Chapter 5
Liza sat in the parking lot of the FBI building and cried. She wasn’t sure she had ever been more humiliated. The way that man had looked at her. Her tears increased and she rested her head on the steering wheel. When her phone rang she knew it was
Marion
. She sniffed a few times before answering.
“How did it go?”
Marion
asked.
Liza let out a sob.
Marion
was one of the few people in the world she was comfortable crying in front of.
“That well, huh?”
Marion
said. “I have some news that might cheer you up. I called Trés Classique and they have an opening. You can go right now if you’re up to it.”
“Oh, I’m up to it,” Liza said. She started her car and put it in drive. “The sooner I get rid of this mustard mop the better.”
Marion
laughed. “Let me know how it turns out. And I already gave them my credit card. My treat.”
“Mar, you don’t have to do that.”
“Sure I do. It’s my fault and we both know it. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” They disconnected and Liza drove straight to the salon.
When she arrived she wanted to turn and go back home again. The stylist who greeted her was her mother’s age. She had flashbacks to the Hungarian woman who ruined her hair. Weren’t stylists supposed to be young?
But, unlike the Hungarian, this one looked trendy.
“Oh, my dear,” the woman said. She opened her arms to Liza and hugged her tightly. It was like hugging her mom, if her mom was married to a plastic surgeon who made her look as young and thin as this woman. “Oh, honey. You should never try to color your hair yourself.”
“I didn’t,” Liza insisted. Tears filled her eyes again. Why did everyone think the worst of her today?
“Don’t tell me someone calling herself a professional did this to you,” the woman said. Her nametag read Tina. She sounded aghast.
Liza nodded. “And charged seventy five dollars for the privilege.”
Tina clapped her hand over her mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.” She removed her hand and led Liza to a chair. “Come on. Let’s get you fixed up. What were you going for originally?”
“Gold highlights, but I don’t want that anymore. I just want it back to normal.”
“Nonsense,” Tina said dismissively. “A girl as beautiful as you should play up your assets.”
And that was when Liza decided that, for better or worse, until death did them part, Tina was going to be her stylist forever. No one but her mom had ever called her beautiful.
After a few hours of anxiety she felt Tina had earned her trust and devotion. She convinced Liza to go a couple of shades darker than her normal light brown. Apparently her coloring was too fair for her hair color. She also convinced her to go for the gold highlights and add a few face framing layers. (“Your eyes have gold flecks; play those up.”) Somehow she also allowed herself to be talked into having her eyebrows waxed. (“Like two fuzzy caterpillars up there. Trust me; it will make a huge difference.”)
And it did. Somehow all the changes brought out the subtle prettiness in her face and made it not subtle anymore. Now she was actively pretty, and she stared at herself in wonder as Tina beamed triumphantly behind her.
“We carry a line of cosmetics here,” Tina said. “Are you interested in a makeover?”
Liza nodded dumbly. At this point she would do whatever Tina suggested. For her own sake she hoped Tina wasn’t a member of some obscure cult she would now have to join.
Tina deftly handed her off to a makeup artist who explained in the gentlest possible terms that Liza was a complete nincompoop who had been applying makeup incorrectly her entire life.
“Why would you smear makeup over these freckles? They’re adorable,” the makeup artist said. She stared so closely at Liza’s nose she appeared cross-eyed.
Liza would have bitten her lip if it weren’t being worked on at the moment. She had hated her light smattering of freckles ever since a boy teased her about them in the fourth grade. Since then she had spent untold amounts of money to cover them. She
had trusted Tina, though, and that had turned out well. She would put her faith in this woman, too.
Almost an hour later she was glad she had. Her eyes, which she had always found ordinary, were now luminous, and, as Tina had said, gold-flecked. How had she looked at herself every day and never noticed that detail? Her freckles stood out, but now she looked somehow cute and sophisticated.
Her full lips, which she had always thought her best feature, looked even better now that they didn’t dominate her face. It was the first time she had ever looked in a mirror and thought the person looking back at her was pretty. Always before she had been passable. She wasn’t in danger of being signed for a modeling contract, but she could hold her own now, even next to Scarlet who had become her measuring stick for every standard.
Dirk called her as soon as she finished paying. The bill, including a full line of makeup, was so massive there was no way she would make
Marion
pay.
“Hey,” she said cheerfully. Her makeover had forced every bad event from her mind, so it was surprising when he sounded reserved, glum, even.
“Hey.”
“What’s wrong?” She shoved her giant bag of makeup and hair products in the car and sat down.
“I’ve got to go out of town for a week,” he said.
She gripped the phone hard. She had been looking forward to a big reveal of her new look. “Why?”
