Tara Holloway 03 - Death, Taxes, and Extra-Hold Hairspray (34 page)

I stopped, Christina and Ajay slamming into my back.

Oh, my God.

I’d found it.

The holy grail of wigs.

Perched in front of me, on a black Styrofoam head, was a pinkish-orange beehive, complete with a yellow and black bumblebee tucked among the locks.

I grabbed the head and held it in front of me. “This is it!” I cried. “Christina, look!”

She stepped around me. “It’s perfect,” she agreed.

Lu would be thrilled.

Maybe the wig was a sign. Maybe things were starting to turn around.

CHAPTER FORTY

Bullshit from the Pulpit

Lu squealed with delight as she took the wig from me. “You found my hair!”

“I promised I would,” I said. “Surely you didn’t doubt me.”

The Lobo smiled, her lips quivering and tears forming in her eyes. “I can’t tell you what this means to me, Tara.”

I was glad to have brought some brightness to Lu’s day. She looked like death warmed over. Her skin bore the same sickly shade as the zombie masks in the costume store and she had much more scalp than hair these days. She’d lost more weight, too. The belt on her robe wrapped twice around her now.

She gave me a quick hug, stepped to the mirror in her hallway, and slid the wig on. She squealed again, clapping her hands in front of her like an excited child. “Look! It’s me!”

When she reached for her can of hairspray, I backed away and pulled up the neckline of my shirt to cover my mouth and nose. She pushed the nozzle, thoroughly coating the wig from all directions. I had no doubt the spray would live up to its claims to “make big hair not move” and provide “much strong extra hold.”

She took one last, happy look at herself in the mirror and turned to me. “I’m feeling great! Let’s go out for breakfast.”

Half an hour later, Lu and I sat at a table at a nearby IHOP. She’d gone all out, dressing in a groovy purple minidress and her cork platform heels, putting on her orange lipstick, blue eye shadow, and false eyelashes. She’d ordered the Rooty Tooty Fresh ’N Fruity breakfast. I hoped she’d be able to keep it down. I’d opted for a Belgian waffle with blueberry goop on top.

“Lord, it feels good to get out of that house,” Lu said between bites of pancake. “Those walls were closing in on me.”

“I can imagine.” I took a sip of my orange juice.

“Nick came by my house last night,” she said.

I involuntarily froze for a moment, then took another sip of my drink, trying to appear casual. “He did?”

“Poor guy,” she said. “He must be awfully lonely if he’s got nothing better to do than spend time with an old woman like me.” She scooped up a forkful of scrambled eggs. “He needs to find himself a woman. I told him so.”

I chewed a bite of waffle, having a hard time swallowing. “What did he say to that?”

“He said he’d get right on it.”

I feigned taking another sip of my juice. My throat had entirely closed now. When I looked up, I caught Lu watching me.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Nothing.” Nothing other than the mere thought of Nick going out with another woman made me want to burst into tears.

She took a sip of her coffee. “You ever thought of going out with Nick?”

I tried not to gag on my waffle. “Where’s that coming from?”

She shrugged. “You two are a lot alike.”

“We are,” I replied. “Too much alike. We’d drive each other nuts.”

“You don’t know until you try.”

“You’re advising me to date a coworker?” I replied. “Doesn’t that go against everything you’ve been taught in HR training?”

“Of course,” she said. “But some things are worth breaking rules for. You know that as well as I do.” She shot me a pointed look. It was no secret I’d violated dozens of laws when I smuggled Nick out of Mexico. Luckily for me, nobody seemed interested in punishing me for it. Sometimes Uncle Sam went easy on his whores.

“I can’t go out with Nick,” I said. “I’m dating someone exclusively.”

“Brett?” she replied. “He’s a nice boy.” She shot me another pointed look. “You weren’t made for a nice boy, Tara.”

I let my fork clatter to my plate and crossed my arms over my chest. “Excuse me?”

She barked a laugh. “Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’m not insulting you. I’m just saying that nice boys are boring. You need someone who will bring some excitement to your life.”

“My job brings me plenty of excitement, thank you very much.” I picked my fork back up, stabbed a piece of waffle, and angrily ripped it from the utensil with my teeth.

Lu continued to eye me. “You’ve given me several reasons why you shouldn’t date Nick,” she said, “but not one of them was because you weren’t interested.”

