Some Like It Haute: A Humorous Fashion Mystery (Style & Error Book 4) (12 page)

“Where’s that?”

“If he had his way it would be a couple of miles from his crime scene.”

“You don’t seem to respect his wishes.”

“I’m not the one who brought us here,” I said.

“Point taken.”

Loncar pointed to Dante and me, and Inspector Gigger looked at us, his expression unreadable. He popped the trunk on his car, pulled out two bottles of water, and crossed the lot to where we sat on the hood of my car. Before he spoke, he handed each of us a bottle. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was until I gulped down half of the contents.

“Thank you,” I said. I looked at Dante. He set his bottle next to him. It remained unopened.

After a lightning round of introductions, Gigger turned his attention to me. “Ms. Kidd, Detective Loncar tells me you were the one to call 911. Can you tell me what you saw?”

“I already told Detective Loncar everything I saw.”

“But Detective Loncar isn’t me, so why don’t you go through it again?” he said. He flashed a tight smile that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. If I’d been on the fence about him earlier, there was no confusion now. Like Loncar, I didn’t like the man, but there were bigger issues at present than a tally of Gigger’s popularity votes.

“I came around the back of the building to check on my car. It’s been here since the night I was attacked. Something by the Dumpster caught my eye. I don’t know what it was. I drove closer to check it out and that’s when I saw the flames. I yelled to Dante to meet me around the back—”

“Why?” he interjected.

“What?”

“Why did you call to your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” I looked at Dante, who studied Gigger. “I saw movement by the Dumpster. I thought maybe somebody needed help.”

I felt Dante press his thigh into mine ever so slightly. It was a warning.

“Did you see anybody who might need help?” Gigger asked Dante.

“The bin exploded before I got close enough,”

“Yes or no. Did you see anybody?”

“No.”

Gigger turned toward the Dumpster and crossed his arms. “It’s dark outside. You probably saw a rat.”

I jumped down from the car and threw the blanket off my shoulders. “It wasn’t a rat, Inspector. I don’t like rats. If I saw one, I would have run the other way.”

He stared at me for an uncomfortable number of seconds. I wanted to uncap my water and throw what was left of it in his face, but there wasn’t enough to have any kind of impact. Maybe that’s why Dante was saving his.

Gigger turned to Dante. “You can’t corroborate Ms. Kidd’s statement. Is that correct?” Dante shook his head slowly. Gigger nodded at each of us and walked back to Loncar.

The firemen made short shrift of the fire. When the flames were out, they recoiled the hose to the truck and stood around in the lot. I counted twelve men. Twelve pair of thick men’s boots stomping around the gravel close to the Dumpster. Twelve pair of size twelve feet destroying any evidence that might have been left behind by the person who started the fire. I was thankful for the firemen’s timely arrival and attention to detail in the form of putting out the flames, but I knew if there was something to be found, chances were, it had been destroyed.

Dante fussed with the zipper on his motorcycle jacket underneath the blanket. I climbed back up and wrapped the other side of the blanket around me. We sat side by side on the hood of the car, watching the scene in front of us. Gigger nodded to the head fireman and approached the Dumpster. His hands were behind his back and his face was aimed at the ground. Slowly he walked around the base of the trash bin, swinging his head from left to right with each step he took.

“Tell me exactly what you saw,” Dante said to me. “Start with what you were doing when you left my sight. Take your time.”

I stared straight ahead and tried to find my chi. Since I didn’t do yoga and wasn’t really sure what my chi was, I defaulted to a couple of calming breaths before speaking. Maybe Yoga would be a good idea.

“I wanted to retrace my steps from the night I was attacked. I stood in the doorway with my back to the door and looked at my car, and then slowly walked toward it. When I got there, I unlocked the door and put the flyers that were under the windshield wipers onto the passenger side seat. I got in. Something by the Dumpster caught my eye. I drove closer and rolled down the windows. I smelled something burning. Then the fire showed up from the top of the Dumpster, and I saw the leg.”

“I hate to have to ask this, but do you know if the leg was attached to a person?”

