Some Like It Haute: A Humorous Fashion Mystery (Style & Error Book 4) (15 page)

I turned my head and looked at Logan. He was in a ball, his fur spiking up and back. He watched Loncar out of the corner of his eyes, like he knew this man wasn’t a regular visitor to our house. I turned my attention from Logan to the detective and saw him watching my cat too.

“Black cats aren’t bad luck,” I said.

“I know. I have three of them.”

As if that was what he needed to hear, Logan stood up and skulked across the length of the sofa, down the arm, to the floor. He sat six inches from the sole of the detective’s boot and started to clean his private parts.

“I think whoever started last night’s fire was trying to destroy something. Even if he saw me, he might not have known Dante was on the other side of the building. That might be the movement I saw: someone setting fire to the bin. When I went over to investigate, he took off. You just said if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have even known about that fire.”

“You keep saying ‘he.’ I’m not convinced that the presence of Mr. Toma’s ID means he’s the arsonist. You got any reason to think it’s a man?”

“Not really. The person who attacked me could have been a man. And I don’t mean to sound sexist, but starting fires just seems like more of a man thing. You know, from the caveman days.”

He smiled, and then tried, too late, to stifle it. “For someone who pulls this stuff out of thin air, you’re not too far off. Most arsonists are men. But until we figure out why he’s setting these fires, there’s not much more a profiler can do.”

“I have a theory on that too,” I said, bolstered by his compliment. “If this was a serial arsonist—someone who gets their kicks by scaring people—he wouldn’t target Amanda, would he? But so far, I was attacked in that parking lot, Amanda’s runway show went up in flames, and now a fire was started behind the warehouse. It seems like too much coincidence to be random.”

“So you think this is someone with a bone to pick with Ms. Ries?”

“She did get those threatening letters,” I said.

“You mentioned these letters once before. Tell me about them.”

“Come on, Detective, you knew about them before I did.”

“Humor me.”

“Fine. Two days ago I went to Amanda’s studio. I didn’t plan to go there, and I can’t really say why I went there, but I did. After her partner left, she showed me the letters. There were six of them. Threats. Someone had been trying to scare her before the show. ‘Burn, baby, burn’, ‘All’s well that burns well’, ‘If you can’t stand the heat, get off the runway.’ Stuff like that. They were made from letters cut out of fashion magazines.”

“How do you know that?”

“Give me some credit. I can recognize the B in
Bazaar
from twenty feet.”

He sat up and stared at me while I talked. “Where are these letters now?”

“I figured your department had the originals. I saw copies. I don’t know where the copies are now, but there’s a chance that Oscar LeVay took them from Amanda’s desk.”

Loncar stood up and walked away from me. He pulled his phone out and made a call, his voice low and hard to understand. I heard “Ms. Ries” and “letters” and “last week.” Then, a series of “uh-huhs,” a “yeah,” and a “got-it.” He hung up and shoved his phone back into his pocket before turning back around.

“Guy at the desk remembers Ms. Ries coming in last week. She asked what we would do if we found out someone was threatening her. She didn’t mention the letters, but the timing fits.”

“What did your guy tell her?”

“The truth. The problem with threats is, we can’t act on them. If we get a chance, we can keep an eye out for suspicious behavior, but other than that, we’re stuck until a crime is committed.”

“So I could put threatening notes in my neighbor’s mailbox and tell her I was out to get her, and even if she knew the notes were from me, you couldn’t do anything?”

“Do you have a beef with your neighbor?”

“She doesn’t have to spy on me so much, but other than that, we’re good. So?”

“If you threaten your neighbor and she comes to us, there would be a record of her complaint, but unless you acted on that threat, there’s not much we can do.”

“So in Amanda’s case, first she was threatened, and then I was attacked. Wasn’t that enough?”

He leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and his tie was slightly askew, as if he’d thrown it back on before he came to my house. One of these days I was going to set Detective Loncar up with a personal shopper, just to see what would happen if he dressed in clothes that fit.