Lu’d only had her hair back for an hour but already her attitude had returned full force.

“I liked you better when you were bald,” I said.

“Tough toenails,” she said, lifting her coffee cup in a salute to herself. “The bitch is back.”

*   *   *

The rest of the week sucked. Nick continued to keep his door closed. I caught a glimpse of him pulling out of the parking lot Friday afternoon, but that was it.

I was half tempted to ask Eddie to assign Nick to work with me on another case, just so I could spend time with him. But that wouldn’t be good for either of us. Besides, all of the pending cases I had now were small, simple ones that an agent could easily handle alone. Eddie would be suspicious if I asked for help.

I spent Friday evening on my couch, eating Spaghetti-Os straight from the can and watching reruns with my cats. How pathetic is that? Saturday wasn’t any better. I only left the house for an hour, to water Brett’s houseplants and check his mail. I stacked his bills on his kitchen table, but tossed the Victoria’s Secret catalog in the trash. Stupid supermodels with their big breasts and skinny waists and vacuous
I’m-beautiful-and-boinkable-so-I-don’t-need-a-brain
expressions.

Brett and I Skyped that afternoon. He updated me on the progress of the landscaping job, his latest golf scores, the delicious peach flambé the club’s chef had asked him to give his opinion on. I told him about the Spaghetti-Os and the reruns. Riveting conversation, huh?

I called Christina and Alicia to see if they wanted to get together for dinner, but both had dates planned. I ended up spending a second night on the couch with my cats, though I was too depressed to eat another meal of canned pasta and ordered Chinese delivery instead. After a lonely dinner of lo mein noodles, I cracked open my fortune cookie.

You will have an unexpected visitor.

Hmm. Did that mean the possum would return? My parents would drop in unannounced? My period would be early this month?

Nothing better to do on a Saturday night than ponder the meaning behind a silly strip of paper. Was this what my life had become?

On Sunday morning, I dressed in a teal-colored shift and heels, pulling my hair back in a twist. I put on far more makeup than usual, too. I didn’t want anyone at the Ark to recognize me. They just might rip me limb from limb.

I met Josh and Nick at the burger place. Nick had gotten his hair cut short and sported quite an impressive goatee considering it was only three days’ growth. He wore a standard navy business suit today, leaving his western-cut suits back home. He looked quite a bit different, but, dammit, still as sexy as ever.

We ditched my car and Nick’s truck at the restaurant and headed over to the Ark in Josh’s car.

“You think we’ve torpedoed this ship?” I asked as we parked.

“Hell, yeah,” Nick said. “I wouldn’t be surprised to hear Pastor Fischer announce his resignation today.”

“What about that whole ‘false witness’ thing?” Josh reminded us.

“I bet he was just blowing smoke,” Nick said.

We still hadn’t figured out what Fischer had meant by the comment.

Nick and I kept our heads ducked and cowered behind Josh as we walked through the parking lot and entered the building. Nick and I didn’t want any of the church staff or parishioners who might have been in court to recognize us. The only one who might recognize Josh would be Fischer himself. Since the pastor was likely already backstage preparing for the service, there was little risk we’d run into him.

Once inside, I grabbed a bulletin off a side table, opened it, and pretended to be reading it as we went up the stairs, though I was actually using it to obscure my face. We made our way to the back of the upper balcony where we’d be less visible.

Nick stopped at the end of the row, holding out an arm, inviting me to enter the row first. “After you.”

I stepped in. Josh followed behind me. Nick’s gesture was chivalrous, but when I took my seat, realizing Josh would be situated between me and Nick, I wondered if Nick had also been trying to avoid sitting next to me. I tried not to be disappointed there’d be no wrangling over the armrest this time.

The service began the same way it had before, with the choir singing along with the full, modern orchestra followed by Pastor Walters making preliminary announcements and leading the congregation in an opening prayer. Everything seemed to be business as usual. But surely Pastor Fischer was running scared now, right? Surely the photos and video we’d sent had put the fear of God in him.

Once the opening acts were completed, it was time for the real show. The drum roll kicked in and the colored spotlights began to chase each other over the walls and crowd. The same game-show-emcee voice gave Noah Fischer the same cheesy introduction. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, put your hands together for the Ark Temple of Worship’s very own Pastor Noaaah Fischerrr!”

