Silk Stalkings (20 page)

“I didn't know you were married,” I said.

“He passed away many years ago. I support myself now,” she said proudly.

“You're an inspiration to the women of San Ladrón,” I said.

While Jun organized her sewing supplies, I maneuvered the fixture of silk to the front of the store and moved the floral display to the space now left vacant. Unlike the raffia bust form that I'd draped in floral cotton at the beginning of the week, the satins were stiff and serious. To unroll a bolt and drape it over a bust form would create creases that would take far too long to steam out, especially since I knew how important it was to keep water from coming into contact with the silk satin. Spots from water would discolor the fabric and even change the texture. It was one of the reasons silk satin was so expensive, but its luxury couldn't be matched by any other fabric in the store.

The pageant contestants had chosen from the colorful bolts, each wanting a color that showed off her skin tone to the best advantage. Their relative youth led them to the pink, purple, and blue palette. One had chosen black. Lucy had selected the green that turned purple in certain lights. But not one of them had chosen the silver or the gold. I fingered the material, letting the smooth, heavy weight of it slide through my fingers. It was a shame the beautiful metallic fabric wouldn't be represented at the pageant. To my eye, these were the prettiest bolts of the lot. They reminded me of the thirties, when dresses were incandescent; when glamour was paramount.

And then I remembered there was still one dress to be made for the pageant. Maria Lopez's.

I slid the silver and the gold fabric from the fixture and, with a bolt under each arm, carried them toward the bust form by the front sewing area. Three flips of a bolt of fabric roughly equaled a yard of fabric. I counted out enough flips to equal four yards and draped the unfolded fabric over the shoulder of the bust form. After securing the fabric to the shoulder of the mannequin, I repeated the same thing with the gold on the other shoulder.

Without being asked, Jun joined me. She matched the fabric at the front of the form and pinned down the length of it with tiny silver pins, and then repeated the same process down the back. The neckline had a deep V, as did the back of the dress. Jun pinned the side seams under the armhole while I retrieved a length of wide ivory grosgrain ribbon from the wall of trim. When Jun stepped back, I wound the ribbon around the waist of the dress and tied it in a bow in the back, letting the ends trail down to the floor.

“You have someone special in mind for this dress, Miss Poly?” she asked.

“Maria Lopez. She's one of the judges of the pageant,” I said. “She wanted a dress to wear tomorrow night.”

Jun smiled. “This will be nice dress for nice lady. I see her go to houses to clean and take care of boys. She deserve pretty dress like this.”

I moved to the other side of the dress and pinned down the length of the fabric.

“Do you think there will be another pageant after this one?” Jun asked.

“Why wouldn't there be?”

“If Miss Violet gets her wish, the pageant money will go into the scholarship fund. Maybe someone not like that.”

I considered it. “You think someone knew Harvey was going to end the pageant after this year and didn't like that decision,” I said slowly.

“If pageant money goes away, lot of people lose job,” she said. “Losing job is bad thing to happen to a person.”

“Yes, it is.” And even though I had questions about Sheila and Ned and Beth and Inez, I knew that the person who was at the middle of the pageant, who controlled the money, was Nolene Kelly. And if she lost access to the pageant, she might lose everything.

I left Jun
with the pins and made a phone call to Halliwell Industries. A man answered. I asked to speak to Nolene and he put me on hold. A few seconds later, he returned.

“She's not answering her phone. Can I take a message?”

I chewed my lower lip. “Did she come in today?” I asked.

“She's been in and out of here all morning. Would you like to leave a message or not?”

Considering the operator already had my name, there didn't seem to be much of a point in acting covert now. “Sure. Tell her to call Poly Monroe at the fabric store. I have to talk to her about the pageant dresses.”

“Hey, you're that Polyester girl. Were you really born in that store?”

“Sure was,” I said. “On a bed of polyester. That's where I got my name.”

“You ever wish it were something different?”

About a hundred times a day when I was in grade school.
Only now, I didn't mind so much. My name meant more to me than if it had been picked out of the phone book or if I'd been named after a celebrity who was popular that year. “Maybe once or twice,” I said.

“Good for you,” he said. “Okay, Polyester Monroe, I'll give Nolene the message. Is it urgent?”

“A little. If I don't hear back from her in the next couple of hours, I'll call again.”

“Good deal,” he said, and hung up.

I tapped my finger on the receiver and thought about what he'd said. What was in a name? For me, a whole bunch. For Charlie, who pretended not to acknowledge her birth parents, not much at all. Vaughn's name opened doors. Even Genevieve had the French name that inspired her to become a Francophile and eventually model her tea shop like a Parisian café.

I thought about Lucy Rains. How her name connected her to Ned Rains, who had approached Vic McMichael all those many years ago. And I thought about Violet and Lilly Garden, my neighbors, how their names were obviously selected to be a play on words, and how Violet wanted to create a scholarship in her daughter's name.

