by Claire Kane
“I won’t,” Lacey said, hiding her wounded pride under a smile. Cathy, of all people, should know Lacey better than that; Lacey was a strong woman, and could handle herself. She opened her car door and said goodbye with another smile before sliding inside.
*
Lacey was happy to be home, with her door double-locked, but still groaned at the sight of her new cramped confines—it looked far smaller than the model she’d toured—but at least she’d been able to find a two-bedroom apartment; there was no practical way Nainai’s special bed would have fit in the same room as Lacey’s, even if they hadn’t had dressers and a desk.
At a grating peal of laughter from upstairs, Lacey buried her head under her pillow. Nainai snored on as she did every night, and Lacey wished she could sleep so well. She had work in the morning, and resented the fact that taking the day off to move would take a chunk out of her paycheck. Even Cathy’s assurances, in the parking garage, did nothing to help with that in the short term. She needed a good job three months ago, so why were her prospects so dim? She was well-qualified for several professional-level jobs.
Frustrated and desperate for sleep, she grabbed her phone and cued up some relaxation music. Setting the phone next to her head, she did her best to focus on the soothing sounds. But sleep eluded her. Every time she closed her eyes, visions of Jessica running, screaming, or being tossed into a dumpster assaulted her.
“It wasn’t my fault,” she said into her pillow. “It was just a dream. Even if I had called the cops, they’d have never believed me. What could I have told them?” And yet, she couldn’t help but think she could have done something to prevent it.
She knew why she had to solve this. Teddy was wrong—it wasn’t about seeking vigilante justice; it was about reclaiming her peace of mind.
SEVEN
Lacey pressed the power button to her Mac laptop with a buffed fingernail, watching in anticipation as the screen flared to life. Her hair back in a low ponytail, strands of fly-away hairs shrouded her tired face. The morning shift had been hectic, to say the least, and it wasn’t even over. The fact that Lacey didn’t get good sleep last night wasn’t helping. She had so much on her mind.
Quickly opening an Internet browser, she typed in the search field: “breaking news Jessica Simcox.” A few results popped up.
“Hey,” a crabby female voice intruded. It was Mrs. Jones, her boss. The woman, whose brown hair bulged like a Chia pet's against her hairnet, glared down at Lacey. “You know the rules. Take your apron off during break.”
Immediately, Lacey fingered the knot at her back, pulling it loose. “Yes, sorry about that.” She folded it neatly, setting it atop her tiny table for two.
“Seven more minutes. Quit milking our wi-fi. That’s for customers. And wash your face before you return to work. You have something… right there.” Mrs. Jones slid a finger over a saggy jowl in emphasis, then stalked off to the front counter.
Lacey touched her cheek, leaving a white residue on her finger. Dried whipped cream. Lovely. It must have been from the last order, where the frat boy wanted so much whipped cream it was beginning to resemble a melting snowman. “Wonderful...” She rubbed face hard with a scratchy napkin.
Quickly scrolling through her results proved there wasn’t any actual new news. She huffed, before her eyes fixed on a different result. An online portfolio for Jessica’s modeling. She clicked the link, and was met with a variety of composite pictures of the young woman posing. Lacey clicked on a bikini picture, Jessica’s blond hair feathering in a light wind, seaside. Even she had to admit, the girl was gorgeous. Eyes hungry for more information, Lacey quickly found a “Booking” link. She clicked it. A page with contact info to Trend Modeling Agency popped up, with the words beneath saying, “This model is currently unavailable.”
“I’ll say…” Lacey muttered under her breath. Looking back up at the agency’s address, she realized it was near B & B. The feelings of utter failure at her recently bombed interview crept up the back of her neck.
Never before had she so roundly murdered a job interview. The most disturbing part was the feeling that she hadn’t actually been in control of herself when answering the last question. She never would have given such a bimbo answer like that, and yet, she had.