“You think it was just a leg? Sticking out of the Dumpster?” Realization of what Dante was suggesting made me shudder like a team of cats had clawed a chalkboard. “What if it’s not there anymore? Do you think that’s why someone set the fire? They amputated someone’s leg and they wanted to destroy the evidence? Should I tell Gigger?”

“Shhh,” Dante said. “You told Loncar. Do you trust him?”

“I don’t know if trust applies here. I think he’ll follow up on what I said, but if Gigger is keeping him out of the investigation, then he’s in pretty much the same boat as us. Unless—”

“Unless what?” Dante asked.

I reached inside the neckline of Dante’s jacket and fingered the black nylon strap that held his camera around his head. “I would think the investigating officer would be very interested in the photos you took.”

“That is a good point.”

“But I think, since nobody asked us if we had any photos to share, that it might be best for us to see what’s on your film before telling anybody.”

“There are people who might say that’s withholding evidence.”

“Yes, but none of those people are here, right?” I searched Dante’s face. “And I’ll give the pictures to Loncar. You don’t even know if there’s anything to show him. It’s not like you were back here taking pictures. You were on the other side of the building. Wouldn’t it be worse if you told him you had evidence and it turned out there was nothing there?”

“I don’t think ‘worse’ is the word you want.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Unfortunately, I do,” he said.

“So we’re agreed? We’ll see what’s on the film, and then we’ll turn it over to Loncar.”

“You’re not going to make me take a pinky swear, are you?”

“You think I’m the pinky swear type?”

“The more I get to know you, the more sure I am that you’re a type all your own.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” I said.

“Your choice.”

Loncar pulled away from the group of firemen and rejoined us. “Ms. Kidd, I’m going to ask you a favor. Have Mr. Lestes drive you home.”

“But my car’s been here for two days now.”

“I understand. I can’t tell you to not to drive it home, but until we have a chance to go over the scene in daylight, I’d prefer you left it here.”

This was a different side of Detective Loncar. In the past, we’d gone round and round, me proclaiming what I knew, him testing me to see if I was making up a story. There had been times we collaborated, and there had been times when I’d gone rogue and caught a killer in his backyard.

This was the first time he had acted like I had some control over whether or not I’d grant his request. It might have been the effect of Gigger’s condescending attitude, or it might have been the late hour. Or maybe Loncar was warming to me.

“Mr. Lestes, I think we have everything we need from you tonight.” He pulled two cards with contact info from his wallet and held them out.

I waved the card off. “I still have the ones from the other investigations, thanks.”

Dante took the card and slipped it into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. Loncar took down Dante’s contact info and walked away.

“So now you have a choice,” Dante said. “Let me take you home, or ignore the detective’s request and drive yourself. What’s it going to be, Samantha?”

15

Breakup Rule #5: Try not to repeat broken rules.

I woke up on the right side of the bed. The sheets were in a jumble, and Logan stared at me from the left.

“Don’t judge,” I said. “Detective Loncar had a bad night. I thought doing what he asked was the upright citizen thing.”

Logan meowed.

I rolled over and stared at the ceiling. This was the second time Dante and I had spent a night under the same roof. Exhaustion and injuries kept me from engaging in any hanky panky, but judging from the state of the sheets, I’d either had a very restless night or I hadn’t slept alone.

All things considered, I couldn’t help wonder what I was doing. After an eight year crush on Nick and nine months of sort-of dating, it didn’t feel like it was over. I closed my eyes and Logan climbed on my chest and lowered himself. He pushed his paws out in front of him, tickling the bottom of my chin. I turned my head to the left and he stretched out more. One of his claws scraped my jaw.

“Ow!” I said. I rolled to my side and he scooted off and head-butted me. I freed a hand and ran it over his head, smoothing down the fur. He purred and curled himself into the nook created by my chest and my bent knees. I lowered my head to the pillow case and rested my arm loosely around him. “You’re being a very good cat through all of this,” I said.

He lifted his head and opened one eye, blinked, and lay his head back down.

“I don’t need Nick and I don’t need Dante, but I need you,” I said, and kissed him on top of his head. He purred.

