Flashbulbs exploded at the press conference and woke me up. I really should’ve fallen asleep facing away from the photographers.
Stupid, Nick. Stupid.
After the press conference ended, Gilpin came up to me.
“Nick, you got a minute? Just wanted to update you on the investigation.”
“Sure,” I said.
“We checked out your neighborhood and found some houses with black people living there, so we’re investigating them.”
“Great,” I said. “You know I was also thinking, there’s some weird people at the mall you should check out as well.”
“You mean the Riverway Mall that’s out of business?” Gilpin said. “The homeless people squatting there?”
“No, I mean the Westgate Mall that’s still in business,” I said. “The people who work at the Hot Topic there are really weird. Oh you know who else you should investigate? The people who work at the Panda Express. They completely freak out when I ask for extra rice. It’s white rice, it costs like three cents. Those people are out of their fucking minds. Seriously, I’d be looking at them if I were you.”
“We’ll get on it,” said Gilpin. “Hey also, I’ve got something to show you.”
He led me into a small room where Boney was sitting. On the table in front of her was a wrapped gift, with an attached card that said “Nick.”
“Awwwwww, you got me a present?” I said. “That is so sweet of you! But it really wasn’t necessary.”
“It’s not from us,” said Boney. “It’s from your wife. We found it at your house.”
The treasure hunt. This was the first clue.
I opened the card and read it.
I know you’re scared of another treasure hunt
“The clues will be too hard because my wife’s a cunt”
Stop being so chicken! Enough of your clucking!
Check your office where you first banged that coed you’re fucking.
I shrugged at Gilpin and Boney. “No idea what this means. It’s like reading Chinese.”
“That coed you’re fucking? Seems to make sense to me,” said Boney. “So who’s the coed?”
“No no no,” I said. “Coed you’re fucking is an inside joke between me and Amy.”
“Oh? What’s the joke?”
“I don’t even remember anymore, it was like from our second date or something,” I said. “See, this is what she does! She puts these impossible references in there and there’s no way to tell what she’s talking about!”
“Well, maybe we should check your office anyway, like the clue says,” Gilpin said.
“It doesn’t say that. It’s an inside joke. Is anyone here listening to me? If it’s saying anything, it’s saying don’t check the office and Nick isn’t fucking a coed.”
“Look Nick, just as protocol, we have to check your office,” Boney said.
Apparently the police have this stupid protocol where they’re required to read things literally and assume the literal interpretation might be correct. So off to my office we went.
My office was located at the community college where I taught Intro to Greeting Card Writing. It was a neat class, actually. I divided the semester into different holidays, and in each section of the course we’d learn to write fart jokes for that particular holiday.
I opened the office and let in Gilpin, who’d accompanied me there. He looked around, then pulled out some tweezers, reached below my desk, and slowly lifted up a pair of women’s panties.
“And how do you explain this?” he asked.
“Uh…the cleaning lady accidentally left them here?”
“Uh huh. And how do you explain this?”
He reached down again with the tweezers, and pulled out an enormous pair of panties only a really fat woman would wear.
“There’s no explanation for that,” I said. “I wish I’d never done it. It’s just shameful. Sometimes I have an extra beer or two, and I lose all sense of judgment, you know? But that’s certainly no excuse.”
Gilpin reached down the tweezers one more time, and my stomach dropped as I imagined him pulling out my Preggo Pounders 5 DVD. But instead, he pulled out an envelope that said “Nick”. Clue number two.
I opened the envelope, and there were two notes instead of one. The first was written on a heart, and said,
My darling husband,
I figured this would be the ideal place—these hallowed halls of learning—to let you know that I’ve learned you’re right, and that I really should lose 15 pounds.
Xo,
Amy
It was a transparent attempt to win me back. But I admit I was turned on by the thought of her being 15 pounds lighter.
“Wow,” said Gilpin, who I hadn’t realized had been reading over my shoulder. “She’s hot now, but if she lost 15 pounds she’d be smokin’ hot.”
“Thanks,” I said, and put the notes away and started leading Gilpin out.
“Aren’t you gonna read the second clue?” he said.
I told him I’d read it on the drive back. Anything to get him out of there before he found my midget bukkake videos.
