``Can we stop talking about this?'' I asked.
``Do you honestly see yourself eating spaghetti and meat- balls the rest of your life?'' she demanded. ``Bailing him out of jail every time he gets arrested? A nice, normal sort of man won't cause you any more heartache. You've had your share already, Nora.''
I waved to the waitress. ``Check, please!''
``When are you going to wake up? That Man is a criminal.''
I grabbed the check out of the startled waitress's hand. ``Let's go home.''
On the way back to Bucks County in the minivan, I dis- tracted Libby by asking about Cindie Rae's Web site. My sister knew everything.
``It's sorta like QVC, only Cindie Rae has most of her clothes off when she talks about her product.''
``Does she make much money?'' SLAY BELLES 59
``Well, I noticed she uses a nine-hundred number, which means the customer gets charged for making the phone call to her. She takes requests, you know. There must be a bunch of weird regulars who watch all the time and call in to chat. I don't know if she sells many of those crazy col- ored dildos. I didn't watch for very long. The fuzzy screen gave me a headache.''
``She can't be on camera twenty-four hours a day, of course.''
``No, no. She's got her Web cam on all the time, although she's not always on-camera. She puts up little signs to ad- vertise when she'll be back. It's adorable.'' Libby heard my choke and said quickly, ``In a very yucky way, of course.''
Libby dropped me off at Blackbird Farm. The house was empty, and I found myself actually missing Spike's annoying presence.
I went upstairs and took a long, soaking bubble bath with a book, then put on my pajamas and took my laptop to bed. Sitting Indian-style, I typed up my notes on the Aqui- nas party and e-mailed the piece to my editor.
Then, still wide awake and feeling brave enough to take a look, I located Cindie Rae's Web site on the Internet. Chapter 7
Maybe I have a delicate stomach, but when the grainy pic- ture finally came into focus, yucky did not begin to describe how I felt.
I heard her voice first.
``And if you're feeling frisky, boys, you can try this fun toy outside in the fresh air. Just be careful, because some- body might be watching! Some naughty person could be spying on you. Ooooh . . . For under twenty dollars, you can please yourself or your lady friend. And if you act now, I'll throw in a special gift, just for you.''
As she giggled, the camera homed in on something large, long, and neon pink. Cindie Rae's talonlike fingernails scored the length of it as she brightly began to describe the various ways she could employ such a grotesque item. While she spoke, the camera blurred as if run by an ama- teur photographer, then landed on Cindie Rae's bare thigh and began a leisurely tour of parts better left unmentioned.
I clapped my hand over my eyes. ``Oh, God!''
``And girls,'' Cindie Rae continued, ``if you're planning a wild and crazy bachelorette party, let me show you a few fun games you can play with your girlfriends. No, wait--I think I hear a caller! Hello, baby, are you there?''
``Uh, yeah, Cindie Rae, how you doin'?''
``I'm doing great! What's your name, honey?''
``Uh, Dick.''
``Hi, Dick! What can I do to make you happy tonight?''
I peeked between my fingers. Cindie Rae's face filled my computer screen, and her smile was perkier than the Friendly's waitress had been.
60 SLAY BELLES 61
I turned the sound off, got up, and went into the bath- room for a Tums.
Padding back to the bed, I heard a whistle from down- stairs and then the sound of footsteps on the staircase. With a rush of guilt, I allowed my finger to hover over the ``quit'' button.
``I'm up here!'' I called, still debating.
Michael came in crooning ``Are You Lonesome To- night?'' in his best Elvis impression. He carried a glass of milk in one hand. With the other, he plopped Spike into his basket. ``What did you do? Take a really hot bath? You're all pink.''
``Not as pink as some people.'' I turned the screen so he could see.
He took a slug of milk first and climbed onto the bed to kiss me on the mouth. ``Whoa,'' he said when he caught a glimpse of the action on my computer. ``This is a side of you I didn't expect.''
``It's a onetime deal. Look, it's Cindie Rae.''
Michael twisted his head sideways. ``How can you tell?''
``The implants. See?''
``Yikes. Even scarier without the clothes.'' He slurped some milk. ``May I ask what you're doing?''
``Libby thinks I'm repressed.''
He grinned. ``And this is your answer? Watching Internet porn? Look, if you want to cut loose, I have some better ideas.''
I tweaked his ear. ``I thought we'd done it all.''
``We've hardly scratched the surface.'' He offered me his glass.
I accepted the drink. The milk was warm and smelled slightly of rum, but I handed it back without sipping. ``No, thanks. My stomach is a little upset. No, look at the back- ground. Behind Cindie Rae.''
``If you're looking at the background, maybe your sister is right.''
``No, look.'' I pointed at the screen.
``Yeah,'' Michael prompted. ``What am I looking at?''
``A handbag. See? Hanging on the back of the closet door. To be specific, it's a Lettitia McGraw handbag.''
``Okay. What's the significance?'' 62 Nancy Martin
``Cindie Rae was in Popo Prentiss's salon looking to buy exactly this handbag. Why would she want one if she al- ready had this one at home?''
``Maybe this is the purse in question.''
``Yes, Watson, you could be right.''
``What the
