A Dress to Die For

by Margaret Evans

  “You hit your ceiling long ago. Not a very lucrative profession.”

  She chuckled.

  “But I found a new passageway to the stars,” she responded, waving her arm toward the sky. “And it’s much more lucrative now, no?”

  He looked at her over his shoulder.

  “Yes, I suppose so. The business hasn’t changed much over time.”

  This time she laughed, the sound of soft, tinkling bells.

  “Oh my dear, without my help, you would have a business made up of failures. Without my picking the right girls, you would have nothing.”

  She rose and joined him at the railing, looked down at the ground fourteen stories below and then up at the infinite sky.

  “The business hasn’t changed, and it never will, because some people’s wants and desires remain an essential part of the human psyche. And they are raised to feel entitled to everything they can buy. Keep in mind that modeling is a very lucrative business, if it is channeled the proper way.”

  The cloud of his cigarette smoke dissipated in the clear night sky until another took its place.

  “That’s why it’s called a ‘talent’ agency. We seek the right talents.”

  “You can be replaced,” he told her.

  “And so can you,” she replied.

  nineteen

  Diana Popovich returned Laura’s call late Tuesday evening.

  Laura’s iPhone rang the tone reserved for not-Connor and not-friends, which caught her attention as she was winding down for the day.

  “Ms. Keene, I expected a call from you but not this soon. Are you interested in talking more about modeling? You know, the Twiggy days are long gone and no one would expect you to drop any weight. You would be considered perfect. There’s a grace in the way you move and hold your head.”

  “Well, that’s certainly good news. I never considered myself perfect, but it’s always a delight to hear an opinion like that. However, that’s not really why I wanted to speak with you. And I do appreciate the quick call back.”

  A throaty chuckle came through on the line.

  “I didn’t think so. What can I help you with, Ms. Keene?”

  “Yesterday, when we talked about your boutique, you mentioned a fashion show. Is that correct?”

  “Yes. The New York boutique puts on shows every month. Here in Minneapolis, we put on quarterly fashion shows.”

  “Can you tell me what agencies provide your models?”

  After a brief silence during which Laura could hear Popovich soft-tapping keys on a tablet or some other electronic device, the lady responded.

  “We use different agencies than the New York boutique. Ours are more locally available. Luxe Talent is one; Regal Airs is another. We also use Class Divide. They are all good agencies and provide top-notch models. I fear that’s all I know about them. My assistant manager takes care of the details. He arranges for the actual model engagements, dates and times. We like to stick with the same models for each showing as long as they are available because they understand Marjeanne’s designs and styles and what we expect from them on the runway.”

  “I wasn’t aware that modeling could be so complex,” Laura said, hoping to get more information in her notebook to transfer to the white board. Dang. It was taking too long to find time to run out and buy the fourth white board, and the information was piling up. She would have to order it online for quick delivery.

  “I’m happy to hear that you appreciate its complexity. You see, Ms. Keene, when any model wears a specific house’s design, that individual becomes what they’re wearing. They are all actors in different parts depending on what they’re wearing on the runway. It’s not all about a pout or attitude; they become a different person with each design. Sometimes a show will have an ‘atmosphere’ of which the models will become a part.”

  “Wow. So it’s almost a natural progression for successful models to move into television advertising, shows, or movies. Correct?”

  Laura could almost hear the blink.

  “Yes, that’s right. ‘Natural progression’ is a good description. Of course, not all make it that far. Some models are so good at modeling, that it is all they want to do. Others use it as a ladder to better things. It’s not an easy life, Ms. Keene.”

  “I can see that, Ms. Popovich. And I think that’s all I was curious about. I do thank you for your time.”

  Laura sat in her father’s chair upstairs, staring at her Brittany white board. She picked up her laptop and ordered the fourth white board. She thought about all the possible connections that may or may not exist between designer houses and modeling agencies and what else? The feeling that it was all connected in some other dimension would not leave her.

  Could there also be a path somewhere in this mixture to Brittany and the other missing prom queens?

  • • •

  Laura always had to slow down whenever she put together a dream basket for Paris. The rest of the baskets for Honolulu, Rome, Sydney, Dubai, London, Edinburgh, Sacramento, and Tokyo went quickly. Only five of them would go to Jenna for the silent auction. The rest were just a re-stock for her business.

  Paris always held her up.

  She wanted to go there one day and wondered if that would ever happen. Hopefully, Connor could go with her. But if that never happened, she could plan a weekend “getaway” with a Paris dream basket.

  In went the shredded paper. Next came the rolled up poster and bottle of wine. For the Paris baskets, she always picked her favorite Chardonnay. Then came the classic movies with their beautiful music: April in Paris, Gigi, Moulin Rouge, and Funny Face. Lastly, she always had to leave spaces for a package of mini chocolate éclairs and a “wheel” of brie with its accompaniment of cashews and figs, which were always fresh and kept refrigerated, and never purchased until the day before an order was to be picked up, and never added to the basket until right before a purchase was made.

