The Lanvin Murders (Vintage Clothing Mysteries) (11 page)

“I bet that was easy,” Kevin said in Poison's voice.

“And I found some size twelve lucite mules for you, too, although they might be a little narrow.”

Laura emerged from the dressing room wearing the Pucci dress. Her shoulders and arms were perfectly sculpted, and she had the smooth, evenly brown legs of a woman with regular appointments at the tanning booth and the waxer. The dress's wild pattern might make it a risky choice for a Washington cocktail party, but it fit like it was made for her.

“You look fabulous,” Kevin said.
 

“Thank you,” she said, although she barely glanced at herself in the mirror. “Do you ever get clothes from, oh, I don't know, entertainers around town?”

“No one particularly famous, if that's what you mean.” She was definitely fishing for information. But why?

“What about Marnie?” Kevin said. “Wasn't she a dancer in the fifties-sixties?”

“That's interesting.” Laura seemed to perk up. “She just died, didn't she? I read about it in yesterday’s paper.”

Well, well. Joanna rested a hand on the back of Kevin’s chair. So, all this questioning was about Marnie. Didn't someone at the memorial service say Remmick knew Marnie? “Yes, not quite a week ago.”
 

“What was she like? She must have been attractive to be a showgirl and all.”

“She used to be a real bombshell. Wait, I have a photo right here.” Joanna retrieved her purse from under the tiki bar and pulled out the photo Nina gave her. “I have the feeling she did what she wanted without caring what the rest of the world thought.”

Laura studied the photograph, the thumbnail from her French manicure resting over the black and white image. She paused a moment, as if uncertain where she wanted to take the conversation. Finally she said, “What kind of clothes did she bring in?”

“A lot of dresses with Polynesian prints, strangely enough. A few items from her working days, too. She did bring in a gorgeous coat, a Lanvin.”
 

“I'll try it on, please.”
 

Her stomach clenched. “I’m afraid you can’t. It was stolen last night.”

“Oh. Pity.” The word ‘stolen’ had no effect on her. “The showgirl, Marnie—did she tell you much about her life?” Laura asked as she closed the dressing room’s curtains behind her.
 

“Not much.” Joanna cast a glance at Kevin, who was sliding a pedicured foot into a pearly beige pump. If it had been she and Kevin alone, she would have spent half an hour filling him in on finding Marnie’s body, the broken window, the memorial service, and Marnie's surprise son while he sat in the big, zebra-striped chair by the shoe display and ate take-out from Dot’s. “I heard she used to live in Oysterville, where I understand your husband grew up.”
 

“Yes, I asked my husband if he knew her, and he said they went to high school together.” When Laura pushed aside the curtains of the dressing room, she had changed back to her street clothes. Joanna noticed something new, a little vulnerability.

Laura brought the Pucci and the black cocktail dress with the chiffon overlay to the counter. “I'll take these.”

“I can’t imagine what it would be like to have to dress for constituents.” Joanna thought of her own wardrobe. She wouldn’t be marrying a senator any time soon.

“Once I wore red nail polish when Chick and I were interviewed for a morning show. By the time we got back to the office, they’d already had five calls saying that it wasn’t proper for a congressman’s wife to have red nails.” She examined her tasteful manicure. “That was early on. I know better now.”

“You can’t please everyone.”

“No. That’s true. But when Chick and I got married—well, people said things.”

Joanna remembered the brouhaha in the papers and the sniping Laura took for being the “trophy wife.” “Oh, people always say things. Likely, they’re jealous.” Laura’s hopeful face made Joanna realize she was looking for comforting words, even after all these years of parrying public opinion. “As long as you and your husband are happy together, they should be happy, too.”

“Oh, we are. Happy, that is.” Laura looked earnest. “It’s just that, well, Chick is a little older than I am—”

Joanna nodded. A “little” older being close to thirty years. The congressman had to be near seventy. A well-preserved seventy, but not exactly in the first blush of youth.

“And, naturally, he had a past. He was a bachelor for a long time, you know. He has to spend a lot of time away from home. So people talk.”

