A Fashionable Murder (23 page)

Josie realized it was entirely possible that they were moving into the area of wishful thinking on Carol’s part— interesting in a personally painful way, but not particularly productive. “Was KiKi sure that Pamela didn’t want to marry Sammy?”

“Oh, my dear, that was the only way she could explain something Pamela did that didn’t make sense. Something that didn’t make sense to me either.”

Josie was completely mystified. “What?”

“She knew he would hate the way she decorated his apartment!”

Josie had been anticipating anything but this. “You’re kidding. How did she know that?”

“Pamela told her so! Pamela always wore her hair short. Just a pert little cap that suited her so well, and she knew it. But that summer she had started wearing it even shorter than usual and she had to have it trimmed and highlighted every four weeks, so she saw KiKi a lot. KiKi claims Pamela was in her chair at the salon when she came up with the idea of redecorating Sammy’s apartment.”

“What did she say? I think I’ll redecorate my boyfriend’s apartment and make it as ugly as possible?”

“No. After all, this was a few years ago. And, remember, these women hear a whole lot of stories. And . . .”

“I’ll take it all with a grain of salt,” Josie said impatiently. “Just tell me.”

“She said that Pamela was complaining that she wanted to entertain potential clients in Sammy’s apartment, but that it was just an embarrassment that he hadn’t let her redecorate it. And then she had the idea of redecorating it as a gift—and announcing it publicly so he couldn’t refuse.”

“Well, not without looking like an ungrateful cad,” Josie agreed, thinking how incredibly manipulative Pamela’s plan sounded. Although she knew Pamela would have needed to manipulate Sam to accomplish her own goal. Sam had built a hideous deck on the front of his little house in the dunes. Josie had taken the fact that he didn’t consult her or ask for suggestions while the work was in progress as a personal and professional insult. From the moment it was finished, she had hoped it would fall down. Fortunately, Hurricane Agatha had dropped a tree on it last summer. Sam and she had designed the new deck together and Island Contracting would be building it as soon as they could put the pilings in the ground. “Why didn’t Sam design the apartment with Pamela?”

“I know the answer to that one. After all, I was there when she announced the gift. She explained that the design would be a surprise.” Carol paused. “I think she said something about the project being a breakthrough for Henderson and Peel—or a change of direction. Something like that. I remember thinking that it was foolish to do something different when you’re so successful. But, of course, I probably was wrong about that.”

“Why?”

“You have to stay ahead of the game. Fashion designers, interior designers, all those creative professions—they either follow or lead. And the big ones lead. And leading means changing. It’s the only way to stay one step ahead of the herd.” She smiled at Josie. “You don’t have to be around New York long to realize that. And I suppose that may be why it never occurred to me that Pamela would ask for Sammy’s input. If I thought anything was odd about it, I thought it was strange that she didn’t try to talk him into moving into a place where they could both live and decorate that for him. But we’ve talked about this, dear. What I want to tell you is what she told KiKi. See, at first, KiKi assumed that it was just a nice gift. But then, listening to Pamela describe her work for a few weeks, she realized that it was a really odd job and that not only was Pamela not interested in what Sammy would want, but she didn’t care at all that the apartment wouldn’t suit him. She thought minimalism would be the next wave in decorating and so that’s what she did.”

“But she had that window seat built so that Sam would have someplace to keep all his paperwork. So she did account for his needs, at least some of them,” Josie said.

“That’s a good point,” Carol said slowly, considering the suggestion.

“Did KiKi explain why Pamela did this to Sam’s place?”

“Well, she thought that it was a selfish gesture, not a mean one. She got the impression that Pamela wanted to do something different from what Henderson and Peel usually did and couldn’t find a client who would allow it. By doing something Sammy didn’t know about, she could do what she wanted. And then, of course, she probably thought she’d get a lot of publicity about the place in the
Times
and all and she’d move Henderson and Peel a step ahead of the competition.”

“Oh.” Josie said nothing else.

“I believe those two big platters on the counter are ours,” Carol stated flatly.

Josie jumped up. “I’ll get them.”

