Silk Stalkings (6 page)

“Uncover anybody else's dirt today?” she said. “Or is that why you're here. Trying to make your quota?”

“Actually, I'm here for business. Can you squeeze in a secret oil change on a Ford Taurus this afternoon?” She raised her eyebrows. “My mom's helping out at the store.”

“Tell her to bring it over in the next hour. There's something I have to do this afternoon and I won't be back until tomorrow.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

“Nope. Solo mission.” Despite our friendship, there was a wall between us that I didn't know how to scale. I wanted Charlie to open up to me, to trust me, but that wasn't something I could force.

“I'll send her over now,” I said. Halfway out the door, Charlie called behind me.

“Yo, Polyester. Thanks for not asking a bunch of nosy questions.”

“Sure.”

“Keep an eye on Clark for me while I'm gone, would ya?”

“You got it.”

Halliwell Industries was about two miles north of the heart of San Ladrón. The farther I drove, the more I felt like civilization was behind me. Ahead of me was a stretch of green land, and then a mountain range. The sign for Halliwell Industries sat off to the right-hand side of San Ladrón Avenue and marked off a large parking lot. There were several buildings attached to the lot, and Beth hadn't told me which one to enter. Before parking, I slowly drove around the perimeter and
looked for something that would point me in the direction of the main offices where they held my check at the front desk.

No smarter after circling the lot twice, I parked next to a small brown Fiat and approached the buildings on foot. I followed the signs to the main office and approached the woman behind the desk.

“I'm Poly Monroe,” I said. “Are you Beth?”

She nodded and held up a finger and pointed to the phone. I spotted a small earpiece next to her dangly earrings. Today they were lemon wedges that coordinated with her pale yellow dress and matching cardigan. She pressed a button on the phone and looked up at me.

“We spoke this morning about a check for my involvement in the pageant?”

Beth sniffled a few times. “Poly, I don't know how to tell you this. There's not going to be any pageant. Nolene Kelly cleaned out Mr. Halliwell's bank account and disappeared with all of his money!”

Beth sniffled again.
“Nolene was the only one who had control over Mr. Halliwell's bank account. We all knew it. She came in this morning and said we were to continue planning the pageant as if nothing had happened. When she left for lunch, I noticed a bunch of suitcases in the back of her blue convertible. And when I tried to use Mr. Halliwell's account to pay the caterer, they said there was nothing left!”

“Try to calm down. There's a very good chance the police or the bank froze his account because he was murdered.” I fought to keep my tone clinical, but no matter how many times I said the M word, it didn't get any easier.

“But the phones won't stop ringing. We were supposed to release the results of the preliminary screening exams to the pageant entrants tomorrow and I can't even find them. The newspaper has been holding space for us to announce the contestants. And if word gets out that there's no money for
the pageant, the whole thing will fall apart. What am I going to do?”

“Don't answer the phone, don't send any e-mails. Don't try to pay anything.”

“For how long?”

“I don't know.” I thought for a second. If there was no pageant, there was no proposal and no money to pay off my first loan payment. But a canceled pageant would affect far more people than me. The businesses around San Ladrón. The hopes and dreams of the women who had wanted to compete. And the legacy of Mr. Harvey Halliwell, who had brought so much to the city.

“Beth, can you close Halliwell Industries early today? I don't think anybody would question it considering what happened to Mr. Halliwell.”

“I could do that. There's only a few of us here, and I do have to get to a doctor's appointment.”

“Cold?” I asked. I stepped back in case she was contagious.

“No. I have a condition.” She sniffled again.

I took down her personal cell number and e-mail and promised to be in touch. I hung up the phone. There was a definite disconnect between what Nolene had told me and what everyone else said. It occurred to me that I knew as much about her as I did everything else connected to this pageant, which was not very much at all.

•   •   •

The door to the fabric store was held open with a vintage black iron sewing machine. Inside the store the lights were bright. My mother had rearranged the wall of quilting cottons by color. The top shelf was green; the second shelf yellow. The third and fourth shelves were bare, and colorful blue and pink bolts of fabric were scattered around her on the floor. The customer with the Chihuahua was back. She stood by
the floral cottons again, this time unwrapping each bolt, letting the fabric fall from her fingers while she assessed the pattern, and then moving on to the next.

“She says she's just looking,” my mom said. “You should go chat her up.”

“I got this one. Why don't you take the Ford across the street for that oil change we talked about?”

“Okay, fine, but I'm prepared to let you boss me around if you need to.”

