by India Ink
Lisa’s sixth appointment, a Candy Harrison, wasn’t home either. I left my name and number.
I ran upstairs to change clothes—I’d dropped a spot of mustard on my skirt while fixing my sandwich—and slid into a pair of black jeans and a skintight black V-neck sweater. My stomach had calmed down since I’d eaten, and while I was still tired, I felt ready to take on the rest of the day. After making sure my mascara was good to go, I brushed my teeth, then headed out to meet Karen. The two-story Barnes & Noble was across the street from the mezzanine of Delacorte Plaza, connected by an enclosed walkway that stretched across one of the entrances to the mall.
The Barnes & Noble had a Starbucks coffee shop attached, and I stopped at the counter and ordered a grande tea before looking around. A woman raised her hand, and I recognized her. We hadn’t officially met, but I’d seen her in the shop several times. She always struck me as a bit of a flake, but I put on a smile and took a seat at her table. She leaned forward, looking just a little too eager.
“Persia, I was so happy to hear from you today. You said you wanted to talk about Lisa?”
So much for social niceties, I thought. But hey, it would get me out the door that much sooner. “Karen, hello. Nice to meet you. Yes, I was wondering if you remembered anything Lisa might have said during your appointment.”
“What’s wrong? Is she in some sort of trouble?”
Hoo boy, here it came. Treading cautiously into the subject, I said, “No, probably not. But her sister hasn’t heard from her for a couple of days, and we’re trying to figure out if she went on vacation or something.”
Karen’s eyes glittered, and I realized I had a young Heddy Latherton on my hands. The town gossip, Heddy had a mouth that outweighed her common sense by ten to one. My aunt couldn’t stand the woman.
“Let me think.” She sipped her drink, which looked like some sort of green tea blend, and her eyes lit up with an unnatural glow. She leaned forward and whispered, “Lisa seemed high-strung and anxious to get done with the appointment. I thought there might be something wrong.”
That could mean any number of things, including Lisa just wanting to get Karen out of her chair. In the two minutes since I’d sat down at the table, I’d developed an instant distaste for the woman. I usually tried not to make snap judgments but Karen rubbed me the wrong way, and I wasn’t sure why.
“Did she mention anything about plans for the weekend? Maybe something with her boyfriend?” I sipped my tea and puckered my lips. Apparently the lemons had received a good dose of tang by the sourpuss faeries.
Karen blinked. She lowered her voice and in a conspiratorial tone said, “You know who I am, right? And why I wanted to meet here instead of my house?”
It was my turn to blink. I was beginning to feel like I’d walked in on the wrong movie, or a bad X-Files episode. “Uh . . . no. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
“My sister is Yvonne Sanders. She was Shawn’s girlfriend until Lisa stole him away. Yvonne would kill me if she knew I went to Lisa for a makeover, even though Shawn and Lisa broke up months ago.” Karen sat back, an expectant look on her face.
I still wasn’t altogether clear on what she was trying to tell me. “So, is your sister still mad at Lisa?”
Karen played with her Danish. “Lisa just swooped in and carried him off. Yvonne was crushed. I don’t know if she’ll ever get over it.” She let out a tragic sigh. “I don’t know if I’ll ever have a great love like that. I like to think so, but it’s so hard to meet people.” She made a little shrug and gave me one of those basset hound looks, peppering my irritation with a tinge of compassion.
I looked her over a little more closely. Karen was wearing a baggy sweatshirt beneath a pair of overalls. It was impossible to tell what her figure looked like, and she sat as if she were uneasy in her body. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she had a Mariners baseball cap slung on backwards. Her nails were bitten to the quick, and her face was bare. She could be a pretty girl if she’d take a few pains with her appearance, but the truth was, she’d never be a classical beauty. It occurred to me that perhaps she didn’t think she was pretty at all, so why bother trying? Self-esteem was a rare commodity in women. I idly wondered what she’d looked like after the makeover.
“Can you think of anything out of the ordinary that Lisa told you? Do you remember if she said she was going anywhere?”
