“He finally gave me his girlfriend’s full name. She’s a high-powered attorney with that law firm that represents the politicians and other politicos here. He told me there was no way I could contact her at work, and I believe him. A law firm that big has all kinds of gatekeepers to keep the press out. So I asked him to take me to lunch with her, you know, introduce me as his friend. He refused.”
“This guy wants you to do a proposal for a woman, but he only has a snapshot of her running a marathon and knows nothing else about her?”
“Weird, right?”
“He’s lying to you,” Gage said, and crossed his arms. “A guy in love would tell you all kinds of things about the woman of his dreams . . . like the way her red hair glints in the sunlight or the fact that she likes two creams in her coffee or that she looks spectacular in florals . . .”
The heat returned to my cheeks. “That’s what I thought. I figured he was a kook and I was going to turn him down, but then he said he was very rich and that money was no object.”
“Lie.”
“I agree. I told him that I needed a retainer deposit before I’d do any kind of in-depth work.”
“Smart.”
“I even gave him a ridiculous 40 percent fee for services.”
“And that didn’t make any difference? I’d run not walk away from this one.”
“Except he handed me a cashier’s check made out to Perfect Proposals for ten grand.”
Gage turned his head slightly and eyed me through narrowed eyes. “Ten thousand dollars?”
“Yes, and he told me he was looking forward to the ideas I’d come up with. Then he paid for his movies and a few books and walked out.”
“What did you do?” His brows pulled together.
“I deposited that check in the nearest ATM machine.” I let out an uncomfortable laugh. “I wasn’t going to take the chance of losing it.”
“Was it a real check?”
“It appeared real. I’ll know in a few days when it posts to my account.”
“Wow, okay. So you’re stuck helping this guy.”
“It was ten grand, Gage. Should I have chased him down and refused it? I mean, what if it is only the tip of what I can make? He told me twice that money was no option. He’s very rich and apparently used to people doing things for him.”
I picked up the mug that I had absently left on the desk when I had gotten up to snap the picture and wrapped my hands around its warmth.
“No, no,” Gage said, “taking the check was fine. So was depositing it.”
“It’s going to clear, right? Because it’s a cashier’s check.”
“It should clear, yes.” His expression still looked puzzled. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to do some digging online first, I guess. If Laura has a Facebook page or at the very least a LinkedIn presence or something . . .” I put down the mug and dug around in my purse, pulled out my notebook and pen, and wrote down, Check for Laura’s Facebook page. “I’ll have to ask Toby if he has a Facebook page. That way if her privacy settings are what I suspect they are, I can connect to Toby’s page and at least see her posts on his feed. Maybe I can get her to friend me.”
Gage shook his head. “I doubt an attorney of her caliber has anything personal on the Web. With their clientele there’s too much of a chance for anyone to hack it.”
“Right.” I frowned. “Maybe I can search her LinkedIn for hints.”
“Again . . .”
“She probably only has a professional face online,” I finished.
“Exactly.”
I sat back and frowned. “I’m going to have to try to meet her in person.” I sighed. “Or”—I raised my eyebrows—“I could get to know her paralegal or secretary and see if I can get any good gossip from them.”
Gage nodded. “Now there you might have a shot.”
“Thanks,” I said, and stood, suddenly all my focus on finding out more about Toby’s Laura.
“You’re welcome,” Gage said. “Was there anything you needed from the warehouse? We’re getting a new truckload tomorrow. There was a big Northshore estate sale and I picked up some really cool things. Want to come by in a couple of days and go through it with me? There might be some stuff you can use for your next event.”
“Yes!” I said, excitement curling through me. Who could say no to any reason to spend time with Gage?
“Great, so we’re good? Bobby didn’t freak you out too much?”
“No.” I shook my head. “In fact, I’ve been looking for a new place. So if you hear of anything good with decent rent . . .”
“I’ll let you know.” He took a step toward me. “Unless you want to just move in with me.”
I froze. “What?”
“Just kidding.” He kissed my temple and turned me to face him. “Seriously, I don’t want to rush you. I know you’re trying to figure out who Pepper is. I don’t mind the wait.”
Relief washed over me. I smiled. “It’s not that living with you and having you around when I come home at night wouldn’t be great.”
“It’s not time yet,” he said softly. “Like I said, I’m willing to wait. Heck, I’ve waited for you since high school. What’s another year or two in the grand scheme of things?”
“Well, gosh, I hope it doesn’t take me years to find myself.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and planted a firm kiss on his mouth. “Here in your arms is a good start.”
“I’d like to think so, too.”
I grinned up at him. “I’ll let you get back to work. Thanks for the coffee and for letting me bounce the whole strange Toby thing off you. It’s good to get a guy’s perspective.”
“Good luck with that,” he said, and opened the office door for me. “See you in a couple days.”
“Get back to work,” I scolded, and headed out with a smile on my face. It came from the fact that he had a little red lipstick mark on the corner of his mouth. I’d let one of the guys point it out. It never hurt for a girl to leave the guy she liked with a little reminder.
