Crushed Velvet

by Diane Vallere

  “Things got complicated,” I said. “I honestly don’t know if it’s all going to work out.”

  “That’s too bad. He seemed like a good guy.” We looked at each other for a few seconds, then at the same time we both said, “No, he didn’t,” and laughed.

  “What are you working on?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t think too harshly of me for changing the subject in such a blatant manner.

  “Serving trays,” he said. He laid a rectangle of wood on the right-hand side of the saw and set smaller blocks of wood along the short and long edges of the rectangle. The shorter pieces of wood had oval-shaped openings cut into them already—handles for easy carrying. “I thought you could use pieces of fabric from the interior to line these so they’d coordinate with everything else.”

  “I could decoupage the fabric to the wood. That way the fabric won’t stain and they can be cleaned with soap and water.”

  “Is that hard?”

  “Not hard. Time-consuming. I’ll need to get supplies. How many are you making?”

  “How many do you think she’ll need?”

  “A dozen is a safe number. If there are more, they can be used to hold croi”—I caught myself from using the word croissant—“muffins and pastries.”

  “I have enough wood for two dozen, easy. If you make me a list, I’ll get your supplies when I’m done with the preliminary cuts.”

  “A list . . . sure.” I remembered Genevieve mentioning her shopping list. Maybe if I looked at it, if I checked her records and could see where she got her own supplies, I could get a lead on where Phil might have gone in Los Angeles. “I’ll be inside,” I said.

  I went in the back door and beelined for the computer. It was in sleep mode. I jiggled the mouse impatiently until I realized the monitor had been turned off. When the whole system was awake and running, I opened Word and scanned the list of recent documents. The third one listed was titled “Shopping list.” The date the document was saved corresponded with Sunday, the day Phil had left for Los Angeles.

  I checked over my shoulder to see if Vaughn had followed me inside. He hadn’t. He was bent over the table saw, cutting another length of wood. I turned back to the computer and scanned the items on the screen. It was a short list, mainly composed of items I assumed couldn’t be found locally or ordered online: “fleur de sel, herbes de Provence, leeks, shallots, lentils.” And at the end of the list, one item had been added: “Croissants (6 doz).” Following it, almost as an afterthought, was an asterisk and the words “Highly confidential. Tell anybody about this and I’ll kill you!”

  Eighteen

  My first instinct was to delete the entire last line. That, I knew, would change the date saved on the computer, and I knew if Clark was smart enough to come check the computer, he’d be smart enough to check the dates and times saved on any relevant files. Simply by searching her hard drive for the word croissant he’d find this. The fact that it had last been saved the day before Phil was killed with said baked goods was not going to help Genevieve’s case.

  In fact, just about everything Genevieve had said, done, and probably even thought about on the day Phil was murdered had not helped her case. I couldn’t imagine a crooked prosecutor planting better evidence against her than she’d created on her own. I couldn’t undo the damage Genevieve had done to herself. What I could do was find someone with a better motive.

  Again my thoughts turned to Kim. She had access to the computer, the kitchen, and the tea. What had she and Genevieve talked about before she was hired? I didn’t know. What did I really know about her? Nothing. I did a cursory search on the computer for applications but found nothing.

  Movement from the backyard caught my eye, and I closed out of the files I had opened on the computer, turned off the monitor, and scrambled into the front room. It was as Vaughn and I had left it last night. I picked at the tape that secured the butcher paper to the window frame until I’d freed enough to pull it off. Sunlight flooded through the glass, warming my face and arms.

  I let the curtain fabric fall through my fingers. The panel was heavy, thanks to the lining. Too heavy? I set the wooden rod on the finials mounted to either side of the window and stood back to consider how it looked. During the day, Genevieve might want to have natural sunlight flowing through the shop, and these panels would prohibit that. She needed something else, something sheer to tone down the sun’s intensity but still allow the rays to filter inside. What I needed was voile.

