“Here’s my phone number,” Athena said, handing me a card. “Call me if you come across Vienna’s dress or necklace. Mother’s on a rampage, as you can imagine. See you tomorrow.” With that, she turned and left.
There was a long silence in the shop while we both pondered this new arrival on the scene. What role would she play in the next act? A more important question came to mind. What was I going to wear to the funeral?
Six
I left Dolce to mix with the customers in the great room, and I took refuge in her office for a moment to call Detective Wall.
“I have some information for you regarding the Vienna Fairchild case,” I said, unable to conceal my excitement.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“Can we meet somewhere?”
“Is it that good?”
Now I was nervous. What if we met and I told him everything I knew and he just looked at me blankly, or even worse, he looked at his watch as if I was wasting his time.
“I think so, but if you’re too busy…”
“I’ll be at the coffee shop on the corner in fifteen minutes,” he said brusquely.
I hung up, pulled out a pad of paper and made a list so I wouldn’t babble on incoherently when I saw him. I started writing names and then remembered I didn’t know the names of the other men in Vienna’s life. Except for Geoffrey, whom Vienna had told us about. But who were the others? Had one of them killed her in a jealous rage? Or did Geoffrey? It made sense. If only I knew who the others were. Suddenly I remembered Geoffrey’s last name. Hill. I did a quick search on Dolce’s computer and found he was a graphic artist with a web site. There he was, “Geoffrey Hill, Designer of Web Sites, Logos and More.” From the examples, I could tell he had a whimsical sense of humor. Had that appealed to Vienna? Or was that why she was dating someone else, several someones else. He was too off-beat.
From the photo on his site, I saw that Geoffrey was indeed the tall, lanky guy I’d seen outside the shop on his motorcycle. He was a creative genius according to the raves he’d posted from those he’d worked for. I called his number. I expected an answering machine, but he picked up on the second ring.
I told him who I was, then I asked if he’d heard about Vienna.
Would he burst into tears or what? He didn’t.
“Yeah,” he said. “The police were here already. I told them I didn’t know anything. Except that girl was headed for trouble.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Come on,” he said. “You knew her. You knew what she was up to. She was a user. She was using me to design a web site for her, just like she used me as a decoy in high school. First a Facebook page and then it never stopped. She was using your store too.”
I couldn’t let that go. “How do you mean? She worked here and she was a terrific saleswoman.” I realized I was sounding like her defense attorney, but I didn’t get the part about her being a user. She didn’t use me or Dolce as far as I knew. We used her to sell clothes and accessories.
“And I’m not sure I did know her,” I said. “Are you talking about other guys she might have been dating?” Maybe he was mad because Vienna had other boyfriends with better wheels than his. “I suppose you told the police everything.”
“Everything they asked me.”
“Did they ask you who the other guys were?” If only he’d say no and then tell me and I’d have an exclusive. I’d show Jack Wall I was one step ahead of him.
“You mean did I rat on Raold and Emery?” he said. “No. None of their business. They’re not murderers. You ever meet them?”
“No, but I think I saw one of them or both of them pick her up. Does one drive a Lotus and the other an SUV?”
“How should I know? Do I hang with them, go riding around with them? No. I’ve got my own wheels,” he said proudly. But I thought he did know what they drove. Guys always do, that’s how they identify themselves.
“I know. I saw your motorcycle. Nice bike. So you don’t think either one of them could help find Vienna’s killer?”
“I told you I don’t know.” He sounded irritated. Where was that whimsical sense of humor? Maybe he was saving it for his paying customers. “From what she said, I first thought it was you who offed her. She told me you were stiffed when she took your place. I don’t know anything about crime, but I know jealousy is one hell of a motive for murder.”
“I did not kill Vienna,” I said, incensed that yet another person suspected me of murder. “I wasn’t happy about Vienna working here, but I didn’t kill her. Did you tell the police—I mean, did you tell them you suspected me?” I asked anxiously. That’s all I needed was another person thinking I was guilty and blabbing about it.
“I might have said something,” he said. “Can’t remember. Since Vienna’s murder, people have been calling me nonstop since the obit was in the paper. Friends, customers, whatever. I’ve got more business than I can handle.” Then he hung up. I’d pushed him as far as I could and found out he’d probably told the police to check me out. At least I’d gotten something positive out of our conversation. Two names I’d been looking for. Raold and Emery. And it looked like Geoffrey had gotten something positive out of Vienna’s death: his business had picked up. Already. Amazing what murder can do for a person’s business. Kind of ghoulish, actually.
I couldn’t believe it, but that’s what I’d heard. I wondered how other many people were glad Vienna was gone. Besides me, of course.
My phone rang. It was Jonathan.
“We’re all set for Saturday night,” he said. “That still okay with you?”
“Of course. I’m excited. It’s such a happening spot.”
“That’s what I hear. How are you?”
