Harrison shoved his hands into his hair. “This is madness.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But this is your friend’s bride. I would think you’d want to help him out by proving his future wife is innocent.”
“If she is,” Harrison said. “Let’s look at the facts, shall we?” He lifted a hand and ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke. “She was alone in the building with Russo when the tragic event occurred. He fell from a spot only a person familiar with the building would know was not under surveillance. He was clutching a piece of her blouse, the very one she was wearing on the day he died, in his cold dead hand.”
“Heard about that, did you?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“It’s circumstantial,” Viv said. “There’s no way to know how he got that scrap of fabric in his fist.”
“Sure there is,” Harrison said. “He probably made a mad grab for her shirt trying to save himself when she lured him to the rooftop and pushed him to his death.”
“Does Alistair believe that it means she pushed him?” Viv asked.
“He believes in his client,” Harrison said. “But that’s his job as her defense attorney. We’re not her defense and need to view this situation through logical, rational reasoning of the facts.”
“This isn’t a math equation,” I argued. “There is no two plus two equals four. Human beings are involved and human behavior is rarely logical or rational.”
He looked at me and pursed his lips in a way that I knew meant he was unhappy. “You can say that again.”
“Listen, Harry,” I said. He frowned at me.
“Harrison,” he corrected but I ignored him.
“All we’re going to do is talk to some of Russo’s exes and see if they know of anyone who wanted him dead,” I said. “That’s not going to mess up any investigation or put us on anyone’s list to be rubbed out.”
“Exactly,” Viv said. “I’d say we’re actually helping the inspectors, you know, by sorting their suspects for them.”
Harrison groaned and put his head in his hands.
“Aw, chin up, Harry,” I said.
He looked so beaten down that I couldn’t help but throw my arm over his shoulders and give him a bolstering half hug. He lifted his head and I realized I was too close. Too close to the lovely bay rum smell of him, and too close to his bright green eyes, which seemed to see deeper into me than I was comfortable with.
“Harrison,” he corrected me again. His mouth curved up in one corner in an irresistible smile.
I dropped my arm and scooted back a few steps. That made his smile deepen into a full-on grin as if he knew I was too aware of him.
“All right, I can see I’ve lost this battle,” he said. “But there will be conditions.”
I glanced at Viv. I hadn’t really thought we’d win Harrison over, and I could tell by the look of surprise on her face, she hadn’t thought so either.
“What conditions?” she asked.
“You don’t talk to anyone alone,” he said. “In fact, if it can be managed, I think I need to be in on all meetings.”
“Won’t that seem odd?” I asked.
“Given that I’m part owner in the shop, no,” he said. “We’ll explain that I’m taking an interest in the business. I can always portray a batch who just wants to flirt with the pretty models, if need be.”
“Oh, I like that,” Viv said.
I did not.
“Please try to schedule these things in the evening,” he said. “I do actually have to show up at the office, or they might give my corner spot away.”
“I doubt it,” Viv said. “You’re far too clever for Carson and Evers to let go. You could work from the back of an elephant in India and I’m sure they’d be okay with that.”
Harrison shrugged. I knew he was a financial genius and worked for the same company that his uncle had. Essentially, they were business consultants who were hired to come in and help businesses increase their profit margins.
I had always assumed that the businesses he helped were like ours but I was beginning to see that Harrison operated on a much bigger scale than our modest millinery. Viv seemed to understand so much more about what he did than I did. Again, I got the feeling that Harrison and Viv knew more about each other than I knew about either of them, and I didn’t like it.
“All right, Ginger?” Harrison asked.
I realized they had been talking and I had missed the entire conversation.
“Sorry, I drifted there for a bit,” I said.
Harrison looked sympathetic. “I imagine the memory of finding Russo like that will pop up on you now and again.”
Great, now I felt like a heel. Here I was mulling over the hierarchy of our friendship, and Harrison thought I was thinking about the dead body I’d seen just twenty-four hours before. And there was no way I could deny it without seeming like a horrible person.
“Yeah,” I said. See? I am a horrible person, aren’t I?
* * *
Viv and I spent the rest of the afternoon checking out Russo’s list of exes. It was impressive, to say the least. His dating laundry list ran the gamut from lower royals to lingerie models and anything with a pulse in between.
Some were easy to dismiss since they were out of the country and a few seemed more like friends than girlfriends and then there was Mariska Kravchuk. An off-again, on-again lover, she and Russo lit up the tabloids every time they got back together and every time their relationship imploded. Accusations of cheating, public intoxication and vandalism riddled their breakups. It made for some very juicy reading.
I was working in the front of the shop, searching for articles on my tablet computer, while Viv and Fee worked on hats in the workroom. For what had to be the fifth time in the past two hours, I popped my head into the workroom to share what I’d found.
“Listen to this,” I said. “According to the Daily News, attorney to the stars Anthony Russo and Russian model Mariska Kravchuk were splitsville following a nasty spat on the roof of the Shoreditch House.”
“I thought you had to be a member to get into the Shoreditch House, yeah?” Fee asked.
