by Tawna Fenske
“I’ve seen the prices they charge for luxury purses,” Collin muttered, eyeing the filthy fabric in my hand. “Charging $1,000 for a bloody purse seems like stealing to me.”
I glared at him, my heart still thudding in my ears from the dead body scare. “My sister is a handbag designer,” I informed him. “You wouldn’t believe the blood, sweat and tears required to create an original design, and then to have someone just steal it like this—”
“You’re right, you’re right,” Collin said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, protecting intellectual property is quite important. I wasn’t thinking of it that way.”
“Besides, most counterfeit luxury goods are made in third world sweatshops by children kept in deplorable conditions and—”
“I’m sorry – really,” Collin said, clearly ready to be done with the conversation. “I do apologize.”
I glanced back down at the ground, watching the colorful scraps of fabric swirling around the edges of the stained carpet.
Burt made a snorting sound and spit something over his shoulder. Then he toed the sex doll.
“How much you think Ernie could get for this?”
I HAD GOTTEN past the body scare by Friday evening when I got ready to meet Pete at Lori’s shop. Despite the fact that we were going to be choosing a gift for his girlfriend, I still wanted to look nice.
“What do you think, the blue cashmere V-neck or the purple blouse?”
Blue Cat stared at me from his perch on the floor of my closet. Then he went back to sniffing the orange safety vest I’d tossed in the corner.
“A lot of help you are,” I muttered, holding up the shirts for my own benefit. “The blouse,” I said aloud. “The V-neck is a little low-cut. I don’t want him to think I’m trying to seduce him while we’re shopping for his girlfriend.”
Blue Cat blinked at me.
“You’re right,” I said, hanging up the purple blouse. “I’m in coveralls and decay all day long. Can’t hurt to look a little girly, show some skin. V-neck it is.”
I pulled the sweater over my head and began digging in the back of my closet for my favorite Marc Jacobs pencil heels. I slid them on and checked myself out in the mirror. Sexy sweater, designer jeans, nice shoes. I was aiming for classy-casual. I hoped I’d succeeded.
My cell phone rang, and I stopped touching up my lipstick to glance at the number.
“Hey, Lori,” I said as I tucked the phone against my shoulder and tried to remove a bit of dried mascara beneath my eyebrow.
“When are you getting here?”
“I’m walking, so thirty minutes..”
“This should be fun! Macy really wanted to be here, but she had to run.”
“Sweden this time?”
Lori laughed. “Actually, I showed her those pictures you texted me of the counterfeit handbag scraps. She got all fired up about it, said she’d do some sleuthing.”
“Sleuthing?”
“I didn’t want to ask. With her family connections though—”
“Right. Not that we know for sure about the whole mob thing but–”
“Sure, if there’s something criminal going on, I guess she’d know where to start looking.”
“Exactly. Okay, Lor, I’m hanging up now. I’ll be there in a few. Don’t slobber all over Pete if he gets there before me.”
“That cute, huh?”
“You probably wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.”
I tucked the phone back in my purse and looked at Blue Cat. He was stretched out on my blue-gray sofa getting blue-gray fur all over my blue-gray suede jacket.
“Be good,” I told him as I wrestled the jacket out from under his lumpy body.
Blue Cat stood and yawned, stretching his way toward the bedroom where he’d undoubtedly find something that wasn’t blue-gray and cover it with fur. I stepped around him and headed out the door.
The evening was pleasant, albeit a tiny bit drizzly. Living outside Portland for most of my life, I was accustomed to spending most of my time at least a little soggy.
I arrived at Lori’s shop three minutes early and was surprised to see Pete getting there at precisely the same time. He stood there looking like a fully-clothed underwear model. His dark hair was damp from the rain, and his leather jacket appeared buttery soft. His jeans were worn in all the right places, and I had to fight to keep my eyes off a few of them.
“Hey, JJ,” he called as I took down my umbrella and smiled at him. “Good timing.” He held the door open. “After you.”
