Bulletproof Mascara: A Novel (17 page)

“Neither do I,” Val agreed. “You should get those,” she said, pointing at the espadrilles. “They look really cute on you.”

“I already have a pair of wedges,” said Nikki sadly. “What I really need are some stylish sneakers or some sort of flat. I don’t really like flats. I’m so short, I think they make me look like I’m going to visit Snow White, but if we’re going out on a mission, then I need some sort of shoe I can run in.”

“Mission shoes,” Val said, nodding. “Here, try these.” She held a pair of black sneakerish-looking things. Black, mesh, and low to the ground, the shoes were exactly what Nikki had had in mind, and she eagerly pulled them on before she caught sight of the price tag.

“Haven’t got the cash,” she said, reluctantly putting them back in the box.

Val tossed the boots into their box as the clerk returned with another stack of shoes. “We’re done,” she announced, as the clerk put down the load of shoes. “We want these.” She pointed to the stilettos. “And these.” She pointed to the sneakers.

“No, no, I can’t . . .” Nikki began, but Val cut her off.

“Sure, you can. My treat. Call it my good deed for the decade.”

The sun was setting outside the mall, painting everything in dusty California gold. Even the Town Center Plaza and the “happy” mother and dancing children statues managed to look good in that light.

“Are you going to tell Dr. Hastings?” Nikki asked.

“Tell her what?”

“That you think I’m part of some sort of plot to take over her job,” said Nikki meekly.

“Why would I do that?” Val retorted. “It’s none of my business. Lillian can look after her own job without me. Besides, unless you’re holding out on some information, then there really isn’t any proof, is there?”

Nikki shook her head, and they walked in silence toward the parking garage. Just as Nikki was formulating some sort of lame small talk, Val’s phone erupted into “Another One Bites the Dust.”

Nikki hummed along as Val pulled out her phone and checked out the Caller ID. She grimaced, but flipped open the phone.

“Ain’t no sound but the sound of his feet, machine guns ready to go,” Nikki sang under her breath.

“Yeah?” barked Val, walking away. Nikki dropped her shopping bag into the backseat of the convertible and leaned against the side of the car, still humming the tune.

A few moments later, Val slapped the phone shut, frowning thoughtfully. “Looks like Mrs. Merrivel’s serious about this,” she said, returning to the car.

Are you ready, hey, are you ready for this?

“Serious about what?” asked Nikki, getting in.

Are you hanging on the edge of your seat?

“We are going on a mission,” Val said with a grin. “It’s time to go to work.”

Nikki gulped and clicked her seat belt shut as Val revved the engine and threw the Impala into Drive.

CALIFORNIA XIII

Wonderland:
Red Square

The trip to the office was accomplished in silence, except for an occasional burst of road rage from Val. They finally screeched to a stop in front of a glass-faced office building. Light shone out into the darkening evening with a warm, sparkling glow.

They entered the gracious indoor plaza through a revolving door. Nikki stared around in wonder. It was a movie set version of a perfect office: Lights poured through the sparkling clean glass onto a green area, a tinkling water feature, and sculptures. People bustled everywhere, looking well-dressed and important.

“What is this place?”

“Well, officially,” said Val, “it’s listed as the West Coast headquarters of the Carrie Mae Foundation.”

“What is it unofficially?”

“Oh, well, unofficially it’s the West Coast headquarters of the Carrie Mae Foundation. The first three floors belong to the foun
dation’s official functions—fund-raising, relief organization, et cetera. But the upper floors and the basement are all ours. It’s a new building. We just moved in about six months ago.”

Valerie headed for the elevators and Nikki trotted after her, trying not to stare at people. Val went to the end elevator, and pressed the Up arrow, holding her thumb on the button longer than Nikki thought she had to.

“Fingerprint scanner,” Val said. “The elevator won’t open if you’re not in the system.” The doors slid apart. Val stepped inside with Nikki close behind and punched the button for the eighth floor. The elevator rose eight floors and stopped, but didn’t open. Val appeared unperturbed by this and opened up the emergency phone panel. She lifted the red phone to her ear and said, “All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe.”

Nikki was about to comment on the poetry when the elevator opened onto a charmingly decorated waiting room.

“Good morning, Mrs. Robinson, Dr. Hastings will be out in a moment,” said the girl at the desk. “Will you and your guest please sign in?”