  Voile was a sheer delicate fabric sometimes with a small pattern woven into it in a repeat, and I knew it would be the perfect solution for filtering the sunlight into the tea shop. I could use a double-rod curtain system to allow the sheer panels to hang directly inside the window, and hang the thicker panels on a rod outside of them so they could easily be draped open during store hours. Genevieve could control the amount of light or dark by closing one or both sets of curtains.

  There were a few bolts of voile at the fabric store. I’d relegated them to the should-be-discarded-but-I-can’t-quite-throw-them-away pile after noting an unfortunate musty odor that clung to them. If I remembered correctly, more than one of them even had a fleur-de-lis pattern—perfect for the French theme I was going for. And because Giovanni had always been buying heavily discounted, somewhat damaged fabrics for To The Nines, I already knew there was a way to get rid of the musty odor: white vinegar. Lots and lots of white vinegar.

  I set the curtain panels down and went back to the computer, only to find Vaughn sitting at the desk where I’d been minutes before.

  “I didn’t see you come in,” I said.

  “You looked like you were pondering deep questions involving curtains. I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

  “I’m not sure how I feel about the fact that curtains can distract me from someone entering the building.”

  “Don’t let it get to you. I’ve been told I can be highly stealthy when I want.”

  I raised my eyebrows and glanced down at his Stan Smiths, which had given him away on more than one occasion since I’d known him.

  “Everybody isn’t as observant as you are,” he added. He made no attempt to hide his feet under the chair. “Did you need the computer?”

  “It’s nothing that can’t wait. Actually, I was thinking of getting some lunch.” I hesitated for a moment. “Would you like to join me?” I asked.

  “I can’t. I already have plans.” He turned back to the computer, closed out the window he had open, and stood up. “Will you be here when I get back?” he asked.

  “Not sure. I’m going to head to Material Girl to pick up some voile. Did you finish the cuts on the trays?”

  “The cuts are done. I’ll assemble them with wood glue and reinforce with the nail gun. Then they’ll be all set for you.”

  I shook my head. “I should decoupage the fabric before you put them together. I have to pick up some supplies, but I can do it after lunch and you can assemble the trays when the decoupage is dry.”

  “Sure, okay.” He looked confused. “Did you make me a list?”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “It’s no big deal, Poly. Where do I need to go—hardware store? Paint store?”

  I hesitated. “Dollar store.” His forehead creased. “You have been to a dollar store, haven’t you?”

  His expression said that he was losing patience with me. I held up my hands in surrender.

  “I need white school glue. Lots of it. Paintbrushes, Popsicle sticks, and a plastic bucket. And I need white vinegar, too. As much as you can get.” I looked up at the ceiling and thought for a second. “I will need some acrylic sealant, and they probably don’t have that at the dollar store. I can get it from Get Hammered. If it’s a bother, I can get everything. I don’t want to interrupt your lunch date.”

  A smile toyed at the corners of his mouth. “It’s with my mother. She says I’ve be
en neglecting her since you came back to town. I’d invite you to join us, but I’m pretty sure she invited me to see if I’m willing to go head-to-head with Dad on the garden party problem.”

  “I don’t get why your dad is holding everything up. The Waverly House is her life.”

  “The Waverly House is the most valuable landmark in San Ladrón and my dad doesn’t own it. That would be reason enough for him to want to acquire it, but the fact that my mom is the one who keeps saying no to his offers just makes him want it more.”

  I leaned back against the desk. The corner of it dug into the backs of my thighs. I stared at the exposed wood floor in the office, studying how well the planks fit together. After an uncomfortable pause, I looked at Vaughn and caught him staring at me.

  “Money doesn’t make things easier, Poly. It just makes them different.”

  I nodded slowly. “Are you going to do it? Go head-to-head with your dad?”

  “I don’t know. She hasn’t asked yet, so maybe I’m wrong about her intentions.”

  “I hope for your sake you are.”

