Some Like It Haute: A Humorous Fashion Mystery (Style & Error Book 4) (11 page)

Samantha Kidd, this is your life.

While I wondered what Dante’s sister would say about the scent of pizza that would most certainly cling to the interior of her otherwise pristine car, Dante drove us to Warehouse Five. It was dark and the roads were crowded. He parked the car under a streetlamp about a hundred feet away from the gravel lot I’d stood in earlier. The aches and pains I’d been ignoring  all day were catching up to me, and I moved slowly. Dante was halfway to the building when he realized I was still by the car. He doubled back.

“You okay?”

“I’ll manage. I think I’m getting more stiff as the night goes on.”

“You need to exercise. Stretch. Stay limber.”

“I exercise plenty,” I lied. “I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

He reached for my hand and guided me forward. My initial instinct was to shake him off, but I found it comforting to hold onto him. Even though he was ahead of me, he walked at a pace that I could match. He didn’t let go when we reached the lot, and suddenly it seemed awkward to stand in a faintly lit parking lot with Dante holding my hand, like maybe this rendezvous was about more than searching for overlooked clues.

“You said Clive was here today?” Dante asked. I nodded. “Was he paying special attention to anything?”

“Hard to say. The building was locked, but he was inside. When he came out, he took pictures of the back door and windows. We’re not going to be able to see anything he was looking at.”

He turned toward the building and guided me along with him. Together we stumbled over the loose gravel, getting farther and farther from the car. Dante pulled a leather glove out of the inside pocket of his motorcycle jacket, let go of my hand, and pulled it on. He reached for the doorknob and jiggled it. Locked. He pulled on another glove and leaned close to the window, framing the light away from his eyes so he could see inside.

I stood on my tiptoes behind him and peeked over his shoulder. The only thing visible was a faint stationary light coming from somewhere to the left.

Dante looked at me. “See anything?”

“How am I supposed to see anything? It’s dark out and you’re in my way. That’s why I came here when there was daylight.”

He unzipped his jacket and lifted a camera that hung around his neck.

“There was a guy in high school who wore a camera around his neck. I think it was a Warhol thing. Were you like that? The guy at the parties who caught all of the embarrassing stuff on film? Or were you the
Sex, Lies, and Videotape
guy who…” I felt my face flush. “Never mind.”

“When I went to a party, I wasn’t all that concerned with taking pictures.”

“So what’s with the camera tonight?”

“I’m on the job, see?” he said out of the corner of his mouth. He fiddled with the dial around the lens and aimed the camera at me. The shutter clicked a few times but there was no flash.

“Hey!” I said. “Stop that.”

He faced the building and the shutter clicked a few more times.

“Don’t you want to turn on the flash or something?”

“Don’t need to. I’m using infrared film.”

“And this is good for us, why?”

“This film captures a picture of the infrared spectrum, not what you see with your eyes. I can’t develop it until I’m in a darkroom, but there’s a chance we’ll catch something nobody else will see either. Every day that goes by is a chance for the scene to get disrupted. Critters, wind, weather. If there’s a clue here to whatever happened, we have to find it sooner rather than later. We’re already working against a ticking clock.”

“So this film is going to help you figure out if Clive saw something before Detective Loncar asked him to leave.”

“Yes.”

“Have you been planning this all night?”

“I admit, your invitation took me by surprise, but after that, yes.”

I didn’t know if it was the solitude of the parking lot, the forethought of Dante’s infrared camera plan, or the lingering romance of having shared a pizza, but I stepped closer to him. “Do you have anything else planned for tonight?” I asked quietly.

He stared at me for a second before he leaned down and kissed me. What I’d gotten earlier that day had been little more than a preview. Tonight, I was treated to the main event.

My arms went up, around the back of his neck, and pulled him closer. My lips parted and I felt his teeth gently bite at my lower lip. I tipped my head back and he kissed down the side of my neck, and then back up to my ear lobe. If I hadn’t been holding on to him, my legs would have given way underneath me.

He unbuttoned my coat and slipped his arms around me. I flinched when he touched a bruise. He pulled his arms away.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked in a low, husky voice.

“The jerk who jumped me hurt me.”

