Dying in Style (34 page)

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Authors: Elaine Viets

Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Cozy, #Women Sleuths, #Amateur Sleuth, #General

BOOK: Dying in Style
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Josie’s boss, Harry, had given her the Soft Shoe assignment this way: “The company wants you to ask for a salesman named Mel,” he said. “He’s really into ladies’ feet, if you know what I mean.”

“You want me to investigate a pervert?” Josie had said.

“He’s not dangerous, Josie,” Harry had told her. “The worst he’ll do is give you a foot massage. Might feel good on your tired tootsies. Listen, this Mel may not even be what they think he is. The company is a little suspicious, that’s all. They’ve had a couple of complaints from lady customers and they don’t know how seriously to take them. Women can be crazy, you know what I mean?”

Josie had not called her boss on his sexist remark. Harry was hopeless. Besides, Josie got a bonus for special assignments and mystery shopping paid little enough. But now that Mel was sitting on his sloping pink stool, oozing over her foot, Josie wondered if the extra money was worth it.

“You wait here,” Mel said. “I’ll be right back.”

Mel had an odd crouching walk as he ducked through the pink curtains into the back room. So far, I have nothing suspicious for my report, Josie thought. What can I say? He held my foot a little longer than usual? He rubbed my arch in a suggestive manner? I’ll sound like a nutcase. All I have is my feeling that something is off about Mel.

Still, other women must have felt the same way, or Josie wouldn’t be there. She would have to try on shoes until she knew for sure. She owed it to her sole sisters, as well as to the company.

Josie couldn’t bring her mystery-shopping questionnaire into the store, but she knew the questions by heart. Right now, Mel had a perfect score. Had he greeted her warmly when she entered the store? Had he introduced himself in a positive manner and mentioned the store name? Had he waited on her promptly? Had he offered to bring out the high-fashion stock? Yes, yes and yes.

Here he was now, carrying shoeboxes stacked up to his chin. The Big Bopper sang on the retro soundtrack about Chantilly lace and a pretty face. Josie’s mother had danced to that tune when she was young.

“I have a sassy pair of open-toed Bruno Maglis.” Mel took off the shoe box lid with a flourish.

Josie studied the shoes. They were cute. If she could afford nearly three paychecks for shoes, she’d buy them. At least she was being paid to try to them on.

“I like them,” she said. “But I have on the wrong stockings. Mine have reinforced toes.”

“Where did women get this idea that men don’t like reinforced toes?” Mel said as he slipped the shoes on Josie. Sweat had popped out on his forehead, although it wasn’t warm in the store. He wiped it with a silk pocket square.

“Some of us men long for the good old days when women wore stockings with reinforced heels
and
toes,” Mel said. “Unfortunately, pantyhose have taken over everything. They’re so orthopedic. Women have lost their affection for high heels. Why don’t women wear heels any more, like they did in the fifties and sixties?”

“Because they hurt,” Josie said. She had to walk miles through malls in heels for her mystery-shopping. Spikes were torture.

“But heels do such nice things for the calf and leg. I’d think women would endure a little discomfort to look attractive,” Mel said.

“Hobbling is unattractive,” Josie said, and wondered if she’d blown her cover with her anti-heel remark. “I’ll take the Bruno Maglis.”

“May I show you a Kenneth Cole d’Orsay pump?” Mel was practically on his knees begging as he brought out a turquoise shoe with open sides.

“Sure.”

Mel slipped the pair on her feet. Josie stood up and took a few steps to the long mirror. The open-sided shoe was sexy, no doubt about it. Her legs looked terrific.

“Adorable,” Mel said. “I’ll be right back.” He disappeared behind the pink curtains again with that strange crouch.

Josie sighed. She was going to be here all day with nothing to show for it but mauled feet. If Mel was misbehaving, she hadn’t caught him at it.

Mel returned a few minutes later with another precarious pile of shoeboxes. “I have a gorgeous little slingback with a stiletto heel,” he said. “And an adorable ankle-wrap sandal.”

Mel opened the boxes like a courtier showing jewels to his queen. Josie tried them all on, wishing she were wearing them for Josh instead of Mel. After nearly an hour, she was knee-deep in a welter of rejected shoes. All she could say in her report was that Mel had spent more time than usual with her, and that wasn’t wasted time for him. She was buying three pairs of shoes—nearly a thousand dollars’ worth of stock—or so he thought.

Damn. I’ll have to come back here for another visit, Josie thought. Maybe then I’ll figure out why Mel bothers me. There’s something wrong about that man. I wish I could see it.

Mel packed her new shoes in elegant pale pink shopping bags while Buddy Holly sang about Peggy Sue. “You don’t want to take these old shoes with you.” Mel indicated her red heels.

I do, Josie thought. Because I’m returning everything I bought here today to another Soft Shoe in Plaza Frontenac. Josie wouldn’t get to keep those gorgeous shoes. Returning recently purchased items to yet another store was one of mystery shopping’s less glamorous assignments. It was an effective way to test customer service.

“Actually, I do want them,” Josie said.

Mel looked sad. So did her resale-shop Pradas. Were they really so down-at-the-heels? Funny how shoes that seemed attractive when she walked into a store looked worn and dusty when she bought new ones.

“Then let me clean them for you,” Mel said.

At least I’ll get a free shoeshine, Josie thought. I can keep that.

Before she could say anything, Mel had her shoes in one hand and was heading for the pink curtains with that odd crouching walk. He reminded her of Josh on her front porch the previous night.

Suddenly, Josie knew what the salesman was going to do to her innocent Pradas. She ran toward the back room, flung open the pink curtains, and caught Mel crouching like a teenage boy behind stacks of shoe boxes.

“Unhand that shoe, you heel!” she thundered, and ripped her still-pure Prada from his grasp.

Josie had him. After her report, Mel would never molest another pump.

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