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The Lanvin Murders (Vintage Clothing Mysteries)

Page 12

by Angela M. Sanders


  “It was Heather on the phone.” He sighed and started the car.

  “You told her that you're taking me to tonight's dinner, right?” It dawned on her that Andrew might have “forgotten” to mention it to his wife.

  “Yes, of course. I was just telling her that I was here to pick you up. I might have hinted that it was a boring event at the historical society. I figured there wasn't any reason in getting her too upset.”

  She looked away. He hadn't changed at all.

  “You know, you always understood me.” He cast a quick glance at her cleavage.

  Same old tune. It was easier to take Andrew's calls and meet for the occasional coffee than not see him. At least, it used to be. She remembered the night they stayed up late years ago playing cards with friends in a cabin on Mount Hood. He was relaxed, happy to be winning a pun-fest inspired by the word “egg.” He had locked eyes with Joanna across the worn card table and lifted his lips in a conspiratorial smile. She touched the charm on her bracelet. The sooner they arrived at the dinner party and were surrounded by other people the better.

  “I need to stop for gas. Shouldn't be a minute.” He pulled the BMW up to a pump across from an old pickup truck. Andrew honked the horn. “Where's the attendant?” Andrew's impatience could flash so quickly into anger. The same weekend on Mount Hood he was so loving, they blew a tire on the way home. The flat wasn't anyone's fault, but he tore a branch from a tree along the road and thrashed it against the tree until its bark shredded. Joanna had moved to the other side of the car and watched intently, measuring her breathing, until his anger was spent.

  He honked again. “Why does everything take so long? I don't know why this state has such a stupid law about not letting you pump your own gas.”

  “I'm in no hurry.” Despite her irritation, she fell into her old habit of calming him. “It's a nice evening.”

  “Yes, I guess it is.” His voice relaxed. “Where did you find this dress? I like it.” He leaned forward to stroke the fabric at her shoulder.

  He had crossed the line. Just as she raised her hand to push him away, Andrew leaned back and waved his hand. “Over here. We don't have all day, you know. Fill it up.”

  “Then I guess you'll have to tell that to the guy who actually works here. Hi Joanna.”

  She turned in her seat to see Paul standing next to the truck. He held a squeegee and must have been washing the windows on the other side when they had pulled up. “Oh, hi Paul.” Damn Andrew.

  Paul dropped the squeegee into a bucket. Andrew might be wearing Gucci, but Joanna knew plenty of people who would pay good money to look like Paul in his faded jeans and tee shirt. “I think the attendant is checking the oil on the Honda over there.” Paul nodded at the far end of the lot. He opened the truck's door and slid in. As he started the engine, he rolled down the driver's side window and said, “You look great. Have fun tonight.”

  When the truck pulled out of the lot, Joanna turned to Andrew. “Why are you so rude? Just because a man is washing his windows you think he works here?”

  “I don't see why you're so worked up. I mean, he could have been the attendant. He looked like it.”

  “And even if he was, that's still no excuse for yelling at him.” When they were dating, she never would have risked Andrew's anger by talking to him like this. It felt good to let loose.

  “What's got into you? Who is that guy, anyway?”

  The attendant strolled over to the BMW. “Fill 'er up?” Andrew nodded and handed him a credit card.

  “What's it to you who he is?”

  “You're just so defensive. You're not interested in him, are you? I mean, he doesn't look like your type.”

  “That's none of your business. Besides, what makes you think you know my type?” The genie had officially left the bottle.

  “I mean, he hardly looks like an Ivy League graduate. What does he do for a living? Deliver beer?” Andrew drew back. “Wait a minute. That was the guy changing the locks at the store, wasn’t it? Do you have a thing for him?”

  “Maybe he didn't go to Harvard, but that doesn't mean that he's not worth knowing. At least he's not the kind of guy who makes passes at an ex-girlfriend while his wife is home with the baby.” The gas station attendant lifted his eyebrows. Joanna knew she was making a scene, but for once she didn't care.

  “Listen, just because you're sorry we broke up, you don't have to take it out on me. You have no idea what's going on for me at home. It isn't as easy as you think. I'm under a lot of stress.”

