Wife-In-Law (24 page)

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Authors: Haywood Smith

Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women

BOOK: Wife-In-Law
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Her tone brightened. “Ooo, yum. Good idea. See you then.”
I was just about ready the next morning when the phone rang, showing Kat’s caller ID. I hoped she wasn’t calling to cancel. My stomach was set for country cooking and fried pies. “Hey.”
“Scott called,” she said, breathless.
Oh, Lord. “And?”
“We’re off the hook!”
What? “What do you mean?”
“The DA refused to prosecute!” Her words came out rapid-fire. “You were right about Greg’s prints on that knife. It showed he was holding it as a weapon. And mine showed I was holding my knife sideways, not as a weapon, just like the autopsy said.” She started to cry with relief. “They ruled it an accidental death. The DA told my lawyer there was no way they could prove it wasn’t, thanks to your testimony.”
I felt as if someone had suddenly pumped oxygen into my airless universe. “Thank God. Thank God.”
Tears of joy slurred Kat’s words. “I have some legal stuff to do about Greg’s estate.” She paused, then added, “I almost forgot: thanks to your Bill’s connections in the DA’s office, the prosecutor is holding a press conference to announce that the forensics and eyewitness account—that’s you—prove Greg’s death was accidental, which officially clears me.”
“Kat, that’s fabulous.” They never did that. God bless our Bill!
“Sit tight,” Kat instructed. “I have some legal stuff to do about the insurance. I don’t know how long it will take, but we might still be able to go to Dillard.” She laughed semihysterically through her tears.
“Oh, Kat, we can both finally breathe again. It’s really over.” A revelation hit me. “If it’s accidental, you get twice the insurance!”
Kat didn’t share my elation. Abruptly, she fell silent. When she spoke again, her voice was shaky. “I’d give every cent of that six million dollars if it could bring him back.” She drew a shuddering breath. “I loved him, Betsy, even after I found out what he’d done. I know it’s crazy, but I still loved him.”
Stricken, I said, “Oh, sweetie. You loved him a whole lot better than I ever did, and wherever he is, I’m sure he knows how much you cared.”
She brightened a little. “Oh, well, I have to go to the lawyer’s. I’ll call when I’m done. Bye.”
I immediately called Emma and left a message that it was all over. Then I called Amelia, and we talked for almost an hour, shifting from what had happened to what was going on at her house in L.A. When we finally ran out of things to talk about, I hung up, then took my floral scissors and went out and deadheaded all my double-knockout roses, a mindless chore that provided a perfect way to kill an hour while I waited for Kat to come home.
When I got back inside from doing that, there was no message from her, so I looked across the street and saw that her car was still gone.
My stomach rumbled, annoyed that we weren’t going to indulge in a pig-out lunch at the Dillard House.
I had to eat something. A healthy salad later, she still wasn’t back.
I turned on HGTV and watched
Sell This House, Holmes on Homes,
and
Curb Appeal.
It was two before my doorbell rang, and I hurried to find Kat standing there, her hand behind her back, grinning like an ancient debutante after her fifth face-lift. “Hey!”
Thank goodness, she’d gotten out of her funk. “Hey, yourself. Come in, O innocent one.”
She kept her hand out of sight, taking a seat at the breakfast table. Then she pulled out a silk-flower lei and threw it at my head.
It caught half on, half off my face. “What’s this?”
“It’s a lei,” she said with a grin.
I played along. “I know it’s a lei.”
“It goes with this.” She brought out her hidden surprise and pushed a packet bearing Atlanta’s most exclusive travel agent’s logo across the table. I opened it to find first-class airfare to Hawaii, departing in three days, plus another ticket for a balcony stateroom on a three-week, round-trip cruise to Bali from there that included a week, carte blanche, at the most famous spa on Bali!
“Damn, Kat,” I breathed out in amazement. “This must have set you back thousands.”
She waggled her own tickets. “Tens of thousands, but I can afford it. And that’s not the best part.”
