Crushed Velvet (12 page)

“Did she say who she was afraid of?”

“You didn't hear it from me, but she was having a thing with a married man. I think she was afraid of the wife finding out.”

This didn't sound good. “So she left her car here and your friend drove her home?”

“Yeah, and apparently when she showed up Monday morning to get her car she was still tipsy. The manager didn't want to chance her not sticking around for the Monday walk-through, so he told her to sleep it off in her dressing room.”

Vaughn waved from the concession stand. “Thank you.” I hurried to the usher and pointed at Vaughn, who had one arm wrapped around the bucket of popcorn and the split of champagne and two plastic coupes in the other hand. The box of Goobers was tucked under his elbow. The usher let me through. I rescued the box of Goobers and the plastic glasses from Vaughn and we ducked into the darkened theater.

I'd always heard movies were meant to be viewed from the ninth row but was happy we sat in the twelfth, considering it came with an ample amount of legroom. I turned my phone off while Vaughn filled each of the plastic glasses with bubbly. Before he had a chance to make a toast, the rest of the lights went out. We clinked plastic and turned toward the screen.

We finished most of the popcorn and all of the Goobers during the trailers. When the movie started, Vaughn set the popcorn on the floor and we focused on the screen. It was a good thing I was familiar with the movie, because I had a hard time paying attention.

When Genevieve told me she went to Los Angeles and caught Phil dressed for a romantic interlude that didn't involve her, I was sure he'd been expecting his mistress Babs. But how would that have been possible? She'd been in San Ladrón. She'd performed two shows to a full house—two full houses—filled with witnesses. A theater employee had driven her home. A taxi had driven her back the next morning. She'd been too drunk to drive, so the manager had told her to sleep it off in her dressing room.

Not good for Genevieve's story.

After the movie, Vaughn and I strolled through the lobby. He pointed out details in the interior architecture I might not have noticed. Try as I did, I still couldn't focus. I feigned interest in a subject I would normally love to hear about, but I could tell from the expression on his face that he knew my mind was miles away.

“Is everything okay?” he finally asked.

He'd been nothing but nice all night, and while I wasn't comfortable telling him the whole truth, I felt I owed him something. “I'm sorry I'm so distracted. The truth is, I have a lot on my mind.”

“Your store opens on Sunday. Are you ready?”

“No,” I said. “I mean, yes. I mean, I'm ready to open the store. In some ways, I think I'm more ready for that than anything. But that's not what's worrying me. I can't stop thinking about Genevieve.”

“That's why you're working so hard on the fabric renovation for her, isn't it? It's not just about the renovation. You're trying to do something nice for her to make up for what people are saying.”

“What are people saying?”

“That she poisoned her husband.”

“But she didn't. I proved as much today. When I tried to show Sheriff Clark how I knew Phil didn't drink the tea Genevieve gave him, he said he already knew that.”

Vaughn's face froze. “How do you know about the tea?” he asked.

“Clark came to Tea Totalers today.” I didn't want to tell Vaughn about my tea spill experiment or the photos I'd taken to prove Phil hadn't ingested the tea. Admitting to that would be too close to telling him that I was trying to figure out what happened, and that would be too close to admitting that I'd spoken to Genevieve.

“Can we go someplace to talk?” he asked.

I knew I couldn't invite him back to the fabric store because Genevieve might still be there. And I didn't want to suggest we went back to his place, because not only did I not know where his place was, I didn't want to seem forward. I opened my clutch handbag and stared at the keys inside. “Let's go to Tea Totalers. I have the keys. We can talk there.”

Vaughn drove at a fast clip and parked behind the shop. I unlocked the back door and he followed me to the front. I unfolded a large piece of toile and laid it on the floor like a blanket. I unclipped the cape and draped it on the counter, then kicked off my shoes and lowered myself to the floor, tucking my feet in beside me. Vaughn sat across from me. I braced myself for his questions, questions that would force me to either admit I'd talked to Genevieve or to lie to Vaughn. Until he asked, I didn't know which direction I'd go.

