by Claire Kane
Lacey grabbed her tube of mascara and started brushing the black stuff on her lashes, accentuating their almond shape. “I-I’m shocked.”
“Why? Red has always looked good on you.”
Lacey turned to peer at him over a shoulder. “Not about the makeup. Jessica.”
“Oh. Right. And the fact that Rebecca and Emily somehow play a part in this big puzzle is surprising, too, right?”
“Yes,” Lacey said. “It’s always the people who fly under the radar who are most guilty, it seems. Of course those girls would blame Teddy. Of course.” Her thoughts drifted back to Geo. “And Jack’s photographer just seems to get creepier in retrospect. He did sound jealous of Jessica... and Brittany. We need to follow up on this. I’ll confront Geo today, once I’m done with my job.”
Victor shook his head and stepped over to the window, peering out. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Why? What are you thinking? Too obvious?”
“Yes. That’s why you have a ghost as your teammate, remember? I am the figurative fly on the wall.” He turned back to her. “Let me do some digging around. I’m not sure how long I’ll be. Just sit tight.”
Lacey huffed, not liking to be left out of the excitement. “What can I do? Anything? Oh, maybe I should confront Rebecca and Emily again.”
Victor pursed his lips. “And you know where to find them?”
Lacey nodded, and skillfully applied her eyeliner. When she finished, she turned her head to either side, examining her makeup. “It’ll have to do,” she said before quickly stashing her cosmetics and making for the living room. “Those girls were regulars at the little cafe I used to work at,” she called back to Victor. “The only problem is that I might be in the middle of a shoot at their usual time. Maybe I can get Geo to bump things back a bit while I wait for our ladies.”
Victor shrugged. “Suit yourself. Just don’t go doing anything dangerous. Again.”
Lacey leveled a flat stare at him. “This is why I’m not looking to marry anytime soon, Victor.”
He screwed his face up. “Because you’d rather gamble with your life?”
She threw her hands up. “Because I don’t want a man mollycoddling me as if I’m some baby just because he’s my husband and feels the need to protect me. I don’t need protection.”
Victor folded his hands behind his back and looked at her wordlessly until several unpleasant memories of their last time together flitted through her head. “Okay, fine,” she huffed. “I can use a little help now and again. Just don’t treat me like I’m ignorant or incompetent.”
Victor drifted to her, stopping so close their noses nearly touched. “Lacey Ling, I’ve dated stupid, incompetent girls. You are nothing like them. When I bought that ring—”
“From Wal-Mart online,” Lacey muttered.
“Yes, when I thoughtlessly bought a ring from the wrong place, I did it because I knew I’d found someone extremely intelligent and capable.”
He paused, gazing thoughtfully at her. “Heaven is a place of unspeakable beauty, Lacey. You’d fit in perfectly there. One thing we learn very quickly, in Heaven, is that, with so much ugliness in this world,” and he gestured around them, “things of beauty are to be cherished, sought, and, yes, protected.
“Your beauty,” he continued, “is more than just that makeup, or what you wear. Your beauty is in your heart, your kindness. Your willingness to sacrifice yourself for the good of others—which is exactly what drives you to investigate murders.”
He looked longingly at her. “You don’t know just how valuable you are, Lacey. And if I fail as your guardian, especially through neglect, then they might as well damn me. Because Heaven wouldn’t be Heaven if I knew I couldn’t see you there, or if you got there because I let you suffer.”
Lacey found she couldn’t breathe. A single tear pooled in her eye, but she wiped it away before it could damage her mascara. For a long moment she looked at Victor, remembering the tender moments they’d shared both when he had lived, and then again after he had died.
At last, she caught her breath. “Thank you,” she said softly, reaching up to stroke his ethereal face. “Thank you for believing in me.”
“Always and forever, Lacey.” His smile turned impish. “Now go tear up that runway, and show them how Lacey Ling does things. And good luck finding your girls. I’ll let you know what I find.”
She smiled and nodded once, resolutely, before turning for the door.
Lacey would show the modeling world just how things were done.