  It figured that the discussion would roll back around to Andrew. It always did. “I’m not sorry I broke up with you. In fact, I'm happier about it every day that goes by.”

  “Why? I treated you well.”

  “No. You didn't.” She had wanted to say those words for a long time. “I treat you well” had been one of Andrew's stock phrases. To avoid a fight, she had always let it slide. Apparently she was looking for a fight today. “You didn't treat me well at all. You put me down in a thousand little ways. You didn't listen to me. I didn't dress well enough for you. I never finished my law degree. I never was good enough, and I almost believed it. No, the best thing I ever did was to leave you.”

  Joanna braced herself for his anger. Would she be able to make it home walking in her evening pumps? Instead, he was quiet. Maybe her words had been a little harsh. Regret replaced the thrill of letting loose. “Look, I'm sorry. Let's forget this ever happened.”

  The attendant handed back Andrew's credit card and receipt and replaced the cap to the gas tank. He glanced at Joanna, fascinated.

  Andrew started the car. He sounded subdued. “Heather says we need to see a counselor. She says if we don’t, she'll leave me. I know things between her and me haven't been perfect, but I'm so busy these days with the campaign.”

  Oh lord. She pushed back in her seat and looked straight ahead. “I'm sure you'll work it out.” It was shaping up to be quite an evening.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The sun sat low on the horizon, casting the lilac light through the sky the French called “the blue hour.” They drove in silence for a few minutes before Joanna spoke. “Who will be at the dinner?”

  “The host is a senior vice president at Bowman, and he's invited some people from the Forestry Institute. And Chick and Laura, of course.” His confident tone had returned. He shifted down as they approached a curve. “There’s one other person you’ll know, too.” He kept his eyes on the road.

  “Who?”

  “Eve Lancer.”

  Great. Just great. “Andrew. Why didn’t you—”

  “I know you don’t like her, but she’s dating Marlene’s brother. Marlene and Denny are the hosts.” When Joanna didn’t respond, Andrew continued. “What’s the big deal with Eve, anyway? I know you’ve got something against her, I just don’t know what.”

  “She’s just not—it’s that—well, she doesn’t really love vintage clothes.” She knew that sounded lame. Andrew would never get it.

  “That’s no crime. I’m not totally wild about vintage clothing, either—except on you, of course.”

  She shot him a warning glance. “And now she’s opening a shop just down the block from me. It’ll devastate Tallulah’s Closet, and she knows it.”

  “Maybe it will help the store by drawing more vintage clothing buyers to the neighborhood. It sounds like she’s a good businesswoman. What’s wrong with that? You could probably pick up a few tips from her.”

  Joanna folded her arms. “That’s not how she plays. But never mind. Don’t worry, I promise I won’t make a scene.” Now not only did she have to figure out if and how to hand over Marnie’s key, she’d have to weather Eve’s veiled barbs.

  They pulled up next to a mid-1960s house perched on the edge of a hill overlooking downtown Portland. The newly rich bought faux Tuscan villas on lots carved out of the rapidly disappearing blueberry fields on the other side of the hills, but more established families had houses here, in the West Hill
s. The house was a hexagon partially circled by a deck. On one side, a patio and lawn ran between the house and the edge of the steep hill. The patio stepped up to the deck, which in turn led into a large open dining and living room.

  Andrew handed keys to a uniformed valet. Parking was notoriously difficult in the West Hills, especially along the crest where the houses—many supported by stilts—hovered at the edge of cliffs to better take advantage of the views of downtown with Mount Hood, Mount Adams, and Mount St Helens in the distance.

  They stepped from the stone-paved side entrance into the house and were met by a server in black with a white apron and a silver tray of champagne glasses. Andrew ignored the server and hurried deeper into the house, probably to find the host and get the full guest list. Joanna took a glass, then did a double take.

  “Colette. I didn't expect to see you here.”

  “Hi, Joanna. I can't live off my paintings, but at least with catering I get a free meal. Hey, is that the dress you had in the window a few weeks ago? It looks great on you.”

  “Thanks. In the end I couldn't bear to sell it.” Colette was called away, and Joanna glanced after her, certain she'd know more people working in the kitchen then she would at the party. The Remmicks hadn’t arrived yet. Eve neither.