  Vaughn stood up and jiggled his keys in his hand. “Back to the business at hand. White school glue, white vinegar, brushes, popsicle sticks, and a bucket. Anything else?”

  “Surprise me.”

  He left out the back door. I watched from a distance, waiting for him to start up the car and drive away. Once his black VW Bug was out of sight, I called Charlie and arranged to meet her at the fabric store. I locked up and took off.

  I took advantage of my walk to the fabric store to stop off at The Earl of Sandwich for a cup of soup and a half veggie sub. The lunch crowd had passed and I was at Material Girl ten minutes later. I finished the soup, put the sandwich in the refrigerator, and went to the pile of musty fabric to see if the voile was salvageable. Both Pins and Needles followed.

  Since I’d already determined that the fabric would require a vinegar wash to remove the odor, I figured a little grunge from the exposed concrete floors wouldn’t do much more damage. I laid the bolt on the floor and walked the opposite direction with the end in my hands, unrolling several yards behind me. Needles thought we were playing, and he pounced on the fabric.

  “No!” I said. I scooped him up under his belly and set him on the wrap stand. I had a plan to deal with the odor. Dealing with kitty claw marks? Working for Giovanni hadn’t provided a solution for that.

  I bent over him and shook my finger at him. “You have to stay up here while I work, or I’m going to take you back upstairs. Can you do that?” I asked. He meowed and swatted at my finger.

  “Let me guess,” Charlie said from the back entrance. “Van Halen, 1984. Hammer man.”

  I stood up and looked at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “The logo from Western Exterminator Company in Los Angeles. Big guy with a top hat holding a mallet and lecturing a mouse? That’s what you looked like. Eddie and the boys used it as the backdrop for their eighty-four tour. Geez, we have got to work on your education.”

  “I’m a little more Jackson Five than Van Halen,” I said.

  “Nobody’s perfect.” She looked at the fabric rolled out on the floor and waved her hand in front of her nose. “Is that smell coming from the fabric?”

  “Yes, but I’m pretty sure I can get rid of it. I need to cut this into panels that are three yards long. If I’m right about what’s on the bolt, I think I can get eight panels and have some left over. Then we need to get them to the washing machine and—”

  Charlie put her hands up. “Whoa. I have to get back to the shop. I have two oil changes and a tune-up coming in this afternoon. Once I close up at five, I can help you with whatever you want, but I can’t afford to turn business away during the day. Sorry, Polyester, but I have to take care of myself first.”

  “Sure, I understand. Are you heading to your shop now?”

  She looked at her watch. “I can give you five minutes.”

  “I can get a lot done in five minutes,” I said. “Hand me the rotary cutter.”

  “The what?”

  “That thing on the table that looks like a pizza cutter. It’s a cutting tool. It cuts the fabric. Guess I’m not the only one who needs an education.”

  Charlie handed me the wheel and it turned out I was able to make all of the measurements and cuts before she left. She watched out of the corner of her eye, as though she was fascinated at the speed with which my rotary cutter sliced through the fabric but didn’t want me to know it. She left out the front door as I started folding panels of voile. When I was finished, I went upstairs and got my sandwich out of the refrigerator. I unwrapped it and took a bite. My cell rang. I set the sandwich down and chewed as quickly as I could, and then answered on the last ring.

  “Are you still at your store?” Charlie asked.

  “I’m just finishing up.”

  “You better get over here. Fast. Clark just arrested Genevieve.”

  I left my sandwich on the counter and ran out the front door. I jogged through traffic and stormed into Charlie’s Automotive.

  Clark and Genevieve stood next to each other. Genevieve’s blond hair was twisted up in a style that would have looked pretty on her under other circumstances. Her face was ashen, and wet streaks down her cheeks told of tears recently shed.

  “What is going on here?” I asked.

  “Ms. Monroe, you’d do best to stay out of this. You, too, Charlie.”

