When Sophie came downstairs, everyone gasped. She was dressed to kill in a sharp black pantsuit and reminded Jamie of a smaller version of Sophia Loren. Her dark hair hung loose around her shoulders, taking a good ten years off her age. Professionally applied makeup made her look like a totally different person, or rather a new and improved version of herself. Jamie wondered why all the hoopla. Maybe she had a date.
“You’re beautiful,” Mavis said. “I haven’t seen you like this since we were in college. Your makeup looks phenomenal. Who taught you how to apply it that way?” Mavis asked, apparently in a state of shock. She’d taken such an interest in her appearance this last year, trying new hairstyles, and makeup no longer seemed out of character for the once frumpy woman.
“Ida,” Sophie said. “Years ago.”
“I didn’t realize you were so talented, Ida,” Mavis said.
“I’ll teach you my tricks another time,” Ida explained. “Now, Sophie has a plane to catch. Jamie, do you want to come with us to the airport?”
“I don’t think so, Ida. There’s still lots to do at the bakery. I’ll see you guys later. Sophie, I hope you have a good time in Chicago.”
“So do I, Jamie. So do I.”
Chapter 33
The Fairmont Chicago, Millennium Park Hotel brimmed with Cryotech employees attending the charity benefit for AIDS. They were dressed in their finest, glittering like sparkling jewels in a treasure chest. Goebel, wearing his new tuxedo, observed the hubbub as waiters dressed in crisp white shirts and creased black slacks gracefully maneuvered through the crowd, holding high in the air trays overflowing with champagne flutes. Sophie said she would meet him at seven o’clock. It was ten after. Figures she would be late, he thought. He almost hadn’t recognized her when he picked her up at O’Hare International that afternoon. She was dressed to kill in a black pantsuit and white blouse that displayed her fine figure. With her hair down, she looked ten years younger than when he had seen her on Tuesday night. She looked like a whole other person. She was gorgeous.
The thought had no sooner passed through his brain when he spotted her in the crowd. Wearing a dark green, sleek, thigh-hugging evening dress with little sparkles glistening in the light, Sophie looked every inch the New York woman she was. Her hair was twisted high on her head, and diamonds glistened on her ears. He watched as a trail of male eyes followed her. She seemed almost regal, this gal with the sharp tongue and quick wit. She had moxie, more than was good for her. He watched her scan the crowd, searching for him. When her eyes locked with his, a jolt ran through him. He’d never married, never wanted a woman wondering when he left for work each day if he would return in a body bag. Seemed unfair to him.
For the first time in sixty-five years, Sophie felt elegant. Not because she practically strutted through the five-thousand-square-foot Moulin Rouge Ballroom decorated in deep reds, shimmering taupes, with luxurious fabrics, tiered seating, and a stage to re-create the feel of a turn-of-the-century cabaret. She felt relaxed. She’d attended many conventions with Walter throughout his short-lived banking career, knowing at the end of the night, when they came home, there would be hell to pay. Tonight, however, when the festivities ended, she would simply retire to her suite, order room service, and enjoy every single minute of it. If Goebel was a gentleman, she might invite him up for a drink, but nothing more. After all, she was recently widowed.
Goebel was grinning from ear to ear as she approached him. “Wipe that smirk off your face right now,” Sophie admonished. “You look just like a dirty old man.” She was smiling, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief.
“I am a dirty old man,” Goebel said. “Sadly, tonight I won’t be able to take advantage of the most beautiful woman in the room, because we have work to do. I haven’t spotted Nancy. The picture from the Department of Motor Vehicles was six years old. Women can change their appearance on a dime.”
“Is that supposed to be an insult, a compliment, or what?” Sophie asked.
“None of the above, just a fact. Women change their hair color, makeup, clothing. It confuses a guy. For the record, you look stunning, Sophie,” Goebel said.
“Thank you, Goebel. You’ve cleaned up nicely yourself.” Sophie averted her eyes, scanning for the woman whose picture she’d seen in a fax two hours ago. Though she had an eye for recognition, Goebel was right. Women changed their appearance so often these days, they could look like completely different people.
