The Comeback Kiss (14 page)

“
So... Finn ta-talked about me?”
Tessa said, feeling a strang
e tightness in her throat.

“
Of course,”
Babs said, slipping on a pair of sunglasses. “
You
’
re the whole reason for this little adventure, didn
’
t you know? Now, where
’
s that flower car? I
’
ve been just dying to see it. Is it really called a Thing? That
’
s so c
ute I could just do a tap number right here in the parking lot.”

“
Um, it
’
s at my house, just about a block away,”
Tessa said, pointing vaguely in the direction of her place. Babs smiled and hooked her arm in Tessa
’
s.

“
So, you say you know where Finn might
be?”

Tessa swallowed and forced a smile. “
I can only think of one place.”

***

“
I waited all night for you,”
Tessa said, standing in her skates on the black ice, staring at him with her arms crossed over her fuzzy white sweater. “
Just sat on my porch, wa
iting in the cold, until sunrise.”

Finn tried to move closer to her, but she skated lightly backward, nullifying any ground he gained.

I
’
m sorry,
he thought.

“
Five tomatoes for a dollar,”
he said.
knockknockknockknockknock

He blinked, glanced behind him. “
Did you hear that?”

“
Hear what?”
she said.
knockknockknockknockknock

He looked at Tessa, who stared back at him, her arms laden with bags of produce.

“
What the hell am I supposed to do with all these tomatoes?”
she asked.

Then there was a sudden punch to
his gut, and he bolted upright in the cot. Fur in his face, a yelp, sleeping bag to the floor, dog scrambling to its feet.

Finn sat there and stared at a spot on the floor as the events of the last twenty-four hours started to come back.

The car. The shack
. Lucy
’
s Lake.

Fires. Joe. The dog. Max.

Tessa.

knockknockknockknockknock

And a visitor to boot. Who would come looking for him all the way out there? He glanced at his watch: ten o
’
clock in the morning.

“
I
’
m telling you, dog, I don
’
t know where home is fo
r you, but if you ever think about going back, take my advice: don
’
t.”

The dog stared at him, cocked its head sideways, and gave a small huff of a bark.

knockknockknockknockknock

“
All right, all right,”
he said, throwing his legs over the side of the cot a
nd yanking his flannel shirt on over the jeans and T-shirt he
’
d slept in. He ran his hand through his hair and shuffled to the door, pulling it open to see a blonde girl staring up at him.

Christ.

“
Okay,”
he said. “
One box of Thin Mints and two Samoas, but
that
’
s all you
’
re squeezing out of me.”

“
Finn?”
she said, her voice tentative. She sounded just like Tessa, only younger and less pissed off. He squinted.

“
Oh, man,”
he said, amazed as he realized who he was looking at. “
Izzy?”

She smiled. “
Yeah. You reme
mbered?”

“
Yeah.”
He laughed, trying to mesh his memory of the scabby-kneed kid he knew with the pretty young girl in front of him. “
Wow. Look at you, all grown up.”

Izzy beamed. Man, if only it was as easy to make Tessa that happy... Well, there was one wa
y he knew of, but the chances of Tessa letting him do that were very small indeed.

“
I need to talk to you,”
Izzy said, pushing herself into the room.

“
Come on in,”
Finn said, shutting the door behind her.

“
Oh!”
Izzy said, clapping her hands and bending ove
r to pet the dog, which was wagging its tail and playing the cute angle to the hilt. “
What a cutie! What
’
s his name?”

“
It
’
s a him?”
Finn asked. Izzy shot him a look over her shoulder. Finn shrugged. “
I dunno. Not my dog.”

“
Yes, it
’
s a him,”
Izzy said, stan
ding upright. She let her backpack drop to the ground, then looked around.

“
Nice digs.”

Finn reached down and picked up the sleeping bag, tossing it onto the bed. “
Thanks. I was going for rustic with a hint of squatter.”

Izzy surveyed Finn carefully, a lig
ht smile on her face.

“
She said you were a wiseass.”

“
Who? Tessa?”

Izzy shrugged. “
Yeah. She doesn
’
t say much about you, but I remember her saying once that you were a Grade-A wiseass.”

“
I prefer social commentator, but potato, po-tah-to,”
Finn said. “
Spea
king of your lovely and mildly dangerous sister, does she know you
’
re here?”

Izzy remained silent, and Finn nodded, reaching for his pack. “
Mind if I smoke?”

Izzy shook her head. “
No. Can I have one?”

