Lipstick and Lies (26 page)

We were quiet for a moment as she opened a cabinet beneath the counter and began stuffing it with the clean gowns. Could she truly not know what her husband had been up to at their kitchen table in the middle of the night? I wanted to think so. I also thought her dreams for the spa and her husband’s retirement, while naively preposterous, might be considered a reasonable explanation for approaching the admiral’s wife.

“What did you tell your husband about the project?”

Behind her swollen lids, Clara’s eyes blazed. “Otto didn’t give a hoot about my passion for the spa. Said it would never happen. What capped things off was his demand that I stop seeing V-V immediately. He even gave me an ultimatum. Imagine!”

I shook my head sympathetically. “What happened next?”

“He left. I heard the car peel out of the driveway. Went off to confront V-V, I guess.”

“And you haven’t seen him since?”

“No. I went next door. Spent the night at Mrs. K’s.” Clara sighed and stared glumly at the clump of paper in her hands. “How could he be jealous of someone like V-V?”

“Looks, charm, money, snappy dresser?” Clara actually chortled and I pressed on with a few more questions. “Your husbands are friends, but you and Kiki aren’t. Why’s that?”

She shrugged. “We’re from different worlds.” Her eyes shifted as if recalling something unpleasant.

“You mentioned you cut her hair—”

“About three weeks ago. She stopped in without an appointment. Asked me to cut bangs to help hide the burn.”

I thought of Kiki’s birthmark. “The strawberry mark on her forehead? That’s a burn?”

Clara’s look suggested we shared a secret. “You noticed. She claimed she tripped near the fireplace. Met up with the hot end of a poker when she landed.” Clara’s raised eyebrows suggested the explanation had not been very convincing.

“What do you suppose really happened?”

“It’s the mark of a fireplace poker, all right. But I wonder if someone branded her with it.”

“Who?
V-V?
”

Clara nodded, but suddenly seemed less sure of herself.

“Wait. Are you saying you think it’s possible V-V could actually do such a thing?” My stomach curdled as I recalled the spilled poker on the floor in Kiki’s bedroom last night.

She touched her face. “Men do strange things when they’re jealous. Maybe he heard about the affair she had with Dee’s fiancé.”

“Yesterday you said the story was chair gossip,” I reminded her gently, while inside my pants pocket Kiki’s crumpled note felt like it was on fire. “And V-V says she’s suffering from exhaustion. Maybe she actually did fall and hit her head. It’s possible, isn’t it?” I wasn’t trying to counter Clara’s theory, but if she was describing the real V-V, I wanted some meat with the accusation.

Clara sighed and rubbed her forehead, as if willing her brain to clear. “I don’t know what’s true and what’s not anymore. Someone brought up the affair again, recently. Whoever it was seemed positive it was true.”

A voice called from the front of the salon. “Yoo-hoo, Clara, you here?”

Our time was up. It was one of the other beauticians arriving.

My gaze careened to the blank spot on the wall. “Where’s the clock?”

Clara looked up. She seemed genuinely startled. “Why…I don’t know.”

Chapter Twenty-four

The matron directed me to the visitor’s area, a small room with wooden chairs positioned in front of a long, narrow shelf. In front of each chair, above the shelf, was a small mesh-covered window. I folded myself into a seat while the jailer went for the Countess.

I had been able to come up with only one strategy for my third meeting with the former spy. At its core was my resolve to be straightforward and honest. Thinking I might feel more at ease without the FBI monitoring our conversation, I had taken my honesty-is-the-best-policy decision one step further and rejected the chance to meet with her in the cellblock, opting to converse under normal inmate conditions. Now, staring at the barrier wall, observing the stark setting, I wondered about the wisdom of my decision.

A jangling of keys was followed by the groan of a heavy door opening then closing again. I propped my forearms on the shallow platform and peered through the tightly woven screen. On the other side was a barren room, its walls shiny with a fresh coat of gray paint. I heard the scraping of a wooden chair. A navy blue jumpsuit flashed across the mesh.

“So-ooo, it is
you
,” the Countess said, settling into her chair, making eye contact through the screen.

