Crushed Velvet

by Diane Vallere

  I zoomed out on the photo and took in the composition. The heavy rolls of fabric were on the right. Phil’s body was on the left. Crates of dry goods sat by his head. Crumbs scattered about with plastic zip ties. And the empty jug of Genevieve’s tea on its side.

  But what was that under the tea jug?

  Again I zoomed the photo, this time by the jug. The carpet under the jug was a darker color than the rest of the interior floor. The darkness spread in an irregular pattern around the lid of the container. It was a stain.

  The tea had spilled onto the interior of the van. Which meant there was a chance Phil didn’t drink it! Even if I couldn’t find out who had murdered Phil Girard, I could prove that Genevieve hadn’t poisoned him if I could prove it had spilled before he had a chance to drink it.

  Genevieve kept shelves of those jugs at Tea Totalers. I had no idea how much tea one contained, but I watched enough true crime television to know that I could find out by re-creating the scene. What I needed was a carpet and a jug and a distance of six feet or so, to mimic the distance I’d stood when I took the photo.

  Tomorrow morning, before going to Tea Totalers, I would swing by Get Hammered, the local hardware store, and buy a cheap carpet. I’d stage the spill. And once I had my proof, I’d take it to Sheriff Clark. I could have the whole thing wrapped up by lunchtime.

  Which left me with one problem: How could I conduct the experiment here and still manage to get my fabric from Mack by noon?

  Even if I had the time to drive to Los Angeles tomorrow, twelve bolts of velvet wouldn’t fit in the back of my VW Bug. I was going to have to call in a favor. And since this was a fabric-related favor, I knew exactly who I was going to call. If only I could predict what my former boss was going to ask in return.

  I didn’t bother calling the showroom. Giovanni closed up at six, if not earlier. He worked his staff far harder than other design studios, but the one thing that made the job bearable was that he was borderline religious about quitting time. Six months into my job with him, he’d put me on salary. I thought it demonstrated my value. I soon learned it meant he expected me to keep working from home when the showroom closed.

  For all the hard work I’d put in at To The Nines, it was Giovanni who owed me something, not the other way around, but a certain devil-occupied condominium at the earth’s core would freeze over before he’d acknowledge it. I braced myself for the inevitable hard time I was about to receive and called Giovanni’s home number.

  “Hi, Giovanni. It’s Poly Monroe. I need a favor.”

  “It’s about time you came to your senses. I’ll take you back, but you’re not getting more money.”

  So nice to know I was missed. “That’s not why I’m calling. I’m in a bind and I was hoping you could help me out.”

  “That’s rich. You leave me in the lurch during the holidays and you want a favor from me?”

  “Giovanni, I left in early November. And I not only finished the sketches and the design direction for the workroom, but I left you concepts and sketches for Valentine’s Day and prom. I did six months’ worth of work for you in my last two weeks. I would hardly call that ‘the lurch.’”

  “We had to scrap your plans. Too much detail work. Too much fabric needed. I bought four hundred yards of pink netting. We’re going with a princess theme, but the girls are having a hard time with the bodices.”

  I bit my lower lip and cringed, imagining the high schools of Los Angeles filled with wannabe princesses in poufy gowns of pink netting. Add in fairy wings from the dollar store and it would look like a clone army of Glinda the Good Witch. I wondered if Giovanni had been knocked in the head before his taste level had finished developing.

  “By girls, you mean the women in the workroom, right?” He grunted. “Why aren’t they using boning?”

  “Boning costs too much. I told them to figure out an alternative.”

  Boning is a thin strip of plastic encased in a sleeve of fabric. It is sewn inside a bodice to create a cage-like shape. These days, it’s most commonly used in wedding dresses and the occasional Renaissance Faire costume, but judging from the stash I found when I took inventory of the store, it was fairly popular at one time. A lightbulb went off over my head and I knew my way in with Giovanni.

  “You know I own a fabric store now?”

