A Blush With Death Page 15

  Feeling vaguely guilty, I sighed and leaned forward. “I did not tell him that I thought you shot her. I told him that I’d witnessed an argument between the two of you. I also told him that I’d seen her arguing with several other Belles. And you’re not the only suspect—I’m on the short list, too, you know.”

  He blinked. “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, I am, and I know perfectly well how unsettling it is. Trust me, Kyle won’t give our names to the paper unless he arrests one of us.” I played with the water glass as the waitress came over to take our orders. Killian asked for a burger and fries, and I ordered the meat loaf and mashed potatoes.

  “So, why are you a suspect?” he asked after the waitress left.

  Should I tell him? Could I trust him? As I gazed into his eyes, I became aware of a creeping flush up my chest, into my neck and face. Killian had it going on, that was for sure, and even though I enjoyed my time with Bran, the spark wasn’t anything like this. Killian’s deep-set eyes mesmerized me, pulling me in. He wasn’t an easy person to read, and I thought that if I had any psychic powers, now would be a good time for them to show themselves. Nada. I’d have to trust my intuition. And my intuition told me that Killian wouldn’t sell me out.

  “Sharon lifted my perfume journal. I’m sure of it.”

  Killian shook his head. “Wonderful, just wonderful. So she’s still practicing her five-fingered discounts.” He rested against the back of the booth and gave me a tired smile. “I’m sorry she got your journal. I don’t have to ask what that means.”

  It was as good a time as any to find out just what he’d tell me. “What did Sharon do to make you so mad? You accused her of stealing. Was it money?”

  The smile disappeared. “If only it had been money. No, she stole a formula from Donna Prima. Something that could make us a lot of money and give us an excellent standing in the cosmetics industry. We’re frantically trying to duplicate the product, but she not only took the formula, she destroyed all our research files. We have to start from square one so we can back up our claims.”

  Destroyed their files? That had all too familiar a ring to it. “I assume you kept them on a computer?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Yes…the files, the backups, every hard copy paper we’d printed out. All gone.”

  Corporate espionage. I expected to hear about this in larger companies, but that it was so prevalent in small, unknown firms shocked me.

  “How did she gain access to your files and the product?”

  With a long sigh, he said, “Sharon was working for us. Or, at least we thought she was. But in truth, she was really spying for Bebe.”

  And then I saw it—a glimmer in his eye that told me Sharon had stolen more than a formula. “You and she had a thing going on, didn’t you?”

  His lips set firm, after a moment he said, “She’s married. I don’t mess around with married women. I’m not into causing breakups.”

  I stared at him for a moment, wondering how he felt about women who had boyfriends, as casual as they might be. “Sorry. I was just being nosy.”

  He caught my gaze, and we sat there, locked in a silent exchange that was broken only by the arrival of our meals. As I bit into my meat loaf, Killian toyed with his hamburger and fries. Finally, he said, “You were right. “We were involved. It was over pretty fast. I didn’t know she was married, and when she told me, I fired her. Unethical, maybe, but I don’t like deceit.”

  “Why did she tell you, then?” Knowing Sharon, she could have kept it a secret for a while.

  Killian shrugged. “The more I’ve thought about it, the more I think she wanted to provoke me. By then, she had the formula. She knew I wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her once I knew she was married, so she tricked me into dumping her. We were out at dinner when she dropped the bomb, and I never thought to check the office that night. I never thought she’d do something that underhanded.”

  I toyed with my drink. “What happened?”

  “When I got to work the next morning, Trish was in tears. The paper files were all messed up, and the computer’s hard drive had been wiped. I called the cops, but they couldn’t find anything and even then, I didn’t think Sharon might be guilty. It took us a week to sort through everything, and it was only then that we realized that every paper file was still there except for one formula. By then it was too late. Sharon had officially joined Bebe’s employ, and I couldn’t prove a damned thing. I hadn’t even asked her to sign a noncompete agreement. Believe me, I require that now. But there was no concrete way to prove Sharon had done it. We’re a small company; we don’t keep security cameras around.”

