I was shaking, and I was sure the other models were too, but we couldn’t let Dolce down. I had to make three appearances in three complete outfits. But not Marsha. She had disappeared. Was she thinking that she couldn’t outdo her first entrance? Jack was gone too. Had he taken her away to be questioned? And what about her brother?
I glanced at Dolce. She shrugged. I wanted to go back to her office where I suspected some kind of scene was playing out between Jack, Marsha and Harrington. But we all stuck to our parts in the charade. We owed it to Dolce and the other guests.
After the show was over, the audience clapped enthusiastically. Then we models changed into our street clothes, which, by the way, were not too shabby, and served wine and tiny little cheese puffs from the caterer down the street. Of course the guests must have been curious. Surely they didn’t all swallow Dolce’s story that the scene was a setup. But no one said anything.
I caught Dolce coming out of her office with a glass of wine in her hand.
“They’re gone,” she muttered.
“But where?” I asked with a glance over my shoulder to be sure we were alone. There were only a few people left in the great room. Everyone else had had a drink, a bite to eat and left. My fellow models had gone home with their families.
“How should I know?” Dolce said.
“What about the shoes?” I asked.
“That’s what I’m talking about. The shoes. The shoes are gone. So is Jim. Along with Marsha, her brother and the police.”
“You don’t think Detective Wall arrested any of them, do you?” I asked.
“You tell me,” she said. “Were they the same shoes?”
“I . . . I can’t be sure.”
“But you saw them. You picked them up in Florida. You brought them here. You saw MarySue before she went to the Benefit. They must have looked different from the copies. They had to look one-of-a-kind expensive.” Dolce was staring at me, her face inches from mine.
“But you were at the Benefit. You saw the shoes too,” I said. “Didn’t you?”
She avoided my gaze. She looked at my necklace and studied the collar of my dress. Wasn’t that a dead giveaway of someone lying? Now I was getting worried. My beloved boss was acting so strange I wondered if I really knew her at all.
“I think I told you I never saw MarySue, by the time I got to the Benefit, it was late and she wasn’t anywhere to be found. I blame myself. If I’d gone earlier, if I’d found her first, taken the shoes back, she might still be alive.”
“You mean by the time you arrived she was already . . .”
“Dead? I don’t know. I have no idea what time she was murdered and I don’t want to know. I keep imagining her in the Adirondack chair with her legs stretched out, barefoot.”
“So you’ve never . . .” I said.
“Never saw the shoes. No. Never saw her. I only know about where she was found from listening to the news. I never saw the so-called copies of the shoes either. All I’ve seen is the picture of them in the magazine. You, Rita, you’re the only one who’s been involved in both pairs of shoes—the real ones and the copies. So which was Marsha wearing tonight?” She grasped my wrist and held me tight. So tight I couldn’t breathe. I started to panic. She was desperate for answers. I was just desperate. After a whole evening of being charming, Dolce was finally cracking. Her eyes were bloodshot, her lower lip trembling, her grip tightened. My fingers were numb.
“I don’t know,” I said as calmly as I could. “This is the second time I’ve seen Marsha in those shoes. The first time I was sure those were the ones. But now . . .” I shook my head and jerked my arm away from Dolce. I was a fashionista. I studied clothes, jewelry, shoes and accessories for fun and for my livelihood. I was proud of my knowledge of the latest trends. But when it counted, when someone’s life was at stake, it seemed I couldn’t tell the difference between fake shoes and real ones. My self-confidence was crumbling. I had to get out of there and put some space between me and my boss and those damn shoes.
“What’s wrong, Rita?” Dolce said, picking up on my fastfading composure. “Is it your ankle?”
“It does feel a little weak,” I said, rubbing my anklebone. Not to mention my wrist. “I’d better go home and ice it. It was a wonderful show. The interruption just made it more exciting. I venture to say everyone who was here tonight will be talking about it for some time to come.”
“Talk is cheap, Rita. Let’s hope they do more than talk.” She took a deep breath and made a visible effort to bring herself under control. When she finally spoke her voice shook only slightly. “You know,” she said, “that’s what I love about you. You always put a positive spin on everything.”
She didn’t say, “Even murder,” but that’s what she was thinking. As for the detective, what was he thinking, I wondered as I rode home in the cab Dolce called for me. In the past she’d always paid the driver before I left, but not tonight. Tonight I had to pay myself. Was she really hurting for money? Or just hurting? I’d never seen her lose her cool like that.
I also wondered if it was possible Dolce had seen MarySue without her shoes. If so, why hadn’t she mentioned it to me before? Was I really the only one in the world who’d seen both pairs of shoes? If so, it was too bad I couldn’t tell the difference between them. Was that a testimony to the skill of Harrington Harris?
When I got home, I put in a call to Detective Wall. How could I not? I had to know what happened. Didn’t I deserve to know what had happened? After all I’d been through. Of course he didn’t answer, so I left a message asking for a follow-up. I hoped he wouldn’t give me the official line about how this was none of my business.
