Death in a Funhouse Mirror (40 page)

"I hate shopping," I admitted. "Usually I have a friend who does it for me, but she's on her honeymoon. And I just had a fire in my apartment...."

"I see." She tipped her head up and studied me for a minute. "Would you mind if I picked out a few things?"

Would I mind? Was she crazy? Assuming she had any taste at all, I'd be grateful. "Not at all," I said.

"Good. You wait right here. I won't be long." On her way out, she snagged two things, a suit and a dress, from the discard rack in the middle of the room. "Try these, for starters. You were made to wear these colors."

I looked at the suit she'd given me and knew I'd found a savior. It was the same suit Suzanne had bought me two weeks before. The one that had gotten ruined in the fire. The cleaner had tried, but there was too much blood and soot. I didn't need to try it, I knew it fit. The dress fit, too. I put it on, zipped it and looked in the mirror. It was a fitted sleeveless sheath in iris blue linen with a short, Chanel-style jacket. The fitting room attendant looked over and smiled. "It's perfect for you. You're lucky, you know. Mrs. Merriam is a genius at what suits people."

My mentor, who I now knew was Mrs. Merriam, returned, staggering under the weight of the clothes she was carrying. "Now, dear," she said, "I'm sure we'll find something suitable here." She scrutinized the dress. "Yes, that works very well, doesn't it, and I know where you can get just the right shoes for that." For nearly an hour, I played human Barbie Doll while Mrs. Merriam and the clerk she pressed into service as her underling dressed me in a mind-boggling succession of outfits. She was as efficient as a drill sergeant.

Even though I appreciated what she was doing, there came a moment when the absurdity of it finally got to me. My office was waist high with work, and here I was, standing in a room full of nearly naked strangers, taking orders like a ten-year-old from someone I didn't know. I sat down on the bench to rest my tired legs and said, "Enough. I'm sorry. I appreciate it, but I've got to get back to work." I was an energetic person, but she was tireless. She would have gone on until closing time, or even, such was her personal power, persuaded the store to stay open longer.

She looked at her watch. "Goodness, you're right. I've got to get home and watch 'Murder She Wrote.' I just love Angela Lansbury. Now, let's see what we've got." She went quickly through the keepers, pulling one out and rejecting it, then through the possibles, where she shifted three items over to the keepers. "Yes, I think that ought to hold you for a while. My but that was fun. It was so nice of you to let me help. I love doing this. I expect you think I'm batty, don't you?" She rushed on, not giving me time to answer. "But I have a daughter, about your age and with a very similar build. She hates to shop and I pick out all her clothes. Different coloring, of course. She can't wear any of those interesting greens. But that's why I knew what to look for."

"I'm grateful. I truly am. As you saw, I wasn't doing too well on my own."

"Excuse me." She turned away, lightning quick, as the attendant tried to put some abandoned clothes on the discard rack. "Letty, those are mine." The attendant practically curtseyed as she apologized and backed away. "Well, I hope you enjoy your new clothes. I guess we found quite a few, didn't we? Can you afford all that?"

"If it means not having to go shopping again, it's worth it." I picked up all the clothes I could carry, Mrs. Merriam's assistant picked up the rest, and we marched off to the cashier. The cashier had the bored look people get when they work late in the evening, but the boredom changed to something more like astonishment when she saw us coming. And I was such an ingrate. Here I was, living out every woman's fantasy, doing what people enter contests to be able to do. I'd just gone on a megashopping spree and I only saw it as a chore. I flinched when I heard the total, but the feeling had passed by the time I handed over my American Express card. The insurance would cover most of it. But I did feel a little like the sultana of Brunei when the shop assistant followed me out to my car carrying the six shopping bags I couldn't manage.

I drove back to the office, careful to park my car under a streetlight, and went to work. I let the Eagles serenade me while I worked my way through Suzanne's mail, then my own, and finally felt ready to face Bobby's big, insecure question marks. It turned out that he didn't have any hard questions. The question marks had been employed to flag some good ideas he had that he wanted my response to.

I tipped back in my chair, kicked off my shoes, and dictated two tapes full of letters and memos. It was kind of like taking a shower when you want the phone to ring. For weeks we'd been sweating about where we were going to get more work. Today, with all of us busier than ants in August, and Suzanne off in Bermuda embarked on an orgy of moon, June, spoon, jobs were pouring in. An embarrassment of riches. Feast or famine. I could spend the next hour thinking of clichés. That was how it always went. I'd just forgotten.

I pushed my weary old self out of the chair and redistributed the piles: one onto Sarah's desk, one for Magda, and the third to Bobby, including a note telling him I'd call him in the morning to discuss Bartlett Hill. Hopefully I'd given them enough guidance so that they could handle things tomorrow. I left Sarah my number at Bartlett Hill in case she needed to reach me. If only I had a maid waiting at home to hang up all my new finery I'd be in heaven.

The phone rang just as I was shutting off the lights, ominous and compelling in the silent office. I resisted the temptation to answer it. That was what we had an answering machine for. Besides, most of the calls I'd been getting lately had been more trouble than they were worth. Instead I snapped off the lights and left the phone sending its plaintive appeal into the empty darkness.

Remembering that Andre and I had eaten most of my supplies, I stopped at a convenience store and got milk, bread, OJ, English muffins and a box of cereal. Now I was prepared for flood, tornado, hurricane or other acts of nature. I also got coffee for the road, in one of the handy-dandy cups with the peel-back lids that let you sip without spilling. In my experience, what they're really designed to do is funnel a thin stream of coffee down the front of my shirt and into my cleavage. To be safe, I tucked a napkin into the neck of my dress, pulled out the little tray that holds my coffee when I'm not drinking it, and roared off into the night.

