The Fashion Police (Amber Fox Mystery No 1)

by Sibel Hodge

  ‘It’s spooky.’ Tia clutched Hacker’s arm.

  ‘Don’t you worry about that,’ he said, pulling out a necklace with what looked to be a chicken’s foot on it from underneath his hoodie. ‘I’ve got something to protect us from hexes.’ He waved it at her.

  She peered at it. I didn’t know if she was going to laugh with relief or cry until she smiled up at him. ‘Do you practice voodoo?’

  ‘I’m Haitian. Of course I do.’ He puffed out his skinny chest.

  ‘Oh, my God, we’re made for each other! I’m psychic.’

  Call me strange, but I thought that a dead chicken’s foot hanging around your neck was far spookier than a building with no lights on. That being said, I did flip the lights on pretty quick at that point. There was a collective gasp as we took in the disaster.

  ‘What the…’ I glanced around the reception area, which looked like a hurricane had whipped through it. The place had been searched, probably by the same untidy, inconsiderate scumbag who had been to my apartment.

  ‘F…Fudging hell,’ Tia said.

  ‘This is bad.’ Hacker got out his chicken’s foot and waved it around again. ‘I can feel bad karma here.’

  ‘Come on, let’s look at the computers,’ I said.

  ‘Can you turn people into zombies?’ Tia asked Hacker as we rushed toward Fandango’s office.

  ‘I tried it once, but it’s a bit messy. It’s much easier to just shoot people.’

  ‘If you ever try it again, I’ve got a few people in mind,’ I said. ‘What about voodoo dolls, you have any of those?’

  He tutted. ‘Voodoo dolls are some nasty shit. If you start that, you gonna get it back three times over.’

  ‘Damn,’ I said, pulling the door open. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Sure, I’m sure.’

  ‘Can’t you just do something small, like make Janice Skipper’s teeth fall out, or give her permanent spots, or maybe herpes?’

  ‘Nope.’

  Fandango’s office hadn’t fared any better than reception. Paperwork and pens lay scattered across the floor, desk drawers had been emptied, and, more importantly, the computers, including hard drives, were gone.

  ‘Great!’ I said.

  Tia’s eyes welled up with tears. She fanned at them. ‘That means we can’t get any information, then.’ She stamped her foot.

  ‘I’m good, but not that good.’ Hacker draped an arm around her shoulder.

  ‘What are we going to do now?’ Tia flopped onto the silver couch and wiped away a stray tear.

  I rested a hand on my hip, deep in thought. ‘Have you had any ransom demands?’ I asked her.

  She shook her head. ‘Is that good or bad?’

  ‘Well, normally the chances of finding someone alive decrease every day they’re missing, but I’ve just got a feeling that your dad is still alive.’

  ‘I know he is. I can feel it,’ she said. ‘I know you don’t believe me, but there’s some kind of connection with pasta going on.’

  ‘I didn’t say I didn’t believe you. It’s just that it doesn’t really help.’ I sighed. ‘I don’t know about you guys, but I could do with a drink.’

  ****

  I poured two glasses of Zinfandel rosé for Tia and me, and an orange juice for Hacker, who mumbled something about his body being sacred. I kind of had an ulterior motive for inviting them back to my apartment. We all sat squashed together on my tiny sofa in my tiny but freshly tidied living room, lost in our own thoughts. Not that I was scared or anything. I’d cracked a few nuts and broken a few noses in my time, but I had a funny kind of vulnerable feeling now that someone had been in here, and I didn’t like it one bit. Alright, I admit it. Maybe I was a teensy bit scared. It was nice to have someone else there, in case whoever had broken in came back.

  I slapped the palm of my hand on my forehead. ‘Think!’ I muttered. ‘Does EF mean anything to you?’ I asked Tia.

  She frowned for a second, and then a light bulb lit up behind her eyes.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m getting some kind of feeling. I think it’s connected to the pasta thingy-bob,’ she said.

  I groaned.

  She grabbed hold of my arm. ‘No, really.’

  ‘What about Longshore Holdings, does that ring a bell?’ I asked.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Why would the mob steal the fashion collection if they were already receiving it in exchange for money laundering?’ I wondered out loud.

