Eat, Drink, and Be Wary (The Sleuth Sisters Mysteries Book 5)

by Maggie Pill

  “Who’s that?” It was the curious, pink-haired woman, and she was pointing at me.

  They all turned to stare, some hostile, some hardly interested. “Dina asked me to help with fittings,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster.

  “Oh. Wardrobe manager.” She seemed proud to know the term, so I didn’t contradict her. What would I say anyway? Not a wardrobe manager, just an amateur in way over her head?

  One of the women I’d thought of as “Normal” spoke. “Honny went to get hotel staff to help unload the truck. I think Dina’s out there too.”

  “I’m sure there’s a lot to bring along for something like this.”

  “Yeah.” It was one of the two I’d dubbed “Biker Babes” in my head. “We brought all kinds of sh—”

  A glance from the first woman made her pause, but Biker Babe’s glare said she didn’t like being shushed. Ms. Normal’s left eyebrow rose slightly, signaling she didn’t really care. The Babe went on, “We didn’t bring nobody to help with setup, so he’s out there offering the valets twenty bucks to schlepp the stuff in here for him. Dumbass shouldna been such a cheapskate!” She glanced defiantly at Normal, who turned her gaze away pointedly to stress that she was ignoring her.

  I guessed they’d been warned, probably by Honny, to keep their conversation civil. Biker Babe #1 looked at Babe #2 and rolled her eyes. One of the Asian women said something to her companions in her native language. The tone was critical, but I had no idea if she was disparaging me, Ms. Normal, or the Babes. One of them giggled in response. The third frowned as if to remind them not to be rude.

  “I’m Cecily,” Ms. Normal said. She poked the woman beside her, who opened her eyes. “This is Candice, but she’s not feeling very well.”

  Now that I saw her up close, I realized that “Not feeling well” meant Candice was so stoned she couldn’t focus. Though she made a half-hearted attempt at a smile, I wasn’t sure she even knew I was there.

  The woman with green hair and metalwork spoke up. “She’ll be okay tomorrow. She gets carsick, so she took some medicine before the trip.” She looked me directly in the eye as she told the lie. “I’m Bibi.”

  The Asian woman made another remark, and again her friend tittered. The third one chose to ignore her this time, as if by doing so she could minimize the impact of her behavior. “I’m Gwen.” Her smile was genuine, and it shone through the thick makeup to reveal what I thought was a hint of shyness. “Not really, but no one here can pronounce my real name. This is Li, and that’s Jun.” Jun was the sly commenter, and Li the lavender-haired beauty.

  “I’m Pixi—no e on the end,” the pink-haired woman said. “The mouthy one is Gail and that’s her twin, Dail. And the one with the hooters is Penny, but she dances as Plenny, for reasons you can prolly guess.” Gail and Dail applauded, and Plenny gave them a mocking bow.

  As I considered taking up my bag and running, Dina came through the kitchen doorway. Behind her were the inn’s two valets, lugging in carts loaded with trunks, dress racks, and boxes whose contents I could only guess at. They set to work unloading in the back corner while Dina came forward to greet me.

  “You’re here.” Turning her back to the women she added softly, “As you can see, I’m going to need all the help I can get.” To the group she said, “This is Faye, who’s going to figure out how to make the clothes fit you. Once we’ve got all the boxes unpacked we’ll start, so you might want to take this time to visit the ladies’ room.” She pointed. “It’s out that door.” From a large bag slung over her shoulder she took a box of wipes and a box of zipper storage bags and held them out. “Start by taking off every bit of makeup and removing whatever piercings you’ve got that are removable. We’ll go from there.”

  There were moans of protest, but Dina raised a hand. “When this is over, if we pull it off, I’ll add a bonus to what you were promised.” That pleased them, and the murmurs of discontent ebbed. “Now, has anyone here had experience with modeling?”

  “I played a model in a film once,” Pixi responded.

  “Porn don’t count,” Dail informed her, and the others tittered appreciatively.

  Dina shot me a glance, but Cecily spoke up. “I did some runway work a few years back.”