“Let’s stroll over to the bar. Bartenders always seem to know who’s who,” Goebel said. “And thanks for the compliment. It does an old guy good to hear that once in a while.”
“Well, don’t think I like you . . . I mean in that way, because I don’t. We’re just pretending, remember?”
Goebel chuckled. “I’m sure you won’t let me forget.”
They walked past flocks of people, hearing bits and pieces of conversation, the occasional shout, a burst of laughter, the clinking of glasses. Dinner was to be served promptly at eight thirty. Tables were scattered throughout the huge ballroom, each holding a tapered candle and vases of fresh flowers. The place settings had small, attractively wrapped gifts for the guests. At ten thousand dollars a pop, Sophie hoped whatever was inside the box was something that glimmered and shined, but she doubted it would be anything more than a memorable trinket engraved with tonight’s date and type of function. She did love presents, especially presents with red or silver bows.
As they approached the bar, Goebel placed a protective arm around her waist. He leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Pretend I’m nibbling your ear. I think I just spotted Nancy. Behind you, my nine o’clock. I’m going to let go of you, and I want you to turn around and wrap your arms around me.” Sophie did as instructed. “Tell me if you think that’s the woman in the picture I showed you.”
A sense of doom so great cascaded down and around Sophie that she was suddenly glad she had Goebel to lean on. The woman Goebel referred to was in her thirties. Dark and smarmy, yet quite pretty. She didn’t resemble Thomas at all, and had it not been for her dark complexion, she wouldn’t have recognized her. In the DMV picture, her hair was short as a boy’s, and giant hoops dangled from her ears. Tonight her hair almost reached her waist. She wore a cream-colored lace dress that fit snugly against her voluptuous curves. Crimson chandelier earrings hung to her shoulders. She might’ve passed for a young version of Cher had she been thinner. Still, she was an attractive woman.
“That’s her. I’m sure of it. What next?” Sophie said, surprised that she was actually enjoying being in Goebel’s arms. It’d been so very long since she’d felt wanted and desired. Walter, bastard that he was, had been a louse in the romance department. She’d packed that part of her life away, never giving it much thought until that moment. She wanted to kick herself for the thought, too.
“Let’s just watch her for now. If she goes to the ladies’ room, follow her. Try to strike up a conversation with her. Don’t you gals always chitchat in the ladies’ room? It seems like when you all have to go, you go in pairs.”
“I could act like I’m upset. My husband just died. I’ll say something to that effect, see if she takes the bait. And I always go to the ladies’ room alone.”
“I’ll try to remember that. Now, let me get us a drink while you keep those pretty brown eyes on our mark. What would you like to drink?”
Sophie watched Nancy, fearful that if she looked away, the woman would disappear. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“Okay, we’re having two soft drinks,” Goebel said, then turned toward the bar.
Sophie nodded as she continued to watch Nancy. She needed to get close to her, needed to understand why, when she’d first laid eyes on her, she’d felt such a sense of doom. Her abilities as a medium, psychic, whatever you wanted to call it, were beginning to scare her. Nancy was evil. She could feel it in her bones.
Goebel returned with two small glasses of ginger ale. “These cost me ten bucks each. Drink up.”
“Cheers,” Sophie said, clinking her glass to Goebel’s yet never taking her eyes away from Nancy, who was now speaking with a group of men who were ogling her breasts. Perverts, no matter how rich, Sophie thought. Give a man a set of knockers, and he’s putty. Lord, she was beginning to sound and think like Ida. This was not good, not one little bit.
“Look, she’s leaving,” Goebel said. “Let’s follow her. If she goes to the ladies’ room, remember what I told you to do.”
They dropped their glasses on the tray of a passing waiter, quickening their pace so as not to lose sight of their quarry. Just as Goebel had expected, Nancy was headed to the ladies’ restroom.
“Cry if you have to. Women are always suckers for a teardrop,” Goebel instructed.
Sophie rolled her eyes and replied, “I’ll handle this.” She abruptly turned around, heading straight for the restroom.
