by Maggie Pill
That was interesting. “Who?”
“I don’t know, but they got it worked out. I gotta use my keys to let ’em in first thing tomorrow.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
“Don’t know.”
“You’re letting them in where?”
“Don’t know that either.” His face scrunched. “Why are you wandering around anyway?”
“Looking for you,” I lied. “I wanted to know where you’re keeping Retta.”
“I told you she’s okay.” Now his mouth twisted as if he were fastening it closed. “You better get back to your room and stay there, ’cause like I said, Ted’s in a bad mood. There ain’t no way the cops could find your sister before he makes her dead, so it’s on you what happens to her.”
“No,” I said angrily. “It’s on Ted and it’s on you, Bill. You’re the ones harassing two innocent women.”
He didn’t like that, but he repeated his demand that I stay in my room. He even tapped a foot to show impatience as I went back down the hallway.
Back in the room, I sat on the bed and tried to make a plan. I thought Bill was fairly honest for a crook, so Retta was okay. But Barb had gone looking for Retta and then what? She might be with the “friends” her note had mentioned, but my gut said otherwise. She wouldn’t leave me in the dark if she could help it. I guessed she was in trouble.
For some reason, an incident from the past came to mind. When I was in tenth grade and she was in eleventh, Barb had gotten sick. The doctor in town at the time, a young, eager type, had noted her swollen lymph nodes and overall fatigue and rushed to judgment, announcing that she might have leukemia.
Mom had freaked. Dad had gone silent, and I’d stayed awake all night, wondering what I’d do without my sister. A day later the chagrined doc admitted he’d spoken too soon. Barb had mono, the “kissing disease.”
Just like back in high school, I spent the night awake, unable to stop worrying. Fully dressed in case Barb showed up, I alternated between pacing and standing at the window. Retta was somewhere “uncomfortable.” Barb’s whereabouts were unknown. Though I was okay, I couldn’t convince myself the same was true for either of my sisters.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Barb
I woke several times, though woke is a relative term. During one semi-conscious moment I realized the sun was setting. The branches above me split its orange light into irregular slices. Another time I opened my eyes to darkness with a million stars peeping between the canopy of leaves overhead.
Images floated through my mind. A man with blood on his face. A door chained closed. A prissy woman barely holding her temper as she argued with me.
It didn’t make sense, but it felt familiar. Recent. I listened to the sound of a light rain that pattered in the leaves above but didn’t make it down to me.
It seemed there was somewhere I needed to be, but I couldn’t make myself care.
When an unknown voice sounded nearby, I pulled my legs up close to my body and lay still, listening. Someone was speaking, not close but within hearing range. I heard words, but they didn’t make sense. Half a conversation heard by a half-conscious brain.
“You’ll move the stuff to her car while I make sure the count’s right.”…“Yeah, I told her eleven.”…“You’ll have to point her out to me.”…“You said her hair is different?” ...“What’s going on with those women you told me about?”…“I get that. He recognized you and then they came along.”…“You’re sure they were with the fed?”…“I guess if there were calls to him on their phones, they must be part of it.”… “Who’s this other woman you say you shot?”…“Geez, Troy, this should have been easy. Now it’s all screwed up!”…“Just make sure there’s nobody who can connect us to the bodies.”
There was a long pause, and I thought the man had gone, but suddenly he spoke again. “He’s on his way up here?”…“This is so screwed up! Let me think a minute….Okay. Tell him to meet you down here, at this little gazebo thing. Tell him whatever it takes—say the FBI is all over the inn and he can’t be seen there. We don’t want him to get a chance to talk to Dina.”…“Okay. Tell him that and then get your guy to open that storeroom as soon as she leaves. Get the drugs out of there. Put them somewhere we can get at them once everybody’s at Dina’s show. I’ll meet you in the parking lot after I deal with the old man.”
