Authors: Clea Simon
‘No, I’m innocent. Innocent and broke. And jobless.’
‘You’re not coming back?’ Joanie looked a little surprised.
‘I don’t think they’d let me in the building. And I can’t imagine the temp agency will want to place me someplace else after this.’ At least she had Tim’s half of the rent. But where was she going to come up with the rest? She still owed close to a grand to the vet, not to mention phone, food, and the all-important caffeine fixes.
‘But that’s so unfair! They don’t know anything.’
Dulcie nodded. ‘I know. And they told me that they would be in touch. But I’m not holding my breath.’ Mr Grey. Tim. Luke and Stacia. And now this. Didn’t she deserve a break? As if on cue, her cell phone rang.
‘Yes?’ She knew her voice sounded tentative, but at this point, she dreaded news. She turned away and put a finger in her ear, the better to hear the latest bombshell.
‘Dulcie? This is Bruce. I was so sorry to be so out of it the other day. A friend was, well, having some troubles and I was distracted. I was wondering if you’d give me another chance to explain. Maybe you’d want to get some dinner?’
She knew her reaction must have been obvious by the way Joanie was looking at her. ‘Are you cleared? Are you coming back?’ Joanie was bouncing off her stool.
‘Even better.’ Dulcie could feel the smile spreading across her face. ‘I’ve got a date.’
Although she and Bruce had agreed to meet at the Vietnamese place in Harvard Square, Dulcie still wanted to stop by her apartment first. There was no way a day like this wouldn’t show in her face, if not her hair. But maybe the anger had been energizing. The face that stared back from the mirror had more color in it than she’d expected. And her hair was unruly, but not in a bad way.
‘I look positively rock and roll,’ she said, and immediately regretted it. Not that long ago, Mr Grey would have been sitting on the counter beside her. He rarely responded when she spoke, but she could remember the way he’d flick his tail in acknowledgment. If she kept looking straight into the mirror, she could almost imagine him in the corner of her eye. With his silky fur and flag of a tail, he always looked good. Even his eyes, green with a hint of gold, shone, set off by a natural dark rim like kohl against his silver fur.
Mascara. Without it, her own hazel eyes almost disappeared in her face, and Dulcie reached for the tube, knocking it into the sink.
‘This isn’t mine.’ Startled out of her self-contemplation, she rescued the black and gold container before the constant drip from the faucet could damage it. Unscrewing the applicator, she saw that her usual soft brown had been replaced by a darker shade. A quick swipe on her wrist showed traces of gold glitter, too. No wonder everyone at the pub had thought she’d dressed up. It was a nice color – but not one she had purchased. The maker – she checked the bottom of the tube – was a fancy brand that was decidedly out of her budget.
How had it gotten into her bathroom? Had one of Tim’s girlfriends left it there? In a moment of revulsion, she dropped the tube with a shudder. Already, her eyes were itching. Did she really want Alana’s cooties? But, well, she’d been using this same mascara since . . . since when? At any rate, she knew she had used it before without having her eyes fall out. Picking up the slim tube, Dulcie turned it over in her hands. It was expensive, certainly pricier than her usual drugstore brand. And, yes, very flattering – especially on her fair lashes. Carefully unscrewing the brush again, she sighed and took a breath, and then dabbed the curved brush at her long, but light lashes.
Why hadn’t she noticed the strange tube before? It must have been left here recently, maybe not long before Tim’s death. And why hadn’t the cops seen it when they’d been searching her house? Well, why should they? She answered her own question as she moved on to the other eye, her mouth open. They wouldn’t know if it were her mascara or belonged to someone else. They didn’t know she could only afford the cheapest drugstore paints and brushes.
‘Men are clueless.’ She leaned back and blinked, looking for smudges. This was good-quality mascara, all right. It all stayed on her lashes, rather than migrating to her cheeks. Which of Tim’s women had left it? In her mind’s eye, she imagined Mr Grey looking up at her, his own unblinking eyes gorgeous and green. He seemed to be prompting her, urging her to take her thoughts one step further. ‘Is it possible that what we have here,’ she closed the sleek tube, ‘is what we call a clue?’
As she waited for the T, she mulled over the mystery of the mascara. Alana was the obvious owner. But would anyone with hair that light, whether it was real or bleach, really be using a color this dark? Dulcie closed her eyes to visualize the bovine beauty, but all she could think of was her blank stare – and a hint of turquoise. Did Alana’s eyes bulge ever so slightly, or was that her memory getting creative?