“You do, but I’d be willing to bet Russo is a member since his client list is pretty much filled by their membership roster,” Viv said.
“Really not the point,” I said. “I think we need to talk to Mariska. And because she’s a model, we could absolutely use the front that we want her to model hats for the shop.”
Viv nodded. “It could work.”
“Great. How do we go about that?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Viv said. “Usually, when I’m working in high fashion, the designer hires me to work up hats to complement their clothes, and they already have their models picked out.”
“Who would know how to do this?” I asked.
We were all silent for a moment and then the lightbulb over my head flashed. It must have been bright enough for the others to see because as one all three of us said, “Andre.”
* * *
“My reputation is at stake,” Andre said. “Whatever you do, do not tick off Mariska. I can’t have her complaining about me.”
“You hate fashion photography,” I said.
“Yes, but I don’t want to burn any bridges there,” he said. “It’s lucrative and you never know when you’ll need to diversify your income streams.”
Viv and I exchanged a scandalized look.
“You have been spending entirely too much time with Harrison,” she said.
Andre waved her off.
“I don’t need to tell you that fashion people judge you by what you’re wearing, so dress appropriately,” he said.
I glanced down at my outfit, a pretty soft brown wool skirt with a moss-green cashmere sweater and my favorite knee-high brown lace-up boots.
“No,
you’re not wearing that,” he said to me. He looked at Viv. “You’re fine, better than fine. That’s perfect.”
“What’s wrong with my outfit?” I asked. I glanced at Viv’s royal blue A-line dress with black patent knee boots and a snappy black trilby.
“Nothing if you’re a first-time schoolteacher. Lose the Peter Pan collar,” he said.
I fingered my collar. “I thought it looked cute.”
“You were wrong. Besides, cute is for baby ducks,” he said. He turned back to Viv. “Fashion models like gifts, so you should bring her a hat from the shop.”
“Go change,” Viv said. She actually waved me away. “I’ll pick a hat whilst you’re dressing.”
I stomped up the stairs to our flat like a high school girl being forced to change into something more appropriate. As I walked into my room, the retina-searing pink walls mocked me. My room was stuck somewhere in 1999, and now that I looked in my full-length mirror, I think it was causing my fashion sense to go backward, too.
I ditched the pullover sweater and Peter Pan–collared shirt and went for a sophisticated sheer floral top in reds and browns with a fitted red jacket over it and kept the boots and the skirt. Take that!
I jogged down the stairs, fluffing my hair as I went. As I skidded into the shop, Viv was just boxing the hat of choice up and Andre turned away from her at the counter and looked me up and down.
“That’s my beautiful girl,” he said.
Given his faultless sense of style, this was high praise and I beamed at him.
“Which hat are we giving to Mariska?” I asked.
“The black cap with the black blusher and three long black pheasant feathers on it,” Viv said.
“Oh, I like that one,” I said.
“Me, too, but if Mariska is planning to play the grieving ex-girlfriend, and I’m betting she is, the hat will win her over, for sure,” Andre said.
“Right then,” Viv said. She looked at me. “You need to wear a hat.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you’re representing the shop,” she said. Her critical gaze moved over me. “Oh, I know just the one.”
She thrust the hatbox at me and then darted across the room to the shelves on the opposite wall. Opening the cabinet below the shelves, she dug through the hats in there until she found a floppy-brimmed linen hat in the same rich brown shade as my skirt.
“Perfect,” Andre said. “It makes you look like a seventies fashion model.”
“Would that be a model in her seventies or a model in the nineteen seventies?” I clarified.
Andre laughed. “Hippie chic, darling. You’ve got it going on.”
I glanced at my reflection in the nearest mirror. The brown hat did frame my red hair in a flattering way.
“Come on,” Viv said with a glance at the clock on the wall. “We’re going to be late.”
“You’ll stay until Fee gets out of class?” Viv asked. “She should be here in fifteen minutes.”
“No worries,” Andre said. “I bet I sell a ton of hats.”
Viv and I gave him little finger waves as we dashed out the door and down Portobello Road.
The rain had lifted and today the sky was blue with big, rolling puffs of white. I inhaled a deep sweet-smelling lungful of air. A few of the trees looked ready to change color and there was a bite in the air that promised fall was on its way and there would be no going back to summer.
I didn’t mind. Maybe because my hair matches the temperamental months of autumn, I have always felt a kinship with the season and therefore it’s my favorite. I loved the riot of color, the shorter days, and spending time reading by the fire with a hot cup of tea.
“Which of us should do the talking?” Viv asked. “I mean, I can talk about the hat and modeling, but I’m not sure I can segue into discussing Russo as skillfully as you can.”
“I’ll handle that part,” I said. I had been mulling it over and knew much of it would depend on how we were received by Mariska. I’d dealt with a lot of diva types in the hotel industry so I felt like I was in good shape to take on a past-her-prime Russian model.
