Isabella tells her about her scare yesterday when she was getting a mammogram.
Her friend scolds her, “Why didn’t you tell me you had a lump on your breast?”
“I just wished it would go away.”
“I’m so glad you’re okay!”
“Me, too. I got big plans with these girls,” Isabella says, looking down her low-necked blouse and cupping her breasts.
They both start laughing.
Their conversation is interrupted by a patron who says that the copier has a paper jam. Isabella looks sheepishly over at Nicole. I hope he didn’t overhear me saying that.
*******
That night, Isabella can’t stop thinking about her detective. She wants to call him, but can’t come up with a good excuse. It would be so nice if I could just bump into him somewhere. But where? Outside the police station would appear like I am stalking him. I don’t want to scare him away. Then, she gets an inspiration. He told me that he likes Sarducci’s. Maybe I might see him there? It’s a long shot, but I like going to San Juan Capistrano anyway.
She gets a further inspiration. Why don’t I take the train down there? It will feel like I’m on vacation. That settles it and off she goes to the train depot.
Chapter Twenty-One
Isabella has loved coming to the new train depot in Santa Ana ever since it first opened. It is a beautifully-designed building that reminds her of some of the Spanish-style buildings in Santa Barbara. It’s adorned with colorful mosaic tiles and has coffered ceilings. She sits in the courtyard and waits for her train—The Pacific Surfliner. While looking around, she sees a wide array of passengers: from a tired looking man with one hand on a cane and another holding a suitcase; to a little girl with Hello Kitty overnight bags who’s probably going to the San Diego Zoo or Sea World; to tipsy and giggling ladies wearing outrageous hats who are probably on their way to the horse races at Del Mar; and a Franciscan brother wearing a white robe, sandals, and wooden rosary beads that are hanging down from his waist. The station announcer’s voice is muffled and no one can tell if he’s speaking Spanish or English. When everyone sees the southbound train approach, there’s a mad dash to get on board and be among the lucky who get window seats with views of the ocean. Isabella is one of the lucky ones, and sits next to a window. The train resumes its journey and she watches the graffiti-covered warehouses go by, then the blimp hangars, and then the few remaining strawberry fields. The distance to San Juan Capistrano is about twenty-three miles and the train ride takes about thirty minutes to get there. When the train slows down to enter the depot in San Juan Capistrano, Isabella sees a little neighborhood next to it that has restaurants that look like trendy wooden shacks. She also sees gardens with palm and banana trees, cactus and bougainvillea bushes.
The train door opens and she’s terrified to see a two-foot drop without any stairs. She’s wearing spiked heels and would’ve fallen off the train and twisted her ankle if it wasn’t for a kind elderly man with a cane who offered his other hand to help her get off. After thanking him profusely, she walks over to the restaurant and parks herself at a table in the courtyard next to the fountain.
The waiter sees her and comes over to ask her if she’d like anything to drink. She orders a Chardonnay and the tilapia with mango sauce entrée. She watches all the busy travelers waiting for the next train. She loves all the hustle and bustle, and the sound of the bells that signal the approach of a new train coming into the station. A Metrolink train approaches and its brakes screech as it comes to a stop in front of the restaurant. In about five minutes, she watches the arrival of the northbound Amtrak. She looks around at the other diners and doesn’t see her detective in the crowd. She decides to wander around the restaurant a bit and grabs her wine glass and purse. She walks along a narrow hallway that has a single row of tables lining the windows, looking out at the trains. To the right is a small room with a brick arch that says, “Waiting Room”. It has a gas fireplace that’s been turned on. There is only one couple inside and they are having a serious discussion. The woman is crying and the man is holding her hand. His cufflinks sparkle in the firelight. Isabella does a double-take and stops in her tracks.