“That won't be necessary. Go.” I pointed at the door. My mom had the best of intentions but Charlie was waiting. I only hoped she wouldn't give my mother any ideas about doing her own transmission flushes.

I approached the woman with the Chihuahua. “Back so soon?” I said.

“I shouldn't even be in here. I was planning to visit the antiques shop next door. Your employee approached me before I entered and told me to come in.”

“Did she badger you?” I asked, casting a wayward glance at the door.

“I wouldn't say badger, but she was persistent. This really is a cute shop. If I knew how to sew I'd spend a lot of money here.”

“You can always learn,” I said.

“I don't really need any more fabric right now. I should really be going,” she said. She tugged on Archie's leash and they left. I followed her out front. She glanced at Lilly, who was arranging vintage umbrellas in a tall narrow vase in front of her shop, and then hurried in the other direction down the street.

“Hi, Lilly,” I called out. “Just a heads-up, my mother—Helen—is going to be helping me out at the store over the next week or so.”

“Oh? Business is that good?”

“It's not that. My time is going to be split. I'm involved
with the pageant and she's going to handle the day-to-day sales in the fabric store.”

Her head snapped up. “You're working on the pageant? Does Violet know?”

“I don't know who knows. Why?”

“I can't believe that pageant keeps on going after what happened.”

I stepped forward. “I admit, I was surprised, too. Did you know Mr. Halliwell?”

She picked up the metal umbrella stand and slammed it back down on the ground. “Harvey Halliwell was as much a part of the problem as anybody. To think how he profited from that dog-and-pony show. He deserved what he got, and now maybe somebody will shut that pageant down for good.”

She stormed inside. The fabric shop was empty and there was no sign of anybody on the street. I followed Lilly inside her shop. “What did you mean by that?”

“That man profits from putting young women on a stage. Once a year his pageant turns our town into a big orange joke. Those young ladies should be thinking about graduating high school or entering college, not becoming a beauty queen and taking off for China to hang off a rich man's arm in photo opportunities. At least it's all over now.”

“It's not over. The pageant is going to continue without Mr. Halliwell. In fact, Halliwell Industries considers the pageant to be his legacy.”

She glared at me, her eyes narrowed into slits. “That can't be true,” she said.

“It is. That's one of the reasons I need more help this week.”

Lilly picked up a rag and turned her back on me. I stood there for a few seconds but finally said an awkward good-bye. I needed to find out what had happened to make the Garden sisters hate Harvey Halliwell as much as they did.

•   •   •

The afternoon was quiet. My mom returned at four, and I ran upstairs to the apartment to use the bathroom. When I came out, I saw the champagne dress on the chaise lounge. The throw blanket I'd tossed on top of it was on the floor, and curled up on top of the blanket were Pins and Needles, sleeping in a patch of sunlight. The dress reminded me once again of Vaughn, and, once again, I questioned whether we could get past our differences.

But then I thought about why Vaughn had been upset. His area of expertise was money, and on more than one occasion, when I'd had money problems or questions, I'd gone to someone else. Was he hurt by that? Did he think I didn't respect him?

I considered things from a different angle. Vaughn and I were still just getting to know each other. But if he had questions about fabric or about making a dress, I would like to think he'd come to me. How would I feel if he didn't? I didn't even have to finish the thought to know the answer. It seemed I owed him an apology.

I cued up his office number and stared at the screen for a few seconds before making the call. His secretary answered.

“Hello, I'd like to make an appointment with Mr. Vaughn McMichael,” I said. “To discuss a private business matter.”

She hesitated for a moment. “He has an opening tomorrow morning at eleven and tomorrow afternoon at three.”

“Does he have any time today?”

“I can fit you in at four forty-five, but that doesn't give you much time,” she said.

“I'll be there.” I gave her my name and phone number and hung up. I knew as soon as Vaughn saw my name he'd think something was up. The sooner I arrived, the less time he'd have to cancel.

I pulled a blazer over my tank top and traded my jeans for a pair of trousers. Already the temperature had been hitting the eighties, but I knew if I wanted him to take me seriously, I had to take myself seriously. I stepped into low-heeled shoes, put pearl stud earrings in my pierced ears, and moved my wallet, keys, and money from my messenger bag to a small leather purse. I was back downstairs fifteen minutes later, and I had less than twenty to get to Vaughn's business and find a parking space.

“Mom? I have to run to the bank. It's a last-minute thing. You can handle things?”

