by India Ink
“No, no,” I hastened to say. “The Gala was perfectly lovely. It’s just . . . when you got home, I wonder if you happened to look out the window of your house that overlooks Lookout Pier. And if so, did you notice anything unusual going on down in the parking lot?”
She blinked. “Oh my dear, I don’t believe I even went near the window. No, I was so tired that I went straight to bed. You can ask my husband, though. Lloyd’s a night owl and often stays up long after I’ve retired for the evening. I’m leaving town until tomorrow right after I straighten out a little problem with the bank, but you’re certainly welcome to go over to the house and ask him if he might have seen anything. He often sits with a whiskey and soda and watches the water. Was there a problem down at the pier?”
I was about to explain when one of the tellers interrupted us, rushing over to Annabel’s side. “Mrs. Mason, I’m so sorry. We didn’t see you in line! You should have come right over to my desk. What can we do for you?”
Annabel gave me a little smile that said, What can you do? As she followed the attendant toward a private office, I heard her say, “I want to know just what this means. My husband’s account can’t be overdrawn again!”
The line inched forward, one person at a time. As I waited my turn, I thought about what it might mean to be trapped in a body that just didn’t want to cooperate. Auntie had said something about Annabel having a heart condition, and I hoped for her sake that it eased off, whatever it was. She was one of the most genuinely unassuming women I’d met in a long time.
After depositing Venus Envy’s take, I dropped back in at the shop and put the receipt in the safe in Auntie’s office, then stopped by the Baklava or Bust Bakery. Dorian looked up from the counter and gave me a sheepish grin. He motioned me over.
“Persia, I want to thank you for what you said the other night. You’re right. I neglected the feelings of the most important person in my life, and I will never forgive myself. I promise, I won’t do it again. In fact,” he looked around, making sure Barb was out of earshot, “I wanted to ask your help. I want to buy Barbara a present. What do you think I should get her? I’m torn between a new food processor and a new vacuum.”
I stared at him. Barb hadn’t been kidding when she’d confided to me that Dorian had the imagination of an amoeba when it came to gift giving. I cleared my throat. “Dorian, sweetie, listen to me. Barb doesn’t clean. You have a maid to do the housework. If you want to buy a new vacuum, buy it for the maid. And a food processor? Barbara’s in the kitchen all day here at the bakery. Why on earth would she want a kitchen gadget for a gift?”
He blinked, and I could see the wheels in his head turning.
“Think! You have a brain. Why not start buying her gifts she’ll treasure? Like . . . oh . . . a diamond necklace? An amethyst ring? Maybe even just a dozen red roses—long-stemmed and from the florist, not the grocery store, along with a box of her favorite chocolates?”
Dorian looked downright embarrassed. “Oh good God, I can’t believe it. I’ve turned into one of those husbands.” He shook his head as he came around from behind the counter to sit at one of the tables that was still empty. Most were taken with customers munching on doughnuts and bear claws and coffee, but the morning rush had dwindled off, and there were a few free spots.
“So, you think she’s right? That I’m not romantic? I know she talks to you about these things. I guess I didn’t understand what she meant. Sometimes it takes a sledgehammer to hit the brain, you know?”
Not sure if I liked being compared to a sledgehammer, I just nodded.
“Persia, does she still love me?” His voice took on a frightened edge, and he stiffened, awaiting my answer.
I patted his hand. “Dorian, she adores you. She loves you so much, but you have to loosen up. You have to start treating her like a woman, not just your business partner. Quit taking her for granted, and stop putting your mother first. Barb’s compromised a lot for you over the years. Now, it’s your turn.”
He thought over what I said, then let out a shuddering sigh. “I understand. I promise you I’ll do better. And now, I’ll call her for you. You two should go out to lunch.” Before I could say a word, he bellowed out, “Barbara, Persia’s here.” Turning back to me, he said, “Please, don’t tell her about our conversation? I want to surprise her.”
Again, I patted his shoulder. “I promise. Just you get your ass in gear and do it sooner rather than later. Okay?”
