Glossed and Found

by India Ink

  “You be careful with that arm. I don’t want Miss Florence on my neck about you hurting yourself,” Kyle said, glaring.

  “The longer I go without moving it, the less mobility I’ll have. I don’t care what the doctor said. I know muscles, and they need to be moved.” I winced as the pain blended with the delicious ache of movement.

  “Don’t come crying to me if you make it worse,” he muttered. “And yes, damn it, I’ll call you when I get the records. Maybe between you, Amy, and me, we can figure out just who called her and why.”

  As I turned to leave, he stopped me with a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Persia, did you mean what you said? About Amy being perfect for me?”

  I gave him a slow smile. “I sure did. Let’s find Lisa so you and Amy can get on with your lives together, because I’m expecting to hear wedding bells before next year is out.”

  He snorted. “Me? Get married again? I don’t think that’s in my future.”

  As I put my hand on the doorknob, I said, “Don’t be too sure, Kyle. You never know what’s going to happen. And you’re not a man who’s happy as a bachelor. Amy would make a wonderful wife. And she’d be lucky to have you.” Before he could respond, I slipped out the door and headed to my car.

  By the time I got home it was almost two thirty, and the trees were up, the lights were strung, the swags were swagging their way around the room, and Auntie was making fudge. As I licked the fudge pan, she emptied the bags, clucking over my choices.

  “Good job, Persia, these are lovely lights.”

  I’d chosen faceted twinkle lights that reminded me of stained glass panels—in a passing way. They were prettier than the plain ones, and slightly bigger. I’d finally chosen an ivory and gold theme for the tree in my study and had splurged on dozens of sun and star ornaments, as well as corded and fabric decorations to match. With multicolored lights, it would be stunning. Auntie held up one of the beaded ornaments that had a six-inch tassel hanging from it and nodded her approval.

  “You have such good taste, Imp. All right, I’m going to call Trevor in and have him carry your decorations up to your study. Then we’ll start on the living room tree. I figure by the end of this weekend, we’ll have everything decorated.”

  “Okay, but I’m running over to Annabel’s tonight for a little while.” I told her how I’d managed to wangle myself an invitation over to the Masons’.

  Auntie beamed. “You’re a woman of many talents, Imp. Now, come along and help me with the tree. I’ll make us some popcorn, and we can eat fudge and decorate while watching the Forensics Files.”

  I grinned, following her into the kitchen. Leave it to Auntie. Only she could mix watching a show about murder and mayhem while decorating for the season of peace and joy and see no contradiction in it at all.

  To use the word house for Annabel Mason’s home was a misnomer. Annabel and Lloyd lived in a mansion. At least three stories high, the manor sprawled out across a well-kept parcel of lawn that must have been two acres if it was an inch. Not a lot of land unless you considered that it was smack in the middle of the rich and powerful suburbs cloistered on the hillside overlooking the inlet. Property was at a premium, so usually the lots were tiny, the houses large, and the taxes excruciating.

  But Annabel didn’t seem worried about taxes. Her home was smack in the middle of the wide swath of grass and manicured trees, buffering it from the neighbors. The house itself was one of those Street of Dreams houses, following no particular style yet ending up unique enough to be artistic but practical.

  I parked the car in the semicircular driveway and slipped out into the chill weather, which was still trying to make up its mind whether or not to let loose with the white stuff. I pulled my jacket tighter. Though night was well on its way, the dusk couldn’t drown out the silvery white of the sky that appeared when snowstorms were imminent.

  As I strode up the flagstone path that led to the front of the house, I took note of the landscaping. Some estates felt soulless in their precision, but the flower beds and shrubs that bordered Annabel’s walkway were all just a touch off; someone had guesstimated here and there, rather than using a ruler to plant the flowers and plants in exact intervals. That told me that Annabel wasn’t as demanding as one might expect.

  I stopped and leaned down to examine one of the rosebushes. Of course, the roses were long gone, but even in the dim light I could tell it was an heirloom rose, not a hybrid, and that clued me in to yet another facet of Mrs. Mason, whom I was beginning to respect more and more. Annabel had a respect for the past, and she chose authenticity over perfection.

