Authors: Mary Jane Clark
The Look of Love (19 page)
T
here were three messages from her father. All of them announced that Vin and Terri wanted Piper to come home immediately. She didn’t want to return the calls, but she knew that her parents would be beside themselves with worry.
When she reached her father, Piper led with the good news.
“I’m perfectly fine, Dad,” she said. “And guess what? I got a commercial! It’s shooting on Friday.”
“Well, then, check out of Elysium and stay someplace else,” Vin insisted.
“Look, Dad, I couldn’t be safer. This place is swarming with police now.”
It was also crossing Piper’s mind that she didn’t want to spend her limited money on a second-rate hotel when she could stay free at luxurious Elysium. She assured her father she would check in frequently.
“Well, you know how I feel now, Piper. But you’re a grown woman, and you’re going to do what you want.” Vin sighed. “Will you at least leave your phone on, lovey? It drives me crazy when I get that damned message.”
As Piper promised, she heard a beep signaling another call. This time it was Jillian, asking if Piper could make a birthday cake.
“Something small,” said Jillian. “It will only be my father, Irene, Ben, and me.”
“Sure,” said Piper. “Do you have a preference for cake, icing, colors, theme?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Jillian. “Surprise us. I’m sure whatever you come up with will be fine.”
B
ooking on such short notice, Jack had paid a fortune for the plane ticket. He was stuck in a middle seat, between a woman with a baby and a guy who smelled like he hadn’t showered since Christmas. He hoped Piper would appreciate the heroics it had taken him to get to her side.
Jack was grateful his new boss was such a mensch. On extremely short notice, he’d agreed to letting Jack take today as a sick day and the following few days as annual leave. That was going to give Piper and him four whole days together. Jack hoped that when they came back east, they would have worked things out between them.
He’d debated letting Piper know he was coming but decided against it. Surprising her would be much more romantic—and he didn’t want to give her a chance to tell him not to come.
Even if the romance didn’t work out, this trip was not a waste. Jack wanted Piper to be safe. He didn’t like her being in the middle of the mess at Elysium. The situation there had danger written all over it.
W
hy had he even come to work today? He should have skipped out when he found the camera in Lillie Ulster’s bag. How stupid he was. He’d walked right into this.
Kyle watched while the police searched the treatment room. As each drawer and cabinet was opened, he held his breath, praying that they didn’t find his own secret camera. Folded towels and sheets were shaken open and thrown onto the floor. Bottles, jars, and tubes were tossed aside. Canisters of cotton pads, balls, and swabs were emptied.
“What have we here?” asked a cop, holding up a syringe and a bottle.
“Bag it,” replied the detective.
As the search continued, Kyle began feeling hopeful that maybe they wouldn’t find the camera after all. But when the detective’s phone rang, Kyle sensed that the news wasn’t going to be good. He wanted to smack the smug, self-satisfied expression off the dick’s face as he listened to the caller.
“Oh, Kyle, Kyle, Kyle. What have you been doing, you naughty boy?” asked the detective when the phone call ended. “I hear you like going to the movies, don’t you? My buddies just found a very interesting little video library at your apartment, you freakin’ pervert.”
G
rabbing the parcel containing her baking and decorating supplies, Piper exited her suite and took the elevator down. As she walked through the lobby on her way to the kitchen, she saw a crowd gathered outside in the courtyard. She went closer to the windows to get a better look at what was happening, but the people blocked her view. She went out the door, maneuvered through the onlookers, and managed to find a spot to stand.
Five police cars were parked, with lights flashing. A dozen officers stood waiting near the cars. Their eyes were fixed in the direction of the path that led to the skin-care center. Piper followed their gaze. Kyle Quigley, flanked by two more police officers, was walking toward the courtyard. His hands were behind his back, and his head was down.
The door of the first police car was opened. Before he got into the rear seat, Kyle looked up and scanned the crowd. Piper felt a chill as his eyes rested on her.
S
he knew her mother’s chocolate cake recipe by heart. Piper made a list of the ingredients and showed it to the chef.
“
Oui,
” he said. “We have everything you need right here.”
Within a few minutes, she stood in front of a worktable covered with all the cake makings. In a large bowl, she sifted together flour, sugar, cocoa powder, salt, and baking soda. Then, with an electric mixer, she blended in eggs, milk, canola oil, vanilla extract, and sour cream. After dividing the batter into cake pans, she slid them into the oven.
While she waited, Piper thought about how she would decorate the cake. Her mother used vanilla buttercream icing when she made the cake for The Icing on the Cupcake patrons. It was always a big seller. Might as well go for the surefire hit.
Her phone rang. It was Anastasia. Piper was apprehensive as she answered.
“The police just called. They want to come over and talk to me about Kyle Quigley. Anything you want to tell me, Piper?”
