Glossed and Found

by Ink, India

  He gave me a long look, and at that moment I could see what Barb saw in him. He was her protector, her guardian, her lover, and her companion. His eyes said it all. Dorian gave me a gentle nod.

  “I know,” he said. “I promise, I won’t be such a stupid man ever in the future. Mama will stay at a hotel the rest of her visit. My wife will never be driven out of her home again.”

  I realized then that he understood how he truly could have lost Barb. Not just by her walking out on him, but during the standoff with Elliot. Elliot could have gone nuts and shot us all. He could have hurt Barbara or killed her, and then Dorian would never have forgiven himself.

  Dorian’s gaze told me all these things. I had the feeling that whatever problems lay ahead of the couple, they would work them out in a way that didn’t require one person to stomp out of the house in order to make a point.

  I started to tell him he was doing the right thing when the lights went out, and I slid into unconsciousness.

  When I woke, a rare glimpse of winter sun was glinting through the windows. Auntie was sitting by my side, watching me. I started to push myself up, but an ache a mile wide hit me in the shoulder, and I groaned, leaning back.

  “Oh God, just don’t ask me to stand up,” I said. I’d no more spoken when I realized I had to go to the bathroom. “Well, hell. Auntie, can you help me up?”

  “Of course, Imp.” She helped me to my feet, and I shuffled into the bathroom and awkwardly fumbled my way through a bare basic routine. Toilet, brush teeth, wash face, stare at bloodshot eyes . . . yep . . . bare minimum. She tapped at the door, and I let her in.

  “I need to change your bandage. They showed me how at the hospital. Sit down.” As she prepared a strip of clean gauze and antibiotic spray, I eased my nightgown down over my shoulders. I didn’t remember changing into it, so Auntie and Barb must have done it for me. My shoulder was stiff and hurt like hell, but not quite so much as I thought it might.

  “I sure banged up my arm, didn’t I?” I said, gingerly testing my range of movement.

  Apparently Auntie thought I was trying to exercise it, because she scolded me. “Persia, you stop that! The doctor said you’re to rest, and rest is what you’re going to do. I don’t want you ending up on the operating table. By the way,” she added as she peeled away the bandage covering the abrasion on my shoulder, “there was a phone call for you this morning.”

  The tape holding the bandage on took a layer of skin with it when she pulled it off and I resisted the urge to yelp. “Who was it? And what time is it?”

  “Candy Harrison. She said you left her a message. I told her you’d call back when you woke up,” Auntie said and gently sprayed the bruised scrape with the antibiotic. The chill mist both hurt and soothed the stinging wound, and I wasn’t sure whether to let out a sigh or an ouch. The abrasion hurt, but the bruising hurt worse. She fitted the new bandage over the top and taped it down. “It’s nearly lunchtime. You slept deep.”

  “I wish I’d been awake to take her call.” I cautiously stretched my neck. Damn, and I’d thought the fall from my exercise ball had left me stiff. This was ten times worse. “I ache. I can’t sit still, or this is going to get worse before it gets better. I need a walk or something.”

  “After breakfast,” Auntie said. “You need to take a hot bath first, and then you need to eat.” She paused, then added, “Kyle called. There’s still no sign of Lisa, so they’re notifying the papers and putting flyers up. And he told me that Elliot’s due in court this afternoon for the judge to set bail. Do you think he’ll be able to pay it again?”

  I shook my head. “Doubt it. This was a lot more serious. But he had been able to before, so I tempered my prediction. “At least I hope not.”

  While I eased myself into the bathtub in the downstairs bath, trying to keep my bandage from getting wet, Auntie went up to my room to get me some clothes. I stretched back in the tub, wondering if my talk with Candy would reveal anything helpful. I scrubbed myself with a bath puff and some rose-scented bath gel as my mind fluttered from thoughts of Lisa to thoughts of Elliot. How did I manage to get involved with so many troubled people? For once, I thought with a loud sigh, why couldn’t things just run like clockwork?

