Silk Stalkings (10 page)

“Did you recognize
that girl?” Maria asked as I made the turn and then turned into my parking lot.

“No, she's probably a customer.”

Maria didn't look convinced. I parked next to the Dumpster and Maria got out and set the boxes on the passenger seat. “Do you want help carrying this inside?”

“No, I can take it from here. I'm afraid of what my boss is going to tell those young women. Especially since I've kept him waiting this long for his coffee.”

I carried the two urns inside the store first and set them on the wrap stand. A group of contestants stood by the wall of silk. The seamstresses sat by their sewing machines, watching Giovanni, who had his arms crossed over his chest. He saw me with the coffee and came over.

“They won't listen to me. They say they've been instructed to talk to you only. I told them we could get started, but nobody made a move.”

“There are three boxes of donuts in my car. Bring them inside and set up a station by the register. Until we're done with this, I doubt we'll have many customers, but if we do, offer them a donut.”

“Wait a second. I'm not here to work for you. Your fabric store business is on your time.”

“Do you want your donuts or not?” I said. He left out the back door.

I went to the front of the store where the young women stood. Yesterday, I'd been taken by the charge of enthusiasm that buzzed off them. Today, the giddy chitchat had been replaced with a solemn vibe. I imagined in the wake of their excitement over having made it this far, they realized they were competitors. A lot was at stake.

“Hello, ladies,” I said. “We're lucky to have a talented staff of seamstresses with us today. I think the best thing to do is to get started. Why don't you form a line and I'll go over the sketches with you one by one?”

“But who goes first?” asked Tiffany. She wore a pink polo shirt, mint-green Bermuda shorts, and matching mint-green canvas sneakers. Already I sensed that she had appointed herself the fairness monitor.

“Alphabetically?” asked another.

“That's only good for you, Alison,” I heard.

“Names in a bowl,” I said quickly. I handed each contestant an index card and had her write her name on it. The folded cards went into an empty plastic bowl that I used for the cats' water when they were downstairs with me. I spun the papers around with my hand. As I called them out, the young women lined up. I'd expected someone to give me attitude, but I was pleasantly surprised. It seemed they each needed some direction and were eager to get started.

One by one I met with the contestants. While the tools they used to illustrate their concepts varied, they had all come prepared. One brought a computer with a stylus. When
she turned on the power, her sketch was backlit. She seemed more eager to show off her technological skills than her interest in designing a dress, and twice I had to remind her that her consultation would last the same fifteen minutes as everyone else's. Another young woman held a piece of tracing paper that she'd used to copy the style of a dress she'd seen in a book on fairy tales. Most brought in a version of a sketch pad with an image drawn in the center. I was pleasantly surprised that they didn't all gravitate toward pink. For the three who did, we walked the wall of colors and found shades that worked for each of them.

After their consultation, each contestant carried her bolt of silk to Giovanni, who measured out her ten yards and took note of the color choice by her name in a master file. From Giovanni, the young women went to the seamstresses, who took measurements, studied the pictures, and started cutting patterns out of cheap muslin.

The plan was to break for lunch at one o'clock and return at two. I suspected Giovanni might not have arrived as early as he did if he'd known that was the plan, but judging from how he treated each contestant, I also suspected he kept his eyes on the prize of dressing the winner.

Many of the young women had packed lunches, but when given the offer of an hour of free time, they eagerly left the shop. Across the street and to the right, about half of the distance to Lopez Donuts, was a small area of covered tables and carefully cut lawn that would be perfect for an impromptu picnic. The young women walked to the edge of the block and crossed at the crosswalk, holding up traffic. Yet another way the pageant impacted the town.

Giovanni met me out front. “I don't suppose you made arrangements for our lunch, did you?”

I took the high road. “As a matter of fact, lunch is on me,” I said. “Head up the street two blocks and turn in at Tea Totalers. I'll call Genevieve and tell her to expect you.”

Giovanni raised an eyebrow. “You'll never turn a profit if you keep throwing money around like this,” he said. He called to the ladies in the workroom and ordered them outside.

“Where's Jun?” I asked. “The lady who was here when you arrived?”

“She's inside. She said she brought her lunch. Do you want me to bring anything back for you?”

“I can handle my own lunch,” I said.

I headed back inside and saw Jun picking at the contents of a plastic container with a pair of chopsticks.

“Jun, I'm treating for lunch at Tea Totalers. Do you want to go with the others?”

“I bring gyoza. Very yummy. Steamed dumplings. You like to try?”

“How did you steam them?”

“Over coffee burner. I bring pot and use water from sink. Tomorrow I bring enough for everybody.”

“That's not necessary. I don't know if everybody will be here tomorrow.”

“Then I bring for you. I bet you like.”

“I bet I would.” From the corner of my eye, I noticed a movement. When I turned, I saw the young woman who had been with Charlie standing on the steps that led to my apartment. I looked around for a moment and realized I hadn't seen her inside during the entire consultations.

“Hello?” I called. I walked over to the steps. “I haven't met you yet. I'm Poly Monroe.”