“He was a bachelor for a long time, but he married you. That should tell people something.” The intimacy of trying on clothes had sparked discussion of everything from stretch marks to fears of eternal spinsterhood, but Joanna never thought she’d be talking to the wife of a congressman about her insecurities.

Laura picked up her purse. “Sorry for going on and on. I’d better be leaving.”

“I'll wrap these up for you. I'm so glad you found a few things you like.” Selling the Pucci would pay the store's rent for a few weeks. Laura hadn't even glanced at its price tag.
 

Joanna pulled a sheet of hot pink tissue and laid it on the counter. “How did you hear about the store?”

“From my husband's chief of staff in town. I understand you know him.”
 

“Yes, Andrew.”
 

“With the polls so close, we’ve stepped up the functions, and I really needed to boost my wardrobe.”

She wrapped the Pucci then slid the second dress off its hanger. “Did you get the chance to try this on?” She held up the black cocktail dress. “Sometimes they fit differently.”

“I'm sure it will fit fine.” Her voice had reverted to the confident, indifferent tone of someone who is always pleasant without really being engaged. She smiled, showing perfectly aligned, china white teeth. She tapped her credit card on the counter.

After Laura Remmick and Kevin left, Joanna returned to the broken bathroom window. She moved the cardboard to the side, and, using a hand towel, carefully pushed the window the rest of the way open. She brushed shards of glass to the floor and lifted her skirt to step up on the toilet and look outside. There was just enough clearance for her shoulders. If a bigger person had tried to come in, he wouldn't have had much room to maneuver.
 

She leaned out further and looked down the narrow alley. Tallulah’s Closet didn't have a back door. To the right, dumpsters hulked. To the left, light shone between the buildings.
 

Joanna’s imagination replayed the scene. The intruder would have parked a few blocks away, then, without drawing attention to himself, slipped into the alley behind the video rental store. Keeping close to the buildings, he’d be less conspicuous. Dot’s closed at two in the morning. Maybe he waited until then. She swallowed hard.

“Hello?” said a man’s voice close behind her. She pulled back into the store so quickly that she bumped her head against the window frame. A piece of glass knocked loose and clinked to the floor.

Paul stood outside the bathroom. “Are you all right?”

She rubbed her skull where it throbbed from hitting the sash. “I'm fine. Don't you ever knock?”

“You didn’t hear the doorbell? The landlord called and said you'd left him a message that someone broke in, this time through a window. He wanted me to come over and replace the glass. He didn't tell me to bring a first aid kit.”
 

Joanna felt her face redden. “Sorry. I guess I was distracted.”

Paul took a paper towel from behind the counter and wet it in the sink. “Here, let me get this.”

He put a hand under Joanna's chin to steady her, then with his other hand lifted the hair from the side of her head. “It's bleeding a little. Looks like you scraped it.” A freckle flecked the iris of one eye. He smelled of soap and wood.

He started to dab the paper towel to her head, but Joanna snatched it from his hand, controlling her breath. “Thank you, but I'm fine.”

He stepped back and looked at her for a few seconds while she held the paper towel to her head.
 

“Aren't you here for something?” she asked.
 

“Yes, I am. Unless you'd rather I call the landlord back and tell him to send someone else.”
 

“No. I'm sorry. It’s just—I went to Marnie's memorial service this morning.” She looked up. “I took your suggestion and tracked down some of her friends.”

He smiled. “And they wanted to have a memorial service?”

“Yes, and before I left for the service, I stopped by the shop and found the window broken. Plus, someone stole one of my coats. Marnie’s coat, actually.”

“Did you lose much money?”

“That's the funny thing—other than the coat, nothing seems to have been taken.”

“You’ve had a rough morning.” His voice was sympathetic, but he kept his distance. “I can take care of the window, at least.” She moved to let him in the bathroom. “Anyone could have pushed the window open once it was broken. There's not even a latch.”

“Yeah, I can see that now. I'm guessing he came in through here but left through the front door. There’s no way he could have shoved the coat out the window.”

“You can push a button on the edge of the door and it will lock after you. It’s not impossible to pick, either.” Paul’s body was hidden by the bathroom door. She heard the tinkle of glass as shards hit the trash can.
 

She gingerly touched the side of her head where it had hit the window frame. Could this day get any worse?

