Free Finding Sky (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 1) by Susan O'Brien Page B

worried that so few protected their privacy online. Meanwhile, Marcus’s mom hadn’t answered her phone again.
    “Like I said,” I reminded Irene quietly, “I’m helping a friend with a personal situation, but I should be available by cell, as long as there’s coverage.”
    “Where are Ryan and Will?” Sophie asked.
    “It’s their bedtime,” Irene said. “And yours too, right?”
    “She’s babysitting, honey,” I reminded Sophie. “It’s not playgroup. Next time she comes over, Ryan and Will can come too.” I turned to Irene and pointed to a list on the counter that covered everything short of how to handle an alien invasion. “That’s all the information you need, including bedtime, which is 8:30.”
    We walked into the living room for a quick tutorial on remote controls in case she wanted to watch TV. “The kids can look at books in bed for half an hour,” I explained. “And if you have trouble with the remotes, they’re experts.” I smiled at Jack and Sophie, who were proudly nodding their heads, which made me nervous. What would Irene think if she discovered my addiction to reality shows? I had an entire Real Housewives season saved for a lonely night.
    “You go.” Irene said. “We’ll be fine. Plus, I brought a special bedtime story for them.” She whipped an unfamiliar book from her purse and presented it Vanna White style. Knight Falls in Princessland . Looked like it had all the ingredients for fun. I liked Irene more and more. Hopefully she wouldn’t feel the opposite about me before the night was over.

Six

      
    I had a few secrets stashed away that would have surprised Irene and the kids. That’s why they were in a backpack instead of on my body. It’s not like I could leave the house wearing a black miniskirt, lacy pink top, heavy makeup, and bronzer without raising questions about what kind of “emergency” my “friend” was having.
    I pulled into McDonald’s, where I surprised the staff by entering the bathroom as plain-Jane mom and emerging as Superslut, ordering a bottled water as payment for using the bathroom. I hoped bronzer, industrial strength concealer and cotton-candy lip gloss would help me pass as a teenager at a dark field party.
    I brought along a jean jacket, black baseball cap, gum, and sunglasses in case any of them would help the cause. I also applied bug spray, since I didn’t think a miniskirt was practical at a field party, what with West Nile, Lyme and all. Hopefully the pungent odor wouldn’t give me away or repel everyone else.
    As I reached out to pay for the drink, I noticed my nails, sans polish. Oops. Didn’t most teens have manicured nails these days? Everyone I saw on TV did, so I trudged to a nearby drugstore and purchased black lacquer, a touchup pen loaded with remover, and a file. Ten minutes later, my nails were gothic, and the van was toxic. I opened the sunroof, cracked the windows, and sucked in fresh air.
    While following directions to the field party courtesy of MapQuest, I prayed for a huge gathering of non-armed potential sources. I wasn’t up for another shooting. Ever. I sipped my drink nervously until it dawned on me to monitor my pace, or else I’d be taking advantage of the field (and miniskirt) in ways I hadn’t planned.
    I imagined similar parties I’d enjoyed as a teen, wondering how I might stand out tonight, how I could prevent blowing my cover, and what the chances were of finding a porta-potty.
    Arriving alone wasn’t good, I worried. No one went to a party alone. Driving a minivan was a giveaway too. But lots of teens drove their parents’ cars, right? I’d try to park far away, I decided, and follow the crowd.

      
    The field party was, logically, in the middle of nowhere. I traveled past middle- to upper-class neighborhoods, into a new development, and then onto a construction site. The shopper in me couldn’t help noticing model homes and signs, which advertised single families from the $700s and