for a telephone. There were no family photos. The fat volumes on the bookshelves looked like they’d cause serious reading wrinkles.
Dr. Hugo Agustino Martin bustled in. He was probably in his fifties, but was eerily youthful. Even the gray at his temples looked like an artful addition to make him seem serious. His white coat crackled from the starch when he sat in his leather chair.
“So, Miss”—he checked his notes—“Marcus. How can we help?”
“I’m thinking about a face-lift,” Josie said, “but I don’t know if it’s too early.”
“Oh, it’s not too early.” Dr. Tino’s smile revealed blinding white teeth. Josie wished she had sunglasses to protect her eyes.
He stood up and came over for a closer look at her face. Josie could smell his citrusy aftershave. “Time, stress, and sun exposure take their toll, even in the midtwenties,” he said. “I estimate you are in your early thirties.”
“Thirty-one,” Josie said.
“Hm.” He studied her face. “You need a little tightening around the jawline and your eyelids could use some work. The wrinkles are starting to come out on your forehead and around the mouth. The lines at your lips should respond to collagen. A rhinoplasty could reshape your nose.”
Josie’s face fell as he talked. She could feel the wrinkles grow deep as ruts in a country road while Dr. Tino listed all the work that needed to be done on her face.
He brushed her hair back lightly. “Your ears are fine.”
Terrific, Josie thought. I cover up the one part that doesn’t bag or sag.
“I might be able to get your insurance to pay for the blepharoplasty—that’s an eyelid lift,” Dr. Tino said. “But you’d have to pay for the face-lift, collagen, and rhinoplasty. However, we do have financing and an easy payment plan.”
“Thank you,” Josie said. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“Don’t delay,” he said. “These problems don’t cure themselves. They only get worse.”
Josie staggered down the hall to the reception desk. She could practically feel her jowls swinging as she walked.
Shannon, the sweet, shy, stacked receptionist, said, “That will be two hundred dollars, please.”
Josie numbly wrote a check, still staring at the receptionist. She’d seen Shannon before. She knew it. Where?
Josie shivered on her way to the parking lot. She’d wasted her time and spent a lot of money for nothing. No, wait. The visit wasn’t a total loss. The new widower was seeing patients when his Frankie Angel had been murdered days ago. He didn’t have any photos of his wife in his office. He hadn’t bothered closing his practice.
Dr. Tino Martin was not overcome with grief.
Chapter 13
“I did it my way,” Alex Failoni Jr. crooned. If I close my eyes, Josie thought, it sounds like Ol’ Blue Eyes himself is in this neighborhood restaurant.
Josie liked the way Alex sang “My Way” in Failoni’s. Sinatra’s signature song had been mangled too often in karaoke bars. Alex Failoni didn’t draw out the last phrase with inflated emotion or fill it with ersatz drama.
Many restaurant patrons thought Alex could have a career as a full-time entertainer, but Alex seemed as proud of his pizza as he was of his music. Maybe prouder.
The star of Failoni’s Restaurant was as skinny as a young Sinatra. His fans were almost as fanatical in their subdued way. St. Louisans did not go for public displays of emotion, except when the Cardinals were in the play-offs.
Josie thought the audience was part of the show at Failoni’s. She liked watching them. Some of the older women could have been bobby-soxers swooning for the teen-heartthrob Sinatra. Some of the couples could have applauded the mature Sinatra on one of his many farewell tours. Some young men in the restaurant dressed like Rat Packers in narrow ties and skinny-brimmed hats.
Many customers enjoyed
Dr. Hugo Agustino Martin bustled in. He was probably in his fifties, but was eerily youthful. Even the gray at his temples looked like an artful addition to make him seem serious. His white coat crackled from the starch when he sat in his leather chair.
“So, Miss”—he checked his notes—“Marcus. How can we help?”
“I’m thinking about a face-lift,” Josie said, “but I don’t know if it’s too early.”
“Oh, it’s not too early.” Dr. Tino’s smile revealed blinding white teeth. Josie wished she had sunglasses to protect her eyes.
He stood up and came over for a closer look at her face. Josie could smell his citrusy aftershave. “Time, stress, and sun exposure take their toll, even in the midtwenties,” he said. “I estimate you are in your early thirties.”
“Thirty-one,” Josie said.
“Hm.” He studied her face. “You need a little tightening around the jawline and your eyelids could use some work. The wrinkles are starting to come out on your forehead and around the mouth. The lines at your lips should respond to collagen. A rhinoplasty could reshape your nose.”
Josie’s face fell as he talked. She could feel the wrinkles grow deep as ruts in a country road while Dr. Tino listed all the work that needed to be done on her face.
He brushed her hair back lightly. “Your ears are fine.”
Terrific, Josie thought. I cover up the one part that doesn’t bag or sag.
“I might be able to get your insurance to pay for the blepharoplasty—that’s an eyelid lift,” Dr. Tino said. “But you’d have to pay for the face-lift, collagen, and rhinoplasty. However, we do have financing and an easy payment plan.”
“Thank you,” Josie said. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“Don’t delay,” he said. “These problems don’t cure themselves. They only get worse.”
Josie staggered down the hall to the reception desk. She could practically feel her jowls swinging as she walked.
Shannon, the sweet, shy, stacked receptionist, said, “That will be two hundred dollars, please.”
Josie numbly wrote a check, still staring at the receptionist. She’d seen Shannon before. She knew it. Where?
Josie shivered on her way to the parking lot. She’d wasted her time and spent a lot of money for nothing. No, wait. The visit wasn’t a total loss. The new widower was seeing patients when his Frankie Angel had been murdered days ago. He didn’t have any photos of his wife in his office. He hadn’t bothered closing his practice.
Dr. Tino Martin was not overcome with grief.
Chapter 13
“I did it my way,” Alex Failoni Jr. crooned. If I close my eyes, Josie thought, it sounds like Ol’ Blue Eyes himself is in this neighborhood restaurant.
Josie liked the way Alex sang “My Way” in Failoni’s. Sinatra’s signature song had been mangled too often in karaoke bars. Alex Failoni didn’t draw out the last phrase with inflated emotion or fill it with ersatz drama.
Many restaurant patrons thought Alex could have a career as a full-time entertainer, but Alex seemed as proud of his pizza as he was of his music. Maybe prouder.
The star of Failoni’s Restaurant was as skinny as a young Sinatra. His fans were almost as fanatical in their subdued way. St. Louisans did not go for public displays of emotion, except when the Cardinals were in the play-offs.
Josie thought the audience was part of the show at Failoni’s. She liked watching them. Some of the older women could have been bobby-soxers swooning for the teen-heartthrob Sinatra. Some of the couples could have applauded the mature Sinatra on one of his many farewell tours. Some young men in the restaurant dressed like Rat Packers in narrow ties and skinny-brimmed hats.
Many customers enjoyed
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