The rush of cool air alerted Dulcie that a train was approaching the station and, as she shook her head slightly to clear her mind of the image, she felt her curls bob. Her hair was behaving well today. As she turned her head, she saw another great hairdo: long, glossy curls so dark they were almost black. Now that woman could wear dark mascara – if she needed it – with a touch of gold. Dulcie strained to get a look at the woman’s face, but just then the train arrived, and a door opened right in front of her.
The car air-conditioning was even working. Maybe her luck had turned. One stop was long enough to completely perk her up and she bounded up the stairs to meet Bruce with more spring than she’d felt in days.
‘Dulcie!’ She turned as a woman’s voice called her name.
‘Luisa.’ It was the dark-haired woman from the T, looking fantastic, sleek and glossy as a seal. Dulcie realized that she’d never seen Luisa when the younger girl hadn’t been crying. ‘You look great.’
‘Thank you.’ The younger woman fell into step with her and looked up, a smile on her face. ‘My boyfriend and I have patched things up.’
‘That’s great.’ One good side effect of Tim no longer being around. Dulcie imagined Luisa with an earnest undergrad, perhaps another tutor holding down multiple jobs to make ends meet. ‘I’m really happy for you.’
Maybe Luisa’s luck would rub off, she thought as she turned into the converted parking garage. It had been remodeled into a mall years ago, but still kept the curling up-ramp. Luisa kept pace with her.
‘Are you going to Pho House, by any chance?’ The budget soup joint was popular, but this could be awkward. In response, Luisa only smiled and nodded in the direction of the open glass front. Bruce was standing there, a look of anticipation on his broad and open face.
‘Bruce,’ Dulcie called. He looked up, his wide face breaking into a grin. Dulcie’s heart leaped as she saw those dimples.
And plummeted as those blue eyes looked past her to Luisa. As Dulcie stood, frozen to the spot, the bouncy little brunette ran up to the big jock, who wrapped one large arm around her. Together they turned toward Dulcie.
‘Ah, so
this
is the mystery boyfriend!’ Dulcie felt her cheeks stiffening around her own smile. ‘I should have guessed, when Bruce said he wanted to talk with me.’ No wonder he had been so grateful to her for defending Luisa. It wasn’t that he appreciated her kindness or warm spirit. It was that she’d stood up for the pretty outsider when he’d lacked the courage to do so.
‘You found out! I knew you were smart.’ Luisa was blushing, her tan cheeks darkening with an appealing glow that only served to make her look more beautiful. ‘Bruce and I – he’s my real knight in shining armor.’
A knight who let me speak up for you, Dulcie thought. At least Bruce seemed aware of her role in their lives. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Dulcie.’ Bruce was glowing now, too. ‘You’ve been so great, so when we decided to go public, we wanted you to be the first to know.’
As the two lovers turned toward each other, Dulcie used the opportunity to relax her frozen face. So that’s why Bruce had wanted to talk to her about his clique’s prejudices, about Tim. Dulcie had been casting herself in the romantic heroine role, the impoverished noblewoman courted by a young noble. Only she’d misjudged her part. She wasn’t the heroine, she was some minor character – maybe the faithful attendant. Luisa, with her angelic looks, was the young Hermetria.
Except that Luisa was no angel. She’d been introduced to Bruce as Tim’s tutor, and she’d been stepping out with both her students. Was it possible that Bruce knew that his girlfriend was two-timing him? Was she the ‘friend in trouble’ he’d been trying to help out? Suddenly Dulcie realized that Bruce, as much as Alana, had reason for jealousy – and more strength to put behind a killing rage. Maybe he’d come by to visit Tim and found his little Luisa there. Maybe . . .
Maybe Dulcie was simply green with envy. By the time the happy couple had finished rubbing noses and giggling, she’d gotten herself under control. She was even able to eat a little, though she had never thought that the rich house pho with the spicy sliced peppers and thick noodles would taste so much like paste.
Declining dessert, Dulcie pled fatigue as an excuse to duck out. By then, the two lovebirds were pretty much oblivious to her, anyway. ‘Great to see you . . . both!’ With one last half-hearted smile, she managed to get herself out of the pho house and on to the street, where the reality of her situation hit her.
She leaned back against one of Cambridge’s omnipresent brick walls and covered her face with her hands. First the debacle at Priority, now this date that had turned out not to be a date. ‘Could my life get any worse?’
Count your blessings, Dulcie.
The voice jerked her upright.
Better to see people as they are.
