A Blush With Death Page 14

  I cleared my throat. “Can it wait—”

  “No! I said, now.” She turned and stomped back to her office, and I followed, leaving Heddy to absorb the scene like a sponge. Once I shut the door behind me, Auntie and I looked at one another and broke into low, hushed laughter. She dropped into her chair.

  “Lordy, this is hard for me, Persia. I can’t stand the thought of people thinking I’ve disowned you.” She wiped the corners of her eyes and gave me a careworn smile.

  I let myself down into the opposite chair, my knees quivering. “I know; I hate this, too. But if we want to save the store, and my work, we’ve got to do something.”

  Auntie sniffled. “I know, my dear. I know. All right. I suppose we’d better get this over with. After we’re done…” Her voice trailed off, and I could see just how hard this was for her.

  “I’ll go find a studio. It’s worth the cost, and it won’t be for long. I’ll keep in touch via phone, but I’d better not go back to the house.”

  “When we have Bebe by the balls, we’re going to celebrate,” she said, giving me a long hug. “I love you, my dear. And I love that you’re willing to play the part. All right, if you’re ready?”

  “Hold on a second,” I said, pulling out my blush to give myself an overly flushed look. “Okay.” I took a deep breath. “Go for it.”

  Auntie moved closer to the door and opened it just a smidgen. Our voices would carry to the front. “How could you do this, Persia? Do you realize how much damage you’ve caused? I can’t believe you didn’t consult me—now look at the mess you’ve made! Do you know how much it’s going to cost me to replace those gardens?”

  Raising my voice, I shouted back. “It’s not my fault! I didn’t do anything to the damned roses!”

  Auntie leaned against the doorframe. “Then who else could it have been? Trevor? Sarah? They’ve worked for me for years. You knew that I didn’t want any pesticides used, and yet you deliberately hired somebody to dust the roses. Not only have we lost the crop, but I’m going to have to replace all the flowers and the soil they’re planted in, thanks to contamination! You were in charge; it’s your responsibility. I can’t believe how stupid you were!”

  She gave me a painful look that said she couldn’t believe she was saying what she was saying.

  I mouthed, “It’s okay; I love you.” As she regrouped, I launched in again.

  “You don’t believe me? You think I’m lying? How could you? I’ve been like a daughter to you, and now you think I betrayed you? That tears it. Call me when you come to your senses.” I gave her a quick peck on the cheek and whispered, “I’ll call you later today. Be strong. This won’t be for long.” I hope, I added to myself.

  I splashed my eyes with a few drops from my water bottle and roughly wiped it away to give myself that “trying not to cry” look. Then I stomped out of the office, slamming the door behind me. As I marched to my station, I studiously avoided looking at Heddy.

  A few other people were in the shop, and I winced, knowing they’d also heard the fracas. I grabbed my hobo bag and headed for the door. As I shoved it open, I noticed Barbara was standing near the front of the shop. She gave me a quiet thumbs-up. Without a word, I hit the streets.

  I DROVE TO the only place in town where I knew I could rent an apartment for a week or two without any strings attached. People had to think I was both broke and desperate, and living in the Deacon Street Apartments would give me an air of authenticity. Bebe had to think Auntie had cut me off from the cash flow.

  Located across from the Delacorte Plaza, the apartment building was run down, hideously outdated, and had three solid strikes against it. One, I’d caught a murderer there, and the place brought back painful memories. Painful as in actual pain, not emotional. Thanks to that little escapade, I knew what it felt like to be pumped full of electricity.

  The second strike was that our late cleaning lady, Marta, had lived—and died—there, and I felt rather sad every time I thought about her untimely death. And third, and perhaps the most relevant at this point, good old Andy Andrews lived there. If he caught wind that I’d moved in, he’d be pounding at my door.

  However, the one major plus was that the Deacon Street Apartments offered a weekly option on furnished studios, which meant I wouldn’t have to rent the place for an entire month should our plan work. Cheaper than a hotel, it made more sense for me to settle in there, if I was supposed to be broke and out of work.

