“—and he spread the word and found a band that wants to audition you. Tonight.”
“What’s the name of the band?”
I hadn’t anticipated that question. “Uh—the Pigmen.”
“Sounds like something out of 1960.”
“Do you want the audition or not?”
“What time?”
“Ten. At the Devil’s Handbag.” If I’d known of a warehouse farther away, I would have mentioned it. As it was, I would have to make do with the twenty minutes it would take him to drive round trip.
“I’ll need a contact name and number.”
He definitely was not supposed to ask that.
I said, “I told my friend I’d pass the information along to you, but I didn’t think to ask for names and numbers of the band members.”
“I’m not going to blow my night on an audition without first getting an idea of who these guys are, what style they play, and where they’ve gigged. Are they punk, indie-pop, metal?”
“What are you?”
“Punk.”
“I’ll get their numbers and call you right back.” I disconnected from Scott and immediately dialed Vee. “I told Scott I got him an audition with a band tonight, but he wants to know what kind of music the band plays and where they’ve played. If I give him your number, would you pretend to be the girlfriend of someone from the band? Just say you always answer your boyfriend’s phone when he’s practicing. Don’t elaborate further. Stick to the facts: They’re a punk band, they’re the next big thing, and he’d be stupid not to audition.”
“I’m really starting to like all this spy work,” Vee said. “When my normal life gets boring, all I have to do is sidle up next to you.”
I was sitting on the front porch with my knees tucked against my chest when Vee cruised up.
“I think we should stop at Skippy’s for hot dogs before we do this,” she said when I swung in. “I don’t know what it is about hot dogs, but they’re like an instant shot of courage. I feel like I can do anything after I’ve had a hot dog.”
“That’s because you’re high on all the toxins they pump inside those things.”
“Like I said, I think we should stop by Skippy’s.”
“I already had pasta for dinner.”
“Pasta isn’t very filling.”
“Pasta is very filling.”
“Yeah, but not in the way mustard and relish are,” Vee argued.
Fifteen minutes later, we were leaving the drive-through at Skippy’s with two grilled hot dogs, one large carton of fries, and two strawberry milk shakes.
“I hate this kind of food,” I said, feeling grease seep through the wax-paper-wrapped hot dog onto my hand. “It’s unhealthy.”
“So’s a relationship with Patch, but that didn’t stop you.” I didn’t respond.
A quarter mile from Scott’s complex, Vee steered to the side of the road. The biggest problem I foresaw was our location.
Deacon Road dead-ended just past the complex. Vee and I were out in the open, and as soon as Scott drove past and saw Vee sitting in the Neon, he’d know something was up. I hadn’t been worried that he’d recognize her voice on the phone, but I was worried he’d remember her face. He’d seen us together on more than one occasion, and had even seen us tailing him in the Neon once. She was guilty by association.
“You’re going to have to drive off the road and park behind those bushes,” I instructed Vee.
Vee leaned forward, peering into the darkness. “Is that a ditch between me and the bushes?”
“It’s not very deep. Trust me, we’ll clear it.”
“Looks deep to me. This is a Neon we’re talking about, not a Hummer.”
“The Neon doesn’t weigh very much. If we get stuck, I’ll get out and push.”
Vee put the car in drive and hopped the shoulder of the road, the sound of overgrown weeds dragging along the undercarriage.
“More g-gas!” I said, my teeth knocking together as we bounced over the rocky embankment. The car tipped forward and raced into the ditch, and the front tires slammed to a stop, hitting bottom.
“I don’t think we’re going to make it up,” Vee said, feeding the Neon more gas. The tires spun but didn’t find traction. “I need to approach this sucker from an angle.” She cranked the wheel a hard left and punched the gas again. “That’s more like it,” she said as the Neon dug in and lurched forward.
“Watch out for the rock—,” I began, but it was too late.
Vee drove the Neon straight over a large jutting rock half buried in the earth. She stomped on the brake and killed the engine. We got out and stared at the front left tire.
“Something doesn’t look right,” Vee said. “Is the tire supposed to look like that?”
I banged my head against the nearest tree trunk.
“So we’ve got a flat,” Vee said. “What now?”
“We stick to the plan. I’ll search Scott’s room, and you’ll keep a lookout. When I get back, you’ll call Rixon.”
“And tell him what?”
“That we saw a deer and you swerved to miss it. That’s when you ran the Neon into the ditch and over a rock.” you ran the Neon into the ditch and over a rock.”
“I like that story,” said Vee. “It makes me sound like an animal lover. Rixon will like that.”
“Any questions?” I asked her.
“Nope, I’ve got it. Call you as soon as Scott leaves the premises. Call you again if he comes back and warn you to get the heck out of there.” Vee dropped her eyes to my footwear.
