Murder After a Fashion (2 page)

Dolce must have seen me dawdling indecisively because she said, “If you want to, you can just add leggings or a straight-leg pant under the Alexander Wang botanical print dress on the rack. It offsets the graphic element, don’t you think? And add a belt. Belts are in and very figure flattering.”

I guess everyone needs some figure flattering, so I didn’t take her suggestion personally. I chose a sand leather belt from Yves Saint Laurent that went with the dress, a pair of dark leggings and Hunter Champery wedge boots and went to the dressing room to change my look from spring to fall. I hated to ditch my sandals, but I gave in and added the wool blazer too.

Dolce gave me an approving thumbs-up when I came out. “That’s better,” she said. “I think we’ll have a big crowd in today. Especially with this rain. It reminds everyone that they need to update their wardrobe for fall.”

Which was just what she’d done for me. Updated my wardrobe with a new dress and a few special additions. I was warm and dry and even more stylish than when I’d arrived. Someday maybe I’d be the saleswoman Dolce was. Until then I’d work at it with her as my example and enjoy the ambience in the shop.

It was not only the ambience but also the gossip I enjoyed. Usually. But today the conversation seemed a little less than stimulating. It went like this.

“Guess who was with Brianna LaRue at the Edwardian Ball? I’ll give you a hint. It wasn’t her husband,” Tracy Livingston said to a small group of her BFFs who were gathered at the accessory counter looking through a stack of our latest shipment of scarves in silk, chiffon and wool.

“They’re done, over, kaput,” Angela Boursin said, rubbing her hands together. “Everyone knows that.”

“Does everyone know why?” Maxine Anderson asked eagerly.

The others stared at the Missoni sweater set she wore with pearls as if she had come from a different era. It was partly her dated outfit from last year’s collection and partly her naïveté that earned her pitying looks and made her stand out from the in-crowd. And made me feel sorry for her. But what could I do to help her fit in except what I’d always done, make tactful suggestions. After that, customers had to make up their own minds. Not that I’m an advocate of “the customer is always right.” Far from it. But all I can do is give advice and fashion tips.

As a rule, our customers don’t have jobs. Most of them spend their days doing charity work and having lunch and shopping, which is good for business. But Dolce wouldn’t be the success she is if she didn’t have a philosophy of treating everyone with respect, whether they’re super rich or only extremely well-off. Whether their taste is impeccable or downright terrible, Dolce never misses a beat.

“Of course we know why they’re breaking up,” the ladies chorused.

Maxine was afraid to ask why, I could tell. She didn’t have to. They told her anyway.

“She’s having an affair with her Pilates coach.”

I tried to look shocked, but I felt like I’d heard it all before. Socialites having affairs with their yoga guru or the swimming pool guy. And frankly I didn’t care what they did after they left our shop.

For a moment I was afraid I was going crazy. Here I was folding sweaters, some chunky, some bulky and some
belted, while I shamelessly listened to empty gossip. Was this really what I should be doing with my life?

What was wrong with me? I had the world’s greatest job and the world’s greatest boss. I was wearing a dynamite outfit that everyone had noticed but…something was wrong. All I’d ever wanted was a dream job and some cutting-edge clothes to wear, but all of a sudden I wanted more. I wanted somewhere to go after work. And someone to go there with. In other words, I wanted a life.

I needed a place to wear the clothes besides to work and I needed purpose and I needed a man in my life. I was spoiled. Since I’d come to San Francisco over a year ago, I’d met three eligible men who’d taken me to all kinds of fun events. But I hadn’t heard from any of them for months. That didn’t help my outlook.

Instead of brooding about my sudden onset of angst, I took Maxine aside and asked her if I could help her find anything. I hoped she’d take my interest as it was intended and not as a knock on her personal lack of style. I was trying to make up for the others being so snarky.

She gave me a grateful little smile and said she was looking for a pair of wide-leg pants. It was a good sign that she was trying something new and trendy, and I pulled out a few for her to try on.

“Do you like your job here?” she asked after she’d chosen a pair of Max Mara palazzo pants in a herringbone tweed that had a relaxed kind of cool and gave off a super-casual vibe that I told her was new and different. I folded and wrapped them in tissue paper at the front desk.

