Silk Stalkings (9 page)

“You're not competing
in the pageant? But you came to the fabric store today,” I said.

“I didn't want anybody to know. I'm so embarrassed.” She put both hands up to her face and her shoulders started to shake. I glanced into the restaurant and saw the bartender looking at us. I shrugged, like I wasn't sure what to do. He pointed to a vacant table for two off to the side.

I put my arm around Sheila's shoulders. “Let's sit down, okay?” I said.

“My shift isn't over.”

“I'll take care of that.”

I escorted her to the table and helped her into a chair. She remained hunched over. I took off my cardigan and draped it over her shoulders to hide her uniform. “I'll be right back,” I said. I flagged down the bartender. “Sheila needs a break. Can you get one of the other waitresses to cover the front for a few minutes?”

He glanced out front. “The problem's already solved.”

I followed his stare and saw Vaughn. He pointed at the lectern and gave me a thumbs-up. I returned the gesture and went back to Sheila.

Her tears had subsided while I was gone, and she'd turned stoic. She stared out the window into the blackness of the yard. I couldn't tell if she was aware of my presence or not.

“Sheila, why did you come to the fabric store today?”

“I heard the contestants were going to meet there.”

“But you couldn't have checked in if your name wasn't on the list,” I said.

“I thought maybe there was a mistake. When you didn't call my name, I knew I didn't get in, but by then you'd already noticed me. I was too embarrassed to tell you the truth, so I lied to the man who was checking off names. I pointed to the one badge left on the table and said that was me.”

I thought back to when the young women had checked in. The energy level inside Material Girl had been high, as had the noise. My dad and I had done our best to maintain the pretense that we were organized and in charge, but Sheila could easily have waited until all of the names were called and then pretended to be the one who was last. Like me, my dad wouldn't have known who was who. Before I could ask who hadn't shown up to check in, Sheila continued.

“Mr. Halliwell was here at the Midnight in Paris party, and he told me he wanted to talk to me. I thought he was going to tell me that there'd been a mistake—but then I wasn't able to get away.”

“How did you find out the truth?”

“A letter arrived today.”

“Do you have it?”

Her eyes darted over to meet mine for a moment, and then she looked down. “No.” She tugged on the edge of the tablecloth for a moment. “It's gone,” she added.

A waitress dressed in the same attire as Sheila appeared
by our table. “Sheila, you have to get back out front. Adelaide asked where you went and Vaughn said he was covering for you while you went to the restroom. I don't want you to get into any more trouble.”

Sheila unfolded the cloth napkin that held the silver utensils and used it to dab at her eyes. She balled the fabric up in her fist and pushed her chair back.

“I'll be right out,” she said. When the waitress was out of earshot, Sheila turned back to me. “Please don't mention this to Adelaide. It's bad enough that some people know I entered the pageant. It's so humiliating.” She passed my cardigan to me and walked back out front.

I watched Vaughn put his hand on her shoulder and say something to her. She looked up at him and smiled thankfully. My view was obstructed by the waitress, returning to the table.

“Is Sheila going to be okay?” the waitress asked.

“I don't know. Has she been upset all day?”

“She's been upset for a few days. Ever since she got that packet about the pageant on Friday.”

“Friday? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. It was the day before the garden party. To tell you the truth, I probably wouldn't have even noticed, except that she acted all weird. It was a document mailer, you know? At first she was excited, but then later in the afternoon, her whole mood changed. She put salt in the sugar canisters and set all the tables with shrimp forks. And then she started a real fire in the fireplace!”

“Is that so odd?”

“We don't burn wood in the summer because it gets too hot. Adelaide had the fireplaces cleaned out because of the garden party. We'll use the electric logs for ambiance until October. See?” She pointed to the wall behind me where the fireplace was. The illusion of a fire added to the atmosphere
of the restaurant, but if the fire had been real, I would have been burning up because of my close proximity.

“What did Sheila do when you caught her by the fire?”

“She accused me of calling her crazy and she stormed off. I didn't see her again until the party on Saturday, and even then she kept disappearing.”

