Sex and the Widow Miles (The Women of Willow Bay)

by Reinhardt, Nan

  “Bullshit!” Carrie’s eyes flashed with indignation. “You’re never too old to be starry-eyed, and Will’s certainly worthy of a few stars.” She gave me a frown. “And just for the record, love is grand.”

  “You should know.” I nudged her with shoulder.

  “You bet your scrawny ass, my friend. You know, I think you’re handling all this stuff really well.” Carrie rose and, offering me a hand, she pulled me up from the stair. “So relax and let the relationship with Will work itself out. If it’s meant to be, it’ll work. Don’t overthink it.”

  “His very words.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  “Well, we’re getting closer. We may actually pull this thing off.” Sarah’s eyes shone as she waved me over to the computer in the back room of La Belle Femme and pointed to the spreadsheet she had open on the screen. “We’ve already sold eighty percent of the tickets to the fashion show, which covers all the expenses of putting it on, plus enough extra to stay afloat here another three months. That’s assuming our jackass of a landlord doesn’t raise the rent and the utilities stay in their current neighborhood.”

  “I’m so glad!” Actually, I was beyond glad, I was overjoyed. In the two months I’d been back in Chicago, we’d put all our energy into planning and promoting the fashion show, which was going to be at the end of May at the Stamford, an elegant old hotel on Michigan Avenue. The hotel had contributed the venue, while dozens of Carrie’s and my friends had donated designer clothing from their own closets.

  Our twist was that everything we used in the show would go up for auction that night. It was an opportunity for all those society folks to exchange designer labels without actually having to go down to a resale shop. In moments of utter immodesty, I thought it was a brilliant idea and apparently I wasn’t the only one. Between ticket sales and the auction items, chances were good we’d rake in enough money to keep the shop running for a very long time.

  Naomi and Carl Fox, the owners of the modeling agency I’d been signed with since the age of sixteen, pitched in with enthusiasm when I told them about the project. They jumped on board with a caterer, carpenters to build our catwalk in the banquet room, an auctioneer, marketing ideas, a band, and best of all, models.

  My compatriots, models of all sizes, from petite to plus-sized, were ready to take a walk down the runway to support battered women in the Chicago area. I was so proud of them, mostly because I knew a few of those women had suffered some of the same kinds of abuse. Our cause was close to their hearts, so they were giving it their all, creating a very professional-looking show.

  “This couldn’t have happened without you, Julie.” Sarah tossed me a smile before she went back to the computer. “You’ve been such a blessing here, I don’t know how we’re going to manage when you go back to Michigan.”

  “I love helping out. It’s been good for me—keeps my mind busy, and I’m having the time of my life putting this show together.”

  My words were true. The show was the only thing keeping me from dialing Will daily and begging him to get his butt back to the Windy City. I hadn’t heard a word from him. I’d considered texting him, but I couldn’t do it. Considering how we’d parted in San Francisco, I’d feel like a fool, but I did put his name on the guest list for the fundraiser. Last I’d heard from Carrie, he’d been in Budapest, inspecting venues and meeting with artistic directors and publicity people, getting Liam’s tour together.

  I wanted to talk to him, see each other face-to-face. The chemistry that suddenly felt off since our trip to Tuckaway was still in full force though, because I was longing for him. That part of me that wanted to charge ahead to see what was possible between us grew more insistent each day. Several times, I’d written him long emails, pouring my heart out, telling him that I still believed in happily-ever-after, in spite of everything. Charlie’s betrayal hadn’t crushed my spirit or my desire for love. I wanted to try again—with him. Then I’d reread them and hit Delete, feeling like a silly teenager with a crush on the high school football star. Was it too soon to love again? If he still wanted me, would my sore heart allow me to love Will freely? I had no idea. All I knew for sure was that I missed him like crazy.

  I sorted through another garment bag of donated designer clothes from yet another of Carrie’s society friends. Donations were coming in faster than we could unpack them after she’d put the word out about our show. I’d managed to pull at least one outfit, sometimes several, from every person’s collection. I wanted to have fifty great looks for the show. But the bag I was into now took my breath away.