  I gingerly knocked on the manager’s door. My expectations were not disappointed. A balding, middle-aged man in a ripped undershirt and dirty jeans answered the door. He had a beer belly that peeked out from the overly tight shirt, and a sleazy looking handlebar mustache that was waxed to a high sheen.

  I forced a smile to my lips. “I’m interested in renting a studio for a week or two.”

  He stared at me for a minute, then shrugged. “Yeah, come on in. You want a beer?”

  “No, thank you.” I stepped into his apartment and looked around. From his demeanor I expected to see pinups everywhere, but instead, assorted paintings of elks and ducks decorated the walls. A box of old Field & Stream magazines clued me into what this guy’s passion was…or at least one of them. And instead of the requisite leopard and bear rugs, I found myself staring at rustic leather furniture that had long seen better days.

  “Name?” He pulled a one-page application out of the desk drawer and handed it to me.

  “Persia Vanderbilt.” I accepted the paper and sat down on one of the cleaner looking chairs.

  “I’m Carlos. Fill that out, and I’ll show you the place. I got one studio vacant right now.”

  “How much is it?” I asked.

  “Two hundred security deposit, two hundred a week. Cash, no checks. Furnished, includes basic utilities and cable. No pets, no loud parties. No refund if you leave before the week’s up.” He stared at the TV, which was muted. I glanced at the screen just in time to see a group of bikiniclad girls posing for a photographer. Sports Illustrated shoot, no doubt. Without a word, I filled out the application.

  It didn’t ask for much, just name, employer, income, previous residence. I filled them out, listing Venus Envy and my aunt as references. Even Bebe wouldn’t go so far as to bribe the landlord for information. Or at least, I hoped she wouldn’t. When I handed it back to him, he glanced over the information and shrugged.

  “Looks okay to me,” he said. “You want to see the place now?”

  I followed him to the cranky old elevator and stepped in behind him. Once I was settled, I’d use the stairs. Safer that way. We stopped on the fifth floor, and I fought back a grimace. Great, Andy’s floor. Carlos led me down the hall, the opposite direction. Thank heaven for small favors. He stopped in front of 501-A and unlocked the door, pushing it open. I sidled by, taking pains not to brush against him. Carlos had been a gentleman—in the rough—until now, and I planned on encouraging the behavior.

  The apartment was small, of course. The bath had a shower instead of a tub, and the main room was fairly large, with a studio kitchenette. The paint on the walls was coming off in flakes, dirty yellow that had once passed for gold. The solitary window in the room looked across the street to the Delacorte Plaza. This was worth two hundred a week? I prayed that I wouldn’t be here longer than that.

  I turned around and forced another smile. “This will do just fine,” I said, lying through my teeth.

  Carlos grunted. “Good. When do you want to move in?”

  “Don’t you have to check my references?” I asked. I’d expected to spend at least one night in a hotel.

  He grinned, and I saw that his teeth were stained. “Lady, you see this place. You can guess the type of tenants I usually get. The money’s up front, they leave, no skin off my nose. They cause trouble, they know they’re out the door. So you gonna take it or not?”

  As I repressed a shudder and reached for my wallet, my stomach knotted. I already regretted our little char
ade.

  Chapter 10

  MY FIRST ORDER of business was to pick up a few things for my new apartment. It would have been much easier to bring them from Moss Rose Cottage, but I wanted to be seen shelling out my precious shekels by the general public. If this sham was going to work, we had to play it up to the fullest.

  I calculated when and where I’d have the most chance of being seen by my intended audience. As with most towns in western Washington, there was a mini-mall every few blocks. Even luckier, the one near the Red Door was the Sherwood Forest Shopping Center, the very place where Heddy would be wrapping gifts for her charity function. I could easily stage a well-timed accidental meeting and give her the gossip she was always on the lookout for.

  The hot weather was still hanging heavy over the area, and I squinted as I slid behind the wheel. A quick fumble in the glove compartment produced my sunglasses, and I slid them on, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the change in light. As much as I loved the sun, this interminable heat was beginning to tax even my nerves. A steady parade of days in the mid to upper eighties wasn’t normal around here, and tempers seemed to climb with the thermometer. As a gust of wind lightly sprang up, I pulled out from the apartment building and headed toward the Sherwood Forest Shopping Center.