The bell at the door jingled. Joanna put on her customer face and turned. Her smile froze as she saw Eve.
 

“Hey Joanna.” Eve flipped her hair. “Thought I’d come down and see this Lanvin coat I’ve heard so much about.”
 

“You can’t. It was stolen last night.”
 

“You’re funny,” Eve said, but she wasn’t laughing. “Get serious. I have a customer who totally goes for 1930s clothes. I could give you a good price for the coat.”

Eve could give her a gold brick and Cary Grant’s hand in marriage, and Joanna still wouldn’t sell her Marnie’s coat. Not that it mattered now. “It’s the truth. Someone broke in last night and stole the coat.”

Eve put a hand on her hip. “Someone broke in and took some old coat and didn’t steal the flapper dress?” She pointed to a pale yellow beaded chemise so delicate that Joanna hung it high on the wall and only took it down for serious customers.

“Uh huh. They—”

Paul’s voice interrupted. “I’m going to need to get a few tools and then go to the hardware store.”

Eve looked over Joanna’s shoulder. Her face lit up, her expression sweetening to pure honey. She brushed past Joanna, leaving a trail of jasmine, and held out her hand. “Eve Lancer. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Joanna turned to see Paul smile in return. Was that simply a polite smile or something more? Eve held his hand a second longer than necessary. Joanna cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, but there’s no coat to sell.” She forced a smile. “But thank you for your interest.”
 

Eve’s eyes narrowed. “Well I don’t really care about the coat anyway. I just wanted to tell you we’ll be neighbors soon.”
 

“Neighbors?” No, it couldn’t be.

“My new store. I’m moving into the theater on the corner.”

“But—but that’s a theater.” Joanna’s mind raced. Profits were slender as it was.

“It’s going to be a sort of combo vintage clothing store-movie house. High end.”
 

“But—” Having another store so near would devastate Tallulah’s Closet. “Don’t you need a special permit or something? It’s been a theater so long.”

“Approval from the neighborhood association and a lease. That’s it. I’m sure it won’t be a problem. I’m seeing the landlord in a couple days and—” Eve examined a manicured finger “—the neighborhood association meeting isn’t for another month or so.”

“I see.” A month. At least that was some time to prepare, although she had no idea how. Thanks to family money, Eve had limitless resources. She could buy up the best stock, offer it at rock bottom prices, and lure in every customer who might have wandered into Joanna’s store instead. Then, when Tallulah’s Closet was shuttered—which wouldn’t take long, unfortunately—she’d jack up her prices again. And she’d do it laughing the whole time.

Eve smiled at Paul, who was pulling out his keys. “Leaving? I’ll walk with you.”

After they left, Joanna stood still a moment. Maybe Eve’s store wouldn’t be anything all that great, and customers would still prefer Tallulah’s Closet. Maybe people selling clothes wouldn’t stop by Eve’s first before selling the leftovers to Joanna. She looked around the store—the softly lit jewelry case, the red bench where so many people tried on shoes, the racks of cocktail dresses that had danced at parties across town, across the decades.
 

Joanna had spent three years building Tallulah’s Closet, but Eve could take it all down in a matter of months.

While Joanna was showing a customer sundresses for a vacation to Mexico, Detective Crisp and a uniformed police officer arrived at last. Her heart quickened. Why was Crisp here? He investigated homicides, not break-ins. She calmed herself. Maybe it was for the best. She could tell him about the key.

Crisp, thumbs tucked into his belt, surveyed the store. The younger man, probably his first year on the job, cast an eye at the customer, who was holding up a filmy peignoir and trying to decide if she needed it for vacation, too.

“Nice store,” the uniformed man said. “You call these clothes, what? Retro?”

“I usually call them 'vintage',” Joanna said.

“My grandma had a purse like that.” He pointed to a black Koret handbag with peach silk lining.

“I hear that a lot.” “My grandma had one of those” was probably the comment she heard most at the store, followed closely by “Everyone sure was small back then.”

Crisp held out his hand. “You remember me? Foster Crisp. This is Officer Bryce.”
 

“Yes, of course I remember you.” She hesitated a moment. “They sent a homicide detective for a robbery?”