  “Sarah!” I exclaimed, holding up a shimmering pink silk chemise gown covered in glass beads. “This is a vintage Lanvin! Look at that intricate beadwork.”

  “Is that a real flapper dress? Is it valuable, do you think?” Sarah had confessed she knew nothing at all about fashion, but she clearly recognized the dollar signs in a vintage couture gown.

  “I imagine it’s very valuable. We can check online.” I was busy taking cleaner’s plastic off another dress. Another vintage gown. “This one’s a Worth, bias-cut.” I held up the cream silk crepe evening gown. “Looks like it might be from the thirties. Oh, Lord. Is this seriously a Fortuny jacket?”

  “Huh?” Sarah came over to examine the articles as I laid them out on the table. “A who? What?”

  “Mariano Fortuny. He was a Spanish designer in the twenties.” I ran a hand lovingly over the material of the jacket. “He did a lot of experimenting with dye and block prints on fabric. Just look at these colors.”

  “How do you know all this stuff?” Sarah lifted the jacket and slipped her arms into the sleeves. “You said you never went to college.”

  “I didn’t.” Turning her around to face the mirror behind us, I fussed with the jacket, arranging the mandarin collar, pulling her red hair out of the back to let it lay over the grass-green printed fabric. “I’ve always been fascinated by fashion, so almost everything I read is about fashion—history, biographies of designers, magazines. There.” I gave her shoulder a little pat. “That looks fabulous on you, Sarah. You should keep it.”

  “It is gorgeous.” She shifted in front of the mirror, trying to get a peek of the draped back. “But if it’s valuable and could bring in some cash, we need to include it in the auction.”

  “There must be at least ten items in this bag.” I pulled other articles of clothing out of the big zippered canvas bag. “These vintage clothes shouldn’t be on hangers, not even padded hangers. They should be stored flat in special boxes and wrapped in acid-free tissue.”

  “Who donated this?” Sarah lifted the bag to search for a tag, but found nothing to indicate who’d brought it in.

  I scanned the list of names of contributors. Not a clue as to who’d left the large canvas garment bag. It wasn’t on the list. “Maybe Holly knows who brought it in. I’ll go ask her.”

  Carefully setting a plastic-wrapped fur on the table, I noticed that it bore an Evans label—one of the premier furriers in Chicago in the 1930s. It looked like black mink. Wow! Wandering out to the retail area of the shop to find Holly, I ransacked my memory for what I’d read about Evans furs.

  Just as I got to the counter, the front door opened and a male form stood silhouetted in the opening.

  “Hello.” I backed up. “Can I help you?”

  “I don’t know. Can you?” He ambled out of the sunlight and I recognized him.

  It was Jeannie’s husband, Brian. He’d come in once before, crying and trying to find her. Sarah had sent him away with a threat to call the police if he ever showed up again. Her mantra, don’t ever tell them about this shelter, sometimes fell on deaf ears, particularly if the woman was young and terrified—like Jeannie. They wanted so much to believe their abusers could change. Jeannie had come and gone twice in the short time I’d been working here. We hadn’t seen her in several weeks.

  I heard a sharp intake of breath as Holly appeared from behind a clothing rack at the back of the store, her eyes huge a
nd her chest heaving.

  Stay calm. Stay calm. I repeated the words in my head before I said to her, “Holly, hon, why don’t you go start working on those boxes in the back?”

  She remained frozen, obviously too terrified to even take a step, so I gave the man my best charming hostess smile.

  “What can I do for you, Brian?”

  “I’m here for Jeannie.” His response was clipped and loud, echoing off the high ceilings. “I know you took her in again. Where is she?” His black hair fell into his eyes as he marched the rest of the way into the store. He wasn’t crying now. Dressed in khakis, a blue button-down shirt, rep tie, and a navy sport coat, he could’ve been any businessman walking down Michigan Avenue, except that his blue eyes were icy, glittering with rage.

