Sparkle and Crime

Thelma, Louise and a Pink Bag

Chapter 3

Madeline wiped the last bit of syrup from her plate, her hands shaking slightly as the weight of the decision began to sink in. She reached for her phone, staring at the folded paper again. The number. The key. She hesitated for a moment, then pressed the digits into the screen.

The phone rang once, twice, then the line picked up with an odd, mechanical hum. The voice that answered sounded distorted, as though it were filtered through a thousand different layers, each one leaving it more synthetic.

"Hello," the voice said, flat and emotionless, like a recording gone wrong.

Madeline's heart skipped. She swallowed hard, but Maggie, sitting across the kitchen island, was already watching her with a knowing look.

"Uh... hello?" Madeline cleared her throat, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "I was, uh, referred to you by someone I trust. I'm interested in—"

The robotic voice quickly cut her off. "We know why you're calling."

Madeline's pulse quickened. She glanced at Maggie, who was silently waiting for her to pass the phone. She handed it over, her fingers trembling just slightly.

Maggie took the phone without a word, her lips curling into a faint smirk. "Hello, yes. My friend here is a little new to this, but she's got a business proposition. She'd like to talk shop, you know?"

The voice on the other end seemed to process this, before answering with an unnerving calmness. "We are happy to oblige."

A soft click echoed through the line before the voice continued, its tone now more commanding. "However, we have strict guidelines for this consultation. No electronics. No other people. Just you and your associate. Is that understood?"

Maggie's lips twitched. "Of course. We're professionals."

"Good," the voice responded. "You will be given coordinates shortly. You will drive to the location alone, park behind the building, between the two large dumpsters. A car will be waiting for you. Do not speak to the driver. Do not ask questions. You will get in the vehicle. It will bring you to our location."

There was a brief pause before the voice added, almost as an afterthought, "If you deviate from the instructions, the consultation will be terminated immediately."

Maggie nodded, though no one could see her. "Understood. We'll be there."

Another brief pause, then the voice provided the coordinates and hung up.

Maggie stood there for a moment, Madeline stared at the phone in her friend's hand as if the conversation hadn't just happened. Maggie handed the phone back to Madeline with a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, there's no turning back now."

Madeline's stomach twisted. "That didn't feel right. Do you think it's a scam?"

Maggie's smile widened, a glint of excitement in her eyes. "No. This is exactly what we're looking for. The fact that they're being so secretive means we're getting into something serious."

Madeline took a deep breath. "And the 'no electronics' part? What if they do something to us?"

"They won't. Not if we follow the instructions exactly." Maggie gave her an almost dismissive look, then started gathering her things. "Come on. Let's get ready. We have a date with destiny."

Madeline wasn't sure if she was relieved or terrified, but she didn't argue. She followed Maggie upstairs to get dressed, the silence between them feeling heavier with every step. Whatever this was, it wasn't just a simple consultation anymore. It was something bigger. Something she didn't know if she was truly prepared for.

But Maggie was right; it was too late to turn back now.

——————-

Madeline stood in front of her walk-in closet, arms crossed, eyes narrowing at the sea of blush, bubblegum, rose, and champagne-pink fabric hanging in perfectly organized rows.

"So," she muttered, rubbing her temple. "What does one wear to a potentially criminal consultation with a voice-changer robot in a back alley?"

Maggie, stretched out on Madeline's bed like a cat in the sun, barely looked up from her phone. "Something bulletproof. Preferably not in pastel."

Madeline gave her a look. "Very helpful."

"I aim to please."

Madeline turned back to the closet, pulled out a baby-pink silk blouse with pearl buttons, and held it up for inspection. "Do you think this says 'femme fatale' or 'nervous divorcee trying to look like she doesn't cry in Saks Fifth Avenue parking lots'?"

Maggie finally looked up, snorted, and sat up straighter. "Mads, I love you, but every single item you own looks like it's sponsored by Pepto-Bismol. Are you sure you don't want to come raid my closet instead? I've got leather. Denim. At least one outfit that could be worn for a motorcycle chase or a heist. Your closet looks like Barbie's Day Spa exploded in there."