Two large, heavy pottery platters were indeed waiting for them. Josie picked up one in each hand. Each had a pile of dun-colored rice in its middle flanked by various steamed vegetables and grains that Josie couldn’t identify. She placed them on the table she and Carol shared. “I have no idea which is which.”

Carol peered down at the plates, an unenthusiastic expression on her face. “I don’t think it can matter much, do you?”

“Probably not, but I’m hungry.” Josie sat down, picked up her fork, and plunged it into her pile of vegetables.

“Is there any salt?” Carol asked, looking around at the other tables.

“You don’t need it. It’s really spicy,” Josie said as she chewed. “And it’s not bad.”

Carol picked up her fork and followed Josie’s example. Soon the women were eating so enthusiastically that they didn’t notice Dawn’s approach.

“Oh, this is nice. I’m glad I ran into you.”

Josie introduced Dawn and Carol to each other and suggested that Dawn might like to join them.

“I’d love to, but I’m meeting someone for lunch. But I have some good news for you. My appointment after you canceled at the last minute, so I took the time to call my friend, the one who knows . . .” Dawn suddenly stopped speaking and let her eyes wander over to Carol. She lifted one eyebrow in a quizzical manner.

“Carol knows all about this.” Josie answered Dawn’s unasked question.

“Great! My timing was perfect. Gayle was on her way out the door to attend a big charity event down on the pier.”

“But she gave you the information?” Josie asked.

“To be honest, she was concerned about giving you any information without meeting you.”

“But time . . .”

“I told her you were anxious and she suggested that you meet her at the Spotlight Sale.”

“What a wonderful idea! I love going to those sales!” Carol spoke up.

“Do you have time?”

“I need to make some calls.” Josie looked at Carol. “I should call Betty and Sam.”

“We’ll call in the cab on the way there. Oh, I never knew detective work could be so much fun! Or fattening,” she added, looking down at her almost empty plate.

“One of the little-known facts of life is that a person can gain weight on a macrobiotic diet. It’s all those carbs,” Dawn explained. “Oh, there’s my friend, I have to go.”

“But how will I recognize Gayle?” Josie asked.

“She’s about fifty, is in great shape, has short gray hair and she’ll be looking at evening dresses. Size six or eight,” Dawn said, moving away from them.

“Oh, wait,” Josie cried. “I have a question . . . a quick question.”

“What?”

“It’s about Carollynn.” Josie hesitated before continuing. “I was wondering . . . Is she honest? I mean, does she tell the truth?”

“Carollynn? I wouldn’t trust her, no. Now I’ve really got to run.”

Carol stood up. “And we’d better get going.”

“Yes, of course.” Josie followed her lead and a few minutes later they were in a taxi heading back uptown. “What is the Spotlight Sale?” Josie asked, scrounging around in her new purse for her cell phone. “Oh, look!” she yelled before giving Carol an opportunity to answer. “There’s Tyler! And Tony! And that girl named Toni too. In that white limo there . . . Oh they’re turning! Damn! I wish we could have talked to them.”

“What a lucky young man to be chauffeured around the city in a luxury car. I’m sure he’s having the time of his life,” Carol said, moving her coat away from a spot of something sticky on the seat’s worn upholstery. “Now, about the Spotlight Sale . . . it’s famous. It’s one of the oldest charities in the city. It’s organized by the most wealthy women, many of whom belong to what used to be New York society. It’s a real honor to be asked to be on their organizing committee.”

Josie stopped dialing. “I thought you said it was a sale.”

“It is.”

“Of what?”

“Clothing. Fabulous, fabulous clothing. Designer things.”

“Where does it come from?”

“Oh, it’s donated. It’s all used, of course. You won’t believe it!”

Josie already couldn’t. That Carol would be this excited about a sale of used clothing. It just didn’t fit her image of Sam’s mother. But she didn’t have time to think more about it. Sam, finally, had answered his phone.

“Sam? Josie. Any news? Oh, well, that’s good, isn’t it?” She listened a bit more and then, after explaining where they were heading, she said good-bye, hung up, and turned to Carol. “Sam’s busy. The Realtor is at his place and they’re going over various options. But he says that he hasn’t heard from anyone official.”

“From the police department?”

“Exactly. He hasn’t heard from them and neither has Jon—he called. And I told him . . . Well, you heard what I told him.”

