A Blush With Death Page 17

  I glanced up. “So you’re taking me off your list of suspects?”

  “No,” he said. “I can’t do that, but I know you didn’t do it. I know you better than you give me credit for. It was somebody out for revenge on a big scale. That’s why I want you to be careful when you’re at work.”

  And then it dawned on me. “You think somebody at the company did it? Or you think that whoever shot her was out to wreak revenge on the company.”

  Again, Killian’s face popped up in my mind, and I shuddered. I didn’t want him to be guilty, but he had better reason than me to shoot Sharon. I could re-create some of my recipes—at least come up with acceptable substitutes. But Donna Prima had been on the verge of a big discovery, and Sharon had not only stolen the formula to it, she’d also set them back years in research. That was strong motivation.

  Then again, Sharon had made a lot of enemies. Hell, she’d cheated on her husband, it could even be that he was out for revenge. “What about her husband?” I asked suddenly.

  Kyle blinked. “We’re checking into his alibi. Trust me, we aren’t overlooking anybody,” he said, as I shut the door behind him.

  There were too many possibilities, and none of them gave me any sense of security. What had Auntie and I gotten ourselves into? But we had to follow through. It was either that or fold up shop. And Venus Envy was too dear to us to let it go.

  Chapter 12

  THE STORM LASTED through the evening, forks of light splitting the sky every few minutes, followed by crescendos of rolling thunder. I longed to be at Moss Rose Cottage, watching from the living room window as the waves swelled in Puget Sound, but since that was out of the question, and since I had no intention of spending another evening captive with Andy, or worse yet—Carlos—I headed out to meet Barb for a drink. We’d agreed to meet at Tony’s Bar & Grill.

  I caught my hair back into a chignon—the humidity had made it frizz like crazy—and slipped into a khaki skirt and a loose cotton weave top. A glance out the window told me the rain hadn’t let up; in fact, it was sluicing down like water over a burst dam.

  Ducking as I exited the building, I dashed for the car, grateful I’d remembered to put up the top before coming in. Otherwise, I’d have a very expensive wading pool by now. I inched through the streets, barely able to see, despite the windshield wipers working at full speed. Tony’s was only a couple of miles away, but it took me twice as long to get there as it normally would. Better safe than sorry, I thought. My aunt might be a speed demon, but my driving was one place I preferred to exercise caution.

  I parked as close to the building as I could, but it wasn’t close enough. On the way through the lot, a rap-spewing lowrider sped by, splashing me as it bounced through a large puddle. Wonderful! Drenched with muddy water, I yanked open the door and entered the restaurant, looking for Barb. She was waiting for me in the front. I noticed she’d seized the opportunity to hide her haircut with a jaunty beret. I gave her a weak wave as her gaze ran over my outfit.

  “How did you get here? Swim?” She giggled.

  “Very funny. Apparently somebody driving through the parking lot decided I needed a bath.”

  We followed the waitress to a booth near the back. Barb ordered a glass of red wine and a plate of nachos, and I ordered scalding hot tea with lemon and an order of calamari. After the waitress disappeared, I pulled the chopsticks out of my hair and shook it loose, relaxing for the first time that day.

  “I start my new job tomorrow,” I said.

  Barb shook her head. “I think you’re nuts. But if this is what you and your aunt want to do, then I hope it works out. Just be careful. Those Belles at the convention looked like they could beat a sumo into submission.”

  “There’s more reason than that to be cautious.” I leaned forward. “Kyle won’t tell me what, but something’s going on there. Something underhanded. He came by my new digs to try to talk me out of going through with our plan, but as I told him, we have no other choice.”

  Barb sucked in a quick breath of air. “Are you certain you want to do this, Persia? Surely once people realize that Bebe’s Boutique is a sham and a rip-off, they’ll come back to Venus Envy.”

  “By then there may not be a shop. We’ve lost money the past couple of months. Now we have to replace fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of roses. Auntie can’t do that unless she knows Venus Envy has a future. If the shop closes, all we’ll have is one very expensive, very pretty, and very unnecessary new rose garden.”

