Dior or Die (Joanna Hayworth Vintage Clothing Mysteries Book 2) (12 page)

"I’m having a little trouble sleeping," Joanna said.

"Come back to bed. It’s a lot easier to sleep that way."

She rinsed out her mug and climbed to the loft. The bed was still warm, and Paul pulled the quilt over them.

"What’s wrong?" he asked once they’d settled. "I’ve had the feeling all night that something isn’t quite right."

She tucked her chilled toes between his calves. He didn’t flinch, and even pulled them closer to warm her. "I’m just—just uneasy. Money, you know." Poppy, her thoughts said. Gemma sighed from the foot of the bed as she rearranged herself on her blanket.

"We’ll take care of the money problem together. Don’t worry about it. I have a few jobs coming up."

"I’ll be fine," she said. Could she risk telling him about her plans for Poppy? Yet, how could she not risk it? "It’s just—" She drew a breath. "I have something to tell you." Her hands felt cold now, too. She clasped them and drew them under the covers.
 

"Yes?" Paul prompted.
 

Her throat clogged. Words wouldn’t come.

A moment passed in silence. Finally, Paul said, "If something were wrong, you’d tell me, right?"

The exact words she’d used with Poppy.
If something were wrong, you’d tell me, right?
she’d asked. Poppy had looked so haunted. It wasn’t right to abandon her. In a few days, everything would be sorted out. Paul would see. It would be all right.
 

She hoped.

"It’s nothing. Nothing to bother you with. It’ll be fine," she said. "Soon."

Joanna tossed aside the Justice Center waiting room's copy of
American Police Beat
. Her thoughts bounced between her upcoming meeting with the detective in charge of Poppy's case, the terrifying phone call the night before, and Helena's panicked face when she said Gil was in the hospital.
 

She glanced at the wall clock. The NAP auction meeting was just an hour away. If she was going to convince the auction committee to let Poppy call the auction, she needed police support. If the detective assigned to her case ever showed up, that is.

"Finally," the receptionist said. "Alex, this lady has been waiting to see you for half an hour."

Joanna rose. The detective lifted one hand to shake hers. The other hand held a string bag bulging with produce. Bunches of chard and carrots burst from its opening.

"Alex Sedillo. How can I help you?"
 

"I'm here about Poppy Madewell," Joanna said.
 

"And?"

"She did not steal those diamonds. I may have proof." She slipped the manifest from her purse. Hopefully they'd consider her story even without the inventory to compare it to.

The detective hesitated.
 

"Ask Detective Crisp, in homicide. I know him. He'll vouch for me."

"Crisp, huh? I've been in touch with him about the North homicide."

"They're not—they're not the same case?"

"No. Not yet, at least. We'll see as things develop. Why? You know something?"

Joanna vigorously shook her head. "No." Definitely not.
 

"All right. Come with me." Alex waved his badge over a sensor by the door. His produce bag swung against his baggy pants—surely at least two sizes too big, despite his generous build. He led her to an office on the perimeter of the floor. "Have a seat." He gestured toward the chair across from his desk. Huffing from the exertion of crossing the office, he set the bag of produce on a chair pushed against the wall. "Farmers market today."

"Are the morels out yet?" Despite her eagerness to get to the manifest, Joanna couldn't help asking.

"Yep. Got some of those and some fava beans. I'll grill the favas and sauté the morels for a kick-butt bruschetta."

She unfolded the list she’d taken from Travis’s apartment and smoothed it on his desk. "Have a look at this. There's something fishy about it."

"In a minute." He lowered himself slowly into the chair. "The chives are up now—I could chop a few tablespoons and sprinkle them on top." He lifted the receiver of his desk phone and asked someone to come by his office. Barely breaking stride, he picked up the food conversation again. "Here's hoping the favas are still tender, or I'll have to puree them, not that that's all that bad."
 

Joanna looked around the office for a clock. As it was, she was going to have to rush straight to the NAP meeting.

He pulled a plastic tub of protein powder from under his desk and scooped some into a tall carry-out cup. "Lap band surgery. God, I love food, but I got to keep it to very small portions, several times a day. This stuff helps." He shook the cup, his breath quickening again. "Lost almost fifty pounds, but I still got seventy-five to go."