  Gail muttered something, and Dail grinned. Dina ignored them. “Could you hang around for a minute so we can talk?”

  Gail said something I couldn’t make out, but it was certainly nasty. Cecily’s lips tightened, but she nodded assent.

  “The rest of you get ready,” Dina ordered. “Remember—no makeup, no metal—and don’t leave the rest room in a mess.” She pointed toward the doors, and some of the women rose. Beside Cecily, Candace remained seated, her eyes half closed and her muscles slack.

  “What am I supposed to do with her?”

  Dina’s question was rhetorical, but Cecily answered, “She’ll be okay tomorrow. I promise.”

  “She ain’t lying,” Bibi said. “Cecily can get Candace straight when it’s important.”

  “I guess she can stay where she is for now.” As she turned away, Dina locked eyes with me as if to say, “What can I do?”

  Dail and Gail tossed disgusted glances backward as they left the room, Gail raising her little finger and making a face that simulated “La-di-dah” airs. Dina waited until they were gone then moved to where Cecily sat. “Tell us about your experience as a model.”

  Her eyes flickered once around the large room, and I got the sense Cecily tried not to think about her past. “I worked for Tybalt Talent, starting when I was sixteen. I did several trips to Europe and a lot of shows in the States: Detroit, of course, Chicago, New Orleans, and New York once.” Her voice was almost wistful as she listed the places she’d appeared. How did a woman go from modeling high fashion to dancing nude in one of Roger Engel’s seedy clubs?

  Sensing the question Cecily said, “I developed a nose problem.”

  “Drugs.” Dina’s matter-of-fact tone said she’d seen others with promising futures go down that path of self-destruction.

  “There was a guy. It’s just that simple.” She shrugged away any excuses, but her expression said it wasn’t simple at all. “I got past it, but once you’ve disappointed people a few times, they don’t let you back into their world.” She glanced at Candice. “Unless someone comes along to help, you spiral down until your brilliant career is just a reflection in the rear view mirror.”

  “Who helped you?”

  She smiled. “Honestly? I did. I looked at myself one day and all of a sudden it was like the old me asked the druggie me, “Why are you doing this to yourself?” She shifted in the chair. “I still work at it.”

  “The will to change has to come from inside.” I thought Dina spoke as much for herself as for Cecily, and their eyes met briefly in shared understanding. After a second Dina asked, “Can you help me get these women ready for tomorrow?”

  Cecily grinned. “I wasn’t sure how you planned to do a fashion show with this bunch.”

  “Apparently this is my father’s way of saving money.” Dina grimaced. “I’m going to do this no matter what he pulls.”

  Pressing her lips together, Cecily considered. “There’s a lot to get done.”

  “I know.” Dina waved a hand at the boxes around us. “Honny will have to handle setting up the room. Roger didn’t see the need to send real help for that either.” She paused to bring her anger back under control. “Faye will take notes about what needs altering, and I’ll make the changes tonight. Your part would be teaching the women how to conduct themselves like models. Can you do that?”

  “I can if you put the fear into them.” Cecily glanced at her drug-dazed friend. “I’m not very popular at the club since I turned into what they consider a Goody Two Shoes.”

  “I’ll make things clear right now,” Dina promised. “We’ll have a little conference in the bathroom while they scrub their faces.”

  When she left us, Cecily turned to me. “How did you get dragged int
o this?”

  “Lost my mind for a minute,” I replied with a grin. “I mentioned I could sew, and the next thing I knew I was here.”

  “Doing triage.”

  “Dina will have a lot to get done tonight.”

  She thought about that. “Gwen makes a lot of our costumes.” Blushing, she added, “Not that there’s much to them, but she’d probably help if Dina waved a little cash at her. She’s studying to be a teacher, so she always needs money.”

  My surprise slipped out before I could stop it. “A teacher?”

  She grinned. “You thought we were all sluts and morons, right?”

  It was my turn to blush. “Sorry. Too many cop shows on TV.”

  “Some of us have a future.” In a moment of honesty she added, “Or we did once upon a time.”