“Here’s how it goes. Ms. Ries comes to the station and tells the desk sergeant somebody’s been threatening her. This isn’t the first time she’s been at the center of a scandal, and this time she has a runway show coming up. Could be a ploy for publicity. But she’s a pretty lady and she seemed scared, so the desk sergeant answers her questions and tells her to come back when something happens.”

“Right. But what about me?”

“See, that’s a problem too. Your attack wasn’t connected with Ms. Ries. You were assaulted in a public area. You were hospitalized. The report on you went to a different division. Assault charges by unknown assailant. A couple of the beat cops took that report and filed it.”

“You checked it out?”

He nodded. “Then there’s this fire at Ms. Ries’ show. Now Gigger gets called in. His job is to find out who set the fire and stop him before he sets another one. Arsonists prey on people’s fears. Even without a murder, you’re looking at a lot of heat on the precinct.”

“So you were shut out of the investigation. But if—”

“—if there had been a body last night, I’d be looking at a homicide investigation. Instead, everything about this case has been departmentalized. I’m looking at a fraction of the big picture. And Gigger’s not the sharing type. His one goal is to catch this arsonist before he strikes again.”

He leaned back in his chair and smoothed his tie down to his ample belly. “Ms. Kidd, what’s your interest in this? I don’t mean to get too personal, but it never seemed to me like you and Ms. Ries were close friends.”

“Somebody attacked me. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t think it was a random attack. Maybe everybody else is willing to dismiss it, but I’m not.”

“Most people would take some time to recover, maybe get out of town for a few days.”

“I’m not most people.”

“Yeah, I figured that out already.”

“Detective, I know you think I’m a nuisance. Somebody who showed up in your back yard and has been in the middle of three of your investigations. You might even call me a magnet for trouble, but you’d be wrong. All of this trouble, it was here before I ever came back to Ribbon. I checked. This city’s crime has been on the rise for the past decade. I moved here because I had fond memories of the city where I grew up, but the city I’m living in now isn’t the one I remember.”

Loncar’s expression changed. His eyes narrowed slightly, and his lips pursed, like he was considering how far he’d let me insult the city he was charged with protecting. Only thing was, it was my city now, too.

“How long have you lived here?” I asked.

His head tipped to the side. He didn’t answer right away. Logan stood up and walked past him, rubbing his back against the detective’s pant leg.

“I was in Harrisburg five years ago. Picked up a lead on a trail that had gone cold. Couple of kids broke into a row home in center city and killed a man for kicks. I never saw anything like that.” He shook his head. “Punks wrote messages on the walls in the victim’s blood.”

“Like
The Shining
,” I said.

“Yeah, only they couldn’t spell. The walls looked like something those Chik-Fil-A cows might have written. Woulda been a joke if it hadn’t been real. That’s when it really hit home that bad people weren’t restricted to big cities.”

“So you transferred to Ribbon?”

“Yep. Moved when the transfer came through.”

“And crime’s been on the rise ever since?”

“Yep.”

“Maybe
you’re
the magnet for trouble,” I said.

Loncar actually smiled.

“Detective, you wanted to know my interest in this. Here it is. I moved back here so I could figure out a more satisfying life for myself. New York City is great for a lot of people, but it wasn’t right for me. But since I’ve been back, I’ve been framed for murder and almost killed. I volunteered on the exhibit at the museum because I thought it would lead to a job opportunity, but we both know how that turned out. The only job with any kind of security was the one I worked when you asked me to rat on my employers. I’m not trying to prove anything to anybody but myself.”

He ran his palms down the thighs of his trousers twice and then rested his hands on his knees. “About that. You got a knack for figuring things out. Now normally, I wouldn’t want to encourage you, but it seems I owe you one. You surprised me by showing me these photos. Gigger doesn’t have these photos.” He held his hand up to keep me from interjecting. “I’m going to share them with him, because that’s how this works. But I appreciate you calling, and not just because of the meatloaf.”

“I’d offer you something to eat, but I don’t really cook,” I said.

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“I could if I wanted to. I just have other priorities, that’s all.”

