“Mom?” I called, reopening the bathroom door. “Did you do something to my toilet?”
She appeared in the doorway a moment later. “Yes. I locked it.”
“Is this some sort of punishment?” I asked, crossing my legs.
“Oh for goodness sakes, Maddie,” Mom chided. “It’s for the baby. You can’t have him playing in the toilet water. And you and Ramirez didn’t have anything baby proofed yet. Mrs. Rosenblatt and I thought we’d come over and help.”
“You know what would help?” I asked. “If you’d unlock my toilet.”
She gave me a look, but thankfully did, pushing some button, pulling some lever, and twisting some piece of plastic until the lid popped open.
I quickly shooed her out of the room and did my thing, emerging a new woman a few minutes later.
Where I saw Mom and Mrs. R fiddling with another suspicious looking piece of plastic on the refrigerator door.
Oh no.
“Uh, what else have you two baby proofed around here?” I asked, my eyes whipping around the living area.
“Just the basics,” Mom assured me. Then proceeded to tick off items on her fingers. “Locks on the bathroom cabinets, safety rubber on the bathtub faucet, door stoppers and handle locks on all the doors, an oven shield, bumpers on the fireplace and all of the table corners, outlet covers, power strip covers, a baby gate for the kitchen doorway, and a refrigerator lock.”
I blinked at her. Then blinked at my living room. It was covered in soft foam and white plastic contraptions. “Do we really need all of this?”
“That depends,” My mom said, putting both hands on her hips. “Do you want your child to be safe?”
“Fine, okay,” I conceded. “I’ll find a way to rock the padded cell look. Though I do have one teeny tiny favor to ask?”
“Yes?”
“Any chance I could get a sandwich from the refrigerator before you lock it up?”
I spent the rest of the afternoon nibbling, napping, and putting the finishing touches on the white woven wedge for my spring collection – generally trying to take my mind off our evening of snooping around a killer’s house. Which didn’t work all that well, as by the time Dana arrived on my doorstep that evening I was a bundle of nerves anyway. (But I was proud to say the wedges were looking hot!)
Dana had managed to commandeer another pair of gothic style outfits from the set, and she quickly helped me into mine. It was a deep burgundy jacket in crushed velvet with black lace peeking out from the collar and sleeves, paired with a long black skirt. It came with a “loose” blouse, but after popping one of the buttons, it was clear I wasn’t going to be able to fit in it. Instead, I grabbed a black, long sleeve work-out T from my closet, dressing it up with an oversized crucifix my Irish Catholic grandmother had given me when I’d started dating Ramirez.
Dana had gone the slinky route again, wearing a short, black, satin dress that dipped low in the front, showing off an Elvira-worthy amount of cleavage. It was the perfect disguise; I could guarantee no man would be able to remember her face. She’d paired it with a long, black cape, high platform shoes, and a long, dark wig that perfectly matched mine.
We both capped off the outfits with a pair of fake fangs, attached with some Fixodent she’d picked up at the drug store.
We were just putting the finishing touches on our smoky eyes and ruby-red lips when my doorbell rang. I opened it to find Marco standing on the other side.
He’d done his own version of gothic chic with a pair of black leather pants, a fitted turtleneck shirt and black boots. He’d gone double thick with the eyeliner tonight, and over his shoulder he’d slung a big leather bag.
“Let’s do this,” he said by way of greeting, stepping into the room.
I sniffed the air as he walked past me. “Did you have garlic for dinner?” I asked.
“No. I rubbed raw cloves all over my body,” he informed me. “Just in case.”
I rolled my eyes. “They’re not real,” I told him for the millionth time.
“Says you.”
“Dana?” I called for backup.
“Hey, it never hurts to be prepared,” Marco argued. “In fact, I’ve got a whole satchel of vampire hunting items here,” he said, digging into his bag.
I had to admit, morbid curiosity won me over. “Like what?” I asked, leaning forward.
“Rosary beads, of course. And a bible,” he said, pulling out a pocket sized version. “And then just the essentials for killing vampires,” he said, more items coming out of his bag.
I looked down at a dozen wooden kabob skewers, a bottle of Evian, and a can of tanning spray. I looked up at Marco and gave him the raised eyebrow. “And these are deadly how?”
Marco rolled his eyes at me. (Yeah, seriously. The guy in leather pants that smelled like an Italian restaurant thought I was crazy.) “Uh, hello? Wooden stake to the heart, holy water, and sunlight. The trinity of vampire hunting.”
I picked up the bottled water. “Evian?”
Marco shrugged. “Gunnar said a Nordic prayer over it. It was the best I could do on short notice.”
“And tanning spray?”
“What? It says ‘sunshine in a can’ on the label.”
“Okay, are we ready?” Dana asked, emerging from the bathroom, eyes super smoky.
“Almost,” Marco said. “I was nervous, so I drank the other bottle of Evian on the way over. Can I use the little boys’ room?”
I pointed down the hallway. “Be my guest.”
“Gracias,” he called after himself as he skipped toward it.
“What is all this stuff?” Dana asked looking down at Marco’s slayer kit.
“You don’t want to know,” I told her, fairly confident it was true.
“Maddie?” I heard from the bathroom. “Help!”
Dana and I made our way to the door to find Marco bent over the toilet, his legs crossed. “I can’t get this lock thingie off,” he whimpered.
Oh, brother. I leaned down and looked at the plastic contraption that my mom had installed, trying to remember how she’d worked it earlier. There was a button, a lever, a little red indicator window, and a latch. I pushed the button. Nothing. I flipped the latch, and the indicator turned green, but the lid was still securely stuck. I pushed the button and flipped the latch. Nada.
“Ohmigod, I’m gonna pee my pants,” Marco whined dancing from foot to foot.
“Go use the other bathroom,” I said, gesturing to the master.
Marco bolted, running down the hallway as quickly as a man crossing his legs could.
“Maybe you need to move the lever?” Dana suggested.
I tried that, and the indicator turned red again.
“Maybe move the lever and flip the latch?” she said, doing just that. But the lid didn’t move.
“Did this thing come with instructions?” she asked.
“This one’s locked, too!” Marco screamed from the master bathroom. “I’m gonna burst!”
“Wow, your mom is really taking this baby safety things seriously. I’m impressed,” Dana said, nodding.
“Hurry, oh God, please hurry!” Marco yelled, pee-pee dancing back down the hallway. “These pants are Versace, and I’m two seconds away from tinkling on them!”
“Okay, we can do this,” I said, staring the gadget down. We were three smart, educated, intelligent people. More importantly, we were all over the age of two. We would conquer the baby proof lock.
I moved the lever, flipped the latch and pushed the button. Nothing. I pushed the button, moved the lever, then flipped the latch. Nada.
“Ohmigod. My bladder. She’s gonna burst.”
“You have a female bladder?” Dana asked, giggling.
“Shut up. Don’t make me laugh!” Marco commanded.
“Wait, I think I got it,” I said, feeling the tip of my tongue protrude from my mouth in extreme concentration. I flipped the latch, moved the lever, pushed the button and watched in awe as the little indicator window turned green and the lock fell away in my hand.