Hostile Makeover (23 page)

“What did the police say?”

“I don’t know what it is about cops, but they always start in on me, like I got some kind of label on my ass that says, ‘Kick Me.’ ”

“Do you have a history with cops, Stel?”

“Christ almighty. I never told you?” Stella started picking up a few magazines, then, without a clue where to put them, tossed them back on the black leather sofa. “They always came to my house when I was a kid. Every Saturday night, like clockwork. My folks were always fighting. Or beating on me. Or both. The old man thought using his belt was a competitive sport: Olympic Synchronized Whipping. Anyway, the cops never did anything about it; they blamed us, blamed my mother for setting the bastard off, blamed my brother and me for being bad kids. I know all about how helpful cops are. And you know why? My freaking dad was a cop. Ex-cop. Those cops were all his buddies. Sticking together. Pricks.” Stella collapsed on the sofa and curled her feet under her. “Then this jerk-face cop last night, he tells me maybe I’m the target, and not Amanda Manville, maybe it’s all my fault. So I start thinking, Maybe he’s right; maybe I’m next.”

“Maybe I should open the drapes,” Lacey suggested. The place was closing in on her.

“No, no, no, what if the shooter’s out there?” Stella looked around the apartment and clutched her throat. “I gotta get out of here, Lacey.”

“The shooter isn’t after you, Stel. Amanda told me someone wanted to kill her. Remember?”

“Yeah, but what if the shooter thinks I can ID him and now he’s after me? Hey, can I stay with you tonight?” Stella looked hopeful for the first time. “I don’t want to be alone. Bobby Blue Eyes is out of town, but he’ll be back tomorrow. Staying by myself, I just keep thinking all these crazy thoughts. Like I might be next.” The tears were a steady stream now. “I can bunk on your sofa,” she pleaded. Stella had bunked there before.

Lacey couldn’t bear Stella’s crying. “Of course you can stay over, Stella. And you don’t have to use the sofa this time. I bought a trundle bed, pulls out, sleeps two. You’ll be my first customer at Motel Lacey.”

“About time, I say. What’s the use of having all that extra room without a bed?”

“I have to buy some sheets first, and they have to be washed.” Lacey didn’t want to admit that she had refrained from buying an extra bed for so long because it would just attract family members to D.C., and apparently it had. “There’s another thing. My mom and my sister are coming tomorrow, but you can stay tonight.”

“Your family? Wow. That’s so nice. You have a family. I thought you were an orphan or a refugee or not on good terms or something. How long are they staying?”

“Over the weekend. They leave on Tuesday.”
If I’m lucky. And if I live so long.

“Cool. You can tell me all about them. We’ll have a slumber party.” Stella wasn’t listening anymore. A little of her old spirit was returning. “I know, we’ll do face masks!” She headed to the bathroom. “I’ll pack some girly stuff. Make yourself at home.”

As if.
Lacey looked for a light switch and turned it on. The room was still dim. Stella apparently believed in mood lighting. When she looked closer, Lacey realized the drapes weren’t black. They were dark brown, and the walls were a deep taupe, something the Addams Family would have selected. A monument to gloom. The living room made her uncomfortable, so she took a tour and peeked into Stella’s small bedroom. The queen-size mattress sat directly on the floor and nearly filled the room. Outfitted in red and purple drapes and matching bedspread and sheets, the bedroom was also in a state of disarray. In one corner there was a small pink aluminum Christmas tree adorned with silver balls and pairs of silver earrings, sitting on top of a violet dresser. It was only October, but for all Lacey knew, the tree could have been up all year. A small pink spotlight was pointed at it.
Yes,
she thought,
Stella would have a pink aluminum tree dressed with earrings.
The room was garish, but much more cheerful than the living room, and on the whole, Lacey preferred it. She found the phone under a pillow by the bed and called Stylettos. The blasé receptionist seemed pleased, but not at all surprised, that Stella was all right.

Lacey heard the shower turn off and she made her way to the tiny kitchen, where every surface was painted in too many coats of standard apartment off-white. And it looked like the painters had simply covered everything in their path, including specks of dust and what appeared to be marching columns of embalmed ants.

“I’ll just be a minute,” Stella hollered from the other room.