  Barb was about to say something when a shadow fell over our booth. I looked up to see Mae Johnson, from the service station, staring down at me with a scathing look on her face.

  “How could you do that to your aunt? I was talking to Ana Winston, and she was in your store the other day when you flounced out. While it isn’t my place to interfere, I just can’t walk by you and keep my mouth shut!” She looked as though I’d punched her in the stomach. “You should respect your aunt more—she’s done so much for you.”

  I blinked. Heddy Latherton’s helpful response had been unexpected; this was not. This was the reaction I expected Auntie’s loyal friends to have, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. I steeled myself and looked her calmly in the face. “Listen, Mae, I didn’t do anything—Auntie’s got it all wrong.”

  “Didn’t do anything? Didn’t do anything? You just ruined her rose garden! How could you be such an ungrateful child?” She shook her head, turned, and stomped away.

  Thoroughly chastised, I turned back to Barb, who had watched the whole interplay openmouthed. “I guess she told me,” I said.

  Barb gulped. “I guess so. Oh, Persia, I’m so sorry. Even though I know you and your aunt planned this, I didn’t think the outcry would be this bad. You must feel horrible.” She peeked down the aisle to where Mae was settling back in at her table. “I didn’t think she was capable of being so rude.”

  “People surprise you once they lose the calm veneer of civilization. I’m no longer surprised by anything anybody does.” Well, almost, I thought. Sometimes it wasn’t wise to make blanket statements. Old Coyote, the trickster, was out there, listening, just waiting to make life miserable for people who thought they knew it all.

  I told her about Heddy calling Bebe, and my interview with the maven of bad makeup. “I have to make very sure that anything I concoct while I’m there isn’t worth recreating. Because, scam artist or not, she’ll own the rights to the formulas. So, what should I wear tomorrow?”

  Barb frowned. “I don’t know. What’s the usual apparel for a corporate spy?” She laughed, then abruptly stopped as the waitress appeared with our orders. As soon as she had deposited the food in front of us and left, we were off and running, discussing what my camouflage outfit should consist of.

  On the way home, I relaxed at Barb’s while she ran over to Auntie’s. I’d asked her to pack a suitcase of clothes for me and to grab my boom box. Then, after one last brownie, I headed for my depressing little apartment in my shabby apartment building. I dropped into bed, exhausted, but not quite tired enough to fall asleep right away. Finally, after getting out of bed and running through a few gentle yoga asanas, I was able to sleep.

  I DON’T KNOW why I expected it to be any different, but my first day at Bebe’s was an exercise in patience. Morning arrived to shower me with a stream of golden sunlight pouring through the window. The storm had passed. I slipped a CD into the boom box, and Beck blasted out from the speakers as I took a deep breath and dressed for battle.

  In the back of my closet at Auntie’s, I’d stuffed a few little suits from the days when I worked the counters at various department stores, and I’d had Barb pack a couple of them for me. I selected a skirt and jacket that—while not the brilliant yellow of the Belle mentality—still matched their basic style. As I slid into the skirt, I had to hold my breath while zipping it up the side.

  The zipper didn’t want to close. Great, I’d put on an inch or so on my waistline—mos
tly muscle—over the past few years. I sucked in my gut again, yanking the fastener. It caught at my waist, I let out my breath, cautious to avoid undoing my victory. The fabric stretched across my thighs, skintight, and wincing, I glanced in the mirror.

  Damn, my butt looked good! The curves I’d put on were looking mighty fine, if I said so myself. Feeling more confident, despite having to hold my breath, I finished buttoning the silky cream shirt that complemented the vivid aqua of the suit, and then slid on the bolero jacket. It cupped my breasts snugly, barely able to fasten. As one of my favorite shows on TV kept saying, “Lock and load the girls.”

  Another look in the mirror told me that if I’d gained even two more pounds, the suit would be a goner. As it was, I was giving everybody and their brother a show—the skintight fabric accentuated every curve on my body. Feeling out of character but oddly confident, I caught my hair into a tight bun and then fixed my face, going for the full-face routine. I finished up with a vivid plum eye shadow, an eye-popping fuchsia lipstick, big earrings, and a pair of three and a half inch high silver pumps.

