She got up from the vanity and went to the big bow windows that overlooked the golf course. This was only the second-best bedroom in the house, but LizaAnne knew a lot of houses where the first-best bedroom wouldn’t be as good. It was all so stupid, it really was. Even her father, who would give her anything she wanted, she only had to pout a little—God, how he hated to see her pout, and he knew she was kidding, it was really amazing—but even her father went on and on and on about being a good community citizen and not kicking people when they were down and all the rest of that nonsense. It was like one of those stupid mantras people said when they did yoga or whatever it was. LizaAnne didn’t know why anybody bothered.
Now she looked up and down the golf course, to the club building, to the pool house. There were two cars parked at the club building. That would belong to Mrs. Stanford-Pyrie and Mrs. Carstairs. It just went to show that LizaAnne’s mother was always right. A man would take anything if he couldn’t get laid. Those two must have met a couple of desperate losers to be Mrs. anybody at all. Mrs. Carstairs was a mouse. Mrs. Stanford-Pyrie looked like a horse. LizaAnne was more than half convinced that the two of them screwed each other when nobody else was looking.
Ewww.
LizaAnne had no problem with gay guys. She couldn’t really imagine what they did to have sex with each other anyway. Gay women were something else. She could imagine that. It was disgusting. It was worse than disgusting. It was retarded.
LizaAnne looked back at the pool house. The yellow tape was still up. Michael was probably inside somewhere, walking around the pool, making sure everything was safe. Sarah Lefton’s mother said that he hadn’t just dropped out of Penn State, he’d been kicked out, right on his ass, for running around naked on the tennis courts. LizaAnne didn’t know if she believed that. Running around naked on some tennis courts didn’t sound like such a bad thing, not even if they were outdoor tennis courts. Stewie Edland had been caught actually burning down the teeter-totters at the municipal park last spring, setting them on fire with a pipe he was doing some drugs with, and all that had happened to him was rehab and five hundred hours of community service. People got too worked up about things. They really did. Nobody cared about kids fooling around, as long as that was all they were. Nobody cared about anything.
She checked the pool house again. It was still deserted. Maybe Michael was late this morning. He usually wasn’t. She went back to the vanity and put her phone in the little stand that let her talk on speaker. The little stand was blue. So was the phone. So were the walls of the room. So was the brand-new BMW she’d gotten for her sixteenth birthday, the one that had featured so prominently when they’d filmed her episode of My Super Sweet 16. She had a dozen copies of the DVD of that episode sitting right on the shelf in the family room, in case anybody came over who wanted to see.
She punched in Heather’s number with one hand and started going through her jewelry box with the other. She had some really nice jewelry. She didn’t do fake stones, either. She’d explained that to her father. Her father had understood. And besides, why shouldn’t he buy her nice things? He was rich. He owned the three biggest car dealerships in this part of Pennsylvania.
Heather’s voice came over the speakers as a squawk. “LizaAnne? LizaAnne, is that you?”
“Of course it’s me,” LizaAnne said. “Who else would it be? You’ve got me on caller ID.”
“I know I do,” Heather said, “but you know what they’re like. I mean, maybe it was really your mother trying to see if I could get you in trouble if I didn’t know it was her. Or, you know. That kind of thing.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” LizaAnne said. “My mother doesn’t have time for that kind of thing. Have you been watching this morning?”
“I’ve been watching a little,” Heather said. “You know. I had to get dressed. I had to get my makeup on.”
“Did you see anything?”
“No,” Heather said. “It’s been really weird. There’s been nothing going on all morning. Oh, except Mr. Heydreich left to go to work. In his car. You know.”
“Are you sure she didn’t go with him?”
“Of course I’m not sure,” Heather said. “I couldn’t see into the car. He’s got those tinted windows. Do you like tinted windows? I’d think they’d make the car dark. And nobody would know it was you.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t want anybody to know it was you. If you were famous, you know,” Liza Anne said. “I think that’s retarded, though. I mean, why would you be famous in the first place if you didn’t want people to recognize who you were?”