Читать книгу New Year's Eve Murder - Leslie Meier - Страница 7

“Mom, we have to turn back. I forgot something.”

Lucy and Elizabeth were driving through the prime-time darkness, approaching the on ramp to the interstate. They were running late because Elizabeth’s round of farewells had taken longer than expected. When she’d finally arrived home she decided the clothes she’d packed were all wrong for New York City. The result was a frantic rush to get organized at the last minute.

“What did you forget?” demanded Lucy, slamming on the brakes and pulling to the side of the road. “Your asthma medicine? Your contacts?”

“Water.”

Lucy couldn’t believe her ears. “Water?”

“Yeah. In the last issue of Jolie they said you should take it along whenever you fly. Flying is very dehydrating and you need to drink lots of water.” Elizabeth flipped down the visor and checked her reflection in the mirror. “Especially if you’re older, Mom.”

Lucy signaled and eased the Subaru back onto the road.

“We’re not going back for water. You can get some at the airport.” She turned onto the ramp.

Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up and her voice became shrill. “But I bought a gigantic bottle of Evian. That’s what the models drink, you know. It cost a fortune, and those weasely little worms will drink it.”

“Please don’t refer to your sisters as worms.” Lucy checked her mirrors: not a headlight in sight. The road was clear and she accelerated, speeding down the empty highway as fast as she dared. “And why would they drink your water when there’s perfectly good tap water?”

“Just to spite me.”

“It would serve you right for wasting money like that. Our water comes from our own well, you know. It’s perfectly pure and good.”

“It’s not Evian.”

“It’s probably better.” Lucy sighed. “Besides, I’ve heard they won’t let you carry liquids onto the plane. There are all these new security rules, you know.”

“That’s ridiculous! Water’s harmless.”

“So are nail clippers and tweezers, but you can’t have them, either. And how are they supposed to know it’s really water? It could be some explosive or poison, cleverly disguised in a water bottle.”

Elizabeth yawned. “You’re getting paranoid.”

Lucy checked the speedometer and slowed to a speed ten miles above the legal limit.

“I’ll tell you what I’m paranoid about,” she said, lowering her voice. “I’ve heard they actually have machines that can see through your clothes. And sometimes they do strip searches.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Mom, nobody is going to strip search you.” Lucy was wondering what exactly she meant by that when Elizabeth chuckled. “But they probably will confiscate that lobster watch. They’ll call the fashion police.”

“Very funny,” said Lucy, flipping on the windshield wipers. “Do you believe it? It’s snowing. Again.”

When they arrived at the airport they discovered all flights were delayed due to the weather. The snow was accumulating fast, and the runways had to be plowed and the wings de-iced before any planes could take off.

“How long is this going to take?” fumed Elizabeth.

“As long as it takes,” said Lucy. “It’s never the thing you’re worried about, is it? I was worried about getting through security but that was a breeze. I never gave a thought to the weather.”

“How come they can send robots to Mars, but they can’t get our plane in the air?”

“Dunno,” said Lucy, propping her feet on her carry-on suitcase and opening her book. “There’s nothing we can do about it so we might as well relax.”

For once, Elizabeth was taking her advice. She was already slumped down in the seat beside Lucy, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. Lucy decided it was as good a time as any to break the news about the increased tuition.

“Chamberlain sent a revised financial aid statement along with the tuition bill,” she said, getting straight to the point. “It came Christmas Eve.”

Elizabeth sat up straight. “What did it say?”

“That we have to pay sixteen thousand dollars for next semester.”

“That’s crazy!”

“You don’t have to tell me,” said Lucy, checking the flight status monitor hanging above them. Their flight was still delayed. “I’m going to call the financial aid office and beg for more help, but there’s a real possibility we can’t afford to send you back. They cut your aid by ten thousand dollars, and we just don’t have it. To tell the truth, the six thousand I was expecting to pay will pretty much wipe out our savings.”

Elizabeth was frowning, concentrating on her Ugg boots. “You might as well not bother calling. People always try, but they never get anywhere.”

This was heresy to Lucy. “Of course I’ll try. A lot of it depends on federal guidelines and stuff. Now that your father’s not working we probably qualify for a Pell grant or something.”

