Thirty-Nine
Friday
When a masculine rap sounded on the front door while I was trying to get the twins ready for school, I sensed in my cytoplasm
it was bad news. Little Sister did too, because he barreled toward the front door, barking savagely.
I was hunched over holding the dog by his collar when I opened the door to a bulky man in a black ATF vest looming on the
doorstep, legs wide. He had a face like a ball of mozzarella. A few feet behind him, Agent Nate Duran stood looking like he
wanted to teleport to somewhere more fun, like Hell.
“Good morning, ma’am,” Agent Mozzarella said.
“Top of the morning to you,” I said in an Irish accent. That’s how nervous I was. Little Sister whined and pulled, desperate
to jump on the visitors. I wished I’d had a chance to brush my hair. I wished I wasn’t hunched over like a fairy-tale crone
in order to hang on to the dog’s collar. I wished I’d replied to Nate’s texts and calls. Why had I been such a coward? “I
mean, can I help you? Hi, Nate.” At least I managed that in a normal voice.
Nate gave a pained nod.
“We’re looking for a man named Connor Johnson,” Agent Mozzarella said.
“Connor?” I said. If Miranda had turned me in to the feds, I would literally kill her. “No Connor here. Just me and my kids.”
Little Sister lunged, which threw me off-balance. “And my badly behaved dog.”
“We spoke with a couple people at Huckleberry’s who said you were seen talking with Connor Johnson the Sunday before last,” Agent Mozzarella said. “Reports were that you two got into a lover’s spat.”
“Lover’s spat!” I protested. “I don’t have a lover!” I looked at Nate. “I mean, not that guy. I mean, I remember that guy
now!” I slapped my forehead with the palm of my free hand. “I didn’t catch his name. We weren’t flirting. Or fighting. Not
hardly. I’d never met him before.”
“He’s missing and his phone pinged here.”
“Missing?” I echoed, my voice about three octaves higher than normal.
“A witness took a picture of you in the alley behind Huckleberry’s wearing Connor Johnson’s vest at about four on Monday morning.
And his phone pinged here,” Agent Mozzarella repeated, clearly happy to be busting me in a lie. “How long have you two been
seeing each other? And is he staying here?”
“That rando from Huckleberry’s? Here?” My laugh sounded deranged. If the ATF thought I was dating Connor, how could I expect
them to solve an actual homicide—or even an accidental overdose?
“We have a warrant to search the property,” Agent Mozzarella said.
“A warrant? For what?” I stammered, but stood aside as he trooped into my living room.
Nate followed, averting his gaze. Was he remembering the hot sex we’d had last time he was here? I blushed at the thought.
Or maybe he felt ashamed he hadn’t given me a heads-up about this warrant business.
“What’s going on, Mommy?” a small voice said. The twins stood in the doorway of their bedroom, looking frightened. But then
Alice spotted Nate. “Coach Duran!” she squealed. The twins galloped toward him.
“Phoebe! Alice!” he said. The twins had Nate’s chin. I could see it so clearly now. Regret I hadn’t told Nate he might be
the twins’ bio dad rushed through me. At least then they’d have someone to take them after Nate and his fellow agent found
Connor’s corpse in the playhouse and hauled me to prison.
Little Sister’s collar slipped from my grip and he beelined for Agent Mozzarella, shoving his nose into the agent’s crotch.
“Little Sister! No!” I dove for the dog. “Girls, go to your room and get ready for school!” My voice was so strangled the
twins actually obeyed. I shoved Little Sister into their bedroom behind them and closed the door.
“We’ll need to search in there too,” Agent Mozzarella said, clearly put out about the invasion of his privates.
“We’ll be respectful of your things,” Nate said, glancing sternly at his colleague.
“Thank you,” I said, but I couldn’t bear to look at him.
Nate walked glumly into the kitchen as the other agent disappeared into my bedroom. Collapsing onto the couch, I dropped my
head in my hands. My only hope was that they wouldn’t search the yard.
But when Agent Mozzarella emerged from my room, he said, “We’re going to need to take a look in your outdoor structures.”
I trailed after him to the kitchen where Nate was already sliding the glass door open. Outside, only the spindly branches
of a leafless maple sheltered me from the cold gray sky.
I suddenly understood something essential about myself, my life. I was fundamentally unlucky, born under a bad sign. Nothing
I’d tried ever would or could go right.
“Do you have a key to the outdoor shed?” Nate said, his words forming a cloud in the air as Agent Mozzarella tromped toward
the playhouse.
The twins’ identical faces pressed against their bedroom window. I’d done one perfect thing—I’d had those two girls. And now,
for all practical purposes, they’d be orphans.
I leaned in close to Nate. “I don’t want the twins to see me handcuffed,” I whispered. “Promise, promise me, you’ll let me
put them on the school bus first.”
Nate looked stricken, but he gave a tiny nod.
For the twins’ sake, I needed to start cooperating with the feds before they found the corpse. “The playhouse. Look in the playhouse!” I shouted. I needed them to see me as an asset.
“I’m about to,” Agent Mozzarella huffed.
“I want to cooperate,” I said. “I’ll tell you everything. See, Botox is one of the world’s most powerful toxins. People don’t
seem to realize, but it’s deadly.”
Nate gazed at me, as if trying to solve the puzzle of my bizarre behavior. Meanwhile, Agent Mozzarella put his hand to the
gun on his hip, concerned my manic babbling might take a violent turn. Nate stepped forward and pulled open the playhouse
doors.
The only male figure sprawled inside was a twelve-inch Ken doll.
Idaho Connor had vanished.