She offered me a smile when she saw me and shoved the cart to one side. “Let me get this out of your way.” I could see the edge of a nametag stuck to her vest, but it was covered by her long dark hair.
“Thanks.”
She turned back to her work and I decided to do some shopping while I tried to think of a decent conversation starter. I scanned the shelves, grabbing my usual combination of neutral and pastel hues.
When I got to the lipstick section, I frowned. I wasn’t much of a lipstick wearer, but something as official as a wedding should probably include lipstick. I picked up a tube labeled Peach Fantasy.
“Um, if you don’t mind a suggestion?” the clerk said, looking at her hands as if she was afraid I’d refuse.
“Sure. What is it?”
“You might find a shade with more pink,” she said. “It would be a better match for your complexion.”
I put the tube back. “Which one would you recommend? I don’t usually wear lipstick, but I’m getting married soon.”
She abandoned the cart she’d been unpacking and came over, obviously excited that I’d asked her opinion. “Congratulations. Then you’ll definitely want a shade of red. Nothing too dramatic, of course, but something more bold than an everyday color.”
Up close, I could see she was wearing quite a bit of makeup herself, but it was done in such a fashion that it wasn’t too obvious. Too bad I couldn’t hire her for my wedding day. She brushed her hair over her shoulder, exposing her nametag, and I saw that she was indeed Lucia.
“You seem to know a lot about lipstick,” I said.
She selected three tubes in varying shades of red and handed them to me. “My mom’s a cosmetologist. She was always practicing on me when I was growing up. I thought about following her into the business, but I already had my heart set on medical school.”
“Where do you go to school?” Had Ashlee mentioned anything about medical school last night? Why was she working at the drugstore instead?
“UC Davis, but I’m taking the semester off to earn more money.”
The silver-haired clerk popped into view at the end of the aisle. “Hey, Lucia, I’m taking my break.”
She gave him a wave of acknowledgment and turned back to me. “Did you need any more help? Otherwise I need to go cover the register.”
I looked at the collection of makeup in my hands. “Um . . .” Think, Dana, think. “I hear you guys had some excitement around here a few days ago.”
Her brow wrinkled. “What do you mean?”
“The lady at the flower shop.”
Lucia took a step back and bumped into the shopping cart. An open box of mascara threatened to topple off the top of the stack, and she grabbed it. “Right.” She pushed the box back a little until it was balanced again. “I haven’t heard much about that.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Even with her shop so close? I figured everyone would’ve been talking about it.”
Lucia shook her head and kept her eyes on the cart. “No one here knew her.”
Unless there were two young women named Lucia working here who also bought flowers, I knew that was an outright lie. Why would she deny knowing Bethany? What was she hiding?
From the front of the store, I heard someone call out, “Hello?”
Lucia backed up, almost hitting the cart again, the look of relief evident on her face. “I have to get up front.” She spun around and trotted toward the registers.
I picked one of the lipstick tubes Lucia had suggested and followed at a slower pace, cradling my selection of makeup. I should have grabbed a basket on my way in.
An older woman was accepting her change at the register when I got to the front. Lucia saw me over the woman’s shoulder and pressed her lips together.
Once the customer walked away with her purchase, I stepped up to the counter and set the makeup down. Lucia pushed her glasses up on her nose and began swiping each item across the scanner in rapid succession. By the time I pulled my wallet from my purse, she’d already finished ringing me up and was throwing everything into a bag. I took my time entering my debit card password, but Lucia didn’t say anything, intent on her bagging.
“Thanks for your help picking out that lipstick color,” I said.
“Sure, no problem.” She handed me my receipt and then looked over my shoulder. “Can I help whoever’s next?”
I guessed that was the end of the conversation. I thanked her, but she’d already moved on to the next customer. I grabbed my bag and headed to my car.
As I put my purchases in the trunk, I thought about our talk. Why had Lucia denied knowing Bethany? Was it because she was one of Bethany’s blackmail victims, or because she was somehow involved in Bethany’s murder? Or maybe both?
