Lulu Dark Can See Through Walls (17 page)

Mornings may not be my best time, but that’s a gross understatement when it comes to Daisy. In fact, she’s usually downright catatonic when she wakes up. Nonetheless, we had a lot of work to do, so I tried valiantly to rouse her. She was coming with me, even if it was in her pajamas.

Daisy loves to sleep so much that she does it under a lavish canopy, bedecked with plush, high-thread-count bedclothes. She wears a beauty mask and earplugs.

In slumber Daisy has the benign placidness of Sleeping Beauty, and she’s just as unwakable. Unfortunately, I’m about as far as you can get from Prince Charming.

I tried to be kind at first, turning on perky classical music and pulling the shades open to let the sun in. Gingerly I removed Daisy’s mask and then, disgusted, coaxed the earplugs from her ears. Ick.

“Daisy,” I whispered in her ear. “Up and at ’em.”

In her sleep she groaned and muttered something unintelligible
.

“Time to pop up like a piece of toast and bounce out of bed like a rubber ball,” I said louder, cringing inwardly at my own mixed metaphor.

“No!”
Daisy shouted. I jumped back, but I wasn’t quick enough. Daisy’s fist shot from its peaceful position under the covers and clocked me upside the head. Ouch!

Daisy snored. She was still asleep.

Whatever,
I thought, rubbing my jaw. It was only a glancing blow, and maybe I’d look tough with a bruise.

I needed to try another tactic. Glancing around the room, I found a roll of gold wrapping paper and stood as far as I could from my sleeping friend. With the wrapping paper, I jabbed her sharply in the gut. Well, she
had
punched me. “Up, up, up, up, up!” I shouted.

In a trance Daisy sprang out of her bed. She wears this high-collared, flannel, old-woman nightgown. Her hair was pointing in every direction from her head, Gorgon-like. “Leemlong!” she shrieked. I interpreted this to mean “leave me alone.”

Continuing to sputter in her half-dream state, Daisy came at me like a cyclone, all fists and flying spittle. I don’t know how she knew where I was even standing: her eyes were still closed. Maybe she was guided by a dream. She chased me around the room, yelping wildly and trying to lay another punch anywhere she could connect while I staved her off with the wrapping paper tube. Finally, when she’d backed me into a corner, I hopped up on top of her desk, where she couldn’t get me. “Mmmm nagggh,” she spat, and collapsed on the floor in a heap. She began snoring again, loudly.

“Daisy!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Magically her eyes popped open. She rolled onto her back and looked up at me. Her scowl broadened into a beatific smile. “Lulu,” she said sleepily. “What are you doing up there? We have work to do.”

 

I was still afraid of the possibility of running into Sally Hansen, but with karate-chopping Daisy at my side I felt safe enough to get back on Berlin’s trail.

On Genevieve’s tip we took the limo to Third and Main, where Rhonda B’s boutique is. Daisy had guzzled about a gallon of coffee and was now wired beyond belief. In her zeal she’d decided to dress like a spy for the day’s high jinks. She wore a gray fedora, mirrored cat-eye sunglasses, and a formfitting trench coat that was shorter than I’m sure Svenska would have preferred.

Oh, how Daisy loves costumes.

As the limo rolled down State Street, I peered out the tinted windows, searching for any sign of the manicured menace.

“I don’t see why you’re so worried,” Daisy said. “It’s daytime-what can that girl do to you?”

“Kill me, of course,” I said. “Murder can happen anytime, anyplace.”

Daisy thought seriously about my aphorism. “I guess so,” she said unsurely.

I decided to change the subject. “I still can’t believe what happened with Charlie and Genevieve last night. I mean, what is with people wrecking my friendships by making up total lies about my personal life?”

“I’m not sure.” Daisy shrugged. “Do you have a long-lost cousin who might be in town partying with the Stratfords? Because I once saw this episode of
The Patty Duke Show
where . . .” She trailed off, lost in the pleasant glow of a childhood spent in front of the television.

I shook my head. “Not possible. I am the sole progeny of the Dark clan. It’s a lonely existence, but it rules around birthday time.” I paused. “The thing is, there’s so much happening at once. I think it’s all related. But I can’t figure out how. It’s like, I can’t see the big picture.”

