Authors: Mary Jane Clark
The Look of Love (6 page)
I
f she positioned herself in just the right way, Wendy could catch a glimpse of Cottage 7 from her window. She had watched people running past her own cottage and had seen a crowd form in front of the other building. Wendy had wanted to go see what was happening, but that was out of the question.
There was no way she would venture out there and show herself to all those people. She couldn’t deal with their averted glances and outright stares. Wendy completely understood people’s reactions. If
she
couldn’t stomach the way she looked, how could they?
In their therapy sessions together, Dr. Ben was trying to help her come to believe that how she looked wasn’t the essence of who she was. Dr. Ben said that her appearance was just the outer, less important shell. What was inside—her mind, her feelings, her personality, her spirit—made up the real Wendy. That’s what Dr. Ben believed.
Or that was what Dr. Ben
said
anyway. When it came right down to it, Dr. Ben was marrying one of the most gorgeous women Wendy had ever seen. Wendy doubted that he’d been initially attracted to Jillian Abernathy by her mind. Maybe he came to love her after getting to know her better, but he had to want to get to know her in the first place. Initial physical attraction counted. There was no denying that.
Who was ever going to be attracted to a woman with almost no nose?
She was a freak show.
While her father blamed Dr. Abernathy’s surgery, Wendy knew she had to take some responsibility. Her own obsession with her appearance had brought her to this place. She hadn’t liked the way her nose looked and had badgered her father to pay for fixing it.
Her father had been so resistant. He’d insisted she was beautiful just the way she was. Her nose was unique and made her face the one he had loved since the day she was born. It was as much a part of her as the freckles sprinkled across it, her curly red hair, and her big brown eyes. But Wendy kept at him and kept at him until she wore her father down. She convinced him that she hated her nose so much that she could never even begin to be happy until it was changed. And ever since Wendy’s mother had deserted them years ago, her father was desperate to make his daughter happy.
She hadn’t been satisfied with the results of the first surgery. The second surgery only made it worse. When the bandages were taken off after the third surgery, there was very little cartilage left.
Her father said it was a nightmare and that Dr. Abernathy would have to pay. He had talked to an attorney about it. But Dr. Abernathy was trying to stave off the lawsuit. Wendy could stay at Elysium free of charge while she recuperated and Dr. Abernathy tried to figure out how to proceed with further corrective surgery. In the meantime she was in therapy with Dr. Ben to help her cope.
She would give anything to look the way she once had.
Wendy was diverted from her thoughts by the knock on the cottage door.
“Who is it?”
The door opened.
“It’s me.” Her father poked his head in and smiled at her. Wendy knew his smile was forced.
“You’re early today,” said Wendy as George Ellis put his key in his pocket and gently kissed his daughter on the cheek.
“Couldn’t wait any longer to see my girl. How are you?”
“Okay, I guess,” said Wendy. “Something must have happened at Cottage Seven. That’s where the woman who worked for Jillian Abernathy and was splashed with acid is staying.”
“Yeah, I saw the cops and a couple of EMTs,” said George. “Why don’t we take a walk over there and see what’s going on?”
Wendy adamantly shook her head. “Uh-uh.”
“Come on, sweetheart,” urged George. “This is a good opportunity to get out for a little while. You don’t have to worry about anyone staring at you. They’ll all be focused on what’s happening at the cottage.”
“I said
no
, Dad.”
“You know, Wendy, someday you’re going to have to face the world, honey,” said George as he sat on the bed.
“I know it, Dad. But every time I think about that, I just want to die.”
A
fter visiting with his daughter, George walked over to Cottage 7. The crowd had broken up, and the EMTs were gone, yet there were still two policemen outside. Yellow tape had been stretched across the cottage door and cordoned off the area around the little house.
George noticed a woman with short dark hair leaning against a palm tree. She was wearing one of Elysium’s peach treatment smocks, so he surmised she was a guest. The woman was holding her hand up to her mouth as her eyes remained trained on the cottage. She didn’t notice as George approached, and she was startled when he cleared his throat.
“Excuse me,” he said.
The woman’s head turned quickly to look at him, and the hand near her mouth dropped. Before she could shove her hand into her pocket, George saw that it held what looked like a small electronic device. A phone? A recorder?
“Do you know what happened?” he asked.
The woman nodded toward the cottage. “The woman who was staying there was found dead.”
“The girl who’d been attacked with acid?” asked George.
“Yes, I think so,” said the woman.
George felt sorry for the young woman who’d been killed. The poor thing had suffered terribly from her association with the Abernathys—just as he and his daughter had. But he didn’t feel one bit bad about the negative publicity that would inevitably be generated by the death. Anything that hurt Elysium, and therefore Vernon Abernathy, was fine as far as George was concerned.
