Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(58)

“Angel?” I shouted, pounding on the door. “Are you in there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

My knees buckled with relief.

“What’s taking you so long?”

“I’m coming. I’m coming.”

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A few seconds later, she sauntered out with enough makeup on her face to stock a Cover Girl display.

“What on earth have you done to your face?”

“My dad doesn’t like me to wear makeup, so I wait till I’m out of the apartment to put it on.”

I considered making her take it right off again, but I knew it would be a battle royale and frankly, I didn’t have the energy.

“Let’s go.” I took her by the hand and hustled her outside.

“So what’re we supposed to do now?” she asked, squinting into the sun.

My first choice, going back inside for a round of margaritas, was clearly out of the question.

“How about a ride on the merry-go-round?” I suggested.

“Are you kidding?” she sneered. “That’s for kids.”

“What about the roller coaster?”

“Nah. I don’t want to mess my hair.”

“Then let’s just walk around the pier.”

“Okay, but if we run into any kids from my school, pretend you don’t know me.”

I ground my teeth in annoyance, wondering if anybody would notice if I tossed her over the pier.

And right away I felt ashamed. I really had to stop this negative thinking, and give the kid a chance. So Angel was a little difficult. That was all part of being a mentor. I bet Sister Mary Agnes dealt with lots of difficult kids over the years. I had to try to establish an emotional rapport, like they said in the Girlfriends Guidebook, and get her to open up to me.

“So tell me about yourself,” I said. “What’s your favorite subject in school?”

“Puh-leeese. I hate that place. It’s like a prison. They won’t even let you wear bustiers.”

“You have any idea what you want to do when you grow up?”

“Marry a rich guy and move to Bel Air.”

202

Laura Levine

Why was I not surprised?

I asked her a few more questions, most of which were greeted with monosyllabic grunts. It was like talking to a fire hydrant.

“Look,” she said, when I’d finally run out of steam.

“There’s a souvenir shop.”

“Forget it, Angel. I’m not buying you a present.”

“Well, you have to buy me lunch,” she pouted. “I’m hungry.”

For once, we were on the same page. I was a little peckish myself.

“How about a burger?” I said, pointing to a nearby burger stand.

“I don’t want a burger,” she whined. “I want nachos.”

Needless to say, they didn’t have nachos at the burger stand two feet away from us. So we trekked to every restaurant and snack shop on the pier till we finally found a place that sold them.

I got a burger and Angel got her precious nachos and we settled down on a bench to eat them.

“Mmm, this burger is good,” I said, wolfing it down with impressive speed.

Angel took two bites of her nachos and yawned. Then, before I could stop her, she tossed them in the trash.

“What did you do that for?” I wailed. “We traipsed all over the pier for those stupid nachos.”

“I wasn’t hungry any more,” she shrugged.

“Why’d you throw them away? I could’ve eaten them.”

“I bet you could,” she said, her voice ripe with innuendo.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” All wide-eyed innocence. “You said you could eat them, and I agreed.”

“C’mon.” I wadded my burger wrapper and slammed it into the trash. “Let’s go play frisbee.”

“Do we have to?”

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“Yes, we have to.”

“But I’ll ruin my shoes.”

“So take them off.”

I took her by the hand and practically dragged her down to the beach.

“I’m cold,” she whined, as we made our way toward the ocean.

“Your dad told you to take a sweater.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Take mine.”

I took off my hoodie and handed it to her. She looked at it like I’d just handed her a dead rat.

“Do you want it, or don’t you?”

“Oh, all right,” she said, putting it on. It hung on her tiny body like a bathrobe.

I reached in my purse and fished out the frisbee I’d brought along for our carefree day at the beach. Then I tossed it to her, only to have her gaze at it vacantly as it whizzed by.

“Do I have to go get it?” she moaned, staring at where it had landed. “It’s so far away.”

“Yes, Angel. You have to get it. That’s how playing frisbee works. If you miss the frisbee, you have to go get it.”

She took her sweet time and sauntered over to pick it up.

At the rate she was going, I’d be on Medicare by the time she threw it back to me. At last she got it and tossed it back. A feeble toss that landed practically at her feet.