Authors: Mary Jane Clark
The Look of Love (7 page)
E
speranza didn’t go easily. She twisted and squirmed and pushed as the pillow was held down on her face. She kicked and scratched and tried to escape, fighting death for what seemed an interminably long time. Finally her arms and legs stilled as her body let out one last shudder.
The thing that stood out most was the terror in her eyes in those first seconds when she saw the peach gloves. In that instant, Esperanza understood that the person who’d scarred her forever with acid had come for her again.
“Diablo!”
she whispered before finding her voice and trying to scream. It was no use. All sound was muffled by the pillow.
If Esperanza hadn’t begun to remember, perhaps she could have been spared. But she was remembering and therefore had to be stopped. That’s just how it was.
In a way she was better off. In this world who would want to live looking like that?
FRIDAY, JANUARY 7 . . . EIGHT DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING
T
he shrill ring reverberated through the darkness, abruptly waking Piper from a deep sleep. For a moment she felt unable to move, unsure of where she was. Her eyes found the clock on the table next to the bed. Four-thirty.
What?
Rolling over, she groaned as she fumbled for the receiver. Her mouth barely moved as she spoke.
“Hello?”
“Piper? It’s Daddy. Why don’t you keep your cell phone on? I had to go through the switchboard, and the woman didn’t want to put me through because it was so early out there. I had to tell her it was an emergency.”
Piper sat upright and turned on the lamp. She squinted as her eyes adjusted to the bright light. “Is everything all right, Dad? Are you and Mom okay?”
“Your mother and I are fine, Piper. I’m calling about you. I just watched a news report on the murder of that Latina out there, the one who’d been sprayed with acid. And who do I see in one of the scenes? You.”
Piper tried to concentrate. It was four-thirty here, so that meant it was seven-thirty on the East Coast. Her father always watched
Good Morning America
. It made sense that the murder of Esperanza Flores would be reported, but pictures? No media were allowed on Elysium’s property. Had the crime-scene photos taken by the police been released?
“What did the pictures show, Dad?” she asked.
“Exteriors of the cottage the woman was killed in, the cops milling around outside and cordoning off the area with police tape, the body of the Flores woman being carried away. Then, lo and behold, I see my very own Piper Donovan walking across the screen.”
“Walking across the screen?” asked Piper. “You mean the pictures weren’t still shots?”
“No, they were video. I don’t think they were taken by a professional videographer, though. Whoever was holding the camera was shaking a bit. And the quality was good, but not as good as you usually see on the news.”
“Somebody probably recorded everything on an iPhone or a BlackBerry,” said Piper.
“I don’t care
how
the video was recorded,” said Vin. “I care about what it
showed
. And I don’t like you being in the middle of a crime scene, Piper.
Especially
not a murder scene. I knew you shouldn’t have gone out there.”
A
fter listening to a litany of instructions and doing her best to reassure her father that she would be very careful, Piper ended the phone call. She switched off the light and snuggled beneath the light down comforter. As she tried to fall back to sleep, her mind raced.
Someone had taken video of the activity outside Cottage 7. Lately it felt as if anyone could pretend to be Diane Sawyer—a staff member, a guest, even one of the EMTs or police. So many people carried cell phones equipped with still and video cameras. Those handheld devices were capable of transmitting video almost instantly via the Internet to other computers and handhelds.
TV news organizations frequently encouraged viewers to send in video of interesting events encountered in their neighborhoods and as they went about their daily lives. Piper herself had shot video of Emmett playing in the snow after the last storm, sent it to
Eyewitness News,
and had been thrilled when she caught sight of her dog in the package that aired on the five o’clock broadcast. Actually, she hadn’t seen the piece as it aired. Her father had, and he’d alerted her. Piper was able to watch it online later.
Turning onto her side, she fluffed the pillows and repositioned them under her head. As she struggled to get comfortable, she thought of the conversation she’d overheard at the pool yesterday afternoon. Anastasia had been talking about amazing pictures. Was she the one who’d provided the video that ended up on
Good Morning America
? Was she a reporter?
As she drifted off to sleep again, Piper decided she was going to get to know Anastasia a little better.
A
fter he went for his early-morning run, Jack got home, kicked off his running shoes, stripped off his hat, scarf, and gloves, then turned on the television set in the living room. He listened to the audio as he went to the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of cereal and milk. He was taking a spoon from the drawer when he heard Robin Roberts, in the studio in New York City, introduce the story.