  One thing was for sure, I wouldn’t be eating lunch, not if I hoped to keep my skirt zipped. I might manage an energy bar, if lucky, and I dreaded facing the day without breakfast. I popped my chewable calcium tablets and vitamin C, hoping that they’d take off the edge of hunger until I could grab a candy bar or something.

  As I headed toward the stairs, a familiar whistle echoed from down the hall. Andy Andrews was staring at me, a look of disbelief on his face.

  “Damn, you look good.” He shook his head, circling me like a vulture. “I’ve never seen you look so…so…”

  “So corporate?”

  “So Barbie doll. You fit the uniform, though.”

  I didn’t know whether to feel flattered or insulted. “Gee, thanks?”

  He glanced at his watch. “Shit, I’ve got to go. Say, want to get together tonight? We could go out, have a drink or two…” His trademark leer followed the comment, but I noticed he’d toned it down just a little.

  “Thanks, Andy, but I’ve got a date,” I said. I was lying, but at this point figured that it might be the easiest way to turn him down. He shrugged, then headed for the elevator while I made tracks down the stairs.

  Bebe’s Cosmetics was aflutter with women hustling through the halls, some in dresses, some in suits, all in full makeup. Nobody seemed to recognize me, though a few faces looked familiar from the convention. All the same, as I made my way toward Bebe’s office, I had the distinct feeling that I was being watched. By who, I wasn’t sure, but there were eyes trained on my back.

  Bebe was nowhere to be seen, but Debra handed me a packet of paperwork to fill out and steered me into a small conference room containing several tables, walls covered with dry erase boards, and one window that overlooked a back parking lot and a few storage facilities in what looked to be a barren field. As I gazed around the sterile room, I realized how much I again missed my aunt and being at Venus Envy.

  Overcome with homesickness, it was all I could do to force myself into a chair to look over the paperwork. The application was standard, but the other papers—the nondisclosure form and the contract granting all rights to anything I created on their premises or while in their employ—nagged at me. How could I sign something that a judge might later use against me?

  And then, the kicker. A noncompetition agreement. If I signed it, I wouldn’t be able to return to Venus Envy. Shit.

  I peeked out the door at Debra. “I forgot to bring some of the information. Mind if I take all this home with me to fill out? I’ll turn it in tomorrow?” I crossed my fingers.

  Debra frowned. “Bebe usually likes to wrap up the paperwork on the first day. I’d ask her, but she’s gone until Monday.”

  Gone until Monday, huh? That gave me several days to poke around without her knowing it. “Listen, I’d go home now, but she wanted me to get right to work. One day can’t hurt, can it?” I gave her a wide smile. “I know you’re busy, and I’m so sorry I’m such a space cadet. That time of the month, you know.” I played the card almost every woman could sympathize with.

  Debra’s eyes lit up, and she gave me an understanding nod. “Oh, trust me, I’m a wreck four days out of every month. I have to say, you’re braver than I am, wearing a pastel skirt.” She glanced around, then motioned me over to the desk. “Don’t worry about the forms. I can change the date stamp before I clock them in tomorrow. Bebe…it’s been awhile since she’s had to deal with PMS.” The look on her face told me Bebe Wilcox wouldn’t let a thing like cramps put a dent in her day, and she probably had little sympathy for anyone so afflicted.

  “Thanks,” I said, filing away a note that Debra was probably unappreciated and overworked. “So what next?”

  “Here’s your temporary badge,” she handed me a name tag. “Your permanent one will be ready next week.”

  I plastered it on my suit, wondering if the permanent passes were sturdier than this. “Okay. Next?”

  Debra consulted a memo on her desk. “Why don’t you have a seat while I call Ms. Doyle? She’s the head of the research department, where you’ll be working.”

  “What’s she like?” I asked.

  Debra quirked her mouth and snickered. “Ms. Doyle makes Ms. Wilcox look as friendly as a puppy. I do not envy you.” She picked up the phone while I took a seat and waited.

