Glossed and Found

by Ink, India

  “Okay, anything else about them?”

  “Just this—and again, this is common knowledge. Your aunt could probably tell you the same thing. Annabel is in poor health. She has been sickly most of her life. Apparently she hired Candy Harrison to be her private nurse after the Tremont girls’ father died. Her own nurse, one Julia Jones, moved to Seattle to take a job at a luxury spa.”

  So Annabel really did need a nurse to help her out. “What about Candy? What did you find out about her?”

  Winthrop’s voice was thoughtful, almost musing.

  “Miss Harrison is a busy young woman. She’s been around the block a few times. I made a couple of quick calls and found out that she was working at a private nursing home in Olympia. I don’t know why, but she was fired four years ago and has been working in private home health care ever since. Two years ago, she went to work for Tremont when he found out he had cancer and would need help at home. She moved on to Annabel when Tremont died.”

  I frowned. Not exactly what I was expecting, but then again, I hadn’t known what to expect. I didn’t even really know what I was looking for. Just something to give me a handle on a woman whom Lisa seemed to detest.

  “Oh, one other thing,” Winthrop said, “before I go back to my book and brandy.”

  “Yes?” I waited, expectantly.

  “Candy drives a high-end BMW. A little red two-seater job. Not exactly the sort of car a working girl can afford without a little help.”

  A BMW? I thought back to our meeting. “She also wears expensive clothes during her off-hours and a perfume that’s extremely hard to come by.”

  Winthrop let out a little cough. “Interesting, to say the least. Well, that’s all. Tell Florence I send my regards. Let me know what you come up with.” He hung up, and I stared at the silent phone.

  Let him know what I come up with? Hell, I didn’t even know what I was hunting for. I ran everything past Auntie, and we brainstormed what we knew.

  “The thing that strikes me is this: Lisa’s father had money that he supposedly gambled away. Candy has an expensive car, clothing, and perfume. Could she have stolen money from him?”

  Auntie shook her head. “Be cautious with your accusations, Imp. It sounds to me like Tremont might have become fond of her. Those could be . . . gifts, which she’d have every right in the world to accept, even if it didn’t look good to outsiders. Or payment for favors other than her nursing skills. You can’t go around accusing people of stealing just because you don’t know where they got their possessions.”

  I frowned and drained my glass. “You’re right, of course. And Amy seems to think that Candy and her father may have been involved. That would fit with what you just said. And it wouldn’t be the first time somebody played sugar daddy to a tarty young woman in exchange for a little nooky.”

  “No, indeed,” Auntie said. “They don’t call prostitution the world’s oldest profession for nothing. And even if it was a sugar daddy relationship, as you put it, that’s not exactly against the law. People have been using sex to exploit others for years. Look at television,” she added, offering me the bottle. “Look at the magazine you write a column for.”

  I let out a long sigh and refilled my glass. Auntie made valid points—all of them. And even if Candy had somehow squeezed money out of Tremont, that didn’t explain Lisa’s disappearance. I was grasping at straws and couldn’t focus anymore. The day had been too long and too chaotic. I pushed everything to the side and raised my glass.

  “Here’s to all that’s right with the world. To our little family,” I said, patting Hoffman on the head. The rooster let out a sound that I could almost swear was a purr. He’d been hanging around the cats too long. “To having Killian and Kane in our lives. To Venus Envy. And to you, Auntie. I sure do love you.”

  She blushed and lowered her eyes. “Don’t forget yourself, Imp. To you. When I took you in twenty-seven years ago, I had no idea what I was in for, but I knew that you were my niece and that your mother would have wanted it that way. Your father has no idea what a wonderful daughter he’s missed out on. But I’ve appreciated every minute you’ve been in my life. I couldn’t imagine life without you, which is why I worry so much.”

  “I know,” I said softly as she started the DVD. The wind rattled the windows, and somewhere upstairs, I thought I could hear the gentle fall of footsteps. Auntie glanced at me and pointed to the ceiling.

  I raised my glass again. “And let’s not forget, here’s to the Cap’n, who keeps a watch over our hearth and home. Cap’n, if you’d keep a watch out for that scuzzball Elliot, I would most kindly thank you, sir.”

  The footsteps paused, then started up again, lightly crossing the ceiling. They paused by the landing at the top of the stairs, then vanished. I leaned my head back then and laughed. All might not be right with the world, but at least things in our home were as they should be, and we were being watched over. Of that, I felt certain.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning, Auntie hauled my ass out of bed early. I woke to her gently shaking me. “Persia, get up. We have a lot to do today. Come on, breakfast is ready.”

  I squinted at the clock. Seven AM? Ugh.

  “Auntie, isn’t it a little early?” I started to say, but she put her hands on her hips and frowned at me until I struggled out of bed. I blinked as she held out my robe and helped me into it. The smell of breakfast filtered up the stairs, and I was pleasantly surprised to find no turkey in sight on the breakfast table.

