Hostile Makeover (25 page)

Is she accusing me?
Lacey wondered. “Someone stole it from my office the day I went to Snazzy Jane’s. To send a message, I guess. And it worked.” She felt as if they had all been cast in a play without having been given scripts, and now they were stumbling blindly around the stage. Zoe did not offer her coffee or tea. They stood awkwardly in the foyer. “This is a lovely house,” Lacey said.

“It’s where we grew up. Our parents won’t move. They always insisted this house was good enough, even though Amanda was always after them to upgrade.”

“Where are they now?”

Zoe’s red eyes watered. “They were on vacation in Switzerland. They’re flying back to Dulles today. The first time they’ve ever traveled overseas.” She rubbed her eyes. “Mandy paid for it as a treat. She wanted them out of the way of all the chaos when we came home, and we could have the house to ourselves as our base for the premiere at Snazzy Jane’s. It was kind of fun, like being kids again, teenagers with the folks out of town. Until the threats started.”

This was one of those times when Lacey’s words failed her, which happened more often than she liked. “I am so sorry.”

Zoe started sobbing, loud, painful, unearthly sobs that racked her frame. “My folks are coming home! What am I going to tell them? I was her big sister.” She swayed as if she were going to fall. She gasped for breath, and Lacey helped her to the sofa in the living room. “I was supposed to protect her. Oh, God, oh, God, what will I tell them?” She sounded panicky, catching her breath now in short gulps that sounded like hiccups.

“Tell them nobody thought it would happen.”

“Mandy knew it would happen, and I didn’t believe her.”

“There was nothing you could have done to prevent it.”

“I should have. Somehow.” Her voice rose painfully, like that of a child in trouble.

Lacey sat on a chair next to her. “Do you believe that Spaulding had anything to do with the attack? He was Amanda’s only real suspect.”

Zoe shook her head, took a few breaths, and blew her nose before speaking. “Greg didn’t really seem to have any passion about Amanda, one way or the other. At least not after they broke up. As horrible as this was, it had to stem from passion.” She tried to speak more clearly. “His lack of feeling seemed to make it worse for her. The angrier she got, the more withdrawn and formal and sad Greg became.”

The personal storm that had rocked Zoe had subsided, and she leaned her head back against the sofa and wiped her eyes. They looked painfully swollen.

“Why don’t I get you a washcloth for your face?” Lacey asked.

“That would be nice. Thanks.” Zoe pointed to a small half bathroom down the hall, near the kitchen. Lacey padded to the small room, which was painted a warm coral. She rinsed a washcloth under warm water then wrung it out and picked up a small bottle of lotion that sat on the vanity. When she returned she found Zoe in the same position, staring at the ceiling. Lacey handed her the cloth and the lotion to soothe her chapped skin.

“You know that Dr. Spaulding was shot? That he’s in the hospital?” Lacey asked quietly. “He was critical yesterday, but his condition has been upgraded to serious.”

“I don’t understand it. Any of it.” Zoe covered her face with the washcloth.

Lacey sat down on a nearby chair. “What is he like?”

Zoe moved the cloth away from her mouth, but kept it covering her sore eyes. “Greg is a nice guy, despite what Mandy said about him. He just couldn’t deal with Amanda the Diva Supermodel. Sometimes I think he’s kind of like me. He doesn’t like conflict. He doesn’t like to fight, and he didn’t like scenes. He likes making people happy, I think, and Amanda just couldn’t really be happy anymore. Like she couldn’t be beautiful and happy at the same time. That’s what ruined it for him.”

“And Amanda liked to fight?”

Zoe removed the cloth from her eyes. “She was the sweetest thing before the surgery, the best sister anyone could hope for. But somehow, afterward, she needed reassurance all the time that she was beautiful, that she was loved, that she was . . .” Zoe stopped.

“She was what?”

“I was going to say ‘better than me.’ I don’t know, like Mandy held some big, silent grudge all her life and it exploded after the makeover and the television show. All that attention really wasn’t good for her. She liked it too much—and she needed it too much. She had to be the prettier sister, the thinner sister.”

