The Lanvin Murders (Vintage Clothing Mysteries) (20 page)

She took a sip of the Martini. Piney and glacier cold. “The pleasures of gin,” she said to Pepper, who had emerged from under the couch and sniffed at the fireplace. “Something you’ll never know.” Now for her grandmother’s letter.
 

This one was brief, just one leaf of writing paper, and not even filled. Her grandmother was setting a time to meet with Marnie at the tea room at the top of Meier & Frank, an old downtown department store. “It won’t be for long. We’ll have to meet while Bill’s at the doctor’s. I’m so sorry—I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I’ll bring pictures of Joanna. She just won the second grade spelling bee.” Her heart leapt at the mention of her name. “Love, Nell.” Nell. Joanna’s grandmother’s name was Helen, but she’d been called Nell as a girl.

Grandma, her grandma. This tiny connection to her radiated warmth that the gin couldn’t match.

She took her cocktail to the chaise by the window. Pepper was working his way around the room, investigating the baseboards.
 

Marnie had known her grandmother. Marnie’s raspy voice came back to her. “You’re family.” Maybe not a blood relation, but in a small town close friends were family. Nina said Marnie had been treated like an outcast when she started at Mary’s Club. Maybe her grandfather had forbid her grandmother to visit her.

As she lifted her Martini, the tiny ruby in her ring caught the sun. She set down her drink and held up her hand. A smile spread over her face. Her grandmother’s ring—Marnie had recognized it. That first day. That’s how she knew. That’s why she kept coming back, staying longer. If only Marnie had said something. They’d have had so much to talk about.

Joanna took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. For the first time in days, she was beginning to relax.
 

A raven alit on the roof of the house across the street and tucked in its wings.

As Joanna lazily finished her second Martini, the doorbell shrilled through the house. Pepper launched off the couch and ran into the bedroom. She put her eye to the peep hole. It was Apple, and even through the fish-eye distortion of the lens Joanna could see she was agitated.

Joanna yanked open the door. “What are you doing here?”

“Put on your shoes—we’ve got to go.” Apple burst past Joanna and picked up her purse. “Here.”

“What?” She obediently fetched her shoes.

“The neighborhood association meeting about the theater starts in five minutes.”

“But Eve said—”

“Eve lied to you. I only found out by accident when one of the members stopped by Tallulah’s Closet.” She stopped suddenly. “Have you been drinking?”

“A little. But apparently not enough.”

Apple sped to the old chapel of St Philip Neri. Years before, the congregation had moved into a new brick church and left the smaller original chapel for events and meetings. A cinder block propped open the heavy oak door to let in evening air. The few neighbors who showed up fanned themselves with meeting agendas.
 

“Ladies, have a seat. We’ve already started,” a heavy woman with a cap of grey-streaked hair said from the pulpit. She leaned on her cane and waved her free hand toward the mostly empty rows of folding metal chairs. Joanna recognized her as a visiting nurse who lived a few blocks away and walked her poodles each afternoon past the store. Eve sat in the front row, hands folded in her lap.
 

Behind a table on the stage were five chairs, four of them filled with other neighborhood association members. One was Deena, the exuberant redhead and former rock and roll groupee who owned the coffee shop across from the theater. Next to her sat a tattooed man with horn-rimmed glasses. Joanna knew him as a local filmmaker whose girlfriend shopped at Tallulah’s Closet. The other two were a thin, bearded man Joanna didn’t recognize and a woman sporting dreadlocks and a “Powered by Kale” tee shirt.

“Here, drink this.” Apple handed Joanna a styrofoam cup of thin coffee and slid into the chair next to her. Joanna took a sip and put the cup on the floor under her chair. She was plenty sober.
 

Damn that Eve.

“Now that the meeting minutes have been approved, we’ll move on to the business of the evening: permit hearings. These permits have already been approved by the city, conditional on the neighborhood’s agreement. We have two items to consider. Item one, conversion of the yard behind Maclay’s Barbecue into an outdoor eating area. Mac, would you like to present your case?”

Mac Maclay, his body slow, possibly from a surfeit of brisket, lumbered to the stage. He mopped sweat from his brow, peeked over his notes at the audience, and quickly retreated behind his papers. “I thought it would be nice to take that area where the dumpsters—”

“Speak up,” the nurse said.

