Died with a Bow (8 page)

“It must have been an accident,” Dolce said.

“The police don’t think so,” I said. She’d find out sooner or later they were treating it like a homicide.

“They don’t know everything. They don’t know what a sweet girl she was. Nobody would have wanted her dead.”

I couldn’t say, “But somebody did.” Why spoil Dolce’s memory of her protégée? I’d let Jack give her the bad news. He’d certainly want to talk to her.

In fact she hung up to take a call on her other line, a call I thought might be from Jack. He’d just want to ask her a few questions, like where she was last night and who had a motive to kill her assistant. Jack would see right away that Dolce had absolutely no reason to kill Vienna. Of all the people in Vienna’s life, Dolce had to be number one on the list of nonsuspects. The question was, who was number one on the list of suspects? Me?

By the time Dolce called me back, I was at home on the edge of my seat. Literally. I grabbed the phone and sat back down on a wooden chair in the kitchen because my living room was full of boxes waiting to be unpacked.

“Oh, Rita,” she said. “You were right. The police do think it was murder. They asked me all kinds of questions.”

“Was it Detective Wall?”

“Yes, that’s right. I can’t believe he wanted to know where I was last night.”

“That’s easy,” I assured her. “You were at the Bachelor Auction. And so was he. In fact loads of people saw you and talked to you. You’re lucky because I—”

“No, I’m not lucky. I spent the night at the hotel and I wasn’t alone.”

I held my breath. Was Dolce going to tell me she’d spent the night with the dashing ex-pilot? That would be great news, great for Dolce’s otherwise single existence and great in terms of having an alibi.

“That’s good,” I said.

“No, it’s not. I spent the night with William.”

“Did you tell Jack that?” I asked.

“Of course not. What would he think of me?”

I couldn’t believe how old-fashioned Dolce was, thinking Jack would be shocked that a fifty-something-year-old woman would spend the night in a hotel with a man she wasn’t married to.

“Besides,” she continued, “then Detective Wall would call William and, I don’t know, bring him in to verify my alibi. I can’t have that.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if it’s a matter of clearing your name in a murder investigation, would he?”

“I don’t know and I’m not going to find out. I told the detective that I spent the night at the hotel alone.”

“But, Dolce, you can’t lie to the police.”

“I just did,” she said with a touch of defiance. Here was a Dolce I didn’t know. “This is for your ears only, Rita: William is married.”

“Oh,” I said. Wouldn’t you know it. Dolce finds an attractive man in her age bracket who she instantly hits it off with and he’s married. “But his wife wasn’t with him last night.”

“I know. They’re separated.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, there you go.”

“You don’t understand. William is not just separated, he’s in the midst of a nasty divorce, and he has to keep his reputation squeaky clean or risk losing everything. His retirement, his yacht and his condo.”

“Yes, but, Dolce…” I didn’t want to say “But you risk losing your freedom and your reputation,” but I thought it.

“I can’t talk about this anymore, Rita,” she said. “I’m going to call the cleaning service, and then I’m going to bed. I’m exhausted.”

I pictured Dolce curled up under her soft sheets and cashmere blanket, determined to stay there until morning. I knew
she’d be at the door at nine tomorrow to welcome customers as if nothing had happened. She was the consummate saleswoman and would rise to the occasion no matter how she was hurting. The part I was worried about was her withholding information from the authorities.

I was full of nervous energy, tired from swimming and yet keyed up and eager to do something besides think about Vienna, Dolce or her new boyfriend. I wanted the time to fly, for it to be tomorrow already, when I’d be back where I belonged, in the front of the store selling clothes and accessories to San Francisco’s most stylish and richest women. Was it wrong to be glad Vienna was gone? Probably, but I couldn’t help it. She’d taken my place, both in Dolce’s regard and in the store.

