Lena clucked. Then she pulled out a file board and began to shape Mitzy’s nails. “Your wise body knows what color your fingernails are supposed to be.” She had rounded off and shortened Mitzy’s nails in a matter of moments. She picked up what appeared to be a block of foam and began to buff them. “You should do a whole body detox. You would be amazed at the natural beauty your body is dying to create for you.”
Mitzy doubted that. She knew for sure that her body would not give her the platinum curls she liked. She also wished she had paid more attention to the description of the salon when she pulled the number up on Yelp.
“But if you want snowflakes to celebrate winter solstice, I can decorate your hands with henna.” Lena held out one hand, covered with an intricate lacework of snowflakes.
Mitzy crinkled her nose. “No, thanks.” She hadn’t seen anyone coming or going at the psychic’s, much less Charlie, and she wasn’t going to be able to get her festive cranberry manicure. The last thing she wanted was hippy hands on top of the rest of her disappointment. Except, of course, this was the calmest, most soothing disappointment she had ever experienced.
“And… there.” Lena gave a final buff to the nails and leaned back. “Beautiful.”
Mitzy looked at her hands. Her nails were clean and short (shorter, anyway) and very shiny, as though they had a protective layer of clear polish on them.
“How long will this shine last?” she asked, holding her hands out to catch the light.
“About a week, but you can keep it up yourself at home if you buy a kit.” She indicated a rattan shelf near the register. “If you do the detox your nails will lose the yellow tint much sooner.”
Mitzy pulled out her wallet. She wanted to think of reasons to stay in the shop, as walking up and down Sandy Boulevard was likely to draw the wrong kind of attention. While she fished around in her wallet, pretending she couldn’t find her cash, a movement across the street caught her eye. She turned in time to see someone about the same build as Charlie pass through the front door of the psychic’s house.
Lena held out her hand. “Thinking about snowflakes?”
Mitzy grimaced. Then she nodded. “Sure.” She sat back down in the gold velvet chair and put her left hand on the table. “How long does a henna tattoo last?”
“If you are careful, you can keep ours for a month.”
Mitzy bit the insides of her cheeks, but kept her hand firmly on the table. From the chair she had a perfect view of the psychic’s house. She could even see a bit of movement in the picture window. She needed to stay in her seat as long as she could.
Two more guests—customers? buddies?—entered the little yellow house while her hand was being decorated. The men had the same olive complexions and dark hair that Charlie and his sister shared. Mitzy prayed Lena would finish before everyone left again. She wanted to catch Charlie on his way out and find out what Santa’s little helper looked like before she met Zachary English.
Mitzy’s eyes were glued to the house as Lena mixed the henna paste. The psychic shop’s curtains, which had been partially opened, were drawn closed. Then they were pulled apart again with violence. It was as though someone had yanked them apart and then pulled them from the wall.
Mitzy wanted to jump from her seat and run across the five lanes of speeding traffic, but Lena had already begun to draw on her arm with the warm paste. Lena began the pattern at Mitzy’s wrist and wove swirling lines up to her elbow and down to her fingers. Mitzy stared at it. A full arm of hippy art. Just in time for Christmas.
“How long does this last again?”
“Leave the paste to dry on its own, don’t wash for twelve hours, stay out of chlorine… I think you can have this well past New Year’s if you are careful.” Lena’s smile was so warm and proud Mitzy didn’t have the heart to run to the sink and wash it off, though her gut instinct to do so was strong.
She stared at her arm as the pattern became more intricate and covered more of her skin. She looked so white with the greenish-black paste on her. A movement across the street caught her eye. She could have kicked herself for turning from the window. The maroon hatchback that had been parked in the driveway of the house was gone. Mitzy hoped that meant the psychic had left—on her own.
“You can stop now. That’s totally fine.” Mitzy gritted her teeth to keep her smile in place. Lena was adding dots and swirls in between the lines and loops. It looked nothing like snowflakes. Then again, Mitzy compared it to Lena’s hand, and Lena’s didn’t look that much like snow either.
