“Victor was still there when I left, and he’s not very happy with you.”
I shrugged. “He’s never very happy with me.”
“No, this is serious. He wants you suspended without pay.”
“You have got to be kidding me. After the efficient and creative way I dealt with the Egghardt case? I spent time in a greasy trailer”—I paused to tick each item off as I spoke—“I found a way to make the whole thing work and dumped the solution in his lap. Gift-wrapped. It wasn’t my fault that the police came looking for me at the office.”
Tony smiled. “I think the fact that the police were looking for you in general is the part that pissed him off. Just be grateful that there weren’t any clients in the waiting area. If anyone had witnessed your being carted off to jail, being read your rights, Victor would fire you right now.”
“He can’t fire me without a consensus of the partners, so with Ellen gone, he can’t touch me.”
“Why are you assuming I wouldn’t vote with Victor? What you did was illegal and impulsive. You could have easily waited until this morning and asked the tow guy to look in the car.” Tony paused as he turned on Australian. “Then you wouldn’t have spent the night in jail.”
“Then side with Victor if you feel that strongly.”
“You’re about to help my daughter,” Tony said. “Tough for me to suspend you when you’re doing me a favor.”
“I’m doing the favor for Izzy.”
“Do you want to be suspended?”
“I want the freedom to find Becky.”
“The police are on it,” Tony assured me.
“They didn’t seem very interested last night.”
“Finding her purse in the car sent up a real red flag.”
Relief washed over me. “See, I knew she didn’t just walk away.”
“Do you know if she had any enemies?”
“Enemies? She hardly had time for friends.”
I grabbed a quick shower and changed into a simple shift dress and some cute ballerina flats; I twisted my towel-dried hair up and secured it with lacquered chopsticks that matched my shoes. Next I packed a small tote with whatever I could think of—curling irons, flat iron, wave iron, and makeup.
I’d gotten Izzy a few gifts at Walgreens that I thought would be a perfect complement to her pink bunny Betsey Johnson dress and her olive complexion. I was tired from lack of sleep. Jail wasn’t conducive to rest, so I downed most of a pot of coffee before filling my travel mug and hitting the road.
Someone buzzed me in at the gate, and I drove through the manicured community until I reached Tony’s house. Looking in the rearview mirror, I was pleased that my hair had dried during the drive. Still, I twisted it back up in the chopsticks and went to the front door.
“Hi,” Izzy said, excitement oozing from every pore.
“Ready for your transformation?”
“You have, like, no idea.”
I followed her upstairs. I still hadn’t seen so much as a glimpse of Tony. Too bad, he was pretty easy on the eyes.
“Hello?” Izzy called.
“Sorry. Guess I zoned out there for a minute,” I admitted.
“I said Lindsey Hetzler got braces yesterday. I’m talking total full metal jacket.”
I smiled. “Can’t cover that with concealer, can you?”
“But she still has a boyfriend,” Izzy whined.
“Believe me, boyfriends are way overrated.”
“Do you have one?”
“Put on all your undergarments and a robe. We’ll do makeup first.”
“You’re so ignoring the question.” Izzy pulled a robe off a hook next to the door leading to her bathroom. Then she reached in her drawer and took out the bra and panties we’d bought at Victoria’s Secret. “Well, do you?”
“No. I’m happily single.”
“Aren’t most women your age married?”
“That was snarky. I’m only twenty-nine, hardly an old maid.”
“Well, I want to get married and have kids when I’m young.” She slipped into the bathroom.
“Define young!”
“Early twenties. Why? Did you think I meant teen mother or something? I’m not that dumb. I need to finish college first. But right after that ….”
I shook my head. “Sometimes things don’t turn out the way we envision.”
“Did you think you’d still be single at your age?”
No. Maybe. Engaged at least. “I didn’t give it much thought.”
“You’re totally lying.” Izzy emerged from the bathroom.