  I set down my fork and stared at him. So Sharon’s happy housewife demeanor had been a sham. “Did you tell Kyle all of this?”

  He grimaced. “It’s not like I had any choice. Yes, I told him, and now I’m on his list of most likely suspects.” With a wry grin, he added, “I guess we both ended up on the short end of Sharon’s stick.”

  “I’d like to show her just where to shove that stick—” I started, but then stopped. “Sorry, not appropriate, especially considering her condition. I’m just so angry, but I feel guilty over being angry now that she’s fighting for her life.”

  Killian grunted. “You and me both. I don’t have any feelings left for her—not in any positive way—but it’s hard to admit my grudge. It’s almost like I feel that if I say it aloud, then maybe I had something to do with her assault. Maybe I contributed somehow.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” I said. I wanted to throttle the woman, but those feelings were now intermingled with guilt. I knew that I should be more forgiving, more compassionate, but it just wasn’t in me. “You want to know the truth?”

  He nodded. “Sure, if you’re not going to confess to me. I don’t really want to play the role of Father Flannigan.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Funny man. Oh so funny. Okay, the truth is that I don’t want to forgive her. I don’t want to feel sorry for her. She screwed me over big time. But I think I’m angriest at myself, because I was careless. I let my guard down; I didn’t think. I was stupid for not making a backup copy of my recipes. I was stupid for trusting that if I left something at my station, it would be safe. I feel like an idiot, and I hate that.” I slammed my hand down on the table, finally putting into words what had been nagging at me for the past two days.

  Killian reached across the table and took my hand. I lifted my head, staring into his eyes, and a shudder ran up my thighs, through my stomach, making me catch my breath. He leaned down and pressed my fingers to his lips, and right then and there, I wanted him.

  Confident in himself, Killian was sure of his place in the world, and his ego didn’t require constant strokes. All of this I knew from that one touch. I ran my index finger along his palm, then gently let go.

  “I hope I wasn’t acting out of place,” he said.

  “No, no…” I searched for the right words. “Sharon’s in the hospital. We’re both suspects in her attack, and right now, I’m trying to save my aunt’s business from going down the drain. Killian, listen to me. I’m going to have to do something that I hate the thought of.”

  I stopped, wondering what he’d think if he found out I was trying to join Bebe’s company. “There are things I can’t tell you right now, but please—trust me. I’m doing what I need to in order to help Venus Envy.” I paused, then figured I might as well tell him about Bran. “And you should know that I’ve been seeing someone. We aren’t exclusive, we aren’t serious, but I want you to know that up front. Before anything happens.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “But…do you think…?” His expression filled in what he left unspoken.

  “Yeah,” I said, holding his gaze. “I think…yes. I want to find out.”

  “Good,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “Because I can’t get you out of my mind.” He placed a twenty on the bill and waited for me to stand
up before sliding out of his side of the booth. “So, will you keep me in the loop?”

  I stared at the floor. “I can’t tell you everything right now—you have to understand that. But I promise, at some point you’ll know.”

  He slid a card into my hand. A number was written across the back. “Call me if you need me,” he said. “You can trust me, Persia. I won’t let you down.” As he headed out the door, I knew he was telling the truth. I slipped the card in my purse, wondering just how much more complicated my life was going to become.

  I stopped by the grocery store to pick up some bagels, cream cheese, lunch meat, soup, and frozen veggies before heading back to the dreary little apartment to sneak past Carlos’s door, hoping to make it to the stairs before he heard me. Luck was on my side; he was nowhere in sight. I took the stairs two at a time, bags weighing me down. I already missed my workout room, and my body ached for movement. Exercise always helped me de-stress myself.

  No sooner had I put the food away, when there came a knock on the door. As I peeked through the peephole, I groaned. Andy Andrews! Somehow, he’d gotten word that I was living here. I debated simply not answering, but avoiding problems never made them go away for long.

  As I opened the door, the look on his face shifted from disbelief to delight. Oh joy. I rested my hand on my hip, the other on the door.