We caught the train at Notting Hill Gate and took the District Line back to the Kensington area. According to the directions on Viv’s smartphone, Mariska lived in a posh apartment in the Kensington Chelsea area. Walking through her neighborhood, I was suddenly grateful that Andre had told me to change from my frumpy outfit.
“Here it is,” Viv said. She stopped in front of a creamy white five-story building that towered over us. “I wonder which one is hers.”
A scream rent the air and we snapped our heads up in the direction of the sound. A third-floor window was thrust open and more shouting commenced, punctuated by a waterfall of clothes that came raining out the window to splat on the ground at our feet.
“Wild guess,” I said. “That one.”
A woman’s voice, yelling in what sounded similar to what I had studied in my one semester of college Russian, drowned out the noises of the street around us.
“Come on,” I said. I had a feeling whoever she was yelling at was going to be chasing their clothing out the door, and if we stood nearby, we could slip right in without having to ring the buzzer.
Viv and I hustled up the walkway to the shallow steps. Sure enough, a man wearing just a towel, and looking unshaven in an artistic rather than a homeless way, burst through the front door. I grabbed it before it could swing shut. He glared at me but kept on going, muttering to himself and waving his hand, which clutched the remainder of a cigarette, emphasizing his words like a symphony conductor’s baton.
Viv followed me inside and I looked at the mailboxes on the right. Sure enough, 3B had the label M. Kravchuk on it. I glanced up at the stairs.
“You don’t think she’s going to roll any furniture down on us, do you?” I asked.
Viv glanced back out the front door. “No, I think it was just his clothes, which he is trying to put on. I expect he’ll be leaving once he’s dressed.”
“Excellent. I don’t want to be taken out by an armchair.”
I led the way up the stairs, which wound up in a square. I was winded on the second level. Don’t judge. Being a shop owner doesn’t leave me as much time to exercise as I’d like. I took comfort in the fact that Viv was as winded as I was. They were very steep stairs.
We were halfway to the third floor, leaning against the wall and gasping, when Viv asked me, “What did Harrison say about our visiting Mariska?”
“Huh?” I asked. “I thought you told him.”
“Me? Why would I tell him? You’re the one with the special relationship with him.”
“It’s not special,” I protested. “We’re just friends.”
“Oh, please, I see the way you two look at each other,” Viv said. “There is definitely something there.”
“Well, obviously, I’m aware of him,” I said. “But you know I’m not dating anyone until I’ve been single for one year. So there is nothing special there. Besides, if anyone should have told him, it’s you because you’re such old friends. If anyone has a special bond, it’s you two.”
I wondered if Viv heard the note of jealousy in my voice. Then I wondered if I was jealous of Viv for having something special with Harrison or jealous of Harrison for being closer to my cousin than I was.
“What a lot of tosh,” she said. “Harrison and I do not have a special bond. We’ve just known each other for a long time and he was very supportive right after Mim died.”
“Did the two of you ever . . .” I knew the answer was no but sometimes a girl just likes to hear it anyway.
“Surely you are joking,” Viv said. “Do we really seem like we’ve ever been a thing?”
Viv was as scatterbrained an artist as I’d ever met and Harrison was a buttoned-down businessman so, no, I couldn’t really see it betwee
n them.
“No, but you do have a closeness,” I said.
Viv gave me a look of understanding. “You have a lock on Harrison’s affections. You don’t need to worry about him and certainly not with me.”
“Maybe not, but he knows you better than I do,” I said. “I get the feeling that you tell Harrison things that you don’t tell me.”
So it was that I was jealous that Harrison was closer to Viv than I was, I realized with a blast of ill-timed self-awareness.
“No, I don’t,” she said. She was blustering. Whenever Viv blustered, she was fibbing.
“He does know more about you than I do,” I accused. “It’s so obvious in the way you two communicate without saying anything.”
“Now you’re just being absurd.” Viv panted. We were on the last set of stairs and still climbing.
“Then tell me what is going on with you,” I demanded. “Are you secretly seeing someone? Is that why you seem to have no interest in dating? I mean, Alistair practically drooled on your shoes and you didn’t even bat an eyelash.”
“Bloody Nora!” Viv cried. She stopped as we reached the third-floor landing and glared at me. “Do we have to do this now?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “It’s as good a time as any since we’re both going to be in hot water when Harrison finds out about this, much like he knows everything else apparently.”
“Oh, no you don’t. Do not try to manipulate me with guilt,” she said.
“Oh, my God,” I cried as a horrible thought smacked me right upside the head. “You’re involved with a married man, aren’t you? That’s why you don’t talk about him.”
Viv threw up her hands, which made the hatbox dangle precariously over the railing. “You have lost your mind!”
“She is not only one,” a thickly accented voice spoke from the door to our right. The woman standing there glanced at the hats on our heads. “You are Vivian and Scarlett, the hatmakers.”
Interrupted in mid-tiff by one of the most stunning women I had ever seen, I was rendered speechless, a rare event, to say the least. Given that the woman was wearing nothing but a see-through chemise and high heels, not only was I vocally impaired but I didn’t really know where to look either.
At the Drop of a Hat Page 12