“You’re being a pain. Now, let’s take your desk chair into the bathroom. Makeup first, hair second. Have you thought of what you’d like to do with your hair? Up, down, curly, straight, waves?”
“Wait! I cut a picture out of a magazine.” Izzy bolted into her room and came back with a folded picture of Scarlett Johansson. “Like this. Soft waves. Can you do that?”
“Sure, but we’ll have to use hairspray. You’ve got a lot of hair.”
Setting my tote on the floor, I pulled out a wide cloth headband and used it to keep all the hair off Izzy’s face. Then item by item, I took out the makeup I’d bought for her. It wasn’t MAC or Chanel, but she was only thirteen.
“Why all the new stuff?”
“You need makeup that works with your skin tone. All my stuff is for blondes.”
“This is for me?”
“Yep. All yours. Now, be still so I can do this. You can watch in this mirror.” I pulled a small handheld from the bag. “With some practice, you can do this all by yourself.”
I spent about twenty minutes applying, painting, swiping, and smudging until she looked dewy and not slutty. I spent extra time on her mouth, since that was going to be the focal point of the makeup. Bright pink lips toned down with a pale bronze gloss.
“You like?”
“I love!”
“Time for hair.” I pulled large clips out of my bag and segmented her hair while the wave iron heated up. I was really glad I’d tossed hairspray in the bag since Izzy didn’t have any. I held each section out and worked the iron down to the ends of her hair. The end result was stunning. Her dark brown hair was shiny and didn’t look at all like it had been styled. The waves looked completely natural. “Close your eyes.”
She complied and I doused her hair in spray. It wasn’t going to lose its curl anytime soon. Next I had her put on her dress, and then we tended to her necklace and earrings. The last thing she did was slip on her shoes.
“You look perfect.”
She went into the bathroom and checked herself in the mirror. “I can’t believe this is really me.”
“It’s really you,” I insisted. “Now, put the gloss, blush and the blush brush in your purse for touch-ups. Remember, no reapplying in public. You only do that in the bathroom. Oh, and fluorescent lighting changes the way makeup looks, so don’t go nuts or you’ll look like a clown.”
“How did you learn all this stuff?” she asked as she filled her purse, and then got the sweater out of her walk-in closet.
“My mother puts on a full complement of makeup just to take a shower. I learned from a master.”
“I wonder if my mother was good at makeup.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to bring up—”
“Don’t be sorry. Not having a mom around is like part of who I am.”
“I can see where it could be. I don’t know who my biological father is, but it does become part of the definition.” After a brief pause, I stood and asked, “Ready to go downstairs for the big reveal?” Now I was the one full of excitement.
“What if Dad hates it?”
“He won’t. You look very nice, and I’m sure he’ll be happy for you.”
“Let’s hope.”
Using the intercom, Izzy announced her intention to come down the stairs. It was very theatrical and kinda cute.
I went first, finding Tony at the base of the stairs with one hand behind hi
s back and the other armed with a digital camera.
“Okay!” I called.
As if she was working a catwalk, Izzy descended regally. I turned to see Tony’s eyes grow wide and he wore a dimple-showing smile, all the while snapping shot after shot of Izzy. Izzy was only halfway down when Tony dropped the camera to the side and said, “You look beautiful, baby.”
“Thank you. And thank Finley.”
Tony turned to me. “Thanks, she looks very nice.” He leaned close to me and whispered, “And she looks her age, so thanks for that, too.”
As soon as Izzy reached the bottom step, Tony took his hand from behind his back. In it, he held a small jewelry box.
“This is for you. In honor of your first school dance.”
Izzy opened it quickly and inside was a very pretty rose quartz ring in a simple cabochon setting.
Izzy threw her arms around Tony. “Thank you! But how did you know it would match my dress?”
“I didn’t. I just had a feeling that with Finley in the picture, pink was a safe bet.”
Izzy took it out and slipped it on her finger. “I totally love it!”