  “Does this have something to do with the croissants at the donut shop?” I asked. “Because I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation for them.”

  “No, Ms. Monroe, this doesn’t have anything to do with croissants.” Clark glared at me while Genevieve dabbed her nose with a red bandana. “It has to do with the life insurance policy we found that makes Mrs. Girard the sole beneficiary of her husband’s estate.”

  Nineteen

  “Where did you find an insurance policy?” I asked Sheriff Clark.

  “Tea Totalers.”

  “You can’t just search her cafe without permission.”

  “Poly,” Genevieve interrupted. “I told him he could. I wanted to help.”

  “But why didn’t you say anything about an insurance policy before now?”

  “Because Phil and I don’t have one.”

  Her use of the word don’t told me something I’d suspected: she hadn’t yet let herself believe that her husband was gone. My heart went out to her as she continued. “His brother is an insurance agent and tried to sell us one, but with money being tight, we didn’t think it was worth it. Not while we were both still young and healthy.” She raised the bandana to her face and sobbed openly.

  “Sheriff Clark, did you hear that?”

  “Ms. Monroe, please let me do my job.”

  I glared at him. “If your job is arresting innocent people, then by all means, go ahead.”

  Clark looked like he’d stubbed his toe and was trying not to show that it hurt. “I have enough on Mrs. Girard to get a conviction. Right now I’m taking her in to have a long talk. If it turns out you know anything about this investigation—if you’re withholding information—I’m bringing you in next. I appreciate that she’s your friend, Ms. Monroe, but if she murdered her husband, she deserves to be in jail.”

  “Charlie, do something!” Genevieve cried out.

  I looked at Charlie. Her forehead was drawn, her eyebrows low over hooded eyes. Her anger was directed at Clark. For a moment we were frozen, him staring back at her as if he, like me, was waiting to see what it was Genevieve wanted her to do. After a few seconds Clark turned Genevieve around to face the door. With his hand on her arm, he guided her toward his car and directed her into the backseat.

  Charlie cursed and kicked the tire of the car in the first bay of her auto shop. “This is bad. Really bad.”

  “You think I don’t kno
w that? Genevieve is a mess,” I said. “Two days ago she told us she thought she murdered her husband. Now the cops have arrested her. She’s produced more evidence against herself than anybody else could have. Who knows what she’s going to tell Clark!”

  “What about your other suspects. Did you find anything out about that Kim girl?”

  “No. She wasn’t there today.”

  “I thought she said there were people who expected her to be working there.”

  That bothered me, too. “There has to be a way for me to get in touch with her. I’m going back to the tea shop to look for contact info on her. If anything comes up—and I mean anything—call me.”

  “You got it.”

  I went back to the Material Girl and sat in my car. Before I pulled away from the curb, I called Lopez Donuts. Big Joe answered.

  “Hi, Big Joe, it’s Poly. How’s business today?” I crossed my fingers that things hadn’t changed.

  “Poly, you’re not going to believe what kind of a day it’s been. Busy as all get out. And then that sheriff came in and asked about the croissant samples. I told him they were all gone and offered him a donut. He actually looked angry for a second! Have you ever heard anything so crazy?”

  Relief settled in on my shoulders at the knowledge that Clark hadn’t been able to get ahold of the croissants. The relief was followed by guilt when I realized the only reason for worrying was if he could prove they were the same croissants that Phil was suffocated with—and I was pretty sure that it would be hard to prove such a thing. I mean, a croissant was a croissant, right?

  “Do you think maybe you could use another set of hands around there?” I asked.

  “Sure, sure. Why? You looking for a part-time job?” He laughed.

  “Not me.” I hesitated. “Her name is Kim Matheson. She’s a college student with an interest in running a restaurant. Genevieve hired her to work at Tea Totalers, but with the shop closed for renovations, she’s not really getting the kind of experience she was looking for. I thought, what with the business boom you guys are having, that maybe you’d want to talk to her?”