Bulletproof Mascara: A Novel Read Free Page B

to allow women to work with Carrie Mae or through the use of more clandestine methods to ensure that they have the opportunity to live peaceful lives.”
    Nikki wondered if there was a brochure somewhere that Connie had memorized, and if so, why hadn’t Nikki seen it? Mrs. Merrivel hadn’t said anything about things like this, had she? She remembered Mrs. M using the word clandestine , but at the time she had thought it meant things like bribing border guards. Now she was beginning to think it involved things that needed a gun safe.
    “So the Carrie Mae charity foundation is actually some sort of SWAT team for women?” Nikki asked slowly.
    “No,” Connie said icily. “We are not about police action.”
    “Oh,” Nikki said, laughing with embarrassment and relief. “I thought . . . my mistake. It just sounded like you were some sort of international espionage organization. Really, I must have misunderstood. So silly of me.” She knew she was babbling.
    “The Carrie Mae Foundation is also an international espionage organization,” Connie interrupted. “Our public face remains very committed to bringing help to women worldwide in the form of medicine, education, and financial assistance.”
    “But your not-public face . . .” Nikki noticed that the vocabulary portion of her brain had developed an unsettling disconnect with her speech center; she had no words to wrap around her thoughts.
    “The confidential side of the foundation works toward the same goals, improving the lives of women, but we use slightly different methods—different parts of the same machine. Let’s go back up to the house; Mrs. Merrivel will be waiting.”
    Connie walked past Nikki, giving her no time to ask further questions. Nikki couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. She rode back to the main house with her face frozen into a polite half-smile of disbelief.
    Mrs. Merrivel was waiting for them in an office with a long oval table ringed with chairs. A thick manila folder sat neatly at one end. But it was Mrs. Merrivel who commanded Nikki’s attention: she was petite, over sixty, and scary. From the moment Nikki had laid eyes on her at the Carrie Mae recruiting meeting she had found the older woman’s energy, efficiency, and perfect appearance intimidating. And a week spent living in her house had not done much to diminish that impression.
    “Nikki!” exclaimed Mrs. Merrivel, coming forward to give a hug. Her beautifully tinted brown hair brushed against Nikki’s nose, and Nikki returned the gesture gingerly. She wasn’t practiced in the art of the hug as greeting. “How was your tour? I hope you found the facilities to your liking.”
    “Well, yes, but . . .” said Nikki.
    “But what?” Mrs. Merrivel asked, taking her seat at the head of the table.
    “You’re running a spy farm in the middle of California!” Nikki exclaimed, unable to hold it in any longer.
    “I know,” Mrs. Merrivel said cheerfully. “It’s great, isn’t it? So convenient to be able to do our training inside the States.”
    “But . . .” said Nikki again.
    “But what?” repeated Mrs. Merrivel, a single wrinkle forming between her brows.
    “You’re makeup ladies! Carrie Mae sells makeup. Ding dong, I’m with Carrie Mae. Try my blusher. You’re just makeup ladies. I mean . . .” Nikki became aware of an overwhelming silence filling up the room as she spoke. Mrs. Merrivel had pursed her lips as if she smelled something distasteful. Nikki knew she should shut up, but couldn’t.
    “I was at the recruiting meeting in Canada. You said the Carrie Mae Foundation helped with education and medical needs in the third world. You didn’t say anything about guns and . . .” Nikki waved her hands, trying capture in gesture what she couldn’t in words. “You didn’t say anything about spies. I think I would have remembered.”
    “Well, we can’t, of course,” said Mrs. Merrivel, smiling sweetly again. “But I had hoped