Drop Dead Gorgeous (34 page)

She looked stunned. "But… why?"

"His wife loved her bedroom the way it was. She hates the new style and refuses to even sleep in the room. She's so furious at him for getting rid of her
antiques,
she tried to hit him with her car."

"Oh my God.
You're joking. She doesn't like that room? But it's gorgeous!"

She hadn't even blinked an eye at hearing Sally had tried to maim Jazz, but she was honestly disbelieving that anyone could not like her creations.

Wow. I admire alternate reality as much as anyone, but there's such a thing as too much disconnect.

"I'm trying to save this marriage," I said. All of this whispering was really, really beginning to be a strain. "Here's what I want you to do: go pick up that furniture and put it in your consignment shop, or, since it's never been used, sell it again as new. Technically it may not be, but since you never got the final approval on the job I'd say it's still ongoing." She stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the client isn't happy with the job."

"I've received complete payment, so I'd say he was." Her cheeks were turning red.

"Jazz
Arledge
is a babe in the woods when it comes to decorating. He knows nothing about it. You could have nailed skunk hides to the walls and he wouldn't have known to protest. I
don't
think you deliberately took advantage of him, and I
do
think you're a smart enough businesswoman to see the advantage in redoing this bedroom, but this time working with Mrs.
Arledge
, who is miserably unhappy." She regarded me thoughtfully. "Explain, please." I waved my hand toward the showroom. "Your reputation precedes you. People who like the modern
avant
garde
look love your work, but potential customers who go for a more traditional look don't come to you because they think you don't do that kind of work."

"Of course I do," she said automatically. "The look isn't what I prefer, it isn't my signature style, but my ultimate goal is to please my client."

I beamed at her. "That's very good to hear. By the way, I don't believe I've mentioned that my mother is

Mrs.
Arledge's
best friend.
She's in real estate, so maybe you've heard of her. Tina Mallory?"

Comprehension crept into her eyes. Mom's a former Miss North Carolina, and she sells a lot of real estate. If Mom started recommending Monica, the business potential could be enormous.

She reached for a sketch pad, and with remarkable memory swiftly sketched out Sally's bedroom. She worked quickly, colored pencils flying across the sheet. "What do you think of this?" she asked, turning the pad around so I could see what she'd done.

The look was richly comfortable, with color in the fabrics, and the furniture warm with wood. "I remember those antiques," she said. "They were wonderful quality; I can't replace them, but I can probably find one or two smaller, really good pieces that will give the same feel."

"Mrs.
Arledge
would love it," I said. "But I'll warn you up front that Jazz isn't willing to pay another penny. He's very bitter about the whole experience."

"He'll feel differently when I'm finished," she said, smiling. "And I won't lose a penny on this, I promise you."

Having seen the markups on that invoice, I believed her.

Two-thirds of my
mission were
accomplished. Now for the hardest part: Sally.

Chapter Twenty-five

Even though logically the stalker couldn't know where I was, I still looked around very carefully when I left Sticks and Stones.
All clear.
I didn't think I'd ever be able to see a white Chevrolet again without feeling an automatic twinge of panic, which, when you think about it, would be a major pain in the ass. As Wyatt had mentioned, there are thousands and thousands of white Chevrolets. I could be in a permanent twinge.

I needed something hot to drink for my throat, and I needed fabric for my gown. And, damn it, I still needed to call the phone and cable companies—no, damn it, I'd probably have to go in person, to prove my identity, since I didn't have the account numbers. I also still had to go shopping for clothes. And my boots! My blue boots! They would be returned as undeliverable, but I wanted them. Unfortunately, I didn't have my order number because all of that had burned up with the condo, so I couldn't even contact
Zappos
and have them redirected.

I brightened. I could order another pair, though, from Wyatt's computer.

Siana
called while I was on the way to my next-favorite mall. "Mom said you couldn't talk at all. Tap the phone once if that's true."

"It was true yesterday," I whispered.

"I heard that! How do you feel?"

"Better." I looked for a McDonald's. A cup of coffee would improve things even more.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not yet." Right now I was still at the stage where I had to handle it all.

"Do you have any idea who set the fire?"

"I saw her face," I managed to croak, "and she's familiar, but I can't place her."

