The Lanvin Murders (Vintage Clothing Mysteries) (9 page)

She passed through the working area formed by a glass-fronted display case holding jewelry on one side and the store's wall opposite, and opened the bathroom door to wash her hands. Shards of glass lay on the floor, and a footprint dirtied the toilet lid.
Damn it.
So there had been someone in the store. The alley’s muggy air filtered through the broken bathroom window. But nothing seemed to have been stolen. Or so it seemed.

Joanna’s gaze wandered the store. Her eyes widened. Those blouses clumped together, that red satin Susie Wong dress dangling by a shoulder on its hanger. There's no way she or Apple would leave the store like this. At the end of each day, she always made sure all the clothing faced the same direction on the rack, so their pink tags dangled out and the hangers were spaced evenly along the bar.
 

She scanned the store again. No one could possibly still be in the shop, unless...She cleared the counter in a few, fast steps and yanked back the dressing room curtain. Empty.
 

She let out her breath and turned to face the store. Who would have broken in but not stolen anything? Maybe someone thought they were getting into the bar next door, found out they were in a vintage clothing store, and left. But if that were true, why would they rifle through the racks?

Joanna had come to the store to find something appropriately somber to wear to Marnie's memorial service—nothing in her closet seemed quite right—but now she wondered if she’d better forget the whole thing. The store wasn’t secure. Then again, Nina went to so much trouble to set things up at Mary’s Club. That is, if Nina showed up at all. She hadn’t returned Joanna’s call about Ray refusing to come to the service, and she’d been so squirrelly when they met. No, Joanna had to go. She had to say one last goodbye to Marnie.

Frustrated, she flattened a cardboard box and leaned it against the shattered window. She found a roll of duct tape and sealed its edges. It should keep out intruders—and flies—for the few hours she'd be gone. When she returned from the memorial service, she’d call the police.

From the row of black dresses, she pulled a demure 1940s black crepe dress with short, gathered sleeves and gold buttons running up its center, and clipped off its price tag. It was when she emerged from the dressing room that she noticed the empty hanger where the Lanvin coat had hung.
 

“No,” she moaned. Could Apple have sold it again and not told her? Joanna rushed to the receipt book and flipped through it. No receipt for the coat. It was definitely missing. She slammed the receipt book on the counter.

Why would someone steal the coat? Her thoughts flashed to Eve, but she had to admit even Eve wouldn’t stoop that low. The coat was beautiful, sure, but hardly museum worthy. Tallulah’s Closet had a Schiaparelli parure and a beaded flapper dress worth more than the coat.

She glanced at the clock. She had to hurry to get to the memorial service, but first she’d call the landlord. Maybe while she was away he could repair the window. She rummaged through her purse searching for the landlord’s business card. Her hand stopped at Marnie’s safe deposit box key. She placed it on the tiki bar and examined its small brass shape.
 

Then it hit her. The store. The apartment of the fashion writer who first bought the coat then returned it. The coat’s slashed lining.

Somebody wanted that key.

***

As she sped across town, Old Blue protesting with occasional pings, Joanna thought back to who knew she had Marnie's coat. She had told Don, Nina, and Ray that Marnie had sold clothes to the store. Eve knew, too. They all knew she had, or at least could have, the coat. In fact, she'd specifically mentioned the coat to Ray. Then, of course, there was whoever Marnie had told about selling her coat. And everyone who walked by the store and saw the coat in the window. She sighed. That was a lot of people.

Until now, in all the break-ins nothing had been stolen, and except for a shattered window, nothing had been destroyed, either. But Marnie had ended up dead. At the store. Sure, the medical examiner had ruled it was natural causes, but Joanna wasn't so sure. Despite the August heat blowing in the Corolla's sun roof, she felt a chill. Now she had the key. Was she at risk?
 

At Mary's Club, Nina was setting up an easel near the stage. A sheet of foam core and a box of photos rested on the table next to her. Good, Joanna thought, Nina showed. At least that's one less thing to worry about.
 

“I'm sorry I'm a little late. I stopped by the store, and someone had broken in.”
 