TWENTY-SIX
“No, no, and, let me check again… no,” Geo said, eyeing the clipboard he was holding.
Lacey was posing on a box, in one of Trend’s studios, a fake palm tree overhead while a beach ball hid the box from the camera. White sand had been piled up around the scene, and a fan, just outside the camera’s view, played at her hair and the loose beach attire she was in.
She still struggled not to squint in the intense lighting, but the diffusers and a little additional makeup under her eyes made it easier, and even she was pleased with the shots she’d been in this morning. Things had gone well enough that, when the time arrived that she’d wanted to leave to intercept Emily and Rebecca, she’d asked Geo whether she could cut out for an hour or two. Needless to say, he wasn’t helping her pack.
“Look,” she said calmly, “I’ve got another appointment—”
“Honey,” he snapped, “I know you’ve had other jobs. How many of those jobs just let you walk out whenever you liked? I don’t know about you, but in my world, deadlines matter. Do you have any idea just how much inventory we have to get through? Or how far we are behind?”
Lacey put her hands on her hips. “Look, I’m fine working extra hours to help with the deadline. I just need two hours off. Change my clothes, quick trip into town, come back, and get prettied up again. How hard can that be?”
Geo stalked directly toward her and jabbed a finger at her chest. “You leave, and I’ll make sure Beals fills your spot by tomorrow. We picked you because we saw professionalism and talent. Right now, you’re proving us wrong. You sure you want to do that, honey? Maybe Jack Beals is a nice guy, but he’s the face of Trend. He doesn’t have to deal with the ugly side of what makes a business actually work. When do you see him behind a camera? Or rearranging props, or directing a crew? I don’t think he appreciates how much I do as his little work whore.”
Lacey narrowed her eyes at him, and Geo stopped, face flushing. He cleared his throat loudly and refused to meet her gaze. He snapped his fingers in the direction of some of the studio crew. “Mike. Steve. Clarissa. Let’s get set up for the Tuscan shoot. I need every last grain of sand gone in ten minutes. Suck it up with your mouth if you can’t find a vacuum or broom. Chop, chop!” He clapped his hands twice and headed for the dressing rooms.
“Ling,” he called over his shoulder, “you’re doing that shoot, too. You and the other new girl. Let’s get to it.”
Lacey perked up. “Other new girl?”
Geo didn’t answer, but, instead, power-walked with his usual hip sway off the set, leaving Lacey to fume slightly.
No matter, she told herself. I can play this game better than he can.
*
The dressing room was controlled chaos. A dozen girls in various states of undress scurried about, several parked in front of mirrors, peering at themselves while hastily applying makeup. The whir of hairdryers competed with the call of commands, summoning girls to this studio or that. The air seemed to have more hairspray than oxygen. Lacey had seen this kind of thing on television, but it was different to be living it. She felt so crowded, but noticed that no one seemed to have time to care about personal space or comfort. Hairstylists tugged, twisted, and yanked some girls’ heads around, while the girls themselves sat stoically in chairs. Other girls were able to shed formal gowns quicker than on prom night, and replaced them with swimwear in mere moments; some didn’t even bother to step behind the pr
ivacy partitions in the process.
The sheer energy of the room was both dizzying and exhilarating, and she wondered what she had gotten herself into. Then she remembered so many days on the newsroom floor, or in various press conferences; the same level of vitality had marked her time as a reporter. Switching into “business mode,” she immediately went to work, reporting directly to the stylist Geo had assigned her.
The moment she sat in her chair and began undoing her blouse, she heard a gasp. Her eyes whipped up to see a stunning redhead—her hair still being styled—sitting next to her. It was the girl from the coffee shop.
“You work here?” the girl asked. “I thought you were just a barista.”
Lacey searched for the girl’s name for a moment, then realized that she wouldn’t have known it had Victor not eavesdropped on the girl’s conversation with the cops. Instead, she smiled and waved. “Yep. Little career change. The coffee shop was just for fun after I left my last job. Hi,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m Lacey.”