  ‘Maybe the mob didn’t steal it.’ The Hacker sipped his juice.

  ‘Those guys who followed me today had mafia written all over them in orange neon,’ I said as I stood up and strolled around the room, head tipped to one side, mentally speculating.

  ‘There’s no way Dad would be involved in something like money laundering,’ Tia said.

  ‘Well, he was involved in something. I just don’t know what,’ I said.

  Tia gulped. ‘Maybe they didn’t really want the collection. Maybe they were just after Dad.’

  ‘Why, though?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  I glanced over at Hacker. ‘Got any crystal balls tucked in your hoodie?’

  ‘Balls I got. They’re just not crystal.’

  They left after we’d downed the bottle of wine, and I crawled under the sheets, expecting to nod off as soon as my head hit the pillow. Instead, I had another restless night, only this time I wasn’t thinking about Brad, I was thinking I could hear noises coming from the kitchen.

  I tried to ignore the scraping sounds for a while, pulling the duvet over my head in denial.

  Had I actually heard something or was it my mind working overtime?

  I pulled the duvet down to my nose, straining to listen as blood pulsed around in my ears. Then my blood froze mid-pulse. No, I could definitely hear something.

  I bolted upright in bed. There the sound was again, but this time it was a clanking noise. Beads of sweat pricked at my palms, and my heart skipped a beat.

  I shot out of bed, grabbing the first thing I could find in case I needed to defend myself, which happened to be a can of hair spray.

  Padding barefoot through the darkened living room, I could hear the clanking sound again, louder now. It was coming from the kitchen. I jumped through the kitchen doorway – finger poised on the nozzle for maximum spray effect – and flicked the light on.

  Then I clutched my chest with relief. My ‘intruder’ wasn’t an intruder at all. It was Marmalade, in the kitchen, with a wrench. I’d apparently missed it when I cleaned up the spilled tools earlier.

  The wrench wasn’t the only thing he was playing with, however. Obviously in a naughty mood, Marmalade had pulled out the contents of my rucksack, which now lay scattered on the wooden floor. The rhinestone from Fandango’s offices glinted in the light, seeming to almost be taunting me to solve the case.

  ‘You’re grounded,’ I told him as I shoveled everything back into my rucksack.

  Marmalade rubbed his head around my ankles, purring apologetically, but I ignored him. My mind was elsewhere. A weird feeling was hovering in the periphery of my brain, struggling to turn into a fully fledged thought. What was it?

  I couldn’t shake the idea that I was missing something obvious. It was something I should know, and it still hadn’t come to me hours later, even after having stared at the shadows on the ceiling above the bed all night.

  10

  The alarm clock jolted me awake at seven-thirty a.m. after finally falling asleep around six. My eyes felt like I’d been staring into a sandstorm all night, and I was sure someone was banging a drum kit in my head.

  I rolled out of bed, head clutched in my hands, and headed straight for the painkillers in the kitchen drawer. Fumbling the bottle open, I shook out several, downed some water, and swallowed, but the stupid pills got stuck in my throat.

  My eyes watered as I coughed loudly, clutching the sink for dear life and trying to breathe at the same time. That d
idn’t work, so I had a full-scale panic attack, gasping for breath, thrusting my torso back and forth as my throat made scary gurgling sounds. Just as I was having visions about trying to do a self-inflicted Heimlich maneuver, the pills dislodged themselves from my throat and propelled out of my mouth, landing in the sink.

  I wiped at my streaming eyes and struggled to suck in as much air as possible. The bad news was that my throat felt like I’d swallowed a piece of sandpaper, and the drum kit had been joined by a couple of cymbals clanging around. The good news was that I was still alive.

  Always a glutton for punishment, I tried another couple of painkillers with my cup of coffee and managed to get them down the hatch with no more problems. I took the success as a good sign, because today I was determined to catch the elusive Clark, and I knew I’d need all the luck I could get.

  I rummaged around in my wardrobe, deciding what to wear. After the bad start to my morning, I decided today was definitely a black day. I pulled on a black T-shirt, black combats, and tamed my bad-hair-day curly waves into a black scrunchie.