Valerie walked to the desk and signed in. Nikki had just signed the clipboard when a woman came out to meet them. She was a tall woman with perfectly coifed auburn hair and a dancer’s aristocratic posture. A brilliant russet scarf was draped elegantly across her shoulders, and she wore her Anne Klein suit with an easy grace.

“Valerie, good afternoon,” the woman said, walking forward and embracing Val. “And you must be Nikki. I’m Lillian Hastings. I’m sure we’re all pleased to welcome you to the team.” Dr. Hastings’s cool smile, coupled with Val’s previous assessment of the politics of the situation, gave Nikki the impression that the woman was less than pleased with her presence. Nikki smiled back, trying to look innocuous. She wished she had Val’s ability to stand around
looking like the whole point of a setting was to display her, but she knew she’d be more comfortable blending into the background.

“Jane’s team has been setting up the conference call,” said Dr. Hastings. “I believe they’re set up in room six, if you’re ready?” Without waiting for any assenting comments, Dr. Hastings turned and led the way into the maze of Carrie Mae. Eventually they were led into a well-lit conference room, where another of Carrie Mae’s seemingly endless supply of bright, competent Ladies was putting file folders on the table next to empty chairs.

“Good evening,” said the girl, focusing on the women as they entered. Nikki noticed that she was wearing an earpiece that wrapped around her ear so that she looked like some sort of cyborg. “The video conference call will begin as soon as we make contact. Background information is available in the folders on the table.” Her gaze stopped focusing and her hand traveled up to her earpiece. “That’s affirmative. Go ahead with the two-forty-two.”

“What am I looking at, Jane?” Val asked, ignoring the interjection of numbers into the conversation and taking a chair. She pulled the file folder toward her, and Nikki followed suit, but was distracted by Jane’s shirt and never made it to the contents of the folder.

Jane wore a T-shirt that bore the words
THE MORE YOU DISAPPROVE, THE MORE FUN IT IS FOR ME
. She had officed-up her ensemble with a black blazer over a short plaid skirt and tights in a kind of classy punk look that Nikki had always envied but had never been able to pull off.

“Jane, why don’t you start at the beginning, for Nikki’s sake?” asked Lillian, interrupting Nikki’s train of thought. “Unless you’ve already been briefed on all of this, Nikki?” There was an icy vindictiveness underlying the older woman’s tone, and Nikki smiled nervously.

“No, I haven’t covered anything,” she said.

“Very well, Jane, proceed,” responded Lillian, but she didn’t seem any happier.

Jane’s eyes tilted up, fixing Dr. Hastings with a bright-eyed stare. Then she nodded, her full Bettie Page bangs bouncing slightly. Nikki felt a swell of envy for such well-behaved hair. She watched as Dr. Hastings read Jane’s T-shirt and tightened the muscles around her mouth so that her lips flattened out in a disapproving straight line.

“OK,” Jane said, either ignoring or not seeing Dr. Hastings’s disapproval as she hit a button on her laptop. The lights dimmed and a screen dropped from the ceiling. “This is Laura Daniels, the wife of the U.S. ambassador to Thailand, and a childhood friend of Mrs. Merrivel.”

Jane displayed a picture of a woman about Mrs. Merrivel’s age. Her hair was an unrealistic blond and she wore a news anchor’s professional smile.

“Mrs. Daniels has made a lifelong commitment to charitable works, particularly focusing on women’s health and education. Our charity foundation has worked with her on several occasions, and she is currently planning the first annual South East Asian Women’s Health Conference, to be held next week in Bangkok.”

“Give the woman a gold star,” Val said.

“This is Lawan Chinnawat,” Jane said, ignoring Val. “Based out of Thailand, Lawan has been one of the loudest voices protesting the sex trade that flourishes throughout Asia. She’s also funded her own free health clinic in the red light district, and she works with the scholarship fund started by Laura Daniels to place the children of prostitutes in boarding schools. The hope being that with an education or a skill, these children will break the cycle of prostitution, violence, and drug abuse.”

“Give her two gold stars,” Val said, and this time Jane shot her a dirty look. “I mean, great, they’re wonderful people,” Val continued. “But why are we here? I assume there’s a problem? Cut to the chase, Jane.”

“Lawan is missing,” said Jane.

“What do you mean ‘missing’?” Val asked. “I mean there’s ‘stepped out for a romantic getaway without telling anyone’ missing, and then there’s ‘blood all over the kitchen floor’ missing. Which is it?”