“Business.” He sighed.
She frowned. He was a used car salesman. What business could cause him to travel?
“I was hoping to see you tonight, but that’s not going to happen. Are you feeling better?”
Her cheeks pinked, remembering the way she had clung to him so desperately. Had that only been last night?
“Much,” she said with conviction. Her makeover had given her a new lease on life. “Thank you. I’ll miss you,” she added tentatively. Usually he came and went as he pleased and she made no claim on him, emotional or otherwise. The freedom was what kept him coming back.
“I’ll miss you, too,” he said. She could tell he was smiling and her heart rhythm increased until he continued. “I haven’t had a decent meal in days. Nobody cooks like you, Babe. See you. I’ll call when I can.”
She snapped her phone shut and tossed it in her purse. Of course she had been stupid to hope he actually missed her. What he really needed was wholesome food. Cynically she wondered if he was even going out of town. Maybe he was simply dodging her after her clingy display. She dismissed that idea as quickly as it arrived. If there was one thing Dirk was, it was honest. He had never lied to her once in five years. After seeing how easily some of
Marion
’s loser boyfriends had lied to her, Liza was even more thankful for Dirk’s honesty.
She spent that evening with Puck and Marion who were properly impressed and amazed by her transformation.
“Mar told me you went to see Link,” Puck said. “How did it go?”
“Uh,” Liza searched for a way to phrase it nicely but failed to find one. “I think I might hate him, and I’ve never hated anyone before.”
“What?” Puck leaned forward on his elbows. “He wasn’t nice to you?”
Liza shook her head.
“But he’s like the nicest guy ever.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Maybe they were forcing him to act that way.”
Liza looked at
Marion
for an explanation, but
Marion
shrugged as if to say, “Who can understand the mind of Puck?”
After the successful reveal of her new look, Liza searched her memory for more people who might appreciate the change. Her mind gravitated to her older brother, but quickly turned away from that idea. If she wasn’t covered in binary code, he wouldn’t notice anything about her. It had been a while since she heard from him, though, so she dialed him on her way home.
“Bryce,” she said. “How are you?”
“Who is this?” he asked.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m not. What’s up, sis?”
“I got a makeover.”
“Fascinating.” He sounded bored.
“And I got a new computer.”
“Really?” There was a shuffling sound as if he sat up. “How many CPU’s?”
“I didn’t really get a new computer. That was an experiment to see if you would actually take some sort of interest in my life.”
“Are you twelve again, drama queen? What gives?” It sounded like he was now munching on something. She didn’t want to know what it might be. He was the only thirty year old she knew who still dressed and ate like a teenager.
She sighed. “Nothing. Bad day, I guess.”
“Let me guess, Dirk?”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Because it’s always Dirk. He’s had you twisted up in knots for five years and I’m tired of it. Cut him loose. You can do better.”
“No I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” he said emphatically.
“You’re biased,” she said, but his words still pleased her.
“No I’m not. I’m a single guy who knows what’s out there. Believe me when I tell you that someone like you, someone who is normal, nice, and can cook, is not easy to find. If Dirk doesn’t throw himself at your feet and kiss your toes, he’s a moron.”
His words made her feel good, but coming from him they were confusing. Of the two, he was much more reserved with his emotions as well as his words.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Something has to be wrong for me to say nice things to my little sister?”
“Bryce,” she pressed.
He sighed. “Fine. Kelsey dumped me.”
It had been too long since they talked because she had no idea he was even dating anyone. “I’m sorry. How long were you together?”
“A year.”
“A year,” she echoed. “You never told me. I never even met her.”
“That would explain why she thinks I’m aloof and emotionally unavailable.” He sighed again. “It’s a lot easier to be there for other people than it is to let them be there for you. Have you ever noticed that?”
“Yes.” She knew exactly what he meant because she was the same way. She would drop anything to help Dirk with anything but, until last night, she had never asked him for anything, at least not emotionally. Occasionally she asked him to change a light bulb or two. “That’s what we get for having parents who like to serve others.”
He chuckled. They had spent most Thanksgivings and many Christmases serving food at homeless shelters. Serving others was bored into their brains from birth.
“There’s such a thing as too much of a good thing,” he said. “I can’t seem to ask anyone for anything.”
He had never been so candid with her before and it was a revelation. Maybe he didn’t hole up in his apartment and surround himself with computers because he wanted to. Maybe he did it because he didn’t know any other way.