“Does this mean you’ve forgiven me for not going to Atlanta last week?”
“Of course,” Izzy said as she placed a feathery kiss on his cheek, and then wiped the pale pink lip imprint off his face.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
Izzy seemed to shrink back a bit. “Would you mind if Finley took me?” Then she turned to me. “Would you mind driving me? St. Joe’s is only five minutes away.”
“If it’s okay with your father.”
“Fine with me,” Tony said, though I sensed his disappointment.
“Let me just run upstairs and get my stuff.”
With my tote packed, Izzy and I headed out to my car. Once we were nearing the gate, I asked, “Why did you want me to drop you off?”
“I need to know what to do if a boy wants to kiss me.”
I was glad it was dark so she couldn’t see my face flame. “Depends on the guy.”
“What if it’s, y’know, a guy I kinda like.”
“Then you can kiss him, but no tongue.”
“Ewww, that is so gross.”
That was my point. “Just remember this simple rule. No touching between the knees and the neck.”
“That’ll be easy. Our chaperones are parents, nuns, and priests. The only safe zone is the space between the lockers and the girls’ room. It’s like totally secret, and no one can see you there.”
“Oh, and the other rule is never kiss more than one boy a month.”
“Why?”
“Because at your age, that’s considered slutty behavior and you don’t want that reputation, do you?”
“No. What if a boy you like won’t talk to you because you won’t have sex with them?”
This was turning into the longest freaking five minutes of my life. All I wanted to do was turn up Wild 95.5 and listen for the next Lady Gaga song.
“Any boy who insists you have to have sex with him to be his girlfriend is an ass. Someone who cares about you will never ask you to do something you don’t want to do.”
“What if I want to have sex?”
I damn near drove into a canal. “If that’s your plan, I’m turning this car around right now.”
“I didn’t mean like tonight, I just meant, how do you know when you want to have sex with a guy?”
“The stars align.”
“Huh?”
“First, you have to be old enough to understand what you’re doing. Second, you should have feelings for the guy. Third, you should think about it for months before you actually do it. Fourth, you’ll know when the right guy comes along. No one ever died from lusting after someone else.”
“Months? But I know people my age who’ve already had sex.”
“And do you respect them for it?”
“I guess not.”
“Then that’s your answer. Don’t be like the crowd. Be you.”
“Turn in here.”
I did and found a few dozen kids standing outside. Izzy thanked me again for the makeover, and then got out of the car. Two girls squealed her name, so I figured she was all set.
I saw Liam before I saw his excuse of a car. He was seated on my front step with my laptop next to him. He looked fabulous in his casual shirt and thigh-hugging jeans, but I immediately reminded myself that he had to be off-limits. As much as it pained me to say, there was a possibility my mother was right, and I should keep my distance from him.
Liam was nothing like any of the other men I’ve dated. Not that we’ve had a date. What did we have in common? Probably nothing more than a strong physical attraction. And here I’d just spent time telling a thirteen-year-old when to kiss and when not to have sex. Maybe I needed to take my own advice.
“Have fun playing dress-up with Izzy?” he asked as soon as I was out of my car.
“It went well, thank you. Why are you here?” That question was getting redundant.
“Returning your laptop—and I thought you might want to know what the IT guy had to say. Oh, and I got to listen to the recording of the Crime Stoppers call.” He held up a micro-recorder. “Wanna know what I found out?”
“You know I do. Come on in.”
Liam carried my laptop inside the house while I took the tote bag in and put it in my bedroom. When I came back, he had his head in my fridge.
“Try the veggie drawer.”
“You keep beer in the veggie drawer?”
“Want one or not?”
“Don’t get snippy.”
As soon as he finished rummaging through my refrigerator, I went over and uncorked a bottle of red from Australia. After pouring myself a large glass, I stood in the kitchen while Liam took one of the bar stools. “So what did you find out?”