He stood up. “Ms. Kidd, I’m going to ask you for a favor.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

“If you find out anything else that you think relates to any of this, you call me. Deal?”

“That’s your favor?”

“I’m not asking you to look for evidence. I’m asking for you to call me if
you think
you figured something out.”

In that one moment, something shifted. I knew it and Loncar must have known it, but we both acted like everything was the same.

“Sure,” I said. He turned to leave, and I followed him to the door. He was halfway to his car before I called out after him. “Hey, Detective?” He turned around. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

“I had a feeling you were going to say something like that,” he grumbled. He got into his car and drove away.

19

The first thing I did when I woke up on Tuesday morning was to find the business card for
Retrofit Magazine
. I propped it on the kitchen counter, filled Logan’s bowls, and brewed a pot of coffee. Turns out I didn’t feel my professional self until I showered and dressed, which was eight thirty. I finished off a cup of coffee and called Eddie.

“Yo,” he answered.

“In thirty seconds or less, can you tell me what’s so great about me?”

“Why? You didn’t buy purple hair dye, did you?”

“No! I—I’m going for a job today. A bonafide job that isn’t working for someone I know and isn’t—hopefully—connected to any sociopathic business people.”

“You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” I said.

“Dude, it’s about time.” He paused for a second. “Okay, highlights: you know seven ways to tie an Hermes scarf. You can get ready in fourteen minutes. You are the only woman I know who can wear a necktie and not look butch. And you can eat an entire order of onion rings yourself.”

“Those are the highlights?”

“Ask another guy, get another answer.”

“Fine. What are my weaknesses?”

“There’s no good answer to that question.”

“It’s an interview question. She’s going to ask. What are my weaknesses?”

“You’re incapable of seeing your faults.”

“Ha, ha.”

“What do you want? You’re a Taurus. You’re stubborn, self-indulgent, materialistic, and possessive.”

“I’m not feeling so good about the onion ring thing anymore.”

“Dude. We work in fashion. Of course you’re materialistic. And the self-indulgent part? It could be a lot worse.”

“What about possessive?”

“Let’s just say you still call the trend specialist job at Tradava yours, and it’s been, like, over a year.”

“So you think I can’t move on?”

“Here comes the stubborn thing. You think I’m telling you that you can’t move on. So you’re going to move on to prove to me that you can. But when you get down to it, I just want you to find whatever it is that’s going to make you happy.”

“What if what makes me happy takes me back to New York?”

“What can I say? I’m a Gemini. I want everybody to be happy.”

“Okay, thanks. I have to go put on shoes and make this phone call.”

“You can make a phone call in your bare feet.”

“Not if I want the job, I can’t.”

“Dude.” He hung up.

It was two minutes to nine when I called Nancie Townsend. This time she answered.

“Nancie, hi, this is Samantha Kidd. I’m calling about the job at
Retrofit
. Marcia Dann sent me. Not sent me, but told me. About you. About the job. I’m it. I’m your gal. I can finish an entire order of onion rings in one sitting.” Did I really say that?”

She cleared her throat. “Samantha Kidd. You worked at Bentley’s New York? For how long?”

“I was with Bentley’s for nine years.”

“Experience at a major New York Luxe retailer. That’s perfection.”

We spent the next twenty minutes on the phone, talking about orange being the new pink, and green being great for food with 30% less fat and awful for magazine covers. She laughed at my joke about culottes making a comeback and wanted to know what I thought about country-western as an emerging trend. I said something about suede fringes being acceptable for five minutes every ten years and she didn’t hang up. Things were going well.

I knew what was coming. I knew the inevitable “where are you working now” question was on the horizon. And aside from a rundown of the dead ends I’d had over the past year, there was no way to distract her, so I headed her off at the pass.

“Nancie, here’s the thing. I want this job. I’m qualified for this job. I’ve had a spotty work history since leaving Bentley’s, but I’ve managed to keep myself connected to the fashion industry. As a matter of fact,” I said, my self-indulgent Taurus side directed me to say, “I’ve been working with Amanda Ries recently. Her name has been in the news a lot lately.”