Authors: Mary Jane Clark
T
wo glass bottles sat on the bench along with a funnel, rags, a gallon of turpentine, a can of motor oil, and a container of liquid soap. The peach-gloved hands inserted the funnel into the neck and carefully poured the turpentine halfway up the first bottle. Then the process was repeated.
Next, motor oil and liquid soap were added to both bottles. The soap would help the burning liquid adhere to the target, while the oil would create clouds of thick, choking smoke. If the fire wasn’t fatal, maybe smoke inhalation would do the trick.
The rags were dropped into a bucket and doused with the remaining turpentine. When the time came, the soaked cloths would be stuffed into the bottle necks, each serving as a wick leading down to the flammable liquid.
The bottles and bucket were placed in an airtight cooler and then stashed where nobody would come upon them. The empty cans of motor oil and turpentine were tossed. There was quite a bit of liquid soap left in the container. It was silly to throw that away. Waste not, want not.
When the time was right, when it was possible to do it without being seen, when the lights were all out at the cottage and the inhabitant was sound asleep, the simple firebombs would be assembled, lit, and hurled at the target.
A
fter Vernon left for his office in the main building, Irene put five miles in on her exercise bike. She showered, dressed, and applied her makeup. Then she made two phone calls. The second one was to her stepdaughter.
“I just got off the phone with Kyle,” she announced. “I’ve booked us back-to-back facials with him this afternoon,” Irene announced.
“Oh, I don’t know, Irene,” answered Jillian. “I have so much to do around here.”
“Let Hudson take care of things for a couple of hours. That’s what he’s there for. To help you.”
“I know, but it’s his first day back.”
“He’ll be fine,” said Irene. “Your wedding is only five days away, Jillian. You should have the facial today, so any redness afterward will be gone by Saturday.”
There was silence for a moment as Jillian considered her stepmother’s proposal. “You know, you’re right, Irene,” said Jillian. “I’m getting married, and even though I feel absolutely terrible about Esperanza, I should try to enjoy this time.”
“Exactly,” said Irene. “Moping around isn’t going to bring Esperanza back.”
She instantly regretted her choice of words. “I didn’t mean you’ve been moping, dear,” she said.
“That’s all right, Irene,” said Jillian. “I know what you meant. I
have
been dragging around. But I’m glad that I have you to talk straight to me and pull me out of it.”
“Good,” said Irene. “So we’re on with our facials?”
“Yes. We’re on,” said Jillian. “And do you want to see if Dad wants to meet us for lunch first?”
“Sure,” said Irene. “I know there’s nothing your father would enjoy more. He always lights up when you’re around.”
P
iper came out of the audition feeling jubilant. She knew she’d done well. Now she had to wait to hear from Gabe. He would follow up with the casting director for feedback.
When she was in the car again, Piper took out her phone and updated her Facebook status:
FUN AUDITION THIS MORNING!
KEEP YOUR FINGERS CROSSED FOR ME!
As the car traveled east on Santa Monica Boulevard, Piper’s stomach growled. She watched out the window for a place to get a little something to eat. The sign for The Butter End Cakery came into view. It was worth a shot.
“Hey, pull over here,” she said on impulse. “I’ll run in and get something for us. Any preferences?”
“Whatever looks good,” said the driver, shifting the car into park. “I like just about everything.”
“Me, too,” said Piper as she got out. “I’ll be right back.” She waited for a chance to run across the busy road.
The Butter End was part bakery, part industrial storage, part school. The large space, with its high ceilings and unfinished walls, was divided into sections. Upstairs there was an open loft, stacked with bags of baking materials and equipment. Below, a long, stainless-steel counter lined with bar stools separated the entrance from the kitchen on the other side. Professional refrigerators and ovens were plainly visible. A woman was rolling out fondant icing on the kitchen worktable. She glanced up and smiled when Piper cleared her throat.
“Hi, I’m Kimberly.” The woman looked at her watch. “If you’re here for a lesson, you’re early.”
“Actually, I’m here to get something to eat,” said Piper.