Lacey put a kettle of water on and made herself a cup of instant hot chocolate and another for Stella, who was trying to decide which provocative suede or leather outfit would be appropriate for a quiet night in Old Town Alexandria. Lacey wandered back to the bedroom and handed the cup to Stella, who was clad in a giant beach towel. This time she noticed something new. Hanging on the open closet door was a long white gown in cheap satin. Next to it on a small stand was a black wig with hair piled high on the crown, perhaps five inches or more. Rising from each temple was a white streak that looked like a lightning bolt.

“What’s with the Bride of Frankenstein getup?” Lacey asked.

“You noticed! Isn’t it great? It’s from Backstage Books, the costume shop.” Stella glanced fondly at the outfit and stroked the wig protectively. “It’s my Halloween costume; you ought to see the makeup I’m doing. Eyeliner out to here.” She pointed to somewhere near her ear.

“A little early, isn’t it? I mean, Halloween is still a week away.”

“No! If you don’t have your costume by now, you’re absolutely sunk. They are totally gone by Halloween. Besides, we get to dress up in the salon every day for a week before the big day.”

“How charming. We don’t do that at
The Eye
.”
Thank God.

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“What reporters wear is scary enough. Trust me.” Lacey longed for the days when Halloween was meant for children and not every adult who refused to grow up. “You don’t think you’re going to frighten your clients with hair like that?”

“Are you kidding? Half of my clients are going to want this exact style when they see it on me.” Stella hoisted the wig on quickly to show Lacey. She was beginning to seem more like her old self. She grinned impishly. Then she hissed, exactly like the Bride of Frankenstein when she first laid eyes on her intended mate. “I’m practicing. Gotta get into character.”

“Thanks for the warning. And the outfit is very fetching. But how can you wear that to the salon? With perm solution and color stains and that sort of thing?”

“Oh, the dress is for a big party on Halloween that I’m going to, bunch of stylists. But I’ll wear the hair and makeup with my Stylettos smock. I’ll be the Stylist of Frankenstein.” Stella lifted the wig off her head and settled it back with a friendly pat. She emitted another hiss. Then she selected a red leather miniskirt, black sweater, and tall heels.

“Pretty subdued.” Lacey had seen Stella wear more provocative clothing to a funeral.

“Yeah, well, I guess it’s just us girls tonight, right? And I’m kind of worn out.” She grabbed her black leather jacket with its full complement of zippers, a big satchel, and the hot chocolate, and took a sip. “Hey, you forgot the Amaretto!” She ran to the kitchen, where she kept her liquor, opened a bottle of the amber-colored liqueur, and poured a slug into both her mug and Lacey’s. “It’s really better this way; trust me. So, are we taking your car?”

Lacey sighed. “My car was stolen, Stella.” Stella yowled in surprise.

“Oh, my God! And you’ve been holding out on me? I can’t believe it! Who stole it?”

“It’s been a very busy few days, Stella. I’m having a hard time keeping track of what I’ve told everyone. And what day it is. And where I’ve left my friends. Okay?”

“Okay. You’re forgiven. Drink up. And finish mine too, I’m driving. We’ll take my Mini and you can tell me what happened. Everything that happened. Every little detail. Make up what you don’t know. You owe me.” Her loud, chunky heels clattered down the hall, picking up steam as she went. Lacey trailed behind wearily, but very happy to see Stella back on her high-heeled feet.

 

“No, Stella. I am not buying black satin sheets or red satin sheets or any color satin sheets for my new trundle bed. Besides, I have to buy two sets of everything.”

“But Lacey . . .” They were in the middle of a big bed-and-bathroom-accessories store that held a thousand temptations for Lacey, but satin sheets weren’t among them.

“My mother is sleeping on that bed, and she wouldn’t understand.”
She’d think I live in a bordello.

“Vic would like them, I bet.” Stella batted her eyelashes.

“I don’t think Vic cares about the sheets. A man once told me that, of course, men prefer to sleep on manly sheets, rather than girly sheets. But if it comes down to sleeping alone on his brown-plaid duck-hunter sheets or with a woman on her pink floral girly sheets, he’ll take the girl with the girly sheets every time. Besides, if you ask me, the girly sheets are probably clean and have a higher thread count.”

