Died with a Bow (11 page)

He put his iPhone and his Blackberry in his pocket and nodded. I went to the counter, bought two cups of coffee, laced them with cream and came back.

“Well?” he said. “What have you got?”

“It’s the house blend,” I said. “See if you can taste the subtle hints of bittersweet chocolate and the well-rounded toasted-nut finish.”

“I mean what information have you got?” he asked, stirring his coffee with a stick.

Sometimes I wondered why I bothered with him. Why not just solve this murder myself and turn over the criminal along with the evidence to the police? Would I get any recognition even then? Not that I cared about being praised in public or in the newspaper; I just wanted to see justice served. I also wanted to tell him I knew about the new police program “Anti-Violence Skills for Ordinary Citizens” and that I wanted to be part of it. But first things first.

I pulled out my notes and stacked them on the table. “One,” I said, “the funeral is tomorrow in Colma.”

“Are you going?”

“Of course,” I said.

“You can’t pass up a good funeral, can you?” As if I didn’t have more than one reason to go.

“I have to be there. She was my colleague, a fellow salesgirl. Besides I need to be on hand for Dolce. She’ll be a wreck. She cared deeply about Vienna.”

“More than she cared about you?”

“I know what you’re thinking. I was jealous of Vienna. And sometimes I was. But it wasn’t really like that.”

“What was it like?” he asked, cocking his head to one side.

“We worked together. She was the new girl and had loads of potential.”

“Is that it?” he said, setting his cup on the table.

I knew what he was thinking: I came all this way for you to tell me what I already knew.

I gritted my teeth. This wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped. I wanted him to beg me for my insight or at least thank me. I should have known.

“Two, as for suspects, Vienna has a twin sister, Athena. I just spoke with her at the shop, and I can tell you there’s no love lost there. Vienna tore the arm off Athena’s doll.”

“Recently?” he asked.

“No, when they were small. But you never forget those things. And Athena was at the auction Saturday with her mother and her mother’s husband. But she left early.”

“Did you see her?”

“No, I’m just telling you what she told me.” I frowned. Maybe Jack knew more than I thought he did and was just trying to trip me up. Why was I surprised? He was a cop with a mission. He had ways and means I didn’t even dream of and might not approve of. Plus he had a staff who got paid to follow his orders.

“Go on,” he said. “You were going to give me some suspects.”

I hesitated for a moment. I wanted badly to keep my information to myself, but wasn’t there a law against withholding evidence? “What about those men in her life? There were others besides Geoffrey, which is why she couldn’t go on the date she bid on. She gave me the impression that one of them would be angry about it. Maybe even violent. I have two names, but I’m not sure they’re accurate.”

“Where did you get them?” he asked, leaning forward, finally showing some signs of interest.

“From one of my sources,” I said smugly. He couldn’t force me to divulge who it was, I hoped. Because I still planned to grill Geoffrey more when I saw him, perhaps at the funeral. I’d forgotten to ask if he’d be there.

“The names are Raold and Emery. That’s all I know. Except I do know what they drive.” I gave him my list of the vehicles I’d seen picking her up. “As for motives,” I said, “when I discovered her body, Vienna wasn’t wearing her antique diamond and tourmaline necklace, and as you know, her neck looked like someone choked her.”

“You think the necklace was worth killing for?”

“If you like jewelry.”

He glanced at the hammered gold necklace I was wearing.

“Okay, I confess. I love jewelry. I also love bags and scarves, but I don’t love them enough to murder anyone. For the record, I didn’t murder Vienna for her necklace.”

“I believe you,” he said. “If you murdered her, I think you did it to get your job back,” he said. “Your fingerprints are all over the murder weapon.”

“Of course. I told you that. It’s because I found her. I picked up the hanger. I was in shock. I wasn’t thinking.”

“How do you know the hanger was the weapon?” he asked.

“I don’t know—I thought you just told me.”

He shook his head.

“If it wasn’t the hanger, what was it? It had to be.”

“So your best guess is that the killer was either one of her boyfriends or a member of her family, do I have that right?”

