Best Little Witch-House in Arkham. Mark McLaughlin

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СКАЧАТЬ given her a basket of kiwi fruit, and she’d found them to be absolutely delicious. And so every day, she always ate at least three or four kiwis, since they were so tasty and also, they reminded her of her beloved policeman, who had died in a car accident. That was back when she had lived in New York.

      “After my Tony died, I came to Innsmouth with a patient of mine, Mrs. Hamogeorgakis,” Kiwi said. “I am a doctor, you see. Back in New York, I would drop by her place every now and then—she had many health problems, the poor dear, and she has always been a friend of the family. So when Mrs. Hamogeorgakis decided to come here—she has relatives in town—she asked if I would like to come with her. I was tired of New York, so I said yes.”

      “You still call her by her last name after all these years?” Melina said as she rinsed out the bony woman’s hair. Kiwi’s old enough to be my grandmother, she thought. How old is this gal she’s taking care of?

      The old woman laughed. “Mrs. Hamogeorgakis is like a queen. Her very presence commands respect.”

      Finally, Melina finished her work. And the old woman looked—nice. Her hair was now a medium golden-brown and trimmed to shoulder-length. Her gaunt face, through the subtle use of foundation, shadow, lipstick, lip-liner and more, now looked pleasant but dignified. Almost grandmotherly.

      Kiwi gasped at her reflection. “My child, this is a miracle! It is like I am only fifty again.” She got out of the chair and looked her closely in the mirror. “Interesting, how you’ve applied the color on the sides of my nose. It doesn’t look so big now. I will have to study this when I get home, to see if could do it myself.” She turned around. “Or perhaps you could come by sometime and teach me?”

      Melina shook her head. “Sorry, we don’t give lessons. Otherwise you wouldn’t need the salon.”

      Kiwi pouted. “But I wouldn’t have the time to come here every day. And I’d still need you to do my hair.” She moved closer to Melina and whispered, “I would pay very well for these lessons. Give me your home number. I’ll call you and we’ll talk more.”

      Kyle walked over to Melina’s workstation. “Mel, you didn’t tell me you had a sister,” he said with his usual lopsided grin.

      Kiwi ran a bony hand through the male stylist’s blond highlights. “This is an interesting effect. Very dramatic. Maybe you could do this for me sometime, Melina.”

      Melina wrote her home number on the back of a business card and handed it to the old woman. “Whatever you like, Kiwi.”

      “Your name’s Kiwi?” Kyle said.

      “Have Melina tell you the story.” The old woman put a fingertip on Kyle’s cheek. “Such large eyes you have. Are you a Gilman, by any chance?”

      He nodded. “Yes, how did you know?”

      “The family resemblance is unmistakable.” She turned back to Melina. “I must go now—I still have some shopping to do for Mrs. Hamogeorgakis. I pay the receptionist, yes?”

      Melina nodded. One hand was in her pocket, touching that hundred-dollar bill.

      Later, during their next cigarette break, Kyle said, “That old lady looks about a hundred times better now. But what was the deal with her knowing my last name?”

      Melina looked at his big soulful blue eyes and his wide, full-lipped, sensuous mouth. Too bad he’s gay. “Like she said, a family resemblance. That’s not so weird. Most of you Gilmans have the same look. Though you are better looking than most of the others. Your uncle Carl looks like a big toad-man.”

      Kyle grimaced. “Thanks for telling me. Does that mean I’m going to look like an old toad someday?” He threw down his cigarette, crushed it under his heel and went back into the salon.

      Melina just shrugged. “Maybe,” she said to no one.

      * * * *

      That evening, Miss Papadakis called Melina. The beautician was lounging in a beanbag chair in her apartment at the time, drinking a glass of wine and doing a crossword puzzle, when the phone rang.

      “Mrs. Hamogeorgakis had much to say about your skill—all good, of course,” Kiwi said. “I must confess, I had a special reason for coming to your salon today.”

      God, I hope it’s not kinky, Melina thought. “Is that right?”

      “My visit was—what is the word I’m looking for?—let me think…”

      “I’m good at crosswords—I’m doing one right now. What’s the word mean?”

      “The word for when you try somebody out, so they can do a task later.”

      “An interview?” Melina said. She grabbed the wine bottle and refreshed her glass. “An audition?”

      “Yes, both of those,” Kiwi said. “You see, Mrs. Hamogeorgakis is in need of your services.”

      “But what about you?”

      “I need them, too. But Mrs. Hamogeorgakis needs them even more.” Kiwi paused, and then said, “Much more.”

      “I see.” Actually, Melina didn’t want to see how ugly the ancient woman in question had to be.

      “Mrs. Hamogeorgakis would not be able to visit your salon. You’ll have to come here, to 605 Cherrywood Lane. Do you have pen and paper so you can write that down?”

      Melina wrote it in the margin of her crossword puzzle. “You know, I am really busy these days, and the salon would be mad if they knew—”

      “One-thousand dollars.” Kiwi stated. “You will receive one-thousand dollars for your visit. Tomorrow night at eight o’clock.”

      “Great! I’ll be there,” Melina said. “I look forward to meeting your friend.”

      “You will like Mrs. Hamogeorgakis. She is a fascinating person, and she will be very grateful. We will see you tomorrow night.”

      Melina hung up the phone and had some more wine.

      A fascinating person.

      The old hag probably looked like a mummy. A fascinating mummy.

      * * * *

      The sky was overcast the next morning. By noon, the clouds were roiling black and grey. Rain was pouring down, accompanied by gale-force winds.

      Midge locked the front door of The Perfect Profile and the employees all went down into the basement. It would have been impossible for any of them to go home at that point. Midge was afraid the wind might blow a branch or a trashcan through the salon’s plate-glass window.

      Melina and Kyle sat away from the others in a corner, smoking.

      “I’m sorry about yesterday,” Melina said.

      “That’s okay,” her friend said. “It’s not your fault. I guess I’m just afraid I’ll end up like my uncle. That’s all.”

      “But you really are a lot better looking than—”

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