“Are you going to scale the building and climb in through a window? Because you might have wanted to wear tennis shoes for that. Your ball et flats are cute, but not practical.”
“I’m going in through the front door.”
“What are you going to say to Scott’s mom?”
“It doesn’t matter. She likes me. She’ll let me walk right inside.” I held out my hot dog, which had grown cold. “Do you want this?”
“No way. You’re going to need it. If anything bad happens, just take a bite. Ten seconds later, you’ll feel all warm and happy inside.”
I jogged the rest of the way down Deacon, veering off into the shadows of the trees as soon as I could make out a human form moving back and forth across the lighted windows of Scott’s third-story apartment. From what I could tell, Mrs. Parnel was in the kitchen, moving between the fridge and the sink, most likely baking dessert or throwing together a snack. The light in Scott’s bedroom was on, but the shades were drawn. The light blinked out, and a moment later Scott entered the kitchen and brushed a kiss on his mom’s cheek.
I stayed put, swatting mosquitoes for five minutes, before Scott walked out the front door carrying what looked like a guitar case. He stowed the case in the trunk of the Mustang and backed out of the parking space.
A minute later, Vee’s ringtone sounded in my pocket.
“The eagle has flown the nest,” she said.
“I know,” I said. “Stay where you are. I’m going in.” I hiked up to the front door and rang the bell. The door opened, and as soon as Mrs. Parnel saw me, she broke into a wide smile.
“Nora!” she said, grasping me good-naturedly by the shoulders. “You just missed Scott. He left to audition with the band. I can’t tell you how much it means to him that you went to the trouble to set this up. He’s going to knock the socks off the other band members. Just you wait and see.” She pinched my cheek affectionately.
“Actually, Scott just called me. He left some of his sheet music here and asked if I could pick it up. He would have come back for it himself, but he didn’t want to show up late to the audition and make a bad impression.”
“Oh! Yes, of course! Come right in. Did he say which music he wanted?”
“He texted me a couple of titles.”
She drew the door all the way open. “I’ll walk you back to his room. Scott will be so upset if the audition doesn’t go just the way he wants. He’s usually so particular about taking the right music, but it all happened on such short notice. I’m sure he’s going out of his mind, poor thing.”
“He sounded really upset,” I agreed. “I’ll hurry as fast as I can.”
Mrs. Parnel led the way down the hall. As I stepped across the threshold into Scott’s bedroom, I took in the complete change of scenery. The first thing I noticed was the black paint on the walls. They’d been white the last time I came over. The Godfather poster and the New England Patriots pennant had been ripped down. The air smelled heavily of paint and Febreze.
“You’ll have to excuse the walls,” Mrs. Parnel said. “Scott’s been going through a bit of an emotional downturn. Moving can be hard. He needs to get out more.” She looked meaningfully at me. I pretended to miss the hint.
“So that’s the sheet music?” I asked, gesturing at a heap of paper on the floor.
Mrs. Parnel wiped her hands on her apron. “Do you want me to help you hunt down the titles?”
“It’s no problem, really. I don’t want to keep you. It’ll just take me a second.”
As soon as she left, I closed the door. I set my cell and the Skippy’s hot dog on the desk opposite the bed, then moved to the closet.
A pair of white high-tops stuck out from a mound of jeans and T-shirts on the floor. Only three lumberjack shirts were left on hangers. I wondered if Mrs. Parnel had bought them, because I couldn’t picture Scott in flannel.
Under the bed I found one aluminum bat, one baseball mitt, and one potted plant. I called Vee.
“What does marijuana look like?”
“Five leaves,” Vee said.
“Scott is growing marijuana in here. Under his bed.”
“Are you surprised?”
I wasn’t, but it did explain the Febreze. I wasn’t sure I could picture Scott smoking pot, but I wouldn’t put him past selling it.
He was desperate for cash.
“I’ll call back if I find anything else,” I said. I dropped my cell on Scott’s bed and turned a slow circle around the room. There weren’t many hiding places. The underside of the desk was clean. The heating vents were empty. Nothing was sewn into his blanket. I was about to give up when something high in the closet caught my eye. There was damage to the wall.
I dragged the desk chair over and stepped up. A medium-size square hole had been cut out of the wall, but the plaster had been replaced to make it appear as if the hole wasn’t there. Using a wire hanger, I reached up as high as I could and knocked the square of plaster out. From what I could tell, an orange Nike shoe box was crammed into the space. I jabbed at it with the hanger, but ended up pushing it farther back.
A soft buzzing sound broke my concentration, and I realized my cell was ringing on vibrate, the blankets on Scott’s bed muffling the sound.
I jumped down. “Vee?” I answered.