  I sidled toward the cash register and the alarm button below it, all the while trying to make eye contact with Holly—a futile effort. She was so frightened she stood stock-still with tears coursing down her cheeks. Sliding my hand across the counter, only inches away from the button, I tried to engage the guy in conversation.

  “Why do you think Jeannie’s here?”

  “Now, where else would she be?” Brian’s tone was almost conversational, but he eyed me warily. “She came back to her mother’s last week, and called me. I took her back home where she belongs. Everything was going so well, but then she disappeared again.”

  “We haven’t seen her in several weeks.” I maintained my smile and the eye contact, in spite of the fact that I was sick with fright. Sarah had taught me to look these bastards straight in the eye and never show any fear. No matter how innocuous they seemed, they weren’t harmless. They were dangerous.

  “You haven’t?”

  “No, I’m sorry, I haven’t.” I raised my voice slightly, hoping Sarah was listening from the back and calling the cops.

  “You know what? I think you’re lying.” The charming smile remained as in one swift move, he came at me, grabbing my hand, practically yanking me over the counter. “Don’t even think about setting off that alarm. We’re aren’t finished talking yet.”

  My astonishment must have been written all over my face because the jerk smirked before releasing my wrist. “Oh, yes, I know all about the alarm button.” He sighed and shook his head, giving me a pitying look. “Why do you women always make me resort to this?” Almost nonchalantly, he pulled the biggest damn gun I’d ever seen from of his jacket pocket.

  Please, please be calling the cops, Sarah.

  Holly’s sharp intake of breath echoed in the high-ceilinged shop. I gazed straight into her face, trying to give her some reassurance we’d be fine. Sarah had to be dialing 911 right now.

  “Now, tell you what. Jeannie told me about all the phones you keep at hand, so I’m going to need you”—he pointed the gun at Holly—”to collect them up and put them here on the counter. We may be sitting here all day and I’d hate to be interrupted. I can wait forever. She’s bound to show up at some point.”

  Holly bolted to attention when she saw the gun, hurrying around the shop, picking up the five phones we kept tucked around the store for emergencies such as this one. When she dropped the phones in a row on the counter, I scanned them.

  Oh shit. There are six.

  That meant that the phone from the back room had gotten left out in the retail area again—something Sarah continually scolded us about.

  My heart sank. She wasn’t calling 911 unless she’d discovered my cell phone on the table where I’d been working, because she’d told me only that morning that hers had gotten dropped in a sink full of water and was no longer functional. We’d even discussed what kind of new phone she should get. I let her play around with mine, which was why it was on the table instead of in my pocket.

  “Is this all of them?” Brian waved his gun over the phones.

  Nodding, I put an arm around Holly’s pudgy shoulders as she sank against me. “We don’t know where Jeannie is.” I was proud that I kept my voice from quavering. “Honestly.”

  “Honestly?” He gazed around the shop before backing the through the racks to the dressing cubicles and sweeping aside the curtains. His calm demeanor was more terrifying than if he’d been knocking over plants or sweeping the jewelry display off the antique table next to the counter. “What would you know about honesty?”

  What kind of a sicko remains so composed while holding a gun on two innocent women?

  “Brian…” I began, while sending Sarah mental pictures of the cell phone on the table next to the vintage clothes.

  “Where is she?” he demanded swinging around to point the gun directly at me.

  “She’s not here, dickhead.” Sarah pulled open the louvered doors that separated the storeroom from the shop, and breathing fire, strode toward the man. “Get your fuckin’ ass out of my shop.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” The guy turned his attention from me to Sarah, who marched boldly up to him. “Are you really this stupid, lady? I’m not falling for that tough chick act again.”

  Sarah rose on her toes and got right in his face. “I mean it. Get out. Now.”

  I breathed a small sigh of relief to see the outline of my phone in the back pocket of her slim-fitting jeans. The police had to be on their way. But the sigh turned to a scream when the man shifted the gun in his hand and struck Sarah in the head with the butt of it. She folded onto the floor with a thump.