“Trust me, the most you’ll get is a loan application.”

“That might be doable,” said Lucy, eager to seize the slimmest excuse for hope. In her heart she knew it was unlikely that the family would be able to afford a college loan, and Elizabeth was already saddled with thousands in student loans.

Elizabeth continued studying her boots. “How much do we need?” she asked.

“Ten thousand.”

“That’s weird.” Elizabeth was sitting up straighter. “That’s really weird. I didn’t tell you before, but this makeover thing is also a contest.” The usually sullen Elizabeth was practically bubbling with excitement. “The best mother and daughter makeover team wins ten thousand dollars.”

The view through the plate glass windows of the terminal was dark and snowy, but Lucy felt as if it was morning and the sun was shining. “Really? That’s fabulous. It’s like fate or something.”

Elizabeth was actually smiling. “I know. Like it’s meant to be.”

“All we have to do is be the best makeover?”

“Yeah.”

Lucy felt her optimism dim slightly. “How do we do that?”

“I don’t know. I think the editors vote or something.”

“They’re probably looking for the most dramatic change,” said Lucy. “We might be at a disadvantage, I mean, we’re pretty cute to start with.”

Elizabeth turned and gave her mother a withering glance. “Mom, you’re wearing duck boots, a plaid coat and a green fake fur hat—I think we’ve got a pretty good chance.”

Lucy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d chosen her outfit carefully and thought she looked fabulous. It was her best coat, after all, and only six years old. The hat had been an impulse purchase and the boots, well, come winter in Maine you didn’t leave the house in anything else. “Well then,” she finally said, “that’s good, isn’t it?”

It was well into the wee hours of the morning when the plane landed at New York’s La Guardia Airport and Lucy was congratulating herself on her decision not to check their luggage. She was bone tired and didn’t want to waste precious sleep time standing around a balky carousel trying to decide which black suitcase was hers. Fortunately, however, they were supposed to be met by a limousine that would, in the words of the official makeover itinerary, “whisk them into the world’s most glamorous city for a magical three-days of luxurious pampering and personal consultations with top fashion and beauty experts.”

Disembarking from the crowded plane seemed to take forever as passengers wrestled with the maximum number of bags allowable, all of which seemed much larger than the prescribed dimensions. Lucy and Elizabeth finally broke free from the shuffling herd and ran through the jet way, towing their neat little rolling suitcases. There were a handful of people waiting in the arrivals hall, holding placards with names, but none of the names was “Stone.”

“The limo must have left without us,” said Lucy.

“No wonder. We’re late,” said Elizabeth. “What do we do now?”

Lucy weighed her options and decided this was no time to pinch pennies by searching for a shuttle bus—if they were even running at this hour. You had to spend money to save it, or in this case, win it. “Taxi,” she said.

The ride on the expressway was disorienting, as they sped along in a whirl of red and white automobile lights. The stretches of road that were illuminated by streetlamps gave only depressing views of the filthy slush and ice that lined the roadway, but their spirits brightened when they rounded a curve and there, right in front of them, was the glittering New York skyline.

“Wow,” breathed Elizabeth. “It’s really like the pictures.”

Lucy studied the ranks of tall buildings and looked for the familiar outlines of the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building, the only two she could identify with certainty. Those and the twin towers of the World Trade Center, but there was only an empty gap where they had stood. The thought made her heart lurch and she was surprised at her reaction; she didn’t trust herself to speak about it for fear she would start crying. Instead, she firmly turned her thoughts to the promised “three days of luxury at New York’s fabulous Melrose Hotel.”

New York must indeed be “the city that never sleeps,” thought Lucy, as the taxi pulled up to the hotel and the doorman rushed forward to greet them. “Welcome to the Melrose,” he said, opening the door and extending a hand to help them alight from the car.

In no time at all they were checked in and whisked through the marble lobby to the elevators and taken to their room, which Lucy was delighted to discover was decorated in a French-inspired style with wrought iron filigree headboards and wooden shutters at the windows. It was also very tiny and she had to maneuver carefully around Elizabeth before she could collapse on her bed.

“Did you know this used to be the Barbizon?” she asked, quickly leafing through the leather-bound book listing the hotel’s amenities.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” demanded Elizabeth.

