Silk Stalkings (13 page)

“Does Violet make
a habit of going out of town to avoid the pageant?” I asked.

“Oh, no,” Lilly said. “This trip was very sudden. She didn't tell me where she was going or when she'd be back. That's why I wanted you to keep your voice down. I keep expecting her to walk through the front door.”

The chime over the door rang. We both turned our heads at the sound, but it was Giovanni, not Violet, who walked in. “We need to get on the road soon if I'm going to get those women back to Los Angeles before midnight.”

“I'll be right there,” I said. I turned back to Lilly. “The rolling rack?” I prompted.

“Oh yes. Can you watch the counter? I'll be right back.”

She disappeared through the back of the shop. Giovanni eyed the birdcage from top to bottom, then walked inside to look at the display. I clicked the remote at the plastic bird and it came to life. “Polly want a cracker! Polly want a cracker!”
it squawked. Giovanni jumped, and I doubled over in laughter. Maybe Lilly had something with the parrot after all.

Lilly returned with the rolling rack a few minutes later and I thanked her and rolled it to the fabric shop. In my absence, the seamstresses had sewn garment bags out of muslin. Each bag had an outside pocket made from the silk of the dress inside. Zippers had been inserted along the side seam. We placed each dress in its bag, zipped it shut, paper-clipped an index card with the contestant's name and her sketch to the top, and hung it on the rack. When we were done, twenty dresses hung on the rack. Lucy's had been completed but not fitted. I hoped for her sake that the measurements had been accurate. I refused to believe she wouldn't come back by the pageant.

I hugged each of the women from To the Nines good-bye and sent them on their way. They giggled, as if they shared a joke I hadn't been let in on. I walked them to the van in the parking lot and waved as Giovanni pulled out of the lot. As nice as it had been to be reunited with them, I was happy to have my store and my regular level of noise—as in mostly quiet—back.

Jun was packing up the last of her equipment when I went back inside. “I leave now, too, Miss Poly. Give you time to get ready for date with Mister Vaughn.”

“Jun, about that date . . .”

“Is no secret Mister Vaughn likes you. You not like other women he date. Ladies tell me about man you date in Los Angeles. Sound like Mister Vaughn not like him, either.”

“Just because we're different than each other doesn't mean anything.”

“No, but it not
not
mean anything, either.” She smiled. “Good night, Miss Poly. Enjoy surprise.”

“What surprise?” I asked.

“You see.” She rolled her sewing machine and table to the wall alongside the store, said good-bye to Pins and Needles, and left.

Without the craziness of seven sewers, nineteen pageant contestants, and Giovanni in the store, it felt like the day after Woodstock. I swept the floor around the sewing stations, collecting piles of fabric cuttings and threads and scooping them up in the dustpan. After the floor was clean, I made sure the sewing machines had been turned off and draped a cloth cover over each one so dust wouldn't get into the components and affect the performance. I rolled up the muslin and returned it to its shelf, collected the colorful tape measures that lay scattered across the tables, and carried the overflowing trash cans out back to the Dumpster. I had about an hour to get ready for my date with Vaughn, but before I spent any time wondering about what to wear, I needed a plan for what I wanted to accomplish while we were at the Waverly House.

First I called the restaurant. A man answered. I confirmed my reservations and then added, “I'd like a seat by the fireplace, if possible.”

“We don't turn the fireplace on in the summer months.”

“Yes, I know you use the gas log. I'm requesting it more for the ambiance than for heat,” I explained.

“Are you looking for privacy? We have a nice table in the corner that looks out over the northern lawn,” he said.

“No, thank you. The fireplace will be fine.”

Yes, the fireplace was definitely where I wanted to sit. Because I still wasn't convinced that Sheila was innocent, and if she'd tried to burn what she'd received from the pageant committee and any parts of the documents were left behind, I wanted access to them. The real problem was going to be searching the fireplace without Vaughn knowing.