Amanda must have encouraged Zoe to eat, like Felicity on one of her cupcake campaigns.
And then, Lacey imagined, she probably tormented Zoe when she got fat. “Yvette said you are going to continue designing the Chrysalis clothing line.”

Zoe just looked weary and closed her eyes again. “I suppose. Yes, of course I will. We have contracts. And investors.”

“If they were your designs, why did you let Amanda take all the credit?”

“She was the important one, the famous one. She had backers ready to jump on the bandwagon. She had a good eye and she did have talent. No matter what Yvette says, I didn’t mind. Nobody would have backed me without her.”

“I received a letter from Amanda yesterday,” Lacey said.

“Yes. I got your message. Then Detective Rogers showed up. He wanted to know if it was true that someone had replaced her photos with the B.S. pictures—Before Surgery, I mean. It was true, but I don’t know who could have done it, although the house was guarded only when Amanda was here. I even had a moment when I thought that maybe Amanda had done it herself. Some twisted desire for more attention.”

“Did the police find anything?”

“I don’t know. They took some empty picture frames from Amanda’s room, to test for fingerprints, I guess. At one point the detective insinuated that I had tormented Amanda.” Zoe laughed for a minute, a high, shrill, nearly hysterical laugh. “As if I would goad Amanda into one of her special tantrums, so she could scream at me for an hour or two, and taunt her with those old photos of her when everybody called her Ostrich? Never in a million years.”

Lacey didn’t want to admit that Conspiracy Clearinghouse’s insane story of Bionic Babes Gone Berserk was sounding a little more plausible. Amanda really had changed radically, and not just on the outside. “May I see her room?” Lacey wanted to know more about Amanda, and her bedroom seemed like a logical place to look.

Zoe put her hands on her knees and pulled herself to her feet like an old woman. Lacey followed her up a narrow stairway to the second floor, where there were three bedrooms, one good-sized room for the parents, and two rather small, cramped rooms for the daughters. They passed Zoe’s room, which was decorated in lavenders and blues that flattered her blond complexion, and moved on to Amanda’s.

The room was white on white, with a double bed and an iron headboard, also painted white. The bed was covered with expensive linens and pillows in soft golds and moss green. An armoire hid a television set and dresser drawers. Sheer white curtains fluttered softly at the window, which was open a couple of inches. It was a spare and serene room, the only other furniture a cushioned rocking chair next to the window, taking advantage of the light. Beside the chair was a large basket filled with colorful balls of yarn. A pair of large knitting needles was stuck in a ball of crimson wool yarn that sat on top. They were attached to an unfinished piece of work.

“I forgot that she knitted,” Lacey said. That fact had been mentioned on the makeover show, but who would imagine Amanda the Supermodel as someone who would have the patience to sit and knit to pass the time?

“She said it helped her think. The faster she knit, the faster she talked. It was almost a family joke.” Zoe sat in the rocking chair and picked up the needles. Every remembrance required an enormous amount of Zoe’s energy. “I love to design clothes, but Mandy’s passion was really fabrics and fiber arts. Knitting and crocheting. She wanted to introduce a line of knitwear. Little sweaters and cloche hats.”

“Like a 1930s kind of look?” Lacey could imagine neatly tailored sweaters over the bias-cut gowns, or over the straight long skirts already featured in the Chrysalis Collection.

“We were thinking of next fall, a year from now. I have some sketches. They were going to be so much fun.” Her voice fell. “We just wanted to bring a sense of play back to what people wear.” She opened the door to the closet and pulled out an emerald-green bolero sweater with full sleeves and deep cuffs, while Lacey took notes. There was also a green-and-white-striped knit hat with a white knit rosette raffishly set off to one side.

“I love these,” Lacey said. They were playful and retro and classic, all at the same time. They would make a delightful and, yes, sassy outfit for fall days and football games, a look for the homecoming royalty and kisses in the swirls of autumn leaves. A wave of sadness hit Lacey, and she had to take a deep breath. She had a real glimpse of the woman behind the model, the one who liked to be bundled up in cozy sweaters and knit and have fun. Amanda, with her dramatic coloring, her lavender eyes and auburn hair, would have looked especially pretty in these clothes.

“Fall was her favorite season,” Zoe broke into her thoughts. “Until this year.”

“There are no photos of Amanda in here.”