Piper swallowed and then spoke quickly. “I told them about Kyle and what you suspect, Anastasia. Lillie is dead, and somebody is trying to kill Jillian. The police should know everything so they can figure things out.”
She held her breath as no sound came from Anastasia.
“I’m sorry, Anastasia, if I ruined your exclusive. I know how much energy you were putting in on it, but I couldn’t just say nothing.”
There was a pause. Finally Anastasia spoke. “Ah, don’t worry about it, Piper. It would have been great to get the goods on Kyle Quigley myself, but I’ve already achieved what I wanted. My editor is so jazzed by the stuff I got on the fire and the murders that he’s taking me off the Style beat. From now on, Anastasia Fernands is going to be covering hard news!”
S
ister Mary Noelle welcomed her only sibling with a long, firm hug. “Thank the dear Lord that you are all right,” she whispered.
“Oh, Nina, why is all this happening?” asked Jillian.
“I don’t know. I don’t know. We have to trust that God has his reasons.”
“I wish I could be like you, Nina. I wish I could have such utter faith.”
The two women walked to the garden and sat on a concrete bench.
“How do you think Daddy’s handling everything?” asked Sister Mary Noelle.
“You know Daddy. He keeps it together on the outside, but all this has got to be killing him,” said Jillian. “I’m glad that you reminded me about his birthday, though. I called Piper, and she’s going to make a cake for him. Poor thing, I just threw the request at her, but I couldn’t give her any suggestions on how to decorate it. Do you have any ideas?”
“Let’s face it, Jillian, the thing that has always made Daddy happiest is you and me—at least until I entered the convent.”
“And Mom,” added Jillian. “I wish she were still here.”
“Me, too,” said Sister Mary Noelle. “But there’s a perfect example. If our mother hadn’t died, I wouldn’t have been drawn to this life—away from everything that’s needless and superficial. God had a plan.”
Jillian was quiet as she thought about her sister’s words.
“I have an idea,” she said, suddenly brightening. “I know something that would be great on the top of Daddy’s birthday cake.”
She pulled out her cell phone.
T
he toothpick inserted into the centers of the cakes came out clean. Piper took the pans from the oven and placed them on wire racks. While the layers were cooling, she mixed the buttercream icing. She wiped her hands on a towel as her phone rang again.
“Have you decorated the cake already?” asked Jillian.
“Not yet,” said Piper.
“Well, I have an idea,” said Jillian. “There’s a picture of my father with my sister and me when we were little. It shows him sitting in a big wing chair with me in his lap and Nina perched on the arm of the chair. We’re both watching as he reads us a book. Would there be any way you could re-create that picture on top of the cake?”
“If we had more time, we could have had the picture reproduced in edible ink,” said Piper. “But I think I might be able to do it the old-fashioned way, by hand. I can use tracing paper to copy the picture and then go over the design to make an imprint on the cake.”
“Great!” said Jillian, mustering up the first enthusiasm she’d felt in a long time. “The picture is in an album in my hope chest, which is in the garage at my father’s house. I’ll call Irene and let her know you’re coming.”
A
fter the cake cooled and Piper frosted it, she asked for a tray to carry it over to the Abernathys’ house. She packed her decorating paraphernalia and headed out of the kitchen. As she walked into the hallway, she almost collided with a thin, middle-aged man hurrying toward the lobby.
“Excuse me,” said Piper, struggling to keep control of the tray. She looked at the man’s pale face and remembered him. “Oh. Hi, Mr. Sherwood. How are you?”
“I’m going out to face the media hordes,” said Hudson, shaking his head and frowning. “Vernon doesn’t want to do it himself. He says I can handle it better than he can.”
Though Piper detected some resentment in Hudson’s tone, she also got the impression that he liked the idea of being the spokesperson for Elysium just fine.
“Wow, this is nuts,” she said. “You just come back to work and then get slammed with all this? When I met you last night at Jillian’s, who could have guessed what was going to happen after you left?”
“Terrible, wasn’t it? But now I can go out there and tell those media wolves that it’s all over. Kyle Quigley is in police custody.” Hudson looked down at his wrist. “Sorry. Got to fly,” he said. “They’re waiting for me.”
Piper watched him hurry away.
That guy is actually loving all this
.
P
iper balanced the cake tray while pushing the doorbell. The housekeeper answered. She was wearing rubber gloves and holding a sponge.
“Hi,” said Piper. “Is Mrs. Abernathy here?”
“No,” said the woman. “She was already gone when Miss Jillian called to say you would be here. Please, come in.” She opened the door wider. “Can I help you with that?”
“No, no, I’ve got it. Thanks.” Piper entered and followed the housekeeper to the kitchen, where she set the tray down on the counter.
“That’s the door to the garage,” said the housekeeper, pointing with her sponge. “The hope chest is against the far wall, covered with a blanket.”