Lena smiled at Mitzy but continued to apply the paste.
“No, really. I need you to stop.”
Lena shook her head. “Almost done.”
Mitzy stood up, pulling her arm from the table. The tip of the henna cone smeared a long diagonal line across her arm.
“Oh!” Lena stood up, the henna cone hovering over the table. “Oh, that’s not good. Let me wash that off and start over.” Her eyes darted from Mitzy’s arm to a sink basin.
“It’s fine, truly. How much do I owe you?”
Lena waved her hands. “I can’t. Not unless I fix it. Look what it has done.” She drew a line through the air that mimicked the smear on Mitzy’s arm. “That was for fertility, and now I’ve scratched it out. I’m so sorry.” Her eyes were wide and sad, as though she truly grieved what she had done.
“I’m sure my husband won’t be sorry.” Mitzy shook her head. The curtains across the street had been put back up. Something was happening over there, and the longer she sat talking about fertility, the less likely she was to get a physical description of the man who had been with Arnold when he died.
Lena reached out for Mitzy’s arm. “But you would be.”
“Heavens, no,” Mitzy said with a forced laugh. She pulled two twenties from her wallet and set them on the table. “You put mud on my arm. What could that change? I’ve got a direct line to the Creator of the Universe. That trumps mud any day of the week.” She stopped. She should stay and share the gospel with Lena. She cast a glance outside. Gospel sharing ought to trump crime solving.
Lena smiled again, but her eye still held the grieved look. “Ah, well. I find it hard to help people who are plugged into the majority mythology.”
“Myth?” Mitzy took a deep breath. “The Bible has more concrete archeological and historical evidence to back it up than Plato’s writings do!”
Lena picked up the twenties. “Let me get you your change.” She sighed heavily, emphasizing the word change.
“No, really, it does.” Mitzy let her hand rest of the back of the velvet chair. “The Bible is a well-documented… document.” She shook her head again. Her words weren’t coming out the way she wanted them to at all. She was supposed to share about her heart and the changes God makes in her, not the historical authority of the Bible—which she was sure of, even if she couldn’t remember the exact details she had learned about from the sermon series they had done at church the year previous.
“I guess we just have to agree to disagree on that.” Lena pressed a ten into Mitzy’s hand and walked her to the door. She ushered her out without another word.
Mitzy stared at her through the glass. She had messed that up royally. She knew her faith wasn’t shallow, but she had a hard time convincing others of it. She looked down at the henna that was drying on her arm. At least it was winter and she could wear long sleeves for the next month.
To get to the psychic across the street, Mitzy could risk her life trying to cross one of Portland’s busiest roads or she could go a block down and wait for the light. She chose the light, but walked with head turned and an eye on the house the whole way.
By the time she reached the door, she was fully charged on adrenaline. Despite the frosty day, she was sweating. Her heart was racing, and her hand shook as she rang the doorbell before letting herself in. It was a business, after all.
Charlie and another man sat at a table in the middle of the room. They looked relaxed like they were just
sitting around enjoying the coffee they had in steaming cups. Whatever fracas had caused the window curtain to be ripped off the wall just minutes ago seemed to not bother them at all.
Charlie smiled broadly. “Vorza went out, but Nicky can read the cards for you, can’t he?”
Nicky laughed. “Yeah, I can do that. Fifty dollars.” He held out his hand, and Charlie slapped it with a laugh.
“Come back later, yeah?” Charlie said.
Mitzy pulled a ladder back chair up to the table and sat down. “You know what I want, Charlie. I want to know what the man who was with Arnold English when he died looked like.”
Nicky leaned forward. “Charlie wasn’t there.”
Mitzy ignored him. “You saw someone on the ground while Arnold was on the balcony. Tell me what he looked like.”
Nicky stood up fast, sending his chair behind him with a crash. “Charlie wasn’t there.” He yanked open the front door. “Get out.”
“Nah. She don’t have to leave, Nick. I’ll talk.”
“Don’t say anything to this gammy gorjer. You weren’t there.”
“Nah. You know I was. She knows I was. I can tell her. She’s not bad.”