“I guess not,” admitted Lucy, reminded yet again of the knowledge gap between generations. “It was a famous hotel for women.”

“Like for lesbians or something?”

“No. Girls who were coming to the city for careers would stay here until they got married. It was a safe, respectable address.”

Elizabeth was regarding her as if she was speaking in tongues.

“Times were different then,” she said, with a sigh. She’d hoped this trip would be an opportunity to spend some quality time with her oldest daughter but now she was beginning to think that three days with Elizabeth might be too much of a good thing.

“We might as well unpack,” she said, getting to her feet and lifting her suitcase onto the bed. “Then we can sleep a little later tomorrow morning.”

“This morning,” corrected Elizabeth, reluctantly dragging herself off the bed and pulling her nightgown out of her suitcase.

They soon discovered, however, that the bank of louvered doors along one wall concealed heating ducts and other paraphernalia, offering only limited closet space that was quickly filled with their coats and boots. A chest of drawers was also a cheat—the drawers weren’t drawers at all but a trompe l’oeil door concealing the minibar.

“Where am I supposed to put my stuff?” demanded Elizabeth.

“We’ll keep our clothes in the suitcases and slide them under the bed.” Lucy’s cheery tone belied her displeasure. She hated living out of a suitcase. But when she dropped to her knees to investigate she discovered the bed was too low for the suitcases to fit. She sat back on her heels and sighed. “I’m getting the feeling that Jolie must have gotten the cheapest rooms in this joint.”

Elizabeth was in bed, reading the breakfast menu conveniently printed on a cardboard tag you could hang on the outside doorknob. “I don’t think anything’s cheap about this place,” she said. “The continental breakfast is twenty bucks.”

“Well, I don’t think we’ll be getting room service,” said Lucy, stacking the suitcases in a corner. “There’s no place to put the tray.”

All too soon they were awakened by the shrill ringing of the phone. Lucy immediately panicked, thinking something terrible must have happened at home, but when she held the receiver to her ear and heard the automated voice, she realized it was only the wake-up call she’d ordered.

“Up and at ’em,” she said, shaking Elizabeth’s shoulder, and heading directly for the bathroom. “Today’s our first day of beauty.”

Lucy’s eyes were bleary from sleep, but from what she could see of her reflection in the bathroom mirror she was pretty sure the beauty experts had their work cut out for them. She quickly brushed her teeth, splashed some water on her face, added a dab of moisturizer, and grabbed her hairbrush. There was no time to spare; they were supposed to meet the other makeover winners in the hotel lobby at eight o’clock and it was already a quarter to.

“C’mon, Elizabeth. We’ve got to hurry.”

Elizabeth pulled the pillow over her head and rolled over.

Lucy picked up the pillow, and Elizabeth pulled the sheet over her face. Lucy threw the pillow at her, but she didn’t budge.

Lucy sighed and began brushing her hair. A hundred strokes later, Elizabeth’s breaths were regular and she’d settled into a deep sleep. Lucy sat down on the bed and dialed room service, ordering a pot of coffee for two at twelve dollars.

The caffeine did the trick and they were on their way by eight-thirty. They’d missed the rest of the group and the limo, but the doorman hailed a taxi for them.

“Better late than never,” said Lucy, looking on the bright side as they settled in for the short ride. “You’ll love Tavern on the Green. It’s beautiful.”

And indeed it was, when the taxi turned into Central Park and pulled up at the landmark restaurant. A light snow had started to fall, transforming the park into a magical fairyland, and the trees around the restaurant were outlined in tiny white lights. The inside was warm and welcoming, and they could hear the hum of voices as they checked their bags and coats and hurried off to the ladies’ room. Lucy wasn’t about to appear before this crowd without checking her hair and lipstick.

“Look,” said Elizabeth, pointing to a tray filled with bottles next to the sink. “It’s fancy perfume.”

Lucy recognized the distinctive bottle of her favorite, Pleasures, and gave herself a generous spritz, then they hurried out to claim their empty places. Lucy squared her shoulders, prepared to do battle for the ten thousand dollars, and followed the hostess to their table. Polite smiles were exchanged as Lucy and Elizabeth sat down and unfolded their cloth napkins, but all attention was on the speaker standing at the podium.

