Authors: Robyn Peterman

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary

How Hard Can It Be? (27 page)

BOOK: How Hard Can It Be?

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I tossed the envelope from the side table to him. “That contains canceled checks from Evangeline to your Sergeant and Herbie the Dentist. They date back over ten years. It’s your proof to bring down some crooked cops if you want to.” He was speechless. I wasn’t sure if it was all the things I’d just said or if it was the information I’d brought to him. It didn’t matter, I was out of there.

“Rena, please,” he said in a broken voice.

My back was to him as I gripped the doorknob. “Jack—” I heaved a heavy sigh. “I am in love with you . . . and that’s why I’m leaving. I already know what will happen if I stay.”

I opened the door and left without looking back. Any remnants of my heart lay scattered all over his floor. I took a deep breath and moved forward, one step at a time. Tomorrow I would crawl into bed for my three-month mourning period. Today I needed to suck it up and save my friends.

Chapter 32

I
walked into the packed lobby of the WMNS building with the folder tucked securely under my arm. My fear of being arrested for breaking my restraining order, yet again, made me tremble. Shoshanna assured me the black wig and horn-rimmed glasses made me unrecognizable, but I wasn’t so sure. Of course the scarf around my neck just made me look fashion impaired, but I wasn’t going to take any shit about my hickey. I meandered by the coffee shop. If the boys didn’t recognize me, I knew I was good to go.

“Rena,” Vito whispered in my ear.

“Fuck,” I shouted. “How did you know it was me?”

“Your ass,” he whispered loudly.

“And your rack,” Angelo added quietly. “You have the most stupendous rack I’ve ever seen.”

Vito nodded solemnly in agreement with Angelo.

“Um, thank you,” I muttered, wondering if that was the appropriate response to two little Italian men in their sixties who ogled your boobs. “Do you think anyone else will know it’s me?” I was freaking out. Not to mention creeped out by their photographic memories of my privates.

“Absolutely not,” Vito said. “No one has studied your ass and rack like we have. Right, Angelo?”

“Correct.” Angelo nodded. “Are you in trouble? Because all we have to do is make a call and we can have whoever is bothering you six feet under by eight o’clock tonight,” he offered.

Shit, I could have had them take care of Evangeline three weeks ago. Not. “No guys, thanks for the offer, but I’m bringing this one down alone.”

They looked disappointed that I didn’t want them to kill anyone, but seemed proud I was taking the matter into my own hands.

“If you change your mind, you know where to find us,” Vito said, waggling his substantial brows. They eased their way into the coffee shop back to back. I loved them, but they were weird.

The lobby was full of women hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite author, Evangeline O’Hara. Gals of all shapes and colors and sizes chatted animatedly about the Viper’s books and characters as if they were real. The excitement was palpable. If they only knew.

I spotted a stage at the far end of the lobby. TV cameras and lights surrounded the podium and a large logo sign with Anderson Cooper’s name floated above the stage. How in the hell did they do that? I couldn’t see any wires. I glanced around with dismay. How was I supposed to find Shoshanna and the girls in this mess? There had to be five hundred women milling around.

“Rena,” Nancy whispered.

“Motherfucker,” I gasped, grabbing my chest. She was the third person who’d recognized me in less than two minutes. “Am I that recognizable?”

“No,” she laughed. “You look awful. Shoshanna described your disguise to a tee.”

“Okay,” I mumbled, kind of hurt that she thought I looked icky. My heart rate slowed and I realized ugly was better than incarcerated.

“The show starts in fifteen minutes. The girls are here. They’ll meet us in five, they’re scoping out the stage,” she said. “Rena, I have to tell you something. No matter how this all turns out, the day you came into our lives was one of the best things that ever happened to any of us.” She hugged me tight. “I can only hope we’ve added something other than trouble to yours.”

“Oh my God, Nancy”—my eyes welled up—“I love you guys. It might have been less stressful under different circumstances, but I wouldn’t change any of it.”