Reflecting on the strange sensation of darkness she had felt during those final moments of the interview, she frowned and glanced through her booth’s window toward the sky. “Victor? Is there something you forgot to tell me before you left? I’m not possessed or anything, am I?” Of course, there was no response, but she took some comfort in the fact that his essence had survived death. It was nice to think he was still watching over her. She giggled at an unexpected thought that Victor, now dead, may be the Patron Saint of Lucky Charms and Godzilla toys. Then, an unexpected sense of emptiness settled upon her, and she felt the faint beginning of tears.
“Dang it, Victor, I wasn’t supposed to miss you. Don’t go making me fall apart like this. I’ve got too much to do right now, and if you’re not going to help, then stop embarrassing me.” Lacey wiped a small tear that had broken loose. Self-conscious, she set her jaw, willing her eyes dry.
That crabby voice broke into her thoughts again, this time from a distance. “Seven minutes are up, girlie! Back to work.”
*
Lacey’s shift hadn’t ended soon enough; in fact, when Lacey’s replacement failed to show early, Mrs. Jones had insisted on Lacey staying to provide coverage until the guy arrived, at which point the older woman had fired the guy, meaning there was a gap in the schedule for an additional hour. Lacey cursed the fact that she needed overtime pay so badly, but she stayed anyway.
Yes. It was well past time that Lacey get a new job. And she had just the idea.
As soon as she clocked out and stashed her apron, she’d made her way to the address she’d found for Jessica’s agency, though she doubted they’d be open this late. Parking had been only a mild a nightmare, but she’d been fortunate enough to find something pierside, right across from B and B’s—as if today hadn’t brought enough painful reminders of her failure. Worse, she wasn’t all that far from where she’d met Teddy. She wondered whether he might be somewhere nearby.
Watching me, maybe? She shook her head clear of the thought.
Evening was already upon the city, and the air was bitterly cold and unusually foul smelling.Lacey attributed it to the rush of cars passing overhead, but knew that it was as much psychological as anything. She walked quickly away from her car, but almost immediately sensed a presence behind her. Without stopping to look, she picked up her pace as she hurried toward Alaska Way. The traffic light changed just before she could cross, forcing her to stop. The dark presence that had assaulted her during her interview was still there, and she tensed, praying the light would change soon. As she lingered, a cold recognition descended on her. Whatever had caused her to botch her final interview question felt exactly like what she’d felt looking at the homeless man; or, perhaps more accurately, what she’d felt the instant before Teddy had grabbed her. A chill coursed down her spine.
Glancing behind her, she saw nothing unusual, and when the light changed, she hurried across the street, eyes scanning the area, and into the building that was supposed to house Jessica’s one-time employer. Again, nothing unusual.
The lobby was blessedly bright and warm, and decorated for the Christmas season, as expected. Lacey’s heels clacked against stylish tile flooring as she made her way toward a chic reception desk occupied by a gorgeous brunette in a smart pantsuit. Lacey had, of course, done her makeup again during the drive, and had even handled most of the flyaways. She may be temporarily poor, but she couldn’t afford to look it, especially not now.
“Seriously, Victor,” she murmured to the air, “if you can pull some of those heavenly strings I’m sure you’ve got…”
Her stomach rumbled, and she wished she’d stopped at the chowder house on the pier. It was too late for that. She had already made up her
mind. She stopped at the desk and smiled politely at the receptionist, who returned the smile.
“May I help you?” the brunette asked. She seemed tired, and was clearly not thrilled to be there. Lacey recognized her own employment frustration reflected in the woman’s face. She had to give the lady credit for still putting on a professional façade.
“Trend Modeling Agency,” Lacey said simply.
The woman nodded, and without missing a beat, said, “Suite two-oh-two.” Lacey already knew this, of course, but thanked the other woman graciously, and made her way to the elevators.
