No One Lives Twice (A Lexi Carmichael Mystery) (9 page)

I replaced the receiver in the cradle and leaned against the wall. My life just kept getting stranger and stranger.

I sat down at the kitchen table and read the instructions on how to change my alarm password. When I figured out what I was supposed to do, I keyed in the code 25ME. It wasn’t brilliant, but I could remember it. Anyway, I planned on changing it weekly, just to be on the safe side.

After that, I picked up the phone and dialed my brother Beau’s work number. Beau is the middle child and now a robbery detective in Baltimore. My mom named him after fashion icon Beau Brummel. That’s Mom for you.

I’m lucky I didn’t get named something worse. She named my oldest brother Rock in honor of her favorite actor Rock Hudson, a move that she later regretted after learning that Mr. Hudson was gay. But the deed had been done and the name stuck.

It’s weird for me to admit it, being their sister and all, but my brothers are pretty cool despite their surfer boy good looks—tall, tan, athletic and dark blond. Frankly, I consider it rude that they completely commandeered all of my mother’s beauty genes, leaving none for me. Oh well, some of us have to live with the knocks life deals us.

Yet in spite of my envy, I am close to my brothers. There is a five- and six-year difference respectively between us, but they are decent guys. Neither one of them is married, not that they have ever once in their lives lacked for female companionship. My mother makes a point of reminding them about their bachelor status every time they come home. They laugh and say she’s the only woman for them. Then she melts and forgets all about nagging. I still haven’t figured out how to do that.

My brother’s phone rang and rang and I wondered if the robbery division of the Baltimore Police Department really had employees or it was just a front to discourage burglars. I counted eleven rings before someone picked up.

“Burglary Squad,” I finally heard. I recognized Beau’s voice. He sounded out of breath.

“I’m glad this wasn’t a real emergency,” I replied. “What were you doing? Chasing a robber around the squad room?”

“Yeah, someone took off with my donut. How the hell are you, sis?”

“Hunky dory, as usual,” I said cheerfully. “Look, Beau, I’ve got a favor to ask. I wondered if you could run a name for me through the system.”

“Christ, you’re the one who works at the NSA,” he said irritably. “Run it through your own system.”

“It’s not a matter of national security. I just want to know if this guy has a criminal record.”

“What guy?” He paused and then laughed. “No, wait…let me guess. You’re thinking about dating again.”

“Ha, ha,” I replied. “Beau, it’s important.”

He sighed. “We’re not supposed to run unauthorized checks, Lexi. You know that.”

“You owe me,” I reminded him.

“For what?”

“I lent you two hundred bucks last Christmas so you could buy that ruby bracelet for your girlfriend.”

“It was a hundred and I paid you back.”

“Two, and no you didn’t.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

He fell silent, obviously remembering that I was right. “All right,” he said in a resigned voice. “What’s the name?”

“Lars Anderson,” I said, spelling it for him. “He runs a karate studio in Laurel. I think he’s a naturalized U.S. citizen from Sweden.”

“A karate instructor? You sure know how to pick ’em, sis.”

“I’m not going to date him,” I insisted.

“Yeah, whatever. You now owe me big.”

I wished people would stop saying that to me because it had started to be the story of my life. “Thanks for being so accommodating, Beau.”

“Just a public servant at work, ma’am.”

I cringed. I’d been called “ma’am” twice in one day and it stunk. “Glad to hear my tax dollars are hard at work.”

Beau snorted. “I’ll call you when I’ve got something.”

“Thanks, bro,” I said and hung up.

I wandered back to my bedroom and surveyed the mess. Beefy was right. My apartment was a pigsty. I needed to clean it up big time. But even more pressing, I had to do laundry or I wouldn’t have anything to wear tonight to meet with Finn nor to wear to work tomorrow. But I didn’t have any quarters and I
really
didn’t have the desire to sit in the laundry room for two hours waiting for the cycles to complete. That left only one dreaded option.

Shopping.

I was
so
going to make Basia pay for all of this when I found her. I grabbed my bag, set the alarm and went out to my car. I drove to the mall, fretting that I’d have to use my already maxed-out credit card for any purchases.