“What could be better than this?”
She giggled like a girl. “It’s a Cougar cruise.” Palms together, she pressed the sides of her hands to her lips. “Tons of gorgeous escorts to dance and do massages and eat with us and take us to see the sights.”
I waggled my lei at her. “And maybe get leis.”
Kat laughed at the double entendre, then lifted her eyes toward heaven for a heartfelt, “Thank you, Greg.”
I laughed with her, feeling nineteen again. “Hallelujah and amen! But I think you’re aiming that in the wrong direction.”
I looked at the tickets. “This is going to ruin me for my life of poverty when I get back.”
“Don’t worry about that for now,” she said, her eyes sparkling in her plain, unmadeup face. “For now, I want you to worry about doing a total makeover for me. I want face, hair, clothes, everything.”
I almost jumped out of my skin. “Hallelujah! At long last!” I could hardly wait to get my hands on her. “When?”
“Tomorrow?” she said. “Cash on the barrelhead. Give me the works.”
I’d have to call Adrien at my favorite salon for the cut and color. Nothing drastic, just bring back her natural shade, then cut off all those thinning ends. “Just you wait,” I promised. “You are gonna knock ’em dead.”
Kat tucked her chin with a mock scowl. “Do me a favor. Don’t mention knocking ’em dead, okay?”
Oops. “Sorry.”
Arms wide, Kat gripped the side of the table. “Okay, then. Where do we go first?”
“How about shopping?” This was going to be
fun
! “Am I gonna pick a great wardrobe for you.”
Kat stood up. “Now that I’m not going to prison, I am ready to be
gorgeous
!”
I grinned, my mind spinning with possibilities. “You will be.”
Kat picked up her purse and headed for the door. “But for now, I’m going to go home to get a good night’s sleep, now that the electric chair isn’t hovering above my bed anymore. We can go shopping tomorrow at ten, okay?”
“Ten’s perfect.” I accompanied her out, then went back to the kitchen to call the salon and the personal shopper at Saks and Macy’s and Nordstrom. When that was done, I called my girls to tell them about the cruise and Kat’s exoneration.
They were thrilled, especially Emma when I told her how Bill had helped, and how proud and grateful we were.
I waited to call Mama last.
“Hey, Mama,” I said. “How are you?”
“I’m great. Won twenty dollars in the slots,” she said cheerily. “What’s up?”
“The police cleared Kat, and she got double indemnity from the insurance company, since they ruled Greg’s death an accident.”
Mama actually laughed. “Well, good for her.”
I recognized the voice, but not the graciousness.
Pleased that she hadn’t said something negative, I told her about Kat’s hiring me as her accomplice and taking me on the cruise.
There was a pregnant pause. “Y’all aren’t leaving anytime soon, are you?”
“Three days,” I said, wondering why she cared. “We’ll just have time to shop and pack.”
“Can you put it off a little?” Mama asked.
I tensed, wondering why she was trying to come between me and what I wanted, yet again. “Why, Mama?”
“Well,” she said calmly, “I’ve been working on a special surprise for you for quite a while now, and it’s finally ready.”
Something more important than a cruise to paradise? I tried to keep the suspicion out of my voice, but heard it anyway when I asked, “What kind of a surprise?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it?” she snapped. “Just trust me. You’ll want to be there.”
“Well,” I said, “I’m afraid it’ll have to wait till we get back.”
“Oh, all right,” she said, clearly not happy. “Just try not to hate me when you get it,” she said cryptically. “I gotta go. Talk to you later.” She hung up.
Mystified, I stared at the phone, then hung up and went to assess my wardrobe for the cruise.
 
 
I
’d always known Kat would turn out beautiful if I could just get my hands on her. My only regret was that Zach couldn’t be there to see it.