“I just made some scones for the class,” said Kimberly, putting down the rolling pin. “Apricot and currant.”
“Sounds good,” said Piper. “How about one of each?”
Kimberly took the clear dome off a metal cake stand. As the baker selected the scones, Piper looked around.
“So you give baking lessons here?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Kimberly. “Twice a week. But most of my business is specialty work. Cakes for birthdays, graduations, anniversaries, charity events, weddings. You name it. There’s a book of pictures of some of the cakes if you want to take a look.” She nodded to the scrapbook sitting on the corner of the counter.
Piper flipped though the plastic-covered pages. The variety of cakes and their execution were both impressive. A teddy bear, an L.A. Dodgers baseball cap, a dinosaur, a spider, a sports car, a soccer ball, a basketball, book covers, even a cake that looked like a hamburger and another that was fashioned after a toilet. The multitiered wedding cakes were breathtaking. Kimberly obviously had special skill for creating the most beautiful frosting flowers.
“Wow, this butterfly looks like it could up and fly away,” said Piper, pointing to one of the pictures. “You’re really talented.”
“Thanks,” said Kimberly. “I try.”
As Piper left the shop with her warm scones, she wondered if Jillian or Irene knew about The Butter End. She hoped not. This Kimberly chick was a force. Piper knew that it was time to focus on the reason she’d been brought out here. She wanted to make a cake good enough to ensure that Jillian would never regret the decision to hire her.
D
r. Ben Dixon was whistling as he turned the corner of the hallway. He stopped abruptly when he spotted George Ellis waiting at the door to Ben’s office. George’s facial expression was dour, his complexion gray. He wore a rumpled sport shirt, the same one he had on the day before. It stretched over a sizable gut.
The poor guy is a good candidate for a heart attack,
thought Ben as he smiled at George.
“I know I don’t have an appointment, Doc,” said George. “But I feel like I have to talk or I’ll burst.”
“Of course, George. I have a half hour before my first patient. Will that be enough time?”
“It has to be, I guess,” said George.
Ben unlocked the office door and stood aside so George could enter first. Taking a chair across the desk from Ben, George sat with his fists clenched.
“It was hard news to hear yesterday,” said Ben.
“The worst.”
“How did Wendy do after Vernon and I left?”
“She cried and cried and cried until she fell asleep. I stayed overnight in the cottage with her. I was afraid to leave her.”
“You’ve been a rock for her through all of this, George. Wendy loves you very much.”
George sighed. “It’s been just Wendy and me for a long time. When her mother took off, I tried to fill that role, too.”
“It can’t have been easy,” said Ben.
“No, I guess not,” George said quietly. “I haven’t always done the best job.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I shouldn’t have allowed Wendy to have the very first surgery,” said George, his eyes watering, “but she wanted it so badly that I gave in. I just wanted to make her happy, but instead I’ve ruined her life.”
He bent forward, put his elbows on his knees, and covered his eyes.
“Wendy is over eighteen, George,” said Ben softly. “She had the surgery as an adult. It was her decision. You are not to blame.”
George looked up. “And she is?” he asked, incredulous. “That’s just wrong. She was too young to know the chance she was taking.”
“Not legally,” said Ben.
“You think I care about what’s legal?” George bellowed. “She’s my daughter, for God’s sake, and I should have protected her!”
“All right, George,” said Ben, trying to calm him. “You think you didn’t fight Wendy hard enough because you loved her and wanted to make her happy. Wendy was determined to have the surgery, an operation that she had every right to decide she wanted. Neither of you went into this thinking that it would turn out so poorly. You have to try to stop beating yourself up and looking to assign blame. You’re not responsible for what happened. Neither is Wendy. Sometimes things just don’t work out, and it’s nobody’s fault.”
George listened silently. It was easy for Ben Dixon to say. You could tell, just by looking at him, that everything had always worked out for him. He didn’t know what it was like to watch the destruction of the life of somebody he loved.
F
rom the car Piper called Elysium and asked to be put through to the skin-care center. She was informed that the only appointment Kyle had left that day was at four o’clock. She booked it.