I tried. I really tried to understand what had been said. All I ended up with was vague concepts: An old man. Drugs. Me getting a shot. That explained how lousy I felt. I was sick.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Retta
I didn’t sleep, but I must have dozed. I dreamed I was back in junior high and overheard Mom and Dad talking. Because Barbara had been sleeping a lot, Mom took her to the doctor for tests. She’d been quiet when they got home, so quiet I knew there was something really wrong.
Any tween worth her salt can tell you the way to find out what your family doesn’t want you to know is to eavesdrop. At nine o’clock I went upstairs like a good girl, but instead of going to bed, I slipped on my nightie and then laid down on the grate that let the heat generated in the basement furnace rise to the second floor. It was a good conduit for warmth and a great one for sound.
While Barbara slept like the dead a few feet away, I listened to Mom tell Dad and Faye that the doctor had mentioned leukemia as a possible cause of her recent symptoms. Dad’s voice trembled, and Faye cried. Mom held it together, insisting the diagnosis was premature. If leukemia was a possibility, it was only one of many.
That was one of Mom’s great qualities. She didn’t jump to conclusions or let anyone else do it. “Face trouble by taking baby steps toward it,” she often said. “There’s always time to be sad later.”
In that instance she’d been correct. Barb didn’t have leukemia; she had mono, and we all know what that comes from.
The memory reminded me that doubting is good when things look bad. There’s no sense believing the worst if there’s even a tiny chance it isn’t true. That’s what I tried to do: believe the worst wasn’t certain, at least not yet.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Faye
There was no way I felt like attending a fashion show on Sunday morning. I’d spent a miserable night in an agony of not knowing. Trying for a best-case scenario, I told myself Barb had found Retta, they’d retreated to a safe place, and the police were waiting for Ted or Bill to show up so they could arrest them. Since I didn’t have access to a phone, they feared contacting me would alert the bad guys.
The end of my nightmare might be as simple as going downstairs.
Somewhere in the night I’d developed a strong urge for a cigarette. It’s a terrible habit, I know, but the combination of chemicals, familiar movements, and the sense of purpose is relaxing when you don’t know what else to do. And quitting, however firm your mental effort, doesn’t mean your body is happy about it. I longed for the release one seven-minute smoke promised. It was a good thing there aren’t cigarette machines in every corner of Michigan anymore, like there were back when I took that first puff.
I went downstairs at eight, pausing on the landing to look for Dina. She was nowhere to be seen, and I guessed she was involved in preparations for the show. The perfume girl was in her usual place, and a young woman I hadn’t seen before perused the tables slowly, as if interested in everything. Not only had I not seen her before, she was too young for this group. Family, maybe, come to pick up one of the ladies when the show was finished.
Trays of pastries and urns of coffee had been set up in the common area, and early risers balanced drinks and sweet rolls awkwardly as they sat on benches or stood in corners. The notice board proclaimed sessions from eight-thirty to ten for those who hadn’t yet had enough of celebrating lovable-ness.
With a cheese Danish and a cup of coffee, I took a seat on a bench when two women left to attend a session titled Hairstyles for After Fifty. The other was called Dealing with Divorce. I stayed put, pretending to r
ead a pamphlet about charm and how it can be enhanced with the artistic application of makeup. Soon the only people in the open space were me and the long-suffering perfume girl. To be polite, I smiled. She ignored me.
Preparations for the show were in full swing, and staff members moved in and out of the dining room with purpose and a sense of excitement. I had little doubt everyone on the inn’s payroll would try to get a glimpse of the excitement.
Where would the other Big Event take place, the one the fashion show would divert attention from? I doubted it would be inside, since the inn had video surveillance. If it was an exchange of drugs for money, it would take place outside the range of cameras but close enough to be convenient to both parties.
Another question came to mind: How had the drugs got here?