Lori smiled her perfect pixie smile as she stared Pete up and down. From the look on her face, she had just mentally undressed him and posed him in her window display with a strategically placed wallet.
“Hello there, you must be Pete.” Lori stood and walked around the edge of her counter to greet him. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
I flashed her a warning look.
“Not that much,” she amended. “I mean, JJ’s only known you a week, but then she’s kind of a—”
I stepped behind the counter and discretely kicked my sister in the shin.
“What’s your girlfriend’s favorite color?” I asked Pete.
Pete smiled down at Lori. “It’s great to meet you, too. And my girlfriend’s favorite color changes frequently, so why don’t you just show me some things you recommend.”
Lori grinned up at him approvingly as she led him to the large display at the front of the store. I stared after them, enjoying the way Pete filled out his jeans.
“What sort of bag does she usually carry?” Lori asked him.
Pete looked mildly puzzled. “Brown?”
Lori laughed. “Okay, that’s a start. Right here we have a classic clutch with this really beautiful gold hardware, and this one here is a more modern, hobo-style bag with...”
I tuned her out for a moment as I pretended to browse the store. Instead, I took the opportunity to study Pete from as many angles as possible. He truly was a magnificent sight to behold. Though the jeans and leather jacket were nothing fancy, everything fit as though it had been tailored to him.
Come to think of it, that was possible. It had to be tough to find things off the rack for shoulders that broad. I made a mental note to look harder for a copy of Bionic Cyber Cops in Monster Trucks. I had already checked several video stores, but the clerks had all given me blank looks and told me to check online.
“So she could wear this one as a cross-body style or shorten the strap like this,” Lori was saying.
“How about if I just hand you my credit card and JJ here points to her favorite thing in the store,” he said, smiling over at me. “She speaks highly of your work, so I trust her taste.”
I beamed at the compliment. Lori beamed at the credit card. I pivoted on my heel and walked over to the rack near the middle of the shop.
“This is one of Lori’s original designs,” I said, picking up a beautiful bag made of hand-tooled crimson leather. “Harper’s Bazaar is doing an article about her next month, and this is one they wanted to feature. All her bags have a special lining with stars on the fabric. No two are exactly alike.”
“Stars, huh? That’s pretty cool.”
Lori flushed with pleasure as Pete pretended to care about things like the signature hardware and matching wallet.
“Sold,” he said, handing Lori his Visa. “That was easy. Do you gift wrap?”
“Absolutely.” She took the card with one hand and reached out with the other to grab the bag from me. “And thank you for supporting a local designer.”
“Speaking of designers,” I said, “Here are those fabric scraps.”
“Oh, let me see,” Lori said, setting Pete’s bag down on the counter and holding out her hand. I reached into my purse and pulled out the Ziploc baggie stuffed with colorful fabric and fake bits of leather.
Lori snatched it and dumped the contents out on the counter. I caught a faint whiff of rotting cheese as Lori began pawing through the material. “You’r
e absolutely right,” she said, studying the pile. “This is all counterfeit. Look at this, the pattern is aligned all wrong. It actually looks like someone’s practicing stitching here. And these three pieces are pretty similar – like maybe someone’s testing out a few different fabric samples or something.”
Pete picked up a swatch and studied it for a minute, trying to follow the conversation. He looked up at me, frowning. “You found this at the dump?”
“Yup,” I told him. “I thought I ran over a dead body, but it turned out to be a sex toy wearing stilettos and then I noticed this stuff right beside it and—”
Pete dropped the fabric and looked at my sister. “This sort of thing probably cuts into your business, huh?”
“It’s not just that,” she said, studying a scrap of fake Gucci that was speckled with something red and gummy. “Counterfeit designer goods are a $600 billion a year industry. Think of it as 750,000 American jobs lost.”
“Not to mention stealing someone else’s idea,” I said, feeling fiercely protective of my sister.