“Esperanza Flores, the thirty-one-year-old woman from Los Angeles who police think was attacked with acid in a case of mistaken identity, was found dead in a cottage on the grounds of the ultra-spa Elysium, where she’d been staying while she recuperated from damage done by the attack. Police suspect that the death was a homicide and are wondering if the assailant who disfigured Flores last year returned to kill her.”
Jack hurried to get a view of the images on the television screen. His jaw clenched when he saw Piper in front of the bungalow where the woman had just been murdered. He grabbed his cell phone and was about to call her, but then he thought better of it. She would still be asleep.
As he showered and dressed for work, Jack was torn. He hated the idea of Piper in the middle of that mess at Elysium. He wanted to call her.
It had been a week since they’d talked, and that last conversation had been painful. He’d been hoping that Piper would call him. But days had gone by, and she hadn’t.
She had to be the one to reach out, right? She knew how he felt, how he wanted go forward with their relationship. It was up to her to let him know that she was ready.
But what if she never was?
Jack didn’t handle rejection well. He also didn’t want to feel like he was helplessly waiting around.
That’s why he had a date tonight.
I
rene got out of bed slowly, taking great care not to wake her sleeping husband. Vernon had tossed and turned all night. It was just before dawn when he finally fell asleep.
Irene hadn’t slept much either. She couldn’t turn off her mind.
She shivered as she pulled on a flowing robe. Quietly closing the bedroom door behind her, she tiptoed down the long hallway to the kitchen. The housekeeper already had a pot of coffee brewing.
Irene poured herself a cup, added a little skim milk, and took a seat at the table. Looking out the glass doors to the patio and the lush grounds beyond, she thought about the night before. She’d been trying to comfort Vernon when Jillian, returning from the convent, had come rushing in, throwing herself into her father’s arms. Jillian had sobbed and sobbed, and Vernon had tried to soothe her even as he himself was in anguish. Irene had stood by helplessly, knowing that it was pointless to say or do anything.
Vernon was devastated over the fact that Esperanza had been killed. He’d grown quite fond of the young woman and had made it his goal to restore her appearance as much as humanly possible. He’d been deeply shaken by the idea that the acid that had maimed Esperanza had really been meant for his precious Jillian. Vernon was also profoundly grateful that acid had never touched his daughter’s beautiful face. Preparing Esperanza to return to the real world had come to be a top priority for him, a way to make reparations.
Irene suspected that Vernon was motivated as much by professional pride as by humanitarian or spiritual concerns. He liked taking on the cases that other plastic surgeons might shy away from. He enjoyed the challenge. Vernon had a top-rated reputation. The men and women who came to him to appear younger, healthier, and happier got what they paid so handsomely for. Dr. Vernon Abernathy’s patients didn’t walk away looking overly pulled or stretched or pumped with chemicals. They came away looking like themselves, only better.
There were, of course, the rare exceptions.
Wendy Ellis was one of them. What had happened to that girl’s nose was a horror show. Vernon was sick about it and worried that a malpractice suit was in the offing. While he was well insured and could afford to pay damages, a lawsuit would be shattering publicity for himself and Elysium.
Irene tapped her nails on the tabletop, trying to think of what to do next. Last night Jillian’s first reaction to the murder was that she wanted to postpone her wedding to Ben yet again. Vernon had persuaded her otherwise.
“We need something positive and life-affirming,” he’d said. “Not going ahead with the wedding lets whoever killed Esperanza win.”
As she finished her cup of coffee, Irene knew what she was going to do. First she was going to walk over to the spa and get a manicure, and then she was going to make some phone calls to see if there were any funeral arrangements set for Esperanza. It might be a good idea to schedule a little memorial service on the grounds of Elysium. That would serve a few purposes: It would allow the staff to pay their respects to the poor girl, as well as showing the guests that Elysium’s management acknowledged that a terrible thing had happened. No one was trying to hide anything.
After Irene organized that, she was going to the cottage where Jillian had stayed last night because she didn’t want to spend the night in her own house. Irene would continue helping Jillian in any way she could with the wedding preparations.
Vernon would love her for that.
P
iper slept fitfully, falling in and out of disturbing dreams, the horror of what she had witnessed the day before organizing itself in her unconscious mind. When she awoke, she stretched, got out of bed, and, grabbing the remote, clicked on the TV as she walked to the French doors that opened onto the terrace. She drank in the view. The sky was clear and blue, the sun was shining brightly, and a mild breeze caused the palm fronds to wave slightly. Heaven. No trace of the violence that had played out in Cottage 7, only several hundred yards away.