They couldn’t have been in the boxes and trunks Honny and the valets hauled inside. We’d been through every one during rehearsal yesterday. Were they still in one of the vehicles, the property van or the limo? I didn’t know what something like that would look like. How big is a drug shipment, and where does someone hide it? All I knew was what I’d seen in the movies, and even then I’d hardly paid attention.
Just then Bill came through the common area and went into the dining room with a rolled-up extension cord over his shoulder. Since the only person I knew was involved in all this was Bill, I decided to keep an eye on him. With a little fast talking, I got past the woman on guard at the dining room door and entered the busy world of an impending fashion show.
Dina was there, looking fresh despite her late night. She was explaining to Bill how she wanted lights set up behind the panels that closed off the models’ area. When he turned and saw me his face reddened, but his eyes warned me to keep quiet.
“I came to see if you need help,” I told Dina.
“That’s great, Faye, especially since Honny’s run off.”
“What? Where did he go?”
She looked disgusted. “He left a note: Sorry, girl, but your dad called me back to the city. You’re on your own. Like the hound he is, Honny went loping off to do his master’s bidding.” As I absorbed that news, she went on, “Cecily’s organizing the girls, and my friend here is finishing the things Honny was supposed to get done this morning.”
“I can’t believe your father would pull your only helper on the day of the show.”
“Honestly, I didn’t think even he would sink that low.” Her voice wavered, and I sensed Dina knew exactly what her father was. She’d probably been ashamed of him her whole life. Now she was more angry than ashamed.
Should I tell her what I knew? Bill met my gaze, and I saw him shake his head as if he’d heard my thought. He was reminding me my sister’s life depended on my silence.
I still had the hope—though I had to hang onto it with all my might—that Barb was working somewhere in secret to find and release Retta. As long as we were all in a room together, none of us was at physical risk, at least as far as I could tell.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Can you cover the lights and sound—the jobs Honny was supposed to do? You’ve seen the show and know how it will go.”
My instinct was to say no, I couldn’t handle it, but Dina needed help, and she was right. I was the only one free of other duties, the only one who knew the agenda. I nodded agreement, and soon I was being tutored by Bill, learning where the light switches were and how the music system worked.
At 10:15 we had five minutes before the doors opened and allowed the guests in. The show was paired with a champagne brunch, the final meal of the retreat, so one side of the room crawled with waiters setting out food and lighting little warming pans. Bill was taping down the cords so no one tripped over them. Huddled in their enclosure, the models chatted nervously, unsure of themselves now the time was near.
“I hope I don’t screw up again,” Candice said. Her eyes were clearer today, and she seemed to know where she was and what was going on. That was good.
“What if we get jammed up in the dressing room and can’t find our stuff?” Bibi asked. Her first outfit, a navy-and-white dress, looked good on her. When no one answered, she repeated the question.
“You’ll do fine,” Cecily assured her. “I’ll keep things moving.”
Responding to her confident tone, the others settled down a little. Cecily gave me a glance that hinted she wasn’t as sure of things as she pretended, but despite everyone’s concerns, the models looked good. I thought overall they’d be okay.
For some reason we hadn’t been able to find the platform that was supposed to fit against the dais, creating a runway the models could use to make their turns close to the crowd. The speculation was that Honny had stored it somewhere and forgotten to tell someone. “We can do without it,” Dina announced, “but I know it was packed in the van with the rest of the stuff.”
“What did it look like?” I asked.
“Like a folding table, only thicker. You open it up, adjust the legs to whatever height you need, and set it in place.”
“Maybe someone thought it belonged to the inn and stuck it in a storeroom.” Dina shrugged, and we dropped the subject. We simply didn’t have time to go searching for a non-essential, though handy, bit of equipment.
I did manage to address personal concerns at one point. Dina went off to see to something, leaving Bill and me alone for a moment. Grabbing his arm I asked, “When are you going to let my sister go?” I almost made it plural, but if he didn’t know Barb was here, he wasn’t going to hear it from me.
“Keep doing what you’re told. Ted’s gonna take care of it soon.”