He didn’t call me back that night, and I had to go to work the next day. After the fashion show, it seemed the energy had been sucked out of the shop. The customers who’d been there last night were nowhere to be seen. I didn’t blame them. If I hadn’t had to work, I’d be home too, sipping lemonade on my patio and watching the sailboats bobbing in the Bay. And getting lost in a vampire novel, which was my favorite way of forgetting my troubles, which were minor compared to being bitten by a vampire and turning into one. Although Nick’s aunt seemed to do all right posing as a vampire. She had a good job and seemed to lead an interesting life.
By the end of the day I’d refreshed all the outfits we’d worn in the fashion show the night before and hung them back on hangers. I didn’t notice any uptick in sales thanks to the fashion show; in fact, there was a decided slump, but you never know what the future might bring. I still hadn’t heard from Jack Wall, and Dolce hadn’t heard from Harrington or Patricia even though she’d tried repeatedly to call them. We speculated that they were both locked up or they were out on bail or it was a big mistake and Jack Wall apologized profusely and gave them complimentary tickets to the Policeman’s Ball.
“Any plans for tonight?” Dolce asked me as I got ready to leave at five. Since there was no one in the shop but us, I knew she wouldn’t ask me to stay late, and I didn’t see how I could face another minute pretending all was well.
“No, actually not. I have a date to go to Alcatraz tomorrow with Dr. Jonathan. But tonight it’s just me and some reruns of The Young Doctors I TiVo-ed.”
She nodded as if she felt terrible that someone my age would have to spend Saturday night watching a dated Australian soap opera where the sexy doctors flirt and cure patients at the same time. Maybe she thought I hoped it would give me an insight into the life of sexy Dr. Jonathan Rhodes.
As for Dolce, she’d acted more or less normal today, but I was sure she was just as tired as she looked. “What about you?” I asked.
“I’m going to do a little bookkeeping in my office. I’ve had to let our accountant go. No reason I can’t handle it myself. It’s not like we’re taking in thousands every day.”
I frowned. “Business is down, isn’t it?” I asked.
She nodded sadly. “Don’t worry about it,” she told me. “We’ll pull out of it. On second though
t, I might just go to bed and not get up until Monday. I’ll have the Sunday papers delivered along with Chinese food from the Grand Palace.”
“Good for you,” I said. “You deserve to be pampered after what you’ve been through.”
“What we’ve all been through,” she said with a weak smile. “I wish I’d never seen those silver shoes.”
Puzzled, I said, “But you didn’t.”
“I mean I wish I’d never heard of them. Never ordered them, never sent you to pick them up.”
“If I hadn’t, MarySue would be alive today,” I mused.
“Are you sure she isn’t?” Dolce said, her gaze somewhere far away. “There are times when I feel her presence, hear her voice saying, ‘I have to have those shoes.’ ”
As for me, I could almost hear Dolce’s voice saying she’d get the shoes back . . . “If I have to hunt her down.” Is that what she did? Is that why she went to the Benefit?
“Get some rest,” I told her, and then I hurried down the front steps without a backward glance. I had planned on going straight home to rest and recuperate, but an evening at home suddenly seemed dull and boring.
I walked down the street. The bars were filling up with people my age. The restaurants had lines waiting outside. I could stop in for a drink or dinner. But the usual activities of swinging singles, like flirting and hooking up, didn’t hold much attraction. Then I remembered Detective Wall said he served dinner to the homeless at Saint Anthony’s Dining Room on Saturday nights.
I could have taken the bus, but when a cab pulled up in front of a popular hangout and some of the beautiful people got out, I got in and gave the name of the famous church in the Tenderloin, one of San Francisco’s worst neighborhoods. I’d avoided the area since I arrived in town thanks to Dolce’s warnings that it was full of drug dealers, addicts, prostitutes and other lowlifes, but it was time to step out of my comfort zone and see how people who didn’t wear Gucci, Pucci or Ralph Lauren lived.
Thirteen
Saint Anthony’s was more than a church. It was a school, a job training center, a nursery, a homeless shelter, a health care facility and a cafeteria. I saw the line for the cafeteria snaking around the block the minute I got out of the cab. I went to a side entrance and told a woman at the door I was there to volunteer.
“Are you with the Sons of Norway Lodge contingent?”
“Are they serving dinner?” I asked.
She gave me a funny look as if to say, “You don’t look the least bit Nordic, and if you didn’t know they were serving dinner, then you probably aren’t with them.”
“I mean I wasn’t sure if it was lunch or dinner. Actually I’m volunteering with the police department.”
She studied a list in her hand.
“Detective Jack Wall,” I said. “He should be here.”
“Is he expecting you?” she asked.
“He always needs help,” I said. That much was true. Whether I could help him or he could help me remained to be seen. “In any case, I’m a whiz at scooping mashed potatoes.” Surely mashed potatoes would be on the menu, wouldn’t they? At least I hoped so.
“Okay,” she said finally. “Pick up your apron in the closet and your hairnet.”
“Got it,” I said and hurried by before she could stop me. By following another woman, I found the closet and an apron and a hairnet. Now all I needed was to find Detective Wall. To say that he was surprised to see me behind the steam table was putting it mildly. Still he was not one to display his emotions, so he just nodded when I squeezed in between him and a large burly fellow whose name tag said “Tim” and who seemed to be in charge of mixed vegetables.