The ladies’ room had pink, gold, and cream marble floors. Plush mauve lounging chairs with side tables equipped with telephones and laptop computers had been placed strategically throughout the ladies’ room. It looked more like a plush spa than a restroom. The commodes were discreetly hidden behind dark wooden doors. There was no chance of Sophie walking the length of the restroom, peeking beneath the stalls. She sat down on one of the plush chairs, took out her cell phone, and dialed Toots’s cell phone number.
As soon as Toots picked up, Sophie talked as though her life depended on it. Ida’s life or liberty might. That was the frightening part, Sophie thought.
“I’m in the ladies’ room with Nancy. I’m going to act like I’m crying over my dead husband. Then I’m going to hang the phone up. Goebel wants me to try and gain her sympathy, get a little one-on-one girl talk going on. See what I can find out about her.” She said this in a hushed whisper.
Sophie heard the commode flush, her signal that it was showtime. She started to cry loudly into the phone. “I just can’t believe he’s dead,” she cried. “Murdered! It’s terrible. Yes. Yes. I will. Of course. Robert was dedicated to finding a cure for AIDS. Okay, I will. I have to go now.”
Sophie replaced the phone in her bag, watching Nancy as she reapplied her lipstick. She went to stand at the sink next to her. Sophie blotted her eyes with a tissue, making sure to smear her mascara. “Oh, look what I’ve done! I’ll never be able to sit through dinner looking like this.”
She waited for Nancy to respond; when she didn’t, that feeling of doom grabbed hold of her, forcing her to shove it aside. Not now, Sophie. Not now.
She dampened a paper towel, rubbed a small amount of liquid soap onto it, and began to scrub the eye makeup from her eyes. If this didn’t get her attention, nothing would. Nancy continued to primp in front of the mirror.
Okay. It was now or never, Sophie thought. “Miss,” she said, looking directly at Nancy as she spoke.
The evil brunette turned to face her. In a deep, throaty voice, she asked, “Are you talking to me?” Anger burned in her eyes.
Sophie was momentarily stunned at the sharpness in her voice. She wanted to tell her to kiss her ass, that soon she’d be in a place where there were no makeup mirrors, no Chanel tubes of lipstick, and no privacy when you had to pee, but declined as this wasn’t her gig. This was for Goebel and the police. She was here simply to pick the woman’s brain. It was more than obvious she didn’t like unwanted attention, but tough shit, Sophie thought.
“Yes, I was. I’m sorry I interrupted you with your . . . lipstick. I just wondered if you might have a tube of mascara I could use. I’ve . . . Well, my best friend just found out her father was murdered! He was supposed to be here tonight.” Sophie called forth the tears, and thank heavens the soap was burning her eyes as this made it easier to tear up. Her eyes stung so badly. Sophie sneaked a look at Nancy. Her dark skin looked ashy and gray.
Good, Sophie thought. She’d hit a nerve. The little bitch. When she thought of all Ida had suffered, she wanted to jap-slap this witch but held herself back, knowing justice would be served in due course. It was one thing for Sophie to torment Ida; it was another to face the woman who was responsible for sending Ida into her dark days with OCD.
“I don’t lend my mascara. Sorry,” Nancy said, still sounding like a smart-ass.
“Really?” Sophie pretended ignorance. “Why is that?”
Nancy shook her head, a hateful grimace distorting her features. “Are you serious? You work at Cryotech? If you’re in the lab, you better start looking for another job. Seriously.”
Again, Sophie wanted to jap-slap her but couldn’t. “I don’t work for Cryotech. My—” She was about to say that her husband did, but caught herself. If Nancy were to ask for a name, she’d be screwed.
“Just so you know, don’t ask to share makeup. There’s all kinds of germs that can spread that way.” Nancy tossed her lipstick in her clutch purse, gave one last look in the mirror, then headed toward the exit.
Shit, Sophie thought. “Wait!”
Nancy stopped, her hand on the door handle. “What now?”
More images of jap-slapping, only this time Sophie envisioned kicking, too. Right in her mouth. Mentioning her best friend’s father’s murder hadn’t affected her. Maybe she could get somewhere with a common interest. God, this was so lame.
“Uh, I was wondering . . . What kind of germs? I, well, I just started wearing cosmetics a few months ago.”
