Murder After a Fashion (24 page)

I didn’t know the owners of this house. I wanted to peek into their closets when we were upstairs, but even I didn’t have the nerve to do that. The woman of the house, whose name was Sheila Hill, wasn’t our customer, but she should have been, I thought when I met her on the brick patio where she was talking to a group of visitors like us.

Not that Sheila’s clothes looked shabby. Her long skirt and cable-knit sweater and sturdy shoes just looked like something she might have made herself or ordered from the Lands’ End catalog. Good-quality materials but not exactly cutting-edge style. I had to admit it wasn’t easy being a fashion guru. I spent a lot of my work time and my free time studying the fashion magazines and the women who came into the shop and who I knew wore the latest thing whether they were shopping in a boutique or volunteering, like Diana, as a docent at the zoo or the museums. This woman just needed a Dolce boost. Really, didn’t everyone? She said hello and added that she admired my pants.

“Wide-legged
print pants. So unusual. Sophisticated yet relaxed,” she said a trifle wistfully.

“Comfortable too,” I said. When I told her where they came from, she said she’d never been to our shop.

“You should really come and check us out,” I told her. “In my opinion everyone should shop at Dolce’s at least once a week. I say that not just because I work there. I’d shop there even if I had no connection to the shop. If I could afford it.” Which I couldn’t. Not at this moment. Of course, if I married a billionaire. Or even a simple millionaire…

“Really,” she said.

“We bend over backward to serve our customers, getting to know their taste and their style so we can customize our service. Take this necklace,” I said, fingering the tubes hanging around my neck. “Who would have thought it would go with this sweater? I should have known the sweater called out for some smashing jewelry. I just didn’t hear the call. But Dolce did. She’s my boss. That’s how good she is,” I said.

“You’re quite the saleswoman,” the woman said with a smile. “I hope your boss appreciates you. Because if not—”

“Oh, she does. That’s her over there,” I said, pointing to Dolce, who was taking a cracker spread with cream cheese, salmon and capers from a sturdy table on the patio. “That’s Dolce.”

“Because if not,” the woman continued, “I have a job to offer you. I could use someone with your style.” She gave me and my whole outfit an appreciative glance. Finally someone noticed. And commented.

What did she say? Was some stranger offering me a job? Doing what?

“Thank you,” I said, “but it’s my boss who has the style.
Besides, I already have the world’s best job and the world’s best boss.” Only a few weeks ago I didn’t appreciate either the way I did now. That’s what a murder in your midst will do for you. I glanced at Dolce, who must have heard this conversation because she looked wide-eyed and startled. I hoped she didn’t think I was job hunting. Especially when she’d bought the tickets that got us into this house tour. I switched the subject to the house and told the owner it was charming. “Especially your herb garden,” I said, inhaling the scent of fresh basil and cilantro planted in pots on the patio.

“Compared to the mansions on this tour, our home is what I like to call cozy,” she said.

“Compared to my house, it’s a mansion,” I said.

“Then maybe you’d be interested in supplementing your income. You do have weekends and evenings free, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I’m taking some classes after work,” I said. Now that I’d started, I wanted to take more.

“I see,” she said as if she really did see that I was not exactly overwhelmed by my hobby. “The job I’m thinking of is one most women enjoy. I think you’d be good at it. It involves shopping.” She lowered her voice, put her hand on my shoulder and led me to the far corner of the patio. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dolce looking at us. No doubt wondering what in the hell I was doing. I wondered too.

“Have you ever heard of mystery shoppers?” she asked.

“Yes, but I’m not sure what their job is.” Actually I appreciated having a good mystery to solve even when it involved someone I knew. And God knew I loved to shop. Maybe I ought to pay attention and not be so quick to brush off this offer, whatever it was.

“The job is to evaluate certain stores and their services. Maybe you’ve even had one of them in your store—what is its name?”

“Dolce’s,” I said, “in Hayes Valley.” Had a mystery shopper come in and I hadn’t noticed? “Who hires the mystery shopper, and what’s the point?”

“The store hires them to be sure the clerks are doing a good job and that they aren’t stealing from the till.”

