According to her engagement announcement in the local paper seven years ago, Aimee Shapiro had married a young entrepreneur who owned a chain of car washes. His name was Daniel Reynolds. According to a white pages search, Aimee and Daniel Reynolds now lived in a town house in Potomac Falls, about fourteen miles away. And according to the name tag pinned to the dress suit she’d been wearing when she left home that morning, Aimee Reynolds, aka Aimee R, was on her way to work.
Vero and I tailed her to a parking lot at Fair Oaks Mall, then into the cosmetics department at Macy’s. We huddled in the dress racks, watching her organize the displays under the glass counter.
“Go talk to her.” Vero nudged me with her elbow.
I pulled Zach from her arms. “I can’t be the one to talk to her. She might recognize me from the photos in Steven’s house.”
Vero rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Like Theresa’s got your face hanging all over her hall of fame.”
Point taken. “If Aimee was there the night I brought Harristo the house, she might have gotten a look at my face. You have to do it.” I watched Aimee surreptitiously as I slid dresses down the metal racks. “Dial my number and leave your phone on in your pocket. I’ll listen from here. And put your ear thingy on so you can hear me.”
“What am I supposed to say?” she argued as she stuffed the Bluetooth in her ear.
“I don’t know.” I angled Zach out of reach of a designer silk bustier before he could stuff it in his mouth and use it as a teether. “Make small talk. Find out if she was working here the night Harris disappeared.”
Vero held out her hand. “Give me your credit card.”
“You can’t use my credit card! My name is on it!”
“Then give me some cash. I can’t just loiter at the counter and not spend anything.”
I fished a few bills from my purse, stuffed them in her hand, and pushed her toward the makeup counter. Propping my phone under my ear, I hoisted Zach on my other hip and pretended to be on a call. Using the tall dress racks as camouflage, I wandered to the edge of the cosmetics department until I was near enough to eavesdrop.
“Can you hear me?” I said into my phone.
“All the damn time,” she muttered.
“Can I help you?” Aimee’s voice was light, pleasant through my receiver.
“I hope so,” Vero said a little too loudly. “I’m looking for a gift for a friend. She doesn’t get out much. She’s one of those lonely, reclusive, cat-lady types.”
“I don’t have a cat,” I said grudgingly.
“But there’s this guy who might be interested in her. He’s a cop. So hot.” Vero fanned herself. “I keep telling her she can’t go out ona date wearing sweatpants. At the very least, she ought to make an effort. I mean, come on, put on a little makeup, right?”
“Why?” I grumbled. “So I’ll look better in my mug shot?”
“Oooh!” Aimee’s eyes sparkled. She leaned on her elbows against the glass. “This sounds exciting.”
“You have no idea,” Vero said.
Aimee spread her hands to reveal the colorful rows of palettes under the counter. “I can help you pick something out for her. Tell me about her best features.”
Vero’s eyes rolled to the ceiling. “Wow, that’s a tough one.”
“Watch it,” I said.
“Well, she’s got sort of wavy, reddish-brown hair. It looks nice when she’s trying. Which isn’t often.”
I snapped a hanger over the rack.
“And hazel-green eyes. They change colors when she’s mad and her face turns real red. Most of the time, she’s sort of pale like a vampire, because she doesn’t leave the house much. But she’s got a few freckles here and there, so more like a friendly neighborhood sparkly vamp than one of those creepy coffin-dwelling kinds.”
Aimee let loose a full-throated laugh.
“I’m glad she’s amused,” I muttered.
“Well, let’s play up her eyes. They sound pretty.” Aimee slid open a glass cabinet and set a tray of samples on the counter.