  “It’s not too late for you,” I said impulsively. “Now that you’re off—now that you’ve taken charge of your life, you can start making new pathways for yourself.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not getting any younger, and modeling is a young woman’s game.” Glancing at the boxes around us, she banished thoughts of her own future. “Right now we need to figure out how to help Ms. Engel make this work.”

  The door opened and Dina came toward us. “I made it clear you’re in charge,” she told Cecily. “Faye, let’s look at the outfits. I have the descriptions on note cards, so I can put them in any order we need to.”

  The Asian trio had reappeared and taken seats. Gail and Dail hovered near the doorway, shooting daggers at Cecily with their eyes. “I’ll make my own trip to the ladies and be right back,” Cecily promised. Pausing she added, “I’m not great with makeup, but I think Li could help with that if you have Gwen ask her. Li’s English isn’t very good, but her skills with a brush are.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks.”

  Dina and I moved to where Honny and a valet from the inn had set up a long clothing rack. Opening a trunk, she began putting outfits already on hangers onto the crossbar. “We have thirty outfits. Accessories are attached to the hangers. You will need to decide who wears each one.”

  I looked at her in horror. “Me? I’m not—”

  Qualified? Interested? Able? All of the above? This was such a Retta thing. If she were here to take over, she’d be thrilled and I’d be relieved.

  Dina seemed to read my mind. “I’ll help when I get the chance. Just make the best decisions you can.”

  Sweat prickled at my bra line. My “best decisions” usually involved whether to put on my dark blue mom jeans or the stone-washed ones.

  “They’ll each have three changes,” she was saying. “I’d like the last round to be the outfits on the green hangers. They’re my best work, and I want to do an array with all ten models as a finale.”

  Most of the women had returned, and they crowded around to get a look at what they’d be wearing. “I want that pink dress,” Pixi demanded. “It’ll look great with my hair.”

  “In the first place,” Dina replied, “Faye decides who wears what. In the second place, your hair isn’t going to be pink tomorrow.”

  Rebellion flared in Pixi’s expression, but apparently the compensation she’d been promised was worth a little discretion. I wondered how Dina could pay the extra if her father was keeping a tight rein on the budget, but that wasn’t my concern.

  Cecily returned from her pit stop and called the group to the front of the room, where she began demonstrating how they would stand, turn, and walk. “A fashion show is about the clothes,” I heard her say. “The audience isn’t here to see you, but to imagine themselves looking as good as you do in the outfit you’re modeling.”

  Beside me Dina said softly, “When I told them Cecily would show them how to walk, Pixi said, ‘I’ve been walking since I was a year old. What can that old bag teach me?’” She chuckled. “Cecily’s an ‘old bag’ at twenty-five? What does that make me?”

  “Or me? I’m twice her age.” I looked to where Cecily was executing a smooth, graceful turn as the models watched, their expressions doubtful. Dail and Gail looked downright grumpy, probably because they knew they could never achieve a similar result.

  Leaving Cecily to her work, Dina began sorting outfits into piles, looking critically at the models as she made each decision. “You might have to switch things around,” she said when she’d made tentative decisions. “If a whole outfit doesn’t work, switch it to a different girl, even if they whine.” I was feeling less confident by the second, but she went on. “If you can make the changes with safety pins, feel free. Anything I don’t have to do tonight will help.”

  I felt compelled to issue a warning. “Dina, I’ve never worked with fabric like this. What if I ruin your beautiful things?”

  She touched my arm reassuringly. “We either have to make them work or cancel the show.” Her eyes, which I’d thought were soft blue, turned icy. “I will have some things to say to Roger when this is over.”

  “Did he explain to you why he did this?”

  She made a dismissive noise. “He and I don’t talk since he moved his latest girlfriend into our home and into--” Stopping herself from completing that thought, she finished instead with, “It’s too late for him to fix this weekend, but I will have it out with him when I get home.”

  Honny had come up behind us, and his face revealed he’d heard. “Dina, your dad’s just trying to make sure you stay in the black. He’s a businessman, and he wants things run efficiently.”

