Dior or Die (Joanna Hayworth Vintage Clothing Mysteries Book 2) (16 page)

The door to Dot's Café opened, and three men arguing about a new band spilled on to the street. Their voices faded as they passed down the block. A car door slammed in the distance. Joanna, surrounded by piles of silk and Italian wool, sat down and cried.
 

Paul did not return.
 

The receptionist at the Justice Center buzzed a dull-eyed Joanna through and pointed her toward a conference room along the back wall. Even though it was Saturday, people clicked at keyboards in the central pool of cubicles. Not surprising, she supposed. It wasn't as if crime kept office hours.

Four of the chairs in the conference room were already filled. Detective Sedillo heaved himself out of his chair and held out his hand. "Nice to see you, Joanna. Cup of coffee?"

She nodded. She'd barely slept. It had given her plenty of time to replay the scene with Paul in her head and wonder how she could have handled it differently. She'd had hours to tally her regrets, and it looked like she might have a lot longer. He hadn't returned her calls. She held her breath to hold back the tears that threatened to rise.

She took in the half-empty mugs around the conference room table, then blinked at the morning sun streaming over the Willamette River.

"Oh, I wouldn't serve you what they give us in the break room," Sedillo said, perhaps assuming her silence had to do with the quality of the coffee. "I've got a thermos in my office. Private blend from a garage roaster in my neighborhood. Let me get you some."

"Thank you. I'd love a cup."

"I'll get it," said one of the other officers as he leapt up.
 

"Thanks, Lee." Sedillo's chair creaked in protest as he lowered himself. "Have a seat. This here's Tommy Lewis—" A small, tidy man with hooded eyes nodded. "—And that was Lee Macon getting you the coffee. We'll be the primary team for tonight's operation. At the end of the table is Martin Greenberg, FBI."

The FBI was involved with this? Greenberg rose and clenched Joanna's palm in a bruising grip. "Pleasure," he said just as Lee returned with her coffee and a glass canister of off-yellow powder.

"We only have instant creamer, I'm afraid."
 

"That's fine." She stirred the powder into her cup. Given her lack of appetite, non-dairy creamer might be the only solid food she had all day.

Sedillo tapped the table with his pen. "First on the agenda is the auction’s layout." He clicked the projector attached to his laptop. "Lee, close the blinds, will you?" A floor plan filled the screen. Sedillo waved a laser pointer at the largest room, on the far right. Tiny circles indicating tables filled it. A long rectangle extended from the inner wall. "The whole deal takes place in a warehouse. Right here is where the dinner and auction will be. Fifty tables give or take. This" —the laser pointer hovered over the long rectangle— "is the stage where the auctioneer will be. Her spotters will be on each side of the stage. Over here" —now the pointer moved to the smaller rooms on the left of the diagram— "is the green room, with a door to the main dining area, there next to the stage, and a sort of prep area just below the green room."

"The green room, where I'll be dressing the hostesses," Joanna said.
 

The policemen around the conference table fidgeted. Lee's head was pointed at the screen, but his eyes had a faraway cast. Tommy played with his phone and stifled a yawn. Only the guy from the FBI looked alert. First he watched Detective Sedillo, then Joanna. She might not be at the top of her game this morning, but that was no excuse for the others to be so lax.

"Correct. As you see, the loading dock goes straight into the prep area, and from there you enter the green room." He moved his pointer to the far right of the diagram. "There are three entrances to the dining room. The door to the green room I just showed you, the main entrance to Couch street, and the side door where the catering tents are set up."

Joanna looked around the table. Why wasn’t anyone paying attention?

"If there are any last minute instructions before dinner is served, I'll send Tommy or Lee to the green room. We'll keep it low key, though. They'll simply ask, 'Did you order the vegan meal?' and that will be your cue to follow them to somewhere you can talk."

"I see," Joanna said. "Where will you guys be?"

The policemen all looked up, but Sedillo spoke. "I was just getting to that. I'll be at your table as your guest." The laser pointer drifted to a table at the edge of the dining room. "Tommy and Lee will be outfitted as caterers. Some of the service staff will have earpieces and radios, so the boys won't look out of place."

"Hmm. You know what Ben looks like, right?"