“That’s Camilla Keith, the editor,” whispered the woman next to Lucy, speaking with a Southern accent. “She’s just started speaking.”

Even Lucy had heard of Camilla; she was a legend in the magazine business, and her name was always popping up on tabloid-style TV shows, usually in connection with a lawsuit filed by a disgruntled household employee claiming verbal abuse or unpaid wages. Lucy studied her with interest; as editor-in-chief of the magazine her opinion would probably be decisive in choosing who would win the ten thousand dollars. Camilla was a very petite woman with dark hair pulled tightly back from her face, emphasizing her sharply defined cheekbones and chin. She was wearing a white tweed suit that Lucy suspected was a genuine Chanel, and her lips and fingernails were painted bright scarlet. Lucy knew that imitation was the sincerest form of flattery, but she couldn’t for the life of her see how she could ever manage to look anything like the sleek and sophisticated Camilla.

“As editor of Jolie magazine, it is my pleasure to welcome our twelve winners to our fabulous Mother–Daughter Winter Makeover,” she said, giving the group at Lucy’s table a nod. “This is a very accomplished group—they had to be to attract the attention of our judges who chose them from more than forty thousand entries.”

A collective gasp arose from the crowd assembled in the restaurant, and Lucy wondered who all the people at the other tables were. Her question was answered as Camilla continued speaking.

“I would also like to welcome all of you who got up bright and early to join our winners today at our annual breakfast and fashion show supporting the Jolie Foundation, which you all know is a major contributor to the fight against AIDS and breast cancer.”

Lucy checked out the well-dressed ladies and wondered how much they had spent for tickets to the breakfast. These must be the “ladies who lunch” that she’d read about, she realized with surprise. Many of them were much younger than she expected, and she wondered what they did when they weren’t eating out at one benefit or another. She suspected their lives must be very different from hers. There was no going out in jeans and sweaters and duck boots for them—they had to keep up with fashion, and that would require lots of shopping. While Lucy could get away with splashing some water on her face and running a comb through her hair, these ladies’ polished appearances required hours in the salon, not to mention facials and exercise and waxing sessions. Probably even plastic surgery, she guessed, noticing several extremely tight faces.

Recalled from her reverie by a burst of polite laughter, she turned her attention back to Camilla. “Without further ado,” she was saying, “I would like to introduce our winners who have come from all over the country to be with us today.”

Lucy smiled at the others at the table, eager to learn more about them. She wondered if they were all as desperate to win the ten thousand dollars as she was.

“I’ll begin with our California girls, Ocean Blaustein and her mother, Serena Blaustein, from La Jolla,” said Camilla.

There was applause as the two stood. Ocean fulfilled the stereotype Lucy had come to expect from TV, with long blond hair and a tan, dressed in a tummy-baring top and hip-hugging jeans. Serena was a shorter, plumper version of her daughter, with curly red hair and wearing a colorful Mexican-inspired blouse and gathered skirt.

“Moving East, we come to the Great Plains and our winners from Omaha, Nebraska: Amanda McKee and her mother, Ginny McKee.”

Lucy smiled and joined in the applause as Amanda and Ginny got to their feet. Amanda was tall and willowy, dressed in a simple turtleneck sweater and skirt. Her mother was also tall and slim, and her red wool suit complemented her dark hair.

“We couldn’t ignore a state the size of Texas, so we have Tiffany Montgomery and her stepmom, Cathy Montgomery, from Dallas.”

Even if she hadn’t been told, Lucy would have guessed Tiffany and Cathy, who was sitting next to her, were from Texas. They were both wearing expensive-looking tweed jackets, they both had big hair, and they were wearing matching coral lipstick on their collagen-boosted lips. They also both appeared to be about the same age.

“The South is famous for its belles, and we have two lovely ladies from Wilmington, North Carolina: Faith Edwards and her mother, Lurleen Edwards.”

Lucy guessed that Faith took her religion seriously; she was wearing a gold cross on a chain over her flower-patterned dress. So was her mother, also in a loose-fitting number trimmed with lace. Their faces were devoid of make-up, and their hair was combed back and held by plastic headbands.