•   •   •

I changed into a black jersey dress with a scoop neckline in the front and back. The dress was fitted down to my
thighs, where the fabric had been cut and seamed into long strips of fabric, about four inches wide, that fell to just above my ankle. Before I left, I measured several yards of black Spanish lace from a bolt that had a defect and cut it, then wrapped it around my shoulders like a stole.

I arrived at the Waverly House early, hoping to scope out the interior of the dining room before Vaughn and I were seated. Adelaide Brooks was in the lobby conversing with the maître d'. She saw me and excused herself.

“Poly, what a nice surprise. You look lovely. One of these days you're going to have to call ahead when you plan to visit so we can spend some time together. As it is, we're a little short-staffed tonight.”

“How come?”

“Someone canceled the regular cleaning crew so the restaurant wasn't ready to open on time. And then Sheila called in sick, poor dear. I think she's coming down with something. She hasn't looked herself for the past few days.”

Adelaide Brooks looked fresh in a sand-colored shift dress, with an ivory cardigan draped over her shoulders. On her wrist was a series of thin gold bracelets. Her glasses, which usually hung on a quartz-and-gold chain around her neck, were on her head. The chain draped down on each side of her face. The right-hand side was caught in a small gold hoop earring. She tipped her head to the side and tried to free it with her fingers. Wisps of her gray hair danced around her face.

I gave her a hug. “I don't want you to take it personally, but I'm not here to see you,” I said.

“Oh?”

“I have dinner reservations.”

“I see. You arrived alone?”

“I'm meeting my date here.”

“Oh.” Her face barely changed, and I silently gave her credit. If I weren't so tuned in to the subtleties of her speech,
I might not have noticed the difference between her first “oh” and her second.

“I'm a little early and there's something I wanted to ask you. Can you spare a couple of minutes?”

“Of course.”

I stepped past the host's station and down the carpeted hallway that led to the building's southern entrance. It was kept locked except for special events, so I knew no one would interrupt us. The darkness of the hallway, magnified by the heavy cherrywood walls and thick burgundy oriental carpet under our feet, kept us from standing out too much.

“I haven't had a chance to talk to you since the garden party,” I said. “It was a lovely event, even if it did end in tragedy.”

“If I were being self-centered, I'd say we were fortunate that Harvey's body was discovered as late as it was. But I shan't allow myself to think that way. Harvey Halliwell was one of San Ladrón's most influential men and it's a shame to see him gone so soon.”

“Did you know him well? I mean, were you and Mr. McMichael married when they were partners?”

“You do like to bring up my ex-husband, don't you?” She sighed. “Harvey and Vaughn's father were partners before we were married. They split a few years later. I did know Harvey, and I wish the two of them had been able to see past their differences and learn to work together. Harvey had several qualities that Vic lacked and vice versa.”

“Like what?”

“Harvey was a humanitarian. Vic was a businessman. Harvey knew how to generate goodwill. Vic knew how to generate money.” She put her hand on mine. “Don't get me wrong. We had a very nice life because of Vic's business sense. But there were aspects of our life together that were sacrificed because of that business drive. And ultimately, his love of his business was what drove us apart.”

“I don't mean to bring up old wounds,” I said. “I'm more interested in learning about Harvey than about Mr. McMichael.”

She looked over my shoulder and her face froze. “Poly, I— Can you excuse me for a moment? I need to attend to someone at the front desk. I'll be right back.” She put her hand on my arm and then hurried down the hall.

I checked the time on my phone. It was seven thirty. I didn't want to be late meeting Vaughn. I would explain to Adelaide later why I didn't wait for her to return. I turned my phone to silent and tucked it into my handbag. I was just about to turn the corner when Adelaide returned. “Crisis averted. Now, where were we?”

I looked into the hallway. Two couples were being led into the restaurant, and otherwise the lobby was empty. The front door opened and Vaughn walked in. He looked confused.

“Vaughn!” Adelaide said. “I think you'd be happier dining here tomorrow.”