  It took her about an hour and a half to stuff and wrap the other baskets, none of which had anything except popcorn for the movies and/or canned, mixed nuts or dried fruits. Paris was special. She would have to coordinate with her friends to find out when to bring the baskets to Jenna’s house. The pastries and cheese would not go in until the last minute and would sit on a platform over dry ice during the silent auction.

  “I’m going to learn how to make chocolate éclairs,” she announced to her shop.

  Laura checked the front and back doors, made sure everything was locked, and snapped off the downstairs lights. She put her first foot on the stairway to her apartment and her phone dinged. It was a text from Connor. On went the lights. She sat down in the kitchenette to read his message.

  “Got the lab results. It’s blood, but spot washed way too many times to get a blood type and no DNA they could extract.”

  Laura was disappointed but figured she was still on the right track, and something very bad had happened to Brittany Johanssen.

  “All bad news, then,” she texted back.

  “Not all. Call me.”

  “Your gut was right, Laura,” Connor said when he picked up the phone. “They found another prom dress in the bunch of stuff dumped on your doorstep on Sunday.”

  Her pulse raced.

  “Connor, please text me a picture of the dress, will you? I’ll match it to the names you gave me. I printed out all their prom pictures.”

  “No need. We’ve turned everything over to the FBI and they did that for us.”

  “Whose dress is it?”

  “A girl named Taylor Andrey from Lansing Hill High School in a small but wealthy town in northern Iowa called Verdun. Go look it all up and see what you can find out because the feds have the files on this one. Whatever you do, keep me informed, and anything you discover must be turned over to them immediately
.”

  “What’s the order? When did Taylor disappear? Where is she in the lineup?”

  “She’s the second one. Right after Brittany. Happened the following spring.”

  “Hmmm…Two down and…”

  “Five to go. Eric got that security setup taken care of this morning, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, expertly.”

  “Well, that will help us if these people leave more stuff in front of your shop again.”

  “Not if—when. They are leading us down some kind of garden path.”

  “Did you change your door codes again? Make sure you’re locked up tight, except during shop hours. The cameras will still be rolling when your shop’s open. We have no idea what their intentions are in this game.”

  “Were there any stains on Taylor’s dress?”

  “None that I could see, but the FBI has it now and I’m sure they’ll do a thorough forensics examination of it.”

  Laura was silent a moment.

  “You know, I’m thinking two things.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Either the people responsible for kidnapping Brittany—because I’m sure that’s what happened—are now doing the stupidest thing they could possibly do by giving us their victims’ dresses—their trophies—or…”

  “Or?”

  “It could be someone who’s trying to lead us to who did it, but they’re afraid for one reason or another to come right out and make that anonymous call.”

  “What’s your gut telling you this time, Laura?”

  “I’m going with stupid.”

  “I agree with you. Someone who is arrogant enough to flaunt their trophies in our faces is confident we will never be able to figure it out or identify them. I’ll send you a picture of the second dress.”

  twenty

  Dinner at Jenna Buckley’s home loomed before the other three members of the Fab Four as a delightful prospect. The text came through to Laura, Erica, and Kelly, that if they were ready to bring over their donated items for the silent auction, come on over for dinner. Not a single one turned her down.

  Laura couldn’t get through her day fast enough. Wednesday was typically her next busiest day of the week, after Saturday. Always the rule except for Black Friday which topped everything.

  Today was no exception. As Easter approached, demand for bunny ears and tails increased, and Laura checked her stock, hoping what she had would last. She’d reordered the orange jelly beans and their bags with ties twice already. It was a good thing because those jelly beans were the hottest sellers and contributed the most toward the police station’s fund-raiser. They also made the biggest mess on the shop floor.

  Even the faux Faberge egg-decorating kits were flying, as were Jenna’s bunny banners. She did not plan to ask Jenna for more, since Easter was now much closer. But they had been a wonderful boost to all the spring surprises Laura’s customers found in Second Treasures.

  Surprisingly to Laura, most of the etched glassware serving pieces had not been purchased. Only two pieces sold. Perhaps it was the wrong time of year to put these pieces out, when everyone was focused on spring, warmer weather, and trips to the lake. If nothing further sold over the next two weeks, she would pull them off the shelf for next fall when people were planning big family dinners for the holidays. That might be when folks would think more about entertaining and decorating.

  She was glad she had kept some of the pieces for herself. The Victorians, in her opinion anyway, had created a beautiful thing, and the artwork and skill of the etching was intricate and lovely. Looking forward to a time when she could decorate and entertain, those were the pieces she would use.

  Laura had disabled the doorbell app during shop hours, as planned. Otherwise her iPhone would have buzzed continuously all day long.