“I’m fine, but well, it’s complicated. With the murder of Vienna, it leaves a hole in our sales force.” I didn’t tell him how happy I was to fill that hole. I didn’t want to sound callous, as if Vienna’s murder was either an opportunity or just an inconvenience. I didn’t want to put a damper on our relationship by telling him I was a murder suspect.
“You must be really busy. You don’t have to work overtime, do you?” he asked.
How like Jonathan to think of me and how I’d be affected.
“No, it’s not like that. In fact, because she’s not here anymore, I have my old job back doing what I love: selling clothes. The downside is that there’s a murderer on the loose.”
“Any idea of who it might be?”
“Not yet,” I said, “but I’m working on it.” There you have it, the contrast between Jonathan and Jack. Jack never wanted my input, whereas Jonathan thought I was worth listening to. It almost made me want to cancel my meeting with Jack. He didn’t deserve my help.
“I have to run, Jonathan,” I said. “See you Saturday.”
“Pick you up at seven,” he said.
I grabbed my Juicy Couture hobo handbag and headed for the door. Jack was waiting for me at the coffee shop, in civilian clothes as usual. Today it was a blue denim work shirt and a pair of five-pocket designer jeans. The truth was, he could wear anything anywhere and still look like he’d stepped out of GQ. He was sitting at a small table talking on his cell phone and texting at the same time. Like he couldn’t waste a single minute of the day just having coffee with an informant. As if he was the only one with a time-consuming, important job. I knew he thought selling clothes and accessories was a trivial pursuit, but did he have to make it so obvious I was wasting his time? I had half a mind to turn around and leave.
“Coffee?” I asked, since he wasn’t playing the role of host.
He put his iPhone and his Blackberry in his pocket and nodded. I went to the counter, bought two cups of coffee, laced them with cream and came back.
“Well?” he said. “What have you got?”
“It’s the house blend,” I said. “See if you can taste the subtle hints of bittersweet chocolate and the well-rounded toasted-nut finish.”
“I mean what information have you got?
” he asked, stirring his coffee with a stick.
Sometimes I wondered why I bothered with him. Why not just solve this murder myself and turn over the criminal along with the evidence to the police? Would I get any recognition even then? Not that I cared about being praised in public or in the newspaper; I just wanted to see justice served. I also wanted to tell him I knew about the new police program “AntiViolence Skills for Ordinary Citizens” and that I wanted to be part of it. But first things first.
I pulled out my notes and stacked them on the table. “One,” I said, “the funeral is tomorrow in Colma.”
“Are you going?”
“Of course,” I said.
“You can’t pass up a good funeral, can you?” As if I didn’t have more than one reason to go.
“I have to be there. She was my colleague, a fellow salesgirl. Besides I need to be on hand for Dolce. She’ll be a wreck. She cared deeply about Vienna.”
“More than she cared about you?”
“I know what you’re thinking. I was jealous of Vienna. And sometimes I was. But it wasn’t really like that.”
“What was it like?” he asked, cocking his head to one side.
“We worked together. She was the new girl and had loads of potential.”
“Is that it?” he said, setting his cup on the table.
I knew what he was thinking: I came all this way for you to tell me what I already knew.
I gritted my teeth. This wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped. I wanted him to beg me for my insight or at least thank me. I should have known.
“Two, as for suspects, Vienna has a twin sister, Athena. I just spoke with her at the shop, and I can tell you there’s no love lost there. Vienna tore the arm off Athena’s doll.”
“Recently?” he asked.
“No, when they were small. But you never forget those things. And Athena was at the auction Saturday with her mother and her mother’s husband. But she left early.”
“Did you see her?”
“No, I’m just telling you what she told me.” I frowned. Maybe Jack knew more than I thought he did and was just trying to trip me up. Why was I surprised? He was a cop with a mission. He had ways and means I didn’t even dream of and might not approve of. Plus he had a staff who got paid to follow his orders.
“Go on,” he said. “You were going to give me some suspects.”
I hesitated for a moment. I wanted badly to keep my information to myself, but wasn’t there a law against withholding evidence? “What about those men in her life? There were others besides Geoffrey, which is why she couldn’t go on the date she bid on. She gave me the impression that one of them would be angry about it. Maybe even violent. I have two names, but I’m not sure they’re accurate.”
“Where did you get them?” he asked, leaning forward, finally showing some signs of interest.
“From one of my sources,” I said smugly. He couldn’t force me to divulge who it was, I hoped. Because I still planned to grill Geoffrey more when I saw him, perhaps at the funeral. I’d forgotten to ask if he’d be there.
“The names are Raold and Emery. That’s all I know. Except I do know what they drive.” I gave him my list of the vehicles I’d seen picking her up. “As for motives,” I said, “when I discovered her body, Vienna wasn’t wearing her antique diamond and tourmaline necklace, and as you know, her neck looked like someone choked her.”
“You think the necklace was worth killing for?”
“If you like jewelry.”
He glanced at the hammered gold necklace I was wearing.
