Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [142]
“That’s Maggie.” Connie was flabbergasted. “What’s she thinking?”
“Duh! She’s trying to help find Marquise!” Becca said, tired of her aunt’s bossing her around.
“Don’t speak to me—”
“Shh!” Becca didn’t care about being polite. She had to find out what her mother was saying, but it was too late. Connie aimed the remote control, and the screen went dead.
“Why’d you do that?” Becca demanded.
“It’s too upsetting for you to watch.”
“It was my mother!”
“But she already called and explained about the accident. There was no need for you to—”
“Marquise is my aunt! Like you are. I want to know what happened to her!” Becca was sick of being treated like a little kid.
“We all do,” Connie assured her. She pasted on that saccharine smile that Becca had come to loathe. “As soon as I hear from Maggie again, I’ll let you know.”
“But I want to talk to her now.” Something was going on, and Becca was more scared than she’d ever been in her life. A woman was dead. Even though her mom had called and explained about it, Becca wasn’t satisfied.
“We will. I’ll call her later.” Aunt Connie was getting pissed.
Becca wasn’t going to wait. She hopped to her bare feet, winced a bit as her ankle still gave her a little trouble, then walked stiffly to Jenny’s bed and picked up the receiver of her princess phone. But she didn’t dial. There was no reason. She’d just talked to her mother a little while ago. Still, she was scared. Scared to death. Her throat closed, and she fought tears. “But someone’s dead. Dead. And they can’t find Marquise.” She dropped the receiver.
“I know, Becca, but everyone’s doing the best they can.” Sighing loudly, Connie sat on the edge of Jenny’s bed and shook her head. She placed a hand on Becca’s shoulder, and Becca had to fight the urge to cringe. “Try not to worry, okay? I’m sure your mother will call the minute she knows anything else. She’s probably not even in her hotel room right now and”—she looked pointedly at Jenny’s clock, the one of a fake wooden Elvis where his hips swung like a pendulum—“look at the time. Remember, you’ve got a doctor’s appointment in an hour.”
“I’m not going.”
“Of course you are, dear; your ankle hasn’t healed, and Dr. Orem is the best orthopedic man in all of Beverly Hills.”
“My ankle’s fine.” Becca was tired of her aunt’s platitudes, sick of being treated as if she were a stupid nine-year-old.
“Now, don’t argue, okay?” Connie’s face, though set in a kind expression, was hard as granite, and Becca had learned over the last few days that the woman ran her house with an iron fist covered in a doeskin glove. As much as she had loved L.A., Becca was beginning to want to leave. Connie was a big reason; and her uncle Jim, what a weenie he’d turned out to be. It was always “Yes, dear this,” and “Of course, honey, that.” He didn’t seem to have a mind of his own. Even Jenny, for all her rebellious streak, had to toe the line and do exactly what her mother asked or she was browbeaten for hours as Connie would walk around the house with a wounded look, dabbing at the corners of her eyes, like she couldn’t believe that her daughter could be so cruel. What a crock. It was amazing that Jenny had the guts to sneak out.
“Get ready while I change, and try to wear something nice.” She eyed Becca’s cutoff jeans as if they were poison. “You know, a shorts set or a skirt would be appropriate. If you didn’t bring something of your own, I’m sure Jenny has something you can fit into.” Connie’s smile was patronizingly patient, and Becca realized that her concern of a few moments before had all been fake. “We’re not just going to the specialist. I want you to visit your grandfather.”
“But—”
“He’s in a care home, honey, and he’d love to see you.”
Becca had never been close to her father’s father, but nodded. She couldn’t get out of this one.
“And then we have to stop by the lawyer’s office.”
Becca’s shoulders stiffened, and she felt instantly apprehensive. “Why?”
“Legal papers—I’ll explain later.”
“Can’t you explain now?” Becca asked, suspicion her newfound companion.
“It’s complicated.”
“Which