“Take that area where the dumpsters are,” Mac said more loudly, “and put out some picnic tables where folks could eat.” He pulled out his handkerchief once more to pat down his forehead.
 

After a moment of silence, it appeared Mac had concluded his remarks. The bearded man on stage raised his hand. “And what do you propose to do with the dumpsters?”

“Move ‘em.”

Another long pause followed. The nurse rose from her seat. “If you’re finished, you can take your seat now, Mac.” He gratefully stepped down. The nurse turned to the other two people on stage. “Any more questions?” They shook their heads. “Anyone in the audience have anything to say?” Other than the rustling of agendas, the room was silent. “Then let’s vote.”

“I vote aye,” said the bearded man.

“Aye,” said Deena, the coffee shop owner. Joanna had already mentally removed Deena’s overly busy necklace and had dressed her in an early 1970s patchwork sundress. “I have to add I think Maclay’s is the best Scottish barbecue in town.”

“Aye, although I’d like to see more vegan offerings,” the dreadlocked woman said.

“I have a vegan—” Mac pronounced it “vedge-ann” “—coleslaw.”

“That cabbage is not organic.”

“Save it for later, Lou,” said the film maker. “Aye.”

“Aye for me, too,” said the nurse. “The ayes have it. Next up, change of use of Clinton Street Theater to a retail space. Eve Lancer.”
 

“Look,” Apple whispered. Sitting in the back row was Paul. Against Joanna’s will her pulse quickened. Paul nodded toward them. “He must have come in while Mac was talking,” Apple continued. “How much you want to bet he’s here to support you?”

Joanna leaned toward Apple. “Or Eve. She definitely gave him the treatment at the store the other day.”

“Stop it,” Apple said.

Eve set up a laptop and projector on a small table in the aisle. Her heels clicked as she gracefully mounted the stairs and unfurled a movie screen. She glanced into the audience, and a frown momentarily marred her beauty when she spotted Joanna and Apple. She quickly relaxed again. “Hello everyone. I put together a small presentation—nothing really—to give you an idea of my vision for the new Clinton Street Theater. You see, I don’t want to change it, really. I just want to enhance it. I want it to be a credit to this wonderful neighborhood.”

Her smile was warm. It said, Trust me. I want the best for all of us. The bearded man looked ready to chuck his wedding ring and go home with her now. No matter how many times she saw her, Joanna still couldn’t get over the perfection of Eve’s features—the heart-shaped face and dimples when she smiled.
 

Eve opened the laptop and clicked a few keys. “Making the Clinton Street Theater a Vital Neighborhood Center” the first slide read. She clicked to the next. An interior designer’s drawing of a Hollywood Regency room—the audience area of the theater—filled the screen with French blue walls and ivory and gold molding. The old low ceiling seemed to have disappeared, and faux Louis XVI armchairs took the place of the theater’s current sprung seats. Golden ropes held abundant silken drapes away from the movie screen.

“My plan is to gut the inside of the theater, then redo it as if it were the private showing room in a Hollywood mogul’s house in the 1930s, the time of Carole Lombard and Clark Gable. I’ll open for movies some nights, but during the day the movies will be silent—backlit projection—and the space will be retail for high-end vintage clothing.”

She clicked to another screen, this one showing a few racks of dresses on wheels. The dresses, drawn in pastels, dripped in marabou and sequins. In the background was a glass-fronted refrigerator filled with orange-labeled champagne bottles. Joanna could practically smell the hothouse roses.

“I’ll have private events at the theater from time to time, and the stage will be perfect for fashion shows. My business manager estimates that the theater will attract an additional three hundred people a month, from all around the metro region. These people will shop in local stores, eat in our restaurants—” Joanna groaned silently when she said “our,” “—and become ambassadors for the neighborhood as it grows.”
 

“This one is the entrance to the dressing rooms, where the snack bar is now.” The screen showed thick velvet draperies tied off with tassels. An ornamental gold hook hung to the side—with the Lanvin coat on it. Joanna gasped. The illustrator’s touch had restored the coat to its 1930s pristine condition, but there was no doubt about it. It was Marnie’s coat.

Joanna nudged Apple.“Look. The coat.” As far as Joanna knew, Eve had never seen the Lanvin coat in person. There’s no way she could have had an artist draw it from a description. Eve must have the real thing. Anger coursed through her body, and she sat on her hands to keep them from trembling.