The next morning when she came for her makeover before we went shopping, I kept Kat’s back to the mirror in the dining room while I used a sponge wedge and moisturizing concealer to cover the dark circles she’d had since the Greg thing. I applied an alabaster mineral-powder foundation to even out—but not erase—her freckles. Then I moistened a sponge wedge with distilled water and used it to apply a subtle glow of mango stain on her cheeks. Some mango lip stain brought her perfectly shaped, but washed-out, lips into focus. Then I rimmed her eyes with a warm brown liner, then used a soft brush to add depth to her outer lids and brow arch with a subtle, smoky brown shadow. The same shadow, lightly applied to her brows, made them visible, but not overpowering.
Then I did her inner lids with a brightening shadow, blending it in where it met the brown.
Presto. The girl had eyes! But they needed the finishing touch to really set them off. “Okay,” I told her, bracing myself for a struggle. “Time for some mascara.”
Kat tucked her chin like a kid facing a spoonful of tomato aspic. “Do I have to?”
“If you want to be beautiful, yes,” I said. I opened the dark brown mascara, then coaxed, “Just keep your neck straight and look down, so I can do the tops of the lashes. Once we get that done, you can look up, so I can do the bottoms.” From her tense posture, I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. “Ready?”
How could somebody get this old in America without ever wearing mascara?
Kat straightened her neck and looked down, but every time I got near her lashes, she started blinking furiously. I backed off, and the blinking stopped. I moved in, and it cranked up again, fast as a hummingbird’s wings. “Try to relax,” I told her.
“I’m tryin’,” she said, her cracker accent deepened by the stress, “but it’s a protective reflex to tense up. Things aren’t supposed to git so close to yer eyes.”
“Why don’t you try closing your eyelids all the way?” I suggested. “I can still do the tops that way.”
“Okay,” she said with obvious reservation.
I tried to swoop in quickly, but as soon as I got close, her lashes started fluttering.
“Kat,” I scolded. “Just keep them closed.”
She glared at me with those green eyes—even greener now, thanks to my efforts—and snapped, “I cain’t. I can feel you comin’ with that poky-lookin’ thing, and it just happens. I have no control.”
“This is why teenagers need to learn to put on makeup,” I muttered. “Sit tight,” I ordered. “And do not look at yourself in the mirror. I want you to wait for the full effect.”
“Where’re you goin’?” she asked.
I pointed my finger at her. “To get you some holy spirits.”
Kat straightened. “Since when did you become a Pentecostal?”
“Not ‘Spirit,’” I corrected on my way into the kitchen, “‘spirits,’ plural, as in ‘communion wine.’” Uncut, a few sweet sips of that stuff should do the trick. It had to be ninety proof.
I headed for the pantry.
“But it’s only ten in the morning,” Kat protested from the dining room.
“Just consider it necessary anesthesia for a cosmetic procedure,” I told her as I got out the wine and poured a generous slosh into a brandy snifter. “This is really nice for sipping.” I poured myself a taste in another snifter, just to make sure it was as strong as I remembered. Wowser, was it ever. I couldn’t feel my lips.
I went back into the dining room and handed Kat her snifter, with a cheerful, “Drink up.”
Kat eyed the wine with suspicion. “I don’t think it’s wise to get snockered before I go shopping for a new wardrobe, then get my hair cut by a total stranger.”
“Not to worry,” I told her. “Adrien’s the best with cut and color in Atlanta. He’ll make your hair look better than it ever has, in a way that suits you. As for the wardrobe, all you have to do is try things on. I’ll be there to help you pick out what looks best on you.”
Kat frowned, one eyebrow cocked. “Okay. I’ll trust you, but you’ve gotta
swear
you won’t make me look like a Republican.”
“How about Libertarian,” I suggested, evoking a brief chuckle.
“Good one,” she said, “but khaki. I don’t do khaki.”
“Okay. No khaki.” Not a good color for her, anyway. “And no tennis outfits or dark suits.” I noted she hadn’t tried the wine. “Come on, drink. We need to get this show on the road.”