Oh my God! Isabella thinks when she recognizes the couple who are having the tete a tete. It’s Karen Black and Hamid from the mystery dinner theater. She stops, backs up, and peeks her head around the archway, trying to overhear what they are talking about. There’s a loud football game playing on the TV in the nearby bar, but Isabella manages to hear Karen say, “I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this!” Karen then stands up out of her chair and throws down her napkin on the table. Isabella scrambles away before she can be recognized by either of them. Hamid follows Karen out the door towards the parking lot. Isabella is right on their trail and going out the door when she hears her waiter say, “Madame, you haven’t paid your bill yet.”
She is very embarrassed and says, “Oh. I was just going to the restroom.”
“It’s inside; not outside,” he reminds her.
“Of course it is,” she says. “How stupid of me. Where’s my head these days?!” She settles her bill and walks out to the parking lot. There’s no sign of either of them. She comes back inside to finish her tilapia, but sees that the busboy has already cleared her table. She tells the waiter that she wants it back and he’s able to retrieve it. After that, she’s too embarrassed to stay much longer and abandons her hope to casually bump into the detective tonight.
*******
On the train ride back home, Isabella closes her eyes and concocts her latest fantasy starring herself and the detective. This one finds the two of them in Paris, where he has just booked two tickets for a trip on The Orient Express. They will be traveling overnight to Venice. She tells him, “Don, you shouldn’t have. We can’t afford the $5000 tickets.”
He answers, “We only get married once. This is the perfect excuse to splurge.”
They hurry to find their special train. They see the trademark blue coaches with yellow piping, adorned with the Orient Express seal. There are stewards in blue uniforms with white gloves helping passengers to their Pullman cabins. Isabella and Don have their own dedicated steward named Henri, who promises to attend to their every need. He leads them to their cabin, and when seeing their room, Isabella is lost for breath. She says, “This is the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen. Look at these gorgeous polished wood panels,” she says, running her hands along them. “And the carpeting and sofa colors!! Their purple and blue designs are so vibrant and amazing!”
Henri tells them that he’ll leave them alone so that they can get settled in their room. “Perhaps you’d like to dress for dinner? It is in thirty minutes. I’ll come and get you.”
After he leaves, Isabella says, “I thought we were already ‘dressed for dinner’.”
She and Don laugh. She says, “Isn’t this marvelous? I feel like I’m back in the 1920’s—the golden age of travel. She starts opening the cupboards. “Look at this precious little sink here in the corner.”
Don says, “I feel like Hercule Poirot.”
“Just don’t wax your mustache like he does.”
“How would I look with a mustache?” he asks.
“You’d look great. Grow one out. You could take me on mustache rides.”
He pulls her over to him and says, “Come here, you saucy wench. Who taught you to use such salty language?”
“A detective I know, back in Laguna Beach.”
“Right answer,” he says, pulling her down on the sofa. “Do you think we have time for a quickie before Henri comes to get us?”
“We’ll make time,” Isabella says. “I’m so hot right now that if we don’t do something soon, my panties are going to explode.”
Suddenly, she is jolted back to reality by a tap on her shoulder. She opens her eyes and sees an Amtrak conductor who says, “Your ticket, ma’am.”
Damn, she thinks. Just when things were getting good.
He punc
hes her ticket and says, “We’re almost to Santa Ana.”
*******
She gets home, takes off her makeup, and draws a bath. When her head hits the bath pillow, she continues her fantasy. After their quickie, Henri discretely raps at their door. Isabella is fixing her hair and putting on lipstick. Don asks her, “Do you think he’ll be able to tell that we’ve been doing it?”
She blots her red lipstick with a tissue and says, “We’ll find out.”
She opens the door and Henri says, “Bonsoir. Is everything okay in your room?”
“Things are great!” Don assures him, looking at Isabella and winking. He hands Henri a $20.00 tip.
“Please follow me, Madame and Monsieur,” Henri tells them.
They are led into the Pullman dining car that was decorated by Rene Lalique. It has beautiful blue opaque glass showing classical figures. “It was designed in 1929,” their steward tells them. “The car is known as “Cote d’Azur”.