“Great,” said Piper.
“Do you need anything else?” asked the housekeeper. “As soon as I finish cleaning the bathroom, I’m going to the market. So now’s the time to ask.”
“A couple of small bowls to mix colors into the icing,” said Piper. “Other than that, I can’t think of a thing.”
P
iper spread her piping tips and disposable decorating bags on the counter. She split the icing she made in the Elysium kitchen into several bowls the housekeeper had brought her. Then she dropped yellow piping gel into the first bowl and folded it into the white frosting. No doubt she could use this color to simulate Jillian’s hair—and maybe for her sister’s, too. But before she could decide how to tint the rest of the icing, she had to see the picture.
As she walked to the garage door, the housekeeper appeared in the kitchen again. She had changed and was holding a set of car keys. “I’m leaving now,” she said. “I’ll go out with you.”
As they entered the garage, the housekeeper gestured toward the far wall. “It’s over there.”
“Thanks,” said Piper. She waited while the housekeeper got into one of the cars, backed out, and clicked the garage door closed.
I
n a small room with no windows, Kyle sat at a metal table while the detective interrogated him.
“That’s some kinky stuff you got going there, Kyle. You’ve been up to no good, haven’t you?”
Kyle didn’t answer.
“You’ve got a regular library of your sick stunts. You should be congratulated for keeping it so organized and well labeled. We’ll know exactly who to contact as prosecution witnesses.”
The door to the interrogation room opened and a policewoman entered. She passed a folder to her colleague.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” asked the detective as he skimmed the folder’s contents. “You’ve been busy at your computer, haven’t you? We’ve got a list of all the porn sites you’ve visited.”
Tapping his fingers on the table, Kyle didn’t look at the detective.
“Okay, Kyle. We’ve got you nailed for sexual molestation. That could run you ten to fifteen years—for each case. But arson and murder—that clinches it.” He pounded the table. “Put all that together and you’ll be cooling your ass in Lancaster for the rest of your life.”
“Wait a minute! Arson and murder?” Kyle exclaimed. His face was pale, and beads of perspiration had gathered on his forehead. “I didn’t kill anybody! I swear!”
The detective ignored the denial. “Lancaster sure does attract a nice clientele,” he continued. “Big Lurch spent some time there. Helluva guy. He tore open a woman’s chest, took out her lung, and ate it. How’d you like a buddy like that as a roommate?”
“I want a lawyer,” said Kyle as all remaining color drained from his face.
G
eorge had humiliated himself the night before at Jillian’s cottage, and he knew it. He had lain in bed all morning, nursing a hangover and feeling mortified. Finally he turned on the TV.
He felt some twisted satisfaction as he viewed the images of the charred remains of Jillian Abernathy’s cottage, the glamorous head shot of Lillie Ulster, and clips from some of the roles she’d played. George had enjoyed the actress over the years in the movies and on television. It really was too bad that she’d been killed. But part of him was glad about the tragedies that were befalling Elysium.
Then his pulse began to race. He’d been at the cottage last night. He could be a suspect.
My God. Will they think that I did it?
The reporter stood in front of the Elysium gates as he wrapped up the story.
“Just a little while ago, police arrested thirty-six-year-old Kyle Quigley, a medical aesthetician here. Sources tell us that Quigley is suspected of having played a role in Lillie Ulster’s death as well as in the attempted murder of Jillian Abernathy, the director of Elysium, this sprawling spa and cosmetic-surgery compound in the Hollywood Hills. Arraignment is expected to take place tomorrow. At that time we’ll find out exactly what the charges against Quigley will be.”
Breathing somewhat easier, George got out of bed. What was the matter with him? How had he become the sort of person who reveled in the downfall of others or could become a suspect in a murder investigation? How had be gotten to this place?
And what kind of example was he setting for Wendy? How were his reactions affecting his daughter? Though he tried not to show his anger and depression when he was with her, Wendy was very perceptive and sensitive. She had to sense his negative emotions, and that couldn’t be helping her. The kid had a big fight on her hands. She needed support, not someone dragging her down.
Most of all she had to learn that when you experienced a tragedy, it was okay to lick your wounds for a while, but ultimately you had to keep going and do whatever it took to make the best of life.
As he got ready to take a shower, George came up with a plan. He was going to take Wendy to New York, or wherever the best plastic surgeons could be found. There had to be someone somewhere who could do the facial reconstruction she needed.
He didn’t care how much it cost. His lawyer would make sure that Vernon Abernathy and his malpractice insurance paid. Elysium’s owner would see that agreeing to a settlement was better than going to court and facing an even bigger judgment—not to mention all the negative publicity for the spa and his reputation.
George looked at the bloodshot eyes staring back at him in the bathroom mirror.
Sometimes,
he thought,
you have to hit rock bottom to see your way up.