Lie, Lie Again - Stacy Wise Page 0,60
her here, nudging her inside.
Bells chimed as she entered, and the scent of lavender filled her nostrils. She closed her eyes and inhaled. It felt like the mindful thing to do. A couple stood in front of a book display directly to her left, and she drifted to the opposite side of the store. The shelves were packed with tiny labeled bottles of essential oils—clary sage, orange blossom, and juniper berry. She carefully lifted the clary sage sample and sniffed. Without warning, a wave of nausea swept over her, and she rushed to replace the jar before covering her nose and mouth with her hand. Oh no, no, no. She couldn’t barf in here. “I’m fine,” she whispered as she slowly exhaled.
A woman with sleeves of tattoos that were all the more colorful against her pale skin crossed to her. “Are you okay, miss?” she asked in a melodious voice.
Embry nodded. “Just overwhelmed by the scents.”
“Ah, here,” she said, waving a small wooden bowl full of coffee beans under her nose. “Breathe in deeply. It will cleanse your olfactory palate.”
Embry recoiled at the bitter smell, praying she wouldn’t gag. “I can’t,” she uttered, covering her mouth with a hand.
“Ah, you have a sensitivity. Take some small breaths and smell your own skin.”
Embry didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry at the suggestion, but she found herself trying it nonetheless.
“Keep breathing. It’ll pass.” Her serene smile seemed convincing, so Embry tried to just breathe. “There you go. Good now?”
It took Embry a second to realize the woman had actually been breathing with her. It was strangely comforting but also totally weird, though the nausea had completely passed. “Yeah. Thanks. I should go,” she mumbled.
“But you didn’t get what you came in for.”
“I don’t know why I came in.”
The serene smile returned, and her eyes—the color of the tigereye rocks Embry had seen on a shelf—lit up. “I like to say that what we’re looking for is always in front of us. We just have to see it. Look around and let me know if I can help with anything.”
“Thanks.”
The woman seemed to float to the other customers, and Embry stared straight ahead. If what I’m looking for is right in front of me, let me see it, she thought with a heavy dose of skepticism. The angels whispered in her mind. Be calm, just be. Well, she’d come all the way here. Closing her eyes, she turned in slow circles, stopping halfway through the second, and opened her eyes. She took in the shelf before her. On it sat stacks of paper-covered soaps shaped like honeycombs. Tiny bees were printed on the packaging along with the words HOMEMADE WITH LOVE IN SANTA MONICA, CA. So she needed soap? No, bees! That’s what I need, she thought with a laugh. Below the soaps were jars of honey—clover, wildflower, and amber. Maybe what she needed was a nice cup of tea. Shaking her head, she left the store and headed toward the market. She might as well do what she told Brandon she’d set out to do.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sylvia tromped into the restaurant bathroom. It’d been only ten minutes, but she needed a break from her lunch mates. The plan had been to dine with only Belinda, but as they’d waited for the elevator, Sarah had trotted over and invited herself. Sylvia practically lost her appetite as they walked the two blocks from the Stone-May building to the restaurant. And yet Belinda managed to proceed as though they were all great friends, and wasn’t this fun? It didn’t matter that they’d had numerous private discussions about Sarah’s presence being like nails on a chalkboard. And now Belinda was faking it for Sarah’s sake. That was the problem with people today. They were so worried about being nice or politically correct, they blurred the truth all damn day.
She peered at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Perfect makeup, as always, but it wouldn’t do now. She dug eye drops from her purse and squeezed a few into each eye, blinking rapidly. They were meant to counteract redness, but they had the opposite effect on Sylvia, causing her eyes to burn. She swiped a finger beneath her lashes, making sure to smear a little mascara. Better. And to think there was a time she hadn’t had to fake tears. You had it rough, little one, but I’ll protect you now.
She relined her lips and filled them in with Mac Lady Danger. Now that her