Greenberg cut in. "Sedillo sent out photos. We've already searched the art for the auction. Didn't find anything. We'll keep one man on the auctioneer and another on the spotters. Sedillo will handle, uh, general surveillance."

Something was off. This was the big briefing before the auction, yet the police were clearly somewhere else mentally. She glanced at the now-empty coffee cups. "Did you guys already talk through this, without me?"

Sedillo and Greenberg exchanged glances. "We went over the schedule for the night, that's all. Stuff you already know. You know, time guests arrive, when dinner starts—all that."

"You did talk about it. You've already met. All this" —she waved her hands over the table— "is show. For me. Why?"
 

Detective Sedillo leaned forward, fanning the papers in front of him. The chart on top looked like a guest list, and a yellow streak highlighted one name she couldn't quite make out. "Listen. You have an important role. We'll need you to keep tabs on Poppy. Tommy will always know where she is, but as she moves around—the ladies room, green room—we'll need you to keep track. Don't do anything that will draw too much attention to yourself. Got it?"

If Tommy was already in charge of Poppy, why did they need her involved? It sounded like make-work. "There's something you're not telling me."

"I told you this was a mistake," the FBI agent said.
 

"There's one critical thing we need you to know," Sedillo added. "The auctioneer—Poppy—can't get wind of what's happening tonight. If she has any idea, the operation's kaput."

"But she's innocent. That's what this is all about," Joanna protested.

Greenberg ignored her outburst. "If Poppy knows, she could betray the operation just by looking at someone too long or second-guessing herself. Her performance tonight must be completely natural." He locked glances with Joanna. "Promise me you haven't told her about it already."

"No. I got Detective Sedillo's warning. I haven't said anything." Not to Poppy, anyway, she thought, remembering her discussion with Apple.

"What?" Sedillo said.

"Well, I did tell my friend about it."

A chorus of moans circled the table. "Your boyfriend, I bet?" Lee said.

Right in the heart, like all the songs say. Right now Paul was probably taking Gemma the Beast on her morning walk and reflecting on how he was sorry he’d ever known her. "No." She looked at her coffee cup. He knew there was some kind of sting, but he didn’t know the details. "My friend, Apple. She'll be at the auction, too. She's discreet."

Greenberg rose. "Get the friend's name and we'll run her through the database. We're done here." He grabbed his coffee mug and moved toward the door. "And you," he said, pointing at Joanna, "Keep your mouth shut, understand?"

"This one is perfect for Bekah. We’ll put it with the rhinestone chandelier earrings—she seems to like her bling." Apple pulled a flowered dress with a double-tiered skirt—one full, and the other, longer skirt designed to hug the legs—from the portable clothing rack in the green room. With a box of shoes and jewelry, the rack took up most of the green room. "Jo, did you even hear me? Hop to it. We need to get the greeters dressed."

For once, Joanna was grateful for Apple's bossiness. Armed with a list of measurements and coloring of the greeters, they'd spent most of the afternoon together assembling the clothes for the auction, along with matching accessories. She’d had little time to give in to the heartache that threatened to lay her out. Now, just before the NAP auction, most of the trucks had unloaded and left, and only the bustle of the catering staff in the adjoining dining room and occasional microphone checks disturbed their work.

"I don’t know where the detective is. He should have been here by now."
 

"Let him do his job, and you’ll do yours. Take this to Bekah,”Apple said.

Joanna obeyed, handing the dress through some sheets they’d jury-rigged as a dressing area. She lowered her voice when she returned to Apple. "If he doesn’t show up, the whole thing will be a bust." Not only would Poppy still be in a mess, but she would have iced things with Paul for nothing. The knot in her throat thickened. Maybe she should have listened to him. Too late now.

"Knock it off. Guests will be here any minute, and we don't even have everyone dressed. He’ll either be here or he won’t."

Footsteps approached the door. Detective Sedillo?
 

Poppy breezed into the green room. "Hello Joanna, Apple. Gawd. This place reminds me of when I did livestock auctions," she said, looking at the raw walls and exposed beams. A heater in the corner made little progress against the spring evening's chill.

"The committee wanted a creative" —Joanna made quote marks with her fingers— "venue for the auction this year, instead of the convention center. Somebody knew somebody who had an empty warehouse, and voilà."
 