“Oh, yes,” I said. “We’ve got the latest in clothes, jewelry, hats and stockings all under one roof. What’s not to like? I love fashion. But I also love to eat. I’m not much of
a cook, so tonight after work I’m going to sign up for another class at Tante Marie’s Cooking School.” I didn’t usually confide in new customers about my other life, such as it was, but I wanted to say something to Maxine besides the usual. I sensed she didn’t have many friends here. Not that I would ever be her friend. None of the customers were my friends. We came from different worlds. They were all older and richer and married and better connected than I was.

“I’ve heard of it,” she said. “Someone recommended it to me. I’ve been meaning to go sign up for lessons from the celebrity chef, Guido Torcelli. He’s only doing one class as a favor to the owner. As you probably know, he’s Diana Van Sloat’s personal chef. When she’s in town, that is, and not filming commercials in Hollywood. She buys her clothes here, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, she does,” I said. “She’s been Dolce’s best client since forever. Guido’s usually too busy to do the classes. Diana has him on retainer,” I explained. I’d never met the rich and gorgeous Diana Van Sloat, but I’d heard plenty about her during my time as Dolce’s salesgirl.

“Well, have fun,” she said.

At the end of the day, before I left, I spoke to Dolce about my lack of social life. I hadn’t planned on it, it just slipped out. I didn’t complain, I didn’t whine. I just mentioned my single status with what I hoped was a rueful smile. But being the sensitive person she is, she picked up on my anxiety. She frowned, carefully knotted a Ballantyne print scarf around her neck and waved me into her office, once a former closet. I sat down opposite her, and she rested her elbows on her desk and looked at me.

“The last I heard you were seeing three different men. One was a doctor,” she said. “What happened?”

“Good question,” I said. “Dr. Jonathan works nights in the ER and when he’s not working, he’s surfing, which doesn’t leave much time for dates. Unless he’s seeing one of those attractive nurses at the hospital. Which I couldn’t blame him for. They have so much in common, and there’s the proximity of course.” I tried to sound like I was understanding of his professional responsibilities and okay with them, but it hurt to think of him out on the town without me. Naturally I wanted the best for him—a fulfilling and rewarding job healing the sick and wounded, and a lively social life as well. But why couldn’t his social life include me? Wasn’t I lively enough? Compared to a kind, caring and selfless nurse, maybe a clerk in a boutique didn’t measure up.

“Isn’t there a way you could run into him the way you first did when you fell off that ladder and had to be taken to the hospital?”

“You mean like have another accident or come down with some rare disease? It’s possible, but it would have to be something severe and sudden because that’s the kind of cases he sees in the ER. I just can’t count on that happening again.” I gnawed on a fingernail while I tried to think of some plausible reason to drop in at the hospital. “When I had the accident with the ladder, I was only unconscious for a short time, and when I came to in the hospital, there was Jonathan. Talk about luck.”

Dolce nodded and moved on to candidate number two. “What about Nick the Romanian gymnast you met on the plane, the one with the crazy aunt?”

“The last I heard, he was recovering from a sprain he incurred at work. He’s probably training some students on the uneven bars for the Olympics. As for his aunt Meera,
she scares me. I know she’s not really a vampire as she claims, but she’s definitely weird.”

“And that very attractive cop who you helped solve the murder of our dear Vienna?”

“You mean Detective Wall. I don’t think he’d appreciate your framing our relationship that way.”

“However he frames it, he can’t deny you risked your life on the high seas to trap that murderer into confessing.”

“I only did what anyone would have done,” I said modestly. Though it was possible that no one else but me would have plunged into the cold waters of the Bay just to solve a murder.

“It’s a shame Bobbi couldn’t have been brought to justice before she drowned out there,” Dolce said.

“On the other hand, it saved the city the cost of a big, expensive murder trial,” I said. “I have to say that Detective Wall finally reluctantly agreed that I’d tried to help him, but not that I’d succeeded. He got assigned to the Central Station, so he doesn’t hang out in our neighborhood anymore except when there’s a major crime. I certainly wouldn’t mind running into him, but he disapproves when I butt into his cases. It seems the only time he wants to see me is when I’m involved in a murder as a suspect. That’s when he calls and comes by and tries to get me to confess, especially if he thinks I’m guilty. What are the chances of that happening again? I mean really.” I laughed lightly, although I’m aware that murder is no laughing matter, especially when the victim is someone you know.

