by Myers, Tim
“Diana, don’t make this harder on me than it has to be. You know exactly what I mean.”
She sighed, then said, “Of course I do. I just thought that you’d believe in me without any explanation necessary.”
“I never doubted you,” I said firmly.
“That wasn’t how it sounded to me.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“Good, I’m glad we got that cleared up. Good night.”
And then she hung up on me again, this time before I could wish her a good night myself. I knew she had reason enough to be sensitive, but I wasn’t about to apologize for something I didn’t do. I turned off the ringer and set the answering machine volume to zero. I needed some rest, and the way my night was going, I wasn’t going to get any if I didn’t take steps to protect my space. Anybody who really needed me knew where I lived. Let them bang on my front door if it’s an emergency, but otherwise, I wanted the world to leave me alone, at least for tonight.
THε next morning, I checked my answering machine after I dragged myself out of bed. There were no messages, and I wasn’t sure if I should feel good about that or not. Maybe I wasn’t all that important after all. Before I forgot, I turned the ringer back on just as it jumped to life.
It was my sister Louisa.
“Can you talk?” she asked.
“Of course I can. What makes you ask that?”
“I tried calling you earlier, and you didn’t pick up. When I heard your answering machine kick in, I thought you might have an overnight guest.”
“No, I’ve been here by myself all night. What’s up?”
“You need to come in to the shop early this morning,” she said. “The rest of us are already here.”
“What on earth is going on now?”
“Nobody died or anything,” Louisa said with her normal bluntness. “Kate’s going to demonstrate how to make lip balm and hand lotion to all of us.”
“I could probably live with missing that,” I said.
“Could you survive being AWOL at a family meeting?” she asked. “Mom called this gathering, not Kate. For some reason, she’s really pushing this expansion. If I didn’t know better, I’d say our dear sweet mother was behind it herself.”
“Why would she do that?” I asked. Family was family, but business was business. Mom tried her best never to let her personal feelings affect the decisions she made, but I knew how impossible that was for her sometimes.
“I can’t say,” Louisa said, an odd choice of words for my sister. Her voice had suddenly become guarded.
“Because you don’t know, or you’re not allowed to tell?”
She hesitated far longer than she should have. “It’s the second one.”
“Louisa, are you holding out on me? What’s going on?”
“Just come and see for yourself,” she said.
“Is Mom standing right there?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
That explained the sudden change in her demeanor. “Okay, that’s fair enough. I’ll be there soon, and we’ll talk about it then.”
She paused, then said, “No, I don’t think so. It doesn’t look like rain at all. Bye.”
Louisa certainly knew how to get my curiosity stoked. What was the secret she knew, and more importantly, why hadn’t anyone else told me? I hadn’t had any luck getting her to tell me over the telephone, but if I could pressure her in person, she might just crack, especially since it was pretty obvious to me that she was dying to tell me anyway. I took a shower and dressed in record time, and less than half an hour later I was walking into Where There’s Soap.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said as I saw my family gathered around Kate in the classroom. “I didn’t get the memo in time.”
“If you’d answer your telephone, Benjamin, you might know what’s going on with your family. What’s wrong with that answering machine of yours? I tried to leave a message, but it never came on.”
“I must have hit the off button instead of the volume control,” I admitted. “Sorry about that.”
“Just take a seat,” she said. “We don’t have a great deal of time.”
Kate said, “Mom, this can wait. There’s nothing urgent about getting started now that I’ve got the approval.”
“Kate, that’s exactly the wrong approach here,” Mom said. “I want to get going with this new line now that we’ve all agreed, and we can’t sell something we don’t know how to make. We are your students, and class is in session. Benjamin, take a seat.”
I took a stool beside Louisa. “What’s going on? Why the big push here?”
She wanted to answer, I could see it in her eyes, but then Mom said, “We don’t have much time, so let’s dispense with the chatting, shall we?” She stared right at me as she said it, and I finally nodded, as much to get her focus off me as anything else.
Kate had supplies laid out up front at the teaching table. “To start with, we’re going to use kits to make the process easier to grasp. Jeff, would you hand these out?”
My youngest brother retrieved four kits and passed them out. As he did, Kate said, “We’ll be working in teams, since these things aren’t cheap.”
Louisa and I were partnered, and I started tearing the cellophane off our kit.
“Don’t wait for me. Go ahead and open them,” Kate said, grinning at me.
“Sorry I jumped the gun,” I said as I started spreading the contents out on the worktable. I was more used to being in the front of the classroom instead of at one of the students’ tables, but it was good to take a class every now and then, not just to learn something new, but to see the room from a different perspective.
The kit had labeled containers of dyes, fragrances, lotion bases, and beeswax beads. There were also several different kinds of receptacles to hold the products we were making, along with fancy blank labels, and a few odd-looking eyedroppers thrown in as well.
“As you can see,” Kate said, “many of the things we already use for soapmaking are in the kit. That’s why I think this is a perfect match.” She studied her notes a second, then said, “We’re going to start with lotion, since it’s the easiest to do. I don’t want to rush you boys too fast.”
