Loose Lips by Rae Davies Page A

in the shower of her scream–filled sorority house.
    “Is that wine?”
    “It is.”
    “Kristi won’t like it.”
    “Kristi can...”
    The voices lowered to a mumble before I
could hear exactly what Kristi could do. Then someone tripped. Over
my foot.
    The someone, a woman, fell forward, directly
onto a three–liter box of wine.
    In an amazing example of agility, she rolled
over with the box of wine perched on her belly. Images of an otter
balancing a rock as he floated around foraging for shells flashed
through my brain.
    “And that,” the otter announced, “is why I
buy box wine!” She scrambled to her feet and eyed me with
suspicion. “Who are you? And why are you lurking in the dark?”
    “Now, Phoebe, she wasn’t lurking. She’s
probably just lost.”
    Phoebe stared at her friend as if she’d
eaten the last Ding Dong, or at least how I’d look at my friend if
she’d committed that crime. “This isn’t exactly Grand Central
Station.”
    “She could be a tourist.” The woman, a
brunette, who I was fast thinking of as the sweet one, smiled at
me. “Helena Goods is closed. I think they open back up at eleven
tomorrow morning.”
    “She isn’t a tourist.” Phoebe, on her feet
now, heaved the box of wine onto her hip. Her no–nonsense attitude
matched her attire: khaki skirt, knit top and casual shoes that
weren’t sneakers, but didn’t make the cut as dress shoes either. A
mash–up that probably allowed her to go just about anywhere in
Helena feeling appropriately garbed.
    “How do you know?”
    Phoebe of the wine looked at me. “Are
you?”
    “Noooo.”
    She grunted. “See?”
    Apparently the sweet one did. She dropped
her gaze.
    Getting the distinct feeling that I was
about to be bounced, I picked up the paper bag that had hidden the
wine and held it out. “I’m Lucy, a friend of Phyllis’s.”
    Her relief obvious, the sweet one smiled.
“Oh, so you’re here for the meeting? I’m Eve.” She took the bag
from me and carefully folded it into a neat brown square.
    Phoebe wasn’t as easily taken in. “How’d you
know where we were meeting?”
    Eve slapped her lightly on the arm and let
out a nervous laugh. “Phyllis told her.”
    Phyllis hadn’t told me, but Stanley had. Or,
to be more exact, Rhonda had, after her conversation with Stanley
where he denied any knowledge of where his mother had gotten to,
but had shared that before her disappearance she had complained
about a recent change in venue for the group.
    Apparently, one or more of the members
hadn’t been all that happy with the previous location. The basement
of a Baptist church where wine was not invited.
    I was guessing that member had to have been
my new friend Phoebe.
    Her suspicion obvious, Phoebe adjusted her
wine and stared me down. “Is that true?”
    True enough
. I nodded.
    Eve’s relief was palpable. “See?” she said
to Phoebe, a little too brightly. “We better hurry. We’re going to
be late.”
    Phoebe rolled her eyes, but after one last
glance at me, she started walking.
    Eve and I followed behind.
    “She doesn’t mean anything.”
    “What?”
    “Phoebe. She comes off harsher than she is.
It’s just since our demonstration at the Caffeine Cartel, we’ve had
some...”
    “Some what?”
    She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s just hard
to know who you can trust.”
    I, of course, was left wondering just who
had violated their trust and how, but before I could ask, we were
walking into the only lit space in the mall.
    The now–empty space had in its past housed
everything from a western wear store to a jerky shop.
    Following Phoebe’s lead, I slipped under the
partially rolled down metal shutter intended, during off hours, to
keep people out and merchandise in.
    The smell of jerky still lingered. It was
unpleasant, but not nearly as disturbing as the unforgiving glow of
old fluorescent lights. I thanked the mall gods that the jerky
store had seen no need for mirrors. I did not need to see