“New England is known for its independent, strong-minded women and we have two of those hardy souls with us today: Elizabeth Stone and her mother, Lucy Stone.”

Suddenly self-conscious in her best sweater and wool slacks, Lucy discovered there’s nothing like a pair of diamond earrings to give a woman confidence. She got to her feet and smiled at everyone, including Elizabeth, who was the very picture of urban sophistication with her shaggy haircut and black turtleneck dress.

“And last but not least we have two uptown girls from New York City: Carmela Rodriguez and her mother, Maria Rodriguez.”

The applause was loudest for Carmela and Maria, and Lucy felt a little surge of competitive spirit as she studied the two with their matching heads of thick, curly black hair. Carmela was dressed in a simple black pantsuit, with subtle make-up, but her mother was dressed in a form-fitting orange suit with a very short skirt and matching lipstick and nail polish.

Surveying the assembled group of makeover winners, Lucy wondered if they had really been chosen on the basis of the girls’ essays. She doubted that the staff had time to read forty thousand entries, and it seemed suspicious that each of the six mother–daughter pairs came from a different part of the country. As a reporter for the weekly newspaper in Tinker’s Cove, the Pennysaver, she knew that so-called contests were sometimes shams. Every year Ted, the editor and publisher, asked readers to vote for their favorite businesses in the “Best of Tinker’s Cove” contest, but the truth was that few people bothered to fill out the form and mail it in. The last “best pizza” winner received five votes, and the provider of the “best massage” only got one vote, from her mother. Nevertheless, all the winners got official certificates, which they proudly displayed in their places of business.

A sudden burst of laughter drew her attention back to the speaker, who was concluding her talk. “And now, I promise you, no more speeches,” said Camilla. “Breakfast will be served, and then we’ll show you fabulous fashions from the new spring collections.”

Camilla had no sooner left the podium than Lucy found a fruit cup set on her plate. “I hadn’t realized I was so hungry,” she said, picking up her spoon and surveying the competition.

Ginny McKee was the first to respond, speaking with a midwestern twang. “I noticed you were late—did you have a rough trip?”

“The snow was heavier in Maine,” said Lucy. “They had to clear the runway before we could take off.”

“You never know what will happen when you fly these days, do you?” offered Lurleen, taking her daughter’s hand. “We were praying the whole time we were in the air.”

Lurleen and Faith could be trouble, thought Lucy. She was itching to give them some fashion tips herself and she was sure the editors would relish the opportunity to transform these country bumpkins.

“I find a couple of those cute little bottles of scotch quite helpful myself,” said Cathy, with a throaty chuckle.

She had a breezy Texan confidence that Lucy found appealing, but she wondered how it would play with the editors. First impressions could be deceiving, but she had a feeling Cathy did exactly what she wanted. The giant diamond on her finger gave Lucy reason to hope she wasn’t particularly interested in competing for ten thousand dollars.

“None of that poison for me,” said Serena. “I always bring along a vitamin-packed wheat grass smoothie. I can give you the recipe if you want.”

“I’ll stick to scotch, thanks.” Cathy laughed, turning to Maria and Carmela. “You guys didn’t have to fly. How did you get here?”

Lucy studied the Rodriguezes with interest, trying to determine how much of a hometown advantage they had. Plenty, she decided, taking in Maria’s curves and Carmela’s dimples.

“The magazine sent a limo,” said Maria. “And I can tell you, it sure beats the subway!”

“The subway!” Lurleen was horrified. “You won’t get me down there, that’s for sure.”

“You’re so lucky to live in the city,” continued Cathy, ignoring Lurleen. “I come twice a year, but it’s not enough.”

“Do you come for the shopping or the shows?” asked Ginny, as the waiter refilled her coffee cup.

“Mostly the shopping,” offered Tiffany.

Cathy turned to her stepdaughter. “We love it all, don’t we, honey?”

“East or west, home is best, that’s what I always say,” said Lurleen, who was suspiciously poking at her salad with a fork. “What is this red stuff?”