I smiled. “Well, I would have known if my boss had hired a mystery shopper. It’s a small shop. I don’t need to steal because my boss is incredibly generous. Take this outfit. She insisted I wear it today even though I can’t afford anything like it. My whole closet is full of clothes she gave me or sold to me at a discount. I’m the only employee since the other sales assistant was murdered. Dolce and I don’t have any secrets from each other.” As soon as I said this, I knew I had talked too much, and what I’d said about the secrets wasn’t true. Maybe Dolce had kept no secrets from me, but I hadn’t told her everything I knew or thought I knew about the chef’s murder or the alleged incident at Diana’s house.

“I only mention this job opportunity because you look the part of an upscale shopper,” she said. “And as a sales assistant who lives in a small apartment, as you mentioned, I thought you might be interested in earning some more money to augment your current salary, as generous as it may be. The hours are your own. Nights and weekends or whenever you’re free and the stores are open.”

Across the patio a few women stopped for a glass of wine and a canapé and turned to wave at Sheila, the hostess. She reached into her pocket for her card and told me to call her. On the card it said she ran an employment service in the city.
No wonder she wanted me to take this job. She must get a commission on everyone she placed.

“Naturally this job is completely undercover. You have to keep it to yourself; otherwise, your cover would be blown and you couldn’t do the job.”

I nodded, thinking I could never do that. I should have confessed right then and there that I was a blabbermouth and I couldn’t keep a secret if I tried, but I didn’t. Let’s face it: I was intrigued, and I was flattered to be selected out of the crowd for my looks and my clothes. Then I joined Dolce, who I could tell was dying of curiosity.

“Was that woman trying to steal you away from me?” she asked, one hand on her hip.

“Oh, no, that would be ridiculous. I told her I had the best job in the world and you were the best boss.”

Dolce sighed with relief and squeezed my arm. “But what did she say?”

“She runs an employment agency.” I lowered my voice and looked over my shoulder to make sure no one could hear us. “She wants me to be a mystery shopper.”

“A mystery shopper. What’s that?” Dolce whispered.

“I’ll tell you when we get out of here,” I said.

When I explained it to her after we’d visited all the houses and eaten and drunk whatever they’d offered, she was dubious.

“But, Rita, what about your other interests? How will you have time for your classes?”

“I can’t give those up, that’s for sure,” I said. “But she said I could work whatever hours I’m free, which means Sundays, Mondays and nights. Since I love to shop anyway…Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll have to think it over.”

“It might be good to have another interest besides the
murder of your culinary teacher,” Dolce said thoughtfully as she drove to California Street.

“Do you think I’ve been obsessive about it?” I asked anxiously. “If I have, I was only trying to help.” After all, I might have been the last person to see the chef alive—except for the killer, of course. That made me feel responsible for doing what I could to find out who’d killed Guido. I thought I’d actually uncovered some good leads, which I intended to follow up on. Although, if you asked the police, they would say I was not helpful, that, in fact, I was intrusive. So maybe I should take a part-time job to keep me from getting bored.

“I wouldn’t say obsessive,” Dolce said as we stopped at a red light. “Maybe ‘preoccupied’ is a better word.”

I pressed my lips together. Did she think I wasn’t doing a good job at work because I was preoccupied with Guido’s murder?

“Then I think I’ll follow up on it and see what the job entails,” I said.

She nodded. I don’t think she even knew she’d hurt my feelings. Maybe it was time I took a look at myself and tried to branch out. Yes, I’d tried taking classes, but both of them had been followed by some kind of violence; whether it was an accident or not, it was still disturbing.

Dolce had decided we should close the shop on Monday, so there I was, faced with a free day. In the morning I first called Diana to touch bases with her and see how the open house had gone. I couldn’t help wondering why I hadn’t seen her during the tour, but it was a big house, so maybe I’d been downstairs when she was upstairs, or vice versa. But she didn’t answer, so I left a message.

Determined to make the most of my day off, and still stinging from what I interpreted as Dolce’s criticism of my “obsessive”
interest in the Guido murder, I called my new friend Sheila who wanted me to be a mystery shopper, and she asked me to come to her office downtown when I had time. I said I could come in that morning, so I dressed quickly in business casual before I lost my nerve and asked myself what I was doing applying for another job when I barely had time for work and my hobbies. I hadn’t even been to my gym for weeks.