  “Sarah!” I cried, trying to shake Holly’s death grip from my arm.

  “Don’t. Don’t you fuckin’ move.” The cruel expression in Brian’s eyes sent a chill down my spine as I realized he was losing his cool. This guy wasn’t going to be reasoned with or talked down.

  I backed up as he headed into the rear of the shop, feeling rage emanating from him when he brushed past me. As he ransacked the place, knocking over boxes and tables in his fury, I made an executive decision.

  Sarah was out cold but still breathing. She was okay for now. I knew we had to move immediately. Grabbing Holly’s hand, I started for the door, shooting an arrow of prayer heavenward.

  Please, please, Charlie, a little help here, okay? If you’re still with me, help…

  I shoved Holly ahead of me and just as we rounded the end of the counter, I heard a familiar voice say, “Julie? What the hell’s going on?”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Will stood in the open door of the shop, looking to my terrified mind exactly like a knight in shining armor.

  Will! Thank God!

  Charlie, you did it.

  The insanity of that thought flitted through my mind even as I grabbed Will’s bicep and held on for dear life. How and why he ended up here didn’t matter a damn. He was here, and at that moment, I was overjoyed to see him.

  “Jules? Are you okay?” His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene before him and repeated, “What’s going on?”

  “There’s a crazy guy in the back,” I whispered, releasing my grip on his arm. “The husband of one of our girls. He hit Sarah.” I pushed Holly past him and out the door. “Go, Holly, now! Meet the police down by Michigan Ave. If you don’t see them, run into one of the buildings and get some help. Go!” I turned her in the direction of the street corner and gave her a shove as Will headed into the shop.

  “Stay here.” He stopped by the counter, head cocked to the side listening to the banging and crashing coming from the back room.

  “Will, he’s got a—”I came up behind him and peered over the counter to see Sarah moaning on the floor. Her head was bleeding where Brian had struck her. “Oh dear God, Sarah.” Scurrying to the other end of the counter, I grabbed a scarf off the display.

  Will was hot on my heels.

  We knelt on either side of her and he felt for broken bones as I dabbed the wound at her hairline with the scarf.

  “Sarah?” Will patted her cheek. “Sarah, talk to us.”

  “Where is that asshole?” Sarah mumbled, clearly struggling to open her eyes.

  Quiet suddenly reigned in the back room, and
when I looked up, Brian stood in the doorway, his gun trained on Will.

  “Well, this is cozy.” Brian sounded calm but the gun wavered slightly in his trembling hand.

  “Hey, man.” Will rose, his hands out at his sides, palms up. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to find my wife. I know she’s here.” His eyes shifted nervously from Will to me and back to Will before finally focusing on me. “Give me the key.”

  “What’s your name?” Will edged toward the counter, and I was certain he was trying to draw Brian’s attention away from us.

  “Why does that matter?” Brian waved the gun in our direction. “Which one of you bitches has the key to the gate?” He referred to the courtyard gate behind the shop. It led to the actual shelter and was kept locked at all times. Apparently, Jeannie had told her husband more about the operation here than we ever imagined. So much for never sharing any information with your abuser.

  Damn her.

  “His name is Brian Jenner.” I stood up and parked myself between the gun and Sarah, who had risen to one elbow and then dropped back down again with a moan. “He thinks his wife is here, but I told him we hadn’t seen her.”

  Still no sirens. Where in the hell were the police?

  “Look, Brian.” Will leaned one hip against the big glass display case, his elbow resting on the counter near the cash register. I had to give him credit—he appeared way more relaxed than he possibly could’ve felt. “You don’t want to do this. Put the gun down and let’s talk.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you, asshole.” Brian’s face reddened as he dismissed Will with a wave before stepping closer to me. “I want you to give me the key.”

  My heart jumped to my throat as I moved back, almost tripping over Sarah, who was still prone on the floor. “I don’t have it. I’m only an employee.”