“Are you new?” Tim asked with a friendly smile.
“First time tonight,” I said, tying my apron around my waist. “I hope I won’t spill anything.”
“What are you doing here?” Jack Wall muttered under his breath. “What’s in it for you?”
“Why does anyone volunteer? I came to help out. Is that so hard to believe? That I’d do something useful besides dress rich women. I could ask you the same thing. Is this part of your job?” I took a tray and heaped a pile of potatoes on it. I smiled at the woman across the counter, and she thanked me.
“I like to keep an eye on my parolees,” he said under his breath.
“Point them out. I’ll give them an extra scoop,” I said.
“I thought I told you not to meddle in official business.”
“I’m not. I’m simply . . .”
“You’re not simply anything.”
I bit my lip. How could I answer that? “Sorry,” I muttered. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.”
“Not now,” he said.
I wanted to show him I was not only patient but also sincere about doing a good job, whether selling women’s clothes and accessories or feeding the hungry, so I paid attention to the potatoes and I even went back to the kitchen to refill the tray when we ran out. Everyone in the kitchen was friendly, and the customers, if you could call them that, were so grateful I considered signing up for a weekly slot. I asked myself if it had anything to do with the proximity of the sexy cop working next to me, but I couldn’t be sure of my motives. Not until this Jensen case was over. Then maybe I’d be able to think clearly and I’d have no reason to see Jack Wall unless one of us wanted to make an effort and admit it had nothing to do with either of our jobs.
“You can’t be surprised I want to talk to you,” I said when there was a brief break in the line of people waiting for food.
“I’m not surprised at anything you do,” he said. “And I can’t promise to tell you anything you want to know.”
“But you don’t even know what I want to know,” I protested.
“I can guess,” he said with a sideways glance in my direction.
“How long is this shift?” I asked the nice man on the other side, who was much more outgoing and friendly both to me and to the eaters.
“Hour and a half,” he said. “First timer?”
I smiled and nodded. “But not the last. It’s a great place, and the food looks good.”
“It is. You see people coming back for seconds.”
“Is that allowed?” I asked.
“It is when I’m serving beef stroganoff,” he said with a smile. “Some of us are going out for burgers afterward. Care to join us?”
I glanced over at Jack, who frowned, and I told Tim I had other plans tonight. At least I hoped I did. If Jack bailed on me, I’d be seriously annoyed. Okay, he didn’t want to tell me anything, but he couldn’t just walk out of my fashion show with three customers and not tell me what happened.
After our shift ended at seven o’clock, my ankle hurt as well as both of my feet. I dropped my apron and hairnet in a bin in the dressing room and rushed out to catch Jack before he escaped without me. For a moment I thought he’d run off, but when I looked around, I saw him standing on the sidewalk checking his watch. I had no doubt he was giving me a certain allotted time to show up and then he was out of there. Maybe he had a date. How would I know? He wasn’t the type to talk about his social life, if he had one.
“Thanks for waiting,” I said breathlessly. “Aren’t you hungry after working so hard ? I’m starving. Can I buy you dinner? I owe you.” Taking cabs and buying dinner for a man. It was like I was rolling in money when my boss was worried about the financial state of her store. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to afford to pay me much longer. Maybe I should be worried too. I would worry later, I told myself, just like Scarlett O’Hara.
“You think you can bribe me?” he asked as we walked down the street, passing an occasional homeless person pushing a grocery cart loaded with his belongings.
“It’s worth a try,” I said. “All I want is a little information.” I remembered reading about a Vietnamese restaurant in the area that had gotten some rave reviews online.
“Do you like Vietnamese food?” I asked.
He looked surprised. “Do you?”
&nb
sp; “I don’t know. I’ve never had any.”
“If you like Angkor Wat, I think you’ll like Little Saigon too. It’s very good.”
So he remembered I’d ordered Cambodian. “I pretty much like all kinds of food. And serving food to others makes me hungry.”
“What doesn’t?” he asked.
I frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I had lunch with you two weeks ago, and I have to say it’s rare to find a woman with a healthy appetite. So many are on diets. You never know.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said. “You could have said ‘big appetite’ instead of healthy. Unless you think I should be on a diet. I know one thing, I’m glad I’m not a professional model who has to squeeze into size twos. I was raised in the Midwest. Where I come from, there are lots of steak houses and German restaurants. So when someone took me out for Cambodian food when I first got here, I was hooked. It was so different, so exotic, I was blown away.”
“Prepare to be blown away again tonight,” he said. “If you’re serious about Vietnamese food, tonight you’ll have to try the green papaya salad and the lettuce wraps. And of course the pho.”
I didn’t mention how I was looking forward to being blown away by whatever he agreed to tell me about the present case at hand. I was just grateful we’d gotten this far.
After we were seated in the restaurant with the purple walls covered with black and white photographs of Vietnam, I let Jack order since he’d been there before. Just like he’d done at lunch that day. He also ordered a large bottle of Samuel Smith’s Nut Brown Ale, which he said went well with the food. Even though this was my idea, he quickly took over. What else did I expect from a former dot-com millionaire turned city cop?
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