  He grunted again.

  “I’ve been going through the inventory, and I found a pretty sizeable supply of boning. It’s yours if you’ll help me out with my favor.”

  “What do you want?”

  “It’s minor, really. I ordered twelve bolts of velvet and they were delivered to Mack’s Fabrics two blocks south of Santee Alley. There was a mix-up and Mack wants me to pick up the fabric tomorrow by noon. I can’t get there.”

  “Why’d you use Mack? We never use him.”

  I didn’t want to tell Giovanni that was one of the reasons. “I’m in a pinch here. Seriously. I prepaid for the fabric, and I can’t afford to write it off.”

  “Pick up twelve bolts of velvet by tomorrow noon in exchange for—how much boning do you have?”

  I’d counted sixty-three rolls. At twelve yards per roll, that was over seven hundred fifty yards of boning, way more than he’d ever need to produce pink net princess gowns.

  “Twenty rolls,” I said quickly. “Give or take a few,” I added.

  “Twenty rolls and you deliver complete patterns and instructions on how the girls should use it to minimize cost.”

  “You’ll pick up my fabric? By noon tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, fine, I’ll get your fabric. What is it, anyway?”

  “Thirty-dollar-a-yard velvet. Poly-silk blend. It’s a custom weave and it has my name on it.”

  “You always went for those pie-in-the-sky fabrics. You got a buyer?”

  “I am the buyer,” I said.

  “The world has changed, Poly. You’re going to have to learn to function the way I do. Cut corners, quick turnaround.”

  “That’s not my style,” I said. “Can I count on you?”

  He grunted a third time.

  We said good-bye and hung up. As risky as it had been to ask Giovanni for help, I knew he’d come through for me. Ever since he learned I was reopening the store he knew I represented a channel for him to get supplies. Today’s negotiation would serve to whet his appetite. He’d show up with my fabric, of that I was certain.

  If only I was as certain of my efforts on Genevieve’s behalf.

  • • •

  The next morning, I woke at six and took a quick shower. The scent of lemon verbena from the soap invigorated me, and I lingered a little too long under the hot spray. When I finally turned the water off, steam covered the mirror and left a film of moisture on the sink. I cracked the door and let the steam escape while I towel-dried my short auburn hair and finished the rest of my bathroom routine.

  My black sweater and sailor pants were draped over the foot of the sleigh bed, covering the dark cherrywood. Pins was curled up under the neckline of the sweater, his head tipped against his paw. I left the clothes where they were so as not to wake him and rummaged around in the large armoire for something to wear today.

  I dressed in narrow black jeans, a black T-shirt, and a black zip-front hoodie. The arm of the sweatshirt had Polyester written down it in cheap rhinestones I’d found in the trash of a craft store next to To The Nines. When Giovanni learned I could embellish by hand he cleaned out the trash and demanded I teach the workroom my technique so we could hide flaws in the cheap fabrics he bought. That had been a particularly blingy season.

  I pulled on my favorite riding boots, fed the cats, ate a bowl of raisin bran cereal, and left. It was just going on seven and I wanted to stop off at Charlie’s before I headed to Tea Totalers.

  I crossed the street and jogged between cars that were stuck at the light. The bays to her shop were alre
ady open, and sounds of Van Halen trickled out of the office. Vaughn’s car was up on the lift, same as yesterday.

  I went to the office and knocked on the door frame. Charlie spun her chair around and checked me out.

  “She’s a whiz kid, you know that?”

  “Who?

  “Frenchy. I told her to figure out a way to make herself useful. She set up some kind of accounting tool for me and inputted all of the receipts and invoices I’ve been meaning to get to. She filed the closed invoices from my desk. She flipped the calendar to April.”

  “It is April,” I said.

  “March was hot. I liked him. I wasn’t ready to turn the page.”

  I glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall. “Do you have a problem with April?”

  “The only problem I have with him is that he’s going to make me forget about March.”