Once there, my first order of business was to buy a cinnamon sugar pretzel and a large ice tea with extra ice. I sat on a bench and watched shoppers go up and down the escalator. At one point, a toddler escaped from his mother’s hand and made a dash for the up escalator. In a move worthy of a gold medal at the Olympics, the mother did an amazing long jump and grabbed his arm just before he started up.

After I’d drunk the tea, sucked on the lemon and licked all the sugar from my fingers, the inevitable had arrived. I had to buy some clean clothes. I threw my stuff in the trash and headed for the first clothing store I saw. Better start with the necessities like a new bra and some underwear. I found the lingerie section and wandered through the racks. I found a pack of white cotton briefs on sale, three to a pack, and picked them up. I heard a disapproving voice over my shoulder.

“Men prefer something prettier and sexier,” she said.

I turned to see a saleswoman frowning at me. She was middle-aged with short dark hair and black-framed glasses. She was dressed in a navy blue schoolmarm-type dress with a high neck and lace collar. I thought it odd that of all people, she would know what men liked. On the other hand, she worked in the lingerie department and that had to mean something. Her gold store nametag read Norma Jensen.

Not that I had a man to impress, but I was open for suggestions. “What did you have in mind?” I asked.

She smiled and turned, walking to a nearby rack. “This,” she said. There were rows of silk and satin, most of it barely scraps of material.

“I can’t wear something like that,” I said, scandalized.

The frown returned to her face. “Of course, you can, dear,” she said, studying my form. “You’re young and men go wild over thongs.”

I liked the part about men going wild, so I lifted up a blood-red thong and peered at it.

“Which way is the front?” I finally asked.

She turned the material around. “This way.”

I studied it harder. “How can you tell? It’s just string.”

“Exactly.”

Uncertain, I hesitated. “Won’t it be uncomfortable?”

“Oh, no,” she assured me. “They are so lightweight, it will feel like you aren’t wearing anything.”

I
wouldn’t
be wearing anything if I had these panties on, but I figured she was a trained professional, so she knew what she was talking about. I’m not sure how, but she talked me into trying them on over my briefs. The thong wedged right into my behind while a little triangle of material covering exactly diddly went in the front. I’d never seen such impractical, illogical underwear in my entire life. However, I reminded myself that my life needed a change, and change was good.

Thanks to Norma, I bought four thongs in different colors and two push-up Wonderbras in size 36A, red and black. I left the department with big hopes and headed for the clothes area.

I felt more on solid ground here and bought a pair of jeans, two white T-shirts, a black skirt and two white blouses. Apparently I’d used up my exciting quotient with the underwear. But then, on my way out of the department, I spotted a mannequin wearing a red silk dress. It was daring, bold and so not me, but I needed something to wear to meet Finn this evening so I forced myself to try it on. It fit in all the right places and made my lanky form look almost feminine. I’d never owned anything red in my life before today and I didn’t have red shoes, so I paid for the dress and then wandered over to the shoe department where I found a pair of not-too-high red pumps.
Done, thank God.

Relieved I didn’t have to do laundry but more worried than ever about my credit card balance, I drove home. The alarm was blinking red and buzzed when I opened the door. I keyed in the new password, the buzzing stopped and the light turned green. What do you know; it worked.

To be on the safe side, I checked my apartment for uninvited guests. Empty except for the mess I’d left. I set my packages down in the bedroom and reset the alarm. No one was going to surprise me now. I was impregnable, defended by the best SuperProtect could offer.

I stripped off my T-shirt and shorts and decided to take a shower. It was getting late and I wanted to give myself an hour to get into Washington to find a parking space and meet Finn. After showering, I toweled off and blow-dried my hair. I stared at my pale face in the bathroom mirror and figured I might as well put on makeup. Reaching under the sink, I pulled out the box that held every bit of makeup my mom had ever bought me. I lifted out the top item and determined that it was an eyelash curler. I held it up to my eyelashes and squeezed, pinching my eyelid. After I had finished screaming, I shoved the curler back into the box and returned it and the makeup to the cabinet under the sink. I combed my hair some more and put on a dash of lip balm. That would have to do for the makeup department.

