Crave (37 page)

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Authors: Karen E. Taylor

BOOK: Crave
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Chapter 15
I
woke at dawn, having forgotten to pull the curtains closed the previous night. Once I was awake and remembered where I was, going back to sleep was impossible. So I showered and brushed my teeth, then opened my bag and took out a clean set of clothes. I laughed to myself as I zipped up my jeans; at least I didn't have to worry about what to wear, since all I'd brought was black jeans and T-shirts. Opening my cosmetic bag, I applied a small touch of color to my cheeks and eyelids, added a little mascara to my eyelashes. I pulled out the vials that Angelo had given me one by one and lined them up on the glass shelf above the sink, reading the labels and descriptions again. Courage, attraction, disguise, confusion, command and a few others, plus the control that had worked quite well on the bus. He'd been so happy to provide them and so sure of their powers. The very least I could do was use them. But which would be most appropriate for this auspicious occasion?
I picked up the bottle labeled “Command” and read, “Apply to palms of hands for success in bending others to your will.” I shrugged and unscrewed the cap. It smelled earthy, a combination of wet autumn leaves and fresh dirt, with a delicate underlay of rotting meat. “Yeah, 'Lo,” I said, wrinkling my nose, “people will agree to anything you want just to get the smell out.” But I took a second sniff and felt myself strangely drawn to the aroma. I dabbed just a bit on the palms of both my hands, rubbed them together and cupped them around my nose. Like so many perfumes, it had a different scent when applied to skin. “Not too bad,” I said to my reflection. “Let's see if this one works as well as the other.”
 
The Griffin Designs offices turned out to be not that far from the hotel. “You might still want to take a cab,” the woman behind the desk advised. “It's easy to get turned around unless you know your way.” I'd made arrangements to keep the room for at least one more night, and paid in cash again. There'd been no problem this morning, perhaps because of Mr. Adams's endorsement from last night. She'd had to answer the phone in the middle of our transaction, so I glanced around the lobby, then walked over to peer into the hotel restaurant. It was quite elegant, white linen cloths on the tables, flowers in tiny little bud vases and cut-crystal and silver salt and pepper shakers. “If you want breakfast,” the woman said as I walked back over to the desk and she handed me my receipt, “don't eat here.” She looked around to make sure she wasn't overheard. “Leave this place to the rich tourists. There's a perfectly good diner one block over. And they won't charge you New York rates for eggs and coffee.”
“Thanks.”
I followed her instructions and found a plain place with more of a homey feel than the hotel's restaurant. Sitting at the counter, I felt more comfortable with the glass and chrome shakers and the cheap green-speckled Formica counter. The waitress, I realized with a pang, reminded me of Moon, so I ordered a cup of coffee, deciding that my normal morning tea might make me homesick. I also ordered two pieces of toast, more to give myself something to do than to eat.
I poured as much cream into the coffee as would fit in the cup, made a show of putting jelly on the toast. But I wasn't particularly thirsty or hungry. I was nervous. Why on earth did I come here?
“More coffee?” The waitress gave me a tired smile. “That's a pretty ring you have on, honey. It's a lily, right?” I looked down at my hand and nodded, suppressing the wave of sadness and anger I felt inside.
“You get that around here somewhere?”
“No, it was a gift. From someone back home.”
“That's nice. Must've been from a young man, I figure, seeing as how you're such a pretty young thing. He come with you?”
“No, he's dead.”
“Oh, Lord, and didn't I just put my foot into it? I'm sorry, honey, you're awful young to be carrying such a sorrow.”
“It's okay,” I said, pulling a bill out of my pocket and putting it on the counter. “I'm not all that young. And I'm glad you mentioned it, actually, since I was just wondering what the hell I was doing here. Now I know—I'm going to meet my mother. And she'll balance the account.”
I walked out onto the street and hailed a cab for Griffin Designs.
 