“When you knocked that glass of tea out of my hands yesterday morning, I knew what you thought,” he said. “You were afraid there was something in the tea that killed Phil and you didn't want me to drink it.”

I neither confirmed nor denied his suspicion.

“I assume you were protecting Genevieve, and I can respect
that. And if there
was
something in the tea, you kept me from drinking it, so I guess I owe you a thank-you for that, too.”

“Vaughn, I can't tell you why I reacted the way I did.”

“I don't want your explanation. There's something I need to tell you.” He sat Indian-style and looked down at his feet. His highly polished black wing tips crossed over each other. I noticed how the knots in his shoelaces weren't centered on top of his foot, but were closer to his instep, as though he'd crossed his foot over his knee to tie each shoe. His socks had a small chevron pattern in black and forest green.

I reached across the short distance between us and put my hand on his knee. “What is it? What's so important that you have to tell me?”

“After you cleaned up the spill, you put the paper towels and the broken glass in a bag and you put the bag out back. I took the bag to the police to analyze.” He looked up. “
That's
how Sheriff Clark knows the tea wasn't poisoned.”

Heat rushed into
my head and my heartbeat thumped in my ears. I pulled my hand away from Vaughn, sat up straight, and looked around the interior of the shop for a way out. Even though I'd spent most of the day here, tonight I felt like an animal trapped in a cage.

“How could you do that to her? I thought you were Genevieve's friend.”

“I am her friend. Poly, listen to me—”

“No, I won't listen to you.” I cursed the narrow skirt that made it impossible to stand gracefully. Vaughn jumped up quickly, anticipating my flight. My right foot twisted around my left ankle and, halfway standing, I tipped and started to fall back down. Vaughn's hands shot out and caught me by the waist. He righted me but didn't let go. Our faces were inches apart.

“Yes, you
will
listen to me, because you asked me how I could do something like that to her. I did it because she asked me to.”

I tried to pull away from the grip he had on my waist, but when his words sank in, I stopped. He must have sensed that the fight had left me, because his hands relaxed. His left hand reached up and he tucked his index finger under my chin and tipped my face so I was looking directly at him. “Did you hear what I said?” he asked softly.

“Genevieve asked you to take the tea to the police?”

“Genevieve asked me to find out if she'd put something in the tea that could have killed Phil.”

“That's a pretty big risk, taking it to Clark to answer her question.”

“If that's what I'd done, then yes, it would have been a big risk. I wasn't willing to take that chance. I took it to a private lab and had them run up a chemical panel on the contents. After I knew for sure she was in the clear, I took it to Clark.”

I didn't know what to say. Here I was, trying to re-create the stain in the back of the truck while Vaughn had a private lab at his disposal. It was Trixie Belden vs. Bruce Wayne.

“I don't know what to say.”

The side of his mouth raised into a shy smile. “I told you we're not all that different.”

I stepped backward and this time his hands lost contact with me. “But we are different, Vaughn. I'm out here with carpet scraps and green food coloring trying to prove Genevieve's innocent and you've got private labs at your disposal.” I hadn't told him about the carpet experiment and, judging from the expression on his face, he was confused. Humiliation warmed my cheeks and throat, restricting my breathing. I wanted to turn around and leave, bury my head in a pillow and try to pretend I hadn't said anything, but it was too late.

He'd used the resources he had to help Genevieve, just like I had. I was being irrational about the methods he'd used to get there, but I was too far gone to let it be.

Vaughn stepped toward me and I stepped backward. He stepped toward me again, and this time I stayed put. “This
isn't about what I did for Genevieve, is it?” he asked in a soft voice.

“I don't think it is.” I felt myself shaking.

Vaughn must have seen it, because he stepped closer. “Come here, Poly. Shhhh.” He folded his arms around me. We stood like that until the shaking stopped. When I pulled away, Vaughn relaxed his embrace. “Do we need to talk about this?” he asked.

“No. I'm sorry I overreacted.”

“You didn't overreact; you reacted the way that was natural for you to react. I can't say I understand it, but it was real and it was honest.”

