The Lanvin Murders (Vintage Clothing Mysteries) (12 page)

“I needed to talk to you anyway.” Crisp wore a neatly ironed Western shirt, its yoke trimmed in blue piping. Today’s bolo tie featured a polished agate. The fan ruffled the hair around his ears.

“I need to talk to you, too. Remember the—“

Impatient, Bryce cut in. “So, what was stolen? A ballgown? I guess it would be easy to get a bead on a fellow wearing an old ballgown around town.” He laughed and slapped his thigh.

What a joker. “A coat from the 1930s. A Lanvin.”

Officer Bryce said, “That’s it? A coat?”

“Nothing else, at least not that I can tell. The stereo is still here, and the credit card receipts are locked in a cupboard under the jewelry case. I put the cash drawer in there every night, too.”

“Is it a valuable coat, then?”

“Yes and no. It isn’t in mint condition. It has a new lining, for one thing, so collectors wouldn’t be interested. The leather’s dry and won’t stand up to much wear. But it’s a beautiful coat. From a famous designer. The thing is, I think the burglars wanted the—“
 

“Where’d they break in?” the uniformed officer asked.

She led them to the bathroom. “In here. But I’ve been trying to tell you—“

This time it was Crisp who stopped her. “The stolen coat. Is it the one that covered Marnie Evans when you found the body?”

Joanna nodded. “I’d just stopped in to get something to wear to her memorial service this morning, actually. I found the bathroom window broken and a footprint on the toilet lid.”

Officer Bryce opened his notebook. “When was the last time you were in the store, before today, that is?”

“I locked up just after six last night, then came in again at about nine-thirty this morning.”

The men squeezed into the bathroom. Bryce rested his hand on the back of the toilet, and the tissue holder, a pink metal box decorated with poodles, clattered to the floor.

He snapped his notebook shut and tucked it into his back pocket. They moved back into the main part of the store. “I’m going to be honest with you. We get a lot of criminal mischief in this neighborhood. Graffiti, things like that. Some petty theft, too. None of your neighbors reported break-ins, and this kind of incident is common enough that I don't even think it's worth sending someone in to take prints.”

Joanna drew a deep breath to quell her rising frustration. “There's one more thing.”
 

Officer Bryce opened his mouth, but Joanna put up a hand to signal him to stop. She went to her purse on the shelf below the tiki bar, drew out Marnie’s safe deposit box key, and handed it to Crisp.
 

“Remember how the Lanvin coat’s lining was slit? I think whoever did it was looking for this. It fell out of the coat just after I bought it.”
 

The detective turned the key in his hand. “What makes you think someone wanted the key?”

She sat down. “A lot of strange things have been happening since the coat came to the store. First, Marnie died. I found her there.” She pointed at the tiki bar for Bryce’s benefit.
 

 
The younger man leaned back, his leather belt creaking. “How’d she die?”

“The medical examiner said it was a heart attack—or at least that’s what I read in the paper. But I’m telling you, her death couldn’t have been natural,” Joanna said. “It's too odd. She broke into the store and lay down and died? I don’t think so. Then Apple—she works here, too—saw someone lurking outside. Plus, one of our customers bought the coat, and while she had it her apartment was broken into. The coat was in the trunk of her car the whole time. Nothing in her apartment was stolen. She ended up returning it. And now it’s gone.”

Joanna glanced toward the back of the store, where a customer was trying on cocktail rings and pretending not to listen.

The officer folded his arms. “In this neighborhood, it was probably kids on a dare, or someone who had had a few drinks next door and decided it would be fun to see if they could get into your store. To tell the truth, you're pretty lucky.”

“So you're not going to follow up.” Joanna wouldn't meet the officer's eyes. She knew he heard the frustration in her voice.

“I'm sorry ma'am. We'll take a report and put it on file. But it sounds like a whole lot of coincidence, and breaking and entering and stealing something of relatively low value isn’t high on the list of priorities. If anything else happens, give me a call.” The officer jotted a number on the back of a business card and put it on the counter. “Here’s a report number if you need it for insurance.”

Detective Crisp stepped forward. “Slow down, Bryce. Homicide is interested. I don’t know why the murderer didn’t take the coat the first time.”