“Tiara64 is no slouch. She routed her IP through about seven countries. But it looks like the site of origin moves in and around West Palm.”
“In and around?”
He nodded and then took a drink. “She’s using Internet cafés all over the county.”
“Tiara is a total stranger. How would she know to find me on eBay?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“Do you think she mistook Becky for me?”
“Possibly. But I think all this tracks back to Ellen’s sudden departure.”
“What about breaking into Ellen’s apartment?” I asked.
“Speaking of break-ins, you owe me five hundred dollars.”
“For what?”
“That’s what it cost me to get the tow yard to drop the charges.”
I went into my bathroom, took the envelope out of the tampon box, and counted out five hundred in twenties. “Here,” I said when I returned with the cash. “Are you going to play the Crime Stoppers tape for me?”
“I was saving that for last.”
“So now we go to Ellen’s place?”
“Not tonight. I have a thing. You really need to learn patience.”
That blasted thing. “And you need to learn when you’ve overstayed your welcome.”
“Okay, don’t get your thong in a twist.” He pulled the recorder out of his pocket, laid it on the table, then pressed the Play button.
A female voice asked. “Palm Beach Crime Stoppers, may I help you?”
“I’d like to report a crime that I just witnessed,” a second female voice stated. Only the second voice wasn’t as strong or as commanding as the first.
“For that you’d need to contact the police directly.”
During the brief silence, I heard some muffled sound I couldn’t place.
“No police,” the scared woman said with urgency. “Finley Anderson Tanner just broke into Lawson’s tow yard and broke the window on at least one car.”
“Oh my God,” I said as I brought my hands up to my face. “That’s Becky’s voice.”
“I thought so, but I wanted to confirm it with you.”
“So now what?�
�
“So we keep it to ourselves. If the police find out she’s made contact, they’ll call off any kind of search.”
“How would Becky know I went to the tow yard?”
“I was going to ask you that.”
I shrugged as my brain swirled, trying to get a grip on this latest piece of the puzzle. “No one knew. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”
“Tell me how you came up with the idea to break in. Did Jane and Liv suspect?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Well, at least this is good news.”
“How? My best friend ratted me out to the authorities.”
“Yes, but your best friend is alive.” He tipped his drink to me. “Try to have a good night.”
“You too.”
As soon as he left, I curled up on the sofa with my computer in my lap and a box of Lucky Charms to my left. I went to Google and typed in my own name. About seven entries later, I found that my Facebook profile listed my eBay addiction but didn’t have a photograph of me. I thought that was secure enough to keep the loons at bay. I did a quick scan of my posts, and sure enough, I’d posted my eBay screen name in one of my entries.
“Stupid, stupid, incredibly stupid.”
No wonder Tiara found me. “Well, that solves one element of the mystery.” I was so anxious about Becky. Even though Tony had faith in the police, I wasn’t so sure. Something was wrong, and Liam might be right. It all started with Ellen. The problem was, I had no idea what it was.
On a lark, I Googled Ellen Lieberman. The first fifty entries had to do with various newspaper articles, all relating to her work with the bar association and/or cases for particularly high-profile clients. Then I came across something very strange. It referenced an Ellen Becker, but the link to that page was broken. I’d gotten to that Google place where it just started listing every instance of “Ellen.” Then it gave me all the possibilities for “Lieberman.”
Not really helpful. Then I thought about the Department of Corrections, so I typed in Ellen Lieberman and Department of Corrections. Nothing. Next I tried Tiara64. That gave me nothing but pageant results. Another useless path. In a last-ditch effort, and using my Dane-Lieberman password, I went to one of the credit-reporting places and typed in Ellen’s name. Her report was spotless. Only problem? It went back only as far as 1988. No loans or debts of any kind until she was twenty-seven. Not even a store credit card. Nothing. It was as if she was born in 1988. Only I knew she was forty-seven, so where did the other twenty years go?
4 Slightly Irregular Page 21