Dead Giveaway (4 page)

“Just sit right here, Ellen.” Mrs. Timmons hurried off for a glass of water and watched anxiously as Ellen sipped. “Bad news, then?”

Ellen nodded. “I just found out that my aunt and uncle are dead.”

An angular woman in her mid-fifties who was not given to any overt signs of affection, Mrs. Timmons patted Ellen's shoulder awkwardly. “Oh, dear! I'm so sorry, Ellen. Was it a car accident?”

“No.” Ellen's voice was shaking slightly. “They went to Mardi Gras for their anniversary and they were attacked in a hotel elevator. The police think it was a mugging that got out of hand.”

“I don't know what this world's coming to!” Mrs. Timmons sighed deeply. “It's gotten to the point where decent people can't even step out of their houses without taking their lives in their hands. Ellen, dear . . . you still look white as a sheet. Shall I call Mrs. Percy to come in and sub? I know she's home today.”

Ellen was about to say that she could stick it out when she remembered that Mrs. Percy needed the work. A teacher's pension wasn't much to live on. “Good idea, Mrs. Timmons. Tell her my lesson plans are in the middle desk drawer, but she doesn't have to follow them if she'd rather do something else. Alma took my class down to the multipurpose room to sing.”

“That's fine, dear. You just get your coat and run along. Alma can watch them until Mrs. Percy gets here.”

In the teachers' lounge Ellen slipped into her coat, put her shoes into a carrying bag, and pulled on her moon boots for the walk to the parking lot. When she got to the car, she'd have to take off her moon boots, too bulky to drive in, and put her shoes back on.

The lounge was deserted. All the teachers were back in their classrooms and Ellen felt almost as if she were doing something illegal by leaving before the final bell had rung. She should be starting her reading class about now, printing new vocabulary words on the board for the Larks. Ellen had three reading groups, and despite their euphemistic names, everyone in her class knew that the Bluebirds were the fast group, the Robins were average, and the Larks were slow. She was thinking about Billy Zabinski as she let herself out the front door and walked to her car. Mrs. Percy wouldn't have a speck of trouble with him. She was his grandmother.

It was strange turning onto the highway at twelve-thirty on a weekday. Ellen inched out carefully to pass a Northern States Power truck and glanced in her rearview mirror to make sure there was plenty of room before she cut back into her own lane again. This would be a very bad time to have an auto accident. She was still a little dazed by the news.

Exactly seven minutes later, Ellen pulled into the carport at the Elmwood Apartments and got out to plug her car into the socket on the post next to her parking place. Without her electrical engine heater, the oil would thicken and the water in her radiator would freeze in the subzero temperature. The first time Ellen had used it, she'd forgotten to pull the plug in the morning and had trailed the extension cord down the highway, to the amusement of everyone else on the road. By now the whole process was part of her daily winter ritual, but she still double-checked.

Ellen trudged up the stairs to her second-floor apartment and unlocked the door. Her familiar apartment seemed suddenly strange to her, the wall hangings and furniture and plants she'd chosen so carefully now alien, as if she were viewing them through the eyes of a stranger. There was a name for that phenomenon, the opposite of déjà vu. She'd memorized it once for a psychology class, but she couldn't remember it now.

In an effort to clear her head, Ellen walked down the hallway to the guest room. She'd rented a two-bedroom apartment so she'd have a place to work on her dolls, and the room was filled with her life-size creations. The hobby had taken hold when she was still in high school, something to keep her occupied while the prettier girls were going out on dates.

Her very first doll was propped up in a chair. She'd sewn nylon stockings together and stuffed them to make a doll big enough to wear one of her mother's old dresses. It wasn't a very professional job, but Ellen had kept it for sentimental reasons. Over the years, she'd made dolls out of any material she could find. One from an old patchwork quilt found in a thrift store reminded her of the illustration on the cover of her favorite children's book, L. Frank Baum's
Patchwork Girl of Oz.
Scattered all around her guest room were dolls made of velvet and silk and chintz. There was even one made of durable canvas that she'd propped up in the passenger seat as company on her long drive to Minnesota.