  “Andy, what do you want?”

  “Shit man, I heard you moved into the building but didn’t believe it. And yet, here you are!” He flashed me a goofy grin, and it was at that point that I saw the six-pack in his hand. “I brought you a welcome wagon gift. Want to hang out for a while?”

  I had no desire to hang out with Andy Andrews, but it occurred to me that continually turning him down might simply act as an incentive. And it wasn’t like he was Elliot, who was beginning to scare me. No, Andy was basically harmless. He probably tried to put the make on every girl or woman who crossed his path who he found remotely attractive, and I doubted that I was special in that regard. However, maybe if I turned him into a buddy, he’d back off a little. With that thought in mind, I sighed, took a step back, and motioned for him to come in.

  “Sure, we can hang out for a little while, but you keep your hands to yourself and your tongue in your mouth. Got it?” I laughed to take the edge off my words.

  He flushed for a moment, then the embarrassment died out of his face. “Ah hell, and here I thought I’d win you over with my suave and charming ways.”

  As I accepted a beer and flopped down in the rocking chair, it occurred to me that I was in the most improbable situation that I could have thought up a day or so ago. Sitting in a slum, drinking beer with Andy, effectively out of work. Hey, I was turning into a slacker! Woohoo, and all that crap.

  “So, you like working at the computer shop?”

  He shrugged, wiping the foam off his lips. “Yeah, In-A-Fix is pretty cool. My boss is a good guy; he even lets me take off early if there’s a skateboard competition or meet. I ride professionally, you know.”

  He said it the same way someone might talk about riding horses or driving a truck. I fought back a smile, not wanting him to think I was mocking him. “No, I didn’t know,” I said. “Won any trophies?”

  He shifted until one foot was crossed under him, the other dangled over the edge of the sofa. “Yeah, a few. I’m pretty good. You ride?”

  Actually, I did, but I wasn’t sure what he’d make of the information. “Some. I ski, snowboard, surf, rock climb…you name it, I’ve probably done it.”

  His eyes lit up. “You don’t find many chicks who can do all that. You sure you’re over thirty?”

  I attempted a frown but ended up laughing. “Yes, I’m thirty-one. And before you ask—no, I’m not interested. But it never hurts to make a new friend.”

  Andy let out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, it never hurts to see how far you can get. But that’s cool. Say,” he said, glancing around the place. “Why are you living here? Don’t you live in that huge old house with your aunt?”

  I was scrambling to think up something that wouldn’t need a fifty-mile explanation to go along with it when my cell phone rang. “Just a moment, please,” I said, fishing it out of my purse. As I flipped it open, pressed Talk, and held it to my ear, I heard a voice that seemed familiar. And then I placed it—I’d been waiting for the call.

  “Persia? This is Bebe Wilcox. I talked to Heddy Latherton today, and she said you might be looking for a new position. If so, we need to talk.”

  My lighthearted mood slipping away like water off duck’s down, I motioned to Andy that I’d be a moment and slipped into the bathroom. As I summoned an answer, my stomach flipped, and I knew that this was it—the chance I’d been both dreading and hoping for. “Thank you, Bebe. I’d like very much to meet you and to discuss options.”

  As she named the place, my mind was racing. Here it was—the chance to recover my journal, to prove that Bebe was behind the attempts to destroy Venus Envy. We’d only have one shot. I had to play it just right, or we’d lose the shop for good, and my aunt would be heartbroken.

  Chapter 11

  I AGREED TO meet Bebe the next morning at ten, at her company. Promptly after hanging up, I said good night to Andy, then phoned my aunt and told her the news. “Word gets around fast,” I said.

  Auntie sighed. “I don’t like people thinking I’d kick you out or that you’d betray me.” Her voice was trembling, and I realized just how hard this whole mess had been on her. Venus Envy had been the cream of Gull Harbor—beloved and trusted, and within less than three months, Bebe Wilcox had managed to undermine all that.