Lori shrugged. “It’s more an issue of where the money goes. Designer knockoffs like this are usually made in third world sweatshops, and the money ends up funding drug cartels, terrorist activity – things like that.”
“There’s an article I read about a plant they busted in Thailand,” I said, clenching my fists around two scraps of dirty fabric. “They found a bunch of little kids all sitting on the floor assembling bags. The owners had broken the children’s legs so the bones wouldn’t mend and they couldn’t leave.”
“Just so people can buy a fake Gucci for a hundred bucks out of the back of someone’s van,” Lori snarled, looking like a vicious blonde elf.
Pete took a step back. “Wow,” he said, glancing at the fabric again. “I had no idea.”
“Most people don’t,” she said, abandoning the fabric scraps as she turned her attention back to wrapping Pete’s gift. “They want a knockoff Prada bag or a fake Rolex watch and they think it’s a victimless crime. So are you going to do anything about it?” Lori looked up from the elaborate bow she was tying on Pete’s package.
My thoughts veered in an inappropriate direction at the thought of Pete’s package.
Lori quirked an eyebrow at me. “JJ?”
I cleared my throat. “I don’t know if there’s anything I can do about it.”
“Can you call the cops?”
“I guess. There’s probably not much they can do, either.”
“Well, there’s always Macy,” Lori said. “She’s already hot on the trail of something. She said she had a good lead on a possible counterfeiting ring and she really wanted to come see the fabric scraps in person.”
“I can’t believe she could have found anything that quickly.”
Lori shrugged. “Well, she does have a lot of family connections. I’m meeting her at Velvet for a drink in a few minutes. Give me the fabric scraps to show her.”
“Sure, no problem.” I handed them over.
“Did you tell your boss about finding this stuff?”
Pete shook his head and tapped the side of the Ziploc bag. “Don’t let Gordy know you took these from the landfill. Even though it’s trash, that’s one rule they’re pretty strict about – don’t take anything from the pits.”
“Huh,” I said. “You can sleep with your co-workers but you can’t steal the garbage. Good to know.”
Lori and Pete both stared at me with alarm.
“I wasn’t suggesting—”
“What’s your girlfriend’s name?” Lori interrupted, grabbing a pen off the counter. “I’ll write it on the gift tag.”
“That’s okay,” Pete said, turning back to Lori. “I’ll take care of it at home. Thanks for doing that.”
Lori set the pen down and thrust the beautifully wrapped box at Pete, smiling pleasantly. “I hope she enjoys it. I put my business card in there in case she has any questions or needs to return it.”
“Thanks,” Pete said, taking the gift and tucking it under one arm. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”
“And here,” Lori handed him another of her new business cards. “In case you know anyone else who needs a handbag.”
Pete took the card and started to slide it into his wallet. “Ow!” He drew his hand to his mouth and gave me an embarrassed grin. “Paper cut. You’d think I’d be better at paper handling, being a secretary and all.”
“No, it’s the cards,” I said. “Lori had to pick the cardstock with the rough edges.”
“Sorry,” she said as she rummaged beneath the counter and came out with a tiny Band-Aid. “But hey, at least now I know my business card doubles as a weapon.”
“And this is why I left the corporate world,” I muttered as I took the Band-Aid wrapper from Pete and tossed it in the trash.
“Thanks,” Pete said and flashed the Band-Aid at Lori. “Good as new. Hey, did JJ tell you we ran into a high school friend of yours the other night?”
“Friend.” Lori spit the word out like a moldy watermelon seed. “That’s not the word I’d use for Adam, but yes, JJ and I talked about it.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “You never forget your first love.”
“Or stop hoping to see him panhandling on a street corner.”
“Or in your bed.”
Lori smacked me on the shoulder. “Not true. He keeps calling though, and he stopped by twice. I’m still ignoring him.”
“It’s possible he’s actually changed, you know,” I pointed out.
“It’s also possible I’d enjoy removing my spleen with a grapefruit spoon. Besides,” she said, shooting me an evil grin, “I’d rather take a page from my big sister’s book and play the field for awhile.”