“I'd like to see Ms. Griffin.” The receptionist looked up at me with no recognition and no enthusiasm.
“Ms. Griffin?” She held up a finger while she picked up the ringing phone. “Griffin Designs, may I help you?” She paused for a second—“Just one moment, please”—pushed a button on the console and hung up the phone, turning to me again. “Sorry,” she said, “the phones are hell right before a show. Who did you say you wanted to see?” The phone rang and she sighed. “See? They're hell.”
I waited. “I'd like to talk to the owner,” I said when she looked back at me again.
“Oh, I see. She's not here right now. Did you want to wait for her?”
“Will she be in?”
She shrugged. “As far as I know she will be.” The phone rang again and she answered it.
I shook my head when she'd finished. “Man,” I said with a smile, “I'd hate this job.”
She shrugged. “It's not so bad. I've had worse. Anyway, I guess she'll be in. At least no one's told me differently. Do you have an appointment?”
“Well, no, but I'm sure she'll see me. We're, um, old friends.”
She nodded, looking me up and down. “Okay, then, have a seat. But I've got to warn you, she hardly ever hires anyone off the street. And you're just a little bit too short.”
“Too short?”
The phone rang and she stopped again to answer it. I really would hate to have her job. You never even got to finish a sentence.
It didn't seem to faze her, though. She switched from phone to conversation without so much as a blink. “Yeah, short for a model. Otherwise, you've got the build for it.”
“Scrawny, you mean?”
She laughed. “Here we prefer the word sleek. Or lithesome. Or whatever the hell the fashion industry is pushing down our throats this week.”
“I'm not looking for a job.”
“Okay, whatever. Suit yourself. I just happen to know for a fact that
she
doesn't have old friends. Or any friends.”
I smiled. “Now, that's not much of a surprise at all.”
“You do look sort of familiar, though.”
“I'd guess I would. I'm her . . .”
“Shhh.” The receptionist seemed to spring to attention. As if on cue, the elevator doors opened behind me. I didn't turn around at first. “Morning, Lucy.” The voice was deeper and more harsh than I'd expected, clipped and quick. “And what do we have here?”
“She wants to see you. But she doesn't have an appointment.” The phone rang again, and Lucy seemed happy to return to it. I had the feeling the owner made her nervous.
Not surprising,
I thought,
considering what the owner is.
“Another one?” She sounded annoyed. “Well, turn around, girlie, and let me look at you.”
I turned and came face-to-face with a total stranger, who obviously didn't think I was one.
She beamed and enveloped me in a hug. “Oh, it's so good to see you. And much earlier than you normally get about. What's happening? How've you and that handsome hubby of yours been getting along?” She stepped back and took a long look at me. “Damn it, Deirdre, every time I see you, you look worse than before. What the hell have you been doing to yourself? And where did you get those god-awful clothes? And that horrible haircut?”
I ran my hand through my hair. “Excuse me?”
“Forget it.” She linked her arm in mine. “Send some coffee back, Lucy. And some Danish, I think.” She moved me through the inner door and walked me down the hallway. “I do hope you have time for a good gossip, Deirdre. It's been so long.”
We reached an office at the very end of the hall. She entered first and then beckoned me on. “Come in, come in. No need to be formal. Something must be going on with you or you wouldn't be here. You'd be cozied up in that little cabin with that detective. So sit down and tell me all about it.”
I sat as ordered; she was such an imposing woman.
“Well?”
“Who are you?” I asked.
She laughed. “Funny, very funny.”
“I'm not joking. Who are you?”
She stopped for a second, gave me a critical look, blinked once and moved closer to me. “Jesus.” She shook her head; her heavy earrings made a clacking sound. “You aren't Deirdre, are you?”
“No, I'm not her. I'm Lily Williams, her daughter.”
“Daughter? You're her daughter?” She took me by the shoulders and looked into my eyes. “There's no question about the resemblance, although now that I look closer, I see a difference. It's your eyes, I think.” She cocked her head to one side. “They're not as deep. Deirdre has always had eyes you could fall into.”
I disengaged myself from her hands. “I don't want to be rude, but who are you?”
“Oh. I'm sorry. Betsy McCain.” She reached out to shake my hand, obviously an instinctual reaction, since we'd already had more than enough body contact for politeness' sake. “I bought Griffin Designs from your mother a couple of years ago. She didn't tell you?”
“Ms. McCain, I have never spoken with my mother; I haven't met her. I didn't even know where to find her until a few days ago.”
There was a knock on the door, and Lucy came in with a plate of pastries and some coffee, setting it on the large desk. “Thanks, Luce. And hold my calls, will you?” Lucy nodded and left, closing the door behind her.
Betsy walked around to the desk. “She must have had you when she was very young, I suppose.” She poured herself a cup and motioned me to come over. “Here, fix it yourself,” she said, shoving a cup into my hands. “I'm not very domestic.”
“Not all that young.” I poured half a cup and topped it off with creamer. “Far as I can tell, she was twenty-eight at the time.”
“And you're what? Nineteen? Twenty?”
“Twenty-two, actually,” I said, remembering the age printed on the ID Angelo had given me.
“So that makes Deirdre . . .”
“Much older than she seems. Yeah.”
Betsy put her head back and laughed. “I knew it. She's had cosmetic surgery. She'd never admit it, but I had my suspicions. No one looks that good for so long. And so when you were born she put you up for adoption?”
“Close enough. Ms. McCain, what can you tell me about my mother?”
“Betsy, call me Betsy. I get enough of the Ms. stuff around here to make me crazy. I haven't really known your mother all that long, but I'll tell you what little I do know.”
She knew plenty, enough to fill about another two hours of conversation. Lucy had been right, this woman had no friends. She wouldn't have latched on to me quite so tightly if she had. And she wouldn't have pursued the one friend she used to have, my mother, with as much determination.
The picture she painted for me was quite clear. Deirdre Griffin was beautiful, talented and rich, leading an exotic and full life, including a whirlwind courtship and marriage to a handsome man who adored her. In short, she possessed everything while I had nothing.
And then there was the question of the mysterious deaths, one of which happened in the private apartments located off this very office. They were, Betsy maintained, just unfortunate coincidences in which my mother had accidentally become involved. “It was almost as if death followed her around,” Betsy said, a sad, understanding look on her face. “She's had her share of hard luck, no doubt about it.”
I tried not to laugh out loud. I wanted to jump up from my seat and scream,
Of course death followed her around, you stupid woman. She's a fucking vampire.
I kept my thoughts to myself. This was fascinating stuff.
“But,” Betsy continued, “she rose above all of it. And now she's hopefully enjoying the sort of life she deserves. I can only think of one thing that could help complete that life. Meeting you.”
I smiled my sweetest smile while seething inside.
I'll help complete her life, you bet your ass I will.
“Thanks, Betsy. So you'll help me find her?”
“Of course I will. What are friends for? Besides, I happen to know exactly where she is. It's not much of a secret.”
She moved to her desk again and opened up a file on her computer. “Here we go,” she said after pressing a few keys. “I'll print it out for you.”
She went over to the printer and pulled off the sheet of paper. “It's this awful little one-horse town in Maine. God only knows what they were thinking. But it shouldn't be too hard to find.”

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