Copy Cap Murder (13 page)

We were all silent and I noticed that none of us were making eye contact, choosing to study our drinks while we contemplated the truth of Nick's words.

“No, clearly we don't,” Harrison said and he frowned down into his drink, looking forlorn.

The talk moved away from Winthrop Dashavoy's murder. Nick went to the little kitchenette at the back of the studio to retrieve some canapés he had made while Viv and Andre talked about a mutual acquaintance who was a fashion designer.

Harrison took his drink and walked over to the front window. He leaned against the wide wooden sill and stared out into the night. His dark brown hair fell over his forehead and he gazed down into his drink as if trying to find answers in the ice cubes.

It wasn't a conscious decision on my part to move to his side. It was just where I knew I was supposed to be.

“I'm sorry, Harry,” I said.

He tipped his head to the side and studied me. “What do you have to be sorry about, Ginger?”

“I'm sorry that you're going through this,” I said. “I know it's uncomfortable to be so scrutinized by, well, everyone.”

Despite myself, I shivered. The sticky icky feeling of shame welled up inside me before I could beat it back. My own public humiliation was still pretty fresh and its claws were sharp.

Harrison lifted his left arm and I slid into his side while he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and held me close. I felt him press a kiss into my hair, which made my heart thunder in my chest.

“Shame,” he said. “That's what you felt.”

“Yep,” I said. “Still do when I think about it.”

“I had no idea,” he said. “It's weird to feel shame about something you had no part in other than having an unfortunate association, well, and for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I'm sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry about, Harry?” I turned his question back on him.

My voice sounded scratchy and I kept my gaze fixed out the window and not at him because I felt as if looking into his eyes would make me more exposed than I could handle right now.

“At the moment, I'm sorry I didn't ask you out before you took that vow of celibacy,” he said.

I did not expect that. I glanced up at him and saw the teasing glint in his eyes. It made me laugh.

“Our timing is pretty lousy,” I agreed.

“It's all right,” he said. He tucked me in closer and rested his head on mine. “Everything is going to be all right.”

Comforted and cared for, that was how Harrison made me feel, and this was the most content I had felt in months. I was pretty sure I could have stayed in the circle of his arm forever.

“Scarlett, Harrison, quit dawdling by the window,” Nick bellowed from across the room. “You have to eat some canapés before I eat them all and they land right on my arse.”

I stepped away from Harry with great reluctance.

“You okay?” I asked him. I hated that our moment had been interrupted and a part of me knew exactly where I wanted to stuff Nick's canapés. No, that wasn't nice, but I wasn't really feeling nice.

“I will be,” he said. “It chafes that I'm a suspect, but I know I'm innocent.” He glanced at our friends and then at me. “The people who matter know I'm innocent.”

“We do,” I said. “We really do.”

“Walk me out?” he asked. His hand was still on my back and I got the feeling he was hesitant to let me go, too.

“Sure,” I said. He retrieved his overcoat and we made our way to the door. I called over my shoulder, “Harrison is calling it a night.”

“Oy, so soon?” Nick asked. “But you didn't eat anything.”

“I don't want it to dilute my alcohol,” Harrison joked.

Viv gave him an understanding smile and a wave and Andre nodded and said, “Be good, mate.”

I racked my brain, looking for something positive to say that would make it all better, but I was stuck for words. The fact was Harrison looked awfully guilty and I knew
it was partly my fault because of the scuffle between him and Win.

Even though we had a solid relationship with Inspector Simms, I knew that my vouching for Harrison was suspect just because he was our business partner and friend. Damn.

I unlocked the door and Harrison pushed through it. I was about to say good night, when he grabbed my hand and pulled me out onto the sidewalk, letting the door swing shut behind us.

Harrison draped his overcoat around my shoulders and pulled me around the side of the building and into the shadows.

“For the next ten minutes, can you do me one favor?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, thinking he wanted me to listen to him talk. Me not talking was definitely a challenge, but I was game.

“Can you lift the ban on no dating?” he asked.

My jaw slid open in surprise and the word “yes” floated out on a soft sigh and then he was on me. He cupped my face in his hands and pressed his lips to mine in the softest greeting possible. It wasn't enough.

I grabbed his shirtfront and pulled him close. The kiss took on a desperation that sent heat rocketing through my system, short wiring any common sense I may ever have had.

By the time we came up for air, I had his necktie in a stranglehold and I was using it to keep myself from melting into a puddle on the pavement at my feet. His hands gripped my hips, keeping us just far enough apart to keep the kiss from being obscene. Pity.

He rested his forehead against mine and our breath
mingled while we tried to ride out the firestorm of hormones flaming between us. Meanwhile all I could think was, What the hell was that?

But then, I knew. His kiss had seduced and beguiled but there had been an underlying panic in it and I realized that he had kissed me because the future was uncertain, because he feared he might go to jail and this might be his last chance.

I let go of his tie and threw my arms around his neck. I buried my face in his shoulder and let him wrap me tight against him in a hug that didn't leave room for even a molecule between us.

“You will not leave me,” I said. “No matter what happens, you will not leave me.”

