The Look of Love (11 page)
Authors: Mary Jane Clark
I
rene had insisted they have lunch together. Vernon knew she only had his best interests at heart, that she wanted to make sure he stayed healthy. Yet sometimes he felt smothered—and guilty. Though Irene wanted nothing more than to spend time alone together, Vernon needed his space. Never more so than when he was under stress.
He ate his turkey sandwich hurriedly. In between bites he responded to Irene’s attempts at conversation with short answers and nods.
“Coffee, dear?” she asked when they’d finished eating.
Vernon lifted the napkin from his lap and laid it on the table. “I’m afraid I don’t have time, Irene,” he said. “I have to get back to the office.”
He gave his wife a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, and then he was gone.
T
he security report was waiting for him on his desk. As Vernon read it, he could see that Anastasia had done almost nothing that seemed suspicious. On Friday she’d spent some time in her room before going for a facial and a long walk on the grounds. She had eaten dinner by herself, ordering a bottle of Nero d’Avola with her grilled salmon, wild rice, and broccoli rabe. She drank two glasses and asked the waiter to cork the bottle, which she took with her when she left the dining room and returned to her quarters.
This morning Anastasia had had two poached eggs, dry toast, and black coffee for breakfast. Afterward she’d gone to the communications room, where she’d spoken with another guest, Piper Donovan. Together they’d watched something on the computer screen. When the women left the room, security checked the computer and found that it had been used to link to the ABC News Web site and the story about the murder at Elysium.
Anastasia and Piper Donovan had spent time talking in the meditation garden before both women went their separate ways. Now Anastasia was at the pool.
All of it seemed benign, except the part about the news piece, which Vernon all too angrily remembered contained the video that no one had any right to record. Had the women been watching the piece with mere curiosity about what had happened at the spa? That would be natural and understandable. Or was there more to it? Was Anastasia gloating as she watched the video that she herself had taken?
Vernon recognized Piper Donovan as the name of the wedding-cake maker Jillian had talked about with such enthusiasm. Vernon had been happy when Jillian had told him that Piper had agreed to come all the way from the East Coast to make the wedding cake his daughter wanted.
But what was this girl doing talking in the meditation garden with the woman who might have betrayed him and could be ruining everything he’d worked on for years?
T
here were two messages waiting for Piper when she got back to Elysium. The first was from Jillian Abernathy saying that she and her fiancé were available to sample the wedding cakes at four o’clock in Jillian’s cottage. The second message was from Wendy Ellis.
“Hi, Piper. It’s me, Wendy. The one you met yesterday afternoon? I was wondering if you really would like to have dinner with me. I don’t know if you still want to, but let me know, okay?”
Piper could hear the hesitancy in the voice. She had a feeling that it took a great deal of effort for Wendy to make that call. Immediately, Piper dialed the extension Wendy had left and agreed to meet her on the patio at six o’clock.
T
hough it was well after lunch and several hours before dinnertime, the kitchen was still an active place. Carrots and celery were being chopped, other vegetables were being roasted, and chicken parts were being skinned and cleaned. Piper scanned the room, looking for a person who appeared to be in charge.
The tall hat tipped her off. Approaching the chef, Piper introduced herself.
“Ah,
oui,
” said the chef. “Miss Jillian said that I should expect you and provide you with whatever you need.”
“A mixing bowl, measuring spoons and cups, an electric mixer, and a space to work would be amazing,” said Piper. “I’ve got everything else I need.”
“Come, follow me,” said the chef.
He led her to a workstation in the corner of the room. Piper deposited her bags on the stainless-steel counter and emptied the contents. Next she stopped to wash her hands at a nearby sink. She unwrapped the cream cheese and butter, put them into the mixing bowl, and proceeded to beat them together until smooth. Then she measured out the vanilla extract and combined it with the creamy mixture. Finally she stirred in the confectioners’ sugar gradually. When she was satisfied it was the right consistency, Piper swiped her pinkie through the frosting and sampled it.
“Mmm,” she said aloud.
It tastes just like my mother’s icing
.
Next she carefully unwrapped the aluminum foil that protected the small round layers of pumpkin cake she’d been given at the convent. She considered merely covering the cakes with simple coats of frosting but thought better of it. She took out her #104 piping tip, a flower nail, and one of the plastic piping bags she’d brought with her. Snipping off the tip of the plastic cone, she attached the piping tip and carefully filled the cone with the cream-cheese icing.