“Good.” She smiled lovingly at me. “You stay here. Poppy Harriet went to the ladies’ room ten minutes ago; I’m getting worried that she fell into the commode. I’ll be back.”

I wasn’t sure if she was serious or joking, but my stomach was in such a knot I decided to let that one go. I had emailed the proof of Evangeline’s guilt in salmonella-gate to Bigfoot Kim earlier in the day. Fred had kept the receipts for the Silly Putty substance from Bulgaria and he had the invoices for the people paid to poison the food, all signed by the Botox bitch herself. They correlated with the dates of the party exactly. Kim promised to have her cousin’s brother’s girlfriend’s sister, the health inspector, show up. I’d instructed her to tell her brother’s cousin’s whatever to stand close to the stage. After hanging up with Kim, I realized the health inspector’s relationship to Kim was strange, but then again, so was dedicating your life to finding Bigfoot.

I watched all the fans and kept my eyes open for security. Paranoia was beginning to consume me. I could have sworn on the drive over I was being followed. Maybe I’d been watching too much TV. At one point I even thought it was Jack, but he was naked when I’d left him. There was no way.

The countdown had started. The Viper’s book had been released an hour ago. I spotted women avidly reading their Kindles and Nooks with looks of appalled disgust on their face. I had to physically stop myself from bouncing up and down with glee.
Pirate Dave and His Randy Adventures
had hit the Net and by the looks of it, he was doing his job beautifully.

“Oh my God,” a typical Midwestern housewife gasped. “This is filth. Gladys, did you read any of this crap yet?”

Gladys was the color of chalk. “This is awful,” she cried out, trying to recover. I wondered which section she’d read. “I can’t believe I paid ten dollars for this. I want my money back.”

The consensus through the crowd was the same. Maybe they would rush the stage and kill the Viper. That would solve all my problems. The headlines would be great. Angry Mob Kills Author Over Disgusting Pornographic Shit. I grinned at the thought.

Where were the girls? I wanted to explain the contents of the folder. I had done a front sheet with all the bullet points. I’d organized all the data inside and written a page per person that Evangeline was blackmailing. The returned checks I’d given Jack were the originals, but I had made copies for the folder. Just in case Jack decided against pressing charges, I wanted Santa and Herbie the Dentist to go down.

I still wasn’t sure what the gals were going to do with the folder. That was Joanne’s job to figure out. Fuck. Joanne . . . There wasn’t anything in the folder about Joanne. How had I not noticed that? An icy chill raced up my spine. I whipped through the folder again, hoping I’d missed something. Nothing. What was I going to do? It would be my fault if Joanne went down and everyone else was saved.

Where in the hell were they? Anderson Cooper walked out on the stage for a pre-show warm-up and the crowd went wild. God, if they didn’t get here soon, none of this would work out. My mouth felt dry and the pounding in my head alerted me to the migraine that would be paying a visit soon. Ohgodohgodohgod, where are they? If I could find out what in the hell Evangeline had on Joanne, I might be able to figure out a logical excuse that could clear her.

I could barely hear my own thoughts over the screams of the crowd. My four partners in crime pushed their way through the masses and surrounded me.

“Do you have it?” Shoshanna shouted at the top of her lungs. With the noise I could barely make out what she was saying, although I had a good idea.

I held up the folder. Joanne grabbed it, gave me a thumbs-up, and slipped back into the crowd. “No,” I screamed, trying to stop her.

“What’s wrong?” Poppy Harriet yelled.

“What does Evangeline have on Joanne?” I yelled. She put her hand to her ear, indicating she couldn’t hear me. I repeated myself. Louder.

“Ruffing,” Poppy Harriet shouted, smiling like she was drunk.

WTF? What was ruffing? And why was she so happy about it? Maybe she
had
fallen in the toilet. There was little I could do. We’d have to deal with clearing Joanne after the fact. I prayed ruffing wasn’t something really awful or illegal. It sounded slightly gang related. Nausea consumed me. We’d come so far. Too far for a fuckup like this.