“Ah, Ginger, you are a wonder,” he whispered. I heard the smile in his voice and I leaned back to see it on his face. His gaze moved over my face, taking in every eyelash and freckle. He traced my lower lip with his thumb. “I have two more minutes until you're unavailable again.”

This time I kissed him with all of the pent-up longing and panicky desperation I felt. I wondered if this uncertainty was what partners felt like when they sent their mate off to war. It was unacceptable. Harrison didn't know it yet, but I had never been more serious in my life. Even if I wasn't ready to date, I would not let him leave me. Period.

“He's a mobster, isn't he?” I asked Viv. We were sharing a breakfast of cranberry scones that Nick had packed up for us the night before, and I thought if I could catch Viv before her morning tea, she might be fuzzy enough to let something slip.

“What? What are you . . . Oh, the husband. Scarlett, you know I refuse to talk about this,” she said.

“I know and it occurred to me last night that it has to be because he's into something bad,” I said. “So just tell me, is he a mobster?”

Viv looked at me like she was debating running into her room and locking the door just to get away from me. I grabbed her hand. She was not going to get away that easily.

“I can't believe that after snogging Harrison last night
you could even engage your brain to contemplate my life,” Viv said.

I gasped. She knew we'd kissed! Then I caught on. This was a distraction tactic. So obvious.

“Snogging Harrison?” I asked. I made sure I was all wide-eyed innocence. Viv didn't buy it. Yeah, probably because my face went flaming hot and even I knew I was blushing.

“So can I assume you two are dating?” she asked.

“We were for ten minutes,” I said.

She looked bewildered.

I sighed. “He asked me to lift my no dating ban, but only for ten minutes so he could kiss me.”

“That is so disgustingly romantic, I might toss up my breakfast,” she said. Then she grinned. “So how was it?”

And just when I thought my face could not get any redder. Seriously, I patted my cheek to make sure flames weren't coming out of my pores. They were not.

“No more trying to change the subject,” I said. “Tell me if your husband is a Mafioso.”

She looked down at my hand on hers. “No, he's not in organized crime.”

I let go of her, thinking that finally she was going to crack and tell me everything. Instead, she fussed with her tea and then turned and left our kitchenette with her mug cradled in her hands.

“It's far worse than that,” she said. Then she went into her room and shut the door behind her.

Worse? Than a mobster? Was that even possible? I wanted to howl with frustration. Instead I stuffed a cranberry scone in my mouth with clotted cream on top and
chewed until the desire to bang my head against the wall passed.

*   *   *

I was standing at the counter in the front of the shop, working on my laptop, when Fee came bustling in with a huge parcel under her arm. This was not entirely unusual as she frequently picked up supplies for Viv.

“All right, Scarlett?” she asked me as she hurried by.

“Good and you?” I asked. Of course, my first thought was that Viv had told her about Harrison and me, but that was silly since as far as I knew Viv hadn't spoken to Fee yet that morning. Still, there was something off about Fee's expression.

“What do you have there?” I asked, thinking I could draw her out and get her to open up to me.

“This?” Fee asked. She clutched the brown paper bag to her chest as if I'd made a grab for it. “Nothing!”

I frowned at her. “Okay, no need to freak out.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said. She blew an orange curl out of her eyes. “I'm just a bit tetchy, yeah?”

“Sure,” I said. “I guess we all are.”

She hurried into the back room, and I returned my attention to updating our website. A couple of years ago, Viv had hired a web designer but when I arrived I noticed that our updates lagged by weeks, so I had fired him thinking I could do it better. The learning curve had been steeper than I anticipated, but at least now when things weren't put up in a timely fashion, I only had me to blame.

Andre and I had recently done a photo shoot of Viv and Fee's upcoming spring collection and now it was up to me
to load the pictures and give them clever captions. This was where I had to be careful because Viv could be a little prickly about the names I picked for her hats, such as the smashed avocado.

Yes, she had created a brown and green beret that bore a marked resemblance to a flattened avocado. It was just a nickname; it wasn't like I was going to use it on the site. Still, she was offended. Artists.

I loaded the pictures and then I went to update the page that was our diary. This was where I listed all of the social events for which we had been commissioned to make hats. Viv had finished all of her bespoke holiday hats but there were still a few outstanding New Year's hats that had to be finished, and we had plenty of off-the-rack hats for those like me, who lived a bit more by the seat of the pants.

My thoughts strayed to Winthrop Dashavoy and the fact that he wouldn't be attending any parties this holiday season. I wondered how his family was dealing with his death. Did they know a different Win than the rest of us? Was he courteous, thoughtful and kind with them or was he just as awful to them as he was to the rest of the world? Did they know that he was a prescription drug dealer? Did they get their drugs from him, too?

So many questions flitted through my head it made it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand, probably because the task at hand was dismally dull. I wondered how Win had found himself in the position to be trafficking in prescription pills. That wasn't something a person just fell into like telemarketing.

Could he have had a prescription pill problem and it had evolved into selling his extras to others? But then, it seemed
as if he had a substantial client base for the pills so where was he getting his supply? There had to be someone else involved but who could it be? A doctor taking a cut? A drug dealer using him as a front? The possibilities were endless.

