The Lanvin Murders (Vintage Clothing Mysteries) (21 page)

Eve shook her head, “No—”

“When fall comes, where are you going to get your old Pendleton skirts? When you need a cotton sundress for the summer, where are you going to go? Eve won’t have them, and if she does they’ll be priced to sell to her clients in New York.”

“You just proved my point,” Eve said, arms akimbo in a victorious stance. “We complement each other, not compete.”

“Deena, if a coffee shop opened across the street from you, what would happen to your business? Especially if the owner of that shop had the money to take the losses until you went under? If Eve’s store is approved, Tallulah’s Closet will cease to exist.” Joanna felt as if she were clinging to a log in a rushing river. “I couldn’t survive if I didn’t sell the occasional wedding dress or high-end cocktail dress. I sell the 1940s sandals and old hostess gowns because I love them, not because they make enough money to keep me afloat. With my high-end sales leached away, I might as well close the store now.”

“The focus here should be what’s best for the neighborhood.” Eve’s voice took a steely edge. “Which is ready to take the next step forward.”

Joanna’s voice raised a notch. “My plan has always been to stay here for the long run. I started Tallulah’s Closet not to get rich, but to match beautiful clothes with people who love them.” She took a deep breath. “All I ask is that you consider these things before you vote.” As Joanna looked around the audience, she knew her argument sounded weak. Clicking from a nun’s knitting needles filled the silence.
 

Apple whispered, “Good work,” as Joanna sat down.

The nurse hoisted herself from the table with her cane. “Is that all? Any other comments or questions?”

A chair scraped at the rear of the room. Paul rose. “All this talk is moot if the landlord hasn’t agreed to the new lease. That building needs a lot of work. God knows what you’ll find once you gut the interior. Is the building owner really ready to go through with this?”

Their eyes met. She tried to telegraph her gratitude.
 

Eve pulled a lock of hair behind her ear. “Hello, Paul. Those are such good points. I met with the landlord this afternoon and signed the lease. He’s having it notarized tomorrow. Assuming the vote goes well, of course.”

Joanna’s heart dropped.

“I’m fully aware of potential problems with the space, and we’ve built renovation into the lease agreement.” Her hands went to the twisted gold pendant resting low on her chest. “There’s a lot of woodwork in the lobby. I’ll need a skilled craftsman to restore it, by the way.”

So, he was here looking for work. Figures. Joanna dropped her eyes and turned to the stage again.
 

“Thank you,” the nurse said. “Are we ready for the vote?”

Apple clutched Joanna’s hand.
 

“Aye,” the bearded man said. “I look forward to having you as a neighbor.”

The film maker snorted. “Nay. The theater’s too important to the community to be left to a bunch of films you can find on the old movie channel at home.”

“I have to say nay, too,” Deena said. “I’m thinking of the long run, and in the long run I want to see Tallulah’s Closet on our block.”

“Aye,” the dreadlocked woman said. “It sounds like the new store will be nicely integrated with the neighborhood. I like that.”

Two ayes, two nays. Only the nurse’s vote was left. “I, too, appreciate having Tallulah’s Closet in the neighborhood. Without it, I don’t know that we’d have grown as much as we have. We have a flourishing artistic community. Hell, you can’t turn over a rock without finding a musician or writer, and Tallulah’s Closet has been a natural part of that.” She shifted on her feet, leaning on her cane. “But the neighborhood is getting tonier all the same. Eve is right. It’s time to move to the next level. My vote is aye.”

“The ayes have it.”

Joanna slammed the phone in its cradle. She’d left her third message for Eve about the Lanvin coat. Knowing Eve, she’d make Joanna stew a while. Pepper lay, belly up, in a patch of morning sun near the chaise.

She took a calming breath and dug Don's business card from a stack of papers on her desk. It read simply, “Donald Cayle, Investment Properties” and listed a downtown address. While she waited for his secretary to patch her through, she downed two aspirin and half a glass of water. Her grandmother had always said when you feel bad—and she felt plenty bad—you should do something nice for someone else. At least giving Don the safe deposit box key and so proof of his paternity was a start.
 

Don’s voice was gruff but upbeat. “Hello, Joanna. I want to thank you again for arranging Marnie's memorial service. What can I do for you today? Looking for a new space for your shop?”

