Arnie’s response sounded almost canned, but his smile was the same smile that had soothed her when she’d broken up with that self-absorbed jerk Keith Tidsdale after he discovered she wasn’t connected enough to get him a gig in the chorus of South Pacific.
Poppy sighed in frustration. Why was everyone so damn happy? There wasn’t a disgruntled senior in the lot? No one was spearheading a campaign against Corporate America?
Arnie nudged her and winked. “So where you goin’, Cookie? What’s your plan, Fran?” he teased.
Yeah. If only she had one of those. “You know, I’m not sure just now, Arnie, but I’m sure gonna miss you guys—”
“Hey, McGuillicuddy! Get your tuchus in here pronto!” Calamity yelped from inside her apartment.
Damn. Rick. She’d forgotten about Rick. What were they going to do about Rick?
But Arnie clearly saw her distracted distress. “You go on and be with your friend, kiddo. I got stuff to do anyways. Make sure you drop by before D-Day, huh? So we can say goodbye.” He cupped her cheek with his weathered hand and grinned, patting her face with affection.
Poppy gripped his wrist and cocked her head. “D-Day?”
“Demo day, honey. We’re all gonna camp out at the diner and make it a thing so we can watch ’er fall!” he declared, his voice chock full of excitement as he waved goodbye to her and sashayed down the hall with a little soft shoe.
They were going to demolish this building and Arnie and gang were going to make a party of it?
All right, enough was enough. She had to get to the bottom of this, but not before she did something about Rick As Captured in Stone. Pushing the door open, she didn’t even give herself the chance to enjoy returning to her apartment, no matter how fleeting the return might be.
Her entire life was in this place—all her Playbills, her memorabilia from each show she’d ever had a part in. Her wigs and false eyelashes, her eclectic and completely worthless collection of boas, her dime store-ish bobbleheads.
But she couldn’t see any of that.
All she could see was Nina the vampire, standing just beneath the poster of her for Red’s Rides and in front of Rick, still encapsulated in stone. More of that panic gripped her intestines.
Nina pointed at the blown-up picture of her on the Ford Granada and grinned a devilish grin. “Niiice shorts. But I’m super fucking keen on the red gingham shirt tied at your belly button, y’all,” she teased, making Calamity, who’d taken residence on the battered armchair in her tiny living room, snort.
“Ladies!” Wanda admonished, clapping her hands. “Now isn’t the time! If we were in crisis before, it was nothing compared to what just happened. The man’s a stone, for heaven’s sake. Knock it off with the jokes. Besides, Poppy looks perfectly lovely in gingham. Totally in her color wheel.”
Again, a shot of panic sliced through her veins, making her heart pound in her ears as she gazed upon Rick in stone form. If nothing else, he sure was quieter, and oddly as handsome in still life as he was animated.
Gripping the back of her chair, she held on for dear life before she asked, “Now what?”
“We got trouble. Right here in River City. With a capital T, that rhymes with Rick and stands for holy shtick!” Calamity sang out.
Poppy shook her head, her knuckles white from clinging to the chair back. “Ha and ha. While I appreciate the Music Man reference, just spit it out, Calamity. What happened?”
Marty popped out from behind Nina, her face distorted with worry. “Well, here’s the thing. As I was trying to keep our cover from being blown, I lost my footing. I’m usually as graceful as a cat, despite the fact that I’m a werewolf, but…”
Poppy wanted to scream. Instead, she fought the rising tide of a headache and could only manage to whisper, “But what?”
Marty’s beautiful face scrunched up into a wince as she bit her lip and pulled something from behind her back, holding it out to show Poppy.
No.
Nonono.
That wasn’t his…
Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what that is, Poppy.
Nina grabbed at Marty’s hand, latching on to it and raising it up in the air.
Then, to Poppy’s horror, the vampire puffed her cheeks out and deepened her voice. “Hi, my name is Rick The Dick. Got an itch?”
Calamity began to giggle, the sound rising from her throat and swirling about the room as she rolled to her back and almost fell from the chair laughing.
Then Nina turned Marty’s hand toward the werewolf’s face and rubbed the spot under her chin. Mimicking her friend, she batted her eyelashes in a flirty manner, waving Marty’s wrist in the air once more. “Hey, Rick The Dick! I’m Marty the werewolf, and I don’t think this is in your color wheel, mijo!”
Her words made Calamity squeal with more laughter, higher-pitched and bordering hysteria.
If Poppy were the fainting type, she’d welcome such an event right now. It would block out the horror of the scene before her.
Nina, holding Marty’s fingers—fingers that were wrapped around Rick’s hand.
His carved-in-stone hand.