Diane Vallere - Style & Error 03 - The Brim Reaper (25 page)

“Yes, in my handbag.”

“Thad told me about a projector in the basement of the museum. I’m going to project the video on the main wall inside, right behind the check in desk. I think it’ll be a nice touch. There won’t be any sound, but still, it’s all about her image, right?”

“That and the fact that you might be able to figure out who it was sent to.”

“I’ve been thinking about that. I’m pretty sure it was sent to Dirk. Who else could it be?”

“I don’t know. It seemed like she was flirting with someone.”

Eddie pushed one of the steaming mugs of coffee toward me. It was the color of motor oil. Steam evaporated from the top while it sat on the counter. Eddie drank from his own cup and didn’t even wince. Now that’s commitment to caffeine.

“Do you think the exhibit will open tonight?” I asked.

“If it doesn’t, it won’t be because of me. There are a few last minute things to tend to, but everything’s doable. I mean, I Plan B’d the whole exhibit but let’s face it, this week hasn’t exactly gone according to plan.” He took a pull on his coffee. “Did you call Milo? Do you know why he sent you the hat?”

“No, but I keep thinking about the box. It had the same small red number in the corner that we saw on the boxes at the museum?”

I took a sip of my coffee. “Do you know if the museum recycles boxes?”

“No, but I can ask somebody.”

“If they do, that might explain the box.”

“Only if there’s some reason for the museum to mail a package to Milo. Why?”

“I can’t see any reason why Milo would be getting a package from the museum, unless he’s part of the problem.”

He made a silent O and nodded. We stood there in shared silence, digesting this last theory.

“Let’s review what we know,” I said. “Dirk Engle was Milo’s business manager until he left him high and dry. But would Milo kill him over that? And why would he edit me out of the surveillance footage—to make you look guilty? Why would he stab Thad? And even if he did those things, when did he do them? We’ve never seen Milo at the museum.”

“None of it makes sense.”

I found a stale muffin and picked the cranberries out of it. “If you count everybody, including Dirk, we have two store owners, a hat designer, a Hollywood icon, and a bunch of museum employees. What about the collectors? There seems to be a pretty strong parallel between them. What’s the why?”

“The Y?” Eddie asked.

“The why. The motive. The reason one of these people would want to kill Dirk Engle.”

“What’s your theory?”

“Someone wanted his client list. Vera could double her business. Milo could seek out financial backing. Christian could approach them as donors. I’m pretty sure that’s why Hedy London agreed to be a part of the exhibit. Just about anybody involved could leverage her name for their benefit, and she wanted to make sure if someone was going to be in the limelight, it might as well be her. She’s supposed to be at the exhibit. What time is she supposed to get there?”

“This afternoon.” Eddie said. He rocked back on his chair legs.

I had to fight the adult urge to tell him to bring it down on all fours. I scooted back farther on my barstool until my legs were dangling.

Eddie picked up the now-dry list of collectors from the table. The developing fluid had warped the paper, and a faint pinkish-brown stain covered two-thirds of the writing.

Eddie scanned the page, using his index finger to trace down the list. “I know a couple of these names from the program. The Willoughbys are known costume collectors. There was an article in the paper about them last year when they bought some costumes from one of those thirties husband-wife detective-team mysteries. Remember? They came up at auction in New York?”

“There was a Mrs. Willoughby at Over Your Head the day I first went there.”

“So she’d obviously be interested.”

“And some guy in a wrinkled seersucker suit and straw hat has been hanging around outside of the museum. Do you know who he is?”

“That’s Carl Collins. He’s a reporter for the
Ribbon Times
.”

I recognized the name from the article I’d read. “I should have known there would be a reporter snooping around the museum.”

“Carl’s harmless. They put him on puff pieces.”

“What if Christian is planning to resell the hats on the collector’s market? What if he had a set of fakes made up by Milo and he replaced the originals with the phonies?” I thought back over the samples I saw at Milo’s showroom, how familiar they looked, and how upset he’d gotten when I asked about his inspiration. “The twelve people on this list represent money for the museum. If these people are rabid collectors, wouldn’t they be interested in seeing the Hedy London hats first?”