Jun had removed the pinned dress from the bust form and moved it to her sewing machine. She threaded the machine with a sparkly gold thread and turned the dress inside out so she could stitch the side seam. I walked past her to the front door and looked outside for customers. Any customers.

Where were the customers?

Tiki Tom was on the sidewalk with his scorpion mug. “It's getting to you, too, isn't it?”

“What?”

“The pageant. Look across the street and tell me what you see.”

I had always wondered about the string of beauty salons that lined Bonita Avenue. How could it be possible that a town
as small as ours needed so many? But today, there were lines out the doors. Women and daughters sat on benches out front, smocks over their clothes and caps on their heads. The scent of perm solution and fake nails hung in the air and triggered a cough.

“This is because of the pageant?” I asked.

“Yep. Started like birds in that Hitchcock movie. First it was one girl, then two. Then a couple of mothers showed up. I turned away for a couple of minutes and the next time I looked outside, there were lines coming out the front of every salon on the street. Fat chance of either of us doing any kind of business today. The Garden sisters are the smart ones. They didn't even bother to open.”

I told Tiki Tom about Violet and Betty. “You missed the reunion,” I said.

“Whoa,” he said. “That's been a long time coming.” He drank from his mug. “Next year I'm going to host Polynesian Week leading right up to the pageant. Maybe I can get some of the fathers to drop off their girls and come in for Hawaiian ribs and island drinks.”

“And who's going to drive them home?”

“Ah, didn't think about that part. So let's see. I'll need a shuttle service, maybe some live entertainment . . .” He went back into his store and started taking notes on a pad of paper by the register. Whatever Tiki Tom came up with for the following year would cost him far more than he'd make. I suspected he didn't really care all that much as long as it brought people he could talk to about tiki mugs and hula girls into his shop.

When I went back into the fabric store, Jun was pulling the dress over the top of the bust form. She'd used a simple straight stitch over each shoulder and gently pulled on the thread to create gathers that cascaded down. The silver and the gold fabric met in the middle and had been stitched together at the bottom of a modest V-neck. The two metallic
fabrics complemented each other in a way that bold brights or muted pastels could not, and I knew, next to Maria's naturally glowing Latina skin, the dress would be a showstopper. Better than almost any of the other dresses that had been completed this past week.

Between the remerchandising of the silk display, the construction of the dress, and the conversation with Tiki Tom, I'd lost track of the hours. Not only had lunchtime come and gone, we were closing in on happy hour.

“Jun, did you have lunch?”

“Yes, I eat while you talk to Mister Tom.”

“The dress looks lovely. I'm going to see if Maria can come over and try it on. We need to pin the hem for her, and it might be best if it's entirely done and picked up before the contestants arrive tomorrow to pick up their own dresses.”

Jun nodded while trimming a few threads. I called Lopez Donuts and Big Joe answered.

“Hi, Big Joe, can I speak to Maria?”

“She's working a Neato job today. Anything I can do for you?”

“No, this is definitely a Maria question.”

He grunted. “You women think you can solve everything by yourselves. I know my wife does. Now she's rubbing off on you. Give me a shot. I bet I can help you with your problem, whatever it is.”

I giggled. “I need to pin the hem on Maria's gown for the pageant and I need her to try it on for me. Unless you think you can put it on and stand at the exact same height as her?”

“She didn't tell me she ordered a brand-new dress for this thing.”

“Big Joe, you hush up. Maria is going to be practically the center of attention up there between Duke and Vaughn. Besides, I'm not charging her.”

“Oh no, you don't. She ordered a dress, she better pay for it.”

“First you criticize her for asking me to make her a new
dress, and then you criticize me for making it free. Men,” I said.

“Speaking of men, didn't Vaughn have your dress made for you? How'd he know it would fit?”

“I don't know.” The question had bothered me before, and I had yet to get a satisfactory answer. I didn't like the idea that he'd been that accurate with my measurements from the time I fell on top of him.

“I know where her head comes when we slow dance,” he said slowly. “Would that help you?”

“Why don't you just tell her to come see me when she gets off work?”

“Because maybe I want to do something nice for my wife. You ever think of that?”

“Okay, sure. Come over whenever you can.”

“I'm just closing the place down now. I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Do me a favor? Bring me something to eat?” I asked.

“Women,” he said, and hung up.

It didn't take him fifteen minutes to arrive and I had a feeling that even the donut shop had been affected by the flurry of salon activity along Bonita Avenue. Big Joe handed me a waxy white bag and a cup of coffee. “Coffee's strong. Been sitting on the heater since this morning. I brought you a regular glazed and a chocolate glazed.”

“This is your idea of a meal?”

“You didn't say you wanted a meal. You said ‘something,' and I figured you knew you were talking to a donut store. Besides, can't have you turning into skin and bones,” he added.

I took the bag and inhaled the sweet sugary scent. “This'll do.” I pulled the chocolate glazed out and bit off half.

“Now where's this dress?”