  Andrew returned and led her toward the living room. Its glass doors opened to a small group of people, champagne flutes in hand, talking on the patio. “Mrs. Porter,” Andrew said, “I'd like you to meet my friend, Joanna. Joanna, this is Mrs. Porter.”

  “Call me Marlene.” Someone caught Andrew's attention, and he strode across the patio, leaving her alone with Marlene. She wore a crisp beige dress, probably Narciso Rodriguez, and demure gold hoops. She was preternaturally tanned.

  “It's nice to meet you,” Joanna said.

  “Yes.” Marlene’s eyes wandered towards the guests behind Joanna.

  “You have a lovely house. Such a wonderful view,” she tried again.

  “It's a Pietro Belluschi. We love it.” She looked at Joanna with an eyebrow raised. “My, what a fun dress.”

  Joanna tipped the last of her champagne down her mouth. Maybe coming to the dinner was a mistake. She could have just mailed the key to Remmick with a note. “It's crazy isn't it? The dress came from the Honey Black estate.”

  The mention of Honey Black got Marlene's attention. Honey Black had inherited a fortune in timber money, and the millions she gave away through her foundation barely made a dent in it. Joanna had found a folded blank check in the pocket of one of her coats. The rumor was Black always kept a blank check with her in case she met someone without much money but whose roof needed replacing or daughter a tonsillectomy. “Really? I guess you are about her size.”

  “She had wonderful taste. I feel lucky to wear her dress.”

  “Marlene.” Eve swept up behind Marlene and looped an arm around her waist.

  Marlene’s expression warmed immediately, and she returned the hug. “Eve, darling. You look spectacular.”

  She did, Joanna noted sourly. Her honeyed hair was thick and shiny, pulled back behind her ears to reveal shoulder-dusting earrings. She seemed perfectly at ease.

  When she saw Joanna, Eve looked momentarily surprised, then her lips widened into a smile. “Why, I didn’t know you’d be here.” She pointed at the seam of Joanna’s dress, just below her bust. “The seam’s loosening a little there. You might want to get that fixed before it gets worse.” Eve looked over Joanna’s shoulder at an arriving guest. “Got to go say hi.”

  Joanna turned to see the red soles of Eve’s Louboutins crossing the patio as Eve left to pour her charm on a suited executive. She chided herself for not taking the time to get a manicure. Kevin knew a good place on Broadway. And maybe a touch of concealer around her eyes wouldn’t have hurt. Women like Eve seemed to have a gift for perfectly smooth legs and magazine-worthy eye shadow.

  When Joanna turned again to face Marlene, she was gone. Colette took Joanna's empty glass and handed her another full one. She held out a tray of hors d'oeuvres.

  “Try the sliders. They're pretty good.”

  Joanna took one and a small linen napkin.

  “Don’t let Marlene get you down. For all her airs, remember she's just a real estate agent. In the platinum club, sure, but still a real estate agent. And that other one—” They both watched Eve mesmerize the executive and a woman who had joined them. The man’s hand dropped suspiciously low on Eve’s back. Thankfully his wife didn’t seem to notice. “Well, I’m not sure what to say,” Colette finished. “Good luck.”

  The patio’s flagstones radiated heat. Besides Eve, Marlene, and a man who must be Marlene’s husband—he looked like he'd rather be in his office reading timber sales estimates—Joanna saw six other couples. Some of the women smiled and nodded at her, but after looking her over decided that she wasn't worth the trouble of crossing the patio. Snippets of conversation floated toward Joanna, mostly about a new golf resort under construction near the coast. Remmick and his wife still hadn’t arrived. Not that she knew how she would get the congressman alone once he did show up.

  At last a black towncar pulled up to the house. This one wouldn't require the valet and would remain in the place of honor at the head of the driveway. Marlene trotted to the living room while the rest of the guests watched expectantly.

  Remmick and his wife appeared on the patio, each holding a champagne flute. Laura wore the black cocktail dress with the chiffon overlay she'd bought at Tallulah's Closet the day before.

  “Hello, Joe. Hello, Diane. Marty, how are you?” Remmick shook hands with the people assembled on the patio.

  Andrew drew Joanna forward. “Chick, I'd like you to meet Joanna Hayworth.”