Next she called Anastasia.
“Hey, it’s Piper. I’m getting the facial.”
“Perfect,” said Anastasia. “I was thinking that it would be great to have video of all this. It would give us evidence of how he proposes the treatments to his victims. How would you feel about bringing a camera?”
“I don’t know,” Piper said, mindful that the driver could hear everything she said. “That might be more than I can handle.”
“We’ll install it in your purse,” said Anastasia. “You can start it recording before you go into the treatment room. All you have to do is put your bag on the counter and point it toward the table.”
It sounded easy enough.
I
t was hard to be in the same room with Jillian. To spend the morning taking directions from someone young enough to be his daughter annoyed him. To take directions from the person who’d stolen his job made Hudson angry.
He was beyond thrilled when Jillian told him she was leaving for lunch with her father and stepmother and was then going for a facial. She wouldn’t be back until midafternoon.
“I hope you don’t mind, Hudson,” said Jillian. “I hope you don’t think I’m deserting you on your first day.”
Hudson forced a smile. “Of course not, Jillian. I’ll be absolutely fine. Don’t forget, I’m not exactly a stranger to this place.”
When she left for lunch, Hudson went to her desk. Jillian was a fastidious little thing. Except for the phone and appointment book, her desktop was clear. He flipped through the pages. Jillian and Ben were having dinner tonight. Tomorrow night was clear, and there were few notations for the rest of the week. Other than a couple of day appointments, Jillian hadn’t scheduled anything for the week leading up to her wedding.
Hudson sat behind the desk. It had once been his desk. It would be his desk again.
W
hen the car dropped her off in Elysium’s courtyard, it was lunchtime. Piper decided not to return to her room. Instead she walked down to Wendy’s cottage and knocked.
“Who is it?” Wendy asked from the other side of the door.
“It’s Piper. I wanted to see if you were in the mood to have lunch.”
The door opened a crack. “I’m sorry, Piper, I don’t really feel like seeing anybody right now.”
“Are you all right, Wendy? I called you a couple of times, but nobody answered.”
“I know. I was here, but I just couldn’t pick up the phone.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Piper asked gently.
“Yes, if you can make me a new nose.” Wendy opened the door wider. Piper could see she’d been crying.
“Dr. Abernathy told me there’s nothing else he can do,” Wendy continued. “So that’s it.”
“Oh, man, I’m so, so sorry,” said Piper. “I know that Dr. Abernathy is great and everything, but maybe another doctor could do something. Have you thought about getting a second opinion?”
Wendy shook her head. “Maybe someday I will, but right now the thought of getting my hopes up just to have them shattered again is more than I can take. I don’t think my father can take any more either. He’s beside himself.”
W
hat a productive day it had been!
This morning the actress had come for her second sleep treatment. Kyle was confident that the video he’d taken was going to be extremely exciting to watch. Almost as exciting as it had been to record. When she woke up, the actress had been so happy with the way her skin glowed that she was eager to schedule a third treatment.
As long as women were obsessed with their appearance, he would have takers for his sleep treatments. It didn’t really matter if his clients actually looked better afterward or not. They
wanted
to look better, and therefore almost all of them
believed
they looked better after treatment.
Of course, when Irene and Jillian Abernathy had come in for their facials, he hadn’t suggested the sleep treatment to them, even though they both met the “blond” criterion. Irene, though a little too old for his liking, still looked good. And Jillian . . . well, Jillian was gorgeous. But it would be stupid to take a chance with them.
Still, it had been fun to massage the lotions into Jillian’s flawless skin, slowly stroking her face, working down her neck, and traveling down her long, slim arms. He’d rubbed and massaged her hands with cream, imagining what it would be like to have her hold him with them. He’d gotten into such a state that he almost hadn’t been able to shake himself back to reality.
As far as Jillian was concerned, he was an employee, nothing more. As much as he wished it were otherwise, that’s the way it was. It wasn’t going to change. Ben Dixon was a lucky SOB.
Kyle spread fresh linen on the massage table. He had one more appointment for the day. He hoped she was a blonde.