Page 46 of Jar of Hearts
“You worked for Shipp up until five years ago. Now they have a lipstick line. What do you know about it?” He sees the look on her face. “Indulge me, please.”
“I don’t know anything about it,” Geo says, confused. “At the time I went away we’d just launched a line of health and hygiene products. Shampoo, conditioner, body lotion, body wash, et cetera. There were no cosmetics then, but they were part of my long-term plan. I was VP of lifestyle and beauty.”
“Well, they’re doing lipsticks now.”
She waits for him to elaborate, and when he doesn’t, she says,“Okay. So what? That’s not surprising. That was always the plan I—” She stops herself again. “That was always the direction the brand was going to go. It makes sense to start with lipstick. They can start out with a few shades, see how they’re received, and begin expanding.”
“There are ten shades so far,” he says. “But the thing is, they’ve only been on sale for a week. And they’re only available in one store in the entire country—Nordstrom’s flagship store in downtown Seattle.”
“Okay,” Geo says again. She has no idea where he’s going with this. “That’s not uncommon. Both Shipp and Nordstrom are Seattle-based companies, and it’s a good test market. If it sells well at the flagship store, Nordstrom will place it in all their stores.”
“Do you know how many lipsticks there are in the U.S.? Taking into account all the brands, old and new, and all the shades, current and discontinued?”
“Millions,” Geo says without hesitation.
“Want to take a guess on how many Shipp lipsticks were sold at Nordstrom this past week?”
“I have no idea. I don’t know how they well they marketed it.”
“Less than fifty,” Kaiser says. “Which, I’m told, is unspectacular, and goes to show how hard it is to launch a new lipstick when there are already so many to choose from.”
“It’s competitive, yes. But Shipp knows that.”
“Almost all of those new Shipp lipsticks were sold to women—”
“Makes sense.”
“—except for one,” Kaiser says. “The day before the woman and child were murdered, a guy bought one of them, a few minutes before the store closed. We requested their security footage.”
He takes out his phone again, finds a picture, and slides it to Geo.
For the second time that night, she freezes. The photo is black and white and bit grainy, taken from an odd angle at a distance, but Geo is looking at a close-up. The man standing at the Shipp lipstick kiosk is undeniably tall, dressed in a T-shirt, jeans, and boots. He’s wearing a ball cap pulled low, and while the camera can’t see the top of his head, the curve of his jaw is instantly familiar. He’s even wearing an oversized watch on the right wrist, something he always did, even though he was right-handed.
“Calvin,” she says, her voice choked.
“Are you sure?” Kaiser asks.
“It looks exactly like him.” She stares at the photo, trying to make sense of it. “I… I don’t understand. I saw a snippet on the news while I was in prison. They said he was spotted somewhere in Europe—Poland, or Czech Republic.…” Her voice dies.
Kaiser swipes the phone, returning it to the picture of the little boy with the heart on his chest. Then he reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out a sheet of torn yellow notepad paper. She’s seen it before. It’s the same paper he showed her the first and only time he visited her in prison. It’s the paper Calvin was doodling on during the trial, the one with the heart on it, the one with her name inside it.
He places the photo and the piece of paper side by side. The hearts and handwriting look almost identical.
One saysGS. The other saysSEEME.
“What does he want you to see?” Kaiser asks. His face is neutral, but his neck is flushed.
“I don’t know.”
“What does he want you to see?” It’s practically a roar, and she jumps in her chair.
“I don’t know,” she says. Her voice is loud, too, but it’s not filled with anger and frustration like his is. It’s filled with confusion, desperation… and fear. “Kai, I swear, I don’t know.”
“He’s sending you a message.”
“I don’t—”
“He’s going to come for you,” Kaiser says flatly. The chair scrapes the kitchen tile as he pushes it away from the table and stands up. She sees then that his coffee mug is empty—she doesn’t remember him drinking it. Hers is half-full. And cold. “This is all about you, I feel it. If that concerns you at all.”