“You have my solemn word,” he said, returning to the counter as Barb emerged from the back, swathed in a huge white apron and covered with flour. “My petite love, my pretty wife, go with your friend and spend the afternoon having fun. Ari and I can run the bakery. Go shopping, and make reservations for dinner wherever you like. Mama will eat with Ari tonight, while we go out. I’ll even put on a suit.”
Barb, looking decidedly surprised, though happy, hastened to the back, returning a few minutes later clean and apron-free.
“I’ll drive,” she said. “You rest. You still look like hell.”
I welcomed the offer. My shoulder was still hurting, though the pain had calmed down a little. We climbed into her Pathfinder. A month ago, Barb had decided that the way to add more adventure to her life was to buy an SUV, but I knew she was looking in the wrong direction. I could only hope that my little talk with Dorian would help solve the problem.
We headed to A Christmas Carol, a Christmas-themed store that carried just about anything a person could want for the holiday season. During the spring, they put up their Spring Dreams sign and sold gardening and picnic supplies. During summer they called themselves The Beach Hut and sold everything a tourist could want while on vacation. And during autumn they dubbed their store The Halloween Tree and sold Halloween-and Thanksgiving-themed items. The owners did quite well, and every season there was a host of new toys and knickknacks and decorating items from which to choose.
“So, how’s it going at home?” I ventured, hoping that I wasn’t treading in dangerous water.
She shrugged. “Mama K leaves day after tomorrow. Early. She’s so pissed at me that she hasn’t said a word directly to my face since I came home. She only ate Thanksgiving dinner at the same table as me because Dorian threatened to take her back to the hotel if she didn’t. And she’s mad at him. Oh, Persia, I’m not sure what he said to her, but whatever it was, she’s spitting nails over it. Tomorrow we’ll have a family dinner together before taking her to the airport early Sunday morning.”
“Wow,” I said as I scrambled out of the car. “Sounds like such a good time. I can’t understand why you’re not enjoying her visit more.” I tried to hold back a snicker, but she just waved at me.
“Thanks, hon’ chile. I needed that. So, what are you buying here?”
As I opened the shop door, a group of demented cats warbled out “Jingle Bells” from the radio across the room. Grimacing, I examined my list. “What don’t I need? Lights—lots of lights. Garland. Decorations. Candy canes.”
“After this, you want to go to Macy’s? I hear they’re having an incredible sale.” Barb’s eyes lit up like a kid eyeing the cookie jar.
With a fleeting thought to how my hopes to avoid the shopping mobs were crashing at my feet, I gave her a bright nod. After all, what holiday season was complete without a little manic butt kicking through the sales aisles?
An overpriced and hectic half hour later, we loaded my bags of goodies into the back and then headed for Macy’s. Barb was intent on the cashmere sale that was going on, and I knew that she wouldn’t rest until we’d tried on every sweater in the store. I steeled myself as we pushed through the doors. The crowds were thick, and I could smell the rising panic as shoppers wrested dresses and jeans off the racks, shouldering their way through to the dressing rooms.
Women thronged through the aisles, and beleaguered-looking husbands darted glances toward the door, filled with the hope of escape. Oh, a few men took part in the frenzy, but I had a feeling most of the eager beave
rs were down in the toy and tool departments, jousting with levels and hammers rather than with Levi’s and hangers.
Barb was an expert in jab and grab. Jab being shove an elbow into the person standing to your immediate right, and grab being snatch what they were holding and run away before they screamed bloody murder.
Unfortunately, she was determined that I learn the drill. She pointed out a salmon cashmere sweater that was well out of her reach on an upper shelf. To get to it, I’d have to elbow my way into a crowd swarming the lower shelves. I was no wallflower, but the thought of facing the piranhas daunted even me. However, Barb’s pleading look spurred me on, and I decided to make her proud. I took a deep breath and waded in.