“So that’s what we need to do, stir up some excitement, shake things up a little,” Dolce said, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Think up a reason to see the doctor and/or the
gymnast, and then we have to encourage our friend the detective to come around too.”

I wasn’t sure if she meant we should try to arrange another murder on the premises or just commit a minor infraction like parking illegally so I could get another chance to romance an officer of the law. Surely she didn’t mean either. I couldn’t believe she’d suggest I do anything even the slightest bit illegal. Maybe I shouldn’t have confided in her about my ridiculously small problems. Now she felt she had to do something about them. Something I might not want to be a part of. Like getting sick or breaking the law. On the other hand, if I got desperate…

Not long ago she’d had to cope with the death of Vienna, her treasured employee. Dolce seemed to have finally bounced back to normal, while I was moping around complaining about a trivial matter like no men in my life. Of course, I said nothing about being bored at work or irritated by the shallow nature of the customers.

I wondered if, of the three men who passed in and out of my life, Dolce preferred the doctor, since he was the first one she’d asked about. If she did prefer him, she wouldn’t say so outright. Just in case I ended up with one of the others. At the moment it looked like I’d end up alone. But enough of gloom and doom.

“Any plans for tonight?” Dolce asked hopefully.

I couldn’t bear to say no, so I told her I was going back to my former cooking school.

“I plan to sign up for another class from Guido if he’s still teaching. He’s the celebrity chef at the school and a dynamite teacher. The thing is, I really need to learn my way around the kitchen.” Even though my kitchen was so tiny I could stand in the center and reach the stove and the
fridge as well as the sink. Just telling Dolce my plan made it more likely I’d follow through with it. Because the next day she was sure to ask how it went. I couldn’t say I’d flaked out and hadn’t gone. She’d be disappointed in me, and I needed to have a little pressure on me or I’d slip back into my old lazy ways.

I could have said I was going swimming at my health club or shopping at the Marina Safeway, where the produce department was a well-known hook-up spot, or attending a speed-dating party, but I’d save those activities for another night.

“I’m looking forward to another delicious dinner at your house,” she said.

“As soon as I get a few more lessons under my belt, I’ll have you and William over to dinner again,” I promised. I was good at promising things and then panicking when it came down to the wire. But how do you try something new if you don’t step out of your comfort zone? Easy for me to say, but harder to do.

I didn’t know if Dolce was still seeing William Hemlock, a dashing retired airline pilot she’d met at a society benefit. I sincerely hoped she still was, though she hadn’t mentioned him lately. We had a few unwritten rules, my boss and I. One was that we didn’t criticize the men in the other person’s life, and two, that we never said “I told you so” when things went wrong. Even though Dolce felt comfortable asking about my social life, I didn’t want to ask her about William in case the news was bad or there just wasn’t any news at all.

Before I left, Dolce took a look out the bay windows of the great room and said I should keep the clothes I was wearing, since the weather appeared to be cool and gusty, but no
rain. Then she hugged me and told me to have a good time at cooking school.

“You too,” I said, “have a nice evening.” I waited for her to say something like, “I’m going to William’s house for a cozy cheese fondue dinner,” or “I’m going to meet his overly possessive grown children at last to see if they approve of me,” but she didn’t say anything about herself. Instead, she focused on me.

“I’m worried about you, Rita,” she said, holding me by the shoulders and looking at me with a concerned frown.

“Who, me?” I said, raising my eyebrows. As if that were a crazy idea. I was fine. Really I was.

“You didn’t seem yourself today. Even Frieda Young noticed it when you showed her a bow blouse when she wanted a sweater. She thought you seemed distracted.”

I almost said “Who, me?” again, but I bit my tongue. “I’m sorry about that. I got off to a bad start today, you know with the rain and all, and I never got readjusted. I’ll be fine tomorrow.” I tried to smile, but my mouth just wouldn’t cooperate.