  The front of the house was bereft of a porch, and my guess had been wrong. No Grecian pillars, no portico. Just two stone steps leading up to an entry presided over by a set of handcrafted double doors. Both doors were ornamented with stained glass windows shaped like roses the size of portholes.

  I rang the bell, hoping that Lloyd was home. There were several cars in the driveway, but with money like Annabel’s, there were bound to always be several cars in the driveway. One car in particular looked familiar, but I wasn’t sure where I’d seen it, or even if I had.

  After a moment, the door opened, and Lloyd stood there, looking puzzled by my appearance. I recognized him from the Gala but doubted if he’d remember me. “I’m Persia Vanderbilt, from Venus Envy? I talked to Annabel this morning. She said you might be able to answer a couple of questions for me and suggested I drop by tonight to talk to you.”

  He frowned, tipping his head to the side. I suppose he would have been considered handsome, in a tennis-pro way. All tan and white teeth, and something about him whispered “superficial” to me. I wondered what a woman like Annabel saw in him.

  “Come in, then,” he said, still frowning. “What’s this about?” He led me into a living room that could have contained the entire bottom floor of Moss Rose Cottage. It was exquisitely decorated, but here and there I saw hints that somebody actually lived here, that it wasn’t just one of those fancy homes mimicking a fine arts gallery. A lace shawl draped over the back of a wing chair, looking old but beloved. A stack of books sitting next to an end table, some with bookmarks holding the place where the reader had left off. A scattering of sheet music on top of the baby grand that was spotlighted beneath a scintillating chandelier of teardrop crystals.

  He motioned for me to sit down, and I cautiously sat on the edge of the pale beige sofa until I noticed a faint stain on one of the cushions. I pushed myself back and relaxed.

  “So, what’s so important that you’re dragging yourself over here on a holiday weekend?” Lloyd asked. He poured himself a Scotch and held up another glass. “Would you like a drink?”

  “No thank you,” I said. “I’m driving.” Something about the setup of the bar bothered me, but I couldn’t pinpoint just what. Distracted, I said, “When I met Annabel in the bank today, she mentioned to me that you both came home early the night of the Gala. I was wondering if you’d noticed anything unusual. Maybe if you looked out your living room window down toward Lookout Pier?”

  Lloyd stared at me for a moment. “Why do you need to know?”

  I shrugged. “A friend of mine disappeared from there the night of the dance. You might have read about her in the paper—Lisa Tremont? She works for us at Venus Envy, and we’re terribly worried about her.”

  “Oh,” he said, pulling a pipe out of his pocket. “Do you mind?”

  I shook my head. It was his home, he could smoke it up if he wanted to, although I cringed when I thought of what the smell would do to the furniture and fine draperies. “No, please, go ahead.”

  Lloyd lit his pipe, puffing gently until smoke began to curl up from the bowl. He set his Scotch on a coaster on the end table, let out a long, satisfied sigh, and settled back in his chair, resting his feet on an ottoman. “So, your friend has gone missing? Are you sure she just didn’t take off somewhere on vacation or with a boyfriend?”

  I couldn’t pinpoint why, but I didn’t like Ll
oyd Mason too much. There was something too slick about him. I had the feeling Annabel had made a mistake in her choice of husband, unless he was hiding some exquisite quality that I couldn’t see.

  “No, we found her car down in the parking lot by Lookout Pier, and she hasn’t contacted anyone since Saturday. There’s something wrong. The police think she might have drowned, but I know her too well to believe that.” I shifted in my seat and looked around. “You have a lovely home here.”

  He practically beamed. “Thank you, I like it, too. Annabel’s handiwork, all of it. She’s a talented woman, and I’m a lucky man.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I didn’t bother looking outside once we got home. Annabel’s nurse helped her up to bed. I’m a night owl and spent the rest of my evening reading in the study. Why are you so sure Lisa didn’t drown?”