T
he scene at Cottage 7 had left Piper shaken and tense.
That poor woman—living through the agony of the acid attack and the months of pain that followed was more than anyone should be forced to experience. And now . . . to be brutally murdered.
It was also extremely unnerving to realize that a killer had struck—in the middle of the day, and so close by. Piper shuddered involuntarily.
When she finally reached her room, she felt relief as she viewed the space she would be living in for the next few days. Rather than a single bedroom, Jillian had arranged for a suite. The living room was decorated in Spanish Colonial style, with natural-linen-upholstered furniture and a large, multicolored handwoven rug. A desk held a two-line phone as well as a directory of spa services, menus, and an explanation of how to access the high-speed Internet. There was a fireplace in the corner, a flat-screen television mounted on the wall, and sliding glass doors that opened onto a private balcony offering a view of Los Angeles below.
A four-poster king-size bed, appointed with luxurious white linens, dominated the adjoining room. Piper noticed that her bag already rested on the luggage rack. A fresh copy of the
Los Angeles Times
lay folded on the bedside table. Peach-colored slippers embroidered with the Elysium emblem were lined up on the floor next to the bed.
Walking into the bathroom, Piper let out a little “Yay!” A sunken tub lined with Mexican tiles was situated next to a picture window affording a spectacular vista of the hills and sky. An assortment of soaps, salts, shampoos, lotions, and creams, as well as stacks of soft towels, sat on the shelves. Two plush terry-cloth robes hung from hooks on the wall. White candles perched on a dozen wrought-iron holders were carefully placed around the room.
Piper considered taking a long, hot bath, but she knew that would just lead her to crawl into the big bed and take a long nap. After seeing what had happened to Esperanza Flores, Piper didn’t feel like being alone. She was eager to explore Elysium, starting with the swimming pool.
T
hough the outdoor pool at Elysium was heated, the air temperature was a little too cool for Piper to get excited about actually going into the water. She was content to find an empty lounge chair. She selected a shady spot that faced the pool but backed up to a hedge of bamboo and giant fernlike plants.
Within a minute or two of her settling down on the peach-canvas-covered lounge cushion, a young man in an Elysium shirt asked Piper if she would like a drink.
“I’ll have an iced tea,” she said. “And can you put some lemonade in that?”
“You mean an Arnold Palmer?” asked the waiter.
Piper nodded. “Sounds great.”
“Anything else?”
She suddenly realized she hadn’t had anything to eat since the bag of Munchies snack mix on the plane. She looked at her watch and realized that dinner was a couple of hours away, so she ordered a blueberry muffin to tide her over.
As she waited, Piper surveyed the pool area. At the entryway a small shed held towels for the guests. There were about two dozen lounge chairs arranged to make sure guests did not feel crowded. A few tables surrounded with straight-backed chairs dotted the stone patio. A man working on a computer sat at one of them. Piper wasn’t entirely sure, but the guy looked like one of the older actors from
Ocean’s Eleven
,
Twelve
, and
Thirteen
.
There were also separate little areas set off the main patio, offering more privacy for extreme sunbathers, lovers, or guests who just wanted to be alone. When she heard a woman’s voice coming from the other side of the hedge, Piper realized that one of the private areas was right behind her.
She caught snatches of what the woman was saying, surmising that she was having a phone conversation, since Piper heard no other voice.
“Couldn’t have picked a better time to come here.”
“Amazing pictures.”
“Even better than I thought.”
“Exclusive.”
“I’m working on it now and should have it ready in about an hour.”
Then no sound came from the other side of the bamboo and ferns.
The waiter brought Piper’s order. She sipped her drink and ate half the muffin before her curiosity got the better of her. She got up from her lounge and peeked around the corner of the hedge. The woman she saw had short dark hair and looked to be in her early thirties. There was a wire coming out of her ear, and she was engrossed in what she was typing on her laptop computer.
Piper felt her cheeks flush as the woman looked up and stared straight at her.
“Oh, excuse me,” said Piper, flustered.
The woman smiled as she took out her earpiece. “There’s nothing to be excused for.”
“I didn’t want you to think I was spying on you or anything,” Piper explained.
The woman laughed. “Don’t worry. I can’t help myself either—I’ve got to see who I can recognize. As a matter a fact, there was a movie star down here at the pool a while ago who hasn’t done anything in so long that I thought she was out of the business. I gather she’s come to Elysium for a little ‘
freshening
.’ ”
“Who was it?” asked Piper.
The woman smiled slyly. “That’s for me to know and you to find out—if I decide you can be trusted.”
“Fair enough,” said Piper, returning the smile. She reached out to shake the woman’s hand. “I’m Piper Donovan.”