“I think I can manage to not badger any more customers,” she said with a smile. “Besides, I think you lost your window of sales to happy hour. I just watched four people go into the bar across the street.”

I glanced outside. Duke was outside The Broadside with a tent sign on his lap. He rolled himself to a spot on the sidewalk and set up the sign, then rolled himself back into the bar.

“You can close and lock up at six. I'll be back as soon as I can.” I kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for helping me out today.”

I made good time to Vaughn's office. McMichael Investments was only a couple of miles from the fabric store, almost a straight shot down San Ladrón Avenue. It was a two-story office building, beige siding with dark brown trim. The parking lot sat off to the side, only a handful of cars occupying the numerous spaces. Vaughn's car was parked next to his father's in the lot, the full size and the mini-me versions of silver BMWs. His father's plates said
MCM
; Vaughn's had the combination of letters and numbers that had been assigned to him by the State of California. The space next to Vaughn's was marked
Visitor
, so I pulled in, hoping he didn't have a view of the parking lot from his office. I'd at least like to make it inside before I was asked to leave.

I signed in with security and was directed to the second
floor. The lobby was quiet. I gave myself a pep talk as the elevator climbed. When the doors opened, Vaughn stood in front of them, arms crossed.

“Security called and said you were on your way up. What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I have an appointment.” His face went blank. “With you.”

“No you don't,” he said.

“Ask your secretary,” I challenged.

He turned around and walked down a blue-carpeted hallway. I followed, assuming this was the way to his office. He stopped by a woman in a blue sundress. “Do I have an appointment this afternoon?” he asked her.

“Yes, sir, with Poly Monroe.”

“I'm Poly Monroe,” I offered.

“Oh!” she stood. “Can I get you anything? Water, coffee, tea?”

“Poly doesn't need anything,” he said. He turned back to me. “Do you?” he asked.

“Only my appointment.”

“Follow me.”

Vaughn led us past his secretary to a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside I could see the row of purple jacarandas spilling their blossoms onto the parking lot.

“Don't you think this is a little extreme?” he asked.

“I don't know what you're talking about. I have a financial matter to discuss, and I've heard you're good with money.”

He stared at me. The sunlight from his windows picked up the gold flecks in his otherwise green eyes and highlighted strands of his light brown hair that had been bleached by the sun. I sat straight and pretended I was on a job interview. No jokes, no flirtation. Just business.

Vaughn stood up and walked past me, and, for a second, I thought he was going to open the door and ask me to leave. He didn't. He opened a small refrigerator and pulled out two
bottles of water. He handed me one, set the other on his desk blotter, and pulled two cut-crystal glasses from a cabinet.

“Tell me about your financial matter.”

“It's not my financial matter. It's Harvey Halliwell's financial matter.”

“Harvey Halliwell isn't one of our clients.”

“Harvey Halliwell isn't anybody's client anymore,” I said, “but that didn't stop somebody from cleaning out his bank account today.”

“What?” he asked, leaning forward with interest.

I relayed to Vaughn what I'd learned from Beth at Halliwell Industries. “I went to pick up my check and Harvey's secretary was hysterical. She said she tried to pay the caterer and was told there was no money in the account. She also saw Nolene with a car filled with suitcases, and apparently Nolene was the only person with access to Harvey's money.”

“That doesn't sound good,” he said.

“I know. So now it's not just a murder, but add to that a freaked-out staff and a very big pageant that draws national attention. You have hundreds of thousands of dollars of business revenue at stake, and the dreams and aspirations of women who were supposed to find out whether they were in contention to win the Miss Tangorli title and everything that went with it.”

“What do you mean, ‘supposed to find out'?”

“You know there's a pretty heavy screening process used for the competition, right? The results were in and the competitors were going to be published in tomorrow's paper.”

“That's interesting timing,” he said.

“That's what I thought, too.”

Temporarily, the tension that had existed between Vaughn and me disappeared. I leaned forward to mirror his body language.

Vaughn stood. “Wait here,” he said.

He left me alone in the office. I poured my water into the
glass and drank. It was refreshing on a hot day. I held the empty glass up against my forehead and closed my eyes. If it was this hot now, what would it be like in August when the high averaged in the nineties?

I stayed in Vaughn's office for the better part of an hour. Curiosity led me to inspect the diploma on the wall and the photos on his desk. When the door to Vaughn's office finally reopened, I turned around. Vaughn had returned, but he wasn't alone. This time he was followed by his father on one side and Sheriff Clark on the other.