Not such a bad idea. “It’s funny you say that. I just might be looking for a new space.”

He chuckled. “We need to talk before you make any hasty decisions.”

“That’s why I called, actually. To talk. But not about Tallulah’s Closet—at least not today. Before Marnie died, she sold me some clothes. I found something in a coat she brought in, and I was never able to return it to her. I thought—you know, you were close with Marnie—that I'd like to give it to you. I think you'll appreciate it.”

“That's very thoughtful of you.” His chair creaked, and she pictured him standing up. “Do you want to drop by the office? No, it looks like I have a meeting at eleven, then I'll be out most of the afternoon. I'll tell you what. Why don't you come by my house around five and we'll have a drink? I'll call the housekeeper and have her make up something to leave in the ice box. She's a terrific cook. Besides, I’m glad you called. I was planning to give you a call myself—I have something for you, too. Something I think you’ll be glad to see.”

***

Mid-afternoon at Tallulah’s Closet, Joanna lifted her head from mending the lining of the jacket of a Forstmann suit as Nina entered the store. The scent of Jungle Gardenia wafted across the room.

“I brought some clothing you might be interested in. Where can I put this?” She held up a thick garment bag.

Joanna tucked the needle into the lining and set down the jacket. “Let me take it.” She hung the garment bag at the edge of clothes rack. “Thank you, Nina.”

“Oh, it's just a few things I don't wear anymore. My waist isn't what it used to be.”

Joanna unzipped the garment bag and drew out a navy blue dinner suit, two cocktail dresses, and a mink stole. One of the cocktail dresses, a Lilli Diamond, was of lipstick red fabric shot through with silver thread. A perfect holiday dress. The other, deeply décolleté, sported a banner of pink chiffon that crossed the torso diagonally, then dropped freely down the back from the shoulder to the waist. She ran her hands inside the dresses, one of which still had its dry cleaning tag attached. They were in top condition. At least she’d have something to sell before Eve ran her out of business.

“These are perfect for the store. I wish I could have seen you wearing them.” Nina certainly knew how to dress for her figure and coloring. Elizabeth Taylor might have taken a few pointers. She picked up the suit. “A whole different mood. I love the inside.” It was a late 1950s Lilli Ann suit with a tight skirt to below the knee and a jacket with three-quarter length sleeves and a shawl collar. “Tissé à Paris” was woven into the suit's silky lining.
 

“Gary was in the military and I went to a few functions with him. I didn't see a lot of use in playing up the dancer angle.” Nina ran her fingers down the stole's shoulder. “I wasn't sure if you took fur. But it's an Oleg Cassini.”

“We don’t get many takers for mink stoles, but I like to have one or two on hand.”

Nina’s gaze roamed the store, then lit on the restroom at the back of the store. “Is that where you found Marnie?”

“No. She was here. Where I’m standing, actually.” As if the ground had turned hot, Joanna stepped away. They both stared at the linoleum.

“I just felt a chill down my neck,” Nina said. Then, more quietly, “Poor old girl. At least she was surrounded by things she loved.”

“I miss her.” If only she’d known about Marnie’s connection with her grandmother while she was alive. Joanna sighed and stepped back behind the tiki bar to hang the clothes to be priced later.
 

“Let’s not talk about that. It’s too nice out to be depressed. How’s business?” Nina asked.

Another sore spot. “Someone’s opening a vintage clothing shop on the corner, in the theater. It’s supposed to be pretty spectacular.”

Nina, a businesswoman, saw the implications immediately. “Retail’s a bitch, let me tell you. I guess it’s the same if it’s old clothes or fish.” She reached into her bag for a pack of cigarettes.

“It is nice to see you, though.” Joanna meant it, too. “Let’s have lunch again sometime. Oh—I saw Congressman Remmick and asked him about Marnie. You know, to see if he might be Troy’s father.”

Nina slid the cigarette she held back into its pack. “No kidding. What’d he say?”

Remembering the conversation, Joanna’s face burned. “At first he pretended like he barely knew her. Then he admitted to an affair.”

“Well, then. It’s like I thought.”

“He can’t have kids. Some kind of medical thing,” Joanna said. Nina’s brows raised. “It was awful.”