She did, and her eyes widened. “Wow. Sweet. And strong. I like it.”
“Good.” I patted her shoulder. “Let me know when you start to feel it.”
“Okeydokey.” Kat kept on sipping.
Young. She looked so much younger than I did, which stung a little, but I was proud that I’d been the one to bring out her beauty. She could pass for a coed. Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous.
And tipsy. Kat let loose with, “Whew, thass
really
strong. I cain’t feel my nipples.”
I laughed. Perfect timing. “Okay, then,” I said, “let’s try the mascara again.”
This time, Kat didn’t spasm, so I managed to get the medium brown mascara on her thick, pale gold lashes in a few strokes. For the first time since I’d met her, Kat’s lashes were visible, setting off her eyes without looking harsh or made-up. Her green eyes sparkled and looked enormous, and her face had a healthy glow.
“Okay, almost ready,” I said.
Kat responded with a huge yawn.
“Just let me French-braid your hair for the meantime.”
Before I could finish with her hair, Kat started nodding and sank lower in the chair, but I skooched her back up till I was done. I secured her braid, then pulled the towel from around her shoulders with a flourish and announced, “Kat, stand up, turn around, and meet the new you.”
“Okay, but I’d better not look like some Stepford wife,” she muttered thickly, “or a hooker.” Wavering slightly, she rose to face the mirror. When she saw herself, her expression went slack with amazement. “That can’t be me! She looks like a movie star.”
“It is you,” I said. “Now get your purse and let’s go grab some protein at the Waffle House, to sober you up before we go shopping. We’re behind schedule.”
Kat couldn’t tear herself away from her reflection. She moved closer, her hand touching the mirror. “I look beautiful,” she said in awe. “Really, actually beautiful.” When she recovered herself, she grabbed me and planted a huge kiss on my forehead. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! If I’da known this was how I’d turn out, I’da let you do this years ago.”
That’s what I’d been telling her, but I spared her the “I told you so.” Instead, I said, “Well, I’m really glad you finally trusted me. Trust me a little more, and we’ll get the rest of this makeover done today.” I looked into the mirror and used the towel to remove the perfect mango kiss-mark from my forehead. “You’re gonna knock ’em dead on that cruise.”
Kat snorted. “Not me.
We.
”
I stood beside her to assess our reflections, then laughed. Kat looked thirty years younger than I did. “Whatever. Now get into my car, so we can get to Waffle House, then complete the transformation.”
True to form, Waffle House offered quick service with Kat’s coffee, three eggs over medium, double order of bacon, raisin toast, and hash browns. Fifteen minutes and fifteen thousand calories later, we headed for the Lenox-Phipps shopping district in Buckhead. (None of those pricey designer boutiques between East Andrews and Paces Ferry.)
First, I took her to Nordstrom, where her personal shopper measured Kat’s petite frame every which way. (I’d promised the woman a huge tip, so she was really sucking up to Kat.)
“We’re looking for cruise wear,” I told her. “Nothing too trendy”—translation: no “maternity” tops or balloon minidresses—“or loud prints. Just good, classic lines that show off her figure discreetly, in colors that work with her eyes and hair. We’ll jazz them up with a few …” How could I describe it? Aha. “‘Free spirit’ accessories.”
“But no Republican matron stuff,” Kat chimed in.
“I know exactly what you’re looking for,” the shopper said. “I can pull it all together by three. And I’ll have alterations here to do whatever needs doing, available day after tomorrow.”
I frowned. “We’re flying out day after tomorrow. But we’re willing to pay extra to get it done by tomorrow.”
The woman didn’t miss a beat, dollar signs sparkling in her eyes. “I can call in some extra seamstresses, so we’ll have the alterations finished by close of business tomorrow.”
I tell you, money does the trick. “Perfect.”
Kat leaned close and whispered, “Lord knows what they’ll charge me fer those seamstresses.”