She could hear the reporter on the television playing inside. They’d gotten another foot of snow on the East Coast. While Piper hated the thought of her parents dealing with all that, she was thrilled that she was missing it herself.
Now,
this
was living! January, but no heavy coats, no hats, no gloves, and the only scarves worn were light ones draped for style, not warmth. Maybe she should think about relocating for a while. She loved Manhattan, but she knew there was so much more work to be found out here. Los Angeles was
the
place to be for young actors trying to make it in the entertainment business.
She was excited about the audition for the TV commercial Gabe had arranged for her next week. That was the problem, though: She was always excited. Every prospect unleashed her imagination. She knew that one role could lead to another and another and another. In reality she seldom got the roles. Yet she was always able to move forward. Piper knew that she had to keep putting herself out there. She believed that eventually she would find her way.
Piper reminded herself of the primary reason she was here in California: She had a wedding cake to make. Her plan was to go down for some breakfast, explore Elysium a bit more, and then see about going over to the Monastery of the Angels to sample some of the famous pumpkin bread baked in their kitchen and talk to the sisters about how they were going to adapt the recipe to make pumpkin cake. She wasn’t quite sure how that would play out, since the sisters were supposed to talk as little as possible.
She dressed in a loose-fitting shirt, a pair of leggings, and flats. Piper pulled her long hair into a ponytail, applied a little mascara and lip gloss, and was ready to go. As she left the room, she clicked off the TV, then grabbed a notepad and pencil from the desk and put them into her oversize purse, making certain that her BlackBerry and wallet were also inside.
There were several empty tables in the dining room, but when Piper noticed that there was seating on the patio, she decided to have breakfast outside. Scanning the menu, she ordered an egg-white omelet with spinach, mushrooms, smoked mozzarella, and tomatoes. While she sipped a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, she settled into her chair and admired her surroundings.
The patio looked out over the hills in the distance as well as the sweeping lawns of the Elysium property. An ornate gazebo stood in the center of the green expanse. Piper took the pencil and paper from her purse and began to sketch. Perhaps the gazebo could serve as a starting point for the wedding cake’s design.
“That’s a pretty good likeness. It’s nice to know our wedding-cake maker is so artistic.”
Piper looked up to see a tall, good-looking man with dark hair and a bright smile standing next to her chair. She recognized him as the man who’d been working in vain to save Esperanza in the cottage the day before.
“I’m Ben Dixon, the groom,” he said. “We didn’t formally meet yesterday.”
“Piper Donovan.” They shook hands.
“May I?” he asked.
“Sure,” said Piper as Ben seated himself across the table from her. Immediately, a server with a carafe in hand arrived to take his order.
“Just coffee,” Ben said as he watched the steaming liquid being poured. “And a bowl of strawberries, please.” He turned to Piper. “Yesterday wasn’t exactly the best way to get started, was it?”
“No, not quite,” she said. “I can’t stop seeing that poor woman’s face.”
“I know what you mean,” said Ben. He picked up his cup and drank. “I’ve seen people die before, but Esperanza’s death is especially upsetting. She had already been through so much.”
Piper nodded, aware that he was referring to the acid attack. “Did you know her well?” she asked.
“You could say that. I’m a psychiatrist, and Esperanza had been in therapy with me. She was about to leave Elysium.”
Piper sighed. “That must have been rough for her. I know it sounds strange, but she probably felt really safe here. And with everything that happened, I’m sure it was nice for her to feel so taken care of. It must have been terrifying to think about going back into the world with such a badly scarred face.”
“Especially this town,” said Ben. “Look around you, Piper. This whole place is devoted to making people more beautiful, and business is booming. Beauty is a powerful currency in the City of Angels. Someone who is disfigured, especially as badly as Esperanza was, has a miserable time of it.”
The server came with Piper’s omelet and the strawberries for Ben.
“So,” said Piper, picking up her fork, “have you heard anything from the police? Do they have any idea who would have wanted to kill her?”
Ben shook his head. “We haven’t heard anything officially, but we’re thinking that it might have been whoever threw that acid in her face the first time around. Apparently, though she never told me about it, Esperanza had been having some memory of the attack return. Unfortunately, the word spread around here that she was going to be talking to the police.”
“And the killer found out and silenced her before she could,” said Piper.
Ben shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I’m sorry,” said Piper.
“Of course you are,” said Ben.
“Yeah, I am sorry about Esperanza, very sorry,” she said. “But I meant I was sorry about all this happening right before your wedding.”
“Me, too,” said Ben. “Jillian is a wreck. She’s afraid to be alone for a minute.”