“Well, duh! Guys will sleep on a bed of nails if there’s a girl in it. If she’s on the bottom, that is. A straight guy anyway. So speaking of sheets and getting nailed, have you guys done it yet?” Stella was way too interested in Lacey’s love life, and as usual she wanted all the juicy details. Lacey had no comment, which, of course, told Stella everything. “You haven’t? Holy cow, Lacey! Retarded! The two of you. I swear I think you’re both sexually brain-dead, or maybe dead a little lower down. I give up. Be a nun. Just don’t expect Vic Donovan to share your vow of chastity with you.” Stella fingered more sheets thoughtfully. Then she stopped. “Oh, my God, Lacey!”

“What?” Lacey looked around to see if they were being followed, if somehow the shooter was in the store with them, perhaps hiding behind the goose-down-pillow display.

“What if he’s, like, actually been interested in guys all along, and he’s not really, you know, as big and macho as he seems? I mean he totally comes off like a testosterone-driven hetero
hombre,
but you never know. I know lots of gay guys who are totally buff and macho-looking, and Vic could just be one of—”

“He’s straight! Okay? Straight. Trust me. We just have a few issues to work out.”

“Issues? A few?” Stella rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

Lacey grabbed several sets of light blue and cream sheets with delightfully high thread counts and equally high prices. They were for her mother and sister, she rationalized. “These, Stel. I’m getting these. Okay?”

Stella looked them over and nodded. “Okay. Not hot or sexy, but they’re okay. They’re pretty. They’re actually kinda girly. Ooh, Vic’ll love ’em.” Lacey elbowed her gently in the ribs.

By ten o’clock, Stella’s red BMW Mini Cooper was full of sheets, pillows, groceries, and other necessities for Stella’s overnighter—and Lacey’s mother and sister. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it, Lacey? We should go shopping together more often.” Stella seemed invigorated by their surgical strike to the shopping mall at Pentagon City, but Lacey felt like a zombie.

“I can’t move. I’m so tired.”

“You’re not up for a nightcap?”

“Please take me home. I still have to wash the sheets. I’d rather not be hungover for the trial by family I am about to endure.”

“You are such a drag sometimes. Got anything to drink at home?”

“I’m clean out of hot cocoa and Amaretto, but there’s some gin and tonic.”

“Well, then, make mine a double.”

The Mini Cooper was sailing down Washington Street when the cell phone in Lacey’s purse rattled her with its jaunty tune. “So answer it already,” Stella said.

“Hello?” Lacey moaned from sheer exhaustion.

“Sweetheart, are you all right?” Vic’s deep voice instantly warmed her.

“Vic, I’m not going to live through my mother’s visit.”

“Is that Vic?” Stella asked. “Hi, Vic!”

“Stella’s with you?”

“I forgot to call you,” Lacey explained. “She didn’t want to be alone after . . . well, you know, the interrogation. She’s sacking out at my place tonight.” She remembered then that Vic didn’t want Lacey to be alone either after the Amanda Manville shooting. Maybe he had planned to come over himself?
Damn. My trundle bed isn’t even made up yet, and already I need a reservation book.

“That’s good,” he said.

“Why good?” Lacey asked. Stella glanced over, trying to figure out what was being said.

Vic hesitated a moment. A moment too long. “Montana is in town tonight and . . . and she wanted to get together. With me. You know, for a drink.”

“What?!” Lacey yelled and Stella slowed down the Mini. “Montana McCandless Donovan Schmidt, your ex-wife, excuse me, your
ex
-ex-wife, is here? In town? And you’re going to buy her a drink?”

“Oh, Lacey, I’m so sorry,” Stella said. “I guess he isn’t gay after all.” But her look said that Vic obviously must not be as hot for Lacey as she had thought.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re not alone tonight.”

“How very damn thoughtful of you. But of course, you’re not going to be alone either. Montana! That backstabbing little . . . I thought you left her behind back in Steamboat Springs.”
For good.

“Now, Lacey, calm down. Seems she’s got a job lobbying for the Colorado Cattlemen’s Association and she’s in town to sweet-talk a senator or two before some committee vote on some range bill; I didn’t get all the details.”

Lacey bit her tongue to keep from saying something about inspecting meat being the perfect job for a man-eater like Montana.

“Lacey, are you okay?” Stella asked softly.

“Are you there?” Vic asked.

“I’m here. Where are you?”

“I’m picking her up at the airport. We’ll probably just have a drink somewhere before I take her home.”