I got in the driver’s side and pointed my car in the direction of Carter’s law firm. As long as I was doing some lunchtime sleuthing, maybe I could learn more about Carter. I wanted something solid to offer Detective Palmer, if he ever bothered to call me back.
I followed the same series of twists and turns as on my earlier visit and parked at the curb. I studied the building. The stucco walls looked freshly painted. The lawn area and flower beds were well-kept, and the lamppost at the end of the walk appeared so new I almost expected a price tag to be dangling from it. The entire setup practically screamed, “Respectable law firm.”
After walking up the path, I pulled open the screen door, which didn’t dare squeak, and pushed the heavy wooden door inward. The lobby was clean and well-furnished with upholstered chairs and polished light fixtures.
A trim woman not much older than me sat behind a desk. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a chignon, and she wore a beige turtleneck that looked to be of a soft and luxurious material. “May I help you?” she asked.
I glanced down at my faded cargo pants and long-sleeved work shirt, suddenly self-conscious that I looked so sloppy when compared with the receptionist. I’d only thought up my plan on the drive over and had given no consideration to my wardrobe.
Since I was already standing here, I decided to plow ahead. “I’d like to make an appointment.”
She nodded briskly and started typing on her keyboard, apparently not as put off by my outfit as I was. “Are you a client of ours?”
“No, I was hoping to speak with Mr. Hawking about a prenuptial agreement.”
At this, the receptionist’s gaze flew to my clothes, but she quickly recovered and looked back at the computer monitor. “I see.” She typed a few more words. “Mr. Hawking charges three hundred dollars an hour, plus expenses.”
I gulped. Why hadn’t I thought of that before coming? I’d never dealt with a lawyer personally, but of course he would expect to be paid for his services.
Before I could tell the receptionist I’d changed my mind, she went on. “Of course, for new clients, Mr. Hawking offers a free fifteen-minute consultation in which you can explain your situation to see if he can provide the services you’re looking for.”
I let out a sigh of relief that I was sure the receptionist could hear, though her face remained impassive.
“When would you like to come in?”
“Do you have an opening tomorrow?” I leaned forward slightly to see if I could read what was on her monitor, but the font was too small.
“Mr. Hawking is available at ten-thirty or one o’clock.”
Obviously I couldn’t interrupt my own workday for my little snooping project. It looked like I’d have to come into town for a late lunch break. “One o’clock would be fantastic.”
“Name?”
“Da—” I snapped my mouth shut before I could finish. If Carter had really killed Bethany, I certainly didn’t want him knowing my real name.
“I’m afraid I didn’t catch that,” the receptionist said.
Names flew through my head, and I picked one at random. “Sorry. My name is Daisy Mae Johnson.”
She gave me a sidelong glance like she knew I was full of baloney, but ever the profession
al, she entered the information into the computer. She plucked a card from a holder on her desk, jotted down the appointment time, and handed the card to me.
I nodded my thanks and slid it into my back pocket.
“Have a nice day,” she said cheerfully before swiveling in her chair and turning her back to me.
I let myself out of the office, almost whistling as I went. I’d managed to schedule an appointment with a man who Bethany had most likely been blackmailing. Now, I just needed to figure out how to use that appointment to my advantage.
Chapter 15
On my way back to work, I stopped by the closest fast-food restaurant with the intention of ordering a double cheeseburger with fries. All this investigating had me famished.
At the last second, I switched my order to a grilled chicken sandwich. My wedding dress had been fitted weeks ago. I couldn’t afford to put on weight and have it be too tight. Wouldn’t Ashlee have a field day if I had to use safety pins and superglue when I couldn’t zip my dress?
I paid the cashier at the window, accepted my paper sack, and drove back to the farm. Once I’d parked, I went straight into the office and caught up on correspondence while I ate my sandwich. I spent the rest of the afternoon creating an ad for a travel magazine and redoing the photos on the farm’s Web site. Feeling like I’d accomplished a good amount of work for the day, I shut down the computer, updated my timecard, and headed out.
Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into my apartment complex and found Ashlee’s Camaro already in her parking space. I pulled in next to her car, noticing a new dent in the right front panel. I knew the one on the left side was from sideswiping a mailbox, and the dent in the back bumper was from a parallel parking attempt. Maybe this one hadn’t been her fault for a change.
I locked my car and trotted up the outside steps to the apartment. Ashlee was sitting in her usual spot on the couch, watching a celebrity news program. She straightened up expectantly when I walked in, a smile already forming on her lips. When she saw it was me, she slumped back on the couch.
“Aren’t you happy to see me?” I said.
“I thought you were Brittany. She’s stopping by in a few minutes.”
“Wouldn’t she knock?”
Ashlee waved her hand. “No, I already gave her a key to the apartment, since she’s getting ready to move in.”
I closed the door behind me and set my purse and the bag of makeup from the drugstore on the kitchen table. “How’d you get that dent in your car?”
Ashlee frowned, as if confused. “Which one?”
“The new one on the passenger side.”
“Oh, that. I was texting Brittany about this hot guy in the grocery store parking lot and hit one of those little poles they always put up in front of the store. I have no idea why those things are even there.”
I didn’t bother pointing out the obvious answer, which was that the poles were there to keep people like Ashlee from driving through the storefront. Instead, I went into the kitchen to see what I could scrounge up for dinner. The freezer contained its usual assortment of entrées, and I opted for the vegetable lasagna. Not only must it contain vegetables, but it was bound to be lower in calories than standard lasagna, right? I popped the frozen meal in the microwave, set the timer, and hit the start button. As I did so, I heard muffled thumping at the front door.
I looked at Ashlee, but whatever was on the TV screen had captured her attention. The thumping noise came again and I went to open the door, curious to know what was making that sound.
A stack of boxes greeted me at eye level. Whoever was holding the boxes was only visible from the waist down. I removed the small box on top to expose Brittany’s smiling face.
“Hey, Dana, thanks,” she said. She had short red hair with black-dyed tips, reminding me of old-fashioned fountain pens dipped in ink. Her eyeliner, which matched her hair tips, extended past her lash line to form cat eyes. Shimmering aqua eyeshadow covered her lids, and bright red lipstick coated her mouth.
“What’s with the boxes?” I asked.
“Ashlee said I could start bringing stuff over. I figured I’d move some of my summer clothes first.” She glanced up at the cloudy and rapidly darkening sky. “I won’t need my bikini for a few months, not with this weather.” She giggled, something she did often.
I cast an accusatory glance back at my sister, but she hadn’t looked away from the TV. “I haven’t moved out yet,” I said to Brittany.
“That’s okay. I don’t mind.” She shuffled past me into the apartment and dropped her stack of boxes by the door.
At the sound of the boxes dropping, Ashlee whipped her head around. “Hey, Brittany, when did you get here?”
Brittany didn’t answer as her eyes landed on the bag of makeup. She rushed over to the table. “What’d you get?” she asked Ashlee. She started pulling out items. “Ooh, nice lipstick. Good color. But isn’t this foundation too pale for you?” she asked, holding up the bottle.
“That’s mine,” I said, taking the items from her hand and placing them back in the bag.
Ashlee turned around to study me over the back of the couch. “You bought makeup?” Her incredulous tone was slightly insulting.
“Sure. I wear makeup all the time. I just don’t pile it on, like some people I know.”
“Touchy, touchy,” Ashlee said.
The timer on the microwave dinged, and I gave a start at the sound. I’d almost forgotten about my dinner.
I went into the kitchen to remove the lasagna from the microwave, while Brittany flopped down on the couch next to Ashlee.
I grabbed a fork and napkin, set the scalding entrée tray on a hot pad, and carried my dinner into the living area. I sat down in the wing chair.
