“So?”
“She’s almost finished writing her book.”
“Everyone thinks they can write a book. Trust me, not everyone can.”
“Millie’s writing a memoir that exposes decades of celebrity secrets.”
“Why would she want to do that?”
“Do you think I’m the only mature employee that management’s firing?”
Annie nodded at Edith. “Let’s do it, Flowers.” She pushed her bunny ear back, marched past the gorgeous dresses and headed towards Millie Williams.
* * *
Millie eyed Annie. “Do not even tell me. Mr. Bumble made you wear that. Good Lord, we are doomed.” She sighed, scribbled into a little notebook, and placed it under the counter. “I’m Millie Williams. How can I help you?”
“I’ve heard the most amazing things about you, Ms. Williams. I’m on my break. I’m kind of broke – going through a divorce. I was hoping to find a nice dress to, um, you know…”
“Re-enter the dating scene in a tasteful fashion,” Edith said.
“Attempt re-entry to the dating machine.”
“These are cocktail dresses, my love. Maybe you should talk to Edith Flowers in the Women’s Department.”
“I did. But Edith couldn’t find anything for me,” Annie said. “She’s not as gifted as you.”
Edith harrumphed.
“Really?” Millie asked.
“Seriously. I tried on an army of clothes with Edith. Not one thing worked for me. Maybe Edith wasn’t…I mean, isn’t as great at her job as you are.”
Millie nodded. “You’re sweet.”
“It is not my fault you have a bit of a bubble butt,” Edith said.
“In fact, Millie, word is that you’re the best sales lady west of the Mississippi. Could you find it in your busy schedule and your big heart to help a nice girl from a small town in Wisconsin who has fallen on tough times?”
“You are officially piling it on thick,” Edith said.
Millie walked out from behind the counter. Her posture was perfect. As was her complexion, her attire and the smile growing on her gorgeous face. “So Miss Knows-it-All, Edith Flowers, let you down?”
Edith kicked the back of Annie’s calf.
Annie buckled for a second and then pulled herself back up. “Yes. That’s right.”
“I will find you something fabulous.” Millie walked off and beckoned Annie to follow her.
She did. “Thank you. Did I mention I was broke?”
“You did, my love.”
Annie motioned to Edith who stood behind her, glaring.
“You threw me under the bus,” Edith said.
“You said I looked like a heroin addict.”
* * *
Millie passed a circular rack of dresses with a fifty percent off sign perched on the top.
“Oh, my God. Is that a Valentino?” Annie sighed as she pointed to a sequined gown sticking out of the rack.
“Not even close,” Edith sniffed. “I can’t believe you even considered shopping at Snotsky’s? Have you never read a fashion magazine in your entire life?”
“Good eye, almost divorced girl,” Millie said. “It’s a Palentino. An excellent knock-off. Only a fashion professional would know the difference. Besides being a Snotsky’s Bunny, what do you do?”
“I’m a baker. Ran into a bit trouble a couple months ago when I tangled with a celebrity.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You got to be careful with the celebrities. They can be… ornery,” Annie said.
“Hmm,” Millie said as they strode past another rack stuffed with stunning designer dresses. There was a sixty percent off sign on the top of that carousel.
Annie hesitated. A crimson silk skirt stuck out from all the exquisite fabrics and hijacked her eyes. “Wait!” She lunged at the rack and gently extricated the dress squished next to its competitors. “It’s my color. It’s so beautiful.” She petted it, almost breathless.
“It’s three thousand dollars new, and over one thousand dollars on sale,” Millie said.
“Oh.” Annie placed the skirt gingerly back on the rack.
“I told you I’d find you something fabulous and I will,” Millie said. “This way.” She beckoned. “Tell me why you have to be careful of celebrities?”
“Surely you know,” Annie said. “You and Edith Flowers dress them on a regular basis. Are you and Edith BFFs? Or would you describe your relationship as more like -- frenemies?”
Millie sighed. “It’s complicated.”
* * *
Annie, the spectacular Millie and the very dead Edith were back in the bowels of Snotsky’s. The gray dim plain hallways and storage areas lay behind the store’s trendy departments. It was here that new clothes waited for their shining moments on stage. The old clothes that hadn’t sold killed time before they were shipped to a discount store.