“I'm Lucy.”

“Are you a contestant?” She nodded. “But I didn't meet with you. Did you put your name in the bowl?”

“I got here after you started pulling names. It's okay. I don't mind going last.”

It was a blatant lie, and I didn't know why she told it. I'd seen her enter the store when I was driving back from Lopez Donuts.

Lucy seemed skittish. I wanted to ask her about how she knew Charlie, or at least tell her I'd seen the two of them together, but I didn't want to spook her. She wore the name tag that the other young women wore, though considering she'd missed the check-in the previous day, I didn't know how she'd gotten it. In her hand, next to a bent manila folder, was the packet that I knew had been sent out to each of the young women who had made it through the screening process.

“What were you doing on the stairs this whole time?”

“Playing with the cat,” she said. I looked down and saw Needles curled up on the stairs. He lifted his head off his paw and let out a polite little peep that was about half as loud as the one he'd bellowed that morning when he wanted food.

“Is there a Pins?”

“Yes, how'd you guess?”

“I read the tag on his collar.”

“His tag says Needles.”

“They're cats in a fabric store. I figured . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“You figured correctly.” I bent down and scratched Needles's ears. His purr started up like a lawn mower engine. “Would you like to go over your sketch now? The rest of the contestants are going to be back by two and I think it would be best for you if you're caught up with them.”

She followed me downstairs to the wrap stand and opened her worn manila folder. Inside was a piece of lined notebook paper with a drawing on it. It was a simple sketch that spent no time at all on the head, face, hands, or feet of the person wearing the dress. It showed a strapless dress, cut straight along the bustline, with a thin self belt. Instead of the full ballroom skirts that so many of the other young women had chosen for their dresses, Lucy's was a modest A-line style that fell to the floor. She'd colored it in with a shade of robin's-egg blue that I knew another one of the young women had already chosen.

“This is a beautiful dress,” I said. “Where did you get the idea?” I had asked each young woman this question. Not because I suspected anyone of copying a design, but I thought it was important to understand their stylistic influences.

“Promise you won't laugh?”

“I promise.”

“When I heard I had to design a dress, I went to the vintage store next door and saw pictures from an old newspaper. I have a pretty straight body so I thought this would look better on me than a sexy dress or a ball gown.”

“Why would that make me laugh?”

She shrugged. “I know it's old-fashioned. That doesn't bother me, but I'll stick out like a sore thumb next to the others.”

“Does
that
bother you?”

“No. Just the opportunity to spend time around others my age is great. At home, it's just me and my dad. He's the reason I'm here.”

“Well, I think this is a beautiful dress and it'll look great on you. We will have to pick a different color because someone already selected the robin's-egg blue.”

Her eyes darted toward the wall of fabric. “What about the one that looks green from one side and purple from the other?”

She was referring to a bolt of transfugitive silk. It was among the most beautiful that I had, only because the color changed so significantly based on how the light hit it. More than one of the contestants had grabbed at it when first given a chance to choose, only to put it back when they saw the way the color morphed under light.

“Are you sure you'd want that?” I asked.

“I think it's pretty,” she said.

Not only was it pretty, but it would suit her perfectly. Her coloring was darker than some of the other young women, which gave her skin a natural glow that didn't require sun.
She had deep brown eyes and long, straight, dark brown hair, like an exotic princess in a Disney movie. It wouldn't matter what kind of light was used at the pageant. Both the shimmery olive and the iridescent purple of the fabric would complement her complexion.

“I'd like to see the sketch that inspired you. Jun, can you take Lucy's measurements while I pop next door?” I asked. Behind us, Jun looked up and nodded once.

I left the two of them and went to Flowers in the Attic. Lilly was behind the counter.

“Hi, Lilly, there was a young woman in here, long, straight brown hair, big brown eyes. She was looking at some pages from an old newspaper. Do you know where that might be?”

“Booth fifteen. I'll show you.” She came out from behind the counter and led me past a display of vintage Bob's Big Boy collectibles on the left and a small vignette laid out with white leather gloves, a beige mink wrap, and an assortment of pillbox hats on stands to the right. To the rear of the store, we came upon a wire stand that displayed vintage rhinestone brooches and antique cuff links. On top of the case was a floral tray with newspaper clippings that had been preserved in clear plastic sleeves.

“Who was she?” Lilly asked.

“One of the contestants.”

“Funny. I've never seen her around San Ladrón.”

“I'm sure if she wasn't qualified, she wouldn't have the appropriate paperwork. From what I hear, the selection committee is very cautious because of some trouble in the past.”

“Are you referring to my niece?” she asked.

I set the magazine pages down and put my hand on Lilly's arm. “Have you or Violet ever talked to anybody about Elizabeth leaving?” I asked gently. It worried me to think that either one of them had bottled up their emotions, letting them bubble to the surface once a year—or worse, creating a pressure cooker that threatened to explode.

“What good is talking going to do?”

“It might help you find an outlet for your anger.”