Karen crinkled her nose, thinking. After a minute, she shook her head. “No, not really. I was too nervous to pay attention. I’ve never been to anything like the Thanksgiving Gala before. I guess I was thinking about that, mostly. And I’d never had a makeover before. I still can’t believe what she was able to do to me, but I don’t think I can ever learn how to put on makeup like that. It seems like magic to me.” She sounded wistful and, once again, I felt sorry for the woman.
I gave her a wide smile. “Listen, there are a lot of good books and magazines on the subject. Start with Kevyn Aucoin’s books and magazines like Pout and Winsome and Allure. Buy a good makeup mirror, and inexpensive drugstore cosmetics for practice, and when you find colors you like, get them in a good department store brand. I can tell you right now you’d look great in lilac and rose-colored eye shadow, and a dusty rose-colored gloss or lipstick. When you pick out foundation, pick one that matches your skin tone—don’t go darker. And use a translucent powder.”
She beamed and pulled out a notebook. “Can you repeat that? I think I’d like to give it a try. Yvonne’s always been the pretty one, but maybe . . .” She stopped, biting her lip. I thought I saw tears glistening in her eyes.
“Maybe you can find your own beauty and stop comparing yourself to your sister,” I said firmly as I reached for her notebook. I jotted down some suggestions and the titles of a couple of good books and handed it back to her. “Remember, people treat you the way you treat yourself. So stop beating yourself up, okay?”
“I’ll try,” she said, giving me a grateful smile. Standing up, she added, “Listen, don’t tell Yvonne I went to see Lisa, would you? She’d be pissed at me.”
I nodded and watched as she trudged out of the coffee shop and into the bookstore. She glanced around, and then asked a clerk something, and I saw that he pointed her toward the health and beauty section. What do you know? She was taking my advice.
I drained my tea, made sure I had my purse and tote bag, and headed out to the car. Along the way, Karen’s remarks about Yvonne replayed in my mind. Could Yvonne have been so angry that she’d finally decided to lash out? It seemed a distant possibility, but nevertheless, we’d have to check it out. Because as it was, we were striking out, and every day that Lisa was missing reduced our chances of finding her.
I pulled into the Smith sisters’ driveway at quarter to one and made a quick call to the shop. Tawny answered, and I asked her to tell Auntie that I’d be about an hour later than I’d expected. As I walked up the flagstone path to the house, Enid Smith stuck her head out the door and motioned me to hurry.
“You’ll catch your death in that rain, girl. Get in here.” She ushered me into the quiet two-bedroom ranch house that had been built in the early eighties. The décor was à la the Golden Girls: mauve and mint green with splashes of yellow. Wicker furniture abounded, and large potted palms and ferns. I’d been over to Enid and Donna’s on several occasions, and each time, the whimsy and lightness of the house never failed to coax a smile out of me.
The sisters played mother to three Himalayan Siamese, all of whom were loud, sleek, and spoiled. They raced over to me when I sat down at the dining room table and milled around my feet. I reached down and tickled their ears and patted their backs.
Donna swept in from the kitchen carrying a tray of clear crystal dishes that contained what looked—and smelled—like lobster salad on croissant rolls. Both Enid and Donna were dressed as if getting ready for an afternoon tea, but I had known them long enough to know that this was their everyday getup. Neither would ever be seen in public with a single gray cu
rl out of place or without a handbag that matched their shoes. They adored my aunt, but I knew they thought she dressed like a bag lady.
As she set the plates on the table, Donna prattled on about how good it was to see me. I leaned back, glad I’d come. Even if it did mess up my schedule, I enjoyed the Smith sisters’ company and didn’t get over here often enough. They were comfortable in their lives, and they made their guests feel comfortable in their home.
As we settled down to eat, and I flourished the peach-colored napkin onto my lap, Donna said, “Okay, Persia, we know you have something to ask us. You didn’t just drop over here for a leisurely visit.”
