Makeovers Can Be Murder

Chapter 15

As I stared down at the grotesque image of the fat lady in the photograph, my scalp prickled with humiliation. Was that fat-lady picture-with my name on it-somebody′s sick idea of a practical joke? Who could possibly want to hurt me like that? Who could be so vicious?

A vision of Lainey′s angry face from the night before floated through my head.

Lainey. Of course. Frank had told me that she blamed me for keeping her from getting her precious carjacking story. Who else could it have been?

I thought back on Jumpy Rob′s smirk as he mentioned my story′s ″money shot″-aka me in a bikini. Was the entire newsroom secretly laughing at me? When the story aired, would the entire city make fun of me? The thought made me feel like throwing up again. At this rate, I wouldn′t have to worry about dieting-the way I was barfing all over the place, I was well on my way to becoming bulimic.

Well, at least I didn′t need to worry about Jonathan′s reaction to my body in the story anymore. That dog in my heart had already died.

I tossed the disgusting photo into the trash. Then I put in a call to Luke Petronella to see what was going on in the investigation into Jana′s murder. I didn′t have his cell phone number, but I reached him at his desk at the Durham police headquarters.

Luke said they were following up on a theory that a gang called the M Street Crew was connected to the carjacking.

″We′ve arrested a suspect who had some blood spatter on him-if it′s Jana′s blood, that′ll be enough to tie him to the carjacking,″ he said. ″And if we′re really lucky, her daughter, Shaina, will be able to identify him from a photo lineup.″

An image of the window and Jana′s head being shattered with a gun swam into my head.

Pushing the vision away, I said, ″Shaina told me she thinks her stepfather was behind it. And I heard that Jana left him two million dollars in life insurance.″

I expected Luke to dismiss Shaina′s suspicion about her stepfather the way Dr. Sanders had.

But he didn′t. ″We′re looking into that,″ he said. ″We know about Jana′s insurance policy. But so far this case is looking like a straightforward carjacking, not a Black Widower job.″

″But do you know about Gavin′s first wife-that she died under suspicious circumstances?″

A pause. ″Now, where did you hear that?″ Luke asked me. ″Did Jana or her daughter know about the first wife′s death?″

″I don′t think so. I just heard it from a source.″ I didn′t want to say that Fish was my informant.

I heard Luke snort. ″I know Jana hired Fish to help her with her divorce, Kate. It′s not a big secret. Fish told me about it himself.″

″Okay.″ At least he hadn′t heard it from me.

″But don′t believe everything you hear,″ Luke said in a reproving tone. ″The police in Omaha looked at Gavin as a suspect, but her death was ultimately ruled not to be suspicious. And we didn′t have to hear that from Fish. We′re the homicide detectives, remember?″

″I know. Of course. But did you-″

″Don′t worry, Kate. We′re following up on all the angles.″ Luke′s tone was soothing but firm. ″Trust me on this. Would you, please?″

His real meaning: Butt out.

I pulled into a parking space in the visitor′′s lot at Mercy Hospital. While I was locking the car, a Corvette with dealer plates pulled into the space next to me. The top was down, which gave me an unobstructed view of the couple inside. The driver had a reddish blow-over and one hand cupped around the breast of his flocculent blond companion. She was ignoring his hand as she reapplied lipstick in the visor mirror.

Even from several feet away I could smell the man′s musky fragrance. It was so thick you′d think the guy had an electric aroma ball hung around his neck, with his hand plugged into Blondie′s cleavage for power.

Get a room, why don′t you? my love-bruised brain wanted to scream at the two of them. So surly were my thoughts right then that if I′d had my way, every lovey-dovey couple on earth would get an electric shock when they pressed their lips together.

When I passed the nurse′s station on the fourth floor of the hospital, the nurse with the Caribbean accent recognized me.

″Oh, it′s good that you′re back now,″ she said to me. ″Our girl should be waking up any moment. ″

Inside Shaina′s room, I sat on the visitor′s chair and waited until her eyelids started to flutter.

″Shaina?″ I asked as soon as she came to. ″It′s Kate here. Kate Gallagher.″

″Mom′s friend, right?″ she said, blinking. ″I remember you.″

As I nodded, a nurse entered the room and started checking her vital signs.

Shaina shifted her gaze to the ceiling and lay quietly against the pillows. Her eyes were wide and tense looking, but they showed none of the hysteria that had been in them earlier in the day. The only emotion I could detect in them now was a weary anguish.

I touched her hand, and her eyes filled with tears. ″I just can′t believe I′m never going to hear my mother′′s voice again,″ she said. ″It′s not fair, Kate.″

″I know,″ I replied. ″It′s not fair at all.″

I desperately tried to think up some bromide, some reassuring words of comfort to offer to her. But I came up empty. Shaina had captured the stark, bitter truth-death was not fair.

Death had taken my own mother from me in a maliciously unfair way. It had happened on my thirteenth birthday.

″I′m on my way to get your cake, Katie. Back soon.″ Those had been my mother′s final words to me that day. She′d blown an air kiss my way before turning away.

I don′t even remember seeing her car leave the driveway of our South Boston duplex. I′d been too preoccupied putting the finishing touches on the decorations for my birthday party. I′d been planning the party for months-it was going to be a magic princess party. I′d asked all my girl-friends to dress up as their favorite characters. I was dressed as Xena, warrior princess, in a daring costume that my mother had sewed for me, complete with magic-power cuffs. I even had a plastic sword. I was sure that my costume was going to cause a stir among my friends, all of whom were planning to dress as Disney characters and fairy princesses.

Much of what happened the rest of that day was blanked out, covered over by a merciful, numbing blanket of severe emotional shock. I vaguely remember that my mother seemed to be taking a long time to pick up the cake. Then strangely, a procession of police cars had arrived-four of them pulled into our driveway, one behind the other. At the time I′d thought that my dad, who was captain of the sixth police district, had invited some of his officers to my birthday party.

I′d stepped out of the house only to be confronted by a ring of somber, drawn faces. Strangely, they′d all removed their hats. All they would say was that my dad was on his way home.

″Of course Dad′s coming home,″ I said, looking around at them with a puzzled smile. ″It′s my birthday. My mom′s bringing the cake.″

The officers had shuffled their feet and looked down at the ground, saying nothing. Then my aunt Myra had arrived. Her face was crumpled. Behind her was another police car. This one had my father inside it. He was in the backseat, and his face was buried in his hands. It took me a moment to realize that my father was crying. I′d never seen him cry before.

Then my aunt Myra and my father pulled me into the living room. They gathered around me and wrapped me in their arms. I remember feeling confused and thinking that it felt like we were making a football huddle.

That′s when they told me that my mother had been killed. I remember that I′d dropped my plastic sword-in that moment, it felt like the world was spinning. And as it spun, someone shoved a real blade through the middle of my heart. This one was made of steel.

The painful details would come later-my mother had walked in on an armed robbery at the bakery. The young punk had panicked; the gun had gone off; my mother was dead.

Looking at Shaina now, I knew that at that moment there could be no bromide, no words of comfort. For her the future would bring only a hard, unyielding sorrow.

Shaina had just suffered a wound that would never fully close. It would be in her heart forever. Perhaps someday her sorrow would be hidden beneath the surface of her everyday existence.

But it would always be there, as cold and deep as a grave.