“Pomegranate. It’s delicious,” said Cathy, rolling her eyes and turning to Maria. “Is it true the really hot new boutiques are all uptown? I’ve heard Soho’s over and Harlem’s where the action is these days.”

Lurleen began to choke, and Faith offered her a glass of water and patted her back.

“I know a few places,” said Maria, smiling broadly. “I could show you.”

“Deal,” said Cathy.

“Amanda didn’t tell me she’d entered this contest,” said Ginny. “I didn’t know a thing about it until the letter arrived. I almost threw it out; I thought it was a subscription offer.”

“Aren’t you glad you didn’t?” asked Amanda. “This is going to be fun.”

“And there’s the possibility of winning ten thousand dollars,” said Ocean. “If we win, Mom says I can buy a car.”

“If we win we’re going to donate the ten thousand dollars to our church,” said Lurleen. “That’s the main reason I came. I mean, if the good Lord presents you with an opportunity you can’t turn it down, can you? I just hope they don’t change my hair color; that’s something I don’t approve of. The good Lord knew what he was doing when he gave us our hair, and everything else, too. Like my mama used to tell me, ‘Just keep your face clean and your soul pure and your beauty will shine through.’”

Cathy shook her head in disbelief. “You’re in the wrong place then, honey. You should’ve stayed in South Carolina.”

“North Carolina.”

“Well, wherever you’re from, you’re in Camilla’s hands now. Around here she’s the boss, and you better do what she says. Her temper is a legend in the industry, believe me, I know. Back in the days before I met Tiffany’s wonderful father, Mr. Montgomery, I was a marketing executive at Neiman Marcus. I dealt with her quite a bit, and I soon learned that there was Camilla’s way or the highway. It didn’t matter that I was the customer, that I was putting up the money and buying the ads. Being the customer didn’t make me right, not with her anyway.”

Lurleen looked worried, and Lucy wondered if she’d only consented to the makeover to win the prize money for her church. Lucy understood her anxiety; she hoped the magazine’s experts wouldn’t make them look ridiculous. Not that she had any complaints so far. The fruit cup had been tasty, and the eggs Benedict was a delicious treat. She realized with a shock that she was enjoying herself, in the heart of New York City. Tinker’s Cove seemed very far away.

The waiters were clearing away the last of the dishes when the lights suddenly dimmed and strobe lights began flashing in time to loud techno music. It was the promised fashion show, but Lucy thought the parade of excruciatingly thin models dressed in skimpy outfits was more suited to a Save the Children campaign than daily life. Thigh-high buccaneer boots with pointy toes and stiletto heels, belt-sized miniskirts, and bondage-inspired bustiers were hardly the sort of thing she would wear. Neither were the flowing and fluttering evening dresses constructed of torn bits of fabric and ribbon. None of the moms at her table seemed to know what to make of the molded foam dress with an additional pair of buttocks stitched onto the backside, a detail the announcer described as “humorous whimsy.”

“Like I need a second one of those,” said Cathy.

“That poor model doesn’t even have a first bottom,” said Ginny, giggling.

But when the fashion show was over and they were ensconced in a limo with Ginny and Amanda en route to the hotel, Lucy discovered that Elizabeth had a very different reaction.

“I’m too fat, Mom,” she said, sighing. “I should never have eaten all those Christmas cookies and stuff.”

“Me, too,” said Amanda.

“You look great,” said Lucy, firmly. “You both look great. You’re normal. Those models are freaks, and whether you believe it or not they’re putting their health at risk.”

“That’s not true, Mom. Now they’re saying people who stress their systems by skipping meals actually add years to their lives.”

“You can’t believe everything you read,” said Ginny.

“That’s for sure,” said Lucy. “Besides, they do more than skip lunch to stay that thin. I wouldn’t be surprised if they smoke cigarettes and take amphetamines and diet pills.”

“Mom, you don’t know that. You read it somewhere. So now who’s the one who needs to remember you can’t believe everything you read.”

Lucy was tempted to retort but didn’t want to fight in front of Ginny and Amanda. Instead, she held her tongue as they pulled up to the gleaming steel and glass office tower. Looking up, she was suddenly thrilled and excited about the adventure ahead. She could hardly contain herself as she sat waiting for the chauffeur to open the door.