Joanna jumped on the pause. "Poppy's sales records—"

A large woman with a mannish haircut appeared in the doorway. "You called?"

"Yes," Alex said. "Joanna Hayworth, this is Melinda, our forensic accountant. Joanna says she has something proving Madewell wasn't selling diamonds through the auction house."

"I'd like to see that." Melinda sounded skeptical.
 

Joanna tapped the manifest. "Here. This is the list of everything shipped as part of the Vivienne North lot. If I'm right, it's different from the inventory the auction house put together for the sale. For every lot that the auction house takes, they make an inventory with the owner. Each shipment that goes to the warehouse has a manifest listing its contents. When the truck's unloaded, they compare the manifest to the inventory to make sure they didn't miss anything."
 

"Manifests can be changed," Melinda said. "What’s the date on that?"

Joanna passed it to the forensic accountant, who studied it a moment. She glanced up at Sedillo and waved the paper. "The missing manifest."

The detective set down his cup and grabbed the list. "Let me see."

Joanna paused. "There's just one problem."

"What?"

"I don't have the inventory. But you could easily get it from the auction house," she added quickly.

"No. We don't need to. Wait here." Melinda left the room.
 

"Where did you get this?" Sedillo asked.
 

Stolen from Travis’s coffee table. Probably not what they'd call regular procedure. "From someone at the auction house."

"But we questioned everyone there, and no one knew where this was."

"Well," Joanna said. "It was someone who’d been fired. And he—he might not have wanted anyone to know he had it."

"If this is legitimate evidence, I’ll need names and a statement," the detective said.

"Fine." Joanna knew that Travis would support anything that helped clear Poppy. He wasn’t going to like this much, though.

The forensic accountant returned with a laptop. "From the auction house computer." She clicked expertly through digital files.

"What are those marks?" Alex pointed to the awkward check marks down the manifest.

"I think those were made by one of the warehouse hands who thought he'd screwed up. He was verifying the contents of the shipment."

"It doesn't look like he finished. See there? The checkmarks only go partway down the second page."

"He was fired," Joanna said. "He went back in the evening to finish up the reconciliation, and he was caught after business hours, against the rules."

A spreadsheet filled the laptop's screen. "North lot, May nineteenth." Melinda flattened the manifest on the table. "Same date, same lot. But the inventory doesn't match the manifest. It's subtle, but look." Joanna leaned forward for a better view. Melinda pointed to a line for box twelve. "The manifest lists 'glass,' but the inventory doesn't say anything about glass for that box."

"The same box the lamp with the diamonds was in?" Alex asked.

Melinda nodded.

Alex turned to Joanna. "You realize, if this manifest is legit, you've just given us evidence against your friend."

"All it proves is that someone at the auction house was receiving stolen diamonds. Not Poppy." She shook her head for emphasis. "Besides, I got a threatening call last night ordering me to lay off asking questions. It couldn't have been Poppy—she's in jail."

"Tell me what happened."

"I was at my shop—I have a vintage clothing store, Tallulah's Closet—and someone whispering so I couldn’t recognize him warned me to leave other people's business alone. Then he said to look in the dressing room. I found a nightgown twisted like a hanged person."

"Did you report this to the police?"

"Sure. Not that it did me any good."

Sedillo was quiet.
 

"And the manifest and inventory. Poppy doesn't even deal with shipping. I got the manifest from the guy who'd been fired. It wasn't Poppy who fired him, it was her manager, Ben."

Alex and Melinda looked at each other again. At last, Alex spoke. "Where are you going with all this?"

"Someone at the auction house is selling stolen diamonds. Maybe Ben."

"Whoa. You're making some serious allegations."

"I saw him yesterday. I pretended I'd found a bit of a jewelry setting on the warehouse floor. He flipped out."

"And?" Alex asked.

"And I don't have solid proof, I know." She took a deep breath. "But I do have a plan for finding out. We could stage a—" She paused, realizing how ridiculous this sounded. "A sting operation."