“Oh no, that's too bad, honey. Did they get the money? From the cash register?” Nina continued to pin photos to the sheet of foam core.
 

“Just—a coat. Someone stole a coat.”

She nodded. “Lucky you. Maybe it was some kids and they were scared off before they could take more. You should get a security system. Mary’s used to get broke into all the time before they put one in. Hey, Mike's here, too, in his office printing out a few Goldilocks photos.”
 

A bank of floral bouquets lined the front of the stage, and the fragrance of lilies competed with stale beer, cigarette smoke, and pine-scented cleanser. A few of the bouquets were still wrapped in plastic, and many were shot through with yellow and gold flowers. Joanna laid her bouquet—flesh-pink dahlias and spikes of fragrant stock—next to a vase of gladiolas.
 

“Impressive, huh?” Nina said. “Mike says they've been coming in since Marnie's obit in yesterday's paper. Most are addressed to Goldilocks. The paper did a nice little article on her. Did you see it?”

“I did. They said she died of a heart attack.”
 

“So I read.”

Joanna touched the green and scarlet cymbidium orchids in one particularly lush bouquet. Nina watched her bend down to read the card. “It doesn't say who it's from, but it's from Don,” she said. “I'm sure of it.” Was that bitterness she heard in Nina's voice? “Would you like coffee, honey? There's a pot on now behind the bar.”

“Thank you.” She brought the cup of coffee laced with powdered creamer back to the table where Nina was sorting through photographs. She sipped the coffee, grimaced, and abandoned it at the edge of the stage. Mary’s Club dancers had better be good, because their coffee wasn’t going to earn them repeat customers. She picked up a black and white photo of Marnie and Nina posing in their hostess dresses. Nina wore a tight Chinese silk dress with a high collar and a slit up the thigh. “Nice dress.”
 

“That one was gold silk. Absolutely gorgeous. I wore stilettos with it, and let me tell you, the dogs were barking at the end of the night. I did my routine barefoot, though. It was a sort of tropical dance, and Don said barefoot was all right. Marnie did all her routines in feathered mules. I don't know how she did it. Look, here's a picture of Don.”

Joanna held up the photo. Don leaned over Marnie with one hand on the wall behind her and the other holding a cigarette as if he were gesticulating to make a point. Don had dark, wavy hair, and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal strong forearms and part of a tattoo.

“He's a handsome man. It's so hard to imagine Marnie that young. When was that—late '50s?” Joanna asked.

“About then. Not long after I met her, actually. She'd just moved here from the coast. She must have been eighteen or nineteen then. She auditioned for a spot at the club, and Don gave her my name. I was looking for a roommate.”

“I wonder why she decided to be a dancer?”

“I wondered, too. I was surprised she didn't look for some other job, you know, as a secretary or working at one of the department stores. She was good looking enough. I'm sure they would have hired her. I guess she thought the money would be better at Mary's. Anyway, she came to Portland because she was wild about Franklin, a boy she'd gone to school with, and he'd moved here. She must have spent half her nights at his place. He was living on a little boat at Sauvie Island then.” As she talked, she pinned photos to the display.

“A boat?”
 

“Mm-hmm. His family were fishermen. When he first moved to town he didn't have enough money to rent a place, so he just stayed on the boat. I saw it once. It looked real cozy.”

Nina pulled another photo from the box, this one a faded Polaroid of a bedroom with twin beds. Marnie sat on one bed painting her toenails. Her hair was in curlers. One hand was held up in front of the camera.
 

“She was mad at me for taking this one. Marnie never went out without eye makeup. She'd go without lipstick, but never without eyeliner.”

“What happened between Marnie and Franklin?”
 

“Not sure. One day Marnie came home. Gary and I were watching TV—I still remember what was on, it was
Gunsmoke
—and Marnie went straight to the bedroom, sobbing. I think she’d been drinking, she was having a hard time standing up without holding the door frame. She and Franklin had broken up. I thought they'd get back together. You know how it is, ups and downs. But they didn't. I'm pretty sure they still saw each other from time to time, but that was that. Not long after, Marnie started seeing Don. They were together for years.”

“But they never married.”