  She’d made omelets and bacon, cinnamon toast, and orange juice. As I eagerly dove in to the food, a noise on the deck startled me, and I pulled back the curtains. Trevor gave me a weak wave from where he stood on a ladder. His tool belt was slung low across his hips, and I thought that his girlfriend was a lucky woman. He was sure a cutie. I pulled open the door and peeked out to find him hanging icicle lights around the eaves of the roof. It looked like he’d been at work a good hour or so, by the string of lights already in place.

  I glanced back in the dining room. Auntie was off in the kitchen, pouring coffee. “Run, run for your life before she has you putting up the tree!” I grinned at him, and he laughed.

  “Trust me, the trees are next on my list. I know exactly what the entire day is going to be spent doing. First the lights, then I set up the trees for Miss Florence, then I start decorating the yard. You’d better be prepared, sore arm or not. You’ll be working all day, even if it’s only to address Christmas cards.”

  Auntie had not only one Christmas tree, but three. One for the living room, one on the second floor landing, and this year she insisted on putting one up in my study. I was free to decorate as I wished, as long as I did so. The living room tree was a huge artificial fir, over twelve feet high, and it would be a vision in burgundy, gold, and ivory. The tree that went on the landing was a flocked blue spruce almost nine feet high, and would be decked out in blue, crystal, and silver. She kept the two color schemes in separate rooms to prevent a “Fourth of July” look.

  I snorted, but secretly, I was excited. I’d spent too many holidays with Elliot, ignoring the passage of time. He hated decking out anything except himself, and he’d never celebrated anything that didn’t have to do with some monetary windfall. I might be more of a Buddhist than anything, but Christmas reminded me of my childhood.

  No matter where we were, on December 25 I could always count on finding myself in a holiday-bedecked room, with Auntie and Eva by my side. The score to the Nutcracker would be playing as we ate scones and drank tea for breakfast, and then we’d open our gifts.

  Among other presents, Auntie always gave me a new diary and a new perfume I’d never smelled before. When I was young, they were light scents, suitable for a young girl. As I grew older, they grew more complex. I’d traveled the world, not only with Auntie, but through those perfumes, which smelled like the incenses of India, the flower shops of France, the spice factories of the Middle East. After presents, we dressed and went to the loc
al soup kitchen, where Auntie and Eva and I would serve Christmas dinners to those in need before going home to our own dinner. I’d gotten a firsthand look every year at what it meant to have nothing but the clothes on your back. It had impressed upon me the importance of being grateful for what I had.

  I hadn’t thought of those traditions in years. As I mused my way through the past, it occurred to me that I’d stored my diaries in the attic under the watchful eye of Cap’n Bentley. Were they still there? And what else would they tell me that I’d forgotten over the years?

  “Hey Trev, want breakfast?”

  “I ate at home, but it sure smells good,” he said, climbing off the ladder. I fixed him a plate as Auntie returned to the table.

  “Trevor, good, I wanted to run through a few things with you. Sit down and eat while I talk.” She consulted a notepad. “Let me see, you’ll need to go pick up the wreaths and swags that Persia ordered. I just talked to the tree farm, and they’re ready. Do that before you finish the lights. Oh, and when we put the lights on the tree and mantel, I want you to hook them up to The Clapper system to make it easier to turn them on.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I said, mumbling through my breakfast. “We clap at the Menagerie a lot.”

  “Well, I want to give it a try. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll change it. After you set up the trees, then finish the lights, and we’ll start hanging the swags and garlands. Thank heavens we decorated Venus Envy at the beginning of the month. While you go collect the greenery, I’ll do the dishes and vacuum. Persia, I need you to go shopping for me.”

  “Shopping? On the day after Thanksgiving? Are you nuts?” I gaped at her. “I thought that’s why we stayed home from work and foisted the day off on Tawny and Betsy Sue.”

  She snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is my decorating weekend, so I always take Friday off to get the bulk of it done. Now listen. I want you to buy candy canes for the Victorian tree and two new strings of twinkle lights,” she said, then paused, thinking. “In fact, why don’t we just replace all the lights? They’re getting old, and I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

  “How many strings should I get?” I alternated between writing a list and eating.

  She considered the question, then said, “Get twenty long strings, ten clear and ten multicolored. I can always find a place to put the extra if we have any. I also want two thirty-foot lengths of gold garland. And we need spray snow for the windows. I have the stencils. You need decorations for your tree, too. Whatever you see that you like.”

  My tree. I had no idea what to get, but I obediently wrote down “decorations.” “What about the dining room? Don’t you want a little tree for the table, too?” I was joking but I saw a gleam in her eye and wrote down “Tabletop tree” before she could say a word. “Got it,” I said. “Anything else? Any food?”

  “Hershey’s kisses in holiday colors, seasonal candy. We’ll need new wrapping paper, several types. Get something pretty. We have a lot of gifts to give out, so don’t be stingy. Ribbons, bows, package labels, tape.”

  Feeling like I was one of Santa’s elves being sent on a treasure hunt, I finished up my breakfast. Auntie had apparently already eaten. After I dressed and was ready to head out, she stopped me again. “Don’t forget to drop into the shop and see how they’re doing, would you, dear?”