"Excuse me," Madeline said, mock-offended. "This closet has range. Light pink, dusty rose, coral blush—"

"You're making my point."

"Okay, but I'm determined," Madeline said, planting her hands on her hips. "I will find something that screams 'don't mess with me' without sacrificing my personal aesthetic."

Maggie raised a brow. "That aesthetic being 'a frilly cupcake in heels'?"

"Exactly."

Ten minutes and an avalanche of discarded dresses later, Madeline emerged from the depths of her closet wearing a high-waisted pair of tailored blush trousers, a matching cropped blazer, and a white silk camisole that shimmered in the light. Her heels were hot pink. Her sunglasses? Oversized and fierce. She looked like a Powerpuff Girl that had grown up and started her own PR firm for assassins.

Maggie gaped. "Okay. You actually look like a badass Barbie who might shank someone with a stiletto. I take it all back."

Madeline gave a satisfied smirk and did a little twirl. "See? Pink can be intimidating."

"You look like you could start a girlboss empire or bury a man in the backyard."

"That's the energy I'm going for."

Maggie got up and grabbed her keys from the nightstand. "Alright, pink reaper, I'm running home to grab something a little more cloak-and-dagger. Try not to get arrested before I'm back."

Madeline called after her as she headed for the door. "Don't take too long—I'm doing my hair and makeup and if I finish before you're back, I'm adding glitter eyeliner."

Maggie paused in the doorway, fake-horrified. "You wouldn't."

Madeline just gave her a sweet, dangerous smile. "Try me."

With a laugh, Maggie disappeared down the hall. Madeline turned back to the mirror, her fingers already weaving through her hair as she whispered to herself, "Badass Barbie doesn't need backup. But she likes it anyway."

Madeline stood in front of the mirror, applying the final coat of gloss to her lips with the precision of a woman preparing for war—or brunch with a frenemy. Her hair was swept up into a sleek, voluminous ponytail, soft curls bouncing with attitude. Her outfit? Devastating. A blush-pink structured blazer, matching tailored trousers, and stilettos that screamed I pay my own bills and bury my own secrets.

She looked like a Vogue cover had a dangerous secret.

Just as she admired the shimmer on her cheekbone, the front door creaked open downstairs.

"Mads?" Maggie's voice floated up the staircase. "I come bearing caffeine and sarcasm."

Madeline's phone buzzed on the vanity for the sixth time that morning. Richard. Again. With a sigh worthy of a Shakespearean tragedy, she finally answered.

"What?" she said, not even trying to hide the irritation.

Richard's voice was unusually soft. "Hey. I just wanted you to know... I let Jenna go."

Madeline blinked. "You what?"

"I fired her this morning. And I took back that bracelet, too. I thought you should hear it from me."

There was a beat of silence before he added, "This time... this time it's different, Mads."

A knock on the doorframe made Madeline turn. Maggie stood there, brow arched, iced coffee in one hand, the other on her hip like she was about to deliver a TED Talk on bad decisions. Madeline mouthed, It's Richard.

Maggie rolled her eyes so hard her soul nearly left her body, then flopped dramatically onto the bed like a very over it Victorian heroine.

"Okay," Madeline said blandly into the phone. "I've gotta go."

Richard hesitated. "I love y—"

She hung up before he could finish.

Madeline stood, grabbed her soft pink handbag, and squared her shoulders like she was about to walk into a boardroom... or a hitman's lair. "Let's go."

Maggie jumped up with the energy of a chaotic good sidekick. "I'm driving."

"I can't believe we're doing this in broad daylight," Madeline said as they headed downstairs.

Maggie laughed. "The drive's gonna take several hours, sweetheart."

Madeline stopped dead in her heels. "Several hours? We're going to hire a hitman and I didn't even pack a snack?!"

"Don't worry," Maggie said, jingling her keys. "I packed Sour Punch Straws, two bags of cheddar and sour cream chips, chocolate-covered espresso beans, and two apples... for balance."

Madeline gave her an approving nod. "You're my soulmate."