  “He sabotaged my show, Honny. If people walk away tomorrow saying it was unprofessional—which it’s likely to be—I’ll have an uphill battle to overcome the negative comments these women will spread all over the state.”

  Honny hesitated, perhaps unsure where his loyalties were supposed to lie. Finally he executed a shrug worthy of a professional mime. “You know how he gets.”

  “I do.” A crash sounded, and we looked over to where Candice had tripped going up the steps. Gail and Dail laughed uproariously, and the Asians tittered as she staggered to regain her balance. “Roger’s fine with me dealing with a bunch of amateurs if it saves him a buck.”

  I was in that category, but seeing her so close to despair, I wanted to relieve Dina’s mind. Honny apparently did too, because he patted her shoulder. “It’s like they say, good help is hard to find, but I did what I could, given your dad’s—um—decisions”

  “Just make sure the room is set up correctly,” she replied coldly. “I don’t need to find out the mic doesn’t work or the lighting is wrong.”

  I felt a little sorry for Honny, between the proverbial rock and a hard place as he tried to help Dina and still follow her father’s orders. “I’ll take care of it,” he told her. “I promise to do my part.”

  And he did. As I worked through the afternoon, Honny was everywhere. His artistic persona and wide gestures made it easy to locate him whenever I looked up from my work. Even when I didn’t seek him out I heard the slaps of his flip-flops as he moved around the room, operating with cool efficiency. First he spoke to the man in charge of the wait staff. Together they moved around the room, and from their gestures I guessed they were working out details of how the show and the luncheon would meld smoothly. When he left, Honny spoke to another man, and after a moment I recognized him: Bill. After explaining something while pointing at the ceiling, he led Honny to a bank of switches at the back of the room and demonstrated how he could change the illumination during the show.

  Tucking my head into my chin, I kept working. Would Bill notice me? Would he care that I was helping Dina instead of attending the sessions like the other guests? And more importantly, since he was here, where was Retta?

  If Bill saw me, he gave no indication. He and Honny experimented for a few minutes to get the effects Honny wanted. Once the lighting was planned, they stepped onto the dais, where Honny gestured in his loose-limbed, dramatic fashion. With a nod, Bill picked up the lectern and set it off to one side of the dais. Then he left for a while and returned with
an extension for the microphone cord. When hooked to the existing one, it reached the lectern in its new spot, where Dina would stand, visible to the audience but not upstaging the fashions or getting in the models’ way.

  If Dina noted Honny’s diligence, she was too unhappy to acknowledge them. He took it well, I thought. He even seemed to find her anger amusing, like when your little sister pouts because she isn’t tall enough to ride the Sky Monster with her two older siblings.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Barb

  Retta was missing. Faye was closed in a room, hopefully safe with Dina Engel and her models. What should I do?

  What I wanted to do was talk to Rory, not only my significant other but an experienced cop who’d become my sounding board when a case got complicated. But Rory was in Chicago, and I knew he and his daughter planned a shoreline cruise that afternoon.

  Dale wasn’t a good option either, though he was no doubt waiting to hear from me. Since he was physically unable to provide the help we needed, I sent him a text that would relieve his mind: Talked to Faye. She’s fine. Will call later with details.

  Since he was in New Mexico Lars had a distinct disadvantage, but he was FBI and he cared about Retta. He and Auburn had been friends, so he might know something about the case that would help. Finding his direct number in my contacts, I called.

  Voicemail was my answer, so I left a message and went downstairs, hoping to see Faye so I could tell her what had happened.

  The common area was quiet. The perfume girl I’d noticed earlier was focused on her phone. Sessions were ongoing, so everyone else was engaged. From one room came the sound of a blender, and I wandered over to read the sign: Satisfying Meals for Two.

  “Excuse me.” I turned to find a well-groomed—make that exquisitely groomed—woman at my elbow. In the tradition of Love-Able Ladies, she wore a skirt, not pants. Her blouse had a modest neckline, and her pumps were low-heeled and paired with nylon stockings. In a firm but not belligerent manner she said, “I don’t see your badge.”