The girl’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully while her stylist twirled her red locks around a curling iron. “Lacey?” At once, awe crossed her face. “Lacey—like, that reporter woman from KZTB? Lacey Ling?”
A few heads turned briefly in her direction, but Lacey ignored the looks; she’d gotten used to them long since. She nodded.
“Oh… my… gosh! I can’t believe that Lacey Ling was serving my mochaccino! And now I get to model with her! Oh, Emily is going to be so jealous.”
“Emily?” Lacey tested. A stylist stepped up behind her and pressed against her lower back, a gesture telling Lacey to sit taller. Lacey complied instantly, her head tilting back enough to allow easy access to the hair pins.
The redhead nodded. “Emily, my friend. She always came with me to the coffee shop, so you met her, too.”
“I’m sorry,” Lacey said, as her stylist went to work on a coif, “I didn’t catch your name.”
The girl blushed. “Oh, sorry. Rebecca. Just don’t call me ‘Becky’. That’s what my Dad always calls me, and it makes me feel like a little girl again.”
“Rebecca, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Rebecca nodded, earning a frown and a rebuke from her stylist. “So how long have you been working here?”
Lacey closed her mouth and eyes as a makeup artist powdered her face. When the artist finished, she replied, “This is my first day.”
“Really?” Rebecca said. “Mine too. But I bet you didn’t need to apply for their scholarship to get in. I’m sorry I didn’t notice it at the coffee shop, but you are gorgeous.”
Lacey smiled gently. “For a plus size, I suppose.”
Rebecca scoffed. “You are nothing like fat. Not like these thunder thighs,” and she gestured at her legs. I practically had to beg to get in here.”
Lacey allowed her stylist to turn her head, and waited patiently while some styling work was done. When she was able to look at Rebecca again, she replied, “You said something about a scholarship. Aside from the fact that you’re beautiful, I imagine you must have the GPA to back it up if you’re getting a scholarship.”
Rebecca opened her mouth to reply, but Geo stormed in. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go! Tuscan shoot in three, Studio A; San Marcos in seven, Studio B. Let’s move, people!”
Both Lacey and Rebecca’s stylists quickly applied finishing touches, and both of them were handed their new outfits. They both donned them quickly and, while Lacey buttoned up Rebecca’s dress, the college student glanced over her shoulder. In hushed tones, she said, “Hey, maybe it’s super forward of me, but we’re having a party tonight, up on the north end of the peninsula. You could totally come join us. I mean, if you wanted. I mean, I know you’re Lacey Ling. I still can’t believe I didn’t recognize you sooner.”
Knowing Nainai would be safe with her new nurse, and unwilling to ignore an investigative opportunity that had dropped right in her lap, Lacey nodded and smiled. “Actually, that sounds fun. You can count me in.”
*
The rest of the day was a drawn-out blur. Lacey was poked, prodded, and primped more times than she cared to count, as she moved from studio to studio, changing clothing and makeup the way couch potatoes changed the channel. Dinnertime had passed when Geo finally called it, and Lacey was ready to drop into bed. She’d heard how demanding modeling could be, but nothing had prepared her for the endless spells of standing perfectly still under glaring light, or wishing you could sweat but being mortified of it at the same time, nor the apparent disregard for personal space. As she tottered across the street toward her car on cramped legs, she wondered how long she wanted to continue this.
“Hey, Lacey!”
Lacey finished crossing, then pivoted to see Rebecca waving at her from across the street. She smiled and waved back, though the move hurt her face, and it bothered her to realize that every part of her ached at least a little. It had definitely been a long day of work. Still, she held her smile until the perky redhead had cleared the crosswalk.
“So, uh,” Rebecca began, glancing everywhere but at Lacey, and tucking a strand of hair behind her head, “did you, uh, still want to, you know, go to that party I mentioned earlier?”
Lacey smiled again. She wanted nothing more than to drive carefully home and sleep for ten hours, but this was a lead she didn’t feel she could pass up; Rebecca seemed to know a startling amount about more things than she rightfully should. “Sure. Should I just follow you? I’m parked right over there,” and she gestured a little further down the pier. “Where are you parked?”