Darkness closed around her mind again, bringing with it serious doubts. “Why am I here?” she asked herself. What had she been thinking, deciding to go into modeling? She could get information about Jessica as an outsider. And the other missing girls weren’t even confirmed as models; even if they were, what were the odds they’d come from the exact same agency as Jessica? Further, she had no desire to sell herself for money. Who cared how she looked? Then again, she couldn’t stand to work for Mrs. Jones another minute. But modeling? She’d almost rather go into telemarketing.
An elevator opened in front of her, the small whoosh of air playing with her hair. A pair of stunningly handsome men in designer business suits exited, a shorter ginger and a tall, lean man with a chiseled face and dark hair in perfect waves. Lacey turned quickly away, pretending to be preoccupied with her phone to avoid making eye contact.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” the shorter one said.
The dark-haired man smiled and waved. “Yes, tomorrow. And I know you’ll bring me news about the replacements. Turnover is one thing, but what happened to Jessica…”
Lacey perked up. Jessica?
Lacey saw the man shudder. “Murder. That’s just beyond the pale. I’m going to miss her.” He shook his head sadly.
The redheaded man frowned. “Me too. Don’t worry. We’ll get someone.”
“Thanks, Jenners,” the taller man replied. “I’m going to grab a late bite. You have a good evening.”
“Likewise.”
And with that, the taller man was off.
Gamble on a walk-in job interview, Lacey asked herself, or follow a probable lead for resolving Jessica’s murder? I guess this one’s a no-brainer.
Lacey only hoped she could afford dinner at wherever the guy was going.
EIGHT
“Table for one?” the hostess asked her as Lacey hurried through the doors of the vintage hotel and into the ground floor restaurant, arms still wrapped tightly around herself for warmth. She nodded, and was escorted to a table near the back of the restaurant. She tried to look casual as she scanned the room, hoping to find the dark-haired man; she’d forced herself to wait five minutes before following him through the door.
The place was nice—she’d actually been here several times before. On summer days, back when she’d been rich, she’d eat out on the patio. Tonight, however, was better done indoors. The main dining area, with its warm, wooden accents, ample booths, and elegant decor, was surprisingly empty, even for a Tuesday night.
Thankfully, when her hostess finally seated her, Lacey blushed as her eyes found the man from the agency, and she realized that she could see him easily from where she sat. So easily, in fact, she found her eyes briefly roving his face again while she tried not to get lost in those stunning eyes.
He had a phone pressed to his ear and wore an expression of mild agitation. “Look, Geo,” he said into his phone, “a deadline is a deadline. We set them for reasons.” He paused. “I know there’s a personnel shortage. I haven’t been happy about it myself.” Pause. “Look, don’t worry. We’ll take care of it. We’ll have the project wrapped up by the end of next week, and have the ad running just ahead of Christmas week. Just like we promised the client. The girls will look fabulous, I promise.”
The rest of the conversation was clipped as he finalized whatever details he was discussing. When it ended, he sighed again—it was a strangely beautiful sound—and laid his phone gently on the table before rubbing his forehead. By chance, he glanced in Lacey’s direction, startling her. When they locked eyes, a jolt of electricity coursed through her; she immediately hid her face behind her menu.
When the waitress arrived, Lacey languidly ordered a sweet potato gnocchi and some risotto, and agreed to the waitress’ suggestion for a wine to complement her meal, and forced herself not to think about just how hard this would hit her bank account. She found she was more than a little reluctant to give up her menu, for all she could hide behind it, since the guy was still clearly in her line of sight. But she was a big girl and knew better than to let a handsome face get the better of her.
As the waitress walked away, Lacey felt an unexpected gust of chilly air. She looked up just in time to see the man walk out onto the patio, where he propped himself up against the low railing and looked up into the evening sky. Lacey doubted he’d see much of it, between the buildings of downtown Seattle and the night lights, but there was something serenely soothing about the mere gesture he was making to the universe.
Am I really doing this? she asked herself. But why not? Oh, right. Her grandmother. Nainai, whose health had been a rollercoaster for the last several months. Nainai, who had trouble feeding, clothing and bathing herself. Nainai, who would be all alone for hours on end, trapped in that… place… Lacey had been forced to stoop to renting for lack of better income. Nainai, for whom she had nothing to give for Christmas.
