Free The Miracle Strip by Nancy Bartholomew Page A

her car. A moment later I heard her tiny Miata start up and zoom away toward the trailer park exit. Vincent stood in the middle of the kitchen, his pudgy hands wrapped around the mile-high coconut layer cake. I could tell by looking at it that Marla aimed to kill me by cholesterol poisoning. I’d gain ten pounds just staring at the cake.
    â€œWhat was that about?” I asked Vincent. He wouldn’t look at me. He watched Fluffy trotting into the room, her nose working overtime to figure out who the visitor with the cheap perfume had been.
    â€œShe was bringing you a cake.” Vincent wasn’t wearing his dark glasses and now I understood why he needed them. His left eye started twitching, a dead giveaway that he was lying.
    â€œYou know what I’m talking about,” I said. “What is she wanting you to think about, and why did you two shut up when I came out of the bedroom?” Fluffy growled once in Vincent’s direction, then hopped up on the futon, where she could keep her eye on him.
    Vincent fumbled nervously with his black silk tie, thinking. He was trying to figure what was gonna be worse, telling me the truth or lying. He took up a few moments by opening the refrigerator door and sliding the cake onto one of the nearly empty shelves next to the gourmet dog food I buy Fluffy.
    â€œShe was concerned about you being out for a few weeks,” he rumbled, his back to me.
    â€œBullshit,” I answered.
    â€œShe wanted me to take your name off the front marquee and put hers in larger type.” He sighed. “You know how it is with you two, never a dull moment.” He tried to laugh nervously, but choked.
    â€œFor Christ’s sake, I’m only gonna be out two weeks and she’s acting like I’m history. Hell, if I use body makeup, I’ll be back before then, one week tops.”
    Vincent was looking at his watch.
    â€œWhat? You got someplace you need to be?” I asked. Maybe I was going to get some privacy after all.
    â€œWhat?” Vincent seemed distracted. “Oh, yeah. I gotta get back to the club. Big Ed’s supposed to come over for a while, but he’s late. I told the girls I wanted to see them before they started their shift, kinda go over the lineup, what with you bein’ out and all.”
    â€œVincent, this is only for a few days, you know?” I was starting to get nervous. After all, until the accident, me and Vincent hadn’t been exactly bosom buddies. In our business, if you blink, if you look away for an instant, you’re liable to be replaced by some nymphet with 40DDs looking to undercut you by twenty bucks for the opportunity. The Tiffany was not supposed to be that way. We were supposed to go by talent, not physical largesse, but you never knew. Maybe Vincent was talking out of two sides of his mouth.
    â€œDon’t worry about Marla, Sierra,” Vincent said, pulling his dark glasses out of his suit coat pocket. “She’s just trying to get ahead. You’re still top bill and you still got a job. Take whatever time you need.” The glasses were back in place, and if he was twitching, I couldn’t tell. Somehow I wasn’t reassured.
    â€œVincent, if you gotta get back, go on ahead. I’ve gotta run over to Raydean’s trailer for a sec anyway.” Vincent wasn’t sure, but I pushed it. “Go on,” I said, heading for the door. “I’ve got Fluffy and I’ll be right across the street.”
    Vincent took the bait. “You’re sure?”
    â€œAbsolutely,” I said. The coast was clear and I was gone.
    Raydean’s trailer was a minefield of booby traps and bird feeders. Raydean, in her saner moments, was an avid bird-watcher. She surrounded her trailer with bright red hummingbird feeders and assorted birdbaths and birdhouses. One had to be careful, however, in admiring her jungle of avian paraphernalia because Raydean had carefully placed trip