He approached his mother and kissed her on the cheek. “I think that would make things a little awkward for Poly, considering she asked me to join her for dinner tonight.”

She looked at me. “Your date is with my son?”

I kissed Adelaide on the other cheek. “Thank you for keeping me company. Our reservation was for seven thirty, and I don't want to lose our table.”

I led Vaughn to the host station, and the host led us to our table by the fireplace. Not only was there not a fire in the pit, but the fake fire was missing, too. Whoever was in charge of turning it on had either forgotten to, or chosen not to bother. Without the illumination I'd planned on having from the electric log, I couldn't see if there was anything in the fireplace interior. I took my seat on the side closer to the interior of the fireplace and draped my shawl over the back of my chair.

“I hope—” we both said at the same time.

“You didn't,” we both said again, and laughed.

“Do I need to apologize for anything my mother said before I arrived?” Vaughn asked.

“Not unless I need to apologize for her telling you to leave. I told her I was having dinner here, but I didn't tell her who I was dining with.”

“Embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“A little. It goes against everything I stand for.”

“Dining out in public? Or being seen with one of the most eligible bachelors in San Ladrón?”

“Are you? I hadn't heard,” I said.

“Maybe my status has changed. It's hard to keep up with these things,” he said, waving his hand back and forth.

A waitress delivered a basket of freshly baked bread to our table. A thick blue sateen napkin had been wrapped around the bread, which was nestled in a small white basket. Steam, along with the scent of sourdough and rosemary, traveled from the basket into the air, tempting me to ignore the menu and indulge in a prison diet of bread and water.

“Shall I bring your champagne?”

I shot a look at Vaughn. He looked as confused as I was. I looked up at the waitress. “Our champagne?”

“Yes, a bottle of champagne was ordered for you this afternoon.”

“By whom?”

She looked at a slip of paper in her hand. “Giovanni's girls,” she said.

“Women,” I corrected automatically.

“No, they specifically said to call them ‘Giovanni's girls.'”

I hung my head and shook it from side to side. When I looked up at Vaughn, he grinned at me. “How about it? Would you like to start with champagne?”

“Why not?” I asked. Perhaps it would distract him when his date for the evening dropped down to her hands and knees and felt around the interior of the fireplace.

“Excellent.” The waitress went to the bar and said something to the bartender. He was the same man who had been here when I'd visited with Sheila. He looked over at us, nodded, and bent down behind the bar. When he stood back up, he set two flutes on the counter next to a chilled bottle. As he popped the cork and filled our glasses, I turned my attention back to the fireplace and aimed the light from my cell phone at the interior. Behind the log, in the back corner, were a couple of balls of paper, just as I'd suspected. Sheila hadn't been out of her mind when she lit the fireplace. She'd been trying to destroy something.

The waitress returned with our glasses and a silver ice bucket that held the bottle. When prompted, Vaughn told her we needed a couple more minutes with the menu. She left and he reached across the table and took my hand.

“I'm glad you invited me here tonight,” he said. “But judging from how you're studying the interior of the fireplace, I'm starting to think either you regret asking or you had something else in mind when you extended the invitation.”

I was busted. The problem was, I needed to talk to someone. And maybe I wasn't so hot on the idea of scrounging around the interior of the fireplace after all.

“I'm about to ask you a favor that's going to test the limits of your understanding.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Can you create a distraction while I get something out of the fireplace?”

“I don't think there's a distraction big enough to hide a pretty woman crawling around on her hands and knees on the floor of a restaurant. Why?”

I slid my chair back. “See in the far corner? There are crumpled-up balls of paper. I need to look at them.”

Vaughn stood and walked to the back of my chair. He reached around the side of the fireplace and clicked a small black switch. Within seconds, the fake log glowed orange.
He selected the broom from a circular stand of fireplace tools, reached it into the fireplace, and swept the crumpled balls of paper to the side of my foot. I bent down and scooped the balls of paper into my handbag. Vaughn put the broom back on the stand and took his seat.