  I almost didn’t hear him; I’d glanced at the bar again and realized just what was bothering me. There were two wineglasses on the counter—used. Two, not one. Annabel was out of town, and I had my doubts that she’d ever left a dirty dish out after she’d finished using it.

  “Uh . . .” I brought my attention back to him. “Lisa was terrified of water, and I was helping her overcome that phobia. She would never have willingly taken a walk on the pier—alone or with anybody else. There’s no way she would have gone near the water. So she parked in that lot to meet someone. Either that or somebody drove her car there and left it, in which case her disappearance takes on a more sinister tone. Chief Laughlin is planning on talking to everybody over here during the next few days.”

  Lloyd nodded. “I see your point. And you say she’s a reliable girl? That she doesn’t just run off a lot on her own?”

  “Lisa Tremont takes her work—and her family—very seriously,” I said. “She’d never leave her sister hanging like this. No, you can be sure, something’s preventing her from calling Amy.” After a pause, I decided to go for it. “May I ask you about Candy Harrison? She’s your wife’s nurse.”

  Looking taken aback, Lloyd cocked his head to one side. “Well, that’s a sudden change of subject. She’s been an exemplary employee, that I can tell you. What do you want to know, and why?”

  “Oh, nothing, I suppose. She was working for Lisa’s father before she took on the job with your wife. He died of cancer. I thought maybe she might know something that would help. I spoke to her, but I have the feeling she didn’t trust me. I can understand—who am I, that she would confide in me? If she says anything that might give us some indication of where Lisa disappeared to, you would contact the police, wouldn’t you?”

  He frowned. “Are you accusing Candy of anything?”

  Now it was my turn to be taken aback. I hadn’t said anything of the sort. I shook my head. “No, of course not. I simply have the feeling that she and Lisa might have had words, and that Lisa might have said something during that argument. The two girls didn’t like each other very much, and I’m not altogether sure of the reason.”

  Standing up, Lloyd finished his drink and set his pipe in an ashtray after tamping it out. “Of course. I’ll talk to Ms. Harrison next time I see her. I certainly hope you hear from Lisa soon. You must be frantic, and her sister, too. Allow me to show you out?” He motioned toward the door, and I walked past him. As I did so, I managed to catch my heel on the Persian rug and started to trip. Lloyd caught my elbow as I steadied myself.

  As I stood close enough to touch him, my nose twitched. Something—a familiar scent. I frowned, searching my memories for what it was. A rare fragrance, one I seldom smelled. And then I knew. I knew who the other wineglass was for, and I knew what residue perfume was clinging to Lloyd.

  Trying to not miss a beat, I gathered my purse and keys. “I appreciate you taking time out of your evening to see me. Thank you. If you think of anything else, you’ll let me know?”

  He opened the door and with a crocodile smile, waved at me as I dashed down the walkway toward my car. The snow had started, and I could tell we were in for a good night’s worth of weather. It was starting to stick to the grass, though the road was bare and wet. But with the temperature dropping, we’d have a mess by morning.

  “I’ll let you know if I think of anything,” Lloyd called after me. “Nice talking with you, and good luck!”

  I reached the protection of my car and slid into the front seat. My windshield was almost covered with the white stuff, and the flakes were growing thicker and bigger. I fumbled in my glove compartment and found the camera I kept in the car just in case of an accident. Our insurance agent had recommended doing so, and it seemed like a good idea. Only this roll of pictures would be welcome, rather than dreaded. From where I was parked, I could just see beyond the house to the snow coming down over the inlet. The sight was breathtaking.

  Before I headed down to Lookout Pier to take pictures from the shoreline, I glanced at the house. Lloyd had closed the door and was nowhere to be seen. I put the flash on the camera and slid out of the car, hurrying over to the car that had looked familiar. I knew who the car belonged to now, and I quickly took two pictures, one of the profile of the red two-seater BMW, and one of the license plate.

  Then I slipped back to the car and eased out of the driveway, hoping that Lloyd and Candy hadn’t seen what I’d done.

  Once down at Lookout Pier, I snapped a few pictures of the snow as it slowly drifted down to kiss the inlet and melt into the dark and choppy waters while I thought things through.

