That′s impressive, I thought.
From that point on, my fantasies took the brain helm; I was off and running to the Libido Races.
I tapped in a search for Titian′s Venus of Urbino. My fingertips left faint sweatprints on the keyboard.
Articles and pictures of the famous reclining-nude painting flashed across the screen. I studied them for a while, absorbing some of the excerpts. Some reviewers of the painting conjectured: Was Titian′s Venus a goddess? A courtesan? An archetype of the Renaissance Everywoman? This Venus had a look in her eyes of bold and uninhibited sexual desire. Her eyes dared the viewer to approach. She had one cheek nestled into her hair, which was a delicate cascade of reddish blond curls that spilled over her bared shoulder. After almost five hundred years, the Venus of Urbino remained an enigma. She was an object of desire for men for the ages.
The flushed feeling I′d first felt in Medina′s office washed over me again.
Did Medina look at me like that? Did he see me the way Jonathan looked at Gi in the photo I′d seen of the two of them together? Jonathan had looked at Gi as if he′d wanted to rip her clothes off and do her, right in front of the camera. I hated the way Jonathan had looked at Gi.
Clearly I was overdue for a romantic sea change. I′d been focusing on Jonathan like he was Moby Dick, when there were tons of… ahem… fish in the sea.
Right at that moment, I gave myself a brand-new set of marching orders:
1. Stop whining about Jonathan.
2. Return Medina′s phone call the next day.
I was washing my face in the bathroom when Elfie, who′d been rubbing against my ankles, suddenly froze. She shot out of the bathroom and dove under the bed.
Elfie is an excellent burglar alarm system. She responds the instant anyone sets foot outside the front door of my house.
Drying my face on a towel, I stepped into the bedroom. Then I paused to listen. It seemed quiet. Almost.
Through the living room, a faint sound was coming from the front door. It wasn′t a knock exactly. It sounded like someone was slowly turning the doorknob. No sound could have been more chilling. Now I froze.
I certainly wasn′t going to fling open the door to see who it was. Maybe it was simply someone disoriented or trying the wrong door. But that seemed unlikely.
As if to answer my question, the doorknob rattled back and forth. Violently this time. Someone shoved against the door. Trying to break in, and none too subtly.
I grabbed the wireless phone from its base by my bed. Sending up a prayer of thanks that a few months back I′d replaced the previous owner′s flimsy locks with deadbolts, I punched in 911.
″This is Kate Gallagher,″ I said to the emergency operator who answered. ″Someone is trying to break into my house right now. It′s 221 Amber Lane. Please send a squad car as soon as possible. And please tell them to hurry.″
Chapter 36
Dot Your Wand
Here′s a little-known tip: Before you brush with your mascara wand, blot the end of the tip on a piece of tissue. That keeps the blobs from forming on your lashes.
– From The Little Book of Beauty Secrets by Mimi Morgan
It was time for a quick change of strategy.
The 911 operator had sent a squad car, but in the meantime I decided to become my own siren.
″I don′t know who the hell you are, but the police are on the way!″ I screamed toward the door.
Dashing into the kitchen, I grabbed a knife from the wooden knife block on the counter, and a skillet from the cupboard. Then I kicked the walls. Anything to make noise and scare whoever it was off.
″Get out of here. Get out-get out!″
The 911 operator, who was still on the line, said in a worried tone, ″Miss Gallagher? What′s happening? Are you okay?″
Bomp-bomp-bomp! Another sound at my front door. Only this was knocking, authoritative and official sounding. It couldn′t be the intruder.
″Kate Gallagher?″ a deep male voice said. ″Dur ham Police Department.″
Still clutching the skillet, knife, and phone in my hands, I crept to the door. I opened it a sliver. Two patrolmen stood there wearing serious-responder expressions. One of them I recognized from having covered previous crime scenes. I remembered his name was De la Cruz.
Letting the knife slip from my hand, I opened the door wider. (Never let a cop see a knife in your hand under any circumstances, by the way. It can be dangerous.)
″You got here really fast,″ I said to De la Cruz.
″One of your neighbors called-you got a great neighborhood watch here. What happened, Miss Gallagher?″ De la Cruz said to me. The fact that he didn′t need to confirm who I was meant that he′d obviously recognized me, too.
I explained the twisty doorknob sound to them, plus the pushing-on-the-door thing that had scared the bejesus out of me. I have to admit, my explanation sounded much less dramatic than the experience had felt in real time.
″So you didn′t get a look at the guy?″ De la Cruz said, while making some notes in his report pad.
″No,″ I said. ″I just made as much noise as I could to scare him off.″
The other cop, who′d been examining the doorknob, straightened up. ″Hey, Cruz,″ he said. ″Take a look. I found jimmy marks.″
″Jimmy marks?″ I said. ″Are those from the guy trying to break in?″
″Yup. Definitely,″ De la Cruz said, peering at the brass doorknob. ″It was probably an attempted burglary. We′ve had a bunch of them around here lately. Usually they take place during the daytime when no one′s home, though. Not at night. It sounds like they came here looking for trouble.″
Looking for trouble. I thought about Anaïs Loring of the Newbodies, and how she′d been murdered during a home-invasion robbery. At night.
The chill I′d felt earlier washed over me again. I checked my watch. It was nearly ten thirty. I′d heard the first sound of the intruder around ten.
It′s like evil karma is stalking the Newbodies, Evelyn had said to me the other night on the phone. Who′s next?
Was it supposed to have been me?
Chapter 37
Waist-Cincher Magic
If you haven′t discovered waist cinchers yet, run, do not walk, to the undergarment section of your department store. These miracle support garments suck your waist in by several inches. Oh my God. I never leave home without one, especially when I′m feeling bloated.
– From The Little Book of Beauty Secrets by Mimi Morgan
Fish kept vigil on my couch into the wee hours of Thursday morning, just to make sure I was safe. I think he was secretly hoping my intruder would return, just so he could kick some intruder ass.
In addition to appointing himself my personal watchdog, Fish had promised to follow up with the medical examiner′s office to find out who had illegally sold Jana′s heart valve.
″I know a guy who knows a guy over in the ME′s office,″ Fish said. ″And my guy owes me money. I′ll call in a favor.″
″That′s fabulous,″ I said.
Then I mentioned my weird encounter with Chaz Putnam to Fish.