After finally ridding myself of Gilpin, I drove over to the Days Inn where Rand and Marybeth were staying. I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to them in private since they’d arrived, which was fine with me. But for some stupid reason they wanted to meet, so now I had to take time out of my busy day to meet with them.
When I got to the hotel, the lobby was filled with people wearing lanyards, because that weekend the hotel was hosting the National Lanyard Wearers Convention. I headed up to the Elliotts’ room. They’d left the door open for me, and when I walked in they were watching a news report on TV about Amy.
“I hope they use the photos we sent them,” said Marybeth.
The photo montage started, and the photos were all covers of Idiotic Amy books which featured a cartoon version of Amy. “Perfect,” said Marybeth.
“Do you think we should give them any photos of Amy in real life?” said Rand.
“Good idea,” said Marybeth. “We have some great ones of her holding the books.”
“That’s why I love you,” said Rand, and they started that gay fake cuddling again.
The Idiotic Amy books had been wildly successful, and that success wasn’t simply an accident. Rand and Marybeth were both trained psychologists, and they realized that a woman’s need to feel superior to other women is actually part of her psychology when she’s as young as five. The Idiotic Amy books made girls who read them feel superior to another girl—Idiotic Amy—and they got hooked on this feeling for life. Every new Idiotic Amy book fed the addiction, and once Rand and Marybeth realized how much this was driving sales, the later titles really started playing on it. Case in point: Idiotic Amy and the Girl Who’s Better Than Her (i.e. You).
“Do you guys think Amy’s disappearance might be related to the books?” I asked. “Like, maybe some crazed reader chopped Amy to pieces the way Gary the Guinea Pig got chopped up when Idiotic Amy accidentally dropped him down the garbage disposal?”
Rand and Amy just stared at me, stunned. It was a gross, terrible thing to say. Which is why I said it.
“Actually, Nick, people have been suggesting that someone a little closer to home did it,” said Rand. “Which is kinda why we wanted to talk to you. Because you know, the traditional first suspect to look at in these cases is—”
“I know, I know, the victim’s parents,” I said. “But just so you guys know, I told the cops that I was fairly confident you’d never hurt Amy. Although I couldn’t completely vouch for you because I don’t know you that well, and I had to admit to them that if someone told me you murdered Amy I wouldn’t be completely surprised.”
“We were actually thinking about you as the suspect,” said Marybeth. “Of course we don’t think you’d ever do anything like this, but when we spoke to the police, they seemed really interested in your alibi involving a karate lesson and hang gliding and shooting a major motion picture with Keanu Reeves.”
“Of course they were interested,” I said. “Who wouldn’t be interested in karate and hang gliding and a major motion picture starring Keanu Reeves?”
My disposable cellphone rang. Crap, I’d forgotten to put it on vibrate. I quickly silenced it.
“You really should pick up every call,” said Rand.
“I recognized the ring, it was Keanu,” I said. “That guy always wants to talk. Hey what about that mentally disturbed Idiotic Amy fan you guys told me about a while back? Did you tell the police to look into her?”
“You mean Hilary Handy?” said Marybeth. Hilary Handy was a book reviewer for the Village Voice who’d written a couple scathing reviews of Idiotic Amy books. To Marybeth and Rand this meant she was clearly mentally disturbed and had a sociopathic personal grudge against the Elliott family. “Yep, we gave them her name. We also mentioned Desi.”
“Desi” was Desi Collings, who’d been in the same kindergarten class as Amy and had been in love with her ever since. But Amy had never wanted to date him and put him in the friend zone. And Desi had stayed in the friend zone ever since. For almost 30 years he’d been going places with Amy, talking to Amy on the phone, and doing things for Amy, all in the hopes of hooking up with her. But Amy had never let him be more than friends, and she was never going to.
“Good call on Desi,” I said. “Anyone who lets himself stay in the friend zone for 30 years is obviously a wack job. I mean, just lower your standards a bit and find an uglier girl who’ll fuck you, am I right?” I offered Rand a hi-five, but he just stood there.
“We should be realistic, though,” Marybeth said. “While technically Desi and Hilary are possibilities, the police strongly suspect it’s someone more closely connected to Amy.”
I nodded at Marybeth and surreptitiously pointed at Rand. “Definitely,” I said.