  So Lloyd and Candy were having an affair. That explained the perfume and clothing she’d been wearing the other day when we met. Lloyd was probably buying her gifts, and that would also explain his overdrawn account that Annabel was so upset over at the bank. Chances were that Candy never wore the fragrance—or the fancy clothes—around Annabel, though. Annabel was a smart cookie and would notice the changes, although I also had a sinking feeling that she was deliberately overlooking the signs of a cheating husband.

  Sometimes it was easier to pretend something didn’t exist until somebody shoved it in your face and rubbed your nose in it. Like Elliot embezzling money. I’d believed him when he told me he had a trust fund from his grandmother. It was easier to accept his word and not question it than to actually risk finding out he was getting his fortune the old-fashioned way—by stealing.

  The two wineglasses on the bar told me that Candy must have been hiding in the house, listening to what I was saying. Of course she and Lloyd would take advantage of Annabel’s absence. Feeling sorry for the older woman—she was too good a woman to deserve a louse like Lloyd—I walked out on the pier, cautious of my footing. While the railing was plenty sturdy, accidents could—and did—happen. The waves were cresting less than two feet below the pier as the snow silently melted into the darkened currents.

  Lloyd and Candy’s affair was none of my business, and yet I felt oddly guilty, as if I’d peeked in a room I knew that I shouldn’t have. Should I tell Annabel? Did she even want to know? And how did it relate to Lisa’s disappearance, if at all?

  I was beginning to wish that I’d left the questioning to Kyle. I didn’t want to know about cheating hearts and fading matrons who were being taken advantage of. Trapped by uncertainty, I decided to tell Auntie. If anybody could help me sort out my ambiguous feelings, she could. The truth was that, having met and talked to Annabel, I liked her. And I didn’t want to see her get hurt. Squaring my shoulders, I turned and headed back to my car.

  One last stop before going home. I checked my notebook for her address, then drove over to Candy Harrison’s apartment, wondering if Lisa’s suspicions were correct. The idea that Candy had been having an affair with Mr.

  Tremont seemed much more likely now that I’d realized she and Lloyd were getting it on together, and the thought that Mr. Tremont might have squandered his money on the nurse made me vaguely nauseated. Gifts from boyfriends and lovers were one thing, but Candy struck me as a cunning little whore. She used people and had probably left a trail of heartache in her
wake.

  Candy lived six blocks from Annabel’s, but the neighborhood was a world apart from the affluential suburb in which the Masons lived. The Villa del Mar Apartments were comprised of a series of two-story buildings, each of which contained sixteen units. Looking weathered and ratty in the dim evening light, they weren’t exactly slum-lord material, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Candy wasn’t rolling in Annabel’s money yet. Either that, or she wanted to keep a low profile.

  I looked for apartment C-5. After gathering a flashlight, my camera, and putting on a pair of gloves, I quietly dashed up the stairs. The lights were off on the upper floor, including the porch light, which told me that both Candy and her neighbor were out for the evening. I knew where she was, but I could only hope her neighbor didn’t come home until I was done poking around.

  Taking a deep breath, I pulled out my library card and jimmied the lock. Thank God I’d learned how to pick locks while infiltrating Bebe’s factory. I wasn’t all that skilled, but knew enough to jar a cheap lock like this one.

  A click told me I’d met with success. I slipped inside and turned on my flashlight, determined to ferret out whatever secrets Candy might be hiding.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After latching the door behind me, I looked around the apartment. Small and cramped, it was a one-bedroom barely larger than a studio. The living room was filled with bags and boxes, and in the beam from my flashlight I counted a dozen bags from Northrup Department Store, three from Briarlane’s Jewelers, and a garment bag from Sarina’s. Somebody had been on an expensive shopping spree.

  No family pictures decorated the walls or tables, and the furniture was thrift-store variety. Takeout boxes sat on the counter in the small kitchenette, some of them crusted over. Taking a chance, I turned on the light over the range and blinked as the dim bulb cast a soft glow around the tiny room.