Alex leaned back, his arms folded in front of his chest. "Uh huh."

"No, really. If Poppy were able to call at one more auction, the real diamond seller—"

"Assuming it's not Poppy, you mean," Melinda added.

"The real diamond seller would try it again, either to make up for the money he lost, or to completely implicate Poppy. All you have to do is be at the auction and wait until the sale goes down."

Alex shook his head. "No."

"Plus, you'd have complete control. You could inspect everything for sale at the auction ahead of time and even do background checks on the guest list," Joanna said.

"Guest list? Since when do auctions have guest lists?" Alex asked.

"The one I'm thinking of is a charity art auction for the Northwest AIDS Project. It's Saturday. Poppy was hired to be the auctioneer. Before she was arrested, that is."
 

The expressions on their faces brought home what a ludicrous idea a sting operation was. What were the police going to do? Swoop into one of the city's fanciest fundraisers and handcuff someone? Besides, a charity auction wasn't the kind of auction Poppy held in her warehouse where, presumably, the jewels were distributed. But she didn't have a lot of options. How else could she prove Poppy was innocent?
 

Alex's chair creaked as he leaned forward. A shelf of stomach rolled onto the edge of his desk. "Terrible idea. Police work is not the movies. We don't run sting operations just to see what happens. Too many ways things can go wrong."

"It's a solid chance to clear Poppy. You want to nail whoever did this, right?" Joanna leaned forward, too. "Besides, you'll sit at my table." She loaded her voice with urgency. "The food will be divine. Five chefs—three of them James Beard nominees—are putting together the menu. All spring specialties, locally sourced."

Alex sipped his protein shake. He frowned at the cup and pushed it away. "Saturday, huh?" A few seconds passed. Joanna heard a phone ring in a nearby office. "Normally I'd say no. But the judge set bail for Poppy this morning, and she'll be out by this afternoon anyway. It's against my better judgment, but I'm willing to think about it. Talk to Poppy and get back to me."

She let out her breath. Poppy shouldn't be the problem, Joanna thought. It's the NAP committee. What would they say to having a jailbird call the auction?

***

Joanna straightened and plastered a smile on her face. "I have some good news."
 

Clary and Lacey sat across from Joanna at the conference table. Jeffrey, the NAP special events coordinator, was near the head of the table. The group looked at her expectantly. Clary finally said, "Well?"
 

"Poppy is out on bail and can still do the auction." She kept a positive tone.
 

"No no no." Lacey shook her head. "No way we're letting her call the auction. She's hooked up with that diamond theft ring. Forget it."

"She's been accused of a crime, not convicted," Joanna said.
 

Jeffrey ignored her. "We have two days until the auction, not counting today. I've been calling around, and the closest available auctioneer I can find is in Kansas City. Give me the green light, and we’ll fly him in."

Joanna grasped the edge of the table. "Please, hear me out. Poppy's the best person for the auction. She knows the audience—who can bid high, who will compete with whom. She'll raise the most money by far."

"But she's practically a felon. Who knows? Maybe she'll show up high or steal something," Lacey said. Her toy poodle started barking at a high pitch. "Hush, Wally. Mommy needs you to be quiet."

Jeffrey's head whipped from speaker to speaker.

"Calm down, Lacey," Clary said. "It's not like Poppy would pickpocket the guests. If anything, she'd be on her best behavior." He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. "I like the idea."

Joanna shot him a bewildered glance. Well, well. Clary was full of surprises. "You wouldn't regret it. I'm certain."
 

"It's still a bad idea," Lacey said. "If anything goes wrong, not only will it screw up the evening, but no one will ever go to a NAP event again. Think about it. Half the people in that room had diamonds stolen from them or know somebody who did."

"But we'd sell out the remaining tables like that." Clary snapped his fingers. "Everyone would want to come out to see her." The group was quiet for a moment. Ticket sales for the dinner had been lagging. "A quick press release, and I guarantee people will be talking about the auction for months." He tapped a finger on the desk. "Yes. I like it."

Lacey shook her head and pulled her poodle closer. "If you really want to do it, fine. But I won't take any responsibility."