by A. J. Carton
When she was done, Steve raised his eyebrows. “Very interesting. Can you write all that down? Quick and dirty. Don’t bother cleaning it up. It’s privileged and confidential. Part of our defense strategy. I want to share it with co-counsel.”
Emma nodded, wondering whether she had just traded one scapegoat for another. Was there a Sicilian Anti-Defamation Defense League to fund Sergio’s legal bills? And why did that sound like an oxymoron? From what she could see, America had declared open season on Sicilians a long time ago. To heck with her North Italian grandmother, she thought. She was starting to like Sicilians.
“I’ll go write it up now,” she replied, turning to open the Men’s Room door.
“Wait a minute,” Steve grabbed her arm. “Don’t go yet. I have another assignment. Co-counsel and I put our heads together early this morning and made a list of all the people the police haven’t questioned in their, so-called, rush to justice. That’s the way we’re portraying the sloppy investigation in our press releases. You’d have heard it if you watched any news.”
“I been busy, Steve,” Emma interrupted. A little voice in her head whispered, at the outlets.
Steve ignored her. “Here’s what we need from you. The police interviewed Vera Vasiliev, Natasha Vasiliev’s, the victim’s, twin sister.”
Emma nodded. “I know who Vera Vasiliev is, Steve. I’ve met her.”
“Met her?” Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “Great. That’s perfect. I need you to follow up with her.” He took a deep breath. “Here’s the thing, the police interviewed her right after the murder. She had an alibi. She says she was with that Alexis Kuragin character all night. By the way, he’s someone else we need to investigate. Don’t suppose you know him, do you?”
Emma shook her head. He’d been on her original list of suspects, but she’d never gotten around to him. How could she, she thought. It was only Thursday, for goodness sake!
Steve shrugged. “That’s OK. Someone from Roma Rights is already looking into him. He had a run in with a Roma back in the Ukraine. He claimed she framed him on an assault charge.”
Boy, Emma thought. The souls of some people’s shoes really were mired in mud.
“Anyway,” Steve continued. “When the police questioned Vera Vasiliev, Natasha Vasiliev’s sister, we didn’t know, and therefore hadn’t told the police, that Vera Vasiliev.” Steve stopped and scratched his head. “This is worse than War and Peace with all these frickin’ Russian names. Anyway, the police didn’t know because we didn’t know until Carmen Havlek told us a few days ago, that Vera Vasiliev, the victim’s twin sister…”
Emma nodded and waved her hand in quick circles. “I know, Steve. I know. Get to the point.”
“The victim’s twin sister,” Steve repeated, “visited the suspect, Carmen Havlek, early the morning after the murder allegedly to have her fortune told. Cards read. Whatever. According to Carmen Havlek, she, Vera Vasiliev was so freaked out by the murder she didn’t actually stay to have her fortune told. She started crying, and told Carmen Havlek that whoever killed her sister probably wanted to kill her too. Then she raced out the door before Carmen Havlek had time to read the cards.”
Emma finally interrupted him. “Steve, I know all this. Remember? I’m the one who told you. After Carmen came to my office and related it to me before she was arrested. What’s your point?”
Steve got defensive. “Carmen told us the same thing after we interviewed her. I forgot about her talking to you first. Anyway, the point is we need someone to pay Vera Vasiliev a visit and get her story. Corroborate what Ms. Havlek told us, and see if this Vera Vasiliev remembers anything that might help us prove the suspect is innocent.”
“And don’t forget,” Emma reminded him. “As I just told you. Vera was the one with the Beluga blini. I could also find out who gave it to her. That would be interesting.”
“Sure, Emma. If you think the blini is important, why not?” Steve was clearly not impressed with the blini angle. “I mean, of course. Find out anything you can. Do you think you can handle that? I mean find some excuse to pay Vera Vasiliev a visit? She lives right here in Blissburg.”
Emma nodded. “Yeah, I’ll do it. I can make an appointment to have her give me a massage. She works at the Honorage Spa. She’s one of the masseuses.”
Steve frowned, obviously annoyed with her plan. “Yeah, why not get a mani-pedi at the same time?”
Where did he get mani-pedi, Emma wondered? Oh, right. He was married.