 

 

 

Chapter 26

 

Andre had given me two presents before he left, handing them to me in a furtive, almost embarrassed way after our midnight dinner. From his behavior I'd expected risqué lingerie and the presents had taken me by surprise. The first was a little alarm you could carry in your pocket which, if you pushed a button, gave off a tremendous noise. The second was a canister of something called stun, which he said worked like Mace. I'd given it right back, reminding him that the last time I tried something like that, I ended up having it used on me.

"I haven't forgotten," he said. "This is better. No top to remove. It fits in the palm of your hand. Just point it at your attacker and squeeze. This doesn't deliver some little squirt, either. This stuff comes out with a rich, throaty roar, guaranteed to stop the bastard in his tracks." He handed it back to me. "Please keep it. I'll feel safer, knowing you have it. I thought about getting you a gun, but that didn't make sense. Not until I have a chance to show you how to use one."

This was a different Andre from the one I was used to and what was different was that instead of trying to protect me by telling me how I should behave, he was acknowledging that I was responsible for my behavior and trying to help me be safer if I made risky choices. I took the presents and put them in my purse. "I really appreciate this, Andre," was all I told him, but he knew what I meant, just like I'd known what he meant, and we both knew we'd taken a giant step forward. I just hoped the next step wasn't going to involve lessons in marksmanship. I wanted a less dangerous life, not one that was more dangerous.

When I got back in the car with my coffee, I took both devices out of my purse and slipped them into my pockets. Intuition or not, I wasn't taking any chances. Being brave doesn't mean one has to be foolish.

Everything looked normal. All the usual cars in the usual parking spaces. Tonight, everyone had their outside lights on, and things seemed unusually bright. I wondered if they were behind their curtains, watching, saying to themselves, "That girl better get home soon, we want to turn out our lights and go to bed." Instead of parking in my slot, I parked the car right in front of the door, sprinted to it, unlocked it, and shut off the alarm. Then I began the tiresome chore of lugging in my new wardrobe. I was coming back for the second load when someone behind me said, "Can I help you with those?"

Without hesitating a second I dropped the bags onto the walk, stuck my hand into my pocket and hit the alarm button. As my dress began to wail loudly, I pulled out the stun and Officer Harris went for his gun. Luckily we both figured out what was happening before I zapped him or he shot me. We both fell back against the car, panting, while I turned off the alarm and he put his gun away.

"Excuse me, Ms. Kozak," he said, "but what the hell was that?"

I couldn't answer. I was still trying to get my breath, trying to slow my heartbeat down to a reasonable level. Right now it was slamming against my chest wall like a wild bird trying to escape from a cage. I'd been in some tight situations in my life, but I'd never come face-to-face with a loaded gun before. There was so much adrenaline surging through my system I probably could have run all the way to Boston and back. He stared at me in confusion and I just went on leaning against the car, waiting for my stomach to unknot. My hands, when I touched my face, were icy and trembling.

"What's the matter? Are you okay?"

"The gun. You scared me."

"I'm sorry. It was that noise. It startled me."

"You always pull your gun when you hear a loud noise?"

"Of course not."

"Well, you could have fooled me. I think you just took ten years off my life."

"I'm sorry," he said again, at a loss for anything more helpful to say. "Why don't you go in and sit down. I'll bring the rest of this stuff in and park the car. What was that thing, anyhow?"

"Give me a minute to pull myself together and then I'll show you." He carried the rest of my wardrobe and the groceries inside, parked the car while I watched warily, then came inside and shut the door. "It was this," I said, taking the alarm out of my pocket and handing it to him. "Present from my boyfriend Andre." Harris and I had had our ups and downs, but if he hadn't frightened me out of my wits just now with his gun, I would have been glad to see him tonight. And he had carried in my stuff.

"Sure makes a racket," he said. He handed it back. "Good idea. Keep it with you. I don't imagine your neighbors liked it much, though."

"After the last week, I'll be lucky if I'm not ridden out of town on a rail."

"I don't believe they do that sort of thing around here," he said. "It's more like a big chill. Any chance I could get you to make some more of that great coffee?"

"Twist my arm," I answered, getting the coffee out of the freezer. When he wasn't being an asshole he could be rather sweet. Or maybe it was just that things were different seen with my new optimism. The light on my answering machine was blinking like a spastic with conjunctivitis, but I ignored it. Experience had taught me that it rarely delivered good news. I wasn't in the mood for bad. I poured in the water and pushed the button. The machine gave a happy gurgle, a hot steamy whoosh, and the smell of good coffee began to fill the room. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"I just wanted to see that you got home all right," he said defensively. Meaning the chief had sent him again.

I didn't needle him, as I might have done in a more prickly mood. Intense fright has a way of taking the starch out of me. Just now, I had all the stamina of an overcooked noodle. "Thanks," I said, "I appreciate it. I'd been wishing for someone to help me carry all this stuff in."

"Looks like you went shopping."

"That is an understatement, Officer. I went on a binge, a total, obscene binge. I bet no one has ever bought this much in the history of the world. But I had to. All my clothes were toasted."

He nodded. "I'll bet you hate to shop, too. My wife would have been in heaven."

It was impossible to imagine Harris with a wife. He seemed so awkward around women. Unless it was just me. I wondered what Mrs. Harris thought about her husband spending the night in my motel room. I fixed his coffee and offered him an English muffin. Over muffins and coffee, tea for me to settle my jangled nerves, he admitted he'd been told to keep an eye on me, direct orders from the chief. Maybe my intuition told me it was over, but the police didn't think so. "Why does the chief care?"

He shrugged. "Like I told you before... I don't mean to sound callous or anything, but it wouldn't look good for any of us if something happened to you. The people in this area have paid a lot of money to live in a nice place... they don't like the idea of midnight intruders and women being attacked."