Page 18 of Accidental Murder
“Excellent,” he whispered.
Only a few more days to completion. No one would impede the completion of his brother’s legacy. No one.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WEDNESDAY
When Kayla awoke,she caught a whiff of her breath and reeled. She threw off Ashley’s faux sable she’d draped over herself at some point, bounded to her feet, and shrugged out of the silk dress. Java, nestled at the foot of the bed, stirred and fell back to sleep.
Kayla donned one of Ashley’s robes, hurried to the bathroom, and caught sight of her face in the mirror. She nearly gagged. Was the person staring back really her? Remnants of mascara had run down her cheeks. She resembled a miserable mime.
Using the apricot scrub by the sink, she washed her face and assessed herself again. Still horrible. Still tired.I can never be you, Ashley had said.
“But I am you now, Sis,” Kayla whispered. “I have to be.”
The transformation wasn’t easy. First the hair.
In the top drawer of the vanity, she found beauty salon-quality shears. She brushed last night’s hairstyle out, twisted her hair into a taut ponytail, and lopped it off. She’d cut her haironce before. At the age of twelve. She hoped this attempt would fare better.
Hands shaking, she snipped. Short on the sides. Shorter on top. Using a mirror to view the back of her head, she attacked the hair at the nape of her neck. When she finished, she took in her handiwork. A total hack job, but it would do. When she got the chance, she would visit Ashley’s stylist, the famous Guido who charged five hundred dollars a haircut.
After dumping the hair into the trash, Kayla located Ashley’s makeup kit. She set the sleek silver box on the bathroom counter and opened the lid. There were seven different colors of base makeup, tubes of highlighters, lipsticks, mascara, and two trays of eye shadows. Starting with the base, Kayla used a moist sponge and tested the almond color. Too brown. The next in line, a sickly yellow. Blending, per Ashley, was key. She settled on a honey-beige color but applied it with too heavy a hand.
Resolved to get it right, Kayla wiped off the base and tried again, dabbing rather than swiping. Better. She chose an eyeliner. Her hand jerked, and the pencil skated toward her eyebrow. Cursing, she wiped off the mess with a tissue and reapplied. She succeeded in drawing an even line over her right eyelid and then addressed her left.
Applying blush and lipstick went about the same. Mess up, remove, redo. Mascara proved to be the toughest task. She blinked often and had to use Q-tips from the glass jar on the counter to swipe the mishaps. By the time she finished, her teeth ached from clenching them.
Next, she donned one of Ashley’s fashionable suits, the sleek jacket buttoned to the neck, and a pair of Anne Klein snakeskin pumps. Not until she’d given Java some food and poured herself a cup of coffee did she notice her nails. Ashley had always prided herself on having sculpted nails. Except for last night. Why had she cut them and removed the polish?
Knowing she would never learn the answer, Kayla headed to the bathroom, a room she was beginning to loathe. Teetering in the unfamiliar heels, she skidded on the rug. Steadying herself, she recalled a time when she and Ashley were tweens and Ashley had tried to teach her how to walk like a model. Ashley had fitted Kayla with a mini-skirt and tight sweater and had placed a book on top of her head.Don’t let it fall, she ordered. The book crashed in an instant. Ashley had laughed so hard.
Kayla juddered. Pent up grief threatened to explode from her chest. How was she going to be able to keep up the ruse?
Don’t dwell. Act.
She retrieved a box of do-it-yourself nails and a bottle of polish from beneath the bathroom sink. After a number of gooey mishaps, which took close to an hour, she completed the task.
Now what she needed to do was contact someone she could trust.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A light drizzlewas seeping from the dreary morning sky by the time Kayla reached Eve’s neighborhood in the Warehouse District. Actually, it was Eve’s aunt’s neighborhood. Eve was loft-sitting while her adventuresome relative toured the world in a sailboat. The district, dedicated to the kind of reconstruction and growth the city needed, continually boasted new businesses and dwellings. On the bay, a freighter cut through the water. On the sidewalks, people were strolling their dogs or accompanying their children on bicycles. Kayla veered the Acura into a metered parking spot, slotted in a few coins, and made her way along the street.
What was she going to tell Eve?
The truth, for starters.
Halfway to Eve’s, Kayla spotted a police car. She stumbled and cursed. Nerves and heels didn’t mix. She steadied herself. When the patrol car made a left turn, she breathed easier.
After another block, she arrived at the entrance to Live Oak Lofts. She didn’t know how the building had acquired its name. There were no oaks in sight.
The moment she entered the foyer, the dank odor of brine, rife in the carpet and porous wood, invaded her senses. She rodethe elevator to the third floor and knocked on 3B. She’d visited the place twice before.
Eve peeked through the peephole and opened the door. Her red nightgown matched her red slippers and red-rimmed eyes. “Ashley, how did you know where to find me?” She ran a hand along her neck. “I’m so sorry about Kayla. It’s all over the news. I . . . I can’t believe it.”
“Got tea?” Kayla rushed to the bay window.
“Uh, sure. Just made a cup for myself.” Eve closed the door.