“Murderer?” She’d been half expecting something like this, but the word still shocked. The customer at the back of the store had given up all pretense of shopping and listened, slack-jawed.

“That’s what I came to tell you. The autopsy report showed that when you found Ms. Evans, she’d already been dead for a day and a half.”

This new information took a moment to sink in. “But I—”

“She didn’t die here, Ms. Hayworth. She was brought here, already dead.”

“What?” Joanna reached behind her for the bench and sat down. “Already dead?” A day and a half earlier. That would have been not long after Marnie had called her to demand the coat back.

Removing a pair of red mules jumbled on the bench, Detective Crisp joined her. “That’s what I’m here to tell you. We’ve been to Ms. Evans’ house. Someone broke in through the back door. Evans died, and the assailant drove her in her minivan to your store and left her here.”

“But I thought she died of natural causes, a heart attack. You said ‘murder.’”
 

The doorbell rang, and two women, one pushing a stroller, came in. Officer Bryce ushered them outside.
 

“She did die naturally. Her body was weakened by ovarian cancer. But the stress of someone breaking into her house may have brought on cardiac arrest. That’s manslaughter.”

Joanna shook her head. “I don’t get it. Why would someone haul Marnie’s body to my store? They had to have a reason for coming here, so they would have had to talk to Marnie first, hear about the store in the first place. She couldn’t have died right away.”

Bryce came back into Tallulah’s Closet and flipped the sign to “closed.”
 

Joanna raised a finger. “Couldn’t the broken window have come later? Maybe someone—someone totally different—realized Marnie wasn’t home and broke in to steal something.”

“I see what you’re getting at,” Crisp said. “But nothing was stolen as far as we could tell. The last time we talked, you said you’d called her, correct?”

“Sure. She never picked up.”

Crisp looked thoughtful. “I wondered.”

“What?”

“The messages were erased on her answering machine. But that’s the only thing out of place we noticed. No fingerprints, nothing stolen.” He toyed with a pillbox hat near the bench. “It’s the one piece I haven’t figured out—why he didn’t just leave the body at home.”

The air in the store stifled. Joanna rose and turned up the fan another notch. Still standing, she faced Crisp. “Marnie sold me the Lanvin coat and some other clothing Tuesday morning. She called that afternoon and insisted on getting the coat back right away. Thursday morning I found her. So she must have died Tuesday afternoon or evening. Does that sound right?”

“Yes. That’s correct.”

“This is how I see it. Someone went to Marnie’s house and demanded the safe deposit box key.” She lifted the key to chin level. “Marnie called me to get the coat back because the key was in it, but I couldn’t bring it. Maybe she was intending to come get the coat herself, but she didn’t. She died. The—the person who was with her decided to break into the store himself to search for the coat and dump off Marnie’s body.” Yes, it was all coming together. “It’s the safe deposit box key. I’m telling you, someone wants it.”
 

“I think you’re making too much of the coat. Why not steal it right away when he brought Marnie to the store? Why wait to come after the key?” Crisp asked.

“Well.” She bit the corner of her lip. “Could there be two people after the key?”

Crisp shook his head. “So now you suspect two people.”

“Think about it. The second person—the one who broke in—he might have called Marnie, but she was already dead. He erased the answering machine’s messages so no one could track them back to him.”

Crisp rose. “Look, I’m going to put all this speculation to rest right now. I see where you’re going, but it’s a dead end. Yes, someone stole the coat, undoubtedly to hide something—maybe hair or skin—that gave away his identity. We should have taken the coat as evidence right away.”

“But the key. What about the key?”

“I told you, we’ve been doing some investigating, and we have a few promising leads. I can’t tell you more than that.”

“No. I’m not convinced.” She folded her arms. Didn’t he get it?
 

“Listen to me, Joanna.” For the first time, Crisp let irritation cross his placid face. “We’ve been doing a lot of investigating, including Marnie’s financial records. Marnie Evans didn’t have a safe deposit box.”

***

The customer shopping for her trip to Mexico emerged from the dressing room and handed two sundresses to Joanna. Officer Bryce and Detective Crisp parted to make way for her.
 