“You’re not rum col, Charlie. I say she goes.”
“And you’re not the boss, neither, Nick. Let me tell the pretty lady what I saw.”
Nicky scowled. He stood in the doorway with his scrawny arms crossed over his thin chest. “I’ve seen this one in the news before. She’s with the law.”
“Nah. What does that matter? I did nothing wrong.” Charlie picked a toothpick out of a box and stuck it between his lips. “So ask me what you need to know, since you found me here.”
Mitzy, for a brief moment, didn’t know what to say. She had put so much energy into getting here and was amped up for a fight, for a struggle for information. Having it offered freely took the wind out of her for a moment. “I, uh.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “What did you really see? I need to know what this person you saw with Arnold looked like.”
“You’re right there. He was a person.” Charlie rocked his chair back on two legs.
“A man, of course. I knew that much. What else? Big, little?”
“He was a big guy, for sure,” Charlie said. “Real big.”
Mitzy leaned forward. “Tall or fat?”
“He was a bruiser, tall, and big. Of course, he was wearing winter clothes, a coat, and hat. He might have been thin, for all I know.” Charlie cracked his knuckles. “I told Vorza to tell you all of this. Didn’t she do it?”
“She talked in circles and flirted with my husband. She was next to useless.” Mitzy rolled her eyes. “Why didn’t you just tell me what I needed to know in my car?”
Charlie laughed and glanced at Nicky. “I was in a hurry. I had to leave town.”
Nicky laughed.
Mitzy eyed him, but he scowled at her.
“But I’m back today, you see. So I’ll tell you what I know. And my apologies for Vorza’s bad behavior. We’ll put her in her place when she comes home.”
“That’s not necessary. Just a few more details, and I’ll leave you alone.” Nicky’s attitude hadn’t softened a bit, and it was making Mitzy’s skin crawl. “I’m going to meet someone very soon, and I want to know if he could have been the man with Arnold. When you say this guy was tall, do you mean over six feet?”
“Yeah. Even taller than you.”
“What about his hair or eyes? Did you see those at all?”
“He was a white guy. Real white. But he had a knit cap on so I didn’t see his hair. And he was too far away to see his eyes.”
Nicky cleared his throat.
“Hey, man. I’m just telling the lady what I saw. She’s a nice enough beor.”
“It’s okay. You were a big help.” Mitzy stood up. She inched her way to the door, hoping she wouldn’t accidently bump Nicky.
“Because I like you, you should know that I’m leaving town again and I won’t be back. So, if you want me to tell anyone else what I just told you, you’re out of luck.” Charlie’s smile was unchanged, but he narrowed his eyes, just a bit.
“Of course. This was just for me. Who cares what the Realtor knows anyway?”
Nicky stepped away from the door and held it open. “Exactly. No one cares what the Realtor knows.”
Mitzy looked from one man to the other, her scared smile still plastered on her own face. “Thanks for this.” She gave a pathetic wave, and left. She tried not to run to her car, but her adrenaline was still pumping. She should be able to tell at a glance if Zachary had been the man with Arnold when he died… but she’d never be able to prove it.
She stopped to get her breath before she got in her car. All she had to do now before her get together with Karina was wash the henna off of her arm and hope she wasn’t too late. She shivered, for the first time realizing she was holding her own winter coat in her arm rather than wearing it. She brushed some of the dried henna paste off, just to see what would happen. The swirly red design stood out clearly against her pale white skin.
Mitzy grimaced. She rubbed the rest of the paste off and put on her coat.
11
Mitzy joined Karina at her house at the requested time. Karina led Mitzy to the dining room where a young couple was already seated. The pine scent of Karina’s twelve-foot Christmas tree gave the house a cheery aroma at odds with the cold faces of the three adults gathered together. A tray of brightly frosted Christmas cookies sat untouched on the table, as did a ceramic snowman coffee pot and mug set.
“Good afternoon.” Mitzy was still edgy from her visit to the psychic, and she pulled her sweater sleeve down as low as she could to cover as much of the henna tattoo as possible. She went straight to the middle of the table and poured four cups of coffee. She passed them out with a smile, added cream and sugar to her own, and took a seat.