Ellen reached out to straighten a hat on her very best doll. Designed in a college art class at the University of Virginia, its molded plastic arms and legs could be locked into any position, much like department store mannequins. Its features were perfectly neutral, an inspiration prompted by studying her roommate's teddy bear. Teddy bears could look happy or sad, comical or serious, depending entirely on the viewer's perception.

She'd run out of flesh-tone dye one Saturday night, and rather than risk being late with her final project, Ellen had attempted to mix the dye herself from what was available on the workroom shelves. Mixing a flesh tone from basic colors was difficult, and she'd added a drop of this and a drop of that until she'd finally achieved a color that looked acceptable, despite the fact that it didn't exactly match the premixed color. She hadn't realized the result was anything out of the ordinary until she'd taken her project back to the dorm.

Her roommate, Ming Toi Lee, had gazed at it in awe. How had she ever achieved that lovely skin tone? She'd never seen a Chinese mannequin before and it was about time someone appealed to the Asian consumer. Jolette Washington, from the room next-door, had stuck her head in to see what all the fuss was about. Ellen had designed a black mannequin? How wonderful! Jolette's roommate, Toyo-San Kasawi, had turned to give Jolette a confused look. Ellen's mannequin was clearly Japanese.

Ellen's roommate had run out to get Mary Long-branch, a full-blooded Sioux, who'd sworn that it was American Indian. So they'd lugged it down to the lobby and invited in everyone they could think of to offer an opinion. Vietnamese, Russian, Hawaiian, African, plain old Caucasian, the list was endless. Everyone appropriated Ellen's doll for their own ethnic group.

Later that night, they'd discussed the possibilities. Everyone thought that Ellen should either sell her idea or go into business to manufacture it herself. Department stores everywhere would jump at the universal mannequin. Five years had passed, during which Ellen had been living as frugally as she could. She was still years short of enough capital to open a business, but that was her long-range goal.

The sense of unreality was still with her. Perhaps a drink would help. Ellen wandered into the kitchen and retrieved the half-full bottle of white wine she'd put in the refrigerator two weeks ago. Someone had told her that cheap wine didn't go bad as fast as the expensive kind, and less than five dollars for a bottle of Chablis was certainly cheap.

The wine tasted a little like vinegar, and Ellen poured it down the sink. Marc Davies had said the reading of the will would be held tomorrow. It wasn't critical that she be there in person even though the lawyer, Mr. Clayton Roberts, had said she was a beneficiary. Aunt Charlotte had always promised her the family china, which had belonged to her grandmother. The silverware, too, but how could she possibly afford to ship it out here? She really had no use for it, since she seldom entertained.

Ellen sighed as she peered at the field of blowing white snow outside her kitchenette window. Warm and sunny, Las Vegas offered palm trees and flowers and swimming pools. The prospect of flying out of this interminable winter was very enticing. It would be insane to even consider it, a total waste of money for a trip that wasn't the slightest bit necessary. Still, she had thirteen days' leave accumulated and this qualified as a family emergency. She had half a notion to take a week off work and go get her china in person.

 

 

“Well, Ellen. How does it feel to be a millionaire?”

“I'm not sure, Mr. Roberts . . . I mean, Clayton.” Uncle Lyle's lawyer had told her to call him by his first name. “I think I'm still in shock.”

“Understandable.” Clayton took her by the arm and steered her out of his wood-paneled office. “What you need is a drink.”

“But I hardly ever . . . all right.” Ellen nodded quickly. She had been about to say that she wasn't in the habit of drinking in the middle of the workweek, but this wasn't exactly a normal week.

As Clayton pushed the elevator button, he turned to her. “I've got some work to finish here so Johnny Day's taking you to the Castle Casino for the show. Then we'll take you up the mountain to see your new home.”

“Johnny Day?”

“That's right.” Clayton's gold-rimmed aviator glasses slipped down slightly as he nodded. “He's your fourth-floor neighbor.”

Ellen's knees were shaking slightly as she got into the elevator with Clayton. She glanced down at her sensible navy-blue dress with the white collar and cuffs and wished she was wearing something else. The other teachers would be green with envy when she told them she'd met the most famous singer in Vegas.