“Well, then, let’s consider the things we already know,” Daisy said. “Maybe everything will just fall into place. When I was taking the SATs and I couldn’t figure out an answer, I’d just stare at the question for thirty seconds and then guess. I got a perfect score, so there has to be something to the method.”

She let her eyes drift out of focus. I looked at my watch. After thirty seconds were up, she spoke again. “Okay,” she said. “So Alfy Romero gave you his phone number and then forgot about you. Berlin’s room was ransacked, and she hasn’t been seen since. A girl with a shark tattoo like Berlin’s was found in Dagger Bay, but the shark girl’s been at the bottom of the bay for, like, months and Berlin only disappeared a week ago. Someone’s calling you claiming to
be
you, and Sally Hansen’s been menacing you for days. On top of all of this, Charlie—and everyone else—thinks you’re a ho who hangs at clubs with the Stratford twins.
And
we still haven’t found your purse.”

My head spun. Just thinking about it all was enough to make me throw in the towel. Then the nameplate came to me again.

“Who do you think HATTIE is?” I wondered, doodling the name in cursive in my notebook.

Daisy furrowed her brow. “Maybe this Hattie person kidnapped Berlin from her room and dropped her necklace while she was trying to subdue her!”

I gave my friend a look. “If that’s what happened, she’s the dumbest kidnapper ever. What kind of idiot leaves behind a necklace with her own name on it at the scene of the crime?”

“Criminals always do that on
Batman,
” Daisy said. “For instance, the Joker will rob a bank and leave behind a jack-in-the-box that says, ‘Ha ha! The Joker strikes again!’”

I giggled. “The way things are going, I wouldn’t be surprised if we
were
dealing with a Batman villain. Sally Hansen certainly dresses like one.”

Daisy twisted her lip, thinking about something else. “One thing is really bothering me about all of this.”

“Only
one
thing?”

“Well . . . what Genevieve said last night.”

I sighed in exasperation.

“Are you
sure
you didn’t sneak out and meet up with Alfy Romero?” Daisy asked.

I gave her a disappointed stare. “Daisy! You know me. I don’t make out with boys—not even Alfy Romero—in public.”

“Sorry. It’s just that Genevieve and Charlie seemed pretty convinced.”

“I know, and it’s awful. Charlie’s so mad at me. What a mess.”

“Are you going to actually
talk
to him at some point?” Daisy asked.

“What am I supposed to say?” I protested.

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve only known each other, like, forever. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

I would have asked her for some ideas, but we didn’t have time to get into it. We’d arrived at our destination.

 

If you’re ever in Halo City and in the market for a two-hundred-dollar T-shirt, I recommend that you stop by Rhonda B’s. It’s just about the most overpriced, useless store in the universe.

I can understand why Genevieve likes it so much. She’s the type of girl who judges clothing based not on how it looks, but how much it costs. She sees some really ugly little skirt and thinks it must be great because it costs a month’s rent. Not that Gen pays rent—but you know what I mean.

When we walked in, the manager on duty looked at me and Daisy with narrowed eyes. I guess it was clear to her that we’re not gold card owners.

“Can I help you?” the girl asked coldly.

“Yeah,” I said. “My friend Genevieve Reed was in here the other day, and she mentioned that Berlin Silver had been in recently.”

At my mention of Genevieve’s name, the manager’s attitude changed. Suddenly I was important. “You’re friends with Genevieve?” She fake-smiled. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“I believe I just did,” I stated.

The manager shifted in obvious discomfort.

“Genevieve and her brother were here about a week ago asking about Berlin. I hadn’t seen her, but it turns out that my coworker, Helena, had. She waited on her a few days before that. Hold on a moment.” The girl picked up a walkie-talkie off the counter and barked into it. “Helena, get out here for a second.”

“Yes, mistress,” came the put-out response.

As we waited, the manager stood at the counter, staring at the ceiling and drumming her carefully groomed nails on the counter-top. “I’m Jewel, by the way,” she told me with a wan smile—the kind of smile that might as well have been a frown for all the warmth it conveyed.

“Charmed,” I responded with an equally friendly smirk.

After a moment Helena appeared, stumbling into the room with a huge pile of sequined items in her arms. “What do you need, Jewel?” A few of the pieces fluttered to the floor. She tried to gather them up without fumbling the rest of the pile.