Dante held my hand and lowered himself to the gravel. He lifted the hem of my oversized red sweater with his gloved fingers and kissed the bruised flesh to the left and right of my navel. I closed my eyes. We were in the middle of a public parking lot, but it felt like the most secluded place in the world. I put my hands on his head and tipped it back so he was looking at me.

“I’m not as tough as I act,” I said.

He nodded a few times and looked again at my waist. He pulled the right glove off with his left hand and used his index finger to trace a line across my tummy. After about a minute, he pushed himself up to a standing position, put his bent knuckle under my chin, and tipped my head back again.

“That’s why you’ve been breaking hearts since high school.”

I expected him to kiss me again. He didn’t. Instead, he took my hand and pulled me ever-so-gently toward the building. “I’m going to take as many pictures as I can. You said the police kicked Clive away from here and secured the scene?”

Dante’s gears had shifted from romantic interlude to investigator on the job, and it took me a second to shake off the thought of his lips on mine and focus on his question. “Clive was inside the building when I got here. He must have seen me before I saw him. I walked up to the door and he opened it and startled me. He didn’t say where he’d been or what he was doing. I bet that camera gives him access to a lot of places, no questions asked.”

Dante put his hand on his own camera. “That’s what we’re counting on.” He looked up at the building. “What’s on the other side?”

“The parking lot. I’m going to check on my car while we’re here.”

Truth was, I needed a couple of minutes away from Dante. His soft kisses had been unexpected and now I was more mixed up than ever. I’d been attracted to him since our first meeting, but I’d been in a relationship with Nick. Now I wasn’t. Or was I?

We’d broken up. And then I’d fallen apart. Now it seemed like there was a second shoe that still hadn’t dropped. What did that scene at Brothers mean? Was he in or was he out?

I didn’t know. I didn’t like that I didn’t know, but I didn’t think it was a good idea to race from one man to another as long as I was confused about my feelings for both of them. Nobody said I had to make a decision tonight. Healing takes time, and if I gave myself enough time, the answer was bound to present itself. At least that’s what this month’s the advice column of Elle magazine said.

The corners of the parking lot were marked off with streetlamps, but the bulbs were out in two of them. The lot was dark. I knew I should be doing what Dante was doing: looking for clues related to the fire. Only, morbid curiosity led me to the exit I’d walked through before getting attacked.

I stood with my back pressed up against the solid metal door. Other entrances were more inviting; this one was intended for deliveries and crew members. The frame was flush with the door’s surface. It would have disappeared into the exterior wall if not for the brass lock and partially rusted doorknob that now jutted into my left butt cheek.

I closed my eyes and thought back to the attack two days ago. What did I remember? I had been on my way outside. A few steps into the lot, and the flicker of a fire had caught my attention. Within seconds—or faster, maybe—the fire had connected with my foot like someone had drawn a line on the macadam. From that point I hadn’t had time to think. I’d swatted at the flames while a stranger approached and had been unprepared for the sudden beating with the bag of fruit.

I hadn’t spent much time thinking about the choice of fruit  as weapon. They would have been easy enough to come by. The food service table at Warehouse Five was filled with fresh fruit, raw vegetables, and Coke Zero. The soda went first, then the vegetables. I’d heard a few of the girls whispering about the high sugar content in fruit and whether or not someone was trying to ruin their careers. I almost heard their minds blow the day I arrived with a hoagie.

But the only thing I knew about soft citrus as a weapon was that it was intended to inflict injuries that could not be traced. Which told me whoever assaulted me hadn’t been all that concerned with my own wellbeing. If they’d hit a major organ, that warning might as well have been a death threat.

I walked to the edge of the lot, where the paved parking spaces met with dirt and loose gravel. The lights were out, except for the glow of the red-orange Exit sign. If someone had determined a path for the fire from a pre-drawn trail of gasoline, would I be able to see it? Or would the traces of that have been eradicated by the firemen who had doused the building with water to put out the fire?

Dante was using infrared film to catch things that we couldn’t see, but there had to be other answers here. What else couldn’t I see with my own eyes?