I reached out and took his hand and led him back to the toile floor covering. I sat down first and Vaughn followed.

“First things first,” I started. “Genevieve asked me to help her. No, that's not true. She didn't ask for my help. She thought she accidentally poisoned Phil. I volunteered to help her, because I knew she needed it. I remember how it felt a few months ago, when I didn't know anybody and people were saying things about me.”

Vaughn nodded and I continued.

“I told her to stay away from the store. The renovation with fabric, this whole project, was supposed to be a surprise for her. I got the idea a while ago, back when I first came to San Ladrón. The first time I sat in this tea shop after she told me how she wanted it to feel like a French café, I knew the fabrics at the store could make a world of difference. I started working on things a little bit here, a little bit there. In secret, between planning to reopen the fabric store and moving from Los Angeles.” I shrugged. “After Phil's murder, we thought it was best for her to close the café for the week. We agreed to tell people it had been scheduled for a while. It was as good an excuse as any for her to stay a way while we figured this thing out.”

“The morning I came here, you weren't expecting me.”

“No, pretty much the opposite.”

“But you didn't kick me out.”

“Turns out you were a pretty good worker.” I smiled as much of a smile as I could manage. I still felt stupid for my reaction, and I knew I was far from explaining how I felt.

“Maybe I enjoyed the company.” He returned my smile, and I relaxed.

“This whole thing is a lot of work, more than I thought it would be. Truth is, I can't really afford to turn away any help, which is why Kim's still working here even though I don't completely trust her.”

“Kim?” he asked.

“You know, the young blonde who was helping us yesterday?”

“That's right, there was someone else here yesterday. I barely noticed her.”

It felt both awkward and comfortable, standing in the dark of Tea Totalers with Vaughn. If there'd been any food in the kitchen, I might have set out a late picnic to give us something to do, but there wasn't, so I didn't. The candles we'd lit when we came in were burning low. Soon we'd be in complete darkness. I didn't know what time it was, but it felt like it was after midnight.

“What did you tell Sheriff Clark when you gave him the tea?”

“That it came from the refrigerator at Tea Totalers.”

“He didn't question the broken glass or the rags?”

“I'm sure he questioned them, he just kept those questions to himself. You said he knew Phil didn't die from drinking the tea.”

I thought back about the conversation I'd had with the sheriff earlier that day. “It was more what I told him. I tried to show Clark the photos from my own experiment, but he said he'd already ruled out poisoned tea as the cause of death.”

“Tell me more about this experiment.”

“I took a picture of Phil's body when he was found in the back of the van. There was something that looked like a puddle in the back of the van next to the tea container, so I thought maybe the container spilled, and if so, Phil couldn't have drunk it. I ran a couple of scenarios here with a scrap of carpet and a container of colored water, to see the size of the spill and compare it to the stain in the back of the van. I thought if I could show how much tea might have spilled, I could make an argument against Phil having ingested enough to be poisoned even if there was something poisonous in it. Accidentally.”

“That's genius.”

“I don't think it's genius, but I was working with what I had. Just like you were.”

“No, what you did was resourceful. I'm impressed.”

Again a flash of embarrassment flushed my cheeks. Before Vaughn could say anything else, I changed the subject.

“You said Genevieve asked you to look into the tea. When was that?”

“Yesterday. I went by Charlie's to check on my car. I didn't know Genevieve was there. Charlie told me you were at Tea Totalers. When I asked how you got the keys to the store, Genevieve came out from inside Charlie's office and told me she'd made arrangements for you to work there.”

“She's not supposed to be letting people know she's there.”

“I'm not exactly ‘people.'”

“I'm sorry. When I accepted this date, I thought you were human. Did I get that wrong?”

Vaughn laughed out loud. He reached for my hand and braided his fingers through mine. I expected his hands to be soft and smooth, but they weren't. I ran my thumb against his palm and felt rough calluses and small abrasions where his skin had been scraped or cut. I looked down and flipped his hands palm side up like I was a fortune-teller and was checking his lifeline.

