“We’re sending Tiff’s stuff to her sister,” Ariel intoned, her voice devoid of emotion.
Max’s mood perked right up. Perfect, absolutely perfect. She decided she would be that angel of mercy, delivering the personal effects to Nadine, offering a comforting shoulder, and a few carefully chosen words of sympathy.
Jules’s mood, on the other hand, took a nose dive. His jaw hung open, his easy smile drooped, and his eyes misted again. “She was my friend.”
“I know,” Ariel answered. “Here, you can help. Find a box for this stuff, a small one so it doesn’t get all mixed up with everything else.” She dug in the center drawer filled with tubes of makeup, hair barrettes, and various female junk.
“I’m real sorry she’s hurt.”
“She’s not just hurt, Jules, she’s ... ” Ariel stopped mid-sentence, raised her eyes, looked at Jules’s fallen face, and seemed to come out of her Miles-induced trance. “You know what dead means, don’t you, Jules?”
“Like the kitten?”
“Yeah, like the kitten.” Ariel patted the big man’s shoulder as a single tear slid down his unlined cheek.
“I didn’t mean ...”
“Jules.” Pippa’s strident voice rang out across the salon. Everyone turned. Ariel, the Three Stooges, their clients—everyone, including Jules.
“Yes, Pippa.” His demeanor morphed to that of a whipped puppy.
“I thought I told you to take these packages to the post office.”
“I was just ...” If Jules had been a dog, his tail would have been tucked between his legs, and he might have piddled on the floor out of sheer anxiety.
Chapter Fifteen
“Now.” Pippa held up her hand, pointed back to her office, the slight wattle below her chin jiggling.
Jules slinked away.
“And you.” Pippa pointed at Max. With her red power suit, mid-thigh length skirt, and black hose, she should have exuded elegance and authority, but her snappy little hat, resembling a box perched on her head, mitigated the effect.
Max looked from side to side, then back at Pippa Louise Lamont. She hated to be pointed at, especially in an imperious manner. Especially when she was in no position to fight back. For half a second, she had a conscious vision of sticking her own finger in Pippa Lamont’s face and—
Cameron laughed from somewhere over on the other side of the room, behind Pippa. I’d take a front row seat for that.
It was enough to clear the steam out of her ears.
She didn’t consider her capitulation as backing down. She looked at it as preservation of her current position to eavesdrop on pieces of Tiffany’s life.
Max placed the flat of her hand against her chest, widened her gaze, tipped her chin, and mouthed the word, “Me?”
Pippa rolled her eyes. “Of course, you. There’s a box of computer mailing labels in the car. Get those, and while you’re at it, move the car. Miles parked it in the two-hour zone.”
Miles’s car. Max forgot all about Pippa’s pissy attitude. She was going to drive Miles’s car. She could touch it, feel what psychic emanations came from it.
Thought you didn’t like the visions?
She didn’t. But it was as if heaven had dropped these prizes in her lap. First an excuse to meet Tiffany’s sister—if she got the opportunity to take Tiffany’s boxes over, which she’d sure as hell make sure she did. Now a reason to run with whatever she might learn in the black Lincoln. And she was damn well going to take it.
She flitted across the floor and grabbed the keys dangling from Pippa’s fingers, then smiled. “Sure, Pippa.”
Of course, Pippa. Whatever you say, Pippa. And we’ll see what you do when I slam your husband into jail for first degree murder, Pippa.
The idea of Miles as murderer had become quite appealing.
Spock-like, Pippa raised one penciled eyebrow. “Mailers are your responsibility now. I’ll show you the program.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate any help you can give me.” Max meant every word of it, even as she salivated over Pippa’s payback time.
Pippa flounced from the main salon, reminiscent of Cruella De Vil in 101 Dalmatians.
Max did not jump to do the woman’s bidding immediately. Instead she meandered back to Ariel’s side to find the boxes almost full and Tiffany’s station almost empty. However, Max wasn’t done with Ariel Sanchez yet. “Is Pippa always that ...”
“Dictatorial? Yes.” Ariel shoved a bottle of ... something into a box. She hadn’t waited for the small box Jules was supposed to get. “You think Miles runs the show, but he’s a *cat compared to Pippa. Actually, she’s worse than usual. She didn’t like Tiffany, but maybe ...” Ariel bit the inside of her cheek. “Maybe it’s shaken her up. You better get those labels. She’ll be out here again in six minutes if you don’t.”
End of Pippa-revealing conversation. Max asked another question or two, but Ariel’s responses were monosyllabic. She tried another tact. “What was that about Jules’s kitten?”