So not only had Sheila known Harvey Halliwell was at the garden party, but now I knew she had disappeared throughout the night. What if she'd been lying about not knowing that she wasn't a contestant? What if there'd been something in the mail that arrived on Friday that told her she wasn't a finalist . . . and more importantly, told her why? If Harvey had been the one to disqualify Sheila, she might have been irrational. Harvey's body had been found in the gardens outside the Waverly House. With Sheila working here as an employee, had she orchestrated his presence and then killed him?

I thanked the waitress for her time and stood from the table. If Sheila was lying to me, I didn't think it would do me a lot of good to stick around watching her. I let myself out a side door and walked around the wraparound porch until I was in front of the front stairs. Vaughn sat on the porch swing. He kept one foot on the floor and slowly moved the swing back and forth.

“Join me?” he asked.

“Sure.”

I sat down next to him and he kept the swing moving back and forth with the toe of his white Stan Smiths. I leaned back against the faded floral cushion and breathed in the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine and a few other flowers that had been planted for the garden party.

“What brings you to the Waverly House tonight?” He kept his voice light, but I sensed he was looking for more than small talk.

I closed my eyes and remembered why I was there. “I
called earlier to find out if there were any vacant rooms that I could book. My old boss is coming to San Ladrón tomorrow and he's bringing some of his seamstresses. I don't know if he planned on them staying over or if he thinks they're heading back for a day, but I wanted to make arrangements ahead of time so he couldn't spring a slumber party on me.”

“And?”

“And I forgot to find out. Sheila was upset when she answered the phone. She asked if I could come over—she said she needed to talk to someone.”

“Will she be okay?” he asked.

I liked that he didn't ask me to violate her confidence. “I don't know.” I was quiet for a moment.

“This pageant makes a lot of people crazy. For the next couple of days, life as we know it will cease to exist. And then, on Sunday night, one of the contestants will be awarded the Miss Tangorli title.” He looked up at the sky for a few seconds, then continued. “Monday will be quiet, and Tuesday, things will go back to normal. If we're lucky.”

“Again with lucky. Why?”

He picked up my hand and traced along the palm side with his index finger. It tickled, but I didn't stop him. After a few seconds, he folded his hand over mine and rested it on the cushion between us. “Some people put more emphasis on this pageant than they should. Some lives have been changed forever.”

“Violet's daughter,” I said.

He nodded. “How much do you know about her?”

“Not much. Tiki Tom mentioned something yesterday morning, and both Violet and Lilly have no problem with Harvey Halliwell's murder.”

“Harvey used to approach girls and encourage them to enter. One of those girls was only fourteen. He didn't know and she didn't tell him. That was Violet's daughter, Elizabeth. Violet thought Elizabeth would have a good chance if Harvey
approached her himself, so she lied about her daughter's age to get her in. Somehow the press found out and exposed the story. Violet was judged to be an unfit mother and Elizabeth went to live with her dad. Harvey was in the hot seat for a while.”

“How did the pageant recover?”

“Nolene stepped up with a very elaborate set of qualifications and stringent background checks designed to categorize applicants. It came very close to racial profiling. Not politically correct at all. Normally it would never have been voted past the board, but they pushed it through to divert attention from Harvey's indiscretion.”

“So the background check and psych evaluations are a new thing. Who sees them? Who are the judges?”

“Halliwell Industries employs a fair number of professionals. There's a panel of experts who score the tests and advise him on anything that stands out on a profile. The experts' identities are kept secret for obvious reasons.”

“Harvey feared retribution.”

“It's not a stretch,” Vaughn said. “He's faced more than one lawsuit over the pageant. One year someone torched a Tangorli field and ruined hundreds of thousands of dollars of crops. Another year someone cracked a pane of glass in his greenhouse and compromised years of research.”

“But still, he kept up with the pageant.”

“He always believed it did more good than harm.”

I went silent, thinking about Sheila. She had shown up at the fabric store and pretended she was a contestant. Her reasoning had been that she thought there had been a mistake, but that story felt thin. If the other waitress was to be believed, she'd received upsetting news days ago. Were entrants contacted ahead of time to tell them if they wouldn't be competing? It was too much coincidence to think that Sheila's disturbing news didn't pertain to the pageant.

“Hey,” Vaughn prompted. He squeezed my hand. “You still with me?”