  ****

  I had just parked outside Clark’s house when I noticed the Purple People Eater in my rearview mirror, pulling up behind me. I groaned and scooted down in my seat, hoping that would suddenly make me invisible. Strangely, it didn’t seem to work because within moments, Tia tapped on my window.

  I yanked open the door and climbed out.

  ‘Awesome! We’re twins.’ Tia grinned at my clothes. She also happened to be having a black day, and we were wearing almost exactly the same thing. However, her trousers were tailored and expensive looking, and her T-shirt was a Fandango classic. Mine were off the rack.

  I folded my arms and tilted my head. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I thought I’d help you look for clues.’

  ‘I’m working on something else. You have to go now.’

  ‘Well, maybe I can help you, and then we can get finished quicker.’

  I narrowed my eyes at her. ‘Tia, there is no “we”.’

  Tia’s mouth moved, but I’d stopped listening. I was too busy watching a big, round woman storm down Clark’s path, heading straight toward us. Actually, big and round was being quite polite. Each boob must’ve weighed about five stone.

  ‘I hope you’ve come to fix it this time.’ She scowled at us.

  ‘Pardon?’ I said.

  ‘I recognize that uniform, it’s what the other useless man was wearing the last time he came,’ she said.

  ‘What man?’ Tia asked.

  I glared at Tia, a silent order for her to be quiet.

  ‘The washing machine repair man. You’ve come to fix it, haven’t you?’ Mrs. Clark asked us.

  ‘Yes.’ I grinned, hoping this was my opportunity to catch Clark doing a spot of DIY inside, or even better, weightlifting.

  ‘No,’ Tia said at the same time.

  I shot Tia another warning look.

  ‘Well you’d better do it properly this time. I’ve got five kids, you know, I can’t do without a washing machine,’ she screeched in my ear. ‘Come on then. What are you waiting for?’ She turned around and waddled back up the path.

  ‘I’m just going to get my tools,’ I said, opening the boot and reaching for a small toolbox I had in there.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Tia’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t know how to fix a washing machine,’ she whispered.

  I shrugged. ‘Neither do I. Just keep your mouth shut and don’t speak.’

  ‘Yes, but–’

  ‘You’re speaking!’ I made my way up Clark’s path.

  ‘It’s in here.’ Mrs. Clark led us into the kitchen, piled high with laundry.

  I gawped at it. You could hardly move in the tightly packed room. ‘How long’s it been since it stopped working?’

  ‘A week. You’ve got to fix it today.’

  I didn’t have this much laundry in a year, let alone a week. ‘Well, what seems to be the matter with it?’

  ‘It doesn’t work. That’s what the matter is.’

  ‘Where’s your husband? Can’t he fix it?’ I asked, fishing for information.

  ‘That useless idiot. He said he was going to the launderette, but I think he’s probably down the bookies.’

  Damn, no Clark. ‘Maybe he’s popped into work to do a bit of overtime, so he can buy you a new washing machine. What sort of hours does he work?’ Hint, hint.

  Mrs. Clark shrugged. ‘I don’t know, he doesn’t tell me. We’re supposed to be getting a big insurance payout soon. He told me I can get a top of the line washing machine then.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ I faked ignorance. ‘That sounds handy. What’s sort of payout?’

  ‘Oh he pre–’ She slapped a hand over her mouth. ‘I’m not supposed to talk about it in case someone comes to investigate him.’

  ‘Ooh, it’s a good job we’re just plain old washing machine repair people then,’ Tia said, getting into the role, sounding like she actually believed she was.

  I gave her a silencing glare. ‘Well, what did the other repair man say?’ I asked her. Maybe I’d get a bit of a clue, so I could fix it and make a speedy getaway seeing as Clark wasn’t here.

  ‘He said it was the dongle sprocket or something.’ She frowned.

  I nodded my head. ‘Right. Yes, the er…dongle sprocket is a bit temperamental on these models.’ I pulled a screwdriver and wrench out of my toolbox to get in keeping with my part and placed them on top of the kitchen work top.

  ‘Well, get on with it then. I’ve got about forty loads to catch up with.’ She stood watching me.

  Tia scratched her head.

  I turned the socket on at the wall switch and an LED light came on the washer. ‘That’s good.’