“Trust me, it’ll be worth it to have your clothes fit right.” I sent the shopper to work while we went to Saks, Macy’s and Neiman’s and repeated the process. Then we headed to the salon, where Adrien put some rich, believable red lowlights into Kat’s hair, then did a deep conditioning treatment. Last, he gave her a blunt cut about six inches below her shoulders, then styled it smooth and wavy with a huge curling iron. The result was shiny, glamorous, and beautiful.
Proud of the results, Adrien unplugged the huge curling iron, then handed it to Kat, along with a big bag full of enormous selfclinging rollers. “These are for you. A bon voyage gift.”
Good. I’d sent him so much business, he was overdue a lagniappe.
Staring at her newly gorgeous hair in the mirror, Kat had another session with her reflection, then kissed Adrien and paid the bill, including a hundred-dollar tip!
Then we had to hurry to see what the personal shoppers had found for Kat. Back at Nordstrom, the clothes were all hanging in a huge bridal dressing room, along with a minibuffet, complete with champagne and two glasses. “Ooooh. Very nice things. Let’s see how they look on you.”
“Okay,” she said, but frowned at the outfit I was putting together.
I took her arm and whispered so the shopper and the alterations lady couldn’t hear, “I know it’s going to feel awkward wearing more form-fitting clothes, but I promise, you’ll look like a lady, not a tart. You’ll feel safer, more confident, once you’ve gotten used to your new look.”
Kat exhaled heavily. “All right. Bring it on.”
I loved many of the clothes the shopper had picked out, but Kat balked at a lot of them. Meanwhile, the seamstress hovered, pinning the clothes so Kat could see what they’d look like, tailored to her petite frame.
I was beginning to worry if we could get this done in a day, so I shifted tactics. “You need to rest a minute,” I told Kat. “Come eat something.” I got her some chicken salad and smoked salmon on toast with sour cream, then poured a flute of champagne and set it on the little table between the two upholstered chairs.
Kat started eating, then washed it down with champagne—just enough to take the edge off her stubbornness, so we could come to a compromise and buy a lot of what she needed for the cruise.
Then we moved on to the other stores.
By nine o’clock that night when everything closed, we’d decided on a very nice wardrobe for home and cruise.
“Are you gonna do my makeup tomorrow?” she asked as we merged onto I-400 north.
“Sure. But I want you to start learning to do it for yourself,” I answered, navigating the heavy traffic.
Kat shook her head. “I don’t know if I’m ever gonna be able to put that poky mascara brush so near my eyes.”
I chuckled. “Well, you can’t get smashed every day just for that. Trust me, it’ll be a lot easier when you do it yourself.”
“I’ll try,” she said, “but I cain’t guarantee anything.” She yawned, long and wide. “What’re we doin’ tomorrow?”
“Going to Ulta to get you your own makeup,” I said, “then picking up the clothes and packing. No time to waste; we have too much to do.”
“Works for me,” Kat said.
We didn’t get a lot of sleep in the next two days, but despite the usual travel glitches, we made it to our flight on time, passports in hand, and boarded our seats in first class. Greg had always been too cheap to fly any of us first class, so I really enjoyed getting the royal treatment and having all that leg room.
Once we were airborne, Kat and I talked about what we were going to have done at the Bali spa, but neither of us brought up what we planned to do with the escorts on the cruise, which suited me fine. Assuming they were willing to offer extracurricular activities, which was assuming a lot.
I’d been happily single and celibate for a long time, and I didn’t want to end up a headline on the
National Enquirer:
SIXTY-YEAR-OLD WOMAN CONCEIVES ON COUGAR CRUISE AND GIVES BIRTH TO TRIPLETS. Or worse still: SIXTY-YEAR-OLD WOMAN CONCEIVES TRIPLETS AND GETS FATAL SEXUAL DISEASE ON COUGAR CRUISE. FATHER JUMPS SHIP. So I planned to bask in the escorts’ attention, but leave it at that.

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