Dior or Die (Joanna Hayworth Vintage Clothing Mysteries Book 2) (8 page)

"Are you okay? Do you have a good lawyer?"

Poppy nodded, her eyes tearing.

A baby cried and was shushed somewhere down the long table. Nearer, a young woman said urgently, "I told you, Goldie don't want no dog." The stuffiness was almost unbearable.

Joanna focused on Poppy. "What happened?"

Her right hand trembled. "They say when they were checking Vivienne's things they found stolen diamonds hidden in a lamp. They say I was getting them from somewhere and reselling them. It's not true!" A guard raised her eyes from examining her fingernails. "It's not true," Poppy repeated more quietly.

"I can't believe it."

"I was at the warehouse when they came. I figured—" She closed her eyes a moment and regained her breath. "I figured they were coming to tell me they were through with the North lot. I had no idea they suspected me of selling stolen jewels."

"I know you're innocent. The charges are ridiculous. But they found the diamonds in Vivienne’s stuff." That had to explain why they seized everything from the auction. "Somehow, they suspected you."

"I had no idea." Both women sat in silence a moment.

"How do you think the jewels got there?"
 

"Don’t know." Poppy's voice was emphatic. "It's only me at the auction house. Me and the guys."
 

This put a whole new spin on things. The fact that the police had held Vivienne’s auctioned goods made a whole lot more sense now. They weren’t looking for evidence in a murder case—they were looking for stolen jewels.

"Okay, let's examine the facts. The police found diamonds at the warehouse. You didn't put them there, but someone at the auction house must have. Besides you, there's Ben. Anyone else?"

"We have someone who comes in for cleaning twice a week, and the catalog writer stops by sometimes. Appraisers, too." She knitted her brow. "Most auctions, I pick up temporary workers for load in. Then there’s the trucking company. Been using them for years. Depending on how big the auction is, I might pull in a few more spotters. That's it."

"Nothing has seemed out of the ordinary?"

She stopped as if remembering something. "Travis has been a little—well, no, I don't think he'd do anything as stupid as to steal diamonds. But—"

"But what?" Joanna remembered Travis as a stringy-haired teen, one of Poppy's warehouse hands.

"Ben was at the warehouse after hours a few weeks ago and caught Travis there. It was the night Vivienne's shipment came. I'm not sure how Travis got in, but no one except Ben's supposed to be there after I lock up. We have to keep everything secure for the clients. He's a good kid, but we had to let him go. Now I wonder—"
 

"What was he doing?"

"That's the strange thing. It's not like he was hauling out sterling platters or anything. He was going through the files in my office. Every shipment that comes in has a manifest that lists all the items on the truck. When we unload, we compare the manifest to an inventory of what the customer has given us to put up for auction."

"And Travis was going through the file."

"Ben said he didn't have a good excuse for being there. He knows the rules."

"Poppy." Joanna put her hands flat on the table and leaned forward. "Vivienne's daughter-in-law told me her diamonds were stolen. I mean, the diamonds in the furniture—could Vivienne have put them there?" Travis may have caught onto it.

"You think Vivienne was a jewel thief?"

"I don't know. But someone did it."

Poppy glanced at the guard. "Something was going on with Vivienne. The night she died—" Poppy paused for a breath. "She telephoned me. She said someone was trying to kill her."

"Oh my God, Poppy." Helena hadn't told her any of this. Maybe she didn't know. But it partially explained why Poppy had been so out of it the night Vivienne died. "What did she say?"
 

"Not much. I could barely understand her. She sounded—frantic. Kind of confused. At first I thought she was returning my call from earlier about the lots. Sometimes clients call after business hours, they don't always think you might have a life. So I picked up the phone. All I got out of her was that she thought someone was trying to kill her, then a bunch of nonsense."

"Nonsense?" Joanna remembered Vivienne the day of the auction. She'd been so cool and deliberate.

"Her voice was shaky, and she was almost panting. She didn't make any sense, Jo."

"Could you make out anything? Even a word or two?" Helena said Vivienne was having a cocktail when she died. Perhaps she'd had more than one.
 