When I tried to protest—feeling vaguely embarrassed because she’d hit the nail on the head—she added, “Save it for someone you can snow.” She was smiling though, and no sense of rebuke lingered in her words. “With the holiday season upon us, there’s no way you’d have time to run around on a weekday like this. Your aunt must be stewing to have you back at the shop.”
I gave her a wry grin. “Well, yes, she probably is. You know I love coming to visit, but you’re right. There is something I need to ask you.” I bit into the lobster salad and closed my eyes, reveling in the rich, sweet flavor of the flaked shellfish as it mingled with diced apples, celery, shallots, and water chestnuts, all blended together in a Dijon mustard dressing. The croissant matched perfectly with the salad. “Oh yum, this is so good,” I added. “I had a sandwich about an hour ago, but I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”
Enid poured lemonade all the way around. “So, what is it that you want to ask us?”
I decided just to plunge into my questions. “You were both in last Friday to see Lisa for makeovers. I’m wondering if she said anything about her plans for the weekend to you. Anything about where she might be going, or who she might be seeing?”
Enid looked at Donna, and they gave each other that little frown that people do when they’re trying to remember something. After a moment, Enid shook her head. “Not offhand. What about you, Donna?”
Donna gave a little shrug. “Not really. She talked a lot about what she thought we should be using. It was very nice of her to take the time, but really, we just dropped in on the spur of the moment, and we already have our own beauty routines.”
“Almost thirty years, my routine’s been the same,” Enid said.
I repressed a smile. I had the feeling a lot of her routines had been the same for the past thirty years or perhaps longer. The Smith sisters were creatures of habit, and if you went shopping at the Shorelines Food Pavilion on Saturday mornings around nine AM, you’d always find them there buying their groceries for the week.
“Did something happen?” Donna asked.
“Lisa took off from the shop early on Saturday afternoon, and nobody’s seen her since. She’s probably fine, but she forgot to tell her sister where she was going, and we’re just checking into things; making sure that nothing happened.”
I glanced at the clock. Auntie would string me up if I didn’t get back to the shop pretty soon. “I hate to eat and run, but Auntie’s waiting for me. Lunch was lovely, and it was so good to see you again.” On the spur of the moment—and because I knew Auntie wouldn’t mind—I added, “What are you doing for Thanksgiving? We’re holding a big get-together at our house for friends. Dinner and the whole shebang. We’d love it if you could come.”
Enid looked at Donna, and they both nodded. “I think that would be delightful, my dear,” Enid said. “We haven’t formalized any plans yet, and dinner at Moss Rose Cottage sounds just perfect. Let us know what you want us to bring. We insist on helping out.”
I gave them each a hug, patted the cats, and then headed back to my car, where I flipped on my Jane’s Addiction CD. So much for any clues, but at least I’d been able to relax for a moment and enjoy a good meal with good friends.
As I hurried into the shop, Auntie looked over from where she was arguing with a UPS man. Apparently, he’d given us the wrong package, and she was pointing out that Venus Envy was not the same shop as McBride’s Auto Supplies. He winced as she shoved the box back in his arms and motioned me over. As I approached, the parcel deliveryman made a hasty retreat.
“I see you chewed him up one side and down the other,” I said.
“This is the third time in the past month he’s brought us the wrong package. I’m going to call and complain to his supervisors. He could at least read the labels before he brings them into the shop. I’m glad you’re back,” she said, not pausing between thoughts. “Did you find out anything?”
I quickly filled her in. “I’m waiting on two calls, and I’ll talk to Barb after work. Where is she, by the way?” I asked, glancing around the shop. “Did Dorian come to his senses and apologize?”
“I wish. Barbara’s in the back, doing laundry.” We had a washer and dryer in the back of the spa room where we washed the towels used for facials and haircuts. Auntie had decided that taking them home was just too much bother, and so she’d found a good used set, and we did laundry a couple of times a week.