He leaves them in the care of the maître d. They drink champagne out of sparkling crystal glasses that have the emblem of Orient Express etched on them. She orders “Rack of Lamb” and Don orders “Monk Fish Osso Bucco with Saffron.”
After dessert and cognac, they stumble back to their cabin. Don opens the door and sees that the sofa has been converted to a single bed and an upper bunk bed has been pulled down from the ceiling. “Oh, boy! Bunk beds,” Isabella teases him.
The upper bed has a ladder propped up against it. “I don’t think so,” Don says. “We’re spooning. I stopped sleeping in a bunk bed when I was ten at summer camp.” She laughs as he pulls her down onto the lower bed, being careful not to bump her head against the bed above them.
*******
Back home in her Santa Ana bathtub, Isabella opens her eyes, laughs at herself. What an imagination I have!
Chapter Twenty-Two
The following morning, Isabella is torn between calling Detective Sterling to tell him about Karen and Hamid’s secret rendezvous or waiting until she has more information. She’d like to have a complete picture of the nature of their relationship and what it might have had to do with the murder.
Ever since Isabella read her first Nancy Drew story, she’s wanted to be an amateur detective and now’s her chance to really shine--and impress the detective at the same time. She’s been watching a lot of MI5 lately, and admires the undercover agent Zoe Reynolds. She remembers one episode where Zoe had to change her hair color and establish a fake identity in order to get closer to the suspect. Maybe I’ll go undercover. Karen would remember me from the night of the murder, so I’m going to have to change my appearance.
She’s starting to warm up to the idea. I’ve been wanting an excuse to get rid of this long, unruly hair for ages. And why not become a blonde while I’m at it?
But where will I meet her? I know she likes to shop at Missoni but who knows when she might show up. I could be casing the joint for days. And then, she remembers Paula saying that her sister had a standing appointment for a massage at Burke Williams every Wednesday at 10:00 AM, rain or shine. What if I just happened to run into her there and befriend her? She’s probably very vulnerable right now and would love to have someone to talk to. Someone who is a relative stranger and won’t be too judgmental.
I’m going to do it! she concludes. She talks to the library director and asks if she can use a few vacation days to take care of some personal business. The director okays it and the first thing Isabella does is call her hairdresser to make an appointment.
When the people at the beauty parlor hear that she wants to cut her beautiful hair, they try to talk her out of it. Her Australian stylist says, “How could you?! Your one beauty.”
Isabella says, “Isn’t that a line from ‘Little Women’?”
Her hairdresser says, “Huh?”
“Never mind. It’s useless-English-Major stuff. Besides, I’d like to think I had more going for me than my hair.”
“I don’t know, Isabella,” the Aussie says.
“What ever happened to ‘the customer is always right’?”
“I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t come running to me when everyone tells you that you made a mistake.”
“Oh, and while you’re at it, I’d like you dye it platinum blonde.”
“What?! Does your boyfriend know about this?”
“I’m not sure whether or not I actually have a boyfriend right now.”
“Okay. I’ll do it. But I want to take ‘before and after pictures’ first.”
“Oh, brother. I can always grow it back out, you know.”
“That’s true. It’s not a permanent mistake.”
Isabella rolls her eyes and hangs up the phone. She calls Burke Williams and gets an appointment for Wednesday morning. This is going to be fun, she tells herself.
*******
When Isabella opens the big door and steps into Burke Williams, she feels like she’s been transported to heaven. A heaven that looks like Tuscany. There is beautiful tile work and a roaring fire in the fireplace. Big cushy sofas welcome her inside. She feels like her blood pressure has dropped a few numbers. She takes a refreshing breath and walks over to the clear pitcher which holds water infused with cucumbers and lemon slices.
She goes to her locker and puts on a downy soft bathrobe. The showers are wonderful and she lingers in her own private one, positioning the water jets towards each of her favorite places. She makes sure to take advantage of all of their products and liberally lathers her hair with herbal-scented shampoo and conditioner.
