“You need a steady job,” my mother said. “Something that pays benefits. You're not getting any younger, you know. How long can you go chasing hoodlums all over Trenton? If you had a steady job you could finance a car.”
“Most of the time my job is steady. I just got stuck with a lemon of a case here.”
“You live from hand to mouth.”
What could I say; she was right.
“I could get you a job driving a school bus,” my father said, digging into his dinner. “I know the guy does the hiring. You make good money driving a school bus.”
“One of them daytime shows did a thing on school bus drivers,” Grandma said. “And two of the drivers got bleeding hemorrhoids on account of the seats weren't any good.”
My eye had started to twitch again. I put my finger to it to make it stop.
“What's wrong with your eye?” my mother asked. “Do you have that twitch back?”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Grandma said. “One of your friends came looking for you today. I said you were out working, and she gave me a note for you.”
“Mary Lou?”
“No, not Mary Lou. Someone I didn't know. Real pretty. Must have been one of those makeup ladies at the mall, because she was wearing a ton of makeup.”
“Not Joyce!”
“No. I'm telling you it was someone I didn't know. The note's in the kitchen. I left it on the counter by the phone.”
I pushed away from the table and went to get the note. It was in a small, sealed envelope. “STEPHANIE” had been printed in neat block letters on the face of the envelope. It looked like an invitation to a shower or a birthday party. I opened the envelope and put a hand to the counter to steady myself. The message was simple. “DIE BITCH.” And in smaller script it said when I least suspected it he'd make his move. It was written on a recipe card.
What was even more disturbing than the message in the note was the fact that Sugar had waltzed right into my parents' house and handed the envelope to Grandma.
I returned to the table and wolfed down three cabbage rolls. I didn't know how to handle this. I needed to warn my family, but I didn't want to scare them half to death.
“Well?” Grandma said. “What's in the note? Looked like an invitation.”
“That was someone I know from work,” I said. “Actually, she's not a nice person, so if you ever see her again, don't let her in the house. In fact, don't even open the door to her.”
“Ommigod,” my mother said. “Another lunatic. Tell me she doesn't want to shoot you.”
“Actually . . .”
My mother made the sign of the cross. “Holy Mary, mother of God.”
“Don't get going with the Holy Mary stuff,” I said to my mother. “It's not that bad.”
“So what should I do if I see her again?” Grandma asked. “You want me to put a hole in her?”
“No! I just don't want you to invite her in for tea!”
My father helped himself to more cabbage rolls. “Next time put in less rice,” he said.
“Frank,” my mother said, “are you listening to this?”
My father picked up his head. “What?”
My mother smacked herself on the forehead.
Sally had been bent over his plate, shoveling in cabbage rolls like there was no tomorrow. He paused and looked at me, and I could hear the gears grinding in his brain. Pretty girl. Lots of makeup. Note. Bad person. “Uh oh,” Sally said.
“I'm going to have to eat and run,” I said to my mother. “I have to work tonight.”