  “So yesterday was okay, right? You two didn’t kill each other, nobody found out she was here, and some work got done.”

  “Sure, yesterday was fine, all the way up to last night. Her hair turned out better than I expected. Once she gets over that putz of a husband, she’s going to be a real heartbreaker.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I’m not so sure how today’s going to go.”

  “Seems to me she likes the work. Give her a couple of projects and she’ll stay busy.”

  “That’s just it. I can’t give her any projects because I can’t find her.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Everything was fine when I did her hair. She said she was tired and turned in. I went out. When I got up this morning, she was gone.”

  Ten

  There was one obvious reason Genevieve would leave, but I wasn’t willing to accept it. “She’s not guilty. She has no reason to leave town. Why is she acting like she’s on the run?”

  “What time was she with you at your store on Monday?” Charlie asked.

  “It was around lunch. The workers took a break after the sign fell, and I asked her if she could make lunch.”

  “Did she?”

  “Yes. The van showed up at the same time we returned with the sandwiches. She took one look inside and vanished. I didn’t see her again until she came back to Material Girl on Monday night.”

  “All things considered, I’m surprised Frenchy turned back up as soon as she did. You have to admit that’s a heck of a way to start a Monday.”

  “Maybe she’s at the tea shop. Maybe she got up early so she could get a few things and not be seen.”

  “You like to believe the best about people, don’t you?” Charlie asked.

  “Not everybody,” I said. “But with Genevieve, I do. I don’t think she has a hidden agenda.”

  “For the sake of my newly organized business files, I hope you’re right.”

  I left Charlie’s Automotive. The morning air was chilly. I walked to Lopez Donuts. The small shop was run by Big Joe and Maria Lopez, two friendly and welcoming residents who had helped me out of a jam when I first came to San Ladrón. Today there was a line out the door. Two young boys, no more than ten, made their way through the line. Carlos, the taller of the two, offered small paper cups of coffee. Antonio, his younger brother, held a tray with donut pieces resting on white napkins.

  “Want a sample?” Carlos asked each person in front of me. When he reached me, my place in line had crossed the barrier from the outside to in. “Hey, I know you, you’re the material lady,” he said.

  “Yes, that’s me. Polyester.”

  “Do you want a sample?”Antonio asked. He seemed pleased to have beaten his brother to the punch.

  “Sure,” I said. I took a small piece of donut and a paper cup of coffee. When I reached the front counter, Big Joe leaned across it and gave me a bear hug. He turned around and shouted into the kitchen.

  “Maria! Guess who came to see us!”

  “Not now, Joe,” she yelled back. I craned my neck and saw her bustle back and forth between tall metal racks.

  “Busy morning?” I asked.

  “Nonstop. Something about the French tea shop being closed. Good for us, bad for her, I’d say. We ran out of tea bags half an hour ago. Never bothered much with tea before, and we lost some business because we weren’t ready. Maria ran out and bought a box of Lipton. You should have seen the expression on the lady who got that!” He laughed long and loud. Several patrons looked up, startled at the boom of his laughter, but smiled once they saw him. There was no denying the joy of the moment when you were around Big Joe. His laughter was as contagious as poison ivy at a campground of sixth-graders.

  “I see Maria brought in the power team to keep the line calm.”

  He shook his head. “She doesn’t care about child labor laws, that’s for sure. Now, what can I get you?”

  To keep things simple, I went with coffee and a cruller. I waved to Maria when she turned around. She had a smudge of glaze on her forehead and chocolate down the front of her white shirt. I knew better than to hold her up. She was a woman on a mission.

  I finished the donut by the time I was out the door. Across the street, an older gentleman in a plaid flannel shirt and jeans was unlocking the door to Get Hammered. I jogged through traffic and followed him inside. He headed toward the lumber and I headed toward the home décor section. I grabbed the top rug from a stack of clearance carpets and carried it to the front register. I thought about what else we might need to work at Genevieve’s. The fabric would take care of my part of things, but if Kim was going to get that outdoor furniture looking new again, she was going to have to sand it, prime it, and paint it.