“Cover the exits,” Shoshanna yelled. “Be prepared to tackle the skank’s ass if she tries to escape. Beat the hell out of her and then turn her over to the police. Move out,” she shrieked. I realized two things. Shoshanna was dressed from head to toe in fatigues and I wasn’t going to be able to get their help with Joanne. They disappeared as quickly as they’d shown up. Fuck.

I moved to my assigned exit and waited for all hell to break loose. I stood up on a bench for a better view and realized there were huge monitor screens all over the room. Very considerate of Anderson Cooper. There wasn’t a bad seat in the house. I was terrified of having to look at Evangeline on something that rivaled a movie screen, but I figured I could close my eyes if it got too alarming.

“Rena?”

“Holy shit,” I squealed, falling off my bench. Fred caught me and winced in pain. “Oh my God,” I gasped. “How did you know it was me?”

“Shoshanna texted me a picture,” he chuckled. He was wearing his requisite suit with his mother, Delona, on his arm.

“Are you well enough to be here?” I asked, glad that the crowd had quieted some and I didn’t have to shout.

“We wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Delona smiled deviously. “May we join you?”

“Of course,” I said, grinning. Fred and I helped her up on the bench and we stood on either side of her.

A hush went through the crowd as the screens flashed the word “Quiet.” Women held hands and some were crying. This was insane. I could still hear people grousing about Pirate Dave, but fewer than before. Shit, what if the book wasn’t enough to ruin her? Could her fans forgive her? I had tried so hard to present a pile of confusing, offensive, unreadable shit . . . What if I’d failed?

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” a very excited and overly medicated announcer’s voice boomed over the sound system. “Welcome to the live edition of the
Anderson Cooper Show
.”

The crowd went wild and two women fainted. “Quiet” flashed on the screen again and the crowd got hold of itself as paramedics dragged the passed-out, overexcited fans away.

“Anderson will be back out in a moment,” the faceless voice continued. “Make sure you watch the screen. It will instruct you when to clap, laugh, sigh, cry, boo, and shut up . . . I mean quiet down,” the voice chuckled nervously. I was thinking this guy might need to look for a new job tomorrow. A lot of the fans seemed to take offense at the “shut up” comment. “Anderson will be interviewing Evangeline O’Hara tonight, and she will read from her new book. The reviews are coming in as we speak, and we will read several on the air.”

The murmuring in the crowd was music to my ears. I heard “piece of shit,” and “did she have an aneurysm?” and “I might sue to get my money back.” Fred gave me a high five and pulled his shirt open just a touch to show me his lavender teddy. I giggled and hugged him. Everyone was going to be okay. I just prayed that Joanne would be all right, too.

“Fred, what does Evangeline have on Joanne?” I asked, hoping he could help me solve my dilemma.

Fred looked stymied and shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything on Joanne.”

“Oh my God,” I moaned, “this is bad. Poppy Harriet said something about ruffing.”

“What does that mean?” Delona asked.

“I have no idea, but it sounds gang related to me.” My panic level was rising.

“We will deal with it,” Fred said firmly. “Whatever it is, we will make sure she’s all right.”

Fred’s confidence calmed my jangled nerves and I focused back on the stage. It was set up like a talk show. There was a desk for Anderson Cooper and a pale green couch next to it. Down stage and to the left stood a podium. I assumed that’s where the Viper would read to her adoring fans. From my high vantage point, I could make out Joanne standing next to the stage near a set of what appeared to be stairs. What in the hell was she planning to do? I got a sick feeling. Next to her stood an official-looking woman carrying a briefcase. She chatted easily with Joanne. I assumed she was the health inspector. The circus in my tummy got more violent with each passing second.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer squealed, “here’s Anderson Cooper!” The screens flashed the words “go nuts” and the crowd obliged with gusto.

“Here we go—” Fred grinned, grabbing my ice-cold hand and squeezing.

The jugglers in my stomach started tossing daggers. I gave Fred a weak smile and squeezed his hand. “Yep,” I choked out, “here we go.”

BOOK: How Hard Can It Be?

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