Bob said, “Stick to teaching and leave the editorials to someone else.”
“Mom,” Kate said, “you told them to cooperate.”
She shot Bob a quick look, then said to Kate, “He’s right. Go on, and try to do it without the sidebars.”
Kate didn’t look the least bit chastised by the comment. She addressed us, saying, “After you put the dispensing cap on the big bottle of shea butter, squeeze enough into one of the lotion bottles until it’s halfway full.”
Jeff asked, “Which bottle is for the lotion?”
Cindy, his partner and our youngest sibling, shook an odd-sized container in front of him. “This is what you want.” She held up a small tube and said, “This is for lip balm, and so is this,” she added as she held up a small transparent plastic canister.
“Come on, get with the program,” I said to Jeff, though in all honesty, I hadn’t been 100 percent positive myself.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m not in touch with my feminine side like you are.”
I started to retort, but a swift slap on the top of the head brought Jeff back in line more than anything I could say. Hitting wasn’t allowed in our family, unless the blow came from Mom.
Kate went on. “Go ahead, everybody fill up a lotion container, but remember, just do it half full.”
We did as we were told. At least most of us did. As simple as it was, Bob was having trouble. “Hey, the lid won’t fit.”
Mom, who was Bob’s partner by default, took the small lid from him and gave him the capped one. Then she said, “This one was from the bottle, remember?”
I started to laugh, tried to kill it, and ended up choking. “Ben, are you all right?” Louisa asked.
“I’m fine,” I said, getting it back under control again. I was beginning to rea
lize our family’s division of labor was sound and well thought out. When it came to big equipment, my brothers were masters, but if something needed to be done on an individual basis, many times they were lost. I felt fortunate to be able to float between production and our customers, never mastering either one entirely, but being able to function nonetheless.
Kate held up a small bottle and said, “Now add dye to your container. We’ve got seafoam green and luscious lavender, so take your pick. Remember, it’s potent, so a few drops are probably all you need.”
I chose the green, added a few drops, then snuck a few more in.
Kate continued. “Put the lid back on, then shake it up. After you have it mixed, put in more lotion until there’s just a little room at the top. Shake it up again, and it’s ready to use.”
“That’s it?” Louisa asked, clearly disappointed.
“That’s the basic process, but here’s something cool you can do.” She approached our table with a clean bottle of her own. While I’d chosen green, Louisa had gone with the lavender. Kate squeezed half of my bottle into hers, then topped it off with Louisa’s. It was a neat trick, since the colors stayed separate. “There’s lots you can do, but that will have to wait. Now let’s move on to lip balms.”
“Hey, I want to do a layered one, too,” Jeff said.
“Now who’s got the feminine side,” I said.
“It’s for Molly,” he added, then ducked Mom’s strike from behind. “That’s not fair. I’m trying to learn how to do this.”
Mom relented. “Surely we have a moment to spare,” she said to Kate.
“Absolutely. Go ahead, we’ve got plenty of empty bottles. Just remember, after you use half, add more dye, then top it off again with shea butter.”
Once we had our mixes, Kate said, “Now, let’s move on. Take your beeswax beads and put them in the microwavable glass bowls I handed out. Add the sunflower oil, then nuke the contents at high power for thirty seconds. Stir your mixture and keep going until the wax is melted. It should take about two minutes.”
“Why not go for two minutes straight then?” I asked.
“Stirring helps it all get incorporated,” Kate said. After we did as we were told, we pulled our bowls out. “Now add color and flavor if you’d like it. We’re not going to split these like we did the lotion, but you can mix and layer lip balms, too. Be careful, the mixture’s hot. When you’ve got what you want, pipe it into the tubes or canisters and let them cool. Oh, one thing. Give the tubes a few minutes, then add another few drops to make up for air bubbles and settling.”
We all worked together, chatting as we went. The mix was hot; I could attest to that when some accidentally sloshed out on me. After two minutes, Louisa tried to pipe more balm into the top of her tube. “It’s already set up.”
Kate nodded. “Just microwave it for another thirty seconds, then you’ll be ready to go again. Your pipette is going to be full, too, so just squeeze it out like you would a tube of toothpaste, and you’re ready to go again.”
I hadn’t been all that excited to learn how to make lip balm and hand lotion, and I hadn’t been afraid to admit it, but the results had turned out pretty cool, and if Diana was still speaking to me, I’d have a few thoughtful little gifts to help smooth things over between us.
I was feeling pretty good about my creations when my cell phone rang.
“Are we finished, Kate?” I asked.
“We are. Thank you all.”
I let the phone ring, then started applauding. My family soon followed, and our clapping filled the classroom. Sometime in the applause, the ringing had stopped.
Kate took it all in, then Mom said, “It’s time to open. Ben, after you take that call, help your sister clean up.”
“Which sister?” Louisa asked.
“I think Kate should do it, since it was her class,” Cindy added.
Mom was about to rule when Kate said, “I don’t mind, really. It was fun.”
“You’ve been reprieved,” Mom said to Louisa and Cindy. That’s when I noticed that my brothers were already gone. It appeared that they’d made their escape as soon as I’d drawn the assignment to help. I’d find a way to get them back. After all, what were big brothers for?
