Yesterday's Stardust (13 page)

Tired didn’t begin to describe the increase in the pull of gravity on every muscle in her body. She’d tried reading the diary again last night, but she’d only made it through a few entries before falling asleep with the old leather book in her hands. At this rate, it would take her five years to read the five-year diary.

Her phone rang. She answered on a tired sigh without looking at the display. Only Evan would call at this time of day.

“Hi Dani. It’s Rena.”

“Rena. Aren’t teenagers supposed to sleep till noon?”

“I wish. I haven’t slept all that great since Monday.”

Me neither. Are you backing out?
Disappointment entwined with relief. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering when you’re coming to get the clothes.”

Dani glanced at the clock. Nicky would be sleeping, wouldn’t he? “I could stop by right now if you have them ready.”

“Sure. I’m going to the store with my dad in a couple minutes. I’ll put the bag on the bottom step. You can just walk in.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“There’s something else. I need you to promise you won’t tell Nicky anything, okay?”

Dani rubbed the nagging ache in her left temple. “I can’t give you a blanket promise, Rena, but I can promise I won’t say a word unless I see you’re in real danger.”

“Well then I can’t—”

“Immediate danger, I mean. If someone’s pointing a gun at you I’m not going to keep quiet.”

“Oh.” Rena’s laugh was shaky. “I guess I’d want you to do something then. It’s just that I saw him give you his phone number, and the more I thought about it…”

“I don’t know why he gave me his number. I don’t have any intention of calling him.”

“I think you should.” Rena’s voice sounded suddenly older than seventeen.

“Why?”

“Because I heard him talking to somebody last night.” She paused, a bit of melodrama Dani was coming to see as a Rena trademark. “I think he knows where China is.”

“How would he—”

“I have to go. See you tomorrow night.”

Dani glanced at the time in the bottom corner of her monitor. 1:03. Four minutes since the last time she’d checked. She picked up her phone, wiped her palms on her knees, and scrolled through her contacts until she reached the Ns and the number she’d added just yesterday. Why, she couldn’t have said at the time. Pushing the little green phone icon, she held her breath.

“Hey, it’s Nick. I’m either sleeping or up to my armpits in marinara. Yeah, disgusting, I know. Anyway, leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon—”

Her desk jarred. She jammed her finger onto the E
ND
button and jerked around.

A stack of books sat on her desk.

“I’m really getting into this.” Evan parked his derriere next to her monitor.

Dani wiped the dampness from her top lip and slid her phone into her purse. She picked up the top book.
“Gang Slang.”
Arching an eyebrow, she looked at the second one.
“Gang Intelligence Manual— Identifying and Understanding Modern-Day Violent Gangs in the United States.”
On the third title she gave up trying not to laugh.
“My Bloody Life: The Making of a Latin King.
” She put one hand over her face, fingers splayed. “Evan. They’re just kids.”

He grabbed another book and held it up, his expression dead serious. “So were some of these.”

“Home of the Body Bags?”
Maybe it was a week and a half of lousy sleep. Maybe it was the constant second-guessing. Whatever the cause, the result was laughter on the brink of hysterics. Tears streamed down her face, and she doubled over. “I’m s-sorry.” She tried twice to quell the spasms but only succeeded in making things worse.

“Come on. Let’s go get fresh bad coffee, and I’ll tell you all I’ve learned.”

She followed him to the elevator. The door opened and two men in perfectly pressed shirts got out. One held a camera case. Evan exchanged several lines of chitchat then tugged on his rumpled shirt as the door closed. “You think I should dress more professional?”

“Nah. You wouldn’t be you.” She nodded toward the door. “I can’t imagine asking one of them to come with me tomorrow night. You’re adaptable. They’re way too GQ.”

“Wait till you see me tomorrow night. I be wearin’ creased khakis-and-a-cuff wit’ ice in ma grills.” Grinning, he pointed to his teeth. “Urbandictionary.com. Very handy.”

“Don’t you
dare
talk like that. You’ll get yourself killed, pseudo-gangsta.” They walked into the cafeteria and made a beeline to the coffee. “That would be a good name. Hey, cool ta meet ya, name’s Pseudo-G, homey.” She picked up two paper cups and filled them.

Evan rolled his eyes. “Name’s Razzi, chick.”

“Rotsy? How’d you come up wi—oh! Razzi! As in paparazzi.”

“You got it.”

“Clever.” She set the cups at an empty table. “Very clever.”

“So what’s yours?”

“I hadn’t thought about it. Clearly, I’m not as street savvy as you.”

“What’re you wearing?”

“Some of Rena’s clothes. And I’m dyeing my hair bright red.”

“Yuck. But we can work with it.” Evan pulled out his phone, punched a few keys, and swiped the screen. “Bittersweet, blush, brick, burgundy, cardinal, copper, coral, crimson, dahlia. Oh, that’s a good one. Dahlia, dahling.”

“Very gangish.”

“Flaming, florid, flushed, fuchsia, garnet, geranium, pink, puce—”

“Yeah.” Dani rolled fists toward her wrists and stuck her elbows out. “Don’t mess wi’ me. Name’s Puce.”

“I can see it tattooed on your bicep. Okay, moving on. Scarlet, vermilion, carroty, cerise—that has promise—flame, magenta, poppy.” His eyes lit. “That’s it! You’re Poppy. I’m Razzi.” He slapped his knee. “Baby, baby, we belong together,” he crooned.

“Poppy, huh? Short, catchy, with some drug overtones.” She rolled her eyes. “Go back to the other one you said had promise.”

“Cerise.”

“That’s it. Cerise.” She let it play on her tongue. “I like it.”