“When?”
“When this is over.”
“And what is ‘this’?”
He hung his head. “I don’t know exactly, but don’t screw it up, or things ain’t gonna turn out good for any of us.”
It should have been satisfying to see Bill admit he was in over his head. At that moment in time, feeling satisfaction was as impossible for me as a starting pitcher job with the Detroit Tigers.
A noise from the kitchen caught my attention, and Gail and Dail came into the room, carrying what had to be the missing platform.
“Where did you find that?” Dina asked.
“By the back door,” Dail answered. “We went out for a smoke and there it was.”
“You two are stars in my book.” Dina told them. “Thank you, thank you!” It was the first time I’d seen genuine smiles on the twins’ faces, and I realized that everyone likes appreciation from the boss, even Biker Babes.
Bill quickly set the platform in place, and Dina and I covered it with white drapery. As soon as that was finished, Dina gave the signal to open the doors, and attendees flooded in, eager for the elegant brunch and the show that would end the retreat. Dina was already in place near the podium, and her gaze met mine for a second, signaling she was ready. I sent her a smile for luck.
One of the women I’d had dinner with on Friday, a square-jawed sort with a body to match, noticed me. “Is your sister still laid up?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Come and sit with us,” she urged, gesturing at her companions, who were saving seats for themselves by leaning the folded chairs against the table.
“Thanks for asking, but I volunteered to help out with the show.”
“Ooh,” she said. “Did you get to meet the models?”
“Um, yes.”
She eyed the curtained area. “It must be nice. They get to wear beautiful clothes and all they have to do is walk a little and then stand still.”
I saw modeling differently. Judged for looks alone. Forced to smile and pretend you’re not cold, bored, and uncomfortable. Unable to eat a single cookie without worrying about gaining weight. It wasn’t my idea of an easy job. Rather than argue, I fell back on my mother’s favorite comment when she couldn’t agree but didn’t want to be disagreeable. “I’m sure it’s interesting.”
The woman went off to join her friends at the buffe
t tables, while I peeped in at the models to see if they needed anything. Cecily was ready, and she was explaining something to Pixi, who looked confused, as usual. Li was covering the tattoos on Gail’s arms with makeup. She was less intimidating without multiple strands of barbed wire on each arm.
Taken as a group and without considering what they’d been doing two nights ago at Engel’s club, the women I saw resembled models I’d seen on TV, with a couple of obvious exceptions. Most models aren’t under five feet tall, but Dina had cut large chunks off the legs of the pants now worn by the three Asian girls. Plenny appeared to have two helium balloons under her shirt, and Bibi’s hair had a greenish tint the brown rinse hadn’t been able to hide. “Smile and keep it moving, girls,” I heard Cecily advise. “Like they say, razzle-dazzle ’em.”
I’d always thought of brunch as a light meal, but that wasn’t true at Love-Able Ladies. Stations along one whole wall offered omelets, French toast on a stick, and fancy fruit cups. Of course there was wine. The guests filled their plates as they chatted, sneaking peeks at where the models waited behind the curtain. The roll and coffee I’d had earlier settled at the base of my stomach like wet sand, so while the food looked incredible, I had no desire to eat.
After one last check with Cecily, I took my place at the bank of lights where Honny should have been. Dina nodded and I flashed the lights, signaling we were ready to begin. When the last guest had taken her seat, I dimmed the lights at the back three-quarters of the room, focusing attention at the front.
Dina introduced herself and welcomed the audience to her mini-reveal, speaking with dignity, professionalism, and warmth. It was impossible for the listeners to tell what a mess the last twenty-four hours had been like for her. I hoped they wouldn’t be able to tell when the models came out.
Another nod from Dina, and I turned on the music she’d chosen. I recognized the first one, an instrumental version of “Just an Old-fashioned Love Song.” There was a rustle as the audience turned to look at Cecily, and they followed with their eyes as she glided to the front.