“Emma,” he continued. “This is serious. It’s work. Not just an excuse to get a massage. Are you up for it or not?”
“Yes, of course I am, Steve,” Emma shot back. Now she was annoyed. Then she thought of something. “I’ll call my daughter. She’s handling all the publicity for City Opera’s big announcement on Opening Night. Barry Buchanon is making a huge donation in memory of Natasha Vasiliev. The victim,” she added. “In case you’re mixed up.”
She realized how bitchy that sounded and softened her tone. “We’ll tell Vera that we need to talk to her about the presentation in memory of her sister. I’m sure she’ll want to cooperate. To make sure she approves of everything that’s said.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Steve turned. Clearly his mind had already moved on to other things. He swung open the bathroom door and ran into the hall.
Leaving Emma to face the surprised newsman who had entered the Men’s Room right after Steve left.
Chapter 19: Thursday Late Afternoon - Mani-Pedi
By the time Emma wrote the report for Steve and drove home, it was well past 4:00. She checked her messages.
There was a text from Julie. “Pick u up @ 6:30. Mtg @ BB’s home. LB’ll b there. U o me.”
Emma blessed the day she’d learned how to text. It was the only way, now, to communicate with her busy daughter. She answered, “1 + favor. Need meeting with Vera V. Same xuse – dnation.”
Julie texted back, “Sched massge.”
“NO! Mtg. High importance!” Emma spelled that out.
“I’ll let u no.”
Emma assumed Julie meant ‘know’ not ‘no.” She texted back, “VVHI.”
She looked at her watch. There was just enough time to schedule the pedicure before the spa closed. She dialed the Honorage Spa’s number and crossed her fingers that someone would be available.
When Emma explained to the voice on the phone that she needed an appointment that very afternoon, the girl sounded skeptical.
“Wow,” she sighed. “We close at six. It’s been a madhouse here all day. Lotta people going to Opening Night tomorrow. Can I put you on hold?”
There was a long pause. Emma heard laughter and something about a birthday party after work. Then the girl’s voice was back on the line. “You’re in luck. I found you an opening at 5:15. Dolores had a cancellation.”
Emma thought for a moment. Five fifteen. That was barely enough time for her toes to dry before she had to meet Julie. But she had no choice. “OK. I’ll take it,” she said.
“Did you say just pedi, or mani-pedi?” the girl asked. “Pedi’s $35. Mani-pedi’s a better deal. It’s only $50.”
“Make it a mani-pedi,” Emma replied. “A deal’s a deal.”
“OK.” The girl reviewed the order. “That’s a mani-pedi with Dolores at 5:15. You know where we are?”
Apparently, she didn’t sound like a regular, Emma thought to herself. “Yeah,” she answered. “I know how to get there.”
“Don’t be late,” the girl cautioned. “It’s Dolores’ last appointment for the day. She likes to be out of here at 6:00.”
“I’ll be on time,” Emma assured her.
In fact, when Emma checked her watch again, it was later than she thought. She dashed out the door and into her car. Traffic was backed up heading north in the direction of the spa. And that day, Honorage’s main parking lot was full. She had to park in overflow.
By the time the greeter opened the glass doors giving entry to the posh spa’s serene, air
conditioned, marble foyer, Emma was sweating, out of breath, and two minutes late. The relaxing sound of the foyer’s drop-from-the-ceiling water sculpture, however, immediately put her at ease. She wiped the sweat off her brow and approached the front desk.
“I have an appointment for a mani-pedi with Dolores at 5:15,” she said.
The tall, blond, poker faced receptionist – surely not the same girl Emma had just spoken with on the phone – glanced quickly at the clock behind her, then back at Emma. It was 5:18. Emma couldn’t subdue a surge of gratitude when the woman actually nodded and motioned her into the mani-pedi room.
There she was offered lemon water from a chilled pitcher and a green apple while she waited for Dolores.
Dolores turned out to be a short, dark haired woman who was about Emma’s age, somewhere in her sixties. Emma guessed that, unfortunately, Lexie Buchanon probably hadn’t hung out much with Dolores during her employment at the spa. So it was unlikely that Dolores would have information regarding the murder case. For some reason, however, Emma was relieved to find a contemporary to assist her at the spa that day.