“Okay, I confess. I love jewelry. I also love bags and scarves, but I don’t love them enough to murder anyone. For the record, I didn’t murder Vienna for her necklace.”
“I believe you,” he said. “If you murdered her, I think you did it to get your job back,” he said. “Your fingerprints are all over the murder weapon.”
“Of course. I told you that. It’s because I found her. I picked up the hanger. I was in shock. I wasn’t thinking.”
“How do you know the hanger was the weapon?” he asked.
“I don’t know—I thought you just told me.”
He shook his head.
“If it wasn’t the hanger, what was it? It had to be.”
“So your best guess is that the killer was either one of her boyfriends or a member of her family, do I have that right?”
“Well, yes. Murder is hardly ever a random act, right? More women are killed by husbands or lovers or family members than by total strangers. That’s what I’ve always heard.” If that’s what I’d heard, he must have heard it too. He must have seen the statistics, and he knew I was right to focus on the men in her life. He just didn’t want to give me credit. He never did.
He didn’t agree or disagree. He just stood and said he had to go.
“I almost forgot. I read somewhere you’re doing an antiviolence program for the community.”
“Don’t tell me, you want to join.”
“I think I should. If it wasn’t a man in her life who killed her, then there might be a serial killer out there targeting shopgirls and I could be next.” I gave a shudder to emphasize my fear, but the truth was I just wanted an excuse to hang out with cops so I could work on this case undercover. I hoped that Jack didn’t suspect my true motive, but he probably did.
“Wednesday nights at the Central Station. Weapons training, ride-along program, victims’ rights counseling. Is that really what you want to do on your Wednesday nights?”
I nodded vigorously. “It sounds fascinating. How do I sign up?”
“I’ll put your name on the list. If you’re serious about this.”
“Of course I’m serious. Do I look serious?” I fixed my gaze on him and assumed a serious expression. His mouth twitched, and I thought he might be going to laugh, but he didn’t. What would people think, Detective Wall has a sense of humor?
“The citizens’ antiviolence program is more what I need at this point. It’s already organized, and I think I could really benefit from it. Seeing as I work in a dangerous neighborhood.”
“I hope you’re not getting paranoid. You live in a big city. You should take normal precautions. But not change your lifestyle.”
How did he know what my lifestyle was? He’d been out of touch with me for months. “I appreciate your advice. I definitely want to set up a neighborhood watch program in my neighborhood too, in the future when the air clears. But not now.” Why did I get the feeling he thought I was not only paranoid but also flakey, jumping from one thing to another, never completing any project. I’d show him. I’d learn to handle a weapon, I’d comfort the victims of violent crime, and I’d ride along on police calls. And more important, I’d solve the murder of Vienna Fairchild. With or without his help. I was pretty sure it would be without.
When I got back to the shop, Dolce seemed more like her usual cheerful self. The lines on her forehead had smoothed out, and she was smiling at one of our old-timers, who was completely unaware that there’d been a murder on the premises until a few minutes ago. I almost preferred my theory that the murder had taken place elsewhere and Vienna’s body had been transported to Dolce’s. If so, why? If so, who? If so, when?
I wondered if I’d ever be able to forget the sight of Vienna lying there, right where several women were now standing, holding up dresses, trying on shoes and gazing at themselves in one of the many full-length mirrors around the room as if it were just another day in Paradise.
I put my jacket and purse in Dolce’s office and went back out to help customers find the right outfit for wherever they were going. The funeral tomorrow or a night on the town. I felt good knowing I myself needed something for both occasions, which meant a personal and professional challenge all wrapped up together. I loved seeing the place crowded with the usual shoppers, and some of them were actually buying instead of just standing around gossiping.
I spent a few minutes going through the racks looking for black dresses, al
though I was happy to tell anyone who asked that wearing all black to a funeral wasn’t necessary.
“Black, navy, gray or any other dark colors are fine,” I told everyone who asked me. “Even deep burgundy red or forest green.”
“What about pants? Or do we have to wear skirts?” Buffy asked.
“Pants are fine,” I said. “But no jeans. Not that anyone here would wear denim to a funeral. As for shoes, closed toes are not essential, but it might be best to cover up bright toenails.” Although Vienna would have said the brighter, the better.
“What I hate to see,” Pam Lockhart of the Lockhart Unfinished Furniture chain said, “is a black suit, black pumps and a string of pearls. How boring is that? I know Vienna wouldn’t want us to look like penguins. She would want us to express ourselves the way she did.”
I had a vision of everyone dressed in Vienna’s out-there style. Slit skirts, metallics, oversize cardigans, leather pants and more. She’d been with us only a short time, but what a mark she’d made. What if everyone turned up looking like Vienna or wearing the clothes she’d sold them?
“Amen,” said Barbie Washburn, one of our frequent customers. “You all can do what you want, but I’m paying homage to Vienna by wearing an outfit she picked out for me. It’s not black, it’s not burgundy and it’s not conservative.”
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