Died with a Bow (19 page)

“What do
you
do?” I asked.

“I work at home,” she said.

I hadn’t asked her where she worked, I’d asked her what she did. I tried again. “How convenient,” I said. “What kind of work is it?”

“I’m a writer.”

“I love to read,” I said. “Maybe I’ve read some of your books.” Which wasn’t likely unless she wrote paranormal romances where mortals fall in love with vampires. Because that was my reading material of choice. Nothing too heavy or challenging.

“I don’t write books,” she said. “I write the fortunes for fortune cookies.”

“I always wondered who wrote them. In fact, I got one once I didn’t understand. Maybe you wrote it.” It was so complicated I couldn’t remember it. “Something about not stepping in the same stream twice.”

“That wasn’t mine. Mine are easy to understand. Like, ‘A golden egg of opportunity falls into your lap this month.’”

I just stared at her. What a great job, I thought. How hard
could it be to come up with that kind of thing? “I thought you had to be Chinese to write those.”

“Some people are. I’m not. Being a professional writer is a great job. You get to work at home. You can wear a pair of sweats all day. But it doesn’t pay that well. And there’s no job security. One day they say your fortunes aren’t any good anymore. They’re tired or boring or repetitious, or they hire someone who’s cheaper. I have good taste. I love champagne, but I can only afford beer. I admit I was jealous of Vienna’s clothes and her rich parents. What did she do to deserve what she got?”

“You’re not the only one who felt that way,” I said. “Someone else resented her. Someone killed her.”

“Well, it wasn’t me,” she said.

I didn’t know whether to believe her or not. It seemed like too many people were eager to declare their innocence. But I knew how she felt. I was one of those people.

“If you wear sweatpants all day, why do you want Vienna’s clothes? They’re on the cutting edge. You can’t even wear them to the Safeway or you’d be stared at.”

“I’ll worry about where to wear them when I get them,” Danielle said in her snippy way. Then she walked past me into the great room. Fortunately both Dolce and her customers were busy looking at some new jewelry we’d recently gotten in. Danielle looked around from the racks of formal dresses to the shelves stacked with scarves.

“No wonder Vienna wanted to work here. All this great stuff. I didn’t think she needed the money because she could just ask Daddy.”

“I thought everyone at Prep was rich,” I said. I could hear the jealousy in Danielle’s voice. However she denied killing
her roommate, she would have to admit jealousy was a common motive for murder.

“Most everyone was rich,” she said. “But some of us were on scholarship. Some of us were jocks, some were nerds, some were geeks.”

I noted she didn’t say which group she belonged to. From looking at her, I couldn’t tell. All I knew for sure was that she was trying to get something for nothing.

“Listen,” I said when I saw Dolce giving Danielle a curious look, no doubt wondering who the hell Rita was talking to for so long when she should be helping other customers. “I’ll ask my boss if Vienna left anything behind and I’ll call you.”

Danielle seemed torn between going or staying. Finally she said she’d call Dolce later. She’d just opened the door when I thought of something. I rushed over and asked quietly, “Did you see the necklace Vienna was wearing the night of the big benefit, the night she was murdered?”

“Was it made of diamonds and a huge pink stone?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Nope,” she said. “Never saw it.” Then she turned and left. I just stood there staring at the door she’d just walked out of. What else could I do, rush out after her and demand an explanation?

“Who was that woman in the trench coat?” Dolce asked me later when she’d closed up.

“Vienna’s roommate, Danielle. Did you recognize the coat?”

Dolce turned pale. “Oh, no, that was Vienna’s coat. What did she want?”

“You won’t believe this, but she wanted any clothes that
Vienna left here. I didn’t say anything because I thought you wouldn’t want to deal with her at this point. Especially since she wanted something from you. She thinks she deserves the clothes because Vienna was behind in the rent. In fact, I gather Vienna didn’t pay any rent, so Danielle thinks she’s been stiffed.”

“So she wants a dead girl’s clothes,” Dolce said with a shiver. “Don’t you think that’s kind of macabre?”

I nodded. “I told her I’d ask you, just to get rid of her. I hope none of the customers heard what she was saying. They would have been disgusted with good reason.”