That’s why, when Dolores took Emma to choose a color for her nails, Emma didn’t expect a lot of push back regarding her selections: a pale Pearl Blush for her fingernails and, after lengthy consideration, Flamenco Red for her toes.
Dolores offered Emma a weak smile when Emma handed her the bottles of polish.
“Are you sure? Dis is so boring,” Dolores sighed. “Wouldn’t you like something more fun? More young?” She glanced at Emma’s nails.
They’d grown alarmingly long, Emma noticed with surprise. Except for two she’d bitten down almost to the cuticle.
“If you don’t mind my saying,” Dolores suggested, “it looks like you don’t treat yourself often.” She added, “Is dis for a special occasion?”
Emma nodded and smiled back, reminding herself that the woman was only trying to be helpful.
“So, if I may ask, what are you wearing?” Dolores continued.
Emma checked her watch. Time was awasting. She had to leave the spa by 6:15 to be home when Julie picked her up for the Buchanon meeting. Emma quickly described the paisley skirt and gold top.
“Opening Night. Right?” Dolores’ eyes lit up. “A lot of my customers today are going.” She paused. “Let me make you a little suggestion.” She lightly touched Emma’s arm. “No pressure, honey. Just see if you like it.”
Dolores walked back to the case full of polish and selected a turquoise blue. It was, in fact, one of the colors of the new skirt’s paisley print. She handed it to Emma in exchange for the red.
“Keep the finger nails conservative. Pearl Blush is more you,” Dolores explained. “But the toes?” She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “You gonna take a risk. Go a little crazy!”
By then, it was 5:30. Emma just didn’t think she had time to argue about it. “Fine,” she agreed. “Great. I’ll go with the turquoise toes. Thanks.” But her heart sank. Turquoise toes? What was she doing?
A few minutes later, however, after a soothing warm cuticle soak, Dolores’ complimentary foot and calf massage began to dispel Emma’s unease. Then, Dolores motioned for a gorgeous young woman named Bing to scoot over on her wheelie stool, to help with the mani.
“Do you mind, Bing?” Dolores asked the willowy, dark haired girl. “Otherwise, I’m gonna be late getting out of here.”
Bing shook her head. “Can you believe it? My 5:00 arrived early.” She giggled about that behind her latex-gloved hand.
The two worked quietly and efficiently. Emma began to relax believing that the timing all might work out. She quickly forgot about Lexie Buchanon.
They were almost done when Bing turned to Dolores. “Did you see Lexie today? Flower cut her hair. For Opening Night. She and Barry will be up on the stage. They are giving the City Opera a big donation.”
Dolores nodded. “I saw her. It’s in honor of that dead singer. Vera’s sister.”
“The one Barry was bonking?” Bing asked, giggling behind her glove again. “If he were my husband,” she continued. Then she made a chopping motion with her right hand aimed somewhere south of her navel. “I’d have cut it off. Like that…what was her name? The lady who did that?”
“Bobbitt,” Emma heard herself blurt out the answer. And wondered why that name had stuck in her brain all these years. Sometimes she couldn’t even remember what she’d had for breakfast. “At least, I think her name was Bobbitt,” she added, embarrassed. “Or something like that.”
“Bobbitt?” Bing repeated. She looked up at Emma and giggled behind her glove.
Dolores shook her head. “But not our little Lexie. She would never do that.” She tapped her heart a few times, rapidly. “Alexita’s a saint. I mean it. I wish she was my daughter. I feel like she is. We’ve known each other a long time.”
“How long?” Emma asked, more embarrassed at having interjected herself twice into the two women’s conversation.
“Since she first started working here,” Dolores replied. Then she looked up at Emma from her wheelie stool. “I’m sorry. Maybe you think we shouldn’t talk like this. About another customer. But, it’s all good. What we’re saying. I mean, about Lexie Buchanon. She’s had some hard times, poor girl. But she has a heart of gold. I’m gonna tell you something. Maybe, I shouldn’t. What’s your name again?”
“Emma,” Emma answered.