Even in the dark, Lacey could see the redhead blush. “Yeah, I don’t have a car, so…”
Lacey grinned. “Don’t worry. We’ll take mine.”
Rebecca’s eyes whipped up. “Are you serious?”
Lacey nodded and headed for her car, her fellow model trailing her like an affectionate kitten.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Standing outside Lacey’s dressing room, Victor felt mortified, which, he noted, wasn’t a terribly hard place to reach as a guardian angel. He’d followed Lacey to work, and then watched her shoots, telling himself he was there to find the photographer Lacey called “Geo.”
Without thinking through the implications, he’d followed her to the changing areas after her first shoot. He was out the door against in a flash, wondering whether he’d be allowed into Heaven again after seeing what went on in there, and with so many babes.
Eventually, he managed to convince himself he was overreacting, and after a brief conversation with Rao, was assured that he hadn’t inadvertently put himself on the “naughty list” with the Big Man. He was just coming to terms with his mistake when the little, flamboyantly-dressed photographer stormed out of the dressing room, still calling over his shoulder. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go! Tuscan shoot in three, Studio A; San Marcos in seven, Studio B. Let’s move, people!”
A gaggle of cronies trailed in his wake. Victor picked out their thoughts easily. Two were interns, both desperate to make a good impression so they could land a job somewhere, one was a new hire who practically sweat desperation and was so concerned about not offending Geo and losing his job that he almost couldn’t walk straight. Only one of the photographer’s entourage seemed to have any real experience, and they were simultaneously nervous, bored, and eager.
Geo, for his part, was a tornado of thought. Victor wondered whether Geo were actually even male. He shook the thoughts away and followed the man through the hall and into a lavishly-appointed, if small, office on the second floor. A desk, buried under a mountain of photos of more women than Victor had ever known in his life, occupied the center of the room. Behind it was a kneeling chair, something Victor had only ever seen pictures of, but never actually used. Clocks and calendars fought with autographed images of various celebrities and a 48-inch television for wall space. A disheveled row of binders seemed ready to burst off the shelving behind the desk, and, to round out the chaos, a pair of potted plants and
a parakeet rounded out the scene.
“Not sure how you can work in this, dude, but hey. More power to you. I know a guy who can get you a good deal on some used parakeets.” He laughed, remembering the warehouse full of them that Lacey’s former boss had once owned.
Geo froze, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. He cocked his head ever so slightly and, at once, his mind seemed to blank. Slowly, he turned his head to either side, then straightened
Victor would have held his breath had he had any to hold. Something seemed to slither through him, and he felt as though he were suddenly standing naked in Seattle’s Winterfest Ice Rink. Something inside warned him to leave, but he had no idea why, other than the fact that things had just turned creepy. Cautiously, he drifted toward the door, but stopped when Geo jerked open a desk drawer, causing a cascade of photographs to spill onto the floor. The images caught his eye and froze him in his tracks. Staring back at him from the dull, matte prints were dozens of girls in various states of undress and a variety of poses, all of which made him cringe more than anything he’d stumbled across in the dressing room. Without fail, all of them looked dazed, and most had desperation clear in their eyes. He found he was able to feel every moment of whatever sadness they’d endured in whatever events surrounded the various photographs, and his heart sank lower than he thought possible.
Cries and moans echoed through his mind, and the whole room seemed to turn gray.
“Save us,” he heard in his mind. “Please. Anyone.” And suddenly, he was in a hundred different, filthy hotels rooms, feeling as though his mind were nothing more than a cloud of smoke, vaguely aware that his body was being put to a use he didn’t want to think about. He tried to pull away, but every face of every girl seemed to twist a strand of sorrow and disgust around his mind that bound him like steel cables. He sank to his knees as the room began spinning. He heard a hiss of static, followed by slurred voices. Barely able to raise his head, he wished he hadn’t. Geo had turned on the TV. Darkness oozed from the screen as scenes of unspeakable perversions played out across it; Victor felt powerless to look away.