  I nodded. “Not a problem, Auntie,” I said, sighing. Trev hadn’t been kidding. It was going to be a long day.

  By the time I reached Venus Envy from where I’d had to park two blocks away, I was breathless from the sudden chill that had descended overnight, and my breath froze in little puffs as I pushed my way into the shop. The store was so packed I had to squeeze my way through the crowded aisles. Considering we tried to keep the shop open and airy, that meant we were having a good old-fashioned holiday rush. Good for business, rough on nerves. Tawny and Betsy Sue looked run ragged, but they had smiles on their faces. Auntie was paying them each an extra hundred dollars for the day’s work. Tawny motioned me over.

  “Persia, can you take a deposit to the bank? We’ve already collected a lot of money,” she said, lowering her voice. “I don’t want to make just one run today.” She glanced around at the customers who were swarming the aisles, looking for gifts for their loved ones. Auntie insisted on playing classical music and instrumentals during the holidays as opposed to the endless jingle of Christmas carols, and it seemed to soothe some frazzled nerves. Everyone was behaving politely, and there weren’t many harried expressions that I could see.

  “The Rest in Lavender line looks like it’s going fast, and there are only five bottle of Rose Milk Lotion left on the shelf,” I said. “Which means I’d better come in early on Monday and get started on more, you think?” I watched as Betsy Sue expertly wove customers through her checkout line, chatting them up as she bundled them off. She had a knack for retail work, all right.

  Tawny nodded. “Business has been great. I got here this morning at eight AM and there were already ten people waiting at the door.” We’d decided to open early and close late all weekend. “It’s been nonstop ever since. I have the feeling people are splurging more on the smaller gifts this year, which bodes well for us.”

  She pointed to one of our regulars, who looked rather confused. “I’d better go help Mrs. Willet; she’s probably looking for the Chamomile Cat catnip, and I moved the pet products to a different shelf.” She dashed off as I secured the deposit envelope in my purse and headed for the door.

  The bank was only three blocks away, so I walked rather than try to find another parking spot. The weather had definitely taken a turn for the chillier. A cold, crisp breeze ran through the streets, buoying along the shoppers that scurried from shop to shop. Island Drive was luminous, with trees in giant wooden planter boxes lining the street. The city had turned on the Christmas lights, and now the bare branches glittered with multicolored twinkle lights. Wreaths hung from the lampposts. They, too, were shimmering with lights.

  I glanced at the sky, which had taken on a soft glow. Damned if it didn’t feel almost cold enough to snow. We usually never got more than a few inches, but now and then a storm came through and left Gull Harbor bathed in white, if only for a few days. I sniffed and smelled the faint traces of snow on the wind. The Olympics, over on the peninsula, were probably in for it before nightfall.

  A bell ringer from the Community Action Council was standing on the street corner, and I dropped a five dollar bill in the bucket, smiling as I eased my way through the throng of people crossing the street. Gull Harbor was, for the most part, a friendly place, and the majority of people were polite. As I passed by Sargent’s Gift Shoppe, I waved at Kaycee Jones, an older African American woman who was painting a mural on their window. Kaycee was at least sixty and one of the town’s preeminent artists. Every holiday her seasonal paintings adorned most of the shops in town, including ours. She was due to come paint our murals early the next week.

  Kaycee was a regular at Venus Envy, buying everything in our Rose-Gardenia line, and twice a month she came in for a facial. She waved back, brush in hand, and went back to the snowman scene she was painting.

  At the bank the line straggled toward the door, and I resigned myself to a long wait as I stepped in back of an older woman wearing a fur coat. She glanced over her shoulder and quickly turned, breaking into a soft smile.

  “Why, Persia, how nice to see you.” It was Annabel Mason, looking tired but cheerful. In the light of day, I could see the wrinkles lining her face, although like all women who were a little plump, the lines hadn’t fully settled into her skin. But her eyes gave her away. They were the eyes of a woman who had endured a lot of pain but who persevered despite her ailments.

  I glanced around, surprised that nobody had come to sweep her into a private office. Auntie might be up there on the financial ladder, but Annabel Mason was worth millions, and usually banks catered to their prized clientele.

  She saw my expression and laughed. “Oh
, I’ll wait my turn. I’m not royalty, after all.” Her words trilled off her lips, cascading like honey, and I wondered if she’d ever been a singer. At the very least, she could have made a fortune on voice-overs.

  I mustered up my courage. “Ms. Mason, I was wondering—”

  “Please, call me Annabel.”

  “All right. Annabel, I was wondering what time you arrived home after the Gala on Saturday night.”

  She squinted, thinking. “I wasn’t feeling well, and I made my excuses early. I was hoping that people wouldn’t notice. Lloyd and I left around ten. Why? Did something happen that I should know? That nobody told me about?”

  “No, no,” I hastened to say. “The Gala was perfectly lovely. It’s just . . . when you got home, I wonder if you happened to look out the window of your house that overlooks Lookout Pier. And if so, did you notice anything unusual going on down in the parking lot?”