For the next forty-five minutes, she fashioned roses, sweet peas, and bows, covering the tops of the three small cakes. When she was finished, she admired her handiwork.
“
Oh, là là.
”
Piper turned around to see the chef standing behind her, looking over her shoulder and smiling.
“Thanks,” she said. “Now, would you happen to have a tray I can put these on to take down to Jillian’s cottage?”
“
Mais oui,
” said the chef. “And if there is any left later, I would love to sample some. You are
très
talented.”
P
iper was somewhat surprised to see Irene Abernathy standing at the cottage door.
“Come in, come in,” said Irene. “We’ve been looking forward to this.”
Piper carried the tray inside. Jillian, Ben, and a white-haired gentleman she’d never met were seated in the living area. Piper was promptly introduced to Jillian’s father, the owner of Elysium.
“Glad to finally meet you, Piper,” said Vernon. “I’ve heard so much about you. Thank you for coming all this way to make my daughter’s wedding cake.”
“Thank you for having me,” said Piper. “And I’ve really been enjoying my stay at Elysium.”
“You haven’t come at the most peaceful time, have you, Piper?” asked Vernon. “I deeply regret that.”
“Now, dear,” said Irene, waving her hand. “Let’s not get into all that dreary business. Right now we have something happy to do. Let’s enjoy it.”
“You’re right, of course, Irene,” said Vernon. “Let’s see what you’ve brought for us to try, Piper.”
Piper put the tray down on the coffee table while Jillian went to get plates, forks, and napkins.
“Do you want to cut the cakes, Jillian?” asked Piper.
“No, you do it,” answered Jillian, smiling weakly. “They’re so pretty I hate hacking into them, and besides, I’m saving my cake-cutting skills for our wedding day.” She looked up at her fiancé. Ben reached over, put his arm around her, and kissed her on the cheek.
As everyone watched, Piper took the serving knife and sliced into the first cake, dividing the circle into quarters. Her hand trembled slightly, and she realized she was a little nervous.
“Is everything all right, Piper?” asked Vernon. He was smiling, but Piper sensed that he was scrutinizing her every move.
“A trifle nervous, I guess,” answered Piper, laughing it off. “I just want you all to be pleased.”
T
he processional hymn was already playing as Terri and Vin Donovan walked into the church. They hurried halfway down the main aisle, genuflecting before they entered a pew. As the Saturday-evening Mass began, Vin was thinking of his only daughter.
For the last two days, he’d been turning to the Internet, trying to find out all he could about what was happening at Elysium. On Friday there’d been dozens of articles as newspapers around the country had run the
Los Angeles Times
front-page story. Today the
L.A. Times
had carried a much smaller piece. Vin understood, as a former cop himself, that the information provided by the police on the murder investigation was scanty. Whatever leads law enforcement had were not being shared with the press.
He took off his gloves and blew on his hands to warm them. He said a silent prayer for Robert and Zara and the baby that was growing, cell by cell, inside his daughter-in-law. So much could go wrong.
Please, God, let my first grandchild be born strong and healthy.
As Vin stared up at the priest, a memory flashed through his mind. Six-year-old Piper, with her front teeth missing and her veil askew, had knelt at that altar rail to receive her First Communion. How had more than two decades gone by so quickly?
He had prepared Piper as well as he knew how. Over the years he’d talked to her and explained things to her. He had tried to make her savvy so she’d know what to watch out for and always to be on guard. But try as he might, Vin couldn’t cover every eventuality. At his insistence Piper had taken her karate lessons and kept mace in her purse, but at the end of the day everything couldn’t be controlled or predicted.
Vin looked over at his wife. Terri had the hymnal open and was singing the second song. He wondered if she could still read the words or if she was singing from memory. The macular degeneration was a perfect example of something that had come, unbidden, and changed things. He loved Terri even more as he watched her determinedly making the adjustments to go on with her life, but he still wished she didn’t have to be tested in this way.
As Vin reached out to take his wife’s hand, he thought again about his daughter. Piper was like most young people. She felt invincible. Bad things might happen to others, but nothing would happen to her.
If only that could be true.
A
t precisely five o’clock, Jack entered O’Flanagan’s on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. It was early to be hitting a bar, and he knew he shouldn’t make a habit of it. But it was better than drinking alone in his apartment. He wanted to be around other people.
Jack had his choice of stools. He took one at the end of the bar. While he waited for the bartender to take his order, he watched the basketball game on one of the big flat-screen televisions hanging above the liquor-filled shelves.
The bartender finished wiping the counter before approaching.