Poppy barely paid attention to her words. She wore a scarlet Lili Ann dinner suit with an elaborate rhinestone necklace filling its open shawl collar. Her stilettos, modern, clicked across the concrete floor as she approached Joanna. "Are you ready for tonight?" Then, a second later, "You don't look so good."

"Oh, it's nothing. I didn't sleep very well. You know, stress about the event. How are you?" Joanna hardly needed to ask. From Poppy's focused, fueled expression, she was in top form.
 

"I feel great. Oh Jo, it's so good to be working again. You were right—this is the right thing to do."

Jeffrey, the events coordinator, popped his head behind the green room's curtain. "Poppy? Do you have a minute to go over the seating chart with me? We added two tables with real potential."

"Where did you put the Stilsons? They're usually big art buyers." Still discussing bidding strategy, she followed him out.

Joanna moved closer to Apple so the greeters wouldn't hear. "The two detectives I met are dressed like caterers. One of them was supposed to keep an eye on Poppy, but I haven't seen him, either. Sedillo's coming black tie."

"If they're around, they aren't likely to be obvious about it, are they?" Apple handed the last dress to a greeter and turned to Joanna. "We're finished here. Let's go to the dining room."

"I’ll meet you there. I want to look around a little, make sure I’m not missing them."

Instead of following Apple through the doorway connecting the green room with the dining room, she passed into the adjoining room where the art for the oral auction posed on easels and leaned against walls, waiting to be paraded through the dining room when Poppy called the auction. The detectives might be there, inspecting the art for hidden diamonds.

A volunteer, undoubtedly posted to guard the art, slumped on his stool, but otherwise the room was quiet. "Can I help you?" he said.

"I’m just—just looking for a friend."

"No one here but me."

As he spoke, a man entered from the door connecting with the dining room. At first, Joanna noticed his tuxedo—Sedillo?—before realizing the man was much too tall, and slender, to be the detective. But on second glance, she did know him. She knew him from his resemblance to his mother. It was Gil, Helena’s husband.
 

"Here to look at the art?" Joanna said, closing the distance between them. "I’m Joanna Hayworth. You must be Gil North."

Gil looked momentarily flustered. He pushed back a lock of hair that had flopped free of its Brylcreemed set. "Yes. I was looking for the restroom."

"I think they’re on the other side, near the catering tent."

Gil showed no inclination to leave, yet he seemed unsettled. He buried his hands in his pockets and scanned the paintings, his gaze settling on a sculpture woven of glass rods. "Very interesting," he said. "I’m not familiar with this artist’s work." At last he seemed to grow more comfortable. "What a fascinating juxtaposition of strength and delicacy."

A shadow passed by the doorway. Joanna turned. Whoever it was, he was gone now. She needed to get into the dining room. She was supposed to be keeping an eye on Poppy. At least maybe the other detectives had shown up, if she could recognize them in catering attire.

"I’m looking forward to seeing your painting, Mr. North. I understand it’s the centerpiece of the auction." She smiled, preparing to leave, but stopped when she saw Gil’s head turn again and settle on a large abstract painting. "Is that it?
Pacific Five
?" Only a few lights illuminated the warehouse room, just enough to make out undulations of color.

Gil’s breath quickened. He lifted a handkerchief from his jacket’s inside pocket and patted his forehead. He stumbled as he turned away from the painting.

"Are you all right? Why don’t we go into the dining room and sit down."

"Yes. Fine. I’m fine," he said. "I just need some water."

"Let me help you." Helena had said he’d already had one panic attack. Maybe he was on the verge of another.

"You want me to get someone?" The volunteer was at their side.

"No," Gil said, his voice suddenly firm. "I said I’m fine." He strode from the room.

Joanna hurried to the dining room after him, but he was quickly absorbed into the chattering crowd beginning to fill the room. Keeping with the Hollywood Glamour theme, a red carpet led up the center of the massive central room, and canisters threw a moving pattern of mini-spotlights on the warehouse's ceiling. Stems of moth orchids, a scarlet runner, and a silver bucket with a cooling magnum of champagne decorated each table. A miniature Oscar statue held down donation envelopes. Music from Academy Award-nominated movies competed with the clinking from the caterer's tent. Right now it was the theme to
Gone With the Wind
. The room was already beginning to warm from the heat of the guests.