But did I want her dead? No. I’d just wanted her gone. I’d gotten my wish, but now Jack Wall had me on his suspect list. It remained to be seen if it was a good tradeoff. The best thing for me to do was to maintain my innocence and find the real murderer. Not that Jack wanted my help. He most certainly did not. He never had, even when I’d offered. Even when I’d found the murderer the last time I was involved and handed him over to Jack. If Jack was grateful, why hadn’t he invited me over to dinner as he’d promised? Too busy? Too chagrined that I’d been the one who figured it out?

So Jack didn’t want my help. Then I’d do what I could on my own without telling him or anyone. After hanging up with Dolce, I noticed the message machine on my home phone was flashing. When I pressed the button, I heard Dr. Jonathan’s voice.

“Rita, what’s going on?” he said. “You didn’t bid on me. You said you would, but somebody else did. Whoever she
is came up to me last night and said she was sorry she couldn’t make it but she’d given her ticket to you. So do we have a date? Call me on my cell. I’m at the hospital treating seizures, chest pains, vomiting, overdoses, and one psychotic patient who just threatened to kill me. Just another beautiful Sunday morning at the hospital.”

I was glad to hear a friendly voice. Someone who didn’t suspect me of murder. Someone who was healing the sick and the crazy but didn’t even know his supposed date for an evening at the Starlight Room had been murdered. I thought it was better he should hear it from me than from the police. Especially if he didn’t have an alibi. Although Jack surely wouldn’t suspect an ER doctor who devoted himself to keeping people alive and who didn’t even know Vienna, or would he? I still wanted to know why she’d bid so much money on him. Sure, he was a great-looking guy, but so were some of the others.

I called Jonathan, but he didn’t pick up. Maybe he was taking out someone’s appendix or else that crazy person had possibly made good on his threat. So I left a message. Pushing the moving boxes aside, I made myself a cup of tea and sat down at my authentic French bistro table with the
cast-iron base and aged white marble top. My dining room table was folded up in the hall. Opened up, it would seat eight, but I’d never had eight people to dinner. I’d never even had one person to dinner, but one day I would.

Instead of an iPad, I took out an old-fashioned pen and paper and drew a circle with Vienna’s name in the middle. Then I made a list of everyone I knew who was associated with Vienna. Radiating from the circle I drew lines and put a name on each line.

First there was her family. Her father, Lex, who would have no reason to get rid of his darling daughter. I put a plus sign next to his name. Her stepmother, Bobbi, who seemed, judging by my one phone call with her, a bit resentful of Vienna. I put a minus next to hers. Next came her mother, Noreen, and her stepfather, Hugh, each name on a separate prong. Then I wrote “Geoffrey” on a spike leading from Vienna’s circle, and three more spikes with blanks for the names of other men she might be dating. At the very least, I knew there were the guys who’d picked her up from work at night, and I wrote the type of car each drove—van, sports car and SUV. Then Danielle, her roommate, who definitely deserved a minus based on my conversation with her. No love lost there. But what good would killing Vienna do Danielle when she seemed to be most interested in the rent? Maybe she had someone else who wanted to move in. Still, it seemed like a weak motive for murder.

I finished by adding both Dolce’s and my names to the diagram, although I knew we hadn’t done it. At least I knew I hadn’t, but I wanted to be an equal-opportunity fingerer of suspects. I had to be if I wanted to be an unbiased aide to the police whether they wanted my help or not.

I was about to give up and go to bed when Jonathan called me back.

“Rita, I just heard the news about that woman. Is it true?” he said.

“You mean Vienna being murdered? I’m afraid it is,” I said. “I’m the one who found her this morning at the boutique.”

“She was murdered while you were at work?”

“No, no, we’re not open on Sunday. I went there to return my dress on my way to my health club and there she was. Lying on the floor in the same dress she was wearing last night with the p-p-pink…b-b—” My voice started to shake as the whole scene came back to haunt me. The sight of her body, her dress with the pink bow, the marks on her neck, the police, the accusations.

“But what was she doing there?” he asked.