She hasn’t brought her bathing suit, but it’s no problem. She’s going to let it all hang out today. To hell with modesty. She leaves the shower and steps into the huge Jacuzzi. There’s a jet that hits the knot in her neck and between her shoulder blades and she feels herself relaxing. She takes a big breath in and slowly lets it out. This is the life, she says to herself.
It’s so early in the morning that she’s the only client there, until she sees Karen walking past the Jacuzzi, headed for the lockers. By the time Karen showers and steps into the Jacuzzi, Isabella feels like a winkled, dried-out prune after being in the water so long. She says to Karen, “Hello. How are you today?”
Karen replies, “Better now that I’m here.”
“Me, too. Are you here for a facial?”
“No. For a massage.”
“I’ve never had one here. Can you recommend anyone?”
“Jasmine is good. She’s who I always see.”
“I’ll remember the name. Do you come here often?”
“Every Wednesday. I’d be a nervous wreck without my weekly massage.”
“My life’s been stressful lately, too.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m seeing this new guy and I don’t know if he likes me as much as I do him.”
“Relationships can be difficult.”
“Men are difficult.”
“I just lost my husband. I’d love to have him alive and being ‘difficult’ again.”
“I’m so sorry,” Isabella says in a soft voice. “Was it cancer?”
“No. He was murdered.”
“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry.”
“Terrible news, isn’t it?”
“Yes! Do the police know who did it?”
“They think I did it.”
“What?!”
“I know. Can you believe it? Little old me killing somebody? I mean, really. I loved my husband. As a matter of fact, I was out of the room when the murder happened.”
“Have you told the police?”
“Yes! They don’t believe me.”
“Did anyone witness you leaving the room?”
“No. My husband was murdered at a dinner theater and, as part of the performance, the room was pitch-black. Unfortunately, right at the moment the room was in total darkness, I felt like I had food poisoning and had to rush to the restroom. I banged myself pretty good trying to find my way there and back.”
&nb
sp; “So it was dark when you came back from the restroom?”
“Yes. And when the lights came on, I saw my husband lying on the floor.”
“I’m so sorry. That must have been so hard for you to see!”
“It was! I’ll be haunted by that memory for the rest of my life.”
“How horrible. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. Oh, I’m really sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
“Please, it’s no bother. I can’t imagine what you must be going through. I think it’s good to talk about it,” Isabella says.
“All through this, I’ve never really had someone to talk to who wasn’t the police or a family member ready to tell me what to do. It feels good to just talk about it and not get judged.”
“Nobody here is going to judge you. Certainly not me.”
They both sit quietly, while Isabella hopes that Karen will say more. After a few minutes, she looks over at Karen and sees the she’s crying.
“I’m so sorry,” Isabella says. “This must be such a difficult time for you!”
“It is. You have no idea.”
Isabella has lost track of the time, and the aesthetician who’s giving her a facial walks by calling out her name.
“It was nice talking to you,” Karen says, as Isabella hurries out of the Jacuzzi and dries herself off.
“Maybe I’ll see you later,” Isabella says.
*******
When Isabella’s facial is finished, she looks around the spa for Karen. She checks the Jacuzzi, the steam room, the sauna, the quiet room, and the lounge with its cozy sofas and fireplace. No sign of Karen. She pours herself a cup of herbal tea and parks herself on the sofa in the lounge, hoping that eventually Karen will come into the room. There is new-age type music playing, which, in other circumstances, Isabella might have laughed at; but being here, it is perfect. She reaches into the pocket of her robe and pulls out the weak reading glasses that she bought at the drug store as part of her disguise. She picks up a magazine lying on the table. While she’s flipping through the pages and trying to focus her eyes, Karen finally walks into the room.
Watchin' The Detective: A Mystery Dinner Romance Page 9