Viv and I had talked about what Nick told us and we agreed that we needed to mention it to Inspector Simms. Harrison had insisted that we leave it alone and that he would be the one to mention it to the detectives as soon as he found some additional proof from work. I didn't think he could wait that long.

In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I thought Viv and I should call DI Simms right now. I saved the work I had done on the webpage and put my laptop under the counter. The shop was empty but I didn't want to leave expensive equipment unattended while I ducked into the back for a moment.

“Viv,” I called as I stepped into the workroom. Both she and Fee started at the sight of me and I got the feeling they weren't pleased to see me. Kind of hurtful.

“Yes?” Viv asked. She was leaning over the table as if trying to block my view. I am not that easily deterred.

“What are you working on?” I asked.

She sighed. She glanced at Fee and then back at me. “Don't make fun of us.”

“Why would I do that?” I asked. “Am I usually mean?” Smashed avocado aside, I thought I was always very supportive of their creative efforts.

“No, although . . .” Her voice trailed off and I knew she was thinking about the same hat.

“Let it go,” I said.

“All right, we've gotten a last-minute commission by the, uh . . .” She paused and looked at Fee.

“Johnson family,” Fee said. “From America.”

“Yes, that's right,” Viv said. “The Johnson family has asked us to create some Thanksgiving hats for them.”

“Seriously?” I asked.

I approached the table, and sure enough, plastered to a couple of hat forms were the black wool brim and crown that together would make the well-known Pilgrim's traveler's hat. On the table next to it was a half-fashioned Native American headdress with feathers. They looked like something from my fourth grade elementary school play about Thanksgiving.

It was ridiculous but suddenly I was overcome with a bout of homesickness that almost took me out at the knees. Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday; it always had been.

I loved everything about it from watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade—who doesn't love to watch a giant Snoopy blowup floating down Seventh Avenue—to American football on TV and cranberry sauce with dinner, always the jelly from a can that kept its can shape, to the post-feast delivery pizza that my dad and I always ordered much to my mother's dismay.

Being British, she never really understood the whole “the meal isn't over until you hate yourself” glutton thing, but my dad and I had it down to a science.

“Where are they from?” I asked.

“Who?” Viv asked. She was watching me closely and I knew she could probably tell I was feeling a little homesick; despite her flighty ways, she was a good reader of people to whom she was close.

“The Johnsons,” I said.

“Texas,” Fee said.

“California,” Viv said.

They looked at each other and Fee said, “They stopped in Texas on their way from California.”

“That's right,” Viv said.

“And they're having Thanksgiving here?” I asked.

“A small party, yes,” Viv said.

“I wonder where they will manage to find cranberry sauce,” I said.

“What sauce?” Fee asked.

“Cranberry,” I said. “You can't have Thanksgiving without it.”

“Oh, I thought it was about the turkey, yeah?” she said.

“Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie,” I said. “These things are not negotiable.”

“Well, I'm sure they have it sorted,” Viv said. She looked at Fee. “Mrs. Johnson seemed very capable, didn't she?”

“They came into the shop?” I asked.

“Yes, one day while you were out,” Fee said. “I think you were at the library.”

“Oh.” I felt unaccountably disappointed. It was silly but it would have been nice to talk to someone from home. “Next time they come in make sure I'm here, all right?”

“Of course,” Viv said.

“Absolutely,” Fee agreed.

They watched me for a moment and then Viv said, “Was there something you came in here for?”

“Oh, right,” I said. “I was thinking about Winthrop Dashavoy.”

Her face cleared and she nodded. “Go on.”

“I think we should tell Inspector Simms about Nick's patient Ophelia Thift,” I said. “The sooner the better.”

“But Harrison wants to ask around a bit at work,” she said.

“I know, but I'm worried that time isn't really on his side on this,” I said.

“The Dashavoy family is powerful,” Fee said. “They're going to want an arrest made soon.”

“You're right,” Viv said. “So how do you propose we go about letting Inspector Simms know what we've learned, because we have to leave Nick out of it as well.”

The bells chimed on the front door. I felt a flash of irritation. Yes, I was supposed to be manning the front. Yes, this was our business. And yes, I was the people-pleasing face of the hat shop, but there was stuff going on and if I could just have a minute.

“Hello?” a deep voice called from the shop. It was clearly a man's voice, and I didn't recognize it.

I glanced at Viv. We had a few hats for men, just as a gesture, really, so we didn't get a lot of men in the shop unless it was a special order.

Her eyes were wide and she looked alarmed, and I wondered why . . . unless, she recognized the voice. Maybe it was her husband!

I raced for the door to the shop and Viv dropped the fabric she was holding and did the same. We hit the doorway at the same time and managed to wedge ourselves good and tight until I wiggled an elbow loose, and shoved her behind me as I pushed through the door.

“Hello, how can I help you?” I cried as I jogged across the shop.

The man standing in the center of the room looked both startled and amused as Viv tried to overtake me. Yeah, good luck with that, cousin. If this was her man, she didn't stand a chance of keeping him from me. Not now.