Kate and Mom started to clean up, and I checked my phone to see who had called. It was a number I didn’t recognize, so I dialed it and was surprised when a woman answered.
“I understand you’ve been looking for me,” she said.
It took me a second to realize who it was. “Is this Betsy Blair?”
“How many other women have you been hunting down like dogs? I don’t appreciate the effort, Mr. Perkins.”
I nearly asked her how she’d gotten my number when I realized that one of the hotel clerks I’d left it with must have passed it on to her after denying she was staying there. If I ever had a tryst, I’d do it there. I hadn’t had a clue one of them had lied to me.
“I don’t have all day,” she said. “I’m checking out in one hour, so if you want to talk to me, you’ll have to get out here by then.”
“I would, if I knew where you were staying,” I said.
Her laugh was like a hyena’s bark. “Good point. I’m at the Mountain Lake. Are you familiar with it?”
“I’ve been there a time or two,” I said, trying to decide if I was going to tell Molly about my rendezvous.
“I’ll just bet you have,” she said, then added another wicked laugh. “I’m in room thirteen. There’s just one thing, though. No cops, do you understand me? I’ll talk to you, but if anyone else shows up, I’m going to get a case of amnesia that will make your head fall off. Understand?”
I could always catch Molly up later if I learned anything. “I understand. I’ll be right there.”
I made my excuses, then tore out of the soap shop toward the motel. Maybe I was finally going to get some answers.
SEVEN
THε door to room thirteen was standing wide open, and for a second I thought Betsy had left without waiting for me. Then I had an eerie premonition as I stepped inside. For the oddest reason, the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention, and I had an overwhelming feeling in my gut that she was dead.
“You must be Ben Perkins,” an overweight woman with brassy highlights said as she came out of the bathroom. So much for my second sight.
She had a makeup bag in her hands, but I was surprised there was any left after seeing the heavy application on her face. She must have bought it by the barrel, the way she’d so lavishly applied it.
“I am,” I admitted. “I’m curious about something, Betsy. Why did you agree to see me?”
She put the makeup bag in her suitcase. “You just named it yourself. Curiosity killed more than the cat, didn’t it? I thought to myself, now why in the world would a soapmaker by trade want to talk to me? Are you looking for tips, perhaps?”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m a decent craftsman myself. No, I’m here to talk to you about your lawsuit.”
“How disappointing,” she said. “And I was hoping we could trade some secrets about our profession.”
“Are you a professional soapmaker, too?” I asked.
“I don’t have that pleasure, thanks to Connie Brown. I absolutely refuse to call her the contessa. She stole my book, and my best chance at ever being recognized as a talent in the industry.”
“It sounds like you really hated her,” I said as I leaned against the door frame.
She laughed, then said, “Don’t try your tricks on me, Ben. I won’t be goaded into a confession. Think about it. Why would I want her dead? Now that she’s out of the picture, it will be impossible to prove to the world that her last book—the one that everyone on earth says was her best book—was really mine. No, I’m afraid the hunt for my satisfaction died with her. I’m giving up.”
“There’s still her estate,” I said.
“I won’t sue a dead woman,” Betsy said fiercely, then quickly regained her composure. “I hope you fi
nd the killer. They deprived me of my dream, and I hope they pay for it.”
“I thought your dream was to be published?” I asked. Betsy Blair’s words were rational enough, but there was an undertone in her voice that made me wonder if the woman was quite mad.
“That would have been the icing, but the cake would have been to see the great contessa exposed as the thief she was. And now I’ve been robbed of even that.” She latched her suitcase, then hefted it. “How dreary of you to seek me out just to ask me such mundane questions. It’s too bad you didn’t want any tips from me. In all modesty, I’m very good.”
“I’m sure you are,” I said.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” She dug into her suitcase and came up with a bound manuscript. “Read it and see if I don’t know what I’m talking about. I had this made up for the trial, so feel free to keep it.”
I took it from her, then on a whim, I handed it back to her and asked, “Would you mind signing it for me?” I figured if I stroked her ego a little, maybe I’d get something useful out of her.
She looked startled by the very idea of it, and as she rummaged around in her purse for a pen, I could swear she was blushing. She signed the top page with a flowery scrawl, then handed it back to me. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“Thank you,” I said. “So, what’s next for you?”
“I’m going to write another book. This time, though, I’m not showing it to anyone but a reputable publisher. I did it once. I’m going to prove I can do it again.”
As she started to go, I asked, “By the way, where were you yesterday afternoon?”
Betsy waved a finger in the air toward me. “Don’t be tedious, Ben. Do you really want the last thing you say to me to be a request for an alibi?”
“You can’t blame me for being curious,” I said.
“No,” she said with a smile. “I suppose not.” She shut the door behind us, then put her bag in the back of a banged-up old Saturn. I thought she was going to just drive off, but before she did, she said, “I’m not the one you should be asking for an alibi.”
“Who else did you have in mind?”
“Someone who was about to be fired.”