To impress my future employer with my fashion sense, I paired a vintage Emanuel Ungaro jacket from the eighties with a belted, knee-length Lauren denim skirt and some strappy Ivanka Trump sandals. I took the bus to the financial district and filled out an application. Sheila, my new employer, said I already looked the part of the mystery shopper, which was the whole idea of my outfit. After I filled out the form, she said she had no doubt I’d be terrific at the job. She said she had a sixth sense about people, which was why she was in the employment field.

In all modesty I thought I would be terrific at it too. How hard could shopping and filling out an evaluation of the clerk be? It was a dream job, wasn’t it? I thought so. She said she’d call and let me know what my first assignment would be. Feeling proud of myself for taking charge of my life and sending myself in a new direction, I walked out of her office with a light step and almost ran into the bartender at Eduardo’s.

“Hello,” I said. From the blank look on his face, I assumed he didn’t know who I was. “I’m Rita,” I said. “I saw you at your restaurant.”

He forced a smile, then brushed by me on his way into Sheila’s office. What was he doing here? Surely he didn’t need a job, did he? I thought he had one. Of course, he might be there to help Eduardo find new employees—cooks, waiters,
whatever. But why was he so brusque? Probably was in a hurry, I told myself. And he just didn’t recognize me. Why should he? I was just another customer. Just in case he said something interesting, I paused outside the office and pressed my ear to the door. I heard him say something like, “I have to get away. Find someone else. It’s not working. I told you…As far away as I can. Now.”

I would have stayed longer to hear this fascinating conversation because this man was still on my list of possible suspects, but a woman in a tailored three-piece microfiber DVC suit and a pair of Rachel Roy platform pumps came and knocked at the door. I moved on, wondering if she was applying for the mystery shopper job too. I thought I had a lock on that job, but maybe not. It wasn’t surprising that others would want this cushy job as much as I did.

I took the bus home and changed into tie-dyed Stella McCartney skinny jeans and a ruffled Tommy Hilfiger blouse, with dangly silver ShalinIndia earrings. I looked at myself in my full-length bedroom mirror and asked myself, “Now what?”

The answer of course was I should go to the zoo to look for Diana. If she wouldn’t answer my calls, I’d go find her. And if she wasn’t doing her docent thing today, I could still have a good time watching my favorite animals, the cute koala bears and the penguins, who looked like they were on their way to work in formal wear.

It would be more fun to go with someone, I thought. I crossed Jonathan off my list; since he worked at night, he was probably asleep. And of course Detective Wall wouldn’t be free to simply enjoy the day if it didn’t have something to do with crime.

I took a chance and called Nick.

He answered the phone and said he didn’t have a tumbling class until tonight and he would like to go to the zoo with me very much. It’s nice to encounter someone with manners who acts happy to hear from you whether or not he actually is.

“We should meet at the cage of the hippo at two. And afterward, when they close, we will go to the Cliff House for the atmosphere and for something to eat. The crème brûlée is excellent.”

The Cliff House? That called for something a little more upscale than my jeans and ruffles. So I packed my L.L.Bean leather tote bag with a new outfit for the après-zoo activities. In it I put my favorite dress-vest combo. The navy vest was by DKNY, the print dress and the bag were Proenza Schouler. I threw in a pair of high-topped Alexander Wang high heels. That ought to do it for the legendary restaurant that was voted “best restaurant with a view” in San Francisco. Before we left the zoo, I would slip into a restroom and discretely change my outfit. Thank God for Nick, who always came through for me when I needed him.

In my skinny jeans I stopped for lunch at a Mexican fusion food truck where I downed a delicious spicy chipotle shrimp taco smothered with onions, cilantro and a squeeze of lime. Then I jumped back on the Taraval bus, which let me off at the zoo. Fortunately it was a free day, so before I breezed in without paying I asked at the information booth if Mrs. Van Sloat was working today. After consulting a volunteer list, the girl said she should be with the gorillas. Of course. That’s what she’d said. Finally I’d get a chance to touch base with her. There was so much I wanted to ask her.