As I was wondering whether I should go over to the bakery and talk to Dorian—even though Auntie said not to, it felt like somebody had to do something—there was a crash as a rock came hurtling through one of the front windows. A second immediately followed, and a third. Glass shards sprayed like shrapnel, covering the floor and shelves.
“Good Lord, what’s going on?” Auntie’s eyes went wide as I pulled her away from the windows.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Get everybody toward the back. I’ll call Kyle and then find out what’s going on.”
As Auntie hurriedly herded the startled customers toward the back of the shop, I pulled out my cell and punched in 911. I quickly told dispatch what was happening while watching to see that Auntie, Tawny, and Betsy managed to get everyone away from the front of the shop where they could be hurt by breaking glass. The officer taking my call told me that they’d send a cruiser right over.
No more rocks appeared, and I cautiously made my way across the glass-covered floor. Luckily, whoever decided to vandalize our store had only managed to hit one of the huge front windows. The other was still intact.
And then I saw him outside near my car, which now sported a broken windshield. Elliot leaned against a telephone pole, a drunken smirk on his face. As he idly tossed another rock toward my car, I lost it.
“You bastard! You’re going down!” I raced out of the store, heedless of the glass. When Elliot saw me barreling toward him, he seemed to sober up pretty fast. Or maybe he was just aware of how close to death he was in that moment, because he turned to run, weaving erratically down the street. But I was faster, and within less than a minute, I tackled him, bringing him down on the sidewalk. I straddled his chest as all my frustration came pouring out like so much venom.
“Your luck just ran out, you fucking bastard!”
I broke his nose with the first punch and blackened his eye with the second. Before I could land a third, Kyle pulled up in his cruiser and jumped out to haul me off of Elliot while his partner dragged the object of my fury to his feet. I struggled, trying to escape Kyle’s hold, and he finally shoved me against the wall that separated Venus Envy and the Baklava or Bust Bakery.
“Persia, get a grip!” His voice was harsh, but I could see a glint in his eyes that told me he was having trouble keeping a straight face. I struggled again, intending to give Elliot a kick in the balls as a parting shot, but Kyle managed to keep me from getting loose, and I finally relaxed.
“All right, all right, I’ll keep my hands to myself,” I said, gritting my teeth. Kyle let go, though he kept his eye on me as he did so. I turned to look at Elliot. While he had shattered our windows, I’d done a pretty good job of messing up his face, and I didn’t regret my actions in the least.
“Oh Persia, what did you do?” Auntie’s gasp came from the door of Venus Envy. The look on her face told me that she was having trouble making up her mind whether to yell at me or
not.
“Now can I get my restraining order?” I asked Kyle, all the while keeping an eye on my nemesis.
His voice brusque, he said, “I don’t think you’ll have any problem with that now.”
Elliot squinted at me, and I could swear I still saw a hint of a leer behind the swelling. His nose was a brilliant blue with black streaks, as was the skin around his right eye. His left eye wasn’t looking too good, either, and I’d managed to split his lip. A little blood trickled down from the side.
“Man, that must hurt, huh, Elliot?” I asked, a snarky grin on my face. I couldn’t help it. Nope, not sorry in the least.
“I want to press charges against her for assault!” Elliot struggled feebly against the officer who had a hold on him, but his look was pure spite.
“What? You’re the one who brought this on yourself, you son of a bitch!” I was ready to fly at him again, but Kyle’s hand on my arm stopped me.
“Sure, I broke your windows, you whore, but you won’t listen to me. You won’t pay attention to me! I had to do something.” His whine grated on my nerves, and I wished now that I’d knocked him out.
Oh wonderful, Mr. Stalker had turned into a full-blown nut job.
Kyle frowned, then gave me a sideways glance. “Sorry, Persia, but you’re going to have to come with me.”
“What?” I backed away, astounded. “You’re arresting me? But he shattered our windows and damaged my car!”
“Yes, and we’re arresting him, too. But you shouldn’t have hit him. Did he threaten you in any way? Was it self-defense?” Kyle added, and I knew he was trying to be helpful, offer me an out.