“Oh, some people think Don would have, but Marnie wouldn't do it. Me, I don't know. I don't think Don ever wanted to settle down.”
 

Nina had filled the board with old photos of Marnie. She moved the easel closer to the stage and posed the board on it. “What do you think?”

“Looks good.” The mostly black and white collage was full of emotion—people laughing, waving cigarettes, kicking a leg in the air. “People should be here before too long. Should I see if we can get some music?”

“Mike is still in the back. He might have some CDs. They're probably mostly Liza Minelli, though. If we're lucky he'll have Judy Garland. Or we can see what's on the jukebox.” Nina nodded toward the stage.
 

When Joanna returned, two women had arrived and were oohing and ahhing at the flowers. One wore a diaphanous flowered caftan, and other woman wore shorts and practical shoes and had a book of large-type crossword puzzles under her arm.

“Wendy and Liz, I'd like you to meet Joanna. She's the one who first told me about Marnie.”

“Wendy,” the caftan-wearing woman said, extending a meaty hand. “They called me 'Veronica' when I danced.”

“Liz,” the other woman said. “Used to wait tables. I like your dress. My mother had one just like it.”

“Louise would be here, but she's on a cruise in Mexico,” Wendy said.

It crossed Joanna's mind that her grandmother would have liked being part of this gathering. Maybe not the strip club part, but she could imagine her settling down with a cup of coffee for a good, long gossip about the old days.

The front door opened, and Ray entered carrying a platter of cinnamon buns. Joanna did a double take. “I always forget what a dump this place is until I see it with the house lights up,” he said. He avoided Joanna’s eyes.

Nina took the platter and hugged him. “It's so nice to see you. I was sorry to hear about your brother. Did you make these?”

“Yes, fresh from the oven. How's Gary?”

“He's all right. Oh, here he is now.” Nina's husband came in carrying a pink bakery box. “Let me take those.”

Joanna went to the bar to make another pot of coffee. It looked like they'd need it. “Somewhere over the Rainbow” began to play over the loudspeakers, its melody languorous and oddly beautiful in the dingy club. When Joanna returned, Don had arrived. He stood next to Gary, with his back to Ray. Ray moved away from him.

How strange it must be for them all to be back here, Joanna thought. When the club was part of their daily lives fifty years ago, they were young, and if they thought of their futures at all, it's hardly likely this is what they had imagined. Nina seemed such a frustrated romantic. Joanna watched her arrange the flowers next to the stage. Don looked pensive. She couldn't read Ray. Wendy was showing Liz some photographs she had taken out of her mammoth bag, probably of her grandchildren. None of them appeared particularly sad, but Joanna didn't see them as a very emotive group, except perhaps for Nina. Not that she should be surprised, she reminded herself. None of them had seen Marnie in years.
 

She thought of the shattered window at the store. None of Marnie’s friends looked like burglars, either, let alone capable of killing someone for a safe deposit box key. Nina was strong enough to do it. Ray might be able to break in. Of course, Don could hire someone easily. She had a hard time picturing any of them climbing through the store's bathroom window. Had the landlord fixed the window yet? She saw a pay phone on the wall by the door and was fishing in her purse for quarters when Nina called for attention.
 

“All right, I think just about everyone is here.” Nina smiled at the small gathering. Don sat next to Gary, and Ray was at a table by himself. The club's manager, Mike, brought the coffee pot from behind the bar and poured himself a cup. Joanna sat down with Ray.

“Joanna was good enough to get in touch with us to tell us about Marnie's death. I thought it would be nice if we could go around the room and everyone could say something about her. We'll start with Joanna.”

She hadn't been warned about this part of the program. She stood up. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. I didn't know Marnie nearly as well as any of you, only for about a year. The first time I met Marnie, she came by my vintage clothing store with a box of dresses. She had a way about her that made you feel she had an interesting past. Now, whether or not she'd tell it to you, that's another story.”
 

A knot of emotion gathered in her throat. No more Marnie bringing in tattered pedal pushers but surprising her with the occasional knock-out gown. No more Marnie reminding her to wear sunscreen or giving her tips on how to put on false eyelashes or suggesting she line the back wall with mirrored tiles. No more Marnie at all.