The first few women near the back parted, allowing me to join them. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. But then I ran into a wall of flesh. The chick had to be four inches taller than me, and a good thirty pounds heavier, all of it muscle. Bodybuilder, I thought. Had to be.
“Excuse me,” I said. She wasn’t after the same sweater, so I thought she’d let me through, but then she turned around, and I saw a look I hadn’t seen since I’d been present at a Rolling Stones concert where a decaying Mick Jagger threw one of his shirts to a group of screaming women in the audience. The chick’s eyes were on fire. Steroid city. It had to be.
“What the fuck do you want?” she said.
“I’m just trying to get that sweater up there,” I said, pointing. “Do you mind letting me grab it and get out of here?”
“Just wait your turn, bitch. I’ll get out of the way when I’m good and ready.” She snarled at me and I started to back away, not wanting to cause a scene, when one of the other women next to me whispered, “Jeez, who peed in her Cheerios?”
Unable to help myself, I snorted. “Santa Claus, maybe?”
Miss Muscle heard me—or thought she did—and whirled around. “What did you say about me? You said I look like Santa Claus? You think I’m fat?”
I blinked. Twice. I’d woken the sleeping giant and was in danger of being run down by the female equivalent of a Mack truck. “No, no, that’s not what I said! I’m sorry—you didn’t hear me right—”
“Oh, so now I’m hearing things?” The next thing I knew, Miss Muscle took a good swipe at me, barely missing me with her open palm. Her nails were dangerously long, and I reacted instinctively, my foot meeting her midsection. She flew back, landing against the shelf I’d been trying to reach.
In a mockery of slow-motion comedy, the shelves shuddered and then slowly began to topple forward. Within seconds they came tumbling down, hundreds of sweaters buffering the impact as they crashed to the floor, taking out a table of jeans on the way.
Somehow, maybe via some quirky Christmas miracle or maybe just thanks to a little old-fashioned luck, nobody managed to get hit by anything other than a flurry of cashmere and denim.
The entire floor of Macy’s came to a shuddering halt at the sound of the thundering crash. In the midst of the absolute silence that followed, Barbara’s nervous laughter rang out, followed by a growing din as frenzied shoppers began whispering.
I eyed Miss Muscle, who was staring at the mess with a confused expression on her face, and decided that the better part of wisdom was to tiptoe away. Turn tail and run wasn’t usually my forte, but I had no desire to face the salespeople who would have to clean up after my little spat. Miss Muscle had started it; let her finish it.
I grabbed Barb by the arm and quietly but firmly steered her toward the door. “Put down those cardigans and let’s scram. You can buy them somewhere else. We’ll go to Lana’s, and I’ll buy you any goddamn sweater you want.”
She started to protest, but one look at my face convinced her that I meant business. She dumped her sweaters on one of the tables that was still standing, and we edged our way to the door. At that moment, I saw the store security guard descending on the scene of our little fiasco. Miss Muscle looked ready to blow steam in his face.
“Move!” I pushed Barb out the door, and we raced for the car. I looked back to see if anybody was following us, but we lucked out and made it into her Pathfinder without being stopped. As Barb stepped on the gas and we squealed out of the parking lot, I leaned back and started to laugh.
“It could only happen to us, babe,” I said, pushing my hair back out of my eyes. “Only to us.”
Barb snickered. “Don’t you know that’s why I love hanging out with you?” she said as we sped down the road. “You’re one laugh after another, Persia.”
I gave her a goofy grin and snorted. “I know. Trust me, babe, I know.”
Chapter Fourteen
After our mishap at Macy’s, Barb returned to the bakery and I took off to finish my errands. A few flakes of white had fluttered past, and I had the feeling we’d be in for more by evening. Barb was excited. She loved snow. Actually, I had to admit that I was excited, too. Though I was a sun bunny at heart, it was hard not to feel a surge of joy when the first snow hit.
I decided to stop in at the police station on my way home. Kyle was in and saw me right away. He looked tired, downright haggard, in fact, and I wondered what the hell had happened.