  As I steadied myself and stepped out of the tub, Auntie came in carrying a chocolate brown broomstick skirt and a loose red peasant top that I usually wore in the summer. It wouldn’t constrict my movement or bind my shoulder, and if the abrasion oozed a little blood, it wouldn’t show against the crimson color. My bra was more problematic, but there was no way I could go without one. My breasts were too big to be comfortable without support, and I had no desire to incur any more havoc than gravity had already wreaked on my boobs.

  But Auntie brought me my front-hook sports bra, so I could easily slide it on like a blouse. Finally, I stepped into my skirt and pulled it up over my hips.

  “This sucks. I don’t have time to be incapacitated,” I complained.

  “Give yourself time to heal, or you’ll be laid up longer than a month. Just take it easy and let people help you, Persia.” Auntie hit on my sore spot, and she knew it.

  “I don’t like being vulnerable. Look at what it got me!” I followed her into the kitchen, where she opened the refrigerator and brought out the yogurt to go with the granola.

  “Don’t be so hasty, Imp. You’ll heal, but you have to let your body pace itself. You’re in good shape, so the healing process should be quicker for you than for some people. Just give it time, and don’t rush it. Now, eat your breakfast.” She poured my cereal and took the top off my yogurt.

  “Auntie,” I said after a few bites, “last night I thought Elliot was going to kill me. He had a look in his eye I’ve never seen before. He’s gone around the bend.” I paused, trying to find the right words. “I thought about what you said—about me buying a gun. Even if I’d had one, it wouldn’t have done me any good. I couldn’t have gotten to it soon enough. I can’t wear it twenty-four/seven—that would be ridiculous. And if I did own one . . . I might have killed him. I was so angry and so frightened.”

  She nodded. “You know yourself best, Imp, and I respect your decision. You know,” she added, “when Keola was murdered I went through a period where it was hard for me to leave the house. Once I moved back to the main-land, I cloistered myself in the penthouse I rented at a hotel in Seattle and stayed there for months. I ordered everything via delivery. The shock took a toll on me, and it took me a long time to get over it. I don’t want that to happen to you. I know you’ve had a scare, so if there’s anything you need, anybody you want to talk to, just let me know.”

  I pushed my chair back and wandered over to the windows that overlooked the ocean. The light was all silvery as the clouds kissed the water, and it was hard to discern where the water left off and the sky took over. As I stared at the waves that were foaming on the beach, my thoughts ran to Lisa again. Where are you? I thought. Where did you go?

  The phone rang, and Auntie held it out. “Candy Harrison,” she mouthed.

  I took the receiver and said, “Hello? This is Persia.”

  “Persia, I got your message. Did I leave something at Venus Envy when I was there?” Her voice conjured up images of a vacuous bleached blonde. Marilyn Monroe, only a dumb and cheap parody.

  “No, nothing like that. I wondered if you could meet me for coffee or something? I’d like to talk to you about our beautician, Lisa.”

  There was a brief pause, then she said, “Okay. Well, I guess I could fit in a coffee break this afternoon. But I don’t know what I can tell you. I barely know the girl. I just came in for a makeover.”

  We agreed to meet at two PM, and I hung up. Auntie looked at me quizzically. I frowned. “Do you know anything about Candy Harrison? She’s been in at least once for a makeover.”

  Auntie cocked her head. “Her name sounds familiar. Let me think a moment . . .” As she rinsed the dishes and put them into the dishwasher, she stopped and snapped her fingers. “I know! She�
��s Annabel Mason’s private nurse. You know—the woman who chairs the Thanksgiving Gala.”

  “Really?” I glanced at the clock. “I think I’ll give Amy a call. She’s probably a nervous wreck by now.” I had no sooner dialed the number when Amy picked up. She was sobbing.

  “Oh Persia, Kyle just called. Somebody found a body. Kyle’s on his way. He thinks it might be Lisa. Can you come over? I can’t be alone right now, and I have to go identify the body.”