Nainai, for whom Lacey had given up a glorious afterlife.
Maybe she could go back to Bowler and Bowen and explain that she hadn’t been herself during the interview; maybe find some way to salvage the last-second trainwreck she’d caused. She bit her lip. When had life become so complicated as to blunt the decisiveness she prided herself on?
Just give me a sign, here. What am I supposed to do? Teddy’s compliment entered her mind: “You wouldn’t be half bad as a model.”
Dinner came, and dinner went, and while the food was excellent, as always, concerns over how much she was spending on the meal, and the blandness of her new life, spilled over into her enjoyment; she found herself unable to finish. She signaled the waitress and asked for a take-out box and a check. Waiting for the girl to return, she found herself unable to avoid glancing toward the table with the dark-haired man. He’d long since returned from his foray onto the patio and, from the looks of it, he was nearly done with his meal; unlike Lacey, he seemed to be enjoying—no, savoring—it. She was disappointed when he didn’t look over at her, but she was awed by his easy manner and placid appearance, especially after what had seemed an agitating phone call.
“Your take-out box, miss,” the waitress said. Lacey pulled out her credit card, but as she made to hand it to the waitress, the girl shook her head and smiled. “The gentleman at table six has already paid your ticket.”
Lacey gasped, whipping up to look at him again, but his table was empty. Searching quickly, she saw his back as he made his way out the door and into the December evening. When she turned back to the waitress, she saw a knowing smile and a twinkle in the girl’s eye. “Not that it’s my place to say,” the waitress added in a conspiratorial whisper, “but his ring finger was bare.”
Lacey managed to neither blush nor gasp, but felt a strange combination of thrill at the news, and violation that a random stranger would be trying to hook her up with another random stranger. Instead, she smiled politely and left a generous tip; after all, she knew firsthand just how much a good tip meant.
Lacey hurried off to catch the man. She knew it’d look desperate, but how else would she get the chance to say “thank you” in as busy a city as Seattle? She couldn’t pretend his magnetism had nothing to do with her need to offer the gesture, personally, and the last thing she wanted to do was put up a listing under Missed Connections in Craigslist.
So she pushed through the lobby door, jogging down the sidewalk in her heels. “Hey, sir! Wait!”
He was jus
t rounding a corner of the building, and disappeared out of sight.
“Shoot!” she muttered, slowing her pace.
The man suddenly re-appeared with a curious expression. He smiled, making eye contact. “Me?” he said.
Of course you! Lacey thought. Smoothing her windblown hair from the chase, she smiled back. “Yes, hi.”
They approached each other. This was the most pure animal attraction that she’d felt for a man in a long time, since the night she'd met Victor. Their eyes locked for a long moment, not uttering a word, until she finally did. “Thank you.”
*
The Pool made Ultra 4K HD look like television from the 1930s. Looking into the normally invisibly clear liquid, Victor found that not only could he see Lacey, but he could change his viewpoint at will, and could see and hear everything as though he were there. Further, he found he was still fully connected to Lacey’s thoughts and feelings, just as he had been on Earth.
Watching her walk away from “Tall, Dark, and Handsome,” his heart both ached and rejoiced at the way her emotions fluttered after the encounter. Yet there was something pervasively wrong about the whole thing, and he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“I thought you said I wouldn’t get to see Lacey in The Pool,” he said to Rao, not looking at her.
“No,” she answered mildly, “I said you couldn’t bribe an Archangel to give you a peep show.”
“You have such a dirty mind for an angel,” Victor retorted.
“Semantics,” the cat said, waving it away. “You know what I meant. At any rate, can you see why Lacey is in trouble?”
Victor pursed his lips. “Of course. She’s falling for a guy who’s all looks and no substance.”
Rao politely smacked him upside the head. “Enough with the jealousy. You know you’re happy she’s moving on, even if it’s not with you.”