A bit nervously, I slid into my thong underwear, the Wonderbra and the red dress. I smoothed down the dress and then stepped into my new red pumps. Examining myself critically in the mirror, I wondered how it was mathematically possible to appear flat-chested even with the Wonderbra at work.

Nevertheless, I still felt a little bit sexy and dangerous, especially because it did seem like I was walking around without underwear. In a way, I guess I was. That string didn’t cover squat down there. I wasn’t sure I wanted to feel that way for a meeting with a lawyer, but hey, you only live once. And the way things were going with me, I might not be living all that much longer anyway. I set the alarm, locked the apartment up tight and left, feeling confident no one would breach my home again.

I drove to Washington with the top down, actually managed to find a parking space not too far from Murphy’s and walked into the pub fifteen minutes early. The place was hopping, but I found a small table in the back of the bar. The radio was playing Irish music and I kind of liked the sound of it. I ordered seltzer water with a lemon and cased the place. My red shoe tapped in time to the beat of the jig.

At precisely seven-thirty a handsome young man in a navy blue suit walked through the door. He looked around the place and his gaze settled on me. He looked puzzled and then surprised. I knew it was Finn the moment he started walking toward me.

“Lexi Carmichael?” he asked and I recognized the faint Irish lilt to his voice.

“That would be me,” I answered. “Finn Shaughnessy, I presume.”

He smiled and sat, shrugging out of his jacket. I don’t know how guys managed to wear a tie and a jacket during the sweltering hot summers of Washington, D.C., but they did. After all, this was the city of image. Forty lashes to the lawyer who would dare violate the dress code, although Finn didn’t look hot and bothered at all. Just crisp, cool and pretty darn attractive.

He leaned back in his chair and studied me. “You’re as pretty as Basia said.”

“No way did she say that.”

He chuckled. “Well, she definitely implied it.”

“You’re just being polite.”

“Actually, I’m not. You do look lovely tonight in red.”

I suddenly felt uncomfortable and wondered why he had brought up the fact that my dress was red. Maybe I looked too much like a hooker.

“I’m wearing a new outfit,” I admitted. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

“No, it looks great,” he said, signaling to the waitress who was instantly at his side. “Really.”

“Hey, Finn,” the waitress said, smiling at him. “The usual?”

“Thanks, Lucy,” he said and she left without writing anything down.

“Come here often?” I asked.

“Lots of business lunches,” he said, patting his stomach as if he carried too much weight. Which of course wasn’t anything near the truth. From what I could see, he had a flat stomach and a great body beneath that crisp white shirt and dark blue pants.

“Thanks for coming,” I said. “I thought you might be able to help me out.”

“I’m hoping for the same thing from you,” he said.

He leaned forward on the table and I noticed he had nice eyes. A deep green, the color of a freshly mown lawn in summer. They contrasted perfectly with his golden brown hair and eyebrows. He didn’t wear a wedding band, not that I noticed on purpose. Well, okay maybe I noticed on purpose, it just didn’t mean anything. After all, he could be allergic to gold.

“So, where do we start?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“Why don’t you tell me about your problem with Basia,” he suggested.

I shook my head. “Actually it might be helpful if you could explain in a little more depth your connection with Basia.”

I noticed I was tapping my foot a lot more vigorously than the Irish jig music merited and realized I was nervous, though I wasn’t sure whether it was due to an instinctive feeling that he might have some clue to Basia’s whereabouts that might put an end to my current nightmare or because I felt a weird pull of attraction to this guy just nanoseconds after meeting him. It wasn’t typical for me to be instantly attracted to a guy. I fought down the panic. Change is good, I reminded myself. Relax and enjoy the attraction.

Before Finn could say anything, Lucy returned with a dark ale. She set it on the table in front of Finn and then leaned forward so he could see down the front of her blouse. I liked the fact that he kept his gaze averted, and then politely thanked her.

After she left, Finn said, “Okay, I guess I can talk about how I met Basia.” He took a sip of his ale and regarded me over his glass. “I initially met her through another company lawyer. She’d been doing freelance translation for CGM for a few years, I guess. We have a lot of foreign clients who require documents translated into a number of different languages.”