“Violet finally found an outlet for her emotions and I don't blame her. It took her long enough but she finally did what she had to do to put this nightmare behind her.”

Lilly's words sent
a chill through me. “What did she do?” I asked.

“Something she should have done a long time ago. Don't underestimate the lengths a parent will go to for her children, even after her children have left.” She wrote up a sales slip, checked the tax on the calculator, and counted out my money. I was short three cents so I took back all of the change and gave her Giovanni's dollar bill.

“She must have taken it very hard when her daughter left. I've heard people say there's a lot of pressure on these young women. Does Violet blame herself?”

“Everybody knows there's only one person to blame for what happened to Elizabeth.”

“That must be why it's so hard for Violet. She's not willing to see the role she played in driving her daughter away. And she can't get the forgiveness she so desperately needs because Elizabeth cut all ties with her.”

Lilly cut me off. “I'm not talking about Violet, I'm talking about Harvey Halliwell. He controlled every aspect of that pageant. Violet held her tongue for far too long. I'm just glad she had a chance to settle things over the weekend.”

“She confronted Harvey on Saturday? At the Waverly House party?”

Lilly carefully rolled the magazine page and slid it into a small cardboard tube. “They had a meeting on Sunday morning.”

“About what?”

“I believe that's none of your business,” Lilly said. She held out the tube but pulled it away from me when I reached for it. “This is a painful time of year for Violet, and I'll not have you slander her. If I find out you're bringing up old wounds because you want to play detective, I'll be sure to expose what I know about the young woman Charlie brought to your shop today.”

“Lucy? What do you know about her?”

“You're not the only one who keeps an eye on the neighbors,” she said with a huff.

I took the cardboard tube and left Flowers in the Attic. Lucy was consulting with Jun, and I had about twenty minutes left before the young women were scheduled to return. Once the sewing machines started buzzing, there would be no time for breaks. A life-altering opportunity hung in the balance, and it was up to me to make sure each one of the young ladies in my shop got the attention she deserved.

Which meant I was going to need to find out what was going on with Charlie first.

I crossed the street and went into Charlie's Auto. Today, Van Halen had been replaced with Metallica. Charlie was under a car. The bottom half of her jutted out in a display of dirty blue coveralls and heavy black boots—even though it was summer. For all I knew, she wore her boots with her pajamas.

I squatted down next to her legs and put my hands up to
either side of my mouth. “Hey, you under there. It's Poly. Got a minute?”

“Not really,” she said. “What's up?”

“I need to talk to you about Lucy.”

Her legs bent and she stepped her feet along the concrete until she'd pulled herself out from under the car.

“I thought you weren't going to ask a bunch of annoying questions.”

“Well, guess what? Surprise. I can't help myself.”

“Fine,” she said. “I know you won't go away until I tell you everything.” She looked down at her hands. They were black with grease. “Wait for me in my office.”

Within a few minutes, Charlie and I were sitting face to face in her office. She leaned back in her chair and gave me a direct stare. I recognized it as an act of intimidation that worked on a lot of other people in town, the people who tried to worm their way into Charlie's business. This time, Charlie's business overlapped with my business, and, aside from the fact that she was my friend, I needed to know what was going on. So, to keep things even, I stared back. After a few seconds, she smiled and tipped her chin down.

“You're a quick study, I'll give you that. What you need to know about Lucy? And this stays between us, got it?”

“It's not anything illegal, is it?”

She rolled her eyes. “If I were doing something illegal, Clark would be on me like white on rice. You think I don't know he's been watching me?”

“He's worried about you.”

“He has bigger things to worry about.” She chewed her lower lip for a second, took a drink from the mug on her desk, and looked at me again. “I don't know what I was thinking, getting involved with the town sheriff.”

“You like danger?” I said.

“Clark's a pussycat.”

“Okay, how about this: maybe after all the time you spent
running, you like the idea that there's somebody who could look after you? And not just because he wants to, but because it's part of his job?”

“You're skating on thin ice, Polyester.” She turned away from me and jiggled the mouse to the computer but didn't do much more than stare at her screen. “Of course, I could say the same thing about you and Vaughn. You didn't have much money growing up and now you're dating a rich kid.”

“It's not the same at all. I don't need somebody to pay my bills,” I said. A touch of defiance had crept into my voice.

“And I don't need someone to make sure I get home safe at night. Doesn't change the fact that we're both drawn to the unfamiliar.”

Behind Charlie, I saw the pageant contestants returning to the fabric shop. If the black-and-white cat clock that hung on the wall was right, I had three minutes left, not nearly enough time to finish our conversation.

“I don't have time to get into this right now. I have to get back to Material Girl.” I stood abruptly and knocked the chair back a few feet. Charlie stayed seated and watched me leave. Traffic was steady enough that I had to hike to the intersection and wait for the signal to change. Charlie called out to me while I waited.

The light changed. “Yo, Polyester—don't you want to know why I sponsored Lucy to enter the pageant?”

I stepped back on the curb. “I thought only family could sponsor a contestant?”

“You thought right. Lucy is my sister.”