He was in a rare, chatty mood and she listened with glazed eyes while he talked about his latest work project. If anyone needed a makeover, it was Bryce. He had her brown hair and hazel eyes, but he was tall and lanky. His standard uniform was sneakers, jeans and a t-shirt. Occasionally he mixed it up by adding a hoodie. If he drank, he would most likely get carded because he still looked fifteen.
Finally she realized he had stopped speaking. She was safely inside her house, so they disconnected and she went to bed.
Chapter 6
Two days later Link Stone stood outside Liza Benson’s house with his figurative hat in his hand. The more he had learned about her the last couple of days, the more anxious he became to make amends. He had expected to have his suspicions confirmed and find she was as nutty as a fruitcake. Instead she was a mild-mannered schoolteacher whose only brush with the law had been a couple of speeding tickets. He had been so desperate to find something on her that he tracked down the actual tickets to read the disposition, hoping to see the officers note her mental instability, but they both commented on her politeness.
He finally raised his hand to knock. When she answered, he knew he was in trouble. His last vestige of belief in her lunacy had been her hair. No one normal had hair that bad. But now she stood before him polished and pretty from the top of her dark brown head to the tips of her perfectly manicured toes. He had taken what was obviously the worst hair day in history as a sign of her insanity, and now he was going to have to eat a whole lot of crow. If she complained about his behavior, he could end up stationed in
Antarctica
.
It was too much to hope for a friendly smile, but her wounded expression cut him deeply. He must have been more brusque with her than he realized, or she was extremely sensitive.
“Have you come to finish the job and embarrass me to death?” she asked.
He winced. “Miss Benson, may I come in? I have some things I would like to discuss with you.”
She arched an eyebrow at him.
“It’s about your case.”
Her arms crossed over her chest.
“I’ve been looking into things since we spoke.”
She tapped her bare foot impatiently.
“All right, I’m sorry. Geez,” he blurted, and immediately regretted his harsh tone. If she was sensitive, he had probably ruined any headway he was trying to make.
Instead of closing the door in his face she left it open and turned to the kitchen. He thought it was his cue to leave until she spoke.
“Do you want some iced tea? It’s hot outside.”
Relief washed over him. He closed the door and followed her to the kitchen. “Tea sounds great.” Groveling can make a man thirsty, he realized. He sat at the kitchen table without being invited and froze, uncertain if he should get back up and wait for an invitation. He wasn’t normally so unsure of himself, but he didn’t normally mess up this badly. Or if he did, he didn’t usually care about making things right again.
She poured him a large glass of tea and set out a plate of cookies. He nibbled one tentatively and found it was delicious. It looked and tasted homemade. The women of his acquaintance didn’t usually bake. He gobbled down another before remembering he was here for information and not an after school snack.
The way she was watching him didn’t help, with a benign smile like she was his mom and he had just finished all his vegetables.
“Is it all right if I verify some information with you?” he asked.
She nodded and folded her hands on the table in front of her.
“Your name is Elizabeth Benson.”
She nodded.
“And your nickname is Liza.”
Another nod.
He looked up from the pad of paper in front of him. “Isn’t that an unusual nickname for someone so young?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. He ducked his head to hide his smile. She had freckles on her nose. Cute, very cute.
“Why do your parents live in
Singapore
?” He worked to keep the suspicion out of his tone.
Singapore
was a hotbed of international crime right now.
“They’re missionaries.”
He frowned. That was an unexpected answer. “Is that where you grew up?”
“No. I grew up in
Brighton
, a couple of hours away from here. My dad was a pastor and my mom was a teacher. They moved to
Singapore
after they retired.”
He nodded as if this made perfect sense to him, but it didn’t. He had been to
Singapore
. He couldn’t imagine moving there on purpose.
“And you have one brother three years older.”
“Yes. His name is Bryce.”
His hand tensed on his pen. Did she know her brother’s true occupation? “And what does he do?”
“He’s a computer programmer.”
He searched her face and tone, but she looked perfectly innocent. He nodded and made note not to mention her brother again. With his track record lately he didn’t trust himself not to blurt out the truth.
“Your boyfriend is Dirk Xavier.”
He looked up when she didn’t answer. She was staring at him and blinking rapidly. “How do you know all this about me?”
“We have our ways,” he said.
Her hands clenched before crossing over her chest. Her lips tightened and her eyebrow quirked.
He rolled his eyes and threw down his pen. “All right, geez, I followed you and asked questions about you.”
Her mouth fell. “Followed me where?”
“To your friend’s house where I saw Puck who is the same blabber-mouthed idiot he was when he was eighteen. He told me as much as I wanted to know about you and then some. I’m trying to make sure it’s factual because Puck tends to embellish. All right?”
She frowned. “Are you always in such a bad mood?”
