Page 72 of Rest In Pink
“I remember,” she said.
Mickey had a two-hundred-yard lead, but we were able to keep up.
For now.
He took the hairpin hard on the dirt bike, down knee almost touching the pavement. Rain’s Mercedes was handling the road better than my Gladiator, but even so, she lost fifty yards. I was now farther behind and lost sight of Mickey every so often.
We raced by the Little Blue House and I didn’t bother to look to see if Faye was entertaining.
“Doesn’t this dead end?” Rain asked over the phone.
“There’s a turn to the right to the Blue Mansion,” I said. “Or left to the country club.”
“He goes Country Club,” Rain said, “I’ll go left, and you go right since the road goes around the building.”
Or he could do neither and take Short Hill Road. I hadn’t mentioned that because it was not a route many took. So, of course, that’s what Mickey did. He skidded sideways to a halt, turned to look at Rain rapidly approaching, gave her the finger, and accelerated down that road into the trees.
Rain burned rubber skidding to almost a halt and then going after him.
“Rain?” I shouted.
“Yeah.”
“The pavement ends in about—“
“Fuck,” Rain yelled, meaning she’d reached the dirt road. Even through the phone, I could hear her car rattling on the ruts and washboard.
“Let me take lead,” I suggested.
“No way.”
I was catching up to her given this was terrain more suited to the Gladiator than her sports car. I caught a glimpse of Mickey’s brake light glowing, then it disappeared to the left.
“Fuck!” Rain screamed again as she slammed on the brakes and her Mercedes slid on the dirt sideways and then went partly off the road.
I stopped at the single-track trail that Mickey had gone down, impossible for a truck or car to follow.
He was gone.
Rain got out and surveyed her car. The front tires were off the road and the chassis was bottomed out.
I walked over and stood beside her. “I can winch it—“
“You are not putting that damn winch on my car.”
I like my winch and love using it, but I like my health more. “I’ll call Will Porter and get his truck up here. He’s an expert.”
Rain looked down the narrow trail where Mickey had gone. “This is personal, now, motherfucker.”
He’d gotten mud on Rain’s Mercedes.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I was sitting outside Kathy’s Karate at five that night, fighting sleep and making notes on Peri’s lessons so I could keep them straight. Swim class every weekday morning at ten, that was easy. It was the afternoons that were confusing: karate on Monday, violin on Tuesday, Mandarin on Wednesday (that was Sun at the Red Box, so I could have a Diet Coke and fries and work on The Book), tennis on Thursday, and ballet on Friday. I tried to figure out what Margot’s plan for Peri must be. Maybe infiltrate the Beijing Orchestra with her violin, speaking impeccable Mandarin, then swim the China Sea, break into an ancient crypt using her tennis backhand, karate chop the guards, steal the priceless treasure, and then jete her escape to a waiting helicopter . . .
Peri opened the door and got in, throwing her bag into the back with the careless disdain of a girl twice her age.
“Are you taking helicopter flying lessons?” I asked her as she put her seatbelt on.