  The congressman took her hand in both of his and looked straight in her eyes. His hands were strong and warm. “Joanna, I'm pleased to meet you.”

  Despite herself, she felt drawn by the politician's charisma, felt everyone watching them. A vague trail of expensive cologne rose from him. “Congressman Remmick, it's nice to meet you. Your speech downtown today was so moving.”

  “Please, call me Chick.” He moved on to greet the woman next to her.

  “Hello, Joanna, what a nice surprise to see you again,” Laura said and touched her bodice. “What do you think of the dress?”

  “I can't imagine it looking better on anyone else.” How strange to be in the public eye, Joanna thought. Wherever the Remmicks go, people watch them, and they know it. What happens to a man who is surrounded by people always ready to tell him that he's right? His popularity is their popularity, and his influence is theirs, too. It would be hard to stay down to earth. You'd start to believe being right and powerful was your destiny. Maybe even enough so to think that you're above the law. That breaking into a store or threatening an old lover was fine. Just as long as certain information never reached the public.

  “Laura, so nice to see you.” Eve hugged Laura, each shooting air kisses past the other. “I didn’t know you wore vintage or I would have sent you some truly special dresses.” She smiled. “Not that this dress isn’t wonderfully flattering on you, of course.”

  Marlene called the guests in to the dining room for dinner. Darkness was just starting to settle. The taper candles running down the middle of the polished wood table cast warm pools of light that reflected in the tall windows.

  “Please, everyone, take a seat. Congressman, Laura, I've put you here,” Marlene said, her hands on the backs of two chairs at the head of the table. Joanna pulled out the teak chair nearest her. Andrew sat closer to the head of the table, near Remmick. The table ran parallel to the windows, and Joanna's seat faced the inside of the house. A frisée salad was already set at her place.

  “The salad greens are from Sauvie Island and the lardons are from a farmer in the Hood River valley,” Marlene said. “Laura and Eve, your salads are vegetarian, as you like them.”

  Servers began pouring a Willamette Valley Pinot Gris, and a discussion of the merits of vario
us single vineyard Pinot Noirs started up at one end of the table. Joanna nervously sipped her wine then pushed the glass away. She needed to keep her wits about her if she was going to talk to Remmick about the key.

  The woman to Joanna's right looked up the table to Laura. “I just have to tell you how marvelous you look tonight, Mrs. Remmick.” Laura's hair was pulled into a sleek chignon. A glittering diamond bracelet punctuated one bare arm.

  “You like my dress? I bought it yesterday at a charming vintage clothing boutique on the east side. It's Joanna's store.” She nodded at Joanna. Six bejeweled heads swiveled to look at her.

  “Thank you. You'd make anything look wonderful,” Joanna said. “But that dress truly was made for you.”

  “Really?” A woman with mathematically-placed highlights in her hair said. “Vintage? How interesting. When I was in high school I used to wear vintage clothes.”

  Another woman with deep pink lipstick said, “When I think of all the things my mother had, and we just gave them to Goodwill after she died.”

  Like I haven't heard that before, Joanna thought.

  “You look so chic,” one of the younger women said to Laura. “You, too.” She turned to Joanna, as if seeing her for the first time. “Do you have any suits like Jackie O used to wear? You know, the kind with the jewel neck and jacket that stops here?” She placed a hand high on her waist.

  “Lots of them. We have an ivory brocade suit in now that would look terrific on you.” She hoped that she'd have enough business cards to pass out after dinner. She made a mental note to vacuum the store in the morning.

  Eve’s voice rose from a few seats down the table. “Isn’t Joanna clever? Such fun dresses she stocks, too. I do love to stop by her store when I need a little something informal.”

  Playing dirty, Joanna thought. She’s going to say something nasty, but not nasty enough that anyone could call her on it. She tensed in anticipation.

  Eve continued. “If you like vintage, especially the higher-end dresses, come by my studio for a private showing. I have a few, special things I don’t post in my online store, Eve’s Temptation. Or you can come by my new boutique. I’m hoping to have it open by the end of the year.” Her laugh was truly musical, soft and clear. “That was gauche, wasn’t it? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your discussion, Joanna.”

 

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