I kicked Lori in the shin again.
“Ouch,” said Pete.
I looked down at his shin. Then up at his face. He was grinning at me like I’d just flashed my boobs. I considered doing that to distract him from the awkward direction the conversation was taking.
“Sorry,” I said, shooting one more glare at my sister before smiling back at Pete. “You probably need to get going, huh? Lots of big plans for Friday evening?”
“If by ‘big plans’ you mean ‘drinking a beer and watching bad television,’ then yes. Come on. I’ll walk you out.”
I gave my sister a peck on the cheek and promised to call later. Then I followed Pete out the door and into a downpour that was a whole lot wetter than the drizzle had been.
“Damn weather,” I muttered as I popped up my umbrella.
“You walked here?”
“Yeah, it’s not too far.”
“Let me give you a ride. It’s the least I can do after you helped me find the birthday gift.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“It’s no trouble at all. Come on.” He caught my elbow and steered me toward his car. I smiled, grateful for the ride, grateful for the warmth of his hand.
I stopped smiling when Pete froze in front of a late-model Audi with a smashed window.
I swallowed, staring at the carnage. “Let me go out on a limb here and guess your car actually had a windshield a few minutes ago?”
Pete toed a shard of glass. “It also wasn’t covered in blood.”
CHAPTER FOUR
It took almost an hour for the cops to finish walking in circles around the car, snapping photos, and jotting notes on official looking forms.
Fortunately, the blood turned out to be ketchup. The police were able to deduce this using their superior investigative skills and the fact that I tripped over a broken Heinz bottle beside the left rear tire.
Unfortunately, none of us had a clue what the hell had happened.
“So you don’t have any thoughts about who might want to vandalize your automobile, Mr. Wilco?” asked the police officer, raising one eyebrow as though to imply the damage might have been caused by our own over-exuberant condiment usage.
“No, sir,” Pete said, fingering a piece of crime s
cene tape as he looked around at the half-dozen police officers surrounding his car. “Not a clue.”
“How about your girlfriend?” the cop pressed. “Anyone upset with her?”
“Huh?” Pete asked, looking confused.
“I’m not his girlfriend,” I interrupted, recognizing the cop’s train of thought. “And no. I don’t have any enemies.”
Pete cleared his throat. “So do you have all the evidence you need now?”
“Yeah, sure, we’re done here. You need help calling a cab or an auto shop? Or maybe a hot dog vendor?” The cop laughed like this wasn’t the twelfth ketchup joke he’d told in the last thirty minutes.
I looked at Lori, who had raced out a few minutes earlier to see what all the fuss was about. She had a steely pixie scowl on her face and a baggie of fabric scraps in her hand.
“I just called Macy and left a message saying I’ll be late for drinks,” she said. “Do you need these scraps back right away?”
“Actually, since they’re here, let’s just tell the cops.” I snatched the baggie from her hand and held it up for the police to see. “Officer, we’d like to report a potential crime.”
The cop blinked at me. “Another one?”
“We think someone might be making fake handbags.”
He looked at Pete’s smashed windshield, then back at the baggie in my hand. “Is this connected somehow?”
“No. I just thought that—”
“Counterfeiting isn’t exactly my domain, lady. Besides that, I’m off in ten minutes. Unless this is urgent, your best bet is to stop by the station tomorrow and fill out a report.”
I was about to argue, but Lori shivered in the rain beside me. I looked at Pete, who shook the water out of his hair and grinned.
“Come on,” I said. “Why don’t we call a tow truck from Lori’s shop?”
“Thanks,” Pete said, pausing to shake the officer’s hand before allowing Lori to steer us back around the corner.
“Don’t mention it,” Lori answered. “It’s the least I can do, since you came down here to shop in my store.”
I followed a few steps behind, my enthusiasm for admiring Pete’s butt sadly dampened by the guilt I was feeling.