“Oh dear. Kind of embarrassing.” She laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m just imagining it.”

“It was horrifying. I think he suspected I was trying to blackmail him.”

“Sorry about that.” Nina patted her hand. “It seemed like a sure thing. I'm still shocked that Marnie could have had a child and given him up for adoption.”

That Troy even existed was the astonishing part. Adoption was less of a surprise. Then she understood. “Do you have children?”

Nina fidgeted with the strap on her purse. “No, I was pregnant once, but, well, at the time it wasn't ideal. For a number of reasons. When Gary and I finally decided to start a family, it was too late.” She rested a pink-taloned hand on the tiki bar. “Oh, I'm not complaining. I've had my day, and Gary has been good to me. But I wish I would have thought of it sooner.”

“I'm sorry.”

Nina nodded. “Don't waste time. You're pretty enough to find someone. If you want a family you need to get started now.” She looked into the distance, and the animation left her face, adding years.
 

Better change subjects. “I saw Troy yesterday. It turns out Marnie left him just about everything in her will.”

Nina's eyes snapped to Joanna. “Did she? She got around to writing a will, then.”

“Apparently so.”

“I guess she knew she was dying, knew she wanted to leave something to her son. At least she had the heart for that.” Nina held a pair of milky blue Czech crystal earrings to her ears and put them down. “I don’t get it, though. If Chick isn’t his father, then who is?”

Best to keep Don's letter to Marnie under wraps for now. “I've wondered the same thing myself. To tell the truth, I had even wondered if Troy is her son at all. He seemed to come out of the blue.”

“Oh, I'm not surprised Marnie got herself in trouble. Her life was a land mine of bad decisions, if you ask me. I just wonder...” She stopped short.

Maybe just one little hint wouldn't hurt. “Troy mentioned that Don gave him his card and wanted to get together sometime. Could Don be his father? Troy is about thirty. Was he still with Marnie then?”

Nina shook her head. “No, it's impossible. Don would never have let her keep the baby. He knew how to take care of those things.”

Joanna picked up her mending. “Why not?” she continued. “He seemed to really care about Marnie. Maybe he would have liked having a son.”

Nina's hand slammed down on the tiki bar. Joanna jumped and the needle pricked her index finger. Wide eyed, she stared at Nina. What had got into her?

“I said it's impossible.”

“Nina, I'm sorry—”

“You can send a check for the clothes to the Wet Spot. I have to go.” The front door's bell jangled violently after her. Joanna stared at the closed door for a moment, then put her finger in her mouth and tasted warm, salty blood.

At a few minutes after five, Joanna pulled up in front of Don's house. A canopy of chestnut trees sheltered the street, cooling the air and casting a moving pattern of dappled shade on the pavement. As she walked up the steps to the house's wide veranda, she patted the side pocket of her purse. Yes, the key was still there.
   

Don didn’t answer the bell. She stepped to the left of the door to the broad window. The open curtains revealed a large living room with a fireplace and two leather couches. Joanna rang again. Surely he hadn’t forgotten their meeting. Maybe he was in the backyard, reading the paper, and couldn’t hear the bell.
 

She walked down the steps and to the right side of the house, where a Cadillac dominated the driveway. At the top of the driveway rose an iron gate. Its heavy latch clanked open. In the backyard, French doors topped a deck shaded by a mimosa tree. She hesitated. It was too quiet back here.
 

Just then a flutter of fabric ruffled a back window. Or was that a shadow from the tree?

“Don?” she said tentatively, crossing the yard to the far edge of the deck.
 

An orange and white spaniel pushed open the French doors and ran toward her, nails clattering down the steps. She crouched slightly, ready to run, but the spaniel just wagged his stumpy tail and nudged Joanna's hand with his nose. God, she was jumpy. She scratched the dog’s ears and let out her breath.

A sharp crack exploded the quiet. Once, then twice. Gun fire.

Joanna closed the distance to the house in a few steps and flattened her back against the wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The dog burrowed under the deck. What the hell was going on?

Silence again. She scanned the backyard but didn’t see any bullet holes. To her left the backyard fence joined the house. To her right were the French doors, now ajar, going into the house. To leave, she’d have to pass by them. Too exposed. Above her was the window where she’d seen movement.