“You think the hats at the exhibit are fakes?”

“It would explain the different labels. It would also explain the fact that we have two of the same hat—the one we found next to Dirk Engle’s body and the one Milo sent here.”

“So Loncar brought us fakes. You think the police have the real ones?”

Eddie flattened the paper against the table with the side of his hand. “If they do, then somebody had better get the real hats to the museum for the gala.”

“Maybe the police don’t know they had fakes. Maybe the real hats went missing from the beginning.”

“Yeah, well, collectors know their stuff. They’ll be able to spot a fake a mile away.”

He folded the paper in half and then in half again. “I’m going to spend the day at the museum. You wanna come?”

“No, I’m going to see Milo. His event is today, and I want to thank him for sending me a hat for tonight.”

After Eddie left, I found the ad from Over Your Head on the counter and unfolded it. The Milo Delaney public appearance was today. I dressed in a black and white checkered strapless dress layered over a mint green cotton poplin shirt. I fed French knots through the cuff link holes, pulled on a pair of pointy-toed black ankle booties, filled a houndstooth handbag with my wallet, sunglasses, phone, and lip-gloss, and left.

The ad for Milo’s event at the hat store said he’d be available between noon and two. I arrived at twelve thirty, figuring it was better to be early than late, surprised to find a Closed sign in the window. Next to that was a smaller sign taped to the inside of the glass.
Milo Delaney event cancelled until further notice.

Interesting. If someone involved in the homicide was looking for a good day to skip town, today would rank right up there.

32

I sat in the car out front and called information for the store’s number. Once connected, I sat through five rings until the machine picked up. Vera Sarlow’s voice confirmed what the sign said. The Milo Delaney public appearance was cancelled, and Over Your Head was closed until further notice.

I drove around back, hoping to find a crew quietly smuggling her inventory out of the store, but I found nothing. The building was locked up as tight as a drum. I hopped out of the car and glanced in the Dumpster. It was empty. I looked at the sticker on the outside of the fixture. Trash pickup had been that morning.

Curses.

It was after two by the time I pulled into my driveway. There was little else for me to do but get ready for the gala. Nick was due to pick me up at three thirty, which left me an hour and a half to get ready. Despite the drama surrounding the event, my excitement over attending the soiree colored my expectations. The risk of spending time at the museum was barely a thought.

I surveyed the contents of my closet, narrowing my choices down to a strapless cocktail dress with full skirt and built-in crinoline and a burnt sienna backless jersey gown cut on the bias. Both were favorites. Both had been worn only once. Both held promise. Neither felt right.

I went downstairs for a glass of water and saw the ivory plastic garment bag draped over one of the dining room chairs. The logo on the bag read Catnip. It was the
other
bag Cat had brought when she delivered the last bag of garbage.

Seems Cat wasn’t a very good negotiator. Even though I’d chosen the garbage, she’d left this for me anyway. I carried the bag to my room, wondering what was behind door number three.

As I unzipped the bag, I noticed a flash of black and red satin. I pulled out the dress. It was a mandarin-inspired style, straight out of
The World of Susie Wong.
A subtle black-on-black jacquard print of bamboo decorated the silk. The neckline and sleeves were piped in red. I had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t hide my recent ice cream indulgences. It was knee-length, with slits on the side that made it borderline-inappropriate for a work function. Good thing Nick said he didn’t want to spend time with his showroom manager.

I rooted around the bottom of the bag and found a pair of black patent Mary Janes with a red lacquer heel. Cat had also included a pair of black fishnet stockings, a bustier and matching panties, a pair of gold shoulder-duster earrings, and a black satin bag with gold metal handles.

She’d omitted nothing. I bet it had really burned her when I chose the garbage instead of this.

I showered, shaved, moisturized, perfumed, blow dried, flat-ironed, up-twisted, and made-up before putting on the lingerie. Cat was good. The corset was a snug fit, boosting me in the right places. I pulled the fishnets over the panties, slipped on the shoes, and checked out the
Moulin Rouge
effect in the mirror.

