Tacked to Death (4 page)

Odd; a sharp letter opener was stuck
right down the center of the papers. Why would Robert would do
that? Maybe it was to keep the stack from blowing away as people
walked in and out.

She put her helmet in the bin. Before
leaving, she noticed that the paper on top on the stack was an
invoice to Sterling. He owed quite a bit in board and training. In
fact, it looked as if he were several months past due. But it
wasn't the numbers that astounded her so much; it was the fact that
across the statement someone had written SCREW YOU!

"Hey Michaela, what's up?"

Michaela spun around as Robert walked
in. "Uh, I was just returning my helmet. You going to the fashion
show? I know Paige was really excited about it."

Robert waved a hand as he sat on the
sofa. "Nah. I think I've had my fill of charity for a while.
Fashion shows are not my thing."

Michaela nodded, not sure what to say,
still processing the scrawled message on Sterling's
invoice.

"What about you? Don't you have to get
over there?"

"I sure do." She checked her watch.
"Definitely." She reached for the doorknob and turned to tell
Robert good-bye.

"Hey, before you go, can I ask you
something?" the older man said.

Uh-oh. Had he seen her peering at his
paperwork? Before she could reply, her cell phone rang. She glanced
at Robert.

"No problem. Answer it," he told
her.

Saved by the bell. She flipped open the
phone; Camden was in hysterics. "Where are you? I need you now.
We've got a huge problem!"

Michaela started to ask her what it
was, but Camden hung up. "I'm sorry," she said. "I've got to go.
There seems to be a problem at the store."

"Go. It's no big thing."

She walked out of the trailer. Another
problem; great.

Four

Camden’s face was flushed the color of
magenta; her arms flailed in obvious frustration as Michaela
entered the back room of the tack shop. A handful of models
clustered around, all eyes on a petite, dark-haired, gothic-looking
young woman, her lips painted a purplish black. Michaela had an odd
thought: dark fairy from beyond, or a woman trying hard to
resurrect 1985.

Camden grabbed Michaela by the arm and
pulled her aside. "That's Erin Hornersberg."

"Okay."

"She's our makeup artist and she's the
best, but she is refusing to do the models' makeup. She's packing
up her stuff. Do something!"

This was the crisis? Oh boy. "Camden,
hold on. First of all, I am not a mediator to every little problem
that springs up."

"Yes, but you have a way with people.
Now go over there and convince her to stay."

Michaela sighed. "What, is she claiming
that we didn't pay her enough, too?"

"No. It's about Sterling."

"Sterling?"

Camden nodded. "She won't say what, but
within two minutes of him sitting down, she started screaming for
him to get the you-know-what off her chair and the hell out of
here. When he refused, she told me to forget it. She's saying that
she's not about to do anyone's makeup for the show."

It was only makeup. Couldn't the models
do their own? "Just ask Sterling to leave. I need a few minutes to
shower and set my things in the office." She held up her mallet and
purse. With so many people milling around she hadn't wanted to
leave the polo mallet in her truck, and definitely not her purse.
Although she had no intention to play the sport any longer, the
mallet had been a gift from Ed Mitchell, and she wanted it as a
keepsake.

"Are you kidding? You don't have time.
You have to talk to her now! Sterling was voted the most eligible
bachelor from Indio to Palm Springs and probably all the way to
L.A. Most of the women here today came to see him. I can't do
that."

"Right. Do you know what he might have
said or done?"

Camden shrugged. "I don't have a clue.
I wanted to put on the best show from here to flipping Timbuktu,
and dammit, it's all falling apart."

Michaela turned back to see Erin
locking up her makeup box. She walked over to the woman, still
holding her mallet and purse, both starting to weigh on her. How
was it that purses got so heavy? It needed a good dumping-out, and
the mallet wasn't exactly light to begin with.

"Hi, I'm Michaela Bancroft, part owner
of the store, and I'm sorry to hear there's a problem. Can we talk
about it?"

"Nothing to talk about. He's an ass. I
want him out of here." She pointed at Sterling, who stood drinking
a Coke, seeming not to care at all about the drama swirling around
him.

Michaela leaned in closer to her. "I
agree with you. I think he's a pompous piece of you-know-what.
Look, can you just come outside with me? We'll see if we can work
something out."

Erin shook her head. "Nothing to work
out. I want him out of here. It's simple."

"Okay, look, what if I make sure he's
not anywhere near you and you won't have to do his makeup or even
see him?"

Erin eyeballed her. "And you'll make it
worth my while? You know, it's a pain in the ass to have to take
all my stuff out and now I had to put it back, and then I'll have
to take it back out again, and—"

Michaela held up a hand. "I'll see what
I can do." Great. Erin and Pepe Sorvino must have gone to some sort
of lecture on how to screw a client prior to an event. If her
instincts were right, she'd be paying out more money than they'd
planned to the makeup artist. But she was still curious about what
Sterling had done to get under the woman's skin.

"I could use a smoke."

"I'm sure you could."

And right about now, she could use one
of those shoulder massages Jude Davis was famous for. She wished he
wasn't away for the week on a Caribbean cruise with his daughter,
Katie. Michaela and the detective had been dating for a few months.
It wasn't anything serious, not yet anyway, but she realized that
she missed him. His calm demeanor in stressful situations like this
would have been exactly what the doctor ordered. Needless to say,
there wasn't much more she could do than play diplomat. Tonight
though, when this thing was over—one long hot bath, oh
yes.

She followed Erin to the door. Camden
looked at her wide-eyed and tapped her wrist several times,
indicating that the clock was ticking. "I'm doing what I can,"
Michaela muttered. Never again would she agree to something of this
magnitude—for charity or not. She'd rather get smacked by a polo
mallet than deal with this.