“What do you think I am? A frigging scientist? Get a life, lady,” Nancy said, this time swinging the door open and making her escape before Sophie had a chance to reply.
True evil, personified, Sophie thought as she followed her out the door.
Like a true gentleman, Goebel had been waiting outside the ladies’ room while she supposedly tended to her private business. When he saw that she was following Nancy, he synced his step with hers. “Anything?”
“Just that she’s a true bitch, and an evil one, too. I don’t like the vibes she’s sending.”
“One of the reasons we’re here. I don’t want to lose sight of her until I receive those lab results from Ted. I sent it to arrive by six in the morning tomorrow, so he said he would be there waiting and, with any luck, he’d have something for me to take to the authorities by ten o’clock in the morning.”
“You plan to follow her home?” Sophie asked, eyes still watching Nancy.
“Of course. You don’t think I came here for the rubber chicken and some inedible ricelike gunk they’ll try to pass off as gourmet food, do you?”
Sophie laughed. “Put that way, heck no. So where does that leave me?” Sophie asked, visions of luxuriating in her suite going straight down the tube.
“That, my dear, is up to you,” Goebel said, a wicked smile making his chubby face almost handsome.
Sophie had a flashing thought: Mavis could turn this man into a hunk. The goods were there. Just too many.
“We’ll see. Right now”—Sophie nodded in Nancy’s direction—“she’s about to sit down for dinner. Since there doesn’t seem to be assigned seating, let’s see if we can sit at her table. I’ve already established somewhat of a repartee with her.”
“I’ll take your word,” Goebel said as he cupped her elbow in his hand and guided her to Nancy’s table.
“And you aren’t my husband, remember? Say you’re a distant cousin if asked,” Sophie explained, her brilliant smile reaching eyes that were flaming like tigereye gemstones.
Their “mark” sat at the table along with two men and one woman. The tables were set for parties of eight, so there were still four seats left when Sophie and Goebel joined them.
Seeing the look of shock on Nancy’s face, Sophie piped up, all smiles and giggles. “Oh, I’m so glad I found you. You never finished explaining where those nasty germs come from.”
Under the table Goebel patted her upper thigh. Sophie shot him a killer look.
The night was turning out to be very, very different from what she had expected.
Chapter 34
Sophie was so tired,
her eyelids were starting to droop. Goebel, on the other hand, was as chirpy as a newly hatched chick. It was after 7:30 AM on Saturday morning, and they were still in the Moulin Rouge Ballroom, where at least a dozen guests still lingered, Nancy being one of the dozen.
Goebel explained that if they were lucky, Nancy would stay until he heard from Ted, but Sophie couldn’t imagine staying awake much longer. He could follow Nancy; she’d go along for the ride so she could nap. She was too old for this all-night stuff. She had a flight to catch that evening. She would at least like time for a quick shower and a change of clothing. She could only imagine the kind of stares she’d get if she hopped on the plane while still wearing her evening gown and looking like she’d been ridden hard and put away wet.
Ida really owed her for this. Big-time.
One of the men who’d sat at the table with them cornered Sophie. “We’re about to go to Aria for some breakfast. Would you and your cousin like to join us?” This man had been giving her the once-over all night long. At this point, if it helped to move things along, she’d do just about anything. Well, almost.
“Goebel and I would love to go,” Sophie responded. So as not to reveal her or Goebel’s interest in Nancy, she asked, “Will I be the only girl attending?” continuing to pretend that she was the demure and coy bimbo in her forties, instead of the sixty-five-year-old widow she really was.
“Nancy is still here. I’m sure she’s coming along. Why? You don’t like being with a group of distinguished gentlemen?” he teased.
Not caring that she sounded sarcastic, Sophie said, “I’m not so sure I would use the word distinguished.”
After the formal dinner and ceremony last night, the group at her table had ordered drink after drink, becoming quite rowdy. Any trace of sophistication and politeness was washed away by the alcohol. Sophie had observed Nancy throughout the night. She wasn’t a heavy drinker, sticking mostly to cranberry juice and water.
They all agreed to meet at the front entrance to the restaurant at nine, allowing those who were staying at the hotel time to run to their rooms to change out of their formal attire.
Late Edition Page 21