  The parking lot was jammed. It was near lunchtime, and a number of convention attendees looked like they were seeking their lunch outside of the Red Door, which had marvelous food and the price tags to go along with it. As I slung my purse over my shoulder and headed for the mall entrance, I glanced at the clock over the doors. A quarter of one. Perfect. Heddy would be around. All I had to do was meander by her booth, and she’d be all over me like a cat on catnip.

  I stopped at the customer service desk. “I’m looking for the Gull Harbor Women’s Association gift wrapping booth?”

  The pertly dressed young woman pointed me in the right direction. “They’re between the Bargain Bin and Hightown Department Store.”

  I thanked her, then shouldered through the shoppers until I hit the Bargain Bin. Normally I never shopped in dollar stores, but it would lend credibility to my claims of being short on cash. As I looked around the store at the hundreds of items, all under a dollar, I tried to think of what I would need. Linens and towels I’d sneak from the house. I wasn’t about to use harshly woven washcloths on my face or sleep on sheets so thin they were itchy. But I could get away with a few plastic bowls and cups, and while I was at it, I loaded up on cheap kitchen gadgets that might actually come in handy. I added a palm-sized alarm clock and a bag of potato chips, then checked out. As I left the store, bags prominently held for all to see, I turned so that I’d have to make a beeline right by Heddy’s table.

  And there she was, just finishing up with a woman who from the look of the wrapping paper had bought a gift for a child’s birthday. As soon as the woman moved off, I slid out from the pillar behind which I’d been waiting and walked across Heddy’s line of sight. Within seconds, her familiar voice rang out.

  “Oh, Persia! Persia!”

  Rather surprised that she sounded so friendly—I’d been prepared for a hostile assault—I glanced over and did an about-face.

  “Heddy! Oh that’s right. You’re on gift patrol today, aren’t you?” I tried to sound flustered, stumbling over my words as quickly as I could.

  She motioned me over. “My dear, I’m about to take a break. Let’s go have a cup of tea. You must be totally frazzled.” Her look of sympathy confused me. Heddy used shameful secrets as her weapon of choice, but here she was being nice as apple pie.

  I glanced around, not wanting to be caught at length in a restaurant with her. Orange Julius promised an easy compromise. “How about over there? I haven’t had an OJ in ages, and I’m so exhausted that I need the sugar.”

  We moved over to the counter, placed our orders, then found a table out in the food court. I sat down, eyeing her cautiously. She was friendly. Too friendly. What was up?

  Heddy answered my question without being asked. “I’m so sorry about what happened with your aunt. She was out of line. I can’t believe she blames you for what happened in the gardens.” Her keen glance took in every nuance, so I decided I’d better watch myself. A slipup could be costly.

  “I told her I didn’t do it, but I guess at this point, it doesn’t matter. Since I was in charge of the gardens, I suppose that ultimately, it’s my fault. But the fact remains that I’m out on my ass.” I held up the bags. “I had to scramble and find an apartment until I can decide what to do, but I can’t afford to stay there long unless I land another job.”

  “Then you’re certain it’s permanent? That your aunt won’t relent?”

  I shook my head. “She made it clear—she wants me out. I guess some mistakes you just can’t rectify. The damage is enormous, and even though I didn’t give the order to spray the roses, I’m taking the heat.”

  Heddy’s eyes glittered. “Are you going to stay in Gull Harbor? You won’t move back to Seattle?”

  “No, at least not for a while. I can’t afford to move back to the city.”

  She looked shocked. “You’re broke? But I thought you were sharing in the profits of the shop?”

  I shrugged and stared at my drink. “The truth is, Heddy, that I haven’t built up any savings. I’m afraid that I’ve been living on Auntie’s good graces while plunging my salary back into the business. I guess that was a mistake. And the shop, to be honest, hasn’t been doing very well lately. Bebe’s Boutique has been pulling our business away.”