“Well, yes. Murder is hardly ever a random act, right? More women are killed by husbands or lovers or family members than by total strangers. That’s what I’ve always heard.” If that’s what I’d heard, he must have heard it too. He must have seen the statistics, and he knew I was right to
focus on the men in her life. He just didn’t want to give me credit. He never did.

He didn’t agree or disagree. He just stood and said he had to go.

“I almost forgot. I read somewhere you’re doing an antiviolence program for the community.”

“Don’t tell me, you want to join.”

“I think I should. If it wasn’t a man in her life who killed her, then there might be a serial killer out there targeting shopgirls and I could be next.” I gave a shudder to emphasize my fear, but the truth was I just wanted an excuse to hang out with cops so I could work on this case undercover. I hoped that Jack didn’t suspect my true motive, but he probably did.

“Wednesday nights at the Central Station. Weapons training, ride-along program, victims’ rights counseling. Is that really what you want to do on your Wednesday nights?”

I nodded vigorously. “It sounds fascinating. How do I sign up?”

“I’ll put your name on the list. If you’re serious about this.”

“Of course I’m serious. Do I look serious?” I fixed my gaze on him and assumed a serious expression. His mouth twitched, and I thought he might be going to laugh, but he didn’t. What would people think, Detective Wall has a sense of humor?

“The citizens’ antiviolence program is more what I need at this point. It’s already organized, and I think I could really benefit from it. Seeing as I work in a dangerous neighborhood.”

“I hope you’re not getting paranoid. You live in a big city.
You should take normal precautions. But not change your lifestyle.”

How did he know what my lifestyle was? He’d been out of touch with me for months. “I appreciate your advice. I definitely want to set up a neighborhood watch program in my neighborhood too, in the future when the air clears. But not now.” Why did I get the feeling he thought I was not only paranoid but also flakey, jumping from one thing to another, never completing any project. I’d show him. I’d learn to handle a weapon, I’d comfort the victims of violent crime, and I’d ride along on police calls. And more important, I’d solve the murder of Vienna Fairchild. With or without his help. I was pretty sure it would be without.

When I got back to the shop, Dolce seemed more like her usual cheerful self. The lines on her forehead had smoothed out, and she was smiling at one of our old-timers, who was completely unaware that there’d been a murder on the premises until a few minutes ago. I almost preferred my theory that the murder had taken place elsewhere and Vienna’s body had been transported to Dolce’s. If so, why? If so, who? If so, when?

I wondered if I’d ever be able to forget the sight of Vienna lying there, right where several women were now standing, holding up dresses, trying on shoes and gazing at themselves in one of the many full-length mirrors around the room as if it were just another day in Paradise.

I put my jacket and purse in Dolce’s office and went back out to help customers find the right outfit for wherever they were going. The funeral tomorrow or a night on the town. I felt good knowing I myself needed something for both occasions, which meant a personal and professional challenge all wrapped up together. I loved seeing the place
crowded with the usual shoppers, and some of them were actually buying instead of just standing around gossiping.

I spent a few minutes going through the racks looking for black dresses, although I was happy to tell anyone who asked that wearing all black to a funeral wasn’t necessary.

“Black, navy, gray or any other dark colors are fine,” I told everyone who asked me. “Even deep burgundy red or forest green.”

“What about pants? Or do we have to wear skirts?” Buffy asked.

“Pants are fine,” I said. “But no jeans. Not that anyone here would wear denim to a funeral. As for shoes, closed toes are not essential, but it might be best to cover up bright toenails.” Although Vienna would have said the brighter, the better.

“What I hate to see,” Pam Lockhart of the Lockhart Unfinished Furniture chain said, “is a black suit, black pumps and a string of pearls. How boring is that? I know Vienna wouldn’t want us to look like penguins. She would want us to express ourselves the way she did.”

I had a vision of everyone dressed in Vienna’s out-there style. Slit skirts, metallics, oversize cardigans, leather pants and more. She’d been with us only a short time, but what a mark she’d made. What if everyone turned up looking like Vienna or wearing the clothes she’d sold them?

“Amen,” said Barbie Washburn, one of our frequent customers. “You all can do what you want, but I’m paying homage to Vienna by wearing an outfit she picked out for me. It’s not black, it’s not burgundy and it’s not conservative.”