* * *
I left Gage and got in my car to see that Detective Murphy had left me a voice mail. He was most likely returning my call. I’d phoned him to discuss what I’d learned about Vidalia when Felicity had purchased her wedding dress.
“This is Detective Murphy,” he answered on the third ring.
“Hi, Detective Murphy,” I said as I pulled out into traffic. “This is Pepper Pomeroy. I saw that you called me.”
“Are you driving and talking on your cell?” His tone was accusatory.
“You’re on speaker,” I said with a soft smile at the father-like tone in his voice. “I’ve got both hands on the wheel.”
“Good. You called me and said you had more information on Eva Svetkovska.”
“A few more details, yes.”
“I’m listening.”
I could picture him in his office doing paperwork and a million other things while I spoke. “Vidalia said the third coffee was for her mother. Which is weird, don’t you think?”
“A little . . .”
“Also, she claims to have had time to talk with the barista and then enjoy a full cup before buying herself another cup and two cups for her mother and returning to the store. It’s almost as if she were waiting for something to happen.”
“People do odd things, Pepper.”
“Did you know that Vidalia has an assistant named Theresa?”
“Yes, we interviewed her. She was out sick that day.”
“So she says.” I hit my blinker and pulled into the center lane to turn left. “But remember Vidalia had brought back three cups of coffee. Did Theresa tell you when she got sick? Was it first thing in the morning or later in the day?”
“Something to consider,” he murmured, and I heard him pushing papers.
“Theresa has a boyfriend named Thad who came in while we were there. He put up a fuss until Vidalia got Theresa and the two talked for a bit, and then Theresa gave him money to go away.”
“Again, interesting but nothing I can act on,” he said, and I heard him pause and take a sip from what I assumed was the perennial coffee cup at his elbow.
“There’s something going on with Theresa and Thad, is all I’m saying.”
“Are you implying that perhaps Vidalia paid her assistant and her assistant’s boyfriend to murder her own mother?”
“It’s one way to gain sole ownership of the shop,” I said, and headed down the side street to the left of the very same bridal shop. I had decided to revisit the place on the pretense of giving Vidalia my ideas on bridesmaid dresses that did not include plaid.
“Anything else?” He didn’t sound very impressed with my findings.
“Vidalia said that some things were stolen, maybe Eva caught Theresa and Thad stealing and when she confronted them, Thad took out the knife, pushed Eva into the alley and killed her.”
“Again a theory, any proof?”
“No,” I said and pouted. “How’s your daughter? Have you talked to her yet?”
“Yeah, no,” he said with a short sigh. “She’s still with him. I took your advice and haven’t said anything.”
“But you’ve done a background check on him, haven’t you?” I figured Detective Murphy was a lot like my dad, and if he had access to background information—which he did—then he’d use it. “What did you find? Anything to worry about?”
“No,” he said, “nothing outstanding.”
“Well, that’s good. Trust her,” I encouraged. “It’s the best way to handle things.”
“Okay, Pepper, I’ve got to go. Call me if you get anything more concrete. And stay out of trouble, okay?”
“I’m trying,” I said, and pulled into the parking lot next to Vidalia’s bridal shop. I hung up and studied the shop for a moment. The brick false front of the building didn’t look any different than a thousand other brick buildings with false fronts that were built in the early 1900s.
I parked Old Blue, my giant Oldsmobile that had belonged to my grandma Mary and was then passed down to me. It had hand-crank windows and locks that needed a key to open, but it was free and rode smooth on the sometimes pothole-crazy Chicago streets. Being a redhead there was no hiding, even in a car. So having a classic Oldsmobile was simply a cheap way to get around. How many people could say they had a twenty-year-old car that had had one owner and only ten thousand miles on it?
Besides, I loved the soft leather seats and the funky tape player. At least it wasn’t an 8-track tape deck. That would be a bit over the top even for me.
I got out, hitched my purse over my shoulder, closed and locked my door, then went inside the bridal shop. Vidalia was at the front desk talking angrily on the phone in a language I didn’t understand. Chicago was home to a wide variety of immigrants and children of immigrants. That meant that on any given day you could hear five or more languages just walking down the street.
“I have to go. I have a client.” Vidalia switched to English and hung up.
“Is everything okay?” I asked as innocently as possible.
“Yes.” Vidalia waved her hand dismissively. “It was my brother. He is angry because we read my mother’s will today. She left the shop to me alone, while she gave him a small cash inheritance. He thinks he’s entitled to more.”
“Why would your mother not leave you equal amounts?” The concept was foreign to me. My parents had always made a point of ensuring that Felicity and I were treated the same as much as possible.
“Do not worry. My brother is fine on his own. My mother knew this and left me the shop. Besides, Vladimir’s wife refused to have anything to do with the shop. She feels she is too good to work.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, I hope that you work things out with your brother.”
“It will be fine,” Vidalia said and came around the desk, all business. “We will work it out. He is my brother. We always do. Now, you are here to discuss your bridesmaid dress, yes? Where is your sister?”
“Felicity is working. I came alone to narrow the search. I just want to stress, please no plaid.”