  She knew she would have to put off looking through her paperwork and pictures and notes on the missing prom queens until after her dinner at Jenna’s. She expected the fourth white board to arrive either today or tomorrow, delivered to her carport. Connor had emailed her a picture of the dress found in the latest goods left on her door step. It was a pretty, pale yellow Cinderella-type dress—full and flouncy—similar to the red one, but was it from the same designer? Laura wondered. She would have to check on that. Late tonight or tomorrow.

  Just as she was considering that her last customers for the day had left, and she had turned on the DoorBell ringer, one final customer came into the shop, jangling the bells at the top of the door. She got the ding on her iPhone but ignored it. He was tall, around six feet at least, wearing sweats with his hands in his pockets. Laura didn’t immediately get bad vibes from him as she’d seen many customers just like him. This one even gave her a half-smile and commented that she had a nice shop, after he had looked around.

  He zeroed in on the Victorian, etched glassware pieces.

  “My grandmother had stuff like this,” he tossed at Laura over his shoulder.

  He looked them over, nodded and selected one piece to buy.

  He wore work gloves, she noticed, as he handed over cash for his purchase.

  After he left, she locked up for the day and turned on the other alarm, washed up for the dinner at Jenna’s, and waited for Erica to text that she was ready to go. Kelly was planning to go in her own car from a different direction.

  While she waited, she remembered the gloves and the cash. She felt odd about it but also glad that he was recorded on the DoorBell cam and CCTV.

  • • •

  They arrived in Erica’s car and were taken back at least a decade when Reynolds, the Buckley houseman, opened the front door for them. He arranged for the items in the trunk of the car to be brought inside by three members of Fauntleroy Security, the security team. Then Reynolds escorted the ladies to the spacious lounge room where Jenna spent most of her life.

  Television, surround sound system, huge family oil portraits, including a recent one of Jenna added to the wall décor. The enormous, comfy-cushioned, over-sized chairs and couch beckoned them.

  Erica sat in one of the chairs.

  “OMG, Jenna, I forgot this is the one I can never get out of!”

  Jenna laughed after greeting her friends.

  “We’ll all help you!” she cried. “It’s been way too long since we’ve done this.”

  Reynolds announced dinner about twenty minutes later and led them to the family dining area, way larger than any of Laura’s, Kelly’s, or Erica’s family dining areas. Then in came the food.

  After a satisfyingly scrumptious meal, Jenna took them to the vault room and asked the security guard to open it. It was a surprisingly large room, square and much like a rentable storage facility, with concrete walls and floor. Shelving systems covered the two side walls, and a large separately locked safe sat dead center against the back wall, roughly three cubic feet.

  “These are your items,” Jenna said, indicating where her friends’ donations were on the shelves. “And Laura, I know you’ll be bringing the brie and the mini chocolate éclairs on the morning of the show. I’ve arranged for the dry ice platform. Over here are the items that my mother and her friends donated. The jewelry items are in the safe and won’t come out until tomorrow evening when the security guards bring everything down to the locked room at the hotel.”

  The trio looked at stunning silver and gold pieces and trays, oil paintings, hand-painted porcelain and bone china statuettes, and other beautiful pieces of art and table ware. There was even a stack of Irish linen napkins that matched a rectangular tablecloth, hand-embroidered with tiny green shamrocks.

  “And there’s still more coming, I’m told. How thrilling!” Jenna beamed.

  “This is going to be one awesome auction, Jenna,” Erica piped in.

  “Even if you sell only half of these items, you’ll
have a bundle to give to the nurses,” Laura added.

  Kelly peered more closely at one of the oils, keeping her hands behind her back.

  “Jenna, you have a really valuable piece here. Degas didn’t paint too many miniatures, and this is one of them. But you know that, right?”

  Jenna nodded, not to anyone’s surprise.

  The ladies exited the room and watched while the security guard secured the locks on the door.

  “When did you say the big transfer to the hotel is? Tomorrow night?” Laura asked.

  “Yes, late, and I can’t tell you exactly when.”

  “And the security people will be bringing everything?”

  “I can’t say any more, guys,” Jenna said. She held out her arms to them. “I’m just so glad you all could come over tonight! It’s like the old days.”

  twenty-one

  Business was a bit slow on Thursday morning when Laura opened shop. She took the opportunity to text Connor and invite him to lunch in his office. Temptation was dangled, including Chinese take-out and all the things she learned in the past three days plus her idea maps and possible connections.

  Thirty minutes elapsed before he responded that one o’clock would work.

  She was there promptly at one but not surprised she had to wait fifteen minutes before he could meet her. That just meant she would have to be brief and talk fast.

  Fitzpatrick closed his office door. He cleared a spot on his corner work table and they set up their lunch. He dove into the food.

  Laura figured he had missed breakfast and opened with, “My fourth white board is here. I have a lot to add to it, and yes, I’ll let you know if I have any thoughts.” After a mouthful of dumplings was chewed and swallowed, she continued, and gave him a brief but complete report on her meeting with Diana Popovich, including last night’s call.