“Yes, sorry. I was thinking about how much work there's going to be in the fabric store tomorrow.”

“That reminds me, I have a surprise for you. Guaranteed to make your day better. But you have to wait until tomorrow morning to find out what it is.”

“Then that's my cue to head home and get to sleep.” I stood up and pulled Vaughn to his feet.

“I'll walk you home.”

“I'll be fine.”

“When are you going to accept that I just want to spend more time with you?”

I waited a few seconds, and then reached out for his hand. “I have an idea. Why don't you walk me home?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Vaughn's six-foot-plus height was a nice complement to my five-foot-nine stature, and we matched strides as we walked along Bonita. This time I didn't feel as though I had to pick up the pace between streetlamps. He kept my hand in his as we walked, and I didn't pull away. After we rounded the corner onto San Ladrón Avenue, I caught him looking at Charlie's shop across the street.

“Have you talked to my sister lately?” he asked.

“Yesterday. Why?”

“She's been avoiding me since the Midnight in Paris party. I think it has to do with that man we saw her with. I was hoping she'd confided in you.”

“If she had, I wouldn't tell you,” I said.

“And I respect that. But keep an eye on her, would you?”

“Sure, why not? I'm already keeping an eye on her for Sheriff Clark.”

Vaughn stopped walking, even though we were still a few feet shy of the front door to Material Girl. “Sheriff Clark asked you to keep an eye on Charlie? Why? What does he suspect?”

So Vaughn
didn't
know the truth about Charlie and Clark.
“It's nothing like that. You know Clark. He feels like he's in charge of everybody in San Ladrón. Somebody acts a little different and all of a sudden, he has to start asking questions. Especially if there's a stranger involved.”

I looked across the street. Charlie and the man with the white ponytail came out of her shop. “Come here,” I said. I pulled Vaughn into the shadowy doorway to Tiki Tom's shop and put my arms around his neck.

“Hey, slow down,” he said. He put his hands on my waist and leaned in to kiss me. I turned my head to the side and looked over his shoulder.

“There's that guy from the garden party,” I said. Vaughn turned around. “This is the second time I saw him at her shop.”

Charlie and the man hugged briefly. I pulled Vaughn closer to me in the shadows of Tiki Tom's storefront. The man got into her car and drove away. Charlie looked up and down the street, as if checking to see if she'd been spotted, and went back inside. A few seconds later, the lights went out.

The next morning
I woke to kitty howling. Pins had migrated to my pillow sometime during the night and his fur was smushed into my cheek. Needles sat by the side of the bed meowing over and over like he hadn't been fed for a week. The clock read six thirty.

I turned off the kitty alarm by filling bowls with fresh food and water, emptied the litter box, and then showered and dressed in a black cotton boatneck and a pair of black capri pants. I slipped my feet into ballerina flats, swiped on tinted sunscreen, mascara, and lip gloss, and joined the kitties in the kitchen. While they circled around my ankles, sated by their meal of genuine animal by-products, I made a pot of Ceylon tea and heated up a frozen orange scone Genevieve had given me a few weeks ago. It wasn't nearly as good as a fresh one, but it was still better than anything you could buy in a grocery store.

I went downstairs to the fabric store around seven thirty.
After opening the register, I pulled the envelope of cash out from under the tray. There was a branch of my bank a few doors to the left of Material Girl, and if I hurried, I could make the deposit through the machine out front and be back before Giovanni showed up with a van filled with seamstresses. I pushed the bulging envelope into one pocket, pushed my ID and bank card into the other, and unlocked the front door. On the sidewalk in front of the gate stood a petite Asian woman with jet-black hair perfectly styled in a bouffant. She made a slight bow toward me.

“Good morning.” She held a collapsible table under one arm and a sewing machine in the other. “Miss Polyester?” she asked. When I nodded, she replied, “I here for job.”

“Are you with Giovanni?” I asked.

She looked to the left and to the right. “Who Giovanni? I here alone. For job.”

“I think you might have the wrong store. I'm not hiring,” I said. The fact that she was carrying a sewing machine made me think the confusion lay not with her location, but somehow with me.

“Mister Vaughn told me to come see you. He say you need seamstress for beauty pageant dresses.”