  I balanced the carpet on my left hip and grabbed a small mouse sander from the power tool display. I tucked a few packages of refill sandpaper under my arm and proceeded to the checkout line.

  After paying, I readjusted the carpet against my hip and started my walk. I approached the fabric store and looked at the front. Ten years ago my aunt had been murdered inside. Uncle Marius had covered the insides of the windows with thick matte black paint and closed the doors for business. It had taken me days to scrape the black paint from the glass with a small razor, but once I had, I knew the windows would be perfect for showcasing displays that enticed people into the store. I even considered setting my sewing machine in the window so people could watch me construct items. Once I had a staff to man the registers inside the store, that is.

  Distracted, I tripped. The carpet fell to the ground and broke my fall. My coffee flew in front of me and splashed over the concrete. The cup rolled toward the curb.

  The door to the right of the fabric shop opened and Tiki Tom came out. He wore a red short-sleeved shirt printed with the names and maps of various Polynesian islands, and he held a mug shaped like a coconut. “You’re running out of time on the sign, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “The store opens on Sunday. The sign will be up by then.”

  “You sure about that? Looked like your construction crew at the Senior Center yesterday. I heard they were gutting the old workout room so they could add a bingo hall.”

  I stood up with no help from Tom. I corralled the cup and lid and tossed them into the public trash bin, then dusted myself off.

  “I don’t know anything about the Senior Center job. The foreman promised me I’d have my sign this week.”

  Tom looked at the crack in the sidewalk and scowled. “Better not cost me any more business,” he said. He went back inside his store.

  I had four days left before I was supposed to open my doors. On top of everything else, I had to get the contractors to finish the sign job. I didn’t want to be known as the woman with the ugly storefront. I also knew I had my own financial responsibilities to take care of. The business plan I’d presented to the bank had secured me a modest loan that allowed me to pay the taxes and place an order for inventory that was more up-to-date than the store had been lef
t with. The clock was ticking on my opening, and I couldn’t afford to default on the loan and lose the store altogether.

  I picked up the carpet. It was proving to be cumbersome. I had four blocks to go and it was going to be a battle. I was somewhat uncoordinated, the unfortunate end result of being five foot nine with size-seven feet. What I lacked in balance I made up for in flexibility. Good for mat-based Pilates. Bad for ballroom dancing.

  I reached into my messenger bag for my keys and unlocked the gate and door to the fabric store. In the corner of the shop was a small red wagon I’d purchased several months ago. San Ladrón had proven itself to be a small enough town that I could walk most places I wanted to go, but when I found myself loaded down with food, drink, fabric, or carpets and sandpaper, the child’s toy was the perfect solution. I put the sander and paper in the wagon, added a portable steamer and a basket of emergency sewing supplies, and balanced the carpet along the top. I pulled it out the front door and locked the shop behind me. Taking great care not to trip over any additional cracks or exposed tree roots in the sidewalk, I made my way to Tea Totalers.

  I carried the carpet behind the shop and set it on the landing next to the iron furniture Kim had moved around back. I went to the back door and was surprised that the knob turned easily in my grip. Had I forgotten to lock the back door?

  I crept inside the kitchen and looked around. Everything was as I’d left it. In the café portion of the building, the windows were still blocked out by brown paper and the furniture was pushed into the center of the room. I doubled back to the office. The computer was off and the desk was neat. I looked at the counters behind me.

  Clean. The bowl of fruit sat on the shelf and the brown paper bag of avocados was tucked next to it. Just like I’d left it two days ago. Still, something felt off.

  I stepped back into the main portion of the shop and slowly turned around in a circle. The room was dark, and it was hard for me to see details. I couldn’t figure out what had changed except for the rearranging required for the renovation.