Logical
Siana
said, "Well, since all of this started recently, she has to relate somehow to one of the places you've been recently. Start thinking of them, and eventually something with click."

"That's what I thought, but I've gone over and over my routine, and I can't place her anywhere."

"Then it's someplace that isn't part of your normal routine."

I thought about that while I plowed through stores in the mall. This had all started at the other mall, where I had gone into a lot of stores. Was that where I'd seen her? I tried to remember something unusual happening in any of the
stores, that
would have caused her face to stick in my mind like that. The idea distracted me while I tried on shoes, and that's just not right, because buying shoes is one of the great joys of life. I should have been able to devote my full attention to the ritual.

I didn't try to replace my entire wardrobe in one fell swoop—that would have been impossible—but I did try to cover all possible needs: work clothes, play clothes, dressy clothes. I definitely splurged on new underwear sets, because that's one of my weaknesses, too. Between what had been cut off me in hospitals and what I'd lost in the fire…

My breath literally caught in my chest.

The hospital
.
That was where I'd seen her.

She was the nurse with the bad dye job who had chatted with me for such a long time, while she kept ripping bandages off my scrapes. Then I'd been in so much pain from the concussion that it hadn't really registered at the time, but she'd been unnecessarily rough with those bandages, as if she'd been
trying
to hurt me.

Her hair had been that ugly brown then, and very blond when I'd seen her in the crowd at the fire scene, but it was the same woman. Maybe blond was her normal color, and the bad dye job was because she'd hastily dyed her hair that very morning, as a disguise.
A disguise from what?
I hadn't known her from Adam's house cat then. But for some reason she hadn't wanted me to see her with blond hair.

In that case, why would she then bleach her hair? Why not leave it the ugly flat brown?

I grabbed my cell phone and checked the service; there was only one bar, so I gathered my purchases and made a beeline for the nearest exit. As soon as I stepped out into the sunshine the number of bars went to three, and a second later to four. I punched in Wyatt's cell number.

"Are you all right?" he barked as a greeting, in the middle of the second ring.

"I remember her," I said as loudly and clearly as I could, because there was a lot of noise around me, with traffic passing by. My voice croaked horribly, breaking in the middle of the words, then losing volume entirely. "She's a
nurse
at the
hospital
."

"Say again, I couldn't understand you. Did you say hospital?"

I tried again, this time in the loudest whisper I could manage. At least my voice didn't break when I whispered. "She's a nurse at the hospital."

"One of the nurses?
You're sure?"

"Yes," I whispered emphatically. "Not in the ER, on the floor, he came into my room, chatted, ripped my bandages off—"

"Blair, where are you?" he interrupted.

"Mall.
Different one."
Now I had to think the incident at the other mall had been happenstance, because that was before I'd met Nurse Nutcase.

"Come to the station, right now. We need a description, more to go on than we have so far, and I can barely understand you. I'll meet you there."

The Fates were against me. It was absolutely not meant for me to find material for my wedding gown, to get my errands accomplished, or to get Sally and Jazz back together. On the other hand, not getting killed certainly had to be a priority.

In my need to get cell service, I'd gone out the nearest exit instead of the one where I'd entered, so I went back into the mall and walked to the other end. When I entered the parking deck, once again I found myself checking for white Chevrolets. I started to get angry with myself,
then
realized she was still out there; I couldn't afford to assume there was no way she could find me. There was always a way, if she was determined enough.

I drove to the police department, took the elevator up. Wyatt was in his office, the door open. He was on the phone, but looked up and saw me, waved me in. He also beckoned to Forester, who came in, too, and closed the door behind him. Wyatt got off the phone,
then
turned that green laser look on me. "Start at the beginning."

I took a deep breath. "I finally placed her. She's a floor nurse at the hospital. She came into my room, was really friendly, chatted for a while, but she kept ripping my bandages off, and she was really rough doing it."

He looked angry, his jaw working a little. "Did anyone else see her?"

"
Siana
was there."

"Describe her."

"About my age, maybe a little older.
It was hard to tell.
Very pretty, with greenish hazel eyes.
Brown hair, but it was a bad dye job. She must have bleached the dye out afterward, which is really hard to do, and that threw me off when she turned up at the fire scene as a blonde."