Free Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead by Saralee Rosenberg Page B

into the den. “Do you have down, because I prefer that?”
    Okay this is my house , not a Ritz-Carlton , bitch . “Sorry. No, we’re all allergic.
    “Fine . . . Just give me whatever’s clean. . . . And don’t forget.
    Tomorrow is your day to drive.”
    Six
    For most families, the day before a vacation feels like a pinball game. Once the ball is released from the shooter, the flippers move nonstop. There is so much to do (charge iPod, confirm limo), find (where are my green shorts?), pack (camera? check!
    phone charger? check! passports . . . shit), and worry about (what if the burglar alarm goes off and the police don’t come?). It’s a wonder anyone bothers to go away at all.
    But for Mindy, the day began on full tilt. Not because she’d been woken at 6:00 a.m. to the sounds of Richard and Beth arguing about which of them would be taking the girls to Aruba.
    Not because Stacie had a temper tantrum about going to school (“Mom! All we do is watch stupid movies ’cause everybody’s gone!”). Not because Oregon Boy was complaining that he couldn’t find his favorite cartoons on any of the channels. Not even because her first call of the day was from Rhoda, who didn’t bother asking if her grandson’s visit was going well, she Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead
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    just wanted to know why Mindy hadn’t thanked her for sending that e-mail providing important, last-minute packing tips.
    No, the reason the day already blew was because Mindy couldn’t find the five hundred dollars she’d put away for the trip, and retracing her steps had yet to help.
    “You never used to be this bad.” Artie paced in the kitchen.
    “Lately it seems like all you do is lose stuff.”
    “Me? What about you? When was the last time you left the house without having to run around looking for your cell and your keys. In fact, your definition of “I looked everywhere”
    means if it doesn’t fall from the sky, you have no idea!”
    “Whatever . . . Can you at least remember when you made the withdrawal?”
    “Of course. It was the day we met with Waspy at the bank.
    You went into the conference room and Ricky and I went to the ATM.”
    “Good. That’s a good start. Then what?”
    “Then . . . I don’t know. I put the money in an envelope and stuck it in my bag.”
    “Could you have dropped it?”
    “No, because I remember seeing it when I had my color appointment. And after that we went to Burger King.”
    “Awesome. If you dropped it there, we can get it back with a Whopper and fries.”
    “I didn’t drop it there! I never even opened my bag because I had a twenty in my pocket.”
    “Thank God. Okay, what else do you remember?”
    “This is hard. It’s been so crazy around here. . . . Let me think
    . . . Wasn’t that the day that Beth had her car accident and left me all those nasty phone messages and e-mails. Oh my God!
    That’s it! I think I stuck the money in the desk drawer by the computer.”
    “Thank you, Lord!” Artie did a dance in the end zone.
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    Saralee Rosenberg
    Only it didn’t turn up there. Or in Mindy’s pocketbook, her car, or the desk in the kitchen.
    “I hate to ask,” Mindy started, “but what if I didn’t lose it?
    What if Aaron . . .”
    “Don’t even think it! In fact, if you want to accuse anyone of stealing, it should be Beth.”
    “Beth? Yeah right. Savings and loans come to her!”
    “Maybe. But if she’s leaving Richard, she might need some quick cash. Not to mention, last night she slept in the den, so she had time, she had motive, and she had opportunity!”
    “Well thank you, Lenny Briscoe!” Mindy was near tears. “But think about it. Aaron was staying downstairs, too. Didn’t he have the same time, motive, and opportunity?”
    “He didn’t have motive.”
    “You don’t know that. There’s a whole family history of drug addiction. What if he’s one of those kids making crystal meth from Dimetapp? What if he’s abusing OxyContin? Oh my God, he could have a stroke, or