“Get on with it,” I growled, earning a nasty look while Aimee’s head was down.
Vero tapped her chin, studying Aimee’s face as she arranged the palettes. “Have we met before?”
Aimee looked up. She tipped her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?” Vero asked. “Because I was just here a few weeks ago for a makeover and I’m sure you were the one who sold me someblushers. Let me think… It would have been on a Tuesday, in the evening.”
“No.” She smiled politely. “That wouldn’t have been me. I don’t work on Tuesday nights. It may have been Julia,” she added with a lilt. “People get us confused all the time.”
Vero nodded. “Oh, sure! Julia rings a bell. Hey, is that a promotion?” Vero rose on her tiptoes to point out a display on the far side of the counter. As Aimee twisted to see it, Vero turned to me and mouthed, “What do I do?”
I swatted the air. “Don’t look at me! Find out where she was that night.”
“So,” Vero said loudly, pulling Aimee’s focus back to the counter, “you’re off on Tuesdays? You must go out on Tuesday nights then. I bet you hit all the best spots in town.”
“That was subtle,” I deadpanned.
Aimee’s smile was uncertain. Maybe a little uncomfortable as she returned to her task.
“I’ve heard great things about a place called The Lush. You know anything about it?”
Aimee’s head snapped up as she dropped a tray of eye colors. The clatter of breaking plastic echoed through the store, drawing the attention of a floor manager. Aimee apologized, her cheeks flushing a hot shade of pink as she bent to scrape it up. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t go there.” Even from where I stood in the clothing racks, I could see her hands shaking as she wiped powder on her pant leg.
“My friend says the bartender’s an underwear model. She says they have good drink specials on Tuesday nights. Are you sure you’ve never been there before?” The color drained from Aimee’s face.
“Laying it on a little thick,” I warned.
Aimee darted anxious glances around the counter, checking to make sure no one was listening when she said, “Are you a cop?”
Vero’s head rocked back. She cocked a hip as they sized each other up.
“No, no, no,” I hissed into the phone. “You are not a cop!”
Vero raised an eyebrow. “What if I am?”
“Look,” Aimee said in a harsh whisper, “I don’t know how you found me, but I had nothing to do with that man’s disappearance. I haven’t laid eyes on him in more than a year. I saw his name on the news just like everybody else.”
“Then I’m sure you won’t mind telling me where you were the night he went missing.”
Breath held, I waited for her answer.
“I was at my AA meeting at the Episcopal Church on Van Buren. Same place I’ve been every Tuesday night for the last eleven months. You can check with my sponsor. She’s there every week. Meetings start at eight,” she said. “Just leave my husband out of it.”
“Is that why you’re working here?” Vero asked in a low voice. “To keep your husband out of it? Is that how you’ve been paying Harris off, using your paychecks to keep him from talking to Daniel?”
Aimee’s mouth fell slack. Her eyes darted anxiously around her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s okay,” Vero said softly. “The police already know about the photos. He won’t be able to hurt you again. If there’s anything you want to say, you can tell me.”
Aimee’s eyes glimmered with the threat of tears. She pulled herself up by her spine. “Would you like me to wrap anything up for you?” Her voice fluttered, fragile under the artificial edge she tried and failed to hone.
Vero must have heard it, too. “You know what, I’ll take that whole palette.” Vero pointed to a set under the glass. Aimee rang it up, smiling tightly as Vero put the bills in her hand. Our eyes caught as Vero took the bag off the counter. I was pretty sure we were thinking the same damn thing.
Aimee had a motive. But she also had an alibi. So if Aimee hadn’t helped Theresa kill Harris, who had?
“What does this mean?” Vero asked, throwing the bag of cosmetics in my lap and slamming her car door.
Aimee Reynolds was definitely the same Aimee on Harris’s phone. And she was definitely the same woman who’d made the anonymous call to the police, But if she’d been at her AA meeting from eight to nine, there’s no way she could have made it to the bar in time to see me leave with Harris.