Jun was taken aback at Big Joe's presence in the fabric
store, but I explained that he was going to help us figure out the hem and then surprise Maria with the dress. She stood back as he approached the bust form and put his arm around the waist as if he were going to dance with it.

“Can you lower this thing?” he asked.

“Hold her so she doesn't drop on my head,” I instructed. I dropped to my hands and knees and reached up under the fabric. After loosening the tension knob, I called up, “Lower her to the right height.”

He gently lowered the form, pulled it back up a couple of inches, and then lowered it again. In the background, the phone rang. I was stuck under the dress. “Jun? Can you answer the phone? Tell them I'll call them back,” I said. The shadow of the seamstress hurried past me while I held the form in place.

“Hello, this Poly's store,” she said. “She busy under fabric. Can I take message? She call you back.”

Busy under fabric? I wondered what kind of picture that painted to whoever was on the other end of the phone, and then felt a
thunk
on my shoulder.

“That's it,” Big Joe said.

I pushed my hand up under the torso of the form and turned the knob to tighten it into place. When I was done, I slowly backed out from underneath. Big Joe put his arms on the waist of the form again and pulled it close. “That's my Maria,” he said.

“You're sure?”

“Sure I'm sure. I dance with my wife every night after we put the boys to bed.”

I couldn't help myself. I threw my arms around him in a giant bear hug. “Maria is lucky to have found you,” I said.

“And I'm lucky to have found her. Sometimes people get lucky and find the person who fits them the best.”

I waited for him to make a comment about Vaughn, but
he didn't. He tipped his head to the side and looked at me funny. “Nobody's going to push you in a direction you don't want to go, Poly. But if you
are
thinking about going in a particular direction, you might not want to wait too long.”

My face felt hot. I turned away from Big Joe and looked at Jun. “Who was that on the phone?”

“Miss Nolene.”

Figured that was the phone call I'd miss.

“Did she leave a message?”

“She say she be in office for all night, very busy. She say you can stop by any time up to nine.”

I looked at the clock. It was closing on six. Nobody would have noticed if I'd closed the store early today, but it was a matter of principle.

“Mister Joe and I finish dress for Mrs. Joe,” Jun said. “I close up shop after we're done. The whole street closed except for beauty shops. Even Mister Duke closed for night.”

“He did?” I looked out front. The easel that usually sat in front of The Broadside advertising happy hour specials was nowhere to be seen.

“Go on, get out of here. I'll help her close up the shop,” Big Joe said.

“Thank you, both of you,” I said. I threw my phone into my messenger bag and raced out the back door. If I hadn't tripped over the doorjamb, I would have made really good time.

•   •   •

Charlie had left my VW Bug parked in the space on the corner of the lot. The driver's-side door was unlocked and the keys were in the ignition. If I'd owned something fancier than a late-eighties model Bug, I might have been more concerned about anti-theft measures, but for the moment, that was the least of my concerns.

Inside the car, on the passenger-side seat, was a paper floor mat with the black logo for Charlie's shop printed in
the middle. Across the right-hand side of the image of a pickup truck was her messy handwriting.

Yo Polyester. Find anything out about Sheila?

I folded the floor mat and then folded it again. The Waverly House was just around the corner. I double-checked my watch. I had time to make a quick stop and still catch Nolene by nine.

Even though the Waverly House was within walking distance, I pulled the car out of my spot, exited the lot, and turned right, circling the block until I pulled into one of the spaces by the restored Victorian mansion. I got out of the car and stood on the corner, staring at the majestic building. It fairly glowed thanks to tiny white lights that had been inset under the eaves and window casings. As the sun continued to drop, the illusion would deepen.

A small silver BMW pulled into the parking lot next to my VW Bug and Vaughn got out.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said. “Mind if I join you?”

“I don't want to be rude, but I'm not going to the Waverly House to see your mother,” I said.

“I didn't think that you were.”

“But there's a good chance that if she sees me, she'll want to chat, and I don't want to be rude about that, either.”

“Okay, how about we divide and conquer? After the way I left her two nights ago, I figure she's itching to ask me about our date.”

“What are you going to tell her?”

He looked down at me, his green-and-gold-flecked eyes sparkling with the sunlight. The afternoon breeze blew his sandy-colored hair across his forehead. He didn't say anything at first, and the longer we stood there facing each other on the sidewalk by the Waverly House, the more self-conscious I became.

“I'm not sure what I'm going to say. I'm not even sure I'd call it a date.”

“There was dinner and champagne,” I said, “and we were dressed up. That should count for something.”

“In the big picture of looking like we're on a date while we're investigating one of my mother's employees, it counts for a lot. Only I don't think it's that great an idea to bring that up to her, either.”

“I see your point. How about this? Tell her I didn't feel well so we left early.”

“It's her restaurant. She'll blame the chef.”

“Tell her you forgot you had another date,” I said with a smile.

“I'm not that big a playboy,” he said.