The young woman's voice nearby rose again. "If Goldie don't want him, I can't force him. I don't care if he is your brother, Goldie don't want no dog!"

"Keep it down," came a warning over a loudspeaker. "If I have to tell you again, you're out."
 

Poppy was oblivious to whatever dog trauma plagued Goldie. "She might have said ‘voyeurs.’ But I’m not sure."

Voyeurs. Someone looking in. The police had said there were two glasses. "You told all this to the detective, right?"

"Of course." The musculature of Poppy's face tensed under her skin. "Vivienne's call scared me. I made the call on their anonymous tip line." She looked up, her eyes full of guilt. "At first I didn't want to mess up the auction, you know? I was afraid her son would find out about the call and think I was meddling. So I waited before I called the police. Probably an hour." She put her face in her hands. "They'd found the body by then. The police must think somehow Vivienne found out about the diamonds, and I killed her to shut her up. Oh Joanna, it's all so—unbelievable."

"But the police should be able to find out easily enough that a call was placed between Vivienne’s and the auction house. That would prove you weren't at her house, that you couldn't have done it."

"Or that I knew she was home alone." She took a deep breath that seemed to rattle as she inhaled. "I've had nothing else to think of all night."

"I'm so sorry." Joanna clenched her hands in her lap. There had to be a way out of this somehow.
 

"Goldie Goldie Goldie. That's all you want to talk about." A guard lifted the young woman from her seat. The room quieted as the woman shrugged off the guard's grasp and marched toward the exit on her own. Hand on the doorknob, she swiveled her head toward the room. "Well, Goldie can go to hell."
 

Joanna turned back to Poppy and bit her lip. A few people tittered, and conversation resumed around them. "We’ll figure this out. We will."

"I don’t know."

"I wonder if the diamonds were hidden after something sold? The buyer would have paid whatever it took to make sure he got the item," Joanna thought aloud.
 

"So the item probably wouldn't be anything very popular."

"And the lamp the police said they found the diamonds in?"

"Nice, but nothing special."

Joanna tapped the table. "Or, the diamonds arrived at the warehouse already hidden." So many possibilities.
 

Poppy shook her head. "How could that happen? We get things from all over."

"I'll do a little digging around. See what the police know. I'm sure you won't be here for long, Poppy. You're innocent. At some point they'll figure that out." Joanna's heart sank. She tried to sound convincing, but the evidence against Poppy didn't look good.

Poppy leaned back. Despite the room's stuffiness, the skin on Joanna's arms prickled as if she were cold. "I hope you're right," Poppy said. "I think I'm being framed and I don't know why. Oh Joanna, you've got to help me. Please."

"I’ll do whatever I can." This was awful. Too awful, too wrong. "I promise."

When Joanna arrived home, Paul was sitting in his truck in front of her house. He stepped down from the cab. "What's this about you going to visit Poppy in jail?"

He followed her into the house. Weak sun filtered through the rhododendron into the living room. Paul sat on the sofa, his jeans and work shirt rough against the velvet upholstery. Pepper jumped in his lap and began to knead his paws on Paul's leg.
 

"You should have seen her. It's horrible in there—" She remembered Paul had a firsthand familiarity with jail thanks to visiting his uncle.
 

"I know. But it's just the detention center. Much better than state prison," he said. "So. Poppy. What's going on?"

"She says they're accusing her of selling stolen diamonds—"

"Diamonds?" He tensed.

"Obviously she didn't. It had to be someone else at the auction house. She looks terrible. She's totally out of it."

"Wouldn’t the police have thought of that? I'm sure they'll investigate everyone who works there." He patted the couch next to him. "Sit down. Relax for a second."

"They might have missed something important." The sofa's springs creaked under Joanna. She swiveled and rested her feet on Paul's lap. With a "mew," Pepper moved over to make room for a calf. Joanna lay back and put her hands behind her head. Despite lying down, her foot jiggled nervously. Paul squeezed her toes. "Poppy says she was framed."

"Framed? Why her?"