“What’ll it be?” he asked.
“I’ll have a Guinness,” said Jack.
The bartender filled a large glass with stout and put it in front of Jack. “Cheers,” he said, sliding a bowl of peanuts closer to his lone customer.
Taking a swallow, Jack savored the bite of the dark brown ale. He continued to drink, thinking about Piper and what she might be doing. After hearing about the murder at Elysium, Jack had put in a call to the L.A. office and had had an agent friend there fill him in on what was happening. It was a police matter, but the agent promised to follow the situation and keep Jack apprised.
“I’ll have another,” said Jack, signaling to the bartender.
“You don’t look happy, my friend,” said the bartender as he delivered the next pint.
“I’m not,” said Jack. “Woman trouble.”
“What else is new?” said the bartender, leaning on the bar with his hands.
Jack shook his head. “I really think I’m in love with this girl,” he said.
“Brother, I’m sorry to hear that.”
In spite of himself, Jack smiled.
“Well, what’s the problem?” asked the bartender.
Jack took another swallow. “She was engaged to this jackass, and he broke it off. Now she says she’s afraid of getting involved again. Plus, she’s an actress, and that’s not going too well, so she moved back home with her parents.”
“Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?”
“I know,” said Jack, staring glumly into his glass.
“Maybe she just needs some space or has to prove she can be on her own,” said the bartender. “It sounds to me like her life could use some sorting out.”
“Or maybe she’s just
saying
she’s afraid of getting involved again. Maybe that’s just an excuse. Maybe she just doesn’t want to get involved with
me.
”
The bartender shook his head in sympathy as the front door opened. Two men walked in and took seats at the bar.
Jack finished off his beer. “I don’t know how much more I can stand,” he said. “I have to talk to her.”
“You do what you want, buddy,” said the bartender as he turned to attend to the new customers. “But I think you should wait for her to come to you. In the meantime go out and have some fun. There are plenty of girls out there.”
“I know,” said Jack, remembering the young woman he’d had dinner with the night before. He had used alcohol to get through the date. With Piper he didn’t need an artificial high. She turned him on stone-cold sober.
W
alking out onto the patio, Piper looked around. Only a few of the tables were occupied. She spotted Wendy Ellis sitting in the far corner.
“I hope you don’t mind eating outside,” said Wendy. “It’s getting chilly.”
Piper smiled, though she was wishing she’d brought a sweater. “Please, compared to New York, this is tropical.”
“I asked them if they could bring an outdoor heater,” said Wendy.
“Great,” said Piper.
They scanned the menu as a waiter, dressed in a peach shirt and khaki slacks, came and filled their water glasses.
“Is it just me, or does the peach theme get to be a bit much?” Piper whispered as she watched the waiter walk away. “The soap, the candles, the golf carts, the cushions at the pool, the tablecloths—it’s everywhere. You can’t get away from it!”
Wendy laughed self-consciously, her hand reaching up to touch her mask. “And you’ve only been here a few days, right? Try staying here for weeks and weeks.”
“I can only imagine what that would be like,” said Piper. She waited for Wendy to expound.
“I guess it would be great if you were here just to relax and have yourself pampered,” said Wendy. “But it’s not so much fun when you’re here like I am.”
Piper wondered if she should probe further, but before she could say anything, Wendy continued.
“I guess you’re probably wondering why I wear this mask.”
“It’s crossed my mind,” answered Piper.
“I had a nose job and wasn’t satisfied with it, so Dr. Abernathy did another one. That didn’t come out the way I wanted either, so I had another surgery. Long story short, what’s left of my nose is grotesque.”
“But eventually it can be fixed, right?” asked Piper.
“I don’t know,” said Wendy. “Dr. Abernathy is meeting with my father and me tomorrow. We’ll see what he says.”
“I’m so sorry, Wendy,” said Piper.
“Thanks,” answered Wendy. She loosened the bottom of her mask so she could take a sip of water. “In a way I have only myself to blame. I wanted to look different, have a thinner and perfectly straight nose. Now I’d give anything to have back the one I had. I was so stupid.”
Piper considered Wendy’s words. She thought about all the times she’d looked in the mirror and criticized her own face or wished her stomach were flatter or her legs shaped differently, when in reality she’d been pretty lucky. Piper knew that she was too hard on herself, just like so many other women.
“I hope it goes well with Dr. Abernathy tomorrow, Wendy,” she said.
“Thanks, so do I—as much for my father as for myself,” said Wendy. “This whole thing has broken his heart.”