated, taking on a leadership role. “If that doesn’t work, I know a guy who could help.” His eyes turned guiltily to Kym. “But you probably wouldn’t approve of him.”
Mrs. Janowski lit up. “Ladies, fire up your computers! We’re going to pull an all day-er.”
Another simultaneous groan.
Kym stared wide-eyed at Aaron. “I think we need to have a talk later,” she said to him.
“I don’t write anymore,” he assured her. “But I would like to bomb a back to back in my room, if that’s okay.”
Kym turned to Mrs. Janowski. “I need that info website.”
As the ladies went to work setting up their computers, Kym leaned over to me. “I think I might be over my head on this one.”
“You’re fine,” I said. “Aaron just asked permission to graffiti his wall. Most kids wouldn’t ask. He loves you and Jim too much to get into real trouble.”
“I guess,” she said, shifting in her seat. “Let’s talk about you.”
“I’m good,” I said, edging away.
“What happened with Evan?”
“He left,” I said, finding myself blocked in by Edna who was tangled in computer cables, making Aaron giggle.
Kym frowned. “I thought he would stay.”
“Things happened after we last talked. Bottom line, he wanted me to move with him but he wasn’t going to stay. He didn’t want to compete against Brett.”
“Is Brett back in the picture?” she asked with a growing smile.
I took a shallow breath. “No. He moved back to Texas to get out of Evan’s way.”
Kym’s brows pinched together. “Does Evan know?”
“Nope.”
“Does Brett know that Evan left?”
“Nope.”
Kym sat back, biting her lower lip in thought. “So neither know, and they both left.”
“Yep,” I said. “That sums it up.”
“They left you,” she repeated.
“Yep.”
“Again?”
I didn’t know what else to say except, “Yep.”
* * *
Hours later, Mrs. Janowski squinted at the computer screen and then at the vandalism photo Ida had taken.
“So, if this wonky thing here means there’s a meetup,” Mrs. Janowski said, “then what does this doohickey mean?”
Aaron peered over her shoulder. “I don’t know what a doohickey is, but this slash over here combined with the dollar sign means that there’s betting.”
Betting?
“Does it say where the meetup is?” she asked.
“People who read this would probably already know where,” he answered.
“Then when is it?” she asked.
“Tomorrow night.”
She clapped her hands together. “Now we just need to figure out where.”
I had a feeling I knew where it was located, but I wasn’t going to tell her until . . .
“If there’s a writer, there will be readers,” Aaron said. “Just wait for one and ask him.”
Mrs. Janowski banged her fist on the table. “You’re a genius. We’ll filet the reader until he talks.”
. . . until now. I rubbed my forehead, knowing Mrs. J. would camp out until she found a person to interrogate. And by camp out, I mean all of us walking a beat around the clock. And by interrogating, I mean just that — strapped to a metal chair with a blinding spotlight. Even if we could catch the person — which I seriously doubt since Mrs. Janowski can’t move, Edna squeaks, Sylvia would flirt, and Ida . . . well, she could actually pull it off — we’d still be risking our necks.
Was it better to tell the ladies my suspicion and risk them charging into the bar, or to let them figure it out and then have them charge into the bar? Either way, I foresaw charging with crockery.
If it was just the ladies, I might have let them try to work it out, hoping they’d fail. With Aaron involved, it drastically changed the outcome. He knew more than all of us combined.
With an internal sigh, I said, “I think I know where it is.” I’ll have to call T later and organize an intervention.
“Where?” Mrs. Janowski asked.
“The bar near the arcade.”
Kym’s mouth rounded. “Oh! It all makes sense.”
“Aaron,” Mrs. Janowski called, “hand me that pad over there. It’s time to put a plan together.”
“What kind of plan?” he asked.
“The squad is going to infiltrate and shut them down. We’ll need to get over there and sketch a layout. I need to know how many doors and windows there are. A safe exit is key!”
“Or,” I interrupted, “we could just ask them to stop tagging the wall.”
Mrs. Janowski’s lips twisted as she thought. “Good point. We’ll call that Plan A.”
I think I’m going to have to put T on speed dial.
* * *
“You’re late,” Hank said.
“Sorry,” I said, dropping my purse behind the bar. “The ladies . . . again.”
“Actually, I was thinking you should take the day off,” he said. “You don’t have to work every day, you know.”
“I’d rather work,” I said. “I need the diversion.”
“Not too much going on around here,” Hank said. “The boys went down to the store to buy more lumber for signs.”
“That’s good,” I said. “But do you think they’ll change the slogans? Some of them were terrible.”
“I doubt it. They jotted them down already.”
“A girl can hope.”
“I’m just happy the flowers are gone,” Hank said.
“The flowers were pretty,” I scolded. “And the ladies worked hard on them. I wonder who would crush poor defenseless flowers?” I eyed him suspiciously.
“You can turn your stink eye on someone else,” he said. “I didn’t do it. And I didn’t break the signs either. They were halfway decent. And anyway, there was the print of a high-heel shoe. I don’t wear high heels.”
“True. But what female would want to trash our signs?”
Hank shrugged. “Maybe Jack would know. There’s always one or two that’s mad at him. What about that one girl who came storming in here like a tornado? I could see her smashing the signs.”
“If Andrea smashed the signs, they’d be over Jack’s head.”