“Well, Emma, when my little daughter, Teresita, was in the hospital for an operation, this rotten sp…,” she bit her lip. “Let’s just say the health insurance plan I had here wouldn’t pay. Dolores nodded grimly. “You know who gave me the money? It was Lexie Buchanon. No questions asked. No strings attached. That’s the kind of person she is. And if I can’t say something good about a customer like that?” She shook her head. “Well, I don’t care what I can’t say. I’m gonna say it anyway. Alexita’s a saint.” Then she looked up at Emma again. “Honey, I’m all done. Now come over here and I’ll put the blowers on you.”
Dolores ushered Emma to a different seat where she arranged Emma’s hands on a clean white towel on the counter and her toes on the floor. Both in front of little white heaters that she clicked on to blow hot air onto her nails.
“You sit here for at least half an hour,” she explained. “You hear that, honey? I gotta go at 6:00. Bing will bring you the bill, so you can pay up now before I leave. But don’t you leave before 6:30. Otherwise your nails not gonna be dry. And you know what that means.” She wrinkled her nose. “Smudge! By the way, where’re your flip flops? Over there in your purse?”
“Flip flops?” Emma asked. She shook her head. “I…I didn’t bring any.”
“Sandals?” Bing suggested. She had returned with the bill and handed it to Emma.
“No flip flops. No sandals?” Dolores said, giving Emma a stern look.
Bing giggled behind her hand.
“Honey,” Dolores said. “You gotta wear flip flops home. Otherwise you gonna ruin all my work.” Then she smiled. “It’s OK. I’ll bring you some flip flops from the sauna room. They’re gonna be big; but you gotta wear them.”
Dolores returned shortly carrying a pair of flip flops the size of snow shoes. There was no way Emma could drive home in them.
Dolores must have caught Emma’s look of dismay. She stared down at Emma’s turquoise toes.
To Emma, they looked like a set of ten miniature Easter eggs.
Dolores pointed to the flip flops again. “You gotta wear them, honey.”
By then, Bing had processed Emma’s credit card with a fancy mobile credit machine.
Bing handed Emma back her card and thanked her for the generous tip. In seconds the two mani-pedi women were packing up to leave.
Dolores pointed a finger at Emma when she left. “Don’t forget the flip flops.”
It was 6:05. Emma decided that the best she could do was give her toes until 6:15. But waiting the full ten minutes seemed endless. At 6:12 she tested her right big toe with he
r forefinger.
Big mistake, she realized.
She should have tested the pinky toe. Her finger left a half inch wide smudge smack in the center of her toenail. Emma groaned. The woman sitting beside her looked over and raised her eyebrows in horror.
It was going to be a mess. But Emma knew she couldn’t wait any more. She had to leave.
To the shock of her blow dry companion, Emma gingerly lifted her dinosaur socks over her bright turquoise toes and pulled them on her feet. She stuffed her feet into her Nikes, and tied the laces. Then she stood up, waved goodbye and ran out of the spa.
Chapter 20: Thursday Evening - Cupcakes Anyone?
Traffic was slow. When Emma pulled into her driveway, she noted Julie’s BMW was already parked there. She braced herself and got out of her Prius.
“Nice goin’, Mom. We’re late,” Julie greeted her when she opened the door of her daughter’s car and started to get in. Julie’s eyes shifted from her mother’s face, down to her faded striped T-shirt, blue jeans, and finally to the dinosaur socks. “Frankly, Mom, and I say this lovingly. The whole outfit is scary, but are you really wearing those to a business meeting with the Buchanons? I know they’re from Harry but, a business meeting?” She pointed to the socks.
Emma tried to defend herself. “It’s not exactly a business meeting, is it? I mean it’s about PR not an IPO, right?”
“It’s my business,” Julie reminded her angrily. “No matter how superficial and pointless you think my work is for a bunch of spoiled, socially useless parasites.”
“Your words not mine, Julie,” Emma interrupted.
“Oh forget it,” Julie sighed. “Just tell me this. What possible reason can I give for your even being at this meeting? Much less dressed like that?”
Emma had to admit. That was a good point. Her initial response, that since moving to Blissburg she pretty much went everywhere with her daughter, wasn’t going to fly. She thought for a moment while Julie drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.