“Vienna did leave some clothes here. She picked out a few outfits, and she was going to collect them later.” Dolce blinked rapidly. I couldn’t stand it if she cried again. I hesitated about continuing the conversation, though I wanted to ask if Vienna had actually paid for the clothes. Or did Dolce give them to her? Or none of the above.

“I was wondering,” I said, propping one hand on the ornate door frame between the showroom and the alcove, “if that’s why Vienna came back here that night. To change clothes. Just to get out of her beautiful dress and into something more comfortable, more casual. Maybe a short flouncy skirt with a wool blend cardigan and a pair of Sorel boots. Knowing Vienna, she might add a sleek beret and a cozy scarf that can feel so good at night in the city. Does that make sense?”

“But why not go home to change?” Dolce asked. “Where she’d have even more clothes to choose from?”

“Home being her apartment, the one she shared with Danielle? Maybe she didn’t feel at home there, and after speaking with Danielle just now, I can understand why she might not. You knew Vienna better than I did. Any idea how
she felt about her roommate or why she came here that night?”

I probably should have asked Dolce sooner, but it was kind of forbidden, the subject of Vienna’s murder. Dolce really cared about Vienna and maybe even felt partly responsible for it, since it happened here.

“All I know is that Vienna and her roommate were not close. I don’t even know if Vienna ever spent any time at that apartment,” Dolce said. “Still, I wouldn’t mind giving her Vienna’s clothes. There’s a leather jacket, so soft and thin it’s almost like a shirt, and a pair of faux suede booties that look Victorian, and a pair of polished knit sweatpants. I certainly don’t want them, and they should be worn by someone. They’re classy and expensive.”

Just like Vienna. Dolce didn’t say it, but I knew that’s what she thought. I wanted to know if Vienna had paid for the clothes, but I didn’t want to seem nosy. After all, that was between Vienna and Dolce. If Dolce wanted to give them away to someone else, paid or unpaid for, she should. I noticed Dolce hadn’t answered my question about why Vienna would have come here after the auction. Was she avoiding my question, or wasn’t it worth answering?

“What about you?” Dolce asked.

“Me, wear Vienna’s clothes?” I asked. “I couldn’t.” Even if she’d never worn them, it was too weird. Besides, we didn’t even remotely have the same taste.

“You’re right. Of course you couldn’t wear her things. You and Vienna were totally different. She had such an out-there fashion sense. Being older, you’re much more conservative.”

I didn’t know if I liked that description. It made me feel old and tired and out of touch. Was it possible I’d slipped into middle age without knowing it? Had it taken the arrival
of a fresh new face to point out to everyone that I was a has-been?

“I like to think I’m just as trendy as the next person,” I said, trying not to sound defensive. Although if the next person was Vienna, I obviously was not.

“Of course you are,” Dolce said soothingly. “I’ll give the clothes to her roommate. Her parents won’t want them. It would just make them miss her more.”

I didn’t think her stepmother would miss her at all, but I didn’t care if Bobbi got anything out of Vienna’s death. And her mother had enough clothes already, and the money to buy whatever she wanted. What would Vienna want? Hard to say. She hadn’t spoken favorably about anyone. Not friends, not her sister or her mother. Her father was another matter. I had a feeling he was her favorite parent. And why not? He gave her everything she wanted. Or so I’d heard.

“What about her sister? Maybe we should ask her if she wants Vienna’s clothes.”

“I don’t think so,” Dolce said, then she pressed her thumbs against her temples. “Again, from what I saw, she has totally different taste. Now I’m going to take two aspirin and go to bed.”

“Good night,” I said, heading toward the door. “Oh, and that little dinner party I mentioned earlier today? It’s on Sunday night, and please, invite William as well.”

“Rita, that sounds lovely,” Dolce said. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I took that cooking class,” I said. Then I felt silly. How could I hope to give a dinner party after one cooking class? My resolve was slipping away. But now that I’d asked both Jonathan and Nick as well as Dolce and her pilot friend, I couldn’t back down.

“Good for you,” Dolce said. “I wish I’d done that. It’s too late for me, but not for you. Of course I’ll come.”

Dolce seemed more enthusiastic than the last time we’d discussed the diner party. “What about William?” I wanted to ask, but I didn’t. I was almost afraid to invite him after what he’d said about how he cooked his steak Diane, but as my aunt Alyce always says, “In for a penny, in for a pound.” Which I believe meant that once I’d extended the invitation, I had to go ahead and make the best of it.