“Good for you,” I said. What else could I say? “What is it?”

“I want to surprise you, Rita,” she said. “What I want to know is, what is Vienna wearing?”

A sudden hush came over the room. I caught Dolce’s eye, and she shook her head sadly. What was Vienna wearing? Who decided? It should be Dolce. Dolce adored Vienna, and she knew her taste. But Dolce wasn’t family. We knew it would be an open casket.

“We don’t know,” I said with a glance at Dolce. “It’s not up to us.”

“We can’t dress Vienna.” A lovely woman named Sachi, who was new to the city, spoke up. “But we can honor her by dressing the way she did. The way she wanted us to.”

I managed a weak smile. I should have been happy. It meant they’d all need new clothes for the funeral. No bringing out the black suit from the back of the closet, slipping into a pair of black pumps and throwing on a string of pearls. Vienna would have been horrified to see the mourners in ordinary mourning garb. I knew her well enough to know that much. But what would her family think? That it was disrespectful? I couldn’t worry about everyone. I couldn’t control what they thought or what they wore. I could only help those who wanted my help.

“Okay,” I said to the group. I felt a surge of new energy. “Dolce and I are here to help you dress for Vienna’s funeral. Whether you want to wear girly lace, knee-high boots, blazers, short skirts or long, leather and suede, or even a black dress. We’ve got it all.”

There was a stampede toward the racks, hooks, drawers and stacks of clothes. It was like Christmas in a department store, which was an awful thought. How much nicer and customer friendly to do your shopping in a boutique like Dolce’s where everyone knows your name and your taste in clothes and accessories.

I didn’t know if it was because I’d been sequestered in
the back room, but I felt like a moth who’d just been turned into a butterfly, flitting from customer to customer. I was all about finding the right item and fitting it on the right person. Was it wrong to have such a good time getting ready for a funeral? I hoped not because I hadn’t had so much fun since before Vienna joined us. As for the others who clearly loved having Vienna wait on them only last week, I think it must have been the joy of knowing they were still alive while someone else was not. If that was wrong, then we were all doomed.

“What about us?” was Dolce’s question when we finally closed the doors at six o’clock, one hour past our normal closing time. “Do we go bold according to Vienna’s taste or sober black with pearls as befitting our relationship with our colleague and friend?” Dolce asked.

I wanted to say she wasn’t my colleague or my friend, but of course I didn’t. I wouldn’t burst Dolce’s balloon for anything. It was the first time I’d seen her smile since yesterday. They call it retail therapy and they mean for the customer of course, but I can tell you retail selling is another kind of therapy and just as important.

“Maybe we can find something that says respect for her family and pays homage to the memory of Vienna at the same time,” I said.

“Of course we can,” Dolce agreed. “How about a mix of neutrals and brights?”

When I gave her a thumbs-up, she went to the rack of new arrivals and handed me a breezy girly dress in violet print to try on.

“It says spring to me,” she explained. “And renewal. It’s not black, but I don’t think it’s disrespectful.”

When I came out of the dressing room, she was holding
a long, soft wooly shawl in lilac to wrap around my shoulders. I twirled around in front of the mirror, and she said it was perfect with a shoulder bag that hugged my body and a pair of velvet wedge sandals.

“That was easy,” I said. “But I wonder, what would Vienna have thought?” I thought I knew. I thought she’d frown and then try to say something polite while inwardly she would be cringing at my lack of taste. But maybe I was wrong.

“She’d say it suits you,” Dolce said reassuringly.

Probably because Vienna thought I was just as tasteless as my outfit. So what. Vienna was gone.

As for Dolce, she knew what she wanted. A magenta sheath with a beige blazer and a bag with a classic shape in a major color, combining neutrals and brights in one great outfit.

“What about your shoes?” I asked. “I know the rule is no painted toenails at a funeral, but this is not your usual funeral if I understand correctly.”

“We’ll see,” Dolce said, suddenly somber. “Her family may not appreciate our flouting the rules this way. Still, I’d like to wear my new sandals with tights.”

“You should. You absolutely should. That would look sensational and just what Vienna would want you to do.”