"And you're mine," Maggie said, opening the car door with a wink. "Now let's go commit some light felonies."

They peeled out of the driveway with sunglasses on, music loud, and the weight of their perfectly manicured decisions riding shotgun.

The highway stretched out ahead like a ribbon of reckless possibilities, and Maggie's playlist was already jumping from sassy pop anthems to angsty 2000s throwbacks.

Madeline leaned back in the passenger seat, oversized sunglasses shielding her from the world and the questionable choices of her recent past. She popped a Sour Punch Straw in her mouth like a cigarette and stared out the window.

"So," Maggie said, glancing over. "On a scale from 'self-care queen' to 'I just searched on Pinterest how to decorate a jail cell,' how are we feeling?"

Madeline smirked. "Somewhere around 'googling international laws about poisonous plants that can be grown at home but still exfoliating regularly.'"

Maggie cackled. "Healthy balance. Proud of you."

There was a pause as Madeline pulled off her heels and tucked her legs under her.

"I still can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered.

"Considering on hiring a hitman or wearing pink in a high-stakes crime scenario?"

Madeline snorted. "Both."

Maggie grinned, eyes on the road. "Honestly, you're about to be the most fashionable woman ever to commit hypothetical murder."

"Hypothetical," Madeline echoed. "Love that for us."

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, interrupted only by the occasional dramatic lip-sync to a breakup anthem or heated debate over whether pineapple belonged on pizza. (It did, according to Maggie. Madeline was still undecided.)

Eventually, Madeline glanced over. "So... have you ever done anything like this before?"

"Define 'this.' If you mean coordinated outfits and secret missions, then yes. If you mean called a maybe-assassin from a burner phone tucked away in your jewelry drawer, then... also yes."Maggie said, casually, like she'd just confessed to stealing hotel robes.

Madeline blinked. "Wait. What?"

Maggie smirked, keeping her eyes on the road. "Oh please. You know I have layers."

"Like an onion," Madeline murmured. "Or like a sociopath."

"Thank you," Maggie said sweetly. "I'll take both of those as a compliment."

There was a beat of silence before Madeline tilted her head. "So... are you gonna tell me what happened, or do I just get to wonder for the rest of my life?"

Maggie tapped the steering wheel, the ghost of a grin on her lips. "Let's just say Darren—my ex—was a walking red flag with decent bone structure and the emotional maturity of a broken blender."

Madeline made a face. "Darren... I vaguely remember him. Didn't he hate me?"

"With the passion of a thousand divorced dads," Maggie said, eyes still forward. "He said you were a 'bad influence.'"

Madeline gasped. "Me? I hosted your Tupperware party and made cupcakes."

"I know. The audacity."

They both laughed, but there was an undercurrent of something heavier beneath it.

Maggie went on, voice lighter now. "Anyway, we don't talk about Darren. Legally. Emotionally. All the -ly's."

Madeline narrowed her eyes, amused. "So you've done this before?"

"Enough to know your four inch heels are a terrible choice," Maggie said. "And to always pay in cash."

Madeline gave a low whistle. "I suddenly feel like I'm being mentored by a suburban mob wife."

Maggie shrugged. "We all have our gifts."

The conversation drifted after that, easing back into music and nonsense. Madeline found herself relaxing, her anxiety tucked behind the rhythm of tires on pavement and Maggie's sarcastic banter.

Whatever—or whoever—waited for them at the end of this bizarre road trip, at least she wouldn't be facing it alone.

Madeline popped an espresso bean in her mouth and leaned back. "Thanks for doing this with me."

Maggie reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. "Ride or die, babe. Preferably ride. But like... we'll see how the day goes. And really, if you're going to face a potentially criminal situation, best to do it with someone who owns a burner phone and knows how to pair black leather with emotional damage."

Madeline smiled as she held onto Maggie's hand.

They drove on, the sun climbing higher, the coordinates growing closer, and the feeling between them shifting from disbelief to defiant confidence. Whatever came next, they'd face it together—with good shoes, strong coffee, and just the right amount of chaos.