I went through the motions at work on Friday, but my real energy was focused on my date for Saturday night. I was glad I had Saturday off, though I knew it would be hard on Dolce to handle the customers by herself. I needed a day off. I’d had it up to here with Vienna’s murder. I was stuck having too many suspects and sick of being suspected myself. I wondered when I’d hear from Jack Wall again. Of course I didn’t want to answer any more questions about Vienna unless I could ask questions in return. And that wasn’t going to happen. Not in this lifetime. It was always interesting to joust with my favorite detective, but not so interesting to try to turn his attention to other topics when he refused to respect my opinions—or humor me, at the very least.

As usual, Dolce threw herself into the project of what I should wear to the Starlight Room with Jonathan. “I’m glad you didn’t have to pay for this date,” she said as she hung three of four dresses on a rack for me to try on. “Because I don’t know if it’s exactly your scene.”

“Really? Whose scene is it?” I asked.

“Let’s just say you’re a little young for it.”

“Good,” I said, “I want to feel young and fun for a change. There are times when I feel old and conservative.”
I didn’t mention that that was because of Vienna’s and Dolce’s earlier remarks. I didn’t ever plan to say anything negative about Vienna in front of Dolce.

“Then let’s see what says young and fun,” Dolce said, looking at the dresses she’d pulled out. One was a gypsy dress with a long flowing skirt. She suggested wearing it with leather lace-up wedge boots, which would have been fine on someone else. On me it looked sloppy. Next she showed me a white faux-fur jacket, black leggings and a pair of killer heels. The whole outfit was dramatic, but I could hardly walk in those heels and the fur coat made me feel claustrophobic. Dolce was unstoppable. Her next choice was an ultrashort party dress in silver lamé with an A-line shape. Worn with Hue black tights studded with sheer dots it was dramatic and young and fearless.

“The A-line shape makes your legs look longer and slimmer and lets you eat and drink whatever you want,” Dolce pointed out enthusiastically.

I didn’t like to think that my legs were normally short and fat and that I usually couldn’t eat and drink what I wanted. But of course Dolce was only trying to be helpful. She added a wide bracelet and a pair of festive sparkly peep-toe shoes to my outfit.

“I think I like it,” I said, standing in front of the mirror. It made a statement. It said, “I’m out of my element and that’s not a bad thing. I’m out on the town. I’m dressed for fun.”

It wasn’t anything I’d wear anywhere else. I hoped I wouldn’t have to pay for this dress, which I’d probably only wear one night, because just a glance at the price tag left me breathless.

“It’s perfect for the Starlight Room,” she said. “You’ll see.”

I wondered what else I’d see. Would everyone else be in the conservative outfits I’d heard they wore there? Would any of our customers be there? What would Vienna have worn if she’d gone with Jonathan? Maybe the diaphanous black dress I imagined wearing to the Venice Film Festival, which I was sure Vienna had been to or, if not, was planning on going.

“And with it,” Dolce said, “you must wear this faux-fur black jacket from the Armani Exchange and carry a clutch bag that says ‘Party on.’” She smiled at me, and I didn’t have the heart to spoil her fun by telling her I was having second thoughts. Was this really what people wore to the famous nightclub on the twenty-first floor of the hotel to drink and dance and ogle the other customers? I was going to find out.

At least Jonathan said all the right things about my outfit when he picked me up on Saturday night. At first he stopped and stared, looking a little shocked, but in a good way. I did look different from my everyday working-girl self. After all, isn’t that the point? If you’re going clubbing on a Saturday night, you should look different.

“You look…different,” he said after he’d walked up the three flights of stairs to my new apartment. I’d spent an hour shoving all my moving boxes into my tiny bedroom so that the place looked almost spacious, with nothing much in it except for my expandable dining room table and a stack of folding chairs I intended to use tomorrow for my dinner.

Then he added, “Sensational, I mean.”

I told him he looked fabulous and I meant it. He was as handsome as ever. This time in a retro vintage suit. Some men might look silly or pretentious dressed in a seventies-style narrow, double-breasted dark suit with a fitted striped shirt and tie. But not Jonathan. His sun-bleached hair gave
him a beach-boy casual look that I, a transplanted midwestern girl, found irresistible. Who would guess he was an ER doctor, dedicated to saving lives every day and night except for tonight.