  I stared at the phone. The day wasn’t going to get any better, was it? “I’ll be right there,” I said and hung up. It was then that I remembered I didn’t have a car; mine was in the shop, its windshield shattered.

  “Auntie, I need to go over to Lisa’s right now. Can I take the truck?” Auntie had a small Mazda pickup that she used when she needed to haul something home like a piece of furniture.

  “Bad news?” she asked, pulling the key off the Peg Board. Then she stopped and tossed the keys on the counter. “I just remembered. Trevor told me the truck needs brake work; it’s too dangerous to drive.”

  I slumped. “Maybe bad news. And damn it, I didn’t know the truck was out of commission.”

  She gathered her purse and jacket. “Get your things. I’ll drive you over, then I’ll go rent a car for you to use while yours is being worked on.”

  We headed out to Baby, Auntie making sure the doors were locked. Trevor came running up to the car as we were getting in. He leaned down to poke his head through my window.

  “I just heard what happened. Persia, are you okay?”

  I’d never seen Trevor look quite so worried. He was our main gardener and kept the gardens and acreage going. Lately, he’d been nursing hundreds of new rosebushes. We’d had to lay out almost twenty thousand dollars—or rather, Auntie had laid it out—to replace the entire rose garden we lost thanks to Bebe’s sabotage. Trev was determined to make sure they were healthy and blooming by next year, even if we wouldn’t have enough petals to gather for making the rose water that was so popular at Venus Envy. Trevor figured it would take two years before our new roses were up and running enough for us to make use of them.

  “Well, I’ve been better,” I said, wincing as I slid into my seat.

  He shook his head. “That bites. If you need anything, let me know.”

  I gave him a little wave, and we took off. As we wound around the bend, I pulled out my cell phone and made a quick call to Kyle.

  “I heard about the body. I’m on my way to Amy’s now. She asked me to come over. Kyle, make damn sure that it’s her. Don’t assume, because I’m sure you’re wrong.”

  “Persia, I have no idea if it’s her. I’ve met Lisa a few times, but people look different when they’re dead. And I didn’t know the girl all that well. We can’t match this woman’s fingerprints to any records, and according to Amy, Lisa’s never been arrested. If it’s not her, then we’ll start the long process of putting drawings in the newspaper and on TV. But it’s better that we eliminate—or confirm—whether we have Lisa in that morgue before we go to all that trouble. And to do that, Amy has to come in to see if she can identify the body. If it’s not Lisa, then she can rest a little easier. I’ll pick her—both of you—up in about a half hour. How are you, by the way?”

  “Okay,” I said, hesitating. “Actually, pretty sore. My shoulder really got bludgeoned. By the way . . . speaking of psychos, I wanted to make sure Elliot’s still in jail.” I tried to sound lighthearted. “You haven’t let him out, have you?”

  Kyle’s voice was soft when he said, “He’s safely locked up. Persia, he goes in for a bail hearing today. The prosecuting attorney is recommending he not be remanded on bail. The DA is asking for five thousand dollars, but I guarantee he’ll never get out that easy.”

  “When will he be in court?” I asked. “I want to be there.”

  “Not a good idea. I tell you what, I’ll go down to the court this afternoon and call you the minute the judge sets bail. Will you let me do this for you?”

  I paused. I had to meet Candy anyway. And the truth was, I really didn’t want to see Elliot. Strike that. I wanted to see him tied to a pole, covered in honey, and skewered on an anthill.

  “Thanks, Kyle. I appreciate it,” I said. Maybe Auntie was right. Maybe I had to let people help me out once in awhile, instead of always being the one with the answers. I wasn’t sure I liked it. The thought of accepting help scared me, and if I was honest, it hurt my ego. But then again, weren’t growing pains supposed to hurt a little bit?