“
No,”
Finn said, pulling out his smokes and lighter.

Sh
e put on a slight pout. “
Why not?”

“
One, quitting
’
s a bitch, so don
’
t start. Two, your sister would hunt me down and kill me twice if she found out I even let you in here, let alone gave you a cigarette. So pardon my rudeness...”

He put the cigarette in hi
s mouth and lit it. The dog gave a small huff. Finn pulled out a folding chair and set it down for Izzy. He sat on the edge of the cot, took a drag of his cigarette, and exhaled.

“
So, how
’
d you find me here?”

“
There are only two bed-and-breakfasts in town,
and you weren
’
t at either of those.”
She shrugged. “
It was just a guess.”

Finn took another drag. “
Good guess. Second question: why are you here?”

Izzy hesitated for a second, then sat up a little straighter. “
I
’
d like to hire you,”
she said finally.

Finn
had to raise an eyebrow at that. “
To do what?”

“
You
’
re a private detective, right?”

“
So I
’
m told.”

“
Well, I need you to privately... detect something.”

Interesting. He watched Izzy for a moment. “
How much?”

“
Hmmm?”

“
How much are you willing to pay me?”
he asked.

“
Um...,”
she stammered, “
don
’
t you want to hear the details of the case first?”

“
There
’
s only one detail I
’
m interested in,”
he said. “
How much?”

“
Okay.”
She nibbled at her lip and reached into her bag, pulling out a clear Ziploc bag with some bi
lls and change in it. “
I have eighty-nine dollars and seventy-three cents that I can put down now. And then, when I turn eighteen, I
’
ll get my half of the money from Mom
’
s life insurance.”

He kept his face impassive.

She shifted on her seat. “
I have an a
fter-school job,”
she said, wringing her hands in the way young girls did when they asked a favor. “
Maybe I can pay you on an installment plan or something, then give you the balance next May?”

Finn took another drag of his smoke. Whatever she wanted, the
kid was serious about it. Which, when you
’
re talking about a sixteen-year-old girl, usually meant only one thing.

A sixteen-year-old boy.

“
Hope you didn
’
t smash your piggy bank getting that money out,”
Finn said, “
because it
’
s all going back.”

Izzy
’
s eyeb
rows knit together, and she looked down at the bag in her hand. “
But... but... don
’
t you want to hear the details of the case first?”

“
Nope,”
Finn said, “
because whoever he is, he
’
s not worth it.”

“
What? Who are you talking about?”

“
Whatever little punk ha
s got you so in a tizzy that you
’
re willing to part with the whole of your allowance money and then some to find out if he likes you or if he
like
likes you.”
Finn took another drag. “
Trust me, whoever he is, he
’
s not worth it.”

“
I want you to find the per
son who killed my mother,”
Izzy said.

Well. That
’
ll teach me to underestimate a Scuderi sister.
“
Your mother died in a car accident.”
He leaned forward, watching her carefully. “
Didn
’
t she?”

Izzy bit her lip, then pulled her backpack into her lap, unzipped
it, and presented Finn with a small wooden box, decorated with stickers and newspaper and dried flowers under shellac. Finn took the box, turned it over twice in his hands, and looked up at Izzy.

“
Look inside,”
Izzy said. Finn slid the top off the box and
pulled out a picture of three women at the beach, taken some time ago, judging from the bent corners and general wear and tear.

Izzy leaned forward. “
That
’
s Mom in the middle.”
Finn nodded, recognizing Karen. Izzy pointed to a blonde on the right side. “
T
hat
’
s Margie Fletcher.”
Her finger moved to the other side, indicating a tiny woman with dark curly hair. “
And that
’
s Vickie Kemp.”

Finn flipped the picture over. Nothing on the back. He took another glance at the box. Nothing unusual there. He handed it b
ack to Izzy.

“
Great. A box and a picture of your mom and some friends. You using the new math? Because I don
’
t follow how this adds up to murder.”

Izzy took the box back. “
This is a worry box. My mom used to make them and sell them at the craft store. You
write down your worries, put the paper inside, sleep with it under your bed, and in the morning, your worries are gone.”

“
Really?”
he said. “
People actually bought that crap?”

Izzy gave him a harsh look, reminding him more of Tessa than ever. “
Yes, they d
id, and it
’
s not crap.”

Finn held up his hands. “
I take it all back.”

Izzy let out a sigh, gave him a grudging yet forgiving look, and went on. “
Anyway, after Mom died, I found this under her bed.”