Erin pulled out a pack of Marlboros
from the black apron holding a variety of makeup brushes in the
front pockets. She lit one and took a deep drag. Michaela knew time
was of the essence, but she also understood she was likely dealing
with someone who, when push came to shove, could shove back pretty
hard.

Michaela tried to subtly wave away the
toxic plume. "So, Sterling was being an ass to you." She presented
it more as a statement rather than a question, and decided to keep
going along those lines. "He's a real jerk. You should see that guy
up on a horse playing polo. He whoops and hollers when he scores,
as if he's made the winning touchdown in the Super
Bowl."

"Yeah, I bet, like his shit don't
stink." Erin snorted.

"Exactly. He gets under my skin. Who
would have ever voted him most eligible bachelor?"

"Eligible? Isn't he hooking up with
that Juliet chick? The one whose folks own the club?"

"It looks like they're dating to me.
But you know, I haven't seen them hanging out this past week at the
field. They're usually all over each other. So, I don't really
know. I'm not interested in his love life." She had to wonder
though, if Juliet and Sterling were together, then how did Juliet
feel about her boyfriend being considered an "eligible bachelor"?
Juliet Mitchell was Ed's daughter. Michaela knew Juliet from the
field because she also rode. She seemed like a nice girl. But it
was a wonder how she tolerated Sterling. Juliet was from a
priveleged family and Michaela doubted she would tolerate playing
second fiddle.

"Yeah, probably her and about a hundred
other stupid chicks are dating him."

Michaela nodded as she let Erin speak.
She was pretty sure she'd won the woman's trust.

Erin continued: "I've seen him around,
you know. At clubs. He works a room. Got all the girls after him.
He thinks he does, anyway."

Michaela hoped this was going
somewhere. "I'm sure he does. You've seen him out and around
then?"

"Uh-huh. And he's seen me. He made a
point of letting me know it, in there." She pointed to the tack
shop.

"I take it he said something rude to
you?"

Erin nodded. "About me and my
girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" Michaela tried not to
allow shock to creep into her voice. Did Erin mean girlfriend or
girlfriend? Either way, it didn't really matter. She didn't know
why, if Erin had a girlfriend, this would surprise her, but in a
way it did. She would have pictured this woman having a tattooed,
biker-type boyfriend. So much for stereotypes.

"Yes. Sheila. She's my girl." She
arched her brows. "I'm gay."

"Oh."

"Don't tell me you're one of those
redneck homophobes, too."

"No. Not at all. I just didn't expect
that."

"Why not?"

Oh great, now she was making waves with
the makeup artist. "I don't know. But it doesn't bother me. Look, I
don't know what Sterling said to you. I can only imagine it was
something nasty. But right now, we're running short on time. I
promise that you won't have to deal with him again. The jerk can do
his own makeup as far as I'm concerned."

Erin tossed down her cigarette,
stubbing it out with her boot heel. "Double my pay."

"Double?"

Erin nodded. "I'm the best and, right
now, the only one you have here. You're in a freaking bind, lady,
and you know how life can be unfair sometimes. I think your friend
Camden in there might have a nervous breakdown if I
walk."

She had one thing right: Michaela was
in a bind. She still felt the models could apply goop to their own
faces, but she thought about Camden and how much this meant to her.
"Fine. I'll double your pay."

"Give it to me now."

Michaela sighed. "Tell you what. I'll
go back in and ask Sterling to dress elsewhere. You can get started
on the next model and I'll write you a check."

"Fine. Here's my card. My last name can
be hard to spell." She took a card out of her apron. "Oh sorry,
there's an address on the back, but I don't need it anymore.
Anyway, that's my last card."

"No problem." Michaela took the card
and marched back in to confront Camden. "You need to get Sterling
Taber out of here now."

"No! What? Why? I already told you that
he's the star of the show."

"Here's the deal, sis. Your star said
some disrespectful things to the makeup girl and she's ready to
walk. I've convinced her to stay as long as she doesn't have to
deal with him, along with some extra cash on top of it."

"Why, that little bitch," Camden
replied.

"That little bitch is extremely
offended by Mr. Taber. And, as you mentioned, she is the best and
you seem to think we need her."

Camden looked mortified. "What am I
supposed to do?"

"I don't know. You and Sterling seemed
to be buddy-buddy. I think you can figure it out."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing, really. I just noticed during
the course of putting this thing together over the last few months
that you got along well with him."

"Everyone gets along with him. He's a
great guy."

"Whatever you say." From what she had
seen, not everyone got along well with Sterling at all.

"Michaela, are you implying something?
I'm engaged, for goodness' sakes. I would never cheat on
Dwayne."

"I know that. You better not anyway.
Why even say something like that?"

Camden's face softened. "I don't know
why I'd say something like that. Of course you know that I would
never cheat on Dwayne."

"Didn't cross my mind. For one thing,
Sterling is just a kid, what twenty-five or something?"

"Twenty-six."

"Right. Get him out of here. I've done
what I can to make this go smoothly. It's time for you to use your
finesse."

Camden shrugged. "Okay, I'll get him
out of here. Now, can you tell Erin to get in here and get the
other models finished?"

Michaela watched as Camden approached
Sterling, who was talking to Tommy Liggett. After a few minutes,
Camden had succeeded in luring Sterling out of the area and Erin
came back in to finish her work.

Michaela needed to grab a quick shower
and wash the perfume à la equine off her. There wasn't much time,
but it was necessary.