Millie knelt next to a large box on the floor shoved into the deepest corner of the hallway and tossed clothes out as she searched its contents. They were all dresses, simply gorgeous, to-die-for cocktail dresses.
She pulled out a tiny black and white number. “I sold this dress to Madonna through her publicist.”
“Holy freak. Madonna, like the Madonna?” Annie asked.
“No. Jesus’ mother,” Edith said. “Because beaded minis were all the rage back in the year 30 A.D.”
“Yes,” Millie said.
“So why is Madonna’s dress here? Why is it shoved into this box?”
“Most celebrities are given or loaned designer clothes for events.” Millie kept burrowing through the box and tossing dresses. “Bragging rights for the designers if their celeb walks the red carpet, gets airtime, or wins an award. But even celebrities do not get all their clothes for free.”
“Ah-hah! So that’s where you and Edith become a crucial link to their images. You help them pick the right clothes. But I don’t understand this little garment coffin?”
Millie stopped searching for a moment and eyed Annie. “Sometimes the dresses are returned. The celebrity didn’t like it; their publicist thought it made them look fat. Maybe they got a thumbs down from a silly fashion reporter. At the old Snotsky’s, we never contested the majority of returns.”
“We had a reputation and it was beneath our dignity. We’d give store credit,” Edith said.
“But if the dresses are damaged or smudged in any way, they are not returned to the shelves.” Millie pulled a dress out of the box that made Annie’s head swivel.
Edith gasped.
“I think this is the dress for you.” Millie shook the gown out and smoothed it carefully with her elegant sturdy hands.
There were tiny crystals sewn into the dress’s blush colored bodice. Its sleeves were ¾ length and a flirty combination of sheer netting and silk fabric. The neck was boat line and the ballet skirt fell in light layers below the knee.
Annie’s hands shook. “Oh, my God. I think this might be the prettiest dress I’ve ever –”
Millie unzipped the back of the dress and handed it to Annie. “Try it on, love.”
“Here?”
Millie and Edith nodded.
Annie stripped off the bunny suit and stepped into the dress’s embrace. Millie zipped her up. Edith futzed with the skirt and for a moment a cold cold breeze blew through Annie’s legs and she shuddered.
“If you’re worried about the price, my love, don’t be,” Millie said. “It was going to a charity thrift store. But now it’s a special one time only holiday discount for Easter Bunnies getting divorced. Write a check for twenty dollars to your favorite charity, and we’ll call it even.” Millie took Annie’s hand and walked with her to a narrow full-length mirror on the wall.
Annie stared at her reflection and for a moment felt like she was in a dream. For once, a good one. She glowed. The dress fit her like a fabulous lover. She felt gorgeous and talented, young and hopeful. Had to be an empathic hit. Had to be coming from the dress. “This was a celeb
rity’s dress?”
“Yes,” Millie said.
“Can you tell me who?”
“No.”
“Why was it returned?”
“There are a few imperfections and several discolorations on the skirt.”
Annie twirled in front of the mirror. “You’re right. But it doesn’t matter. It’s still perfect.”
“You asked if Edith and I were frenemies? Yes. But shortly I will attend Edith’s going away party in Ladies Lingerie. I will eat a slice of cake. I will hug her. I will kiss her cheek. We’ve been rivals forever, but she is a class act. And I will miss her terribly.” Millie wiped a tear from her eye. “The old days of glamour, polish and civility are gone.”
Millie’s cell phone rang. “Nicole! Are you in L.A.? Wonderful! What can I do for you, love?” She walked away.
“I don’t think Millie killed you, Edith,” Annie said.
“I agree. And thanks to Millie, you got a gorgeous dress. I wish I could have done that for you.”
“You’re okay, Flowers. I need to solve your murder so you can go to the light.”
The pianist’s latest rendition wafted through the air. The fragments of the song sounded familiar. Annie walked from the dark hallway back into the bright aisles of Snotsky’s, Edith at her side, as she snapped her fingers to the song.