  Auntie glanced at me as she turned onto Driftwood Lane. “You did a good thing, Persia. Sometimes, you have to let go.” She pulled up in front of Amy and Lisa’s house. “Here we are. I’d stay, but I’d better get you a rental car. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  As I walked toward the door, I wondered just what the hell I was going to say to Amy. She opened the door, her face puffy and covered with tears, and I realized that more than anything she just needed a friend to sit with her. To be there and not to try to fix anything. I held out my good arm and, wrapping it around her shoulders, we turned and walked into the living room.

  Chapter Ten

  Amy’s face was stained with tears and mascara drips, and she looked so fragile that I wanted to pull her into my arms and hold her safe, but my shoulder hurt too much for that, so I just gave her a squeeze as we walked into the kitchen.

  “Kyle isn’t sure it’s her. He hasn’t seen . . . her, so don’t assume. Just wait until we know for certain.” We sat down at the table where I pushed aside a box half full of tissues, a cup of cold coffee, and a half-eaten doughnut. “Is this all you’ve had to eat this morning?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I can’t eat. Not now. What if it’s her? What if we were wrong, and she did drown?”

  Then we were both off base, I thought, but I didn’t say anything. I pushed myself up from the table and cleared away her coffee cup and leftover pastry and put the kettle on for tea. There was a box of orange spice tea on the counter, and I poked around in the cupboards until I found two mugs and dropped tea bags into them, filling them with the steaming water. As the scent of orange peel and cinnamon filled the air, I opened her refrigerator and found a cup of yogurt and sat it in front of her with a spoon.

  “This will be easy on your stomach. You need some protein. Try to eat a few spoonfuls, would you?”

  She fretted but took the cover off and, glancing at me with a puzzled look, slowly began to eat. “What happened to you, Persia? You’re hurt.”

  “Yeah, I got winged by a bullet last night. Apparently my ex-boyfriend decided making my life miserable just wasn’t payback enough for the fact that I dumped him when he got busted and sent to prison for awhile. He showed up at the house with a revolver and a grudge.”

  I gingerly pulled the shoulder of my shirt down just enough to show her the bruise and bandage. She gasped.

  “He’s in jail, and I’m incapacitated. Auntie’s off to the rental place to rent me a car, because Elliot also smashed up my windshield, as well as one of the shopwindows yesterday. I guess being hauled in by Kyle for vandalism pissed him off because that was when he brainstormed this little charade.”

  “I’m so sorry I bothered you,” Amy said, paling even further. “I didn’t know, or I wouldn’t have asked you to come over—”

  “Nonsense,” I said, giving her a slow smile. “Your sister is my friend, and I care about what happens to her. And I honestly believe she’s still alive somewhere. But on the off chance we’re wrong about that, I want to be here for support.”

  Amy managed a small smile as she stood to answer a knock at the door. It was Kyle, come to take us to the morgue. I followed him as he wrapped his arm around Amy and led her out to the squad car. We both clambered in the back. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since I’d been sitting in the back of this same car, cuffed for breaking Elliot’s nose. So much had gone on since then.

  We rode in silence as Kyle sedately drove through the streets and
pulled into the hospital parking garage. We took the elevator to the lower level, Amy, clutching her bag white-knuckled, had a look of pure terror on her face. I scooted next to her and put my arm around her shoulder and squeezed. She gave me a grateful look, and we silently stepped out of the elevator car and followed Kyle down the hall.

  The doors to the morgue were gray metal, leading into a large room that was chill to the point of cold. A row of what looked like small, square lockers was built into one wall. No doubt to hold bodies, I thought. The room was lined with counters and cupboards, sterile white with an off tinge of blue. Blue was supposed to be peaceful, but here it just made the room seem a lot colder.

  Covering the counter space were jars filled with strange-looking objects—I didn’t want to know what—and sparkling clean surgical instruments lined up on a tray and files and charts. The air in the morgue felt muffled, like being inside during a heavy snowstorm—set apart from the rest of the world and immune to the noise and bustle going on outside of the doors.