The window framed her head and shoulders. She sat forward, her elbows resting on the ledge opposite mine. Our faces were very close. Though softened by the mesh, her appearance was ghastly. She had not looked all that well before, but now dark circles ringed her eyes and her unhealthy pallor had taken yet another ashen turn. Her singular attempt at grooming, a haphazardly applied coat of flagrant red lipstick, looked cheap against her gray-white skin. On my last visit, her hairdo, although flattened, had retained some semblance of the upsweep style Billie had fashioned. This morning, the swept-up arrangement had been reduced to a crushed honeycomb of tangled locks, several oily tendrils drooping against the sides of her face.

“My idea for featuring you in my Women in War Work series was squelched,” I said directly. “I’m sorry.”

Her monotone reply was so low and heavy that the words ran together like one long groan. “Then there will be no visit from my fiancé…I am lost…no one can help me now.”

“I tried. I’m truly sorry.”

Seconds of silence passed. She sighed. “Sorry? No, you have been right all along. I should have listened to you sooner.”

“Why’s that?”

“I wanted revenge. I wanted my name exonerated. I wanted my freedom. You suggested I see things realistically. I am a foreigner, accused of espionage. I am incarcerated, I have no influence. ‘Cooperate. Plead guilty, if they insist. Do these things and you will be with your fiancé sooner,’ you advised.”

I shifted against my unforgiving chair. I hadn’t expected her mood to be so submissive. I also did not recall being so expansive in counseling her. Nor so wise.

“You’re reconciled to serving time then?”

She turned and lit a cigarette. The diamond solitaire on her earlobe glimmered with the movement. “Miracles are possible, but I am better off not to count on them I think.”

The FBI’s ex-counteragent no longer sounded bitter. Resigned, was more like it.

“Last time I was here we talked about Kiki Barclay-Bly, the woman who invited you to speak at the Cosmos Club. You said you had information about her and her sister, Dee.”

She dragged on her cigarette, letting the smoke drain lazily from her mouth. “
Ahh
-nd why pray tell are you so interested in the Barclay-Bly sisters? More specifically, how will what I know about them help my pitiful situation?”

“Well…I’m still going forward with the series and have plans to cover the Book Faire. If there was an interesting angle about them, say having to do with politics or loyalties…” I let my words trail off.

The Countess held her cigarette holder, staring at the smoldering reed of tobacco on its end, acting completely bored. “Yesterday I knew from your curiosity that any information I might have about them could be a useful bargaining chip.”

“You mean as a get-out-of-jail card?”

“But of course.”

“And now?”

“Now nothing. I am resigned to serving a prison sentence. What possible advantage could there be for sharing?”

I thought fast. “A goodwill offering. My boss’ contact, the one that got me into your private cellblock twice, will take it as a sign that you’re willing to cooperate. In return, they may be willing to leave Mr. Butler and his good name alone.”

She took a slow drag off the cigarette and exhaled with a long sigh. “All right. But my proviso is this. What I will tell you is off the record. It is not for your newspaper, but for the ears of the Special Agent in charge of my case exclusively. Will you agree?”

I nodded. “Yes. And you’ve made a wise choice.”

Her eyes narrowed. “My choices are limited. My true love has promised a little nest will be waiting for me to fly home to, once I am free. But what funds would he have should the men of the FBI decide to play rough with him?”

I restrained a smile. Of course! Why had I been worried? She had her own good reason for wanting to be open with me. “I think you’ve zeroed in on what’s truly important.”

“I am afraid I missed what was truly important when it was right in front of my nose.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It was only after you asked the questions about the sisters, that the possibility occurred to me.”

My heart pounded. “What possibility?”

On the other side of the barrier wall, she stubbed out her cigarette. An acrid stream of tobacco-infused air seeped through the mesh opening. “In thinking about the sisters, I remembered the night of Dee and Philip’s engagement party. There was a brief period when Anastase tried to monopolize me. I rejected what I thought were his advances, especially when he began confiding details about his relationship with Kiki. I assumed he was trying to win my sympathy. Such an
o-o-ld
ploy that one.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know—” She placed a hand over her heart and raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Poor me. My wife has been unfaithful. I have worked hard to provide for her so that she might have everything she wants. Yet, how does she show her appreciation? By being unfaithful! Then, according to the over worn scenario—” she patted her heart in a speeded up rhythm, imitating a quickened heartbeat—“he expects you, the beguiled woman, the one to whom he is telling his sob story, the one he hopes to win as his mistress, to fawn all over him with the love and affection he so
rightly
deserves.”