“I bought an apartment on the outskirts of San Ladrón,” he said. “It's a fixer-upper. I've been spending a lot of time working on it, and I've got the battle scars to prove it.”

“Is that why I haven't seen you around much since I moved here?”

“It's one of the reasons. I was out of town for a month, too. Business for my dad.”

I wondered if Vaughn knew his father had cosigned the loan on Material Girl for me. I didn't ask. Business was business, and that was mine. And as far as money went, I'd already acted stupid enough for one night.

“It's getting late. Maybe we should call it a night,” I said.

“Already?”

“Now that you admitted you're not human, I don't know if it's safe to be around you after midnight,” I joked.

We stood up and cleared the seating area from the floor. I shook the toile and folded it neatly. Vaughn blew out two of the three candles and carried the third—the only light inside the tea shop—to illuminate our path.

“What time is it, anyway?” I asked.

“Not sure.” He opened the back door, blew out the third candle, and set it on the counter. He let me pass through the doorway first. Once he was out, I went behind him and locked the back door. We walked side by side to his car. He unlocked the passenger side door and held it open for me. I didn't get in right away.

“My family struggled,” I said, turning to face him. “We weren't poor, but we were money aware. Both of my parents worked full-time jobs while I was in high school. I had a job during summers, which helped pay for my tuition to design school, and I worked part-time when I was in college. Aunt Millie was the one who got me into fabric and sewing, not because it was chic or cool, but because it was less expensive. She taught me to cut the buttons and zippers out of clothes that were worn-out. Together we'd search thrift stores and
estate sales for dresses that were out of fashion, and look for ones that appeared to be damaged beyond saving. She taught me how to deconstruct them to make patterns for new clothes. I remember her as being so glamorous, but in junior high, the other kids made jokes about the clothes she wore.”

“Poly, I might have money, but I don't have the kind of memories about family that you have. We struggled in different ways. I grew up knowing people wanted things from me. Friends expected me to pay for things because I could. My parents got divorced when I was young. I didn't even know I had a sister until after I graduated college. I went to private school. My dad wanted me to go to Harvard. I wanted to go to William and Mary. He said if I wanted it enough, I'd get there without his help.”

“And you did,” I said. He held up a hand to quiet me and continued.

“I took two years off and worked every job I could get. I qualified for a partial scholarship and paid for my first two years' tuition myself. I stayed in Virginia and got a job at an investment firm. It took his heart attack for me to realize that maybe I should come back here and help him out with the family business. Until then I was too busy trying to earn his approval. When I said you were resourceful, it was a compliment. Most people I've met see a problem and try to buy their way out of it. There's a part of me that thinks the only reason Genevieve asked for my help is because she thought my money could solve her problem. And in a way, it did. And Genevieve's a friend, so I'm glad I could help.”

I leaned forward and gave Vaughn a soft, quick kiss. The impulse was spontaneous, as was the surprise on his face.

“Maybe we are more alike than I thought,” I said. I climbed into the car and Vaughn shut the door behind me. I reached across the driver's seat and unlocked his door. He started the engine and pulled out of the lot, onto San Ladrón Avenue, and then right on Bonita.

“Would you like to do this again sometime?” he asked.

“Which part? The movie? Or the trespassing on private property?”

“Either. Both. I know a couple of nice, out-of-the-way buildings we can squat in—”

“Giovanni's van.”

“You want to squat in somebody's van?”

“There.” I leaned forward and pointed to the white van parked in front of the fabric store. “What's it doing here? Now?”

Vaughn pulled the Volkswagen over and I was out before the car came to a complete stop. I approached the van and looked in the window. The driver's-side seat was reclined, and a figure shifted. It was Giovanni. I knocked on the window several times. He shifted again, opened his eyes, and jumped when he saw me. He pulled the seat up and opened the door.

“Do you have any idea how long I've been sitting here waiting for you?” he asked. His forehead was bruised, and his lip was cut.

I came around the side of the van as he stepped out onto the gravel. His legs gave way beneath him and he fell to the ground.