  “I won’t let you down, Auntie. Or the shop.” As I said good-bye and hung up, a sense a loss hit my heart. Over the past months since I’d returned to Gull Harbor, Auntie had once again moved into a central place in my life. My sense of family had returned, and now something was threatening that bond.

  Sleep that night didn’t come easy. For one thing, it was just too hot and muggy. For another, the bed in my new apartment was about as comfortable as a slab of granite. I missed Moss Rose Cottage more than I had anticipated.

  The minute my alarm went off, I jumped out of bed. After my three-minute exercise, I worked my way through a simplified yoga routine, spent ten minutes in a head-stand, then gulped down a glass of juice and a couple of protein bars. After a quick shower in the cramped bathroom, I sorted through the clothes I’d brought with me.

  I finally pulled out a pair of black jeans and an olive green tank top that would go with my stiletto Candies. I wanted to feel at my strongest today when facing Bebe, and anything that increased my height to towering proportions was a good thing. A glance in the mirror told me that I looked pretty good, if not professional. I’d just use my outfit to my advantage by telling Bebe I’d had to move quickly, and hadn’t had time to retrieve the rest of my clothes yet.

  As I headed out to my car, I noticed that the air was thick. Thunderstorm weather. Sure enough, when I looked to the sky, I saw the beginnings of a thick formation of cumulonimbus clouds. Not a good sign. We’d be seeing lightning by nightfall at the latest.

  I sped along, mulling over my best approach. I didn’t dare lay it on too thick, or she’d never believe me. However, it wouldn’t do to be blasé, either, or I’d arouse suspicion. I pulled into one of the empty parking spaces labeled Visitor’s Parking in front of the building. As I slipped out of my car, my nerves jangled. I was heading into enemy territory without backup.

  Bebe’s Cosmetics was housed in a small suite of offices on the north side of Port Samanish Island, about a mile outside the Gull Harbor city limits. The building was old, obviously built long before Bebe came along. I caught a glimpse of a faded sign that told me this had once been a medical park. A muggy breeze sprang up as I pushed open the door and entered the heart of Bebe’s Cosmetics.

  As I headed toward the stairs—Bebe had told me to meet her in her office—the acrid smell of chemicals singed m
y nose. They permeated the building, and I wondered just what the hell they were using here.

  The corridor was long and narrow, with offices on either side. Several of them were filled with boxes, apparently being used as storage rooms, but as I turned right, I came face-to-face with a door bearing a large plaque that read “Bebe Wilcox, President.” Taking a deep breath, I opened the door.

  The office was subdivided into two sections, with the outer office manned by a secretary. She was perky, that much was apparent from just a glance. And she was yellow and cream—very yellow. Yellow as in it looked like one of her kids had dumped a box of crayons into her washing machine. Her jacket, headband, and medium-heel pumps were all the color of lemon pudding. Her skirt was a muted cream and did nothing to offset the blinding effect from the rest of her ensemble. She blinked once behind bright, big leopard print glasses, and then a brilliant smile spread across her face and stayed there.

  “Welcome to Bebe’s Cosmetics. My name is Debra. May I help you?” she asked, and I could see every brilliantly polished tooth in her mouth. I wondered if her cheeks hurt from smiling so wide.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m Persia Vanderbilt, and I have an appointment with Bebe this morning.”

  She pointed to a low settee. “Please have a seat. Ms. Wilcox will be with you in a moment. After I obediently sat down, she picked up the phone and whispered into it, eying me as she spoke. I tried to hear what she was saying, but no dice. She replaced the receiver. “Would you like a cup of coffee? A cappuccino? Mocha? Latte? Tea?”

  A hint of the old paranoia crept up, but I pushed it aside. For some reason, just hearing Bebe’s name rang alarm bells in my head. I forced a smile and said, “Iced tea would be lovely. With lemon, please. No sugar.”

  Debra picked up the phone again and, once more, spoke so softly that I couldn’t catch it. “Your tea will be here in a moment. Meanwhile, there are magazines on the table, if you’d like to read while you wait.”