"I'm not sure. There's just too much I don't know." Using Joanna's leg as a bridge, Pepper padded to her stomach and lay down. Paul was right. The police surely talked to everyone at the auction house. But maybe they missed something. Maybe, if they had it in their minds Poppy was guilty, they didn't ask the right questions. Travis, for instance. Poppy said Travis was at the warehouse after hours.

"You need to stay out of it. Let the police do their job."

What was his deal? He didn’t order her around like this. He let her do what she wanted, and even seemed to appreciate her occasional indulgences in weekend-long Raymond Chandler reading jags or ragù alla Bolognese cooking marathons. She dodged his question. "I’m thinking of painting the ceiling. Maybe a shell pink? It looks kind of dingy."

Paul shifted on the couch. Even though her head was turned up, Joanna knew he was looking at her. "Promise me you won't get involved in this." His hand was warm on her ankle. "I like your sense of justice, I really do. And I know Poppy is your friend. But let the police handle it."

"Oh Paul, you should have seen her. She begged me to help her. What am I supposed to do?"

"You can help by keeping out of the police's way. And staying safe."

She paused for a moment then decided to say it anyway. "You know that I’m not your sister, right? I won’t get killed because you weren’t paying attention." His sister had died years before in a car crash after Paul had forgotten to pick her up after school.

"This has nothing to do with her…" His voice trailed off.
 

"I can't bear to see Poppy in jail like that. Meanwhile, the real thief is going loose."

"It’s frustrating for you, but you're letting it go, right? You’re already asking around about Vivienne North’s death. Don’t tempt fate with Poppy." Paul's voice hardened with obstinacy. She knew he wouldn't rest until she'd promised him she'd leave things alone. "Promise me."

"I guess the police know better how to deal with this than I do." Neither a yes nor a no.

"Jo. That’s not an answer."

"But she begged me. You should have seen her."

"I’m sure her lawyer will have her out on bail soon."

"It’s not just that," Joanna said. "It’s her reputation. Think about it. No one will hire her. And how will she feel walking around town with everyone looking at her and talking about her behind her back?"

"And how will she feel if something happens to you because you were nosing around in what should be the police’s business?"

Paul’s argument was logical, but she knew it was driven more by his stubborn protectiveness than reason. Why, she had no idea. She refused to look at him.

He ran a hand down her calf. "Jo," he said, this time softly. "Look at me. Do you promise?"

She met his eyes. "All right." She relaxed back into the couch again. Pepper's purr reverberated through her abdomen. "I promise."
 

She knew his urgency that she not get involved came from a good place. After all, he took time away from his work to check on her. If he moved in, in the evenings when she came home, he'd be around—in the house, or working out in the shop. Maybe when he had a big job she'd bring him dinner and watch him work a little. Other nights he might already be in the house listening to one of his old jazz records.
 

But even these simple pleasures were things Poppy might not experience for years. Not the way things were headed.

"If Uncle Gene weren't locked away, I know where the police would start looking for the jewel thief," Paul said.

"Did you ever see anything he stole?" She imagined piles of diamonds in chamois bags.

He looked away. "Well, it wasn’t really like that."

"Like what?"

He hesitated. "You know."

He wasn’t telling her something. He would eventually, though. She probed a bit further. "Tell me about his heists."

"Well, his job was to steal the goods. Another guy, a jeweler, took the stones from the jewelry and melted down the settings. That way they couldn't be traced. The bigger, more valuable gems are pretty well documented. So they had to cut them down to resell. It hurt the value, but it was the safest way to go."

Way too complicated. Yet another reason Poppy wouldn't be involved in any diamond operation. She was a spectacular auctioneer, but if it weren't for her manager she'd never keep the auction house afloat. Anger flushed once again through Joanna’s bloodstream.

"It gets even more interesting," Paul said. "Some of the diamonds were special enough that they had serial numbers engraved on them. That way if the owner took, say, her ring in for cleaning, a jeweler wouldn't swap out the diamond for a cheaper one. My uncle had to file them off the jewels." He tapped her calf with a finger. "If I were the police, I'd figure out how to flush him out."
 

Joanna tilted her head toward him. Pepper mewed in protest of being jiggled. "What do you mean?"