A horn beeped out front. I peeked out the window and saw Nick’s truck pull up in front of my house. He was early! Not cool. I traded the shoes for slippers, knotted my silk kimono over my underwear, and ran downstairs. A few seconds later Eddie whipped the front door open and strode into my house.

“What are you doing here? And why are you driving Nick’s truck?”

“He said I could use it. More undercover than my Volkswagen, plus I needed more space to move a few extra mannequins from Tradava.”

“So he has your Bug?”

“Yes. I left it at his house when I went to pick this up.”

He wore a fitted tux, white shirt, and white necktie. He looked like he’d stepped from the pages of a magazine, I thought, until I noticed the checkered Vans on his feet.

“This is going to be a stressful night, you know? So I know I don’t completely look the part, and I know I should either abandon the whole dress code or totally go into formal wear, but I don’t feel right doing either. I don’t want to feel like I’m trying to be somebody that I’m not either, so this was the best compromise I could come up with. It doesn’t look too bad, right?”

“It looks like you. Only not.”

“The police are going to be watching me. They agreed to let me go about my business launching the exhibit as though nothing were wrong. After the evening is over I’m out of this whole thing.” He smacked the palms of his hands together twice like a baker dusting off the flour. “
Basta!
”

“Enough indeed.”

“Nick said he’s going to drive my Bug here and take you to the museum. At the end of the night he’ll drive his truck home and I’ll bring you back here.”

I didn’t like the sounds of it.

“Have you talked to the detective recently? About the exhibit, or security, or anything like that?” I asked.

“Loncar met me this morning. He said police would be everywhere, but he told us to act normal. Christian and I walked him through the whole thing: the entrance, the exhibit, the exits. Dr. Daum is going to greet guests. Rebecca is going to work the check in desk.”

“Who’s going to man the gift shop?”

“Christian wants it to be closed.”

“And pass up a perfectly good opportunity to peddle Thinker statues? That doesn’t sound like him. I thought back to the day he found me in the gift shop and it hit me. I dragged Eddie to the kitchen table and we both sat down.

“Christian told Rebecca to leave the Rodin statues alone. She was trying to straighten them. He was very direct. He told her to get down and focus on keeping the inside of the store neat, and he said nobody ever looks above eye level. I bet he’s hiding something up there!”

Eddie tipped his head back and stared directly at the ceiling. I don’t think he was looking for anything, just trying to think. “We have to get there and look.”

“No, we have to call the cops. Christian’s already at the museum, I’m sure. You can’t show up and demand to go looking around.”

So we did. Call the cops, that is. Yes, we were learning from our mistakes. I let Eddie take credit for the information and the call. He identified himself and asked to speak to Detective Loncar. I overheard him talking about police protection at the museum opening and segue into the part about the gift shop. Eddie had common sense after all and was setting a nice example for the kids out there.

His second phone call was to Dr. Daum. Eddie had asked for privacy when making his phone call, so I left the room but hovered just close enough on the other side of the wall to hear him tell the former director about his arrangements with the police. You didn’t really think I was going to let him conduct all this business without my knowledge, did you?

“So everything’s under control?” I asked.

“Yep. The law’s in the hands of the law and the fashiony stuff is in the hands of the fashion people. I worked hard on this exhibit. I deserve the credit.”

I squeezed his hand. “You’re going to be great tonight. You know that, right?”

He squeezed back. “I hope so. I’d better get going—last-minute touches and all.”

Eddie left, and I changed out of my kimono and into my dress. Forty-five minutes later I swapped the dress back out for my silk kimono so I could sit comfortably while cursing Nick out. I had long since moved into if-you’re-not-coming-just-say-so mode. I touched up my makeup and considered loosening the corset when I saw Eddie’s VW Bug careening down the street. Only I knew it wasn’t Eddie behind the wheel. When I opened the front door, Nick stood on my doorstep.

He wore a vintage black 1940s satin roll-collar tuxedo, white shirt, and black tie. The waning sunlight flashed on his ebony cuff links and off the shiny patent of his shoes.