She narrowed her mouth. “Of course not. Who would do such a thing? Plaid. No. Come with me.”
Relief washed over me when I saw how upset she was by the very idea of plaid. I wouldn’t tell Mom or Felicity. I’d let Vidalia do her thing with them, but it was such a relief to know I didn’t have to worry that she would think it was a great idea.
I smiled at Theresa, who was in the hall arranging gowns on a rack. The young girl’s gaze did not meet mine. She seemed overly busy, as if my presence made her nervous.
Vidalia took me to the back kitchen. I noted that the alley door was boarded up. “Oh,” I said as we walked by it.
“It is necessary for now. The fire department is not happy, but I will pay the fine and I told the fire marshal that as well. I need a few months before I look into that alley again. There has never been a fire. I am not worried about fire.”
For a moment I thought she was going to spit on the door, but instead she walked quickly past it and into a small room off the kitchen in the back. There were racks of sample bridesmaid dresses.
“Your sister did not tell me her wedding colors. But the dress is pearl, which will be enhanced by pinks, blues, and peaches. I will recommend these colors.” She went straight to one rack, then paused and eyed my hair. “No pink for you, though. That is fine. The maid of honor should have a different color dress. How many bridesmaids?”
Theresa walked in and grabbed two dresses and walked out.
“There are four of us in total. Me and Felicity’s best friend, Peggy. Then there is Warren’s sister, Whitney, and Felicity’s friend Susan.”
“Hair colors and shapes?” Vidalia was very direct with her questions.
“Um, let’s see, dark brown for Peggy and she is a lot like Felicity in shape. Whitney is taller with model curves and wheat blond hair. Susan is also blond and taller than Felicity and Peggy but not as tall as Whitney or me.”
“So all over the place.” She frowned. Theresa walked in again and, without even excusing herself, cut between Vidalia and myself to snag two more dresses off the rack. “We can match color or we can match style or we can simply match hemline and shoes and such. Thankfully weddings are far more eclectic today. Bridesmaids should be dressed appropriately for each woman so that she does not stick out or take away from the bride. Like a floral arrangement, you must use the proper colors and greenery to complement the lead flower.”
Vidalia went back to the rack.
“How is Theresa to work with?” I asked as Vidalia looked through the dresses in front of her.
“She is fine. My mother hired her.” Vidalia pulled out a pale blue Grecian draped dress and held it against me to check the hem length, which was just below my knee. “Perhaps this dress,” she mused, and turned back to the rack, her hands pushing the hangers quickly from one side to the other.
“Would you hire Theresa?” I asked.
“Theresa is a good worker, but she trusts no one . . . except for that Thad.” Vidalia looked like she wanted to spit again but respect for the expensive dresses kept her from doing it.
“You sound as if you wish she didn’t trust Thad,” I suggested.
“Thad is not my business.” Vidalia took out a ballet-inspired number with a mid-length hem and halter top. “Better,” she said as she held it up against me. She hung both dresses on a single rack. Then dug through some more. “This is it.” She pulled out a satin jewel-toned dress with a high portrait collar, a nipped-in waist, and an A-line skirt. “Try this on.”
She handed me the dress and I took it awkwardly. “Um, where?”
“Behind that curtain,” She pointed to a sheet that hung from rings that were pulled through a silver bar, which hung from the ceiling.
I went behind the sheet, noticing the pegs on the wall to hang my stuff, and as I stripped out of my clothes, I talked nervously. “I was wondering . . .”
“Yes?” Vidalia said between the sounds of hangers being pushed on metal racks.
“Do you always go for coffee at the same time every day?” I hung up my dress and was happy to be wearing the slip under it.
“Yes, I told you I like my routine,” Vidalia replied, her tone implying that I should remember. “But some days we have client appointments all day. Those days we go whenever we have an opportunity. Why?”
I pulled the beautiful gown over my head and adjusted it around my waist. “You said the store was robbed. I thought perhaps the killer had been watching you and knew when you would leave for coffee.”
“It is possible, but not likely. How would they know that that particular day is not filled with appointments?” Vidalia asked as I zipped the side zipper, cinching the dress to my waist, and walked out. Vidalia’s gaze lit up. “Yes, that is the dress. I am once again reminded that I have my mother’s eye for gowns.”
I stepped over to a full-length mirror that rested against the wall. The gown gave me curves that I didn’t have. The portrait collar was stiff and tall, giving the illusion of wider shoulders. This narrowed my waist and the flare of the skirt accentuated my hips. “Wow.”
“Yes, it is good.” Vidalia nodded and fluffed the skirt a little. “A simple pearl belt here at the waist.” She touched my waist with both hands. “This will tie in to the bride’s gown, complementing but not overshadowing.”
The hem of the dress was just below the knee. I could see how the gown would complement all figures and still allow the bride’s gown to shine.
“Are you as good at picking coffee as you are at dresses?” I kidded.
“Better.” Vidalia winked. “I am even better at making coffee. You should ask my husband, Anton.”
I made a little twirl in front of the mirror and watched the fabric whirl around my knees.
Bodice of Evidence Page 11