  ‘What is?’ Tia asked me.

  ‘The electric’s working,’ I said.

  ‘I know it’s working. Fix the dongle!’ Mrs. Clark’s sigh was loud enough to hear in Outer Mongolia.

  I pressed the start button on the washing machine. It made a chugging noise and then died.

  ‘It’s quite technical, isn’t it?’ Tia gazed at the machine in awe.

  I suspected she’d never had to use one in her life.

  I pressed it again a few times. A light flickered on the front panel and then faded away. ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Is that bad?’ Mrs. Clark asked me.

  I pursed my lips together in concentration. ‘Could be.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Mrs. Clark collapsed onto a nearby chair, rocking back and forth. ‘I can’t cope with this. I NEED MY WASHING MACHINE! Promise me you’ll fix it.’

  ‘Oh, you poor thing. It must be really hard having five kids.’ Tia put an arm around her. ‘Shall I make you some tea?’

  Mrs. Clark stared at the washing machine with a blank face, nodding at Tia’s offer.

  ‘I think she’s in shock,’ Tia whispered to me as she made Mrs. Clark some tea and spooned in about ten sugars while I dragged the machine out from underneath the worktop.

  ‘Maybe your filters are blocked.’ I unscrewed the water pipes from the mains tap. ‘Oops,’ I said as water gushed out of the pipes. I glanced over my shoulder at Mrs. Clark, who looked like she was about to have a coronary on the spot. ‘Where’s the shutoff?’

  ‘Under there.’ She pointed to the sink.

  Tia rushed to grab a bundle of dirty laundry, and pressed it onto the main pipe to stench the flow while I located the shutoff and turned off the water.

  ‘Phew, that was close.’ I looked at the filters. ‘Nope, these look clean.’ I opened the front panel and noticed a stray wire hanging out. ‘Ah, looks like this could be the problem. Where’s my screw driver gone?’

  ‘Here it is. It must’ve fallen off the worktop.’ Tia grabbed it from the now wet floor and poked it into the wire. Instantly, we heard a loud bang as the wire caught fire. ‘Uh-oh.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ I grabbed Mrs. Clark’s tea and threw it at the washer’s electrical panel. The fire sizzled and went out, leaving the st
ench of burned plastic and tea in the air. For a moment, we all just gaped at the washer.

  ‘You’ve blown it up.’ Mrs. Clark stared at it in frozen horror.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ I said.

  ‘But…you’ve blown it up.’

  ‘You’ll have to ring up the customer service line and get someone else to come out. It’s definitely faulty.’ I grabbed the toolbox and Tia’s arm, and dragged her out the door. ‘I told you not to speak, let alone blow things up,’ I ground out as we rushed down the path.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘Whose fault was it then?’ I yanked open my car door and got in.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Starbucks. I need caffeine.’ I slammed the door and whizzed off with Tia close behind me. I didn’t even want to think about what Brad would say when I told him about the washing machine.

  ****

  ‘I can’t believe you did that,’ I said to Tia in between mouthfuls of roasted vegetable sandwich and cappuccino. I looked past her out the window, wishing I could crawl back into bed with an ice pack on my throbbing head.

  ‘Well, technically it was the screwdriver that did it,’ she said.

  ‘If you were really psychic, you would’ve known that was going to happen.’

  ‘I am really psychic, Amber. How else would I know you’re going to get three phone calls in a minute?’ She glanced at my phone, which was sitting on the table between us.

  I snorted with disbelief. And then my phone rang.

  A shiver danced up my spine as I answered it.

  ‘Hey, Miss Piggy, when am I going to get my insurance money?’ Callum Bates said.

  ‘Sorry, there’s no one of that name here,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, sorry, I meant Miss Porky.’ His laugh cackled over the connection.

  ‘La-la-la-la! I can’t hear you.’ I hung up. ‘That was weird,’ I said. Then just as I threw my phone in my rucksack, it rang again.

  ‘Hello?’ I answered, looking at Tia, who had a knowing grin plastered to her face.

  ‘Hi, Amber, can you pick me up a pair of brown stilettos in size nine while you’re in the town? The outfit I’m wearing doesn’t really go with the ones I’ve got.’