You Are Not Alone(47)
Cassandra stares at her computer monitor, her skin prickling.
Shay is staring almost directly into the camera installed at the top of the hallway mirror.
Cassandra leans in closer, barely breathing. Weeks ago, when she flipped between the photograph of Shay carrying a yellow zinnia and the image of Amanda holding a calico cat, she noticed a passing resemblance—the height, the general shapes of their faces.
Now, with Shay’s hair up and her glasses off, Shay could almost be Amanda’s sister.
Cassandra snaps a screenshot to capture Shay in this moment.
When Cassandra clicked on the icon on her computer to access the cameras in Valerie’s apartment right after Shay texted about the door that Stacey must have left cracked open, Cassandra expected to capture Shay typing on her computer or writing in her notebook.
Instead, Shay’s face looms so close it almost appears as if she is peering back into Cassandra’s computer.
In her mind, Cassandra further alters the image, lightening Shay’s hair and cropping it to a layered bob that hits her collarbone. Instead of baggy sweats, she envisions Shay in a dress—the kind of feminine, flowy style Amanda used to favor.
Cassandra studies Shay, her pulse quickening, as Shay tilts her head from side to side. Amanda’s eyes weren’t as widely spaced as Shay’s, and she didn’t have a cleft in her chin. But with the right clothes, the right hair, the right coaching …
Cassandra reaches for her phone and dials Stacey, who picks up immediately.
“Do me a quick favor?” Cassandra’s words are terse and clipped. “Can you access Shay’s calendar off her computer?”
“Hang on.” It’s silent except for a rapid clicking. “Got it. What do you need?”
“Send me a screenshot for the month of August.”
Almost before Cassandra finishes the sentence, Stacey replies, “Done.”
Cassandra pulls up the calendar, her eyes sweeping across it as she searches for a specific date.
She holds her breath when she finds it.
She’s almost scared to look.
One of the threats facing the group is Detective Santiago’s interest in Daphne’s connection to James.
The other is Shay, and her unrelenting probing into Amanda’s life.
There may be a way to join together these menaces and extinguish them both simultaneously.
Cassandra reads the entry for a specific date: Temp, dentist, 6-mile run.
Cassandra exhales slowly. Her skin tingles.
Everything is snapping into place so beautifully it’s almost as if the chain of events were preordained—as if an unseen hand had guided Shay onto the Thirty-third Street subway platform to stand next to Amanda on that fateful Sunday morning.
Initially, the sisters believed Shay was the worst possible person to become entangled in the aftermath of Amanda’s suicide. Now the opposite seems true.
She is perfect.
All this time, they have been struggling to figure out who Shay was.
Now the sisters will turn all their focus onto who she could be.
PART
TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
SHAY
The average woman spends about $313 per month on her appearance—and about a quarter of a million dollars over her lifetime—according to a study funded by Groupon. Women are most likely to splurge on facials, followed by haircuts, then manicures and pedicures. Another study, this one conducted by Clairol, found that about three-quarters of women dye their hair. And 88 percent of women say their hair has an effect on their confidence.
—Data Book, page 41
“YOU LOOK … PERFECT,” JANE SAYS, sounding a little awed.
The stylist, Philip, unfastens my black cape and whisks it off to the side. Then he runs his hands through my hair while I gape at myself in the mirror.
“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Philip asks as he looks to Cassandra and Jane, clearly seeking their approval.
What a difference it made to chop off four inches, add layers, and lighten my hair by two shades. “I totally see you in this color,” Jane had said as we’d walked to the salon, showing me a tear sheet from a glossy magazine that she’d pulled out of her purse. I’d given it to Philip, and he’d matched the shade perfectly, added a few blonder streaks around my face that make me appear like a more polished, pretty version of myself.
“Your eyes really pop now!” Cassandra exclaims, leaning in close to me to get a better look.
Philip shaped my eyebrows, too, at Cassandra’s suggestion. “Defined brows will help frame your face,” she’d explained. All these beauty tricks made a huge difference.
As with most of the other good things happening to me lately, I have Cassandra and Jane to thank.
It started so simply: When Cassandra called me a few nights ago with the good news that I could have the apartment for another week, we’d chatted for a while. I’d just received an email from the head of human resources at the Avenues Agency asking me to come back for a second interview, and Cassandra couldn’t have been more encouraging.
“What else have you been up to?” she’d asked.
So I told her about my investigation into online dating, making it sound like a lark. “I just hope I don’t wind up in someone’s freezer.”