“Was Prescription for Joy having a big sale today or something?” Brittany asked. “I could always use some new stuff.”
I turned my fork sideways to cut off a piece of lasagna. “No, I decided to splurge and buy all new makeup for my wedding.”
“Good to see you making an effort,” Ashlee said.
Brittany clapped her hands together. “You know what would be awesome? If I did your makeup for the wedding.”
I almost dropped my tray of lasagna. “What’s that now?”
“I’m good at it,” Brittany said. “I’ve been doing my own face since I was ten.”
I studied her overabundance of eye makeup. “I’m not sure you and I have the same style,” I said carefully.
“Don’t worry. She won’t go crazy,” Ashlee said. “She knows you’re super plain.”
Brittany giggled. “Yeah, I did my aunt’s wedding for her third marriage, and she’s an old fuddy-duddy, so I couldn’t get all crazy or anything. Everyone said she looked fantastic.”
“I don’t know.” I took a bite, mulling over the idea. God knew I was no expert when it came to cosmetics.
“How about I give you a makeover while I’m here? Then you’ll have an idea of what you’ll look like on your wedding day.”
Well, a test run couldn’t hurt. Then, when she made me look like Bozo the Clown, I could say no thank you. Plus, while she was working on my face, I could talk to her about Lucia. “Okay, I’m game.”
Brittany squealed in delight, almost making me lose my lasagna tray again. She jumped up from the couch, snatched the bag of makeup off the table, and started setting everything out while I finished eating. When I took the last bite, she grabbed the empty plastic tray from me and tossed it in the trash before coming back and patting the seat of the closest kitchen chair.
“All ready,” she said.
With slight trepidation, I moved to the seat Brittany had indicated. Ashlee clicked off the TV and came over to sit at the table with us. Great, just what I needed. An audience.
Brittany started applying a layer of foundation, while Ashlee studied her technique as if there would be a test later. I waited until she started working on my forehead before speaking.
“I bought all this stuff from Luci
a this morning. Ashlee says you’re friends with her.”
Brittany stepped back to scrutinize my face and then moved in for touch-ups. “Sure, Lucia’s a total sweetheart. We lived in the same apartment complex when we were kids. Since I was a couple years older than her, I used to babysit her sometimes when her mom was working late. We still hang out. She studies way too much, but I guess she wants to be some kind of doctor or something. She’s the first one in her family to go to college.”
“She mentioned medical school when I was talking to her,” I said. Brittany started on my eyes and I closed them, crossing my fingers that she’d use a gentler touch than on her own.
“That’s a good color for her,” I heard Ashlee say. “It’ll really bring out the blue in her eyes. Nice pick, Brittany.”
Technically, I’d picked out the color, but I didn’t bother to mention it.
Ashlee snapped her fingers. “I might have a shade that’s even better. Hang on.” She headed for her bedroom.
“How often do you and Lucia hang out?” I asked Brittany. Would she know if the other set of initials in Bethany’s book belonged to Lucia?
“Not so much when she was away at school, but now that she’s home for the semester, I see her once in a while. She doesn’t go out a whole lot. Like I said, she’s always got her nose in a book.” She stepped back for another assessment, frowned, and started wiping my eyelids clean. “I did drag her off to a big kegger Labor Day weekend down in Santa Rosa. You can bet I’m never doing that again.”
Brittany was pressing so hard on my eyelids that when I opened them, I saw spots. I blinked to clear my vision. “Why not?”
“She was a total wreck afterward. Super jumpy and nervous.”
“Any idea why?” I asked as Brittany started working on my eyelids again.
“Nope, she’s kind of a Goody-Two-shoes. Maybe she had a beer or two and felt guilty about driving afterward. ’Course, she sure didn’t seem drunk, so I don’t see why she would worry about getting in trouble for that.”
All of a sudden, Brittany started laughing, making her hand shake. I resisted the urge to pull my face away before she could do too much damage.
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