“We’ll call back after we’re done at the sale,” Carol said.

Josie was busy dialing Betty’s number. She answered almost immediately. And her answer to Josie’s question was short. “No way!”

“Betty could not convince Harold to open the door to Sam’s place for her,” Josie reported to Carol.

But Carol just nodded, leaned forward, and peered out the windshield.

The cab they were in was flying up the one-way street, dodging buses, cars, trucks, other taxis, and pedestrians. The radio was blaring music played on instruments Josie didn’t recognize, accompanying a singer crooning in a language she couldn’t understand. Nothing was going as she had expected or hoped. But she realized she was seeing an incredible city in an incredible way. Now all she had to do was convince someone she had never met to introduce her to someone who had no reason to want to talk to her.

The cab swerved. A young man on a bicycle, a huge bulging pack on his back, yelled out a familiar curse in a language she knew well. The driver lowered the window to raise one finger in the air and freezing cold air swarmed into the car. Carol pulled her coat closer to her neck and Josie took a deep breath. It didn’t matter how many dead ends there were. She had no choice. She had to succeed. Sam’s life depended on it.

TWENTY-FOUR

IT WAS THE largest enclosed space Josie had ever seen. From where she stood, waiting by the door as Carol paid their entrance fees, it looked as though two or three old-time ocean liners could have been dry-docked inside this building. But now, instead of ships, racks of clothing filled the right side of the space. Tables of folded scarves, sweaters, T-shirts, hats, purses, and shoes marched down the middle of the pier. Tents had been set up to serve as dressing rooms. Shoppers waited in long lines, clothing piled high in tired arms, to pay for their purchases, and at the far back, long racks of glittering full-length dresses were guarded by stern-looking helpers as customers were exhorted to look, but look carefully. Josie and Carol knew exactly where they were going. They marched through the crowd toward those formal dresses.

“Oh, is that a Hermès bag?”

Josie grabbed Carol’s arm and prevented her from straying. “We’ll look at it later.”

“If it’s real, it won’t be there later. See, that woman just picked it up.”

“Carol, a woman with short gray hair just walked into one of those tents!” Josie said, spinning around. “Maybe I should follow her.”

“And I’ll go back to the evening gowns,” Carol said.

But Josie knew Carol wouldn’t easily abandon an opportunity to acquire a rare bargain and she grabbed her arm, preventing her from leaving. “No, you go see if the woman in the dressing room is named Gayle. I’ll go look in the racks.”

“Gayle who?”

“You know, I don’t know her last name, but, remember, she’s here to try on evening gowns.”

“Josie, when you go out to buy a new pair of jeans, don’t you sometimes end up looking at T-shirts?”

Josie got the point immediately. “You think we might find Gayle anywhere in this place.”

“Unless she’s a truly amazing woman, it’s definitely a possibility. But I will head right back to the evening gowns if I don’t find her in there,” Carol explained, peeling off in the direction of the dressing area.

Josie continued on, astounded by the activity around her. Hundreds of shoppers were pawing through the goods. Even more walked slowly up and down the temporary aisles, looking for the correct size or most valuable designer label. She recognized many of the names she had become familiar with on her journey into Saks with Carol a few days earlier.

Josie had been patronizing thrift shops for over a decade. Tyler had worn clothes from a secondhand children’s store when he was growing up. Even her couch had done some time in the local Salvation Army store. But she had never seen anything like this. A lot of the clothing looked new. Two sweaters she just happened to pick up as she passed still had tags hanging from their sleeves. Barney’s New York tags!

But she wasn’t here to shop and the evening gown section put any thoughts of that out of her mind. She had never worn an evening gown in her life and couldn’t imagine a need for one in the foreseeable future. Besides, this type of fancyschmancy thing didn’t appeal to her. Not at all, she reminded herself, reaching out and fingering a skirt fashioned from layers of multicolored organza. Suddenly, Josie remembered being five or six years old and running around the house tripping over an old gown of her mother’s, a crinoline slip tied on her head. She had been pretending to be a bride on her wedding day, one of her favorite grown-up fantasies. How little she had known what the future had in store for her she thought, reluctantly dropping the skirt.