  Heddy chewed on her lip, marring the brilliant crimson lipstick she wore. She finally glanced up at me. “Venus Envy’s prices are too high. Now, Bebe knows what she’s doing. She keeps her prices low for her makeup and beauty supplies, and she’s making a lot of money.” She paused, and I could tell she was thinking about something.

  Rather than push her—Heddy never responded to pushing—I glanced around the mall at the shoppers. The Sherwood Forest Shopping Center wasn’t the largest mini-mall in town, but it had a loyal and faithful following. Soccer moms abounded, teens swarmed the food court and the Gap, and for the bookish crowd, there was a brand-new Barnes & Noble.

  Heddy sucked on her straw, then after a moment, said, “You’re looking for a new job?”

  I nodded. “I have to pay rent. Auntie threw me out, so I just rented a weekly studio over at Deacon Street Apartments until I can figure out what to do.” I repressed a grin as she winced. Even Heddy Latherton had her standards. “I just wish I’d taken Sharon up on her offer of a job with Bebe, but I can’t very well ask her to reconsider, with everything that’s happened.”

  “What offer? What are you talking about?” Her eyes narrowed as she studied my face. I played it for everything I was worth.

  “Sharon offered me a chance to work for Bebe, and I turned her down. I never dreamed my aunt would betray me like this.” I blinked furiously, and—sure enough—managed to come up with a solitary tear that traced its way down my cheek.

  A soft light stole into Heddy’s gaze as she leaned back. “Persia, what if I talk to Bebe for you? She’s a friend of mine. I think that, Sharon’s condition notwithstanding, Bebe might be willing to talk to you. I’ll call her this afternoon. I know she took the day off from the convention.”

  Bingo! This was better than I’d expected. I forced a sad smile, wrote down my cell number—making a mental memo to change it after this was all over and done with—and picked up my bags.

  “Thank you. But, why are you doing this? I thought you’d be on my aunt’s side.” I couldn’t pull off the lost-waif look, so I settled for a sad shrug.

  She patted me on the arm. “Persia, you’re a lot like me.”

  The hell I am, I thought but kept quiet.

  “Your aunt doesn’t understand you, but I do. And you’ve always been so pleasant to me. To be honest,” she leaned closer, “sometimes I think your aunt doesn’t even like me. I know I’m just oversensitive but…” W
ith a little laugh, she was off, back to the gift wrapping tables, and I headed back to my apartment.

  I’D NO MORE than fastened my seatbelt when my cell phone rang. The number was unfamiliar, but the voice on the other end of the line was not.

  “Persia? This is Killian. I need to talk to you!”

  He sounded angry, and I had a feeling I knew what about. Might as well get it over with. “Sure, where do you want to meet? I’m at the Sherwood Forest Shopping Center right now.”

  “What about the Neko-Gecko?” He sounded surprised that I acceded so quickly.

  The Neko-Gecko was a bistro near the Red Door. They were far more trendy than the BookWich, but Hollis—the owner—offered a decent burger after you plowed through the California cuisine offerings. I stopped in there every week or so for a bowl of his New England clam chowder.

  “Fifteen minutes okay?” That would give me time to swipe on some fresh lipstick and rebraid my hair.

  “See you then.” Without another word, he hung up. I stared at the silent phone. Ten to one, Kyle told him that I’d mentioned Killian’s blowup at Sharon. Dreading a confrontation, I performed a quick repair job on my hair and face, then headed out of the parking lot, taking care to skirt the shopaholics and tourists who were out in droves.

  I COULD SMELL the goat cheese pizza from outside the door, but when I entered, I saw that the Neko-Gecko was fully into theme week. Apparently, lobster was on the menu this week. All the waiters were wearing little red hats with pincers on them, along with crimson aprons. I looked around for Killian and spotted him in the back, in a side booth. I hurried over, wanting to clear up whatever misunderstandings there might be between us.

  Killian glanced up as I slid into the booth opposite him. He wasn’t smiling. I took a deep breath, wondering whether to say something first, but he beat me to the punch.

  “So, you told Kyle I might have tried to kill Sharon Wellstone. Thanks, Persia. I thought we were getting along better than that.” His voice was cool, but beneath the bitterness, I could hear hurt.