I bit my lip and tried to stay calm, but my eyes filled with tears. I found a tissue and blew my nose. “I don’t know. I keep asking myself that.” I didn’t tell him what I’d told Jack, that it was possible she’d been brought there from wherever she’d been killed. But if not, the question was still unanswered. What
was
she doing there? Why go to the shop in your fancy dress on a Sunday morning? Was she meeting someone? Possibly, but why hadn’t she changed clothes? Because she hadn’t gone home? But where had she gone? And with whom?

“So do we have a date?” he asked.

I blinked rapidly. I shouldn’t have been surprised that Jonathan would take Vienna’s death in stride and move on to the next event. It was part of his nature and why he was so good at his job. ER doctors probably had to be that way
or they’d fall apart after one night on call. I liked that about him and resolved to be more like that myself.

“Sure,” I said. I’d have to be certifiably crazy to turn down a date to the Starlight Room at one of the big hotels with one of the city’s most eligible bachelors even though it was courtesy of a dead girl’s generosity.

“What about next Saturday night? I’ll trade off with one of my colleagues. He owes me and I need a night off.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “I’ve never been there. I hear it’s very posh.”

“Dinner and dancing. It beats a beef stick and stale coffee followed by a broken tibia, bronchitis and pneumonia. Save the date and I’ll let you know more later.”

So it’s true what they say. It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good. An ill wind killed Vienna but brought two men back into my life. The only one still missing was Nick the gymnast, but he was laid up and out of the picture. Of course, it would be better if Detective Jack Wall didn’t suspect me of murdering Vienna. On the bright side of the coin, it gave him a reason to seek me out. As for me, I wanted to help him solve the murder. Not just to save myself from a long messy trial, but also to see justice done. If my status as suspect number one threw us together again, so be it. I was confident he’d find the real guilty party sooner or later. With my help, of course.

I worked on my suspect list until I couldn’t see straight. The problem wasn’t that I didn’t have enough suspects—I had too many. The problem was how to contact them and interrogate them without them realizing what I was doing. I also didn’t want Jack to know what I was up to or he’d put a stop to it and tell me I was out of line.

I finally fell into bed. No top-of-the-line three-hundred-
count all-Egyptian-cotton sheets for me, still I slept like a baby until my alarm went off. Sensing there would be a crowd at the shop, I dressed carefully.

First off, I went with bold bright lips and kept the rest of my makeup subtle. I didn’t want to come off as totally retro. I did iron my hair, though, to give it a sleek, swingy, sexy but still low-key look. My work brings me in contact with women mostly, since we sell only women’s clothes and accessories, but these days you never know who’s going to turn up when there’s been a murder on the premises. So why not try for sexy hair, I asked myself.

From my closet I pulled out a rather stark black cashmere dress that landed above the knee, paired it with black tights and wedge booties that I’d unpacked the first day I moved in, knowing there would be a day like this when I’d have to look my best. Then to contrast the low-key look, I tied a splashy red cotton necktie around my neck that exactly matched my lipstick. I wanted to say, “Look at me! I’m not guilty of anything but looking as good as I possibly can.”

I knew I looked as good as I could, but my stomach was doing flip-flops. I also knew I should eat something like whole grains, fruits and vegetables, but I was in a hurry, and, frankly, nothing good for me sounded good. When I got off the bus near Dolce’s, I stopped at a coffee shop for a soothing cup of chamomile tea to go. That ought to get me through the morning, depending…

I was relieved to find the front door devoid of any yellow crime scene tape and, once inside, to see the floor looked freshly scrubbed and waxed. So those crime scene cleaners had done a good job. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I entered the great room, stepping gingerly over the place where I’d last seen Vienna’s body.

“Good morning,” a voice from the next room said.

I almost jumped out of my skin. It didn’t sound like Dolce. In fact it was Detective Ramirez, who I knew used to be Jack Wall’s assistant or whatever you call a detective that’s beneath you in rank. She came walking toward me from the rear of the house, dressed, as usual, in an outfit all wrong for her figure. She was not in uniform, which might have covered her ample figure and given her some gravitas, which I assumed all officers of the law aimed for. Instead, she was wearing a pair of short shorts with tough boots and a striped surfer-inspired hoodie.