  It took another ten minutes before Leila Doyle appeared. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her. Small in stature, Ms. Doyle managed to fill the room. Around fifty—maybe older or younger but somewhere in that range—she was petite and immaculate, with a stare straight out of a deep freeze, and she smelled like Le Jardin. With one sweep, she ran her gaze over me and gestured for me to follow her.

  I glanced at Debra, who studiously kept her eyes on her desk. As I followed Leila down the hall, I wondered whether she’d be overseeing me the entire time. My guess was that not much escaped those birdlike eyes. Not a chance in hell of poking around with her in the room.

  Leila led me to the elevator, which we took to the third floor. As we marched through the hall, I was struck by the muted energy of the place. Quiet, the floor felt empty, as if it had been unused for a long time. The walls were a pale shade of orange that seemed thirty years out of date, and the carpet, a worn purple with gold accents that may once have been fleurs-de-lis.

  We stopped in front a set of double doors. Stenciled on the window were the words, Research & Development—1A. Authorized Personnel Only.

  Leila stopped abruptly, her voice brisk. “You’ll need a lab coat. Standard dress for our section consists of trousers—pressed and clean, of course—and a short-sleeved shirt. No jeans, no short skirts, no long sleeves in my department. You don’t want sleeves drooping into the products or something acidic dropping on your leg. Last year, one of my girls gave herself a third-degree burn on her thigh because she was wearing shorts.” Without giving me a chance to say a word, she plowed right on. “Tomorrow you will be properly attired. In the meantime, you may use one of the spare coats we keep for visitors.”

  She opened the door a crack and stood back, forcing me to squeeze by her. I could feel her disapproving stare and wondered if she was this abrupt with everyone, or if she simply disapproved of Bebe’s decision to hire me.

  The lab bore no resemblance to anything I’d expected. I don’t know what I thought I’d find—perhaps some mad scientist’s laboratory out of a cheesy made-for-TV movie, but if beakers and Bunsen burners existed in the building, they weren’t here. Instead, the room possessed the same sterility as the conference room I’d been in. Bleak mint green walls, counters covered in utilitarian Formica, a dry erase board stretching across one wall. Three closets held supplies, two on one side of the room, one on another. There were four workstations and a central meeting table with chairs around it.

  One of the workstations looked like an artist’s studio, with crayons and oil pastels and colored pencils
scattered around the surface. Three sketchpads of varying sizes were stacked to one side, alongside a large pile of what looked like old beauty magazines. A half-eaten sandwich sat to the other side, next to a Diet Coke and an open magazine. From where I was standing, the magazine looked like Modern Makeup.

  The second and third stations were more traditional, but still no gas jets or lab beakers. One consisted of a sink, a hand mirror, a basket full of wet wipes and soaps, and what seemed to be various makeup removers. The third held row after row of samplers—small cards with samples of various cosmetics on them, much like the cards that Bebe’s booth had been offering with my fragrances on them. I craned my neck to read the top one. Evelyn Vox. Evelyn Vox was an up-and-coming young designer who had recently launched a new line of lipsticks.

  The fourth station was obviously mine. A triple row of oils stretched across the work area, along with a box of empty bottles, eyedroppers, cotton swabs, and various other paraphernalia. Leila steered me toward the chair.

  “Amy, Rhonda, and Janette are on coffee break. They start at seven AM, as you will, starting tomorrow.” She pointed to the chair. “Sit.”

  I contemplated saying, Say please, but decided that would be counterproductive. I sat.

  “What size are you?”

  “Size?”

  “So I can find you an appropriate lab coat. Here at Bebe’s Cosmetics, we do not subscribe to the one-size-fits-all theory. Do you wear a small, medium, or large?” She tipped her head, staring at me over the top of her glasses like I was dense.

  It was obvious I took neither a small nor large, but I merely cleared my throat and said, “Medium.”

  She nodded, then marched to one of the closets and withdrew a bright yellow lab coat from within. I removed my own jacket, looking around for a place to hang it up. Leila let out a sigh of exasperation and grabbed it out of my hand, striding over to a coat rack that I’d somehow managed to miss. I slipped on the lab coat, thanking my lucky stars I didn’t really need the job here.