‘Mr Grey?’ She said the words aloud. An elderly man, dapper in a summer suit and straw hat, turned toward her and quickly away again. ‘Oh, great. Now everyone thinks I’m losing it.’ A couple in shorts and Red Sox T-shirts stopped short on the sidewalk and darted across the street.
Question the relationships.
Well, that message has come a little late, she snapped back – mentally and silently. From now on, when a man asked her to dinner, she’d assume he wanted her to meet his girlfriend.
Dulcie . . .
She could swear the voice had become peevish, and suddenly visualized Mr Grey lashing his tale, always a warning signal.
Speaking of warnings . . .
I know, she thought, I’m too trusting. Not anymore, though. Now she had another suspect for Tim’s murder. Bruce seemed to truly treasure Luisa. If he’d known his friend was hitting on her and, worse, probably just looking to seduce her for a bit of fun, he’d have a fine motive for murder. Of course, how Dulcie was going to let the cops know about it was another problem. She wasn’t sure what they thought of her, or if she was still a suspect. But then, if she brought them one more viable option . . . It was all too much. She rubbed her face, not remembering till a second too late that she’d put on full warpaint for her supposed date. A quick glance at her hand confirmed the damage: black and gold streaks tiger-striped her knuckles. ‘I must look like Alice Cooper,’ she muttered.
And then it hit her. Warnings – the latest warning she’d received hadn’t been Mr Grey’s general words of advice or comfort. It had come from her mother. Lucy might be daft, but she had called with a specific message – something about a female intruder crossing the water. Well, this mascara had been evidence of another woman in her bathroom, hadn’t it? And she’d had to reach across the sink to get at it. No, that couldn’t be. Dulcie shook her head. Across the
tap
water?
That was insane. She was getting into
Ravages
territory here, with everything blamed on magic or a ghost. But when Dulcie thought about it, the connection began to make sense. Mascara this dark and dramatic would certainly look better on a brunette like Luisa than a blonde like Alana. Luisa had said that nothing much had happened with Tim, but she’d been awfully upset by his death. What if it wasn’t only Tim who was making moves? What if Luisa had been looking to trade up, to leave Bruce for his richer, taller buddy? What if she had been fooling around with Dulcie’s room-mate behind her boyfriend’s back – only she had found out that Tim had no intention of making her Girl Number 1? Dulcie could imagine the scene: an afternoon tryst. Maybe Luisa had said something about going public, about telling Bruce and Alana. Maybe she’d thought that ring was for her. Tim was never one for tact; he might have laughed in her pretty face. And if she’d just freshened up and reapplied that fancy mascara before meeting him downstairs, well, Dulcie’s chopping block was right out on the kitchen counter. Suze had warned her that the young brunette was a ‘person of interest’ to the police, and Dulcie herself knew the sting of jealousy. ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’. She didn’t need her late cat’s voice inside her head to explain how that could have played out.
Fifteen
By the time Dulcie got home, Suze had called – four times – and Luke had left a message, too. ‘Love to come by and finish up but today’s just gotten crazy,’ his voicemail said. ‘May I have a rain check? I’d love to get together when we could really talk.’ His voice was warm and inviting, but odds were good he just wanted to pump her for information about Stacia. And as much as Dulcie wanted to get Tim’s laptop, she didn’t think she was up to more romantic rejection. What she really wanted to do was crawl into a book, ideally
The Ravages
, and pull the cover closed behind her. However, if she was facing prosecution at Priority, she really needed Suze’s expertise a.s.a.p., not to mention a shoulder to cry on. With a small sigh, Dulcie hit ‘delete’, erasing the message from Luke, and dialed Suze.
‘So you really think I might be able to sue them for illegal dismissal?’ Forty minutes later, Dulcie’s mood had done a neat 180, thanks to Suze’s aggressive and affronted reaction to Priority. ‘And I might have a civil liberties case, too?’
‘Well, they kept you imprisoned, didn’t they? That’s kidnapping.’
‘I’m not actually sure they had locked the door.’ This was the best: righteous indignation, with the possibility of money at the other end. But it was probably too good to be true. Suze had jumped right in with a counter-offensive that had lifted Dulcie’s mood out of the cellar Bruce and Luisa had dug. But, truth be told, she was willing to let bygones be bygones, especially if she could get her stupid job – or any job – back. Dulcie was too tired to fight; she’d taken too many blows today. And besides, Suze had become tantalizingly evasive when Dulcie had asked where she’d disappeared to for the past forty-eight hours.