Real Bad Things(48)
The money thing. A hard habit to break, especially when it came to food. Of all the upper-middle-class luxuries a life with her last ex had brought, the guilt-free acquisition of good and plentiful food was the thing she missed most. Now that she couldn’t afford such frivolities, she couldn’t stop herself from eating. Things were bad enough and likely to get worse. Might as well enjoy herself now. She stopped short of wondering whether food in prison would be better or worse than the food in juvie.
Three hot hours and a dead phone later, Jane gathered her trash and returned to the air-conditioned and clang-filled arcade. Her flesh prickled at the change in temperature. After a quick trip to the restroom, she exited to find a woman whose identity she could guarantee. The snickering young server greeted her with more warmth than she had the handful of other midafternoon customers around the bar. The server nodded in Jane’s direction. Angie still wore the silver hoop earrings that nearly brushed her shoulders. The blue chunk of side bang that had covered her inch-thick black eyeliner was gone. This older version wore jeans and a black T-shirt.
Angie’s smile morphed into a frown.
During Jane’s walk and while sitting on the bench, she had recited various versions of what she would say and contemplated what token she might offer to ease the telling. The week she had waited for the coroner to release the remains, she’d fought boredom and taken the bus to the mall in Maud Proper where she and Angie had spent their days off. She’d wandered the corridors and seen the Fudge Factory. She’d carried the white paper sack with her to Family Fun that day. As if week-old fudge, melted from her walk and looking like dog shit, could smooth the way for a discussion about a dead body.
She took a deep breath and waved.
Angie approached her, planted a smile on her face. “You shouldn’t be here.” Her whisper came out like a knife.
“I know, but—”
“What if someone recognizes you?” Angie asked through gritted teeth. All the more ominous when she smiled. “They might think I’m your gal pal, or whatever.”
“I’ll tell them you didn’t have anything to do with it.” Angie had suggested the abandoned boat instead of just tossing his body in the bushes. They could’ve never come up with that without her. But Jane suspected Angie would not take the recollection as a compliment.
Angie seemed to weigh a decision. Jane worried she might bolt. Instead, she directed Jane to follow her outside to the miniature golf area Jane had just departed. The humidity hit harder after the reprieve. They sat on the bench next to the pale brick wall, facing the course. The artificial turf and splashes from the fake waterfall made everything look and feel slightly less oppressive in the blinding sun. The trash can positioned next to the door wafted its odors to her nose, a mix of caramel and rot. Sweat dripped down Jane’s back once again as she waited for Angie to speak.
Finally, she did. “Why’d you come here? Did you assume I’d take over the arcade for my parents? That I wouldn’t do more with my life? No offense to my sister. She only took it on so my parents wouldn’t be upset. As soon as they die, we plan to sell it.”
“If you wanted to hide from me, maybe don’t show up at the family business.”
Angie half snarled and faced the course, as if she couldn’t be bothered with full-on rage. “Shouldn’t you be in jail?”
“Yes.” Jane shrugged when Angie wrinkled her brow. “I brought you these . . . this.” She held out the white paper bag full of melted fudge. The bottom looked greasy and brown. What could she do? She’d already offered them.
Angie glanced inside the bag and looked away. “I can’t eat that anymore. It’ll make me fat.” She pulled her shirt back and forth a few times to cool off. “I’m not getting involved. You can’t bribe me with sugar.”
It worked for others. “I certainly hope not. I was just trying to be nice.”
“Why are you here? What exactly do you want?”
Silence. But that sounded like a mafia thing to say. “I don’t want anything. I wanted to let you know that nothing’s changed. I told the police I was the only one involved. I just want to make sure you won’t say anything if anyone asks.”
“Why would I say anything? You think I’m Lovelace?”
“Who?”
“You know, the ‘little bird.’” She used air quotes. “The person who’s yapping to those boneheads at Let’s Talk About Maud.” Angie’s words came through pursed lips, tone low and angry even though the course was empty. “It’s not me. I told them that too.”
“You talked to the police?”
“Yeah, they’re talking to everyone who knew you.” She said it like it was no big deal, like Jane shouldn’t be surprised. She shouldn’t be. Of course they’d talk to people. “I know how to keep my mouth shut. I’ve done it all these years. Unlike you.”
As soon as Jane had confessed, she’d known she wouldn’t be able to look them in the eye knowing that she’d done the exact thing she’d told them not to do. “Okay, I’m just checking.”
“You don’t need to check on me. Why would I talk? I have kids. A husband. A good life.”
Jane bristled at the insinuation that unlike Angie she had no life to lose, even though she didn’t. But if she did, it was her own fault if she lost it. “I do too.”