“That is what we are here to ascertain,” said Dr. Hastings. “I believe we will have Laura Daniels on the line shortly”—she looked at Jane, who nodded—“and then we can ask her. Personally, I wouldn’t have bothered to call you in on this matter, but Miranda was most insistent.”

Nikki hadn’t grown up with Nell’s backhanded compliments and veiled insults without learning a thing or two about barbed comments. At the very least, she knew when one was aimed at her.

“Connection has been made. Video feed commencing now,” Jane said.

The screen flickered, and then a slightly off-color version of Laura Daniels appeared.

“Oh,” she said, and the picture stabilized into more lifelike colors. “Oh,” said the woman again. “Oh, there you are. Am I doing this right? I’m not sure I’m doing this right.”

“You’re coming through loud and clear, Mrs. Daniels,” said Jane reassuringly. “You’re speaking to Dr. Hastings, Valerie Robinson, and Nikki Lanier.”

“And of course you must be Jane. Call me Laura,” the woman said, smiling warmly. “And thank you all so much for taking the time to talk to me.”

Laura was clearly practiced at the social niceties of making gra
cious speeches, but she also very clearly meant it. Nikki was withholding final judgment, but upon her first impression, she liked Laura Daniels.

“We are always gratified to help a friend of Mrs. Merrivel’s,” Dr. Hastings said with a wintery smile, “but perhaps in the interests of time we should proceed expeditiously.”

Nikki glanced at Jane, wondering if anyone else had noticed the expensive vocabulary being thrown around. Jane dropped the tiniest wink, and Nikki covered her mouth with her hand to hide a smile.

“Oh, of course,” said Laura. “I understand that you’re very busy, but honestly, I wouldn’t have contacted you if I didn’t think it was an absolute necessity.”

“Please tell us your problem,” said Dr. Hastings.

“My friend Lawan Chinnawat, you may have heard of her . . .”

“We’ve seen her profile,” said Dr. Hastings, cutting her off.

“Oh. Yes, well, she has a lot of political enemies, you know. It’s practically not safe for her and her daughter—Lindawati, so precious; she’s at boarding school now—to walk by themselves.” Nikki was amused by Laura’s grandmotherly interjection about Lawan’s daughter, but she could see that Dr. Hastings wasn’t.

“She’s always getting threats and things,” continued Laura, “but ordinarily she just takes her precautions and things are fine. But lately things have been . . . tense. Tenser than usual. Since the coup in 2006, speech isn’t as free as it used to be. Activists like Lawan are targets. Not that Lawan takes any notice of that—although, really, I wish she would. Recently, I asked her to be the keynote speaker at my conference. I wish I hadn’t; it probably put her too much in the limelight, but no one else is as well versed in the difficulties facing women in Thailand and Asia right now.”

“Mrs. Daniels,” interrupted Dr. Hastings again, “is there a point to any of this?”

“I’m getting there,” said Laura, looking slightly irritated. “I’m just trying to explain what Lawan has been working on, and that things have been tense for the last few months.”

“Noted,” said Dr. Hastings. “When did Lawan actually disappear?”

“Ten days ago. I went to her house, and she was on the phone arguing in Thai, and she looked upset, like she had been crying. Lawan said everything was fine, but the next day she was gone. The house is empty. She won’t answer her phone. I don’t even know if she’s alive!” Laura dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I’m so worried! And the conference is next week. What am I supposed to do?”

“Don’t worry,” said Nikki impulsively, wanting to stop Laura’s tears. “I promise we will do everything we can to find her.”

Laura lifted her face out of the tissue with a glowing smile. Across the table, Dr. Hastings tapped her fingernails on the lacquered surface of the conference table in a steady cadence.

“Oh, thank you!” beamed Laura. “I’m at my wit’s end! Miranda was right, you Carrie Mae ladies are the best!”

“We’re just the tops,” Val said, giving Nikki a disgusted look.

“Give us a gold star?” asked Nikki, with a weak smile.

“Mmph,” snorted Dr. Hastings, sounding irritated. “I’ll tell you what, Mrs. Daniels, Val and Nikki will fly to Thailand and meet with you. Hopefully, they will be able to turn up something, but, really, I’m afraid I can only allocate one week for this kind of investigation.”

“Oh, of course,” Laura agreed eagerly. “I totally understand. Anything you can do to help will be very much appreciated. I’m just glad to have professionals on the case!”