A large, white spotlight shined on Fischer as he made his way up the center aisle, doing his usual glad-handing. He wore a gray suit today with a pale blue shirt underneath, a gray tie a shade darker than his suit, and what were no doubt extremely expensive dress shoes.

He stepped up to the podium, picking up the clip-on mic Walters had left there, fastening it to the lapel of his suit jacket. He raised a hand in greeting to the crowd. “Good morning, folks! God and I are glad to see you here today.”

The crowd erupted in fresh applause.

He offered a broad smile. “It’s nice to have the ladies back with us this week, isn’t it, fellas?”

The men whooped and applauded.

Fischer continued to lay it on thick. “We missed your pretty faces while you were gone on the retreat. Missed your cooking, too.”

This comment was followed by shouts of “Amen!” and tittering from the crowd.

What a suck-up. And I doubted he missed Marissa’s cooking. She probably never raised a finger in the kitchen. Why should she when they had a full-time cook on staff?

“As you may recall, over the past few weeks we’ve been working our way through the seven deadly sins. Two weeks ago we covered pride. Today’s sin?” He flung a hand in the air, pointing up at the trio of jumbo screens mounted high over his head. “Greed!”

The word “Greed” appeared in glittering green letters on the screens.

Nick leaned forward and looked past Josh to me. He gave me an expression that said
Can you believe this guy?

I shook my head in response. Fischer, who had woken this morning in a mansion, arrived at the church in a chauffeured limo, and now stood at the pulpit in an eight-hundred-dollar Hugo Boss suit considered himself qualified to preach about greed?

His hypocrisy was unbelievable.

“Let’s talk candidly, folks. Proverbs 15:27 tell us ‘A greedy man brings trouble to his family.’” He shook his head and looked down as if in sorrow and pity before lifting his face again to address the crowd. “I saw this very trouble myself only a few nights ago.”

The image on the jumbo screens changed to the photo Josh had taken of Noah Fischer raking in the chips at the blackjack table.

“What the hell?” Nick muttered. A woman in front of him turned and shot him a dirty look.

Fischer pointed up at the screens. “You all may not recognize that man in the picture,” he said, “but take a closer look.”

The image zoomed in until only Fischer’s face showed.

“Believe it or not,” he said, “that’s me.”

Puzzled murmurs sounded throughout the crowd.

“What’s he doing?” Josh whispered to me.

“I have no idea.”

Fischer emitted a soft, calculated chuckle. “It’s not what it seems, folks. Just as Jesus spoke to the prostitute, I, too, went directly to the sinners. How could I talk to you good people about greed if I didn’t learn something about it myself?”

As if the guy needed a lesson. What a bunch of BS. Fischer was already an expert in materialism and self-indulgence.

Around us, parishioners leaned forward in their seats, eager to hear about Fischer’s dance with the devil. Would Fischer’s sheep be so easily led to slaughter?

“As you know, thanks to your generous contributions, the Ark Temple of Worship will soon be spreading the Lord’s word to the people of Shreveport, Louisiana.”

More applause followed this announcement.

Fisher leaned an elbow on the podium. “When I was in Shreveport earlier this week on church business, I had an epiphany. Right there in town are a number of casinos. What better place to learn firsthand about greed?”

He shook his head in exaggerated sorrow and softened his voice. “It was pitiful, folks. Downright pitiful. Men and women gambling away their hard-earned wages, money needed to feed their families, keep a roof over their heads. They hoped to beat the odds and hit big. Didn’t happen for most of them. They left with empty pockets.”

But Fischer didn’t.

He stepped away from the podium. “Let’s take a look at some other verses about greed.” He invited the parishioners to open their Bibles to Luke 12:15 and read the verse aloud. “‘Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; a man’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.’” He moved on to Psalms 119:36, reading that verse aloud also. “‘Turn my heart toward your statutes and not toward selfish gain.’”

He expounded on the sin of greed for the next twenty minutes, waltzing back and forth across the stage, melodramatically shaking his head and throwing his hands in the air, his voice ranging from a mere whisper at times to an outright roar at others. I had to admit, the guy had flair. He even went so far as to claim that he’d tried to witness to the gamblers at the casino, attempted to save their poor, pitiful, greedy souls. Nick and I eyed Josh for confirmation. He shook his head. Nope, Fischer hadn’t tried to save any souls. The guy was as full of shit as a septic tank due for pumping.