Helena was an enormous, bejeweled woman with caked-on foundation, fire-engine-red lipstick, and green eye shadow that looked likely to be Magic Marker. She must have been at least six-foot six.

“These customers are looking for Berlin Silver,” Jewel said. “I told them that you’d seen her. And if those tube tops lose any of their sequins, it’s coming out of your paycheck, so be more careful.”

Helena looked up at us wide-eyed. She dumped the clothes that she was carrying onto the counter. “What do you know about Berlin?” she asked breathlessly, her voice a few octaves deeper than the hum of a lawn mower.

I took in Helena’s broad frame, her thick fingers, her jutting Adam’s apple. . . . I didn’t know how I’d missed it before. Helena was a drag queen.

I eyed her warily, holding my cards close to the vest. I didn’t want to divulge anything important until I knew more about this Helena character.

“We think she may have been murdered,” Daisy said in a stage whisper.

I rolled my eyes. So much for strategy.

“What?!” Helena gasped. “No! That can’t be!”

I gave her a rueful nod. What was I supposed to say?

Helena slumped down on a table full of clothes, carelessly knocking a pile of designer blouses to the floor. Jewel scurried over in exasperation and tried to gather them up. Helena covered her face with her huge hands.

“I’ve been so worried about her,” Helena rasped. “I haven’t heard from her lately, but I can’t believe something like
that
could have happened.”

“Well, we don’t know for sure,” I said quickly. I had to get this interview back on track. “How do you know Berlin, anyway?”

Helena sat up and tried to compose herself, prompting Jewel to stifle a tiny yelp as even more clothes flew helter-skelter.

“I need a hot dog,” Helena said to no one in particular. She stood up and walked to the door, turning as she pushed it open. “Are you coming, girls?”

Daisy and I followed Helena, leaving a flabbergasted Jewel to mind the store by herself.

 

“Um, why are we going to get hot dogs?” I asked Helena as we followed her down the block.

“Because I can’t stand to be in that dingy little store with that wench of a manager a moment longer,” Helena told me. “Plus Bob’s Dogs are the best in Halo City, and that’s exactly what I need right now.”

“You hear that Berlin Silver has been murdered and it makes you crave hot dogs?” Daisy asked incredulously.

“Berlin has not been murdered,” Helena insisted. “I know her too well to believe a piece of nonsense like that.”

When we reached the stand, Helena ordered three dogs, for which the vendor didn’t bother to charge her. “Now,” she said, “you girls tell me what you know.”

“You first,” I insisted. “How do
you
know Berlin?”

“Berlin was one of my best customers at the store,” Helena said. “She was having trouble making friends her own age, so she and I became friends. Not good friends, but you know,
gal pals.
” She sighed. “I thought of Berlin as a daughter, really. I gave her advice about boys, took her shopping on the weekends. Listened to her problems at school . . .” She paused, giving me a curious look. “What did you say
your
names were?”

“I’m Lulu,” I said. “And this is Daisy.”

“Lulu? Not Lulu Dark!” Helena exclaimed.

“Yes, that’s me,” I answered cautiously. “How do you know who I am?”

“Oh, Berlin told me all about you,” Helena gushed. “She really admired you—and she was so happy that she’d made a real friend.”

What? Berlin had told this woman that I was her friend? How weird. I’d barely known Berlin at all.

I didn’t point that out to Helena, though.

“Anyway,” Helena went on, “I’d been worried about Berlin for a while. She was a real mess the last time I saw her. She seemed upset about something, and she wouldn’t tell me what. I was starting to think she might be in trouble. Then she came in Saturday before last acting like a complete crazy person. She barely talked to me, and she was looking for a whole new wardrobe. It was very strange.”

Helena paused to take a bite of her dog. “When did you girls see her last?” she asked through a mouthful of food.

“Friday night before last,” I answered. “But Genevieve Reed saw her a night after that. As far as I know, that was the last time
anyone
saw her.”

“Oh, dear,” Helena said. “What do you think could have happened?”

I gave her a knowing look.

“Now, listen here,” Helena chided me. “I know that you think something terrible happened to Berlin, but I just don’t see how that’s possible. She’d never let anyone hurt her—she’s too much of a little pit bull herself. Besides, who do you think could have done such a thing?”