“No peignoir?” Joanna tried to sound upbeat, but the thought of Marnie dead in her minivan, then driven to the store and dumped, rattled her.

“Not this time.”
 

She packaged up the customer's purchases while the policemen started for the door.

Just then, Paul walked in, carrying a bag from the hardware store. As Paul and the detective passed, each stopped in his tracks.

“Hello, Crisp.”

“Hello, Paul.”
 

Curious at the strained greeting, Joanna glanced up from the tiki bar.
 

The detective spoke first. “How’s your uncle?”

“You probably know better than I do.”

Crisp turned back to Joanna. “Does he have a key to the store?”

“I don't know. Maybe. I suppose so.” Confused, she looked from man to man.

“Do you know him very well?”

Now alarmed, Joanna focused on Crisp. “What do you mean?”

He fixed his eyes on Paul. “No, I suppose you’ve always kept your hands clean.” He turned to Joanna. “As for you, I'm just saying you need to be careful who you give access to the store. If you have any more problems, you have our number.”
 

Officer Bryce backed up a step and knocked two pairs of pumps off their display rack.
 

“Uh, sorry,” he said.

“Come on, Chet.”
 

Joanna watched them get in the patrol car. Once the customer had left with her purchases, Joanna turned to Paul. “What was that all about?”

Paul set the paper bag on the counter. “Detective Crisp arrested my uncle. A couple of times, actually. They go back a long way, when Crisp was investigating robberies.” He drew a small bottle from the bag and looked at her. “I brought you something for your scrape.”

“He seemed concerned about the store.” Joanna took the antiseptic from Paul's hands and sprayed some on a tissue, but her gaze remained on Paul.
 

“My uncle’s a burglar. High-end stuff—jewelry and art, mostly. He had quite a reputation. Crisp chased him down for years before he finally caught up with him. He knows my uncle and I were close, and I suppose he wondered—” Paul picked up his toolbox. “Anyway, no need to worry about him. Uncle Gene’s at Deer Creek state pen.”

No need to worry about me, either, his tone implied. Aware of Paul watching her, she wandered to the stereo and pulled a record from the stack. Detective Crisp’s cowboy boots had put her in the mood for this one in particular. She dropped the needle, and “Take Me Back to Tulsa” twanged from the speakers.
 

“Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys,” Paul said. “You’re kidding.”

“I love it,” she said stubbornly.
 

“I do, too. It’s just not a popular choice these days.”
 

“Story of my life.”

They looked at each other. Joanna felt her skin flush. The phone rang, but she didn’t move to pick it up. After a few rings it stopped. Bob Wills sang about Little Bee getting honey while Big Bee got the blossom.
 

Paul broke the silence. “I’d better take care of the window.”

She surprised herself by touching his arm. “Have you had lunch yet? I was just going to order something from next door. They do a Middle Eastern plate that's pretty good if you eat your way around the hummus.”

“No, but thanks.” He picked up his tools and started toward the bathroom. “This shouldn’t take long, and I’ll be out of here.”

Later in the afternoon, Joanna took the safe deposit box key from her purse and pressed it on the counter. It was small and made of brass, with a five digit number and “U.S. Bank” inscribed on it. If Crisp wasn’t going to follow up, she was. Marnie might have had an alias. Who knows? She picked up the phone.
 

After a few seconds of a jazzy version of “The Long and Winding Road,” a woman answered. “U.S. Bank Personal Services. May I help you?”

“Yes, I wonder if you have a safe deposit box registered to Marnie—or Margaret—Evans?”
 

“I'm sorry. We can't give out that information.”

Joanna had expected as much. “It’s like this. Marnie Evans died, and I found the key in her things. What happens to the contents of her safe deposit box, assuming that she does have one?”

The woman on the phone explained that the executor of Marnie’s will would have to prove Marnie died before getting access to the box, unless Marnie had authorized someone else to have access to it, too. That is, if she did have a safe deposit box.

“I see. Thank you.” She clunked the phone back in the cradle. So she wouldn’t be able to walk into the bank herself and see what was in the box. She picked up the phone again to order a bowl of soup from next door. After Paul left, a flurry of customers had kept her busy until now, and she was starved. As she waited for the food to arrive, she tapped a pen absently on the counter.