“No,” he practically growled. He massaged his forehead. “I’m starving and I have a headache.”
She sighed and stood to retrieve pain reliever from the cupboard. After she set it in front of him she began pulling items from the refrigerator.
He swallowed the pills and closed the bottle. “What are you doing?”
She paused and turned to him. “Feeding you.” She said it like it should be obvious. If she had any idea how unusual the whole situation was, she would know why he had to ask. His girlfriends didn’t feed him, let alone the people he dealt with through work.
“You don’t have to,” he said unconvincingly. He was really hoping she would. If the cookie she made was any indication, whatever she made was going to be delicious.
“There’s no stopping me,” she said. He smiled at her back. She was prettier than he remembered from their first meeting. Then his impression had been ordinary and passable. He wondered how he had missed her prettiness. Certainly it wasn’t possible that she had gotten prettier in two days. Then again, he hadn’t looked much beyond her garish hair.
“You were telling me about your boyfriend,” he prompted.
“No I wasn’t. You asked and then yelled at me. Again.”
Her hands nimbly formed hamburger into a thick patty, and his mouth began to water in anticipation. His enjoyment of a good burger was almost a religion.
“Sorry,” he said, although he wasn’t. “I’m trying to get the facts of the case straight.”
“’Just the facts, Ma’am’,” she quoted, turning to look at him over her shoulder. “Yes, Dirk is my boyfriend.”
“How long have you been together?”
Her hand tensed on the skillet. “Five years.”
“That’s a long time. You’re not engaged?”
Her back went rigid and she cleared her throat. “No.”
Hmm. Definitely a sore spot. He tucked the information away. He might either need to avoid or exploit it at a later time.
“Why is he in
Cleveland
this week?”
She didn’t relax and he couldn’t imagine why. It seemed like a simple question.
“So that’s where he is,” she muttered.
He frowned. That was odd. By the time he was dating a girl for five months she demanded to know his whereabouts at all times. Five years was a marathon relationship, yet this Dirk had kept his destination a secret from his girlfriend. Interesting. He made a mental note to call the
Cleveland
office and put a tail on Dirk Xavier.
His eyes roamed over the house while she worked. It was small but clean and warmly decorated. She had the highest credit score of anyone he had ever investigated and he saw how; she lived within her means. It was a simple concept, but one most people failed to grasp.
She set the burger in front of him, and he was pleased to see she made one for herself. He hated to eat alone. She sat, closed her eyes, and moved her lips.
“Were you praying?” he asked as soon as she opened her eyes.
“Yes. Does that offend you?”
“No, it surprises me, and not much does anymore.”
She shrugged. “My dad’s a pastor. I wouldn’t think it would come as a great shock.”
“I once worked a case where a pastor’s kid killed three people in their sleep.”
She blinked at him and worked to clear the mental image from her thoughts. “Pastor’s kids are either very good or very bad, they say.” She smiled. “Except for me and my brother. We’re both disgustingly good.”
That’s what you think
, he thought, but of course he didn’t say it.
They finished eating in strangely comfortable silence. She handed him a napkin before he could ask, and he used it to wipe his hands and face.
“Why don’t you show me your bedroom?” he suggested. Her mouth fell and he actually found himself blushing. “The place where you found the tape,” he added.
She relaxed visibly and even smiled at him. “You don’t have to do this. I get it; you’re sorry. You don’t have to humor me.”
“I’m not humoring you,” he said flatly. “At first I was, but then on a hunch I decided to drive by an address;
Ten James Street
. No one was more surprised than me to find a half dozen police cars on the scene.” He broke away from her and looked toward the sink. “The officer in charge wasn’t happy when I guessed there had been a murder in
apartment
2C
, but he was glad I could pin down the exact time of death to three PM.” He looked at her then and wished he hadn’t been so blunt. The meal and pleasant atmosphere made him forget he was talking to a civilian. He should have been more delicate. “Are you all right?”
She was as white as the painted cupboards behind her. He tensed, ready to spring forward and catch her if she fell over.
She nodded and swallowed a few times. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight.” Her voice was unsteady. “Someone left a message inside my pajamas about a murder that hadn’t happened yet.”
“No,” he drawled. “Someone left instructions about a murder to be performed. It was clearly a professional hit.”
She swayed and gripped the table. “A murderer stole my pajamas,” she whispered.
“Show me your room,” he commanded gently.
She nodded absently and stood shakily to her feet. He was beside her in an instant and used his hand to press against the small of her back to steady her. She drew in a breath and flushed before gently easing away from his touch.
“This way,” she said.
He followed her to the bedroom, not sure why he was frowning at her back.