“Any word on Elliot?” I asked as I sat down. The fact that my ex was out there on the loose wouldn’t shake itself loose from the back of my mind. He could be anywhere, and that was what scared me.
A grim look in his eyes, Kyle shook his head. “Nope, not a word. Not a sighting. You be careful. We set up roadblocks, but we couldn’t keep them up indefinitely, and there’s always the possibility that he slipped through them. The State Patrol has his picture, and every county in Washington has an APB on him, so we’re looking, but he’s one man in a big state.” He shifted a stack of papers on his desk and leaned back, resting his head on the back of his chair.
“I take it today hasn’t been particularly good,” I said, knowing the answer to my next question before he answered. But I had to ask. “No sign of Lisa?”
He let out a long sigh. “No. No sign of her, nothing. And no leads other than what we found in the parking lot.”
I stared at my hands. “I feel so guilty.”
That brought him upright. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “Why on earth should you feel guilty?”
Shrugging, I sought for an answer I wasn’t sure of myself. “I guess . . . I guess because she’s my friend. Because I haven’t given every waking moment to searching for her. Because I was at the mall today with Barbara instead of out hunting for clues.” After a moment, during which Kyle patiently waited, I added, “I was with my mother when she died, you know. I was asleep, and when I woke up, she was gone. If I’d been awake, if I’d been there, maybe I could have gone for help or something. Maybe I could have saved her.”
Kyle stood up and came around to the front of the desk, where he propped himself on the edge. “You were four years old, Persia. What could you have done? Hell . . . I remember in school. From the very beginning, you took everything so seriously. You assumed responsibility for so many of the underdogs. Nobody picked on Robbie Larson again after you beat the crap out of Pickett and Joe Snider. Your reputation as the class avenger still goes untarnished, according to Principal Whittaker.”
I laughed then. Principal Whittaker hadn’t known what to do with me. He sent me home so many times with notes encouraging Auntie to rein me in. But Principal Whittaker had been an underdog himself when he was young—I was sure of it. He’d been short and thin, with round glasses that made him look like an owl. Every time I ended up in his office, he started out with a lecture and ended up unable to continue, just telling me to be careful and think before I acted.
“Lisa’s my friend, Kyle. What am I supposed to do? Just go on, as if she’s still here? She’s missing, and I think there’s a chance she’s still alive. I’m going to talk to Annabel’s husband tonight. They went home early the night of the Gala, and she says there’s a chance he might have seen something out of their living room window, which looks out ov
er Lookout Pier.”
With luck, Lloyd would be a snoop who couldn’t keep away from the window. Of course, that was pushing the limits of good fortune, but one could always hope for minor miracles.
Kyle raised his eyebrows. “Good. We’ve talked to a number of residents up on the cliff but haven’t had a chance to talk to Annabel yet.”
“Have you subpoenaed Lisa’s cell phone records yet? Or the house phone, for that matter? She might have received a call from somebody that would give us a clue. Maybe a call that Amy doesn’t know about.” I was struggling to come up with new ideas; anything that might help.
Kyle beamed. “At least I’m ahead of you on that one. The phone company should be faxing them over today.” His smile died off then, and he closed the door before continuing. “Amy’s mad at me. She blames me for the fact that we haven’t found Lisa yet. I know she does.”
I struggled to find something to say that would help. “Kyle, she’s scared for her sister. You’re an authority figure who just happens to be her boyfriend. She looks up to you to help her, both as a citizen and as a girlfriend. You’re caught in a rough place, that’s for sure.”
“I never expected to fall for Amy. In fact, she didn’t seem my type at all,” he continued, and I heard the sense of wonder in his voice. The same sense that I felt about Killian. “But working on the antigun campaign for the school together . . . something just clicked.”
“Kyle, I can tell you right now that Amy’s the perfect woman for you. You two fit together like a hand and glove. I’d hate to see this thing with Lisa come between you two, but that means we have to find out what happened to her! Will you let me know if there’s anything unusual about the phone records?” I stood up, stretched gently. “Ouch,” I said.