“This song always makes me feel hopeful, and happy,” Edith said. “Even when Vic hatchet-jobs it.”
“It’s from Flashdance. Squee! I love this song,” Annie said. “It makes me want to dance.”
“What a feeling!” Annie and Edith sang to each other and giggled.
They strolled to the counter, the bunny suit tucked under Annie’s arm.
What a feeling, Annie thought and flashed to the poetry on the bulletin board in Snotsky’s Unisex Lounge. Key word – feelings. “Your killer’s not your ex-husband. Not a work rival. Perhaps it’s someone who had feelings for you. Did you break someone’s heart? Did you scorn someone badly enough that they wanted you dead?”
“I’ve hardly even dated for thirty five years.” Edith sniffed. And her eyes widened. “What a feeling – oh my God.” Her hand flew to her crooked neck. “My scarf. My Hermes scarf? I always wear it. I cherish it. Where is it?”
Ten
What a Feeling
“I have no idea.” Annie remembered Edith’s scarf wrapped snugly around her uptight neck when she was very much alive and ridiculing Annie’s fashion choices. “But it could be a clue. Maybe your killer kept it as a trophy.”
Edith wobbled. “There’s only one person whose amorous advances I’ve scorned. He, too, works at Snotsky’s. But he’s polite and mild-mannered. I can’t imagine…”
And Annie got it. “The piano player. You called him Vic. How many times did he ask you out, Edith?”
“Only once a month.”
“Once a month for how many years. Edith?”
“Vic started at Snotsky’s several years after me. So once a month or thereabouts for thirty-three years.”
“Let me do the math.” Annie’s fingers flew as she counted. “Three hundred and ninety-six times. You turned him down three hundred and ninety-six times?”
“He wasn’t my type.”
“Being turned down almost four hundred times for thirty-three years could drive someone to murder,” Annie said.
“It’s Vic? Isn’t it?” Edith nodded. “Do you think Vic killed me?”
It was almost like Edith was asking Annie for acknowledgement. Requesting permission for peace. Annie ran toward the down escalators and hopped on. On a mission. Headed toward Vic. “If Vic’s your killer, we’ll get him, Edith. I promise. And then you can go to the light.”
Edith stood behind Annie on the escalator, gripped her shoulder and tried unsuccessfully to straighten her neck. “But I still don’t know where the light is.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
And Vic launched into another melodramatic song.
* * *
Edith clung to Annie’s arm as they stepped off the escalator. They made a wide detour around Vic and headed toward the Cocktail Bar.
“You wait here,” Annie said.
“You are not leaving me with my killer.”
“Possible killer. You hate the bar.”
“It’s growing on me.”
* * *
Annie and Edith pushed through the crowds toward Grady and Julia who were perched at the bar. Well, Grady was perched at the bar, but Julia listed towards Max. Strangely enough, now that Annie was wearing the most amazing dress, the crowd parted and made room for her. Just like she was a celeb.
Grady spotted her and his eyes widened. “Like, whoa. Look at you, gorgeous. Yes, the song is – I’ve Had The Time of My Life from Dirty Dancing.”
“We’ve got a problem,” Annie said.
Julia swiveled and eyed Annie. “Holy cap, you’re swearing Beyonce’s dress.”
“Get out of town!” Annie exclaimed. “Beyonce?”
“I’d like to get out of town,” Edith said. “I’d like to get to St. Augustine.”
“She swore that same dress at ze awards show las mont.” Julia turned her attention back to Max behind the bar.
“You need to cut her off,” Annie said.
“Already did. What’s the problem?” Grady sipped his Appletini.
“The Snotsky’s clerk you saw earlier? Edith Flowers?”
“Yes. Sorry I took off for a bit, but --” Grady smiled as Liam nodded at him. “ – I didn’t expect to meet someone nice at Snotsky’s. So, your problem. It’s resolved?”
“Not really. Edith was murdered. I found her body.”
Grady snorted his Appletini out his nose.
“I think I know who the killer is.”
“Killer sales. Ka-cha!” Julia blurted, high-fived Grady, missed and pitched forward off her bar stool.
Grady caught her mid-fall and plopped her back onto the barstool. “I think we need to get out of here.”
