Some Like It Haute: A Humorous Fashion Mystery (Style & Error Book 4) (7 page)

“Tell Tiny that I expect to be paid by the end of the week.”

Footsteps sounded across the floor, and then the front door opened and shut. I stood up and stepped out from behind the screen.

The letters were missing.

9

“Samantha, get back behind the screen. Now,” Amanda whispered urgently. Something about her tone told me to act first and ask questions later. The door opened again, and before I could twist around and look in the mirror to see who had arrived, she spoke in a falsely bright, unexpectedly loud voice. “Nick, you’re early for lunch. Let me get my things. Bye, Oscar!”

Amanda had said nothing about Nick being on his way.

This was bad. No, this was beyond bad. Wearing the clothes I’d worn last night, now scented with Dante’s cologne, I might be sending signals that could be misinterpreted. I also realized that hiding in Amanda’s studio, discussing the threat on her company, could be considered me seeking danger. This wasn’t the time or the place for me to debate the merits of my personality. Even my signals were sending signals.

Amanda knew I was hiding behind the screen. I doubted she’d out me. I ducked further into the corner and slouched behind the hamper. I didn’t need to see anything else, what I needed was an invisible cape.

The door shut. “Were we planning on lunch? I don’t remember that,” Nick said.

“Oscar was here to meet with Tiny but she went out. I didn’t want him to stay indefinitely, so I said that for his benefit. Have you already eaten?”

“We’re actually going to lunch?”

“I think it’ll look bad if we don’t leave. I mean, we said we were going out. If he’s watching, he’ll expect us to leave. We should. Leave. We should leave so we don’t look suspicious.”

For the briefest moment, I was proud of Amanda. She was right. I didn’t know what to make of Oscar’s tirade, and I didn’t yet know how he fit into the bigger picture, but she was thinking like I would have thought.
Good for you, Amanda.

Nick didn’t say anything at first, and I had to fight every impulse to lean forward to see his expression. “Sure, okay, you’re right. Let’s get some lunch.”

“What’s wrong? You’re acting like I said something funny.”

“Your reasoning reminded me of someone else.” He paused. “That’s the first time that ever happened.”

“Do I want to know who?” Amanda asked.

“Probably not.”

I gave them a ten minute lead and then left out the back door. I stood by the side of the building until Nick’s truck pulled out of the driveway, and then snuck to the Corvette and left.

While I drove, my mind wandered back to Oscar’s insensitivity. He’d been more concerned about money than the wellbeing of his clients. Now I had four people I didn’t trust: Tiny, Clive, Santangelo, and Oscar. It would have been easy for any of them to set both fires, the one that ignited me, and the one that destroyed Amanda.

My mind wandered back to the threats Amanda had received. Had Oscar pocketed them? It was curious that she’d even shown them to me, but it was also painfully clear that she had unspoken reasons not to trust anybody else. I needed to find out more about everybody who had access to Amanda’s show.

Without putting much thought into it, I ended up at Warehouse Five.

Amanda had negotiated use of several adjoining rooms and the main hall for the runway show. I wondered how many people had been put out of business thanks to the fire, and how favorably she’d be viewed for upcoming events. It was odd that Santangelo appeared to be more upset than the rest of the artists who used space at the warehouse to showcase their creations. I wondered why.

I parked at the far end of the parking lot and approached the building. The recent cold weather had long ago killed any plant life that had grown around the perimeter of the building, leaving only loose pebbles and broken chunks of concrete scattered on top of the macadam. Yellow caution tape had been wound around a few rusted out poles that marked the edges of the parking lot. The tape had broken and two ends now snapped in the wind.

The first set of doors I tried was locked, as was the second. By the third, I concluded that the building hadn’t reopened after the fire. I pressed my face up to the glass and squinted, trying to make out the interior. The bright pop of a flash bulb blinded me. I stood up straight and blinked several times, waiting for the dots in front of my eyes to clear. The door to the building opened and Clive Barrington leaned out.

“Just don’t stand there. Come in, if you’re coming in.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “As far as I can tell the building is locked up.”