While passing around the cups, she sized up Karina’s ex-step-son and wife. The wife, whom she had served first, was a weak-looking woman. She was small and had bags under her eyes, possibly sick with a winter cold or just anemic. She was pale but with an olive cast to her skin and had mousy brown hair. She also looked familiar, but Mitzy couldn’t place her.
But what about Zachary? Was he tall and strapping? He didn’t look strapping. He was narrow shouldered. He might have been tall… it was hard to say while he was sitting. He looked taller than Alonzo, but honestly, that wasn’t saying much. Mitzy tilted her head, a tiny bit. Were they looking eye to eye? She was six feet and a quarter inch tall herself, so if they were seeing eye to eye, then he was probably six feet tall. But Charlie said the man with Arnold had been well over six feet, so even sitting, he ought to have seemed tall to Mitzy, which was a rare enough occurrence that she should have noticed it right away.
Zachary… was probably not the killer.
Mitzy’s heart slowed down to normal. She was disappointed, but on the other hand, this meeting would probably go better knowing Zachary had most likely not killed his father.
Mitzy sipped her coffee. It was cool. She put her cup down.
Zachary’s wife cleared her throat.
Zachary placed his hand over his wife’s hand. “Karina…” His eyes were seeking, almost begging.
Karina’s eyes were hard.
“Karina, I know this has been very hard for you. You were pulled back into the English family troubles through no fault of your own.” Zachary had a gentle voice, a soothing tone that didn’t condescend, and yet Karina sat stiff as a board across from him. “I know the house was for sale before the accident. I know you want out of it, and we all know it will be very difficult to sell now.”
Mitzy sized him up again. Wanting the house and hating his dad seemed like motive for murder.
“You’ve always wanted my house.” Karina wrapped her thin, pale fingers around the handle of the coffee mug.
“I don’t deny it. It’s one of my father’s best designs.”
“He designed it for me.”
<
br /> Zachary smiled warmly. “Of course he did. He was madly in love with you.”
Karina cringed.
“Karina…” Zachary’s wife spoke up. “We’ve never asked you for anything. Not before the divorce or now.”
Mitzy lifted an eyebrow. Before the divorce? Had this woman, whom no one introduced, been Zachary’s college—or high school—sweetheart?
“I’m Mitzy Neuhaus.” Mitzy extended her hand to Zachary’s wife. “I am here to help us sort this out. I know Karina does want to sell the house still, so I think we can find a way to all leave the table happy.” It was a businesslike sort of greeting, but Mitzy was fairly sure that there was enough emotion at the table already.
“Deanna.” Deanna English gave Mitzy’s hand a half-hearted shake.
Karina shot a look of thanks over to Mitzy. “If you want my house, you have as much a chance to get it as anyone else.”
Zachary scowled. “I could handle all of the paperwork.”
Karina pinched her lips shut.
Mitzy did a bit of quick math. If she sold the $700,000 house, her portion would be over $40,000. While that would be a nice chunk for Karina to take home instead, she couldn’t see why Zachary cared to save it. After all, $40,000 mortgaged over thirty years was only—she stopped herself. It would be over $200 a month. That ought to have been nothing to someone shopping for a house in this price range, but Zachary wanted it for sentimental reasons. And from his wife’s threadbare appearance to his own, Mitzy thought $200 could matter each month.
She looked at Zachary more closely. Generic watch on a thin leather band, button-down shirt that fit baggier than it should, wan complexion. He didn’t look like a man who had $700,000 cash or the $5000 a month he’d need for a loan on this house. For a brief moment, Mitzy hoped Karina was trying to keep the house from him to save him from financial ruin, but a quick glance at Karina’s steely eyes and compressed lips dashed that hope.
They sat in silence a moment longer than Mitzy was comfortable with, but she wanted Karina to direct the meeting.
Traci Tyne Hilton - Mitzi Neuhaus 04 - Frozen Assets Page 9