“No!” Edith said. “I need to go to the light.”
“No!” Julia said. “I need to go to Maxalicious.”
“What do you want to do?” Grady asked Annie.
“In exactly five minutes,” Annie tapped her wrist, “call 911. Tell them you were informed there’s been a murder at Snotsky’s of Santa Monica. Be clear about the Santa Monica part so they don’t get confused and go to Snotsky’s in Pasadena. Then call Detective Raphael Campillio at this number.” Annie reached over the bar, grabbed a cocktail napkin, a pen from a little glass, jotted down his number and thrust it at Grady.
Who took it. “The hot detective you’re dating?”
“Yes. He thinks I’m a nice normal midwestern girl with a tiny bit of cellulite on my ass. For God’s sakes, don’t rat me out, tell him I’m empathic or that I can see or talk to ghosts.”
“Thank you,” Edith said. “Thank you.” She clasped onto Annie’s arm. Which blanched white.
Grady noticed and grabbed a wad of cocktail napkins and the pen from the bar. “There’s a twist to this story isn’t there?” He started taking notes. “This is the first time you’ve found a dead body, but it’s the second time you’re helping a ghost.” He glared at Annie. “You’re helping the ghost of Edith Flowers find her killer. Admit it!”
“Fine, Columbo! I admit it!” Annie grabbed his face, squeezed his cheeks and put her lips next to his ear. “Hear me. The timing of the calls to the L.A.P.D. and Detective Raphael Campillio are crucial. I nail the killer; the cops arrive, arrest the guy and save the day. Dead Edith goes to her version of heaven. I don’t get strangled or messed with. Don’t get implicated in yet another murder and hopefully don’t see my name in the paper. And I get to keep the hot cop. Then you can write about it.”
Edith tugged on Annie’s sleeve. “Vic’s set is over. Look. He’s leaving the piano. He’s headed toward the escalators. He’s going to get away. If he does, I don’t think I can pass over.”
“Five minutes.” Annie relea
sed Grady’s face. She held her hand up in the air, fingers extended, raced through the bar and out its door.
* * *
Annie and Edith hid behind sales racks as they sneaked their way toward Ladies Lingerie. A small crowd of clerks and a few Snotsky’s customers gathered close to a display table. Millie helped Lorinda unwrap a decadent looking sheet cake that sat on the table that recently featured pretty panties. Now it had plastic knives, forks, festive paper plates and colored napkins. And one big silver cake slicing knife.
“Happy Retirement, Edith Flowers!” was inscribed in cursive on the cake’s icing and adorned with several elegant sugary flowers.
“Where’s Edith? What’s the hold up?” Lorinda whispered to Millie.
Annie and Edith huddled close to each other behind a Spanx display and eavesdropped on their conversation.
Millie shrugged her shoulders. “Should be here any moment. Mary from Security’s bringing her over.”
“She won’t give away the surprise?”
“No. Mary’s cool. She keeps a lot of secrets.”
Lorinda clucked. “Unlike other people we know.”
“To each their own, Lorinda.”
Vic walked up to the small crowd. “I can’t believe Edith isn’t here yet.”
“It’s now or never,” Annie whispered to Edith. Who nodded.
Annie and Edith joined the tiny crowd.
“Annie!” Lorinda exclaimed. “You look gorgeous. That dress has Millie Williams stamped all over it.”
Annie smiled and tried not to appear freaked as Edith began to levitate next to her.
“And her new brassiere?” Millie asked. “You have outdone yourself, Lorinda.”
Vic smiled. “It’s not like Edith to be late. But this is a surprise party, after all.”
“You didn’t tell her, did you, Vic?” Lorinda glared at him. “You know, just to be spiteful, get back at her and ruin her last day on the job?”
“You’re crazy. I’ve got a date tonight. A hot fifty-year-old divorcee’ who works at Niemann’s. But I’m dying for a piece of that cake. I’m sure Edith wouldn’t mind if I just helped myself.” He picked up the knife, and before Lorinda could stop him, grabbed the knife and sliced a chunk of cake.
2 Cupcakes, Sales, and Cocktails Page 5