I dozed off again, waking to the sound of knuckles rapping against the doorframe.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Dante said.

“What time is it?”

“Nine thirty.”

I sat up in bed and immediately pulled the covers up to my chest when I realized I wasn’t wearing a bra under my pajamas. Dante smiled. “I’ll go out for coffee while you get dressed. It’s going to be a busy day.”

I waited until I heard the front door close and the car engine start. I re-dressed in the sweater and jeans from last night and went to the kitchen. I ate a piece of cold pizza left over from Brothers.

A strange sound came from the living room. It was the VCR I’d had since college, and I only used it when I found something that was important enough to tape. It sounded like it might be dying a slow death. I hit the eject button and a tape popped out. And I remembered what I had thought important enough to tape: the local cable channel who had planned to broadcast Amanda’s runway show.

Not being skilled in the art of video enhancement, duplication, or transfer, pretty much the only thing I could do with the tape was watch it. So I did. I rewound the brittle twenty-year-old tape and crossed my fingers that it would stay in viewable condition long enough for me to check it out. I pressed play.

The cable company hadn’t made much of an effort for Amanda. A camera had been set up at the end of the runway. I picked out Dante and me on the left side of the screen, and after scanning the rest of the patrons I found Clive on the right. Twenty-seven seconds in, I saw a man in a pork pie hat slip past the crowd and duck backstage.

Santangelo Toma. Despite his very public refusal of the comped tickets he’d been at the show, he’d attended.

When the lights dimmed and the loud Japanese pop music started, everything dissolved in darkness except for the runway. The graphics from the Godzilla movie were projected on the backdrop right above Amada’s name, and the first model walked out. She wore the China Chop wig that faded from red roots to orange to yellow ends, and she was dressed in the silver leather motorcycle jacket over a red pantsuit. She posed at the end of the runway, and turned. The intricate embroidery I remembered on the back of her jacket was distorted by the grainy quality of the video.

Five models walked the runway before Harper appeared. Her wig was silver. The sleeves on her kimono dragged on the ground as she walked. I freeze-framed the video and stared at her face. Gone was the shy, nervous model who had asked for my help earlier. She looked confident, like she had a secret.

From this angle I didn’t see the smoke behind her like I had at the live showing. I watched her work the kimono, and then it went up in flames. Someone in the audience screamed. The music was cut and the house lights went on. Harper struggled to get the kimono off. Nick appeared and tore it from her shoulders and she ran backstage. The kimono was left in a burning heap on the runway. The fire caught onto the trail of rose petals trail. Seconds later, the fire was everywhere: walls, ceiling, chairs, backdrop. Guests fled from their seats. Someone knocked the camera over and the video went to fuzz.

The early reports on the news hadn’t shown any footage from the show, but if I was watching this much, then certainly Gigger and company had seen it too. I kept watching, hoping the image would return. Within seconds the screen defaulted to color bars, and then a message that said the programming had been interrupted. The counter on the VCR continued to advance, so I knew I’d gotten everything the cable channel had filmed.

Rewind. Watch again. Rewind. Fiddle with the remote. Zoom. Rewind. After close scrutiny of the crowd, I picked out Eddie and a few others from Tradava. I never saw Tiny or Amanda, but it made sense that they were both backstage. Where I would have been if I hadn’t been let go the night before the show. I swung my legs to the front of the sofa and sat up straight.

Nobody who worked at the show had been attacked. Not prior to me, not after me. Only me. Maybe the plan all along had been to set fire to Harper’s kimono and the warning was meant to keep me from paying too much attention to what had been going on.

I thought back to the day Harper had come to me about the ill-fitting garment. The sleeves had been long enough to drag on the ground, but when I’d first inquired about the need for alterations, Oscar had dismissed us, saying that Harper had specifically been chosen to wear that kimono. Now I knew why. Someone had planned for her kimono to catch fire. I interfered with that plan when Harper came to me and I ultimately went to Amanda. But Amanda couldn’t be the one responsible for destroying her own show. It didn’t fit. Which took me back to motivation. To create a stir? To gain publicity? To destroy the show? Or to get Harper?