Her lips stretched into a tight smile. “What is the man thinking, I have always wondered. Does he truly believe a wife who has whatever she needs and wants would then rush into another man’s arms? Does he not realize that he may have played some small part in the woman’s dissatisfaction?”

The former charm consultant’s understanding of the ways of men ran miles beyond mine. “You’re saying V-V, er, Anastase, made a pass at you?”

“Yes…I mean no. I
thought
that was his intention. Now I have come to understand he was trying to signal me. Let me know who he was.”

I scooted my chair closer, its wooden legs scraping the cement floor noisily. “Who?”

“My contact.”

I gasped softly. “And he was trying to tell you this by flirting with you?”

“No,” she replied impatiently. “By telling me his wealthy wife was having an affair.”

There it was. Confirmation. Kiki and Philip.

Her theory, the Countess continued, was that in engaging her in the brief conversation about his wife, her wealth, her cheating heart, V-V was somehow testing her, seeing if she would pick up on his intent.

“Intent?”

“Yes.” She squared her shoulders and thrust her chin out in a show of dignity. “If I had been paying closer attention, it would have been obvious, what he was saying. He was planning to use the situation to convince her to divert funds to the fascist cause.”

I gripped the narrow ledge. “You’re saying he intended to use the affair with Philip as a means for blackmailing his wife?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

“Blackmail.” I sank back in my chair. “But why would Kiki go along?”

The Countess lifted an eyebrow. “She loves him. She loves her sister. She’s afraid of him.”

I thought of Kiki’s crescent-shaped burn and nodded. “Dee was already emotionally overwrought. If she discovered her sister’s betrayal, she’d go right off the deep end. But how could he do it? Pit one sister against another?”

The Countess scoffed. “
How?
Unwavering devotion to the cause are prerequisites for those of us privileged to be selected for secret service. In Anastase’s case, the characteristics were imprinted early on.”

She talked about V-V’s formative years, repeating what I’d already gleaned from Liberty concerning the impact of being born into a nation troubled by ethnic strife and political repression. She also served up something new. V-V had experienced severe trauma as a child. When he was very young, his mother died under mysterious circumstances. His father, a mean drunk, was rarely around afterwards, leaving V-V and his two older brothers to fend for themselves.

“How do you know all this?”

“Sari told me.”

Botheration!
Sari deHajek again. Sari was the woman who had befriended the Countess in Hungary and helped care for her father in his final days. It was also Sari who later recruited the Countess, even escorting her to Berlin for espionage training.

She continued. “When I was still in Hungary, and Sari was grooming me for my U.S. lecture tour, she alerted me to a former freedom fighter turned devout Nazi who was to be my main contact after I arrived here.” Her shoulders heaved. “It was only after my conversation with you yesterday that I realized Sari had been referring to Anastase Andreyevich Volodymyr Vivikovsky.”

I whistled. First, because I was impressed with her smooth delivery of the difficult name; second, because I was still more than a little bit flabbergasted by the news. What about his alliance with Liberty? And, equally vital, whose side were they actually on?

“What about the book of names Sari gave you? Why wasn’t his name in there?”

“He was a mole too important and buried too deep to be logged in a book.” She lit a cigarette and exhaled noisily. “Besides, an agent of his renown goes through identities as often and as effortlessly as a chameleon changes colors. Even Sari was uninformed about the name the contact currently calling himself Anastase would be using.”

Behind the mesh, the Countess grew visibly melancholic. “To think, while Anastase was feeding me bait about his unfaithful wife, her sister and their wealth, my head was in the clouds. If only I had been alert, if only I had followed what I learned in training, how different things might have been. If only…” Tears welled up in her eyes.

The poor Countess, her chance to help the fascist cause had sailed right by her. But I hardly felt sorry for her. I was thrilled. I had extracted valuable intelligence, and I could hardly wait to share it.