“Documenting the aftermath,” he said, tapping his camera. “‘Model Sizzles On And Off Runway’,” he said. “Or maybe ‘Designer Turns Up The Heat.’ My contract gave me access to a much bigger story than documenting her twee show.”

“Amanda knows what you have in mind?”

“I have unrestricted access and the freedom to do what I choose with the footage.”

“I can’t imagine anybody was happy about giving you access to come back today.”

“Happy, no. I can’t say they were, either,” Clive said with a grin.

“But yet, here you are.”

“I can go anywhere Amanda went on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I turn over a copy of my photos to my new friend.”

“Anybody I know?” I asked. Clive tipped his head toward a man who stood by the end of the building.

He was tall and thin and wore a tan sport coat over a white shirt and brown sweater. A brown, gray, and camel wool scarf was wrapped around his neck, and a camel tweed cap covered his head. The sleeves on his jacket were too short, as were the hems on his pants. Ichabod Crane came to mind. He stared at the windows of the building for a few seconds and then spoke into his phone.

“Who’s he?”

“Arson investigator. He came with the cop.”

That’s when a second man stepped into view. Detective Loncar.

The detective appeared not to notice me at first, odd considering I’d been on his radar almost since the day I first arrived in Ribbon. Loncar and I had a history established through a couple of homicides. During at least one investigation he’d filed me in the Person of Interest column. Considering my recent turn as victim, I thought the best tack was to let bygones be bygones and say hello. I excused myself from Clive and started across the loose gravel parking lot, wishing I had more practical shoes than the kitten heeled boots I’d worn last night.

“Ms. Kidd. Why am I not surprised to see you here?” Loncar said before I reached him.

“Nice to see you, too, Detective,” I called out. I walked past two orange cones and stepped over a white concrete beam that marked off a parking space. Loncar stayed where he was, looking at the exterior of the building. Unlike the arson investigator, Loncar wore a coat over his suit. The shoulders of his coat extended beyond his own shoulder line and sloped down above his arms. The cuffs of his pants broke across the front of his rubber soled shoes. Considering his thick mid-section, I would have suggested he avoid cuffs in the future, but he didn’t appear to be in the mood for unsolicited fashion advice.

The arson investigator stepped forward and put his arms out on either side of him. “This is a restricted area. No access for the public.”

Loncar turned to him. “It’s okay,” he said. “I got this one.” He bowed slightly and held his hand out toward the parking lot. “Lead the way, Ms. Kidd.”

I looked at the lot, and back at him, and then carefully stepped over the loose gravel in my heels. When I reached the macadam, I turned to face the detective. “Do you have any leads?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned and looked at the building, then at the arson investigator, and Clive.

“What brings you here?” he asked when he finally turned his attention back to me.

“The fire. I was here when it happened. I thought I’d come back, take a look around, see if anything stood out to me as being off.”

He crossed his arms. “Ms. Kidd, perhaps you’d like me to sponsor your application to the police academy?” Before I could answer, he continued. “Because otherwise I can’t really figure out why you keep showing up in my crime scenes.”

It seemed we’d furthered our relationship. Detective Loncar made a joke at my expense.

“Detective, you really should talk to me about this. I could help you.”

“Ms. Kidd, we’ve been over this. The city of Ribbon employs me to perform a job. If you want to join my team, feel free to go through the proper channels. Otherwise, it’s best if you learn that I’m not going to share information with you.”

I glared at him for a few seconds, and then walked away. He could certainly point out that he wasn’t going to tell me anything, but to ignore my attack and the possible connection to the fire was a new level of cold. If he wasn’t going to help me find answers, I was going to find them myself.

I approached Clive, who had continued to take pictures while I was gone.

“How much is Amanda paying you?” I asked.

“We worked out a special rate.” He smiled with half of his mouth and glanced down at my body, as if he were implying that the exchange involved something other than money. “I could work out the same rate for you if you’re interested.”

I wouldn’t have minded learning some dirt about Amanda, but considering how high Clive rated on my Sleeze-O-Meter, I could hardly believe what he was insinuating.

“Is there any way I could get a copy of your film, too?” I asked.

“Not bloody likely. I’m afraid that’s not in my power to negotiate. Hello, Inspector Gigger,” he finished.