We both pondered in silence until Hank said, “Mac and Bob found another clue while you were out. There was a nail in the crushed flowers. I told them it was probably just one of the old crone’s.”
“How is a rusty old nail a clue?”
“Not a metal nail. It was a fingernail tip. It was so long it had to be fake.”
I ran through the ladies and could only come up with Sylvia as a possibility. But I didn’t remember her nails being overly long.
“Hank, how long was the nail?”
He pointed over to the side of the bar the boys normally sit at. “Mac bagged it and marked it as evidence B.”
God, he’s getting as bad as Mrs. Janowski, I thought as I walked over and peered down at the bag.
Jocelyn McCain.
I knew her red dagger nails anywhere. And this was most definitely a venomous red dagger nail.
“I think you’re right, Hank,” I said, picking up the baggie. “I do need a day off. And I know just where I’m going.”
* * *
I parked in the Jocelyn McCain Events parking lot and turned off the engine. I passed her BMW on my way into the building. Emmy looked up from her desk to see me enter, her eyes red and puffy. She yanked out a desk drawer and dumped it into a box.
“Emmy, what’s going on?” I asked.
“The witch just fired Curtis and me,” Emmy said, slapping a lid on the box. “We only have five minutes to get out.”
I gaped. “Why did she fire you?” I asked.
“She’s losing customers and blaming us.” Emmy bristled. “I’m glad she fired me. I wouldn’t want to work with her a minute longer. Do you know what she had me do yesterday?”
I shook my head, afraid to ask.
“Massage her feet!” Emmy shoved a tiny stuffed animal into a box. “There’s not enough hand sanitizer in the world to get her funky feet off my hands.”
Eww!
“How much time do you need to pack?” I asked.
“She only gave me five minutes. I think I’m almost out of time. Curtis has more stuff than I do.”
“I think I can get you a few more minutes.”
“Could you?” Emmy looked up and blew a honey-blonde lock of hair from her eyes. “That would be great.”
“Well, well, well,” I heard in a poisonous drawl behind me. “Look who came crawling back.”
I glanced behind me to see Jocelyn leaning against her office doorframe. Her stance might have been relaxed, but her eyes were deadly.
“I’m not here for a job,” I said, stepping toward her. “I’m here because of this.” I held the baggie with her fingernail in it.
Her brow arched. “I don’t do manicures here,” she said and then gave a dark smile. “But Emmy here can give a decent foot massage.”
Emmy sniffled and tossed another stuffed animal into her box.
“Why did you vandalize the Road Hog?” I asked, waving the baggie at her. “We found a stiletto shoe print on a destroyed sign and your fingernail in the flowers.”
She crossed her arms. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m here all the time.”
“You’re never here.”
“I’m here right now,” she stated smugly.
“Only to fire your employees.”
“I’ll get new ones.” She flicked her hand. “Out with the old and useless, in with the new.”
“You’re missing a nail,” I said as I watched her dismissive hand.
Something wasn’t right. I knew it was her fingernail in the baggie, but I thought she would’ve had it replaced immediately. She’s never in public without a full set of nails. Never.
“Everyone has a broken nail now and again. You can hardly accuse me for that.”
“It’s the same color polish.”
“It’s a popular color. What can I say? I have good style.”
Curtis dragged a box from the back room. “Vampire style, you mean. Those nails are always blood red and sharp. Just like your fangs.”
“How dare you!” Jocelyn shouted. “Get out this instant!”
“I’m going,” he said, still dragging his box. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” He backed up against the door to hold it open while he manhandled the box out. “Where are the big, strong men when you need them?” He huffed and then kicked the box. “Mars, Vamprella’s tapped out. That’s why she mowed down your signs. She won’t admit you were the backbone of the operation.” He smirked at Jocelyn then turned to Emmy. “Emmy, let’s go out tonight. Martinis on me. You come too, Mars. It’s high time we celebrated!”
The door shut behind Curtis, leaving Jocelyn simmering. “He lied,” she hissed.
“He didn’t lie,” Emmy stated, flipping the top on her box. “You’ve had creditors calling you for a month now. And I’m still waiting for my paycheck.”
“You haven’t paid her?” I asked Jocelyn.
Jocelyn bristled. “She hardly worked.”
“That’s because there are no clients,” Emmy said, heading to the door with one of her boxes. I grabbed the other one and followed her.
“This is your fault!” Jocelyn screamed at me. “I had everything! First you took Brett away and now you’ve ruined me!”
“Let’s get out of here,” I said to Emmy. “We don’t have to listen to this.” I turned to Jocelyn. “I’m warning you, Jocelyn; it’s a biker bar you’re messing with. Don’t make them angry or you’ll be sorry.”
It was an empty threat with only the boys and me to protect the dive. She could easily call my bluff.
I closed the door right before a vase launched at my head. It hit the glass door, shattering it. Jocelyn and I stared at each other through the opening.
I tisked. “You shouldn’t break what you can’t afford to fix.”
She howled and scrambled to grab another object to pitch at me.
Emmy and I hurried to her car. I deposited the box in her trunk, promised to see her for drinks, and jumped into my car, hauling it out of the parking lot.
I’d just made the evil witch mad. Someone’s going to get burned.
Unfortunately, I knew who that someone was going to be.