I dropped down to the ground and ran my gloved hand over the macadam. I lifted it to my nose and sniffed, expecting the scent of gasoline. The only thing I got was a nose full of silvery cobwebs and gravel that stuck to my glove.

I stood up and slapped my hands together to rid them of the shiny, silk-like threads and pebbles. Again, I was struck with the question, what did I know about Amanda’s show that would have made me a threat to somebody? I played out my last few hours as part of Amanda’s team. Had Oscar been angered by how I lobbied on behalf of the models? Had Clive been using his position as photographer to conduct some other nefarious business? Had Santangelo arranged the attack because I was a part of Amanda’s team? Had Amanda herself been planning a publicity stunt?

I opened my eyes and looked at my black Honda del Sol. The plastic top was in place, and the windshield was covered with colorful flyers and coupons for upcoming art shows, discount car washes, and at least a dozen other advertisements. It didn’t seem like a good idea to leave the vehicle parked in the lot. I felt around in my handbag for my keys and unlocked the driver’s side door. I cleared the flyers off the windshield and threw them onto the passenger-side seat.

It took a couple of tries to get the cold engine to turn over. When it caught, I put it into gear and locked the doors. Movement at the edge of the lot caught my eyes. I rolled down the dirty windows to get an unobstructed view outside.

Just like at the runway show, I smelled the fire before I saw it. I drove to the Dumpster at the edge of the lot. Flames leapt up from inside the receptacle.

I saw a leg jutting out of the top a moment later.

14

I slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the car. Despite the cold of the night air, heat from the fire licked at my face and coated me in sticky, desperate fear.

“Samantha! Get away from the Dumpster!” Dante called out. He ran toward me and waved his hand to the side.

“There’s someone inside,” I yelled, pointing as close as I could to the leg.

“Get back!” He threw his arms around me from behind and turned me away from the fire. I screamed from the pain of his arms against my bruises. He half carried, half dragged me several feet away.

An explosion cracked like a boom of thunder. Pieces of trash sprayed through the air. Dante pulled me down to the gravel and shielded me with his shoulder. I pushed him away and scrambled to my feet. I pulled my cell phone from my bag and called 911.

The fire truck arrived before the police. Men in khaki jumpsuits with yellow reflective tape climbed from the vehicle, uncoiled a hose, and put out the flames. Dante sat next to me on the hood of my car. We were wrapped in a blanket I’d found in the trunk. Two black and whites pulled into the lot from the left and policemen conferred with the firemen. A dark brown sedan entered from the right and Detective Loncar got out. He stared at the Dumpster for a few seconds, and then walked over to us.

“Let me do the talking,” I said to Dante.

“Ms. Kidd, Mr.—” Loncar paused.

“This is Dante Lestes. Dante, this is Detective Loncar. Dante is the photographer I was telling you about earlier today. The man who’s going to take over for Clive Barrington.”

Dante freed his arm from the blanket and shook Loncar’s hand.

“Ms. Kidd, I know you know this is a crime scene. Care to tell me what you two are doing here?”

“I know you’re not happy to see me, but before we get to that, you should know that there’s a body in the Dumpster. I was over there,” I said, pointing behind me, “and I saw something move over there,” I pointed to the trash receptacle. “I didn’t see the flames until I got close. I also saw a leg. I called for Dante and the Dumpster went up like the Fourth of July.”

Loncar patted his pockets until he found his small spiral bound notebook. He scribbled something inside. “You say you saw movement before you saw the fire?”

“Yes. Honestly, I didn’t even know that’s what it was, that’s why I went closer. When I saw the leg, I knew whoever was in there would get burned.”

“How long would you say it was between you seeing something and the explosion?”

My eyes rolled up while I ran the memory through my mind like an editor reviewing first rushes. “A minute, maybe. It happened quickly.”

A shiny silver car pulled into the lot and parked catty corner to Loncar’s dirty sedan. Inspector Gigger got out. Loncar said something unrepeatable and told us to wait where we were. When he was a couple of steps away from us, I turned to Dante.

“The guy who looks like Ichabod Crane is in charge of the arson investigation at the fashion show. I don’t think Loncar likes him. I don’t like him, either. At least with Loncar, I know where I stand.”