I turned to my left. The arson investigator had approached when I wasn’t looking and now stood by my elbow. Loncar stood to his side and didn’t look happy. Not that he usually exuded sunshine and daisies, but today, his attitude was more gutters and weeds than usual.

Ichabod Crane spoke up. “Mr. Barrington, I don’t know what you’re discussing with this woman, but I think it’s important to point out that the photos you’re taking are part of my arson investigation and are no longer your property.”

“I can appreciate your position, Inspector. I’d rather give my film to you than to her any day. But I am a bit baffled as to why you don’t want to talk to her.”

“Why would we want to talk to her?”

“She’s had as much access to the scene as I have.”

Inspector Gigger looked at me with new interest. Clive pointed his camera at the building and the shutter clicked several times.

“He’s right,” I said. “I’m Samantha Kidd. Detective Loncar knows me. I’ve been working with Amanda Ries on her runway show. And before you think I had something to do with the fire, let me assure you, my only interest is in finding out who attacked me the night before the show.”

Loncar scratched his head. “You were attacked, here, two nights ago?”

“Yes.”

“If I go back to the station, will I find a police report?”

“Yes.”

Clive stepped closer. “Go ahead and tell the detective how you were the victim in all of this. That’s what you want everybody to believe, right?” He elbowed me in the ribs and I doubled over in pain.

I coughed twice, blinked back tears, and fought waves of nausea. Clive stepped back and looked surprised. I felt Loncar’s hand on my back.

“You okay?”

Slowly, I stood. “I’ll survive.”

“You’re done here,” Loncar said to Clive.

“I’ll expect copies of your photos in my inbox this afternoon,” Gigger added.

Clive looked back and forth between their faces. “That’s not the arrangement. You can’t revoke my access.”

“Mr. Barrington, I’ve been over your contract. Page four, third paragraph. Ms. Ries retained the right to replace you,” Loncar said. For the briefest of moments I saw him as my hero and overlooked the unfortunate cuff choice.

“That’s right. If she wants to replace me, she’s the one who has to do it. Not you,” Clive said. “And not him.” He pointed to Gigger.

A light bulb went off in my head. “Amanda already retained a new photographer.” All three men looked at me. “Dante Lestes. I know you saw him at the show. He was sitting next to me when you took the photos before the show started. You waved at him and then you went backstage. Come to think of it, that was right before the fire started.”

“If Amanda wants to replace me, she should have told me.”

Clive’s elbow-to-the-injury move had left me angry and vindictive and I hit him where it hurt. “She did. Maybe you were mad at her and set the fire yourself? As a way to get back at her?”

Clive looked like he’d bitten into a rotten lemon. He turned and spit onto the gravel behind him. “I don’t have to listen to your accusations.” He put his camera in a black nylon duffle bag.

Loncar looked at me. “Do I know this Mr. Lestes?”

“I don’t think so. But I can arrange an introduction if you’d like.”

Loncar studied me for a few seconds and then turned to Clive. “Mr. Barrington, I’m going to follow up with Ms. Ries, and I suggest you do the same.”

The cockiness that had come with Clive’s all-access pass vanished, and in its place was a scowl. I thought back to what Dante had told me about Clive. Was he a predator among the models? Most of them could take care of themselves, but Harper had been the loner. Had he been after her? Would my constant interference have angered him enough to assault me in the parking lot?

I knew he’d be calling Amanda sooner rather than later, and if she was in any kind of vulnerable state, he would convince her she needed him. I had to get to her first and explain why it would be a very bad idea for Clive Barrington to remain part of her inner circle. The good news was, Dante could step in without missing a beat, as long as he had nothing else on his plate.

“Detective, you don’t need me to stick around, do you?” I asked Loncar. He looked at me like he thought I was nuts. “I just remembered I have to make a couple of phone calls, and you probably have things to do here. I imagine you don’t want anybody who isn’t on the force hanging around, trying to figure things out on their own.”

“Not so fast,” he said. He looked past me at Clive and didn’t speak until after the Brit had backed out of his space, turned around to glare at us, and driven away. “I’m going to get Ms. Kidd’s statement,” he said to Gigger. The arson investigator nodded and walked away.