“Hi, Piper. I’m Anastasia.” She waved to a chair. “Would you like to sit down?”
“Sure.” As she took a seat, Piper noticed the tiny recorder with the wire coming out of it sitting on the table next to the computer.
Anastasia studied Piper’s face. “Let me guess,” she said. “You’re an actress.”
Piper nodded.
“You’re not old enough for a face-lift, and you certainly don’t need a tummy tuck or Botox, though Lord knows kids are pumping the stuff into themselves earlier and earlier. Come for some beauty treatments?”
“No,” said Piper. “Though I hope to have some while I’m here. Actually, I came to make a wedding cake.”
“Really?” Anastasia appeared very interested. “Who’s getting married?”
“Jillian Abernathy, the director of this place,” said Piper.
“Oh, that’s right,” said Anastasia, nodding. “I had heard that.”
“I just met Jillian a few hours ago. She seems like such a nice person, but I feel sorry for her,” Piper said, shaking her head. “Talk about bad karma. First she cancels her wedding after the woman who worked for her took an acid attack meant for Jillian. Now, just as Jillian finally gets it together to go ahead with the wedding, the woman is murdered.”
“Yeah, I heard that the woman in Cottage Seven was dead,” said Anastasia, “but how do you know it was a murder?”
“I was in the cottage, and before they pushed me out, I heard one of the police talking about her being smothered. It looked like she’d put up quite a struggle.” Piper shivered. “I guess they’ll do an autopsy to be sure.”
“Nice way to start your stay at Elysium,” Anastasia murmured, looking at her laptop.
“I’m not going to complain,” Piper answered. “I’m still here.”
She was sensing that the woman was distracted and ready to wrap up the conversation. It was just as well, thought Piper, feeling the sun beating down on her skin. She was eager to escape its burning rays.
“Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around,” she said as she stood.
“Yeah, great, Piper,” said Anastasia. “I’m going to be here through next week. I’m sure we’ll bump into each other.”
Piper walked away, turning to look back as she rounded the hedge. Anastasia was already typing again.
O
f all the tasks Sister Mary Noelle was assigned, working at the small gift shop of the Monastery of the Angels was her favorite job. She enjoyed stocking the shelves and arranging the items for sale. Prayer cards, religious pamphlets, rosary beads, and hand-crocheted hats, scarves, and afghans sold modestly. Fudge, caramels, peanut brittle, and mints hand-dipped in chocolate sold better. But the biggest seller was the pumpkin bread.
Like the candy, the moist and fragrant pumpkin bread was made by the nuns. Its popularity grew with each new person who ate a piece. Many thought it was hands down the best pumpkin bread they’d ever tasted. Proceeds from the sales were applied to the operating budget of the economically struggling convent.
Sister Mary Noelle felt her stomach rumble. It had been a busy day, and she hadn’t eaten lunch. As an extern sister, she was permitted to leave the grounds. One of her responsibilities in the cloistered community was to interact with the outside world. While the cloistered nuns worked inside the convent and concentrated on a contemplative lifestyle, an extern performed the tasks that couldn’t be done within the convent’s walls: grocery shopping, taking the elderly sisters for medical appointments and tests, buying supplies the convent needed, and doing whatever errands Mother Prioress directed.
This morning Sister Mary Noelle had taken elderly Sister Aloysius to the podiatrist and then to the store to buy special shoes for her arthritic feet. Then she’d taken a shipment of pumpkin bread to FedEx and gone to buy paint and turpentine for the freshening-up of the infirmary walls. After another stop she hurriedly returned to the convent, in time for the strict hour of silence that followed the noonday meal, the largest meal of the day, which she had missed.
Sister Mary Noelle knew that the light supper she would eat after evening prayer wouldn’t nearly satisfy her. She was sorely tempted to open up a bag of pumpkin bread, but she restrained herself. It was good to do without.
The bell rang, signaling that there was a customer waiting. Sister Mary Noelle made her way to the black iron door, unlocked and opened it. A young woman with disheveled blond hair and a very troubled expression on her face stood there.
“Jillian! What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”
Jillian leaned forward, threw her arms around her sister, and held on tightly. “The most terrible thing, Nina! Esperanza is dead!”
The nun pulled back and stared into Jillian’s eyes. “What?” she asked. “The last time we spoke, you told me that she was improving.”
“Somebody killed her, Nina. Esperanza was murdered!”
Sister Mary Noelle made the sign of the cross. “God rest her soul,” she whispered.
Jillian buried her face in her sister’s white habit and sobbed. “I don’t know what to do—or where to turn.”
“You’ve come to the right place, Jillian,” Sister Mary Noelle said as she patted her younger sister on the back. “You’ve come to the right place.”