Part 19 (2/2)
”I wonder what they're up to,” I said.
”Just pedal,” Van Vleet ordered.
We'd chugged up another small hill and were enjoying the reward of a downhill respite when- The warning, high-pitched, panicky-and not suitable for young ears, pierced the afternoon malaise.
”On your left! On your left! On your frigging, blankety-blank left!”
I watched Keelie pa.s.s us, and suddenly slow up and stop at the side of the road again. Before you could say, ”Vrroom, Vrroom,” she was off her bike and heading for the ditch and the green fields beyond.
”I wonder what's up with that!” I said.
Van Vleet pulled his phone out of his pack.
”My guess? Another unscheduled stop in the cornfield.”
”You mean-”
Van Vleet winced. ”The big D.”
”You mean-”
He nodded.
I gagged.
”In the cornfield?”
”It's better than the alternative,” he said and fiddled with his camera.
”You mean-” Holy c.r.a.p! (Pardon the pun). This gave a whole new meaning to ”stop and go” traffic.
Van Vleet nodded again, and held his phone up at the general area of the field Keelie disappeared into.
”Wait! What are you doing? You're not thinking of-. No way. You couldn't! You wouldn't!”
”Hey, Blondie. I'm a journalist. I report news. It's what I do.”
”What's newsworthy about a bodily function run amok?”
”Not a thing if it's your bodily function. But Keelie Keller's? Enquiring minds want to know.”
”Sick, pathetic, dangerous minds want to know,” I said. ”Not normal, healthy, sane ones.”
”Oh, get over yourself, Red s.h.i.+rt. Who are you to tell people what's news and what isn't? Great! Here she comes!”
I took one look at the pale, bedraggled creature plodding through the high gra.s.s back towards the road and knew, despite our... er...misunderstanding-that I couldn't in all good conscience let Drew Van Vleet humiliate her like this. It was so not the right move.
”Oh, no, you don't!” I covered the camera lens on his phone at the same time a big ol' shadow covered both of us.
”Not a smart choice, pencil neck.” Manny the mind reader, appeared out of nowhere, his ma.s.sive paw encasing Van Vleet's. I sucked in a better-Van Vleet-than-me breath and let it out in a hiss.
”Ow. Hey, man. Ever heard of Freedom of the Press?”
”Pencil d.i.c.k ever heard discretion is the better part of valor?” Manny asked, giving Van Vleet his don't-eff-with-me look. (I'm familiar with the look although, thankfully, I've never been on the receiving end of it.) I did a double take. Since when did Manny DeMarco use Shakespearean phrases in the course of a conversation?
”You have a point,” Van Vleet conceded, withdrawing a hand that now looked like it belonged on a bird of prey, and trying his best to act like it was no big deal. ”It's tabloid journalism and, therefore, beneath me and my exacting standards of ethics.”
All right. I admit it. I lost it on that one. I laughed so hard I almost wet my pants. I was still laughing when Keelie staggered up, her camera crew circling her in a way that made me wonder how anyone put up with this circus without feeling claustrophobic.
”How dare you! How dare you stand there and laugh! This is all your doing!” She stuck a finger in my chest. ”You are responsible for this!”
I frowned down at the finger violating my Star Trek insignia.
”We know what you and your sister did! You put something in Keelie's drink at noon. We all saw you there,” Tiara defended her friend. ”And we saw you-cozying up to Jax.”
”I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't put anything in anyone's drink.”
Jeez-a-lou. I'd issued more denials in the last two days than government officials in the latest whatever-gate.
”Liar! You spiked my water with a laxative! You or that stuck-up sister of yours!”
For the briefest of seconds, I let myself appreciate Keelie's characterization of Taylor as ”stuck-up.” Then it was up with the metaphorical dukes again.
”Listen, I don't know why your people chose us to use as props in your ridiculous reality charade, but would you cool it, already? There's enough drama in life without inventing it. Trust me on this one. I know of which I speak.”
”You're saying someone on my crew is creating and manipulating this situation for ratings?” Keelie responded.
I thought for a moment. Was that what I was saying? I thought some more. Yes, I guess I was. I just didn't realize I was. (Are you following this at all? It's clear as an intergalactic dust storm, right?) Sigh.
I lifted my shoulders. ”You'd know better than I would who on your crew might be sufficiently motivated, and er...devious enough...to stage this kind of theatrical intrigue.”
”None of my people would dare perpetrate the type of outrageous stunts you're suggesting. You're just trying to divert suspicion from you and your hoity-toity sister. That's what I think.”
”Then you'd be wrong. And no closer to finding out who's really behind the mischief.”
”I know who's behind it.”
”Prove it,” I heard myself saying.
”I don't have to prove it, Trekkie. All I have to do is say it. I'll just tell my half a million friends and followers that it was your uncle's concession stand slop that made me so violently ill. And adios to Uncle Frank's Mini-Freeze featuring Frank's infamous belly burner burrito.” She crossed her arms. ”It's either you or your uncle's eatery. Pick your poison, sweetie.”
”You wouldn't,” I said. I took a step toward Keelie.
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