“No. There were four or five that were switched with the ugly photos. She tore them up. Those were the frames that the police took.”

“When did the threats begin?”

“About a month ago, I think, but I couldn’t really say. There was always the occasional crude letter, a stalker or two. Ever since all the publicity started, the TV show, the makeover, the magazine covers.” Zoe brought out something else for Lacey to see.

“A wedding gown?” Lacey asked.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” The full-length ivory dress was a delicately crocheted gown with long bell sleeves, designed to be worn over a colored underslip. Pearls had been sewn into the lacy bodice-work, giving it an even more elegant texture. Romantic, with a definite medieval influence, Lacey decided. Something that Guinevere might wear. The sleeves had an intricate pattern of interlocking initials: A. M. and C. C., for Amanda and Caleb, Lacey assumed. It was an older dress, and Lacey thought it was interesting that Amanda had kept it, but then it represented hours of hand-work.

Zoe suddenly hung the dress back up and shut the closet door, overcome with memory. “I’m sorry; I can’t look at it now. Have you seen enough?” she asked without looking at Lacey.

“Yes, thank you.” Zoe steered Lacey out of the bedroom, closing the door softly, and led her back down the stairs. “When did Amanda fall in love with Greg Spaulding?” Lacey asked.

“The first time she saw him, I think. At the first consultation for her surgery. You can even see it on the videotape of that show. She came alive in a way I’d never seen before.”

“What about Caleb Collingwood?” Every answer she had heard about Caleb was unsatisfactory. Surely Zoe must know something about him, have some insight into what happened.

“She didn’t kill him, if that’s what you mean. No one knows what happened to him. I do think he’s dead. I wish I’d never heard of him. The rumors were even harder on my parents. You’re not going to ask them about him, are you?”

How am I even going to meet them?
Lacey wondered.
I have my own planeload of family to take care of.
“No, I just thought . . . well, he’s part of her history, isn’t he? It wouldn’t hurt to talk about him, would it?”

They turned in to the living room, and Zoe collapsed on the sofa again, tucking her bare feet under her. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from sighing. “I really didn’t know him very well. I was in college at the time, in Philadelphia. Then I took classes in New York at the Fashion Institute of Technology. Mandy was going to school here because she didn’t want to leave home for a new environment. High school was pretty hard on her.” She reached for the wet cloth and wiped her eyes again. “I met him only at holidays. I was dating Brad at the time.”

“Brad Powers, Yvette’s husband?”
Small world?

“Yes. Funny how things happen, isn’t it? It wasn’t really serious. The point is, I had better things to do than hang out with my little sister’s goofy boyfriend.”

“What about his family?”

“He didn’t seem to have any. None that he mentioned, but maybe I wasn’t paying attention. He was just a skinny guy with really bad teeth. It was kind of hard to look at him. They were a matched set, Cal and Mandy. I hate to admit this, even now, because it was something no one ever discussed, but I was a little embarrassed by my sister. I wanted her to be normal-looking. The makeover show seemed like a godsend, because we never would have had the money for the surgeries. No one expected a superstar to emerge. She really never was normal-looking.”

Lacey was suddenly conscious of being short on time. And she needed to pick up the rental car before going to the airport. She pulled out her cell phone, apologizing to Zoe, and made a quick call for a cab to pick her up.

“Mandy thought I was a complete snob. She resented the whole cheerleader thing.” Zoe reflected. “I was pretty then, a cheerleader.” She stood up and glanced in the oak-framed mirror that hung over the gas fireplace, staring at the bloated and tear-streaked naked face that peered back at her. “Not that you would know it now, fifty pounds heavier.”

Lacey didn’t know how to respond. A shadow of the pretty woman was still there, and Zoe was desperate to hear that she was still young, still pretty, still desirable. But everything Lacey could think of to say would sound hollow. “When is the funeral?” she asked instead.

“Next week. It will be private, just the family. But there will be a big memorial service Sunday afternoon. There’s been a huge interest from Amanda’s fans, and the media will be invited. I’ll make sure you’re on the list.” Zoe sighed deeply. “I’m not sure of the details. Brad is taking care of it. We want to accommodate the people who . . . loved Amanda.”