Evan sat down across from her and grabbed a stack of sugar packets. “One for Cerise, one for Razzi.” He doled them out like a card dealer.

“Any second thoughts?”

“Are you kidding? I’m always up for an adventure. And I feel safe with a five-foot-two kickboxer to hide behind.”

“I got your back, Razzi. But seriously, it’s not too late to”—her phone vibrated—“back out.” She scrolled to the text message. “It’s from Rena.” Her spine straightened as she read the message. C
HINA JUST WENT INTO THE APARTMENT.
I T
HINK ALONE.

She showed it to Evan, pushed her chair back, and stood.

“What are you thinking?”

She shoved her cup toward Evan. “What do you think I’m thinking?”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, you won’t.” She pointed a finger at him and winked. “Can’t blow your cover, Razzi.”

She turned and sprinted out of the cafeteria, ignoring Evan’s pleas for her to stop and think.

Across the street and a block from the restaurant, Nicky slowed his steps and looked at his watch. Three miles in just over twenty-six minutes—a PR. Bending over, he put one hand on his knee and mopped his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. Anger had fueled his run. It wasn’t a huge thing, wasn’t even his responsibility, but when he’d awakened to new additions to the graffiti on the old garage next to the restaurant, it felt like a slap in the face.

Too close to home. Too close to Rena. His anger shifted to his parents. Dad was in a buddy-buddy phase again. He cycled, like Wisconsin seasons, through alternating bouts of failure and trying too hard. Though undependable and unpredictable, he did manage to make his kids feel loved.

Unlike the woman who gave birth to them.

Nicky ran a hand through dripping hair, lifting it off his forehead. As he reached the corner, a woman caught his eye to his right. Black pants came to mid-calf. Her shirt was the color of a ripe peach. Blond hair floated around her shoulders.

Dumb and stupid on a silver platter. The girl who hadn’t called.

Can you blame her?
If he’d had time to think, he would have asked for her number instead. So he could call her and…what? Seeing her here completely obliterated the momentary desire to apologize. What had he been thinking?

He knew the answer to that. He’d been thinking he didn’t want to let Todd win. Again.

She walked with her chin up, a bounce in her step, a sway to her hips. She walked like an open invitation.

The girls around here, the ones who wanted to stay safe, walked with a swagger. A touch-me-and-you-die swagger. Not a sway.

He slowed, almost to a stop, watching the hypnotic swing of her hips and wishing for a garden hose, knowing it might take more than a rush of cold water to shock him back to a normal pulse.

In the middle of the block, she jaywalked across the street. Heading for the house where the kid had killed himself.

He wasn’t about to get mixed up in whatever she was up to. But he might just watch. He backed toward a scraggly maple tree.

“Nicky! Hi!” She waved like they’d spotted each other across the grocery store.

“What are you doing here?” He didn’t much care that he sounded like he was demanding an answer from a two-year-old. In spite of the voice in his head reminding him he didn’t want to get involved, he slipped his shirt on and strode toward her.

Her face colored, giving it a much healthier glow than she’d had under the sickly yellow of a streetlight the first time he’d seen her. “I was just…wanting another one of those spinach calzones.”

At two in the afternoon?
Right.
“You must have very flexible work hours.”

“Yeah, well, that’s one of the perks of my job.” She wiped her top lip where tiny beads of perspiration formed. The girl squirmed like a bee on a bug zapper. Nicky found it fascinating.

“Yeah. So now that you haven’t admitted you’re here to gather juicy facts about something, what’s the story about? Urban renewal?” He waved his hand, taking in the entire intersection. “Not a whole lot going on in this neighborhood.” A screen door opened and closed somewhere not far away, but he couldn’t see it. With her hand at the back of her neck, she turned her head, a gesture he guessed he was supposed to view as just a stretch. “Looking for someone?”

“I’m…no…” She stared at her feet.

Very pretty feet. Toenails matched her pinky-peach blouse. Nicky waited.

Her chin lifted. A pent-up breath whooshed through puffed cheeks.

“Kind of old news here, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you be on to something new and equally gruesome?”

Her gaze hardened. Something in his gut tightened. He needed to loosen up. What was it about the girl that brought out the worst in him? He tried on a smile. “I’ve had some dealings with reporters in the past. My attitude’s a bit skewed.”

“That would explain you calling the paper to tell them I was at the funeral.”

Apologize.
He’d made the call in the funeral home parking lot while waiting for his dad to stop gabbing. He’d felt stupid the second he’d hung up. “You had no right to be there.” Old, hibernating feelings roused. “Have you ever been on the other end of what you do? Ever had a reporter in your face, asking questions, playing on your emotions? Waiting for you to crack and say some—”

A car door slammed in the distance. She turned away from him as a dirty red car pulled out of the alley. Her shoulders dropped. She faced him again, eyes closing for a moment, lips pressed so tight they blanched.

The rusty voice of what must be his conscience whispered in his head. “Look, I’m sorry. Like I said, I’ve had some bad experiences. I shouldn’t have“—he swallowed, took a deep breath, and looked over her shoulder—“made that call. I’m sorry.”

A faint smile tipped perfectly shaped lips. “That cost you, didn’t it?”

“Wow.” Her comment hit like the cold water he’d needed a few minutes ago, but for some odd reason made him smile. And not much did that. “A guy humbles himself and admits he made a mistake, and you just rub his face in it.”

“I’m sorry.” Her expression didn’t reflect her words. “It’s just that …never mind.”

It’s just that I came off like a total jerk the first three—make that four—times we met.
He nodded toward the house behind her. “What are you doing here?” Same question. Different tone.