The elevator started to descend and Clayton turned to her. “Just relax and enjoy yourself, Ellen. Tomorrow we'll put our heads together and decide on the best way to move your things out here.”

Ellen felt her head start to whirl. It was quite a shock to discover that she now owned a safe deposit box stuffed with Federal Treasury certificates plus her aunt and uncle's expensive condo on Mount Charleston, including what she'd expected to inherit, her aunt and uncle's silver and china.

“You're planning to move out here, aren't you, Ellen?”

“I'm not sure.” Ellen's voice was tentative. “There aren't many jobs for teachers here, and I'm on a tenure track back in Minnesota.”

“You don't have to teach, Ellen. Your certificates yield between seven and nine percent annually. If you continue to roll them over, you'll never have to worry about money again.”

Ellen took a deep breath and tried to remember how much money she actually had. Any figure with more than four zeros seemed beyond comprehension. “Mr. Roberts . . . I mean, Clayton . . . do you think I'd have enough money to open my own business?”

“I don't see why not. What did you have in mind?”

Ellen was almost breathless. “Mannequins. I'd like to manufacture them.”

“Oh, yes. Charlotte had some pictures.” Clayton frowned slightly. “You may have cash flow problems at first. It takes a large capital investment to open a manufacturing concern, and there's a sizable penalty if you cash in your certificates before the due date. My advice would be to secure another source of financial backing.”

Ellen was about to ask him to be more specific when the elevator doors opened on a tall, dark-haired man pacing in the lobby. Ellen felt the color rush to her face as she recognized Johnny Day, even more handsome than on his record albums.

“You're right on time, Johnny.” Clayton led Ellen over to be introduced. When Johnny reached for her hand and brought it up to his lips, Ellen thought she'd faint from sheer excitement. He was tall, well over six feet, and for the first time in her life, she felt delicate and feminine.

“I'm on in an hour, so we'd better hit the road.” Johnny took her arm. “A bottle of bubbly's chilling at your table and I can join you for a glass if we hurry. Are you coming over, Clay?”

Clayton glanced at his watch. “I'll meet you there. Make sure Ellen has a good time. I'm trying to convince her to move out here and start her own mannequin business.”

“So, Ellen . . . what do you think of Vegas?”

His speaking voice was exactly as she'd expected, deep and soft and incredibly sexy. Ellen tried to keep her mind on the conversation and ignore the way her legs were trembling as they moved toward the door. “I haven't really seen much of the city, except for the airport, of course.” She was silent for a moment, trying to think of something intelligent to say. “The weather's wonderful, and everything's so nice and green. It's quite a change from the snowbanks of Minnesota.”

“Hey, we've got snow on our mountain.” Johnny flashed her a grin. “Just wait till you see the view from my bedroom window. It looks like one of those winter scenes they put on Christmas cards.”

Ellen didn't dare meet his eyes. Was Johnny Day inviting her to his bedroom? Or was she jumping to a ridiculous conclusion? “It sounds beautiful. Is it very cold up there?”

Johnny nodded. “You bet! Forty degrees when I left his morning.”

“That's even colder than Minnesota!” Ellen shivered slightly. “It was only twelve below when I got on the plane.”

Johnny turned to her with a puzzled look and then he laughed. “No, Babe. It was forty
above
on the mountain. It never gets below zero here.”

Ellen felt the color rush to her face and she was glad he was busy hailing the valet parker. Aunt Charlotte had written that the temperature was moderate. Johnny must think she was a real idiot.

Johnny handed over his ticket and smiled at her again. “So tell me about this mannequin business.”

“There's not much to tell.” Ellen stared up at him and wondered whether teeth that perfect could possibly be real. Her natural reticence evaporated as she began to describe her universal mannequin and her long-held dreams of marketing it to department stores.

“Sounds good to me,” Johnny reflected when she had finished. “And Clay said you need a financial backer?”

Blushing, Ellen nodded. She knew she'd rattled on like an excited schoolgirl, but there was something about Johnny's intense brown eyes and friendly smile that invited her confidence.