Eve looked at the slide and smiled in pure self-satisfaction. “Any questions?”

Joanna stood abruptly. “Where did you get that coat?” The force of her voice surprised even her. She pointed at the screen, still lingering on the dressing room view.

“I have some wonderful items to put out once the store opens. This coat, a Lanvin from the 1930s, is one of them.”

“But how did you get it? It was stolen from my store. It has to be the same one—look, the drawing shows a little of the lining. It’s a replacement lining, pink and green.”

Eve’s voice was calm. “Oh, I don’t know anything about that. A homeless person sold it to me. I was glad to be able to help him out and acquire something beautiful for the new boutique at the same time.” She dismissed Joanna by looking at the audience. “Any other questions?”

Reluctantly, Joanna sat down. She’d have this out with Eve later.
 

“Do you have a name for it yet?” a nun knitting in the front row asked. She was probably responsible for closing up the chapel after the meeting.

“How about
All about Eve
?” Apple muttered to Joanna.

“Not yet,” Eve said, “But I welcome your suggestions. I’ll hand out my card at the end of the meeting. Feel free to call any time with ideas.”

 
“What kind of films will you show?” the film maker asked. The Clinton Street Theater traditionally held a few local film festivals, including Filmed by Bike and an annual gay and lesbian series.
 

“Films from Hollywood’s Golden Age, of course,” Eve said.

“Such as?”

She smiled again. Joanna realized she probably couldn’t identify a single 1940s movie without prompting. “All the classic movies people love,” Eve said. “You know, Humphrey Bogart, stars like that.”

God, Eve was handling this well. The audience was clearly enraptured. Joanna wanted to get up and wipe the drool from the bearded man’s face. How could she possibly compete?

The film maker crossed his arms. “You’re not from this neighborhood, are you?”

Joanna’s attention sharpened. Maybe she had a chance yet. Eve had a new condo in the Pearl District, the kind built with exposed pipes to look like it was carved from an old warehouse. An old warehouse with granite countertops and travertine tile bathrooms, that is.

“I’ve loved this neighborhood for years,” Eve replied, avoiding the question. “Why, I’ve even been in touch with the drama teacher at Cleveland High School, and I’m going to help her do the costuming for
Bye Bye Birdie
this year.” A few people in the audience murmured their approval.
 

The dreadlocked vegan raised her hand. “I see a refrigerator and wine bottles. Will you be serving food, too?”

“Only for private events and the occasional glass of champagne for shoppers, of course.” Her heels ticked rat-a-tat as she approached the table. The bearded man appeared to have trouble keeping his breathing regular. “One of my best friends runs Earth Goddess catering. Perhaps you’ve heard of them? Local, sustainable food. Maybe not as tasty as Mac’s.” Eve’s laugh rang like bells. “But tasty nonetheless.”

Suddenly Tallulah’s Closet felt shabby and small. A store Joanna had once envisioned as a welcoming boudoir with beautiful things to wear now seemed second rate. She didn’t have a refrigerator stocked with Veuve Cliquot. She wouldn’t be able to lure
Vogue
to feature the store. She was starting to build a little bit of a cross-town clientele, but it was nothing like what Eve would be able to attract with her new boutique.
 

Still, Tallulah’s Closet had been a neighborhood fixture for three years. Joanna helped plant flower baskets for the light poles and held a benefit fashion show for the community garden. She wasn’t a business looking to turn a buck and move on. Unlike Eve, she really loved what she did. Joanna had to say something, had to defend Tallulah’s Closet. Should she wait for the audience comment period at the end or jump in now?

Deena seemed to read her mind. “What about Tallulah’s Closet? We already have a vintage clothing store, and it’s just down the block from the theater.”

Joanna would find that patchwork sundress and bring it to Deena personally.

“I’m glad you asked,” Eve said. “I see Tallulah’s Closet’s presence as an asset. With two vintage clothing stores in the neighborhood, people will know it as a vintage clothing destination.”

Joanna couldn’t take any more of this. Heart hammering, she stood. “I don’t agree. Eve’s store will shut down Tallulah’s Closet before the year is through. The neighborhood can’t support more than one vintage clothing store. Once Tallulah’s Closet closes, where will neighbors buy their vintage clothing? Sure, Eve’s store will be around to supply evening dresses, but they won’t be cheap. If you doubt me, look at her website. Look at the stock and the prices.”