“Yes, that's true. But it isn't a paying job. I'm afraid I can't hire you.”

“Is okay. Mister Vaughn good customer. He say gold dress for you. Very pretty.”

“You made the gold dress?” I asked. “My gold dress?”

“Your sketch very detailed. Easy to follow. Mister Vaughn knows I like making pretty things.”

A car pulled up in front of Flowers in the Attic and Violet Garden got out of the passenger side. She held an assortment of wicker baskets. The top one overflowed with lace doilies, napkins, and place mats. The car pulled away from the curb and pulled around to the back. Violet looked at the woman with me, and then at me.

I stepped backward and held the door open. “Please come in, Ms. . . .” My voice trailed off while I waited for her to fill in the blank.

“Jun Wong.” She crossed the threshold with steps dictated by both her short stature and her narrow skirt that matched her linen jacket. On her feet were round-toed pumps with sensible one-inch heels and thick leather soles. I didn't want to offend her by asking, but I suspected she had dressed for the opportunity of an interview.

“I have small dressmaking shop behind French tea café. I see what you do with fabrics for interior. Very pretty,” she said, just as she'd said about my dress.

“Did you attend the Midnight in Paris party? I didn't see you there.”

“Oh, I no party. I peek in windows at night. You know fabric,” she said. She nodded as she said it, like I'd passed a test.

“My great-aunt and great-uncle used to own this store. In some ways I grew up here.”

“Is good place for little girl. You learn important things. Like sewing.”

“Where did you learn to sew?”

“In China. Many women learn sewing. It is good job. My grandmother learn first. I learn when I was ten.”

“You started working when you were ten?” I asked with shock.

She laughed. “No. First job at thirteen. Until then I practice. I not get really good until I sixteen.”

“And how do you know Vaughn?”

She paused when I said his name, and smiled a secret smile. “Mister Vaughn very good to me. He gave me loan to start my seamstress shop,” she said. “But I getting older now. Not want to work as much. Loan paid back, but maybe time to retire soon.” She looked around the store. “I set up now.
Store be busy soon.” She set her sewing machine on the floor and unfolded the small table she had brought with her.

“You can use the sewing area that is already set up,” I said.

“No, that for students. I bring my own supplies.” She picked up her sewing machine and set it on top of the table. I watched her pull a power cord from a small cloth bag and connect it to the machine. Since she didn't seem to have brought a stool with her, too, I rolled a small cushioned chair from my desk to where she set up her workstation.

An air of determination surrounded Jun Wong. I recognized it from the attitude I'd seen so many times in the workroom at To the Nines back in Los Angeles. Sure, Giovanni was a cheapskate who would charge his own mother for a glass of tap water, but his employees were cut from a different kind of cloth. They took pride in what they did. Those ladies had adopted me when I took the job as senior concept designer, and they treated me with the same level of respect I gave them. Even though I'd just met Jun Wong, her presence was comforting.

Except that it thwarted my trip to the bank. I pulled the envelope from my pocket and put it back in the cash register.

“Jun, where did you park?”

“I no park. I walk.”

“You carried your machine and table?”

“Table on wheels. Machine not heavy. I used to it.” She set the top to her machine on the floor and unzipped the small bag that had hung over her shoulder. From inside she pulled a pincushion sewn onto a loop of elastic that she put on her wrist like a bracelet. She unpacked a seam ripper, two pair of scissors, and a yardstick, and then draped a tape measure around her neck.

“Have you had breakfast? Coffee? Tea?”

“Yes. I have nice breakfast before work.” She patted her tiny stomach. “I eat well,” she laughed. Her whole face lit up
and her laughter rang through the store like charms on the bracelet Aunt Millie used to wear. For a split second, it was like my aunt was right there with us.

“You get ready for others. I okay by myself,” she said.

“How do you know about the others?” I asked.

“I know more than you think,” she said with a knowing smile. “About more than just fabric, too.”

Before I could ask what she meant, there was a pounding on the back door. I crossed the room and unlocked it. Giovanni pushed past me. “You'd think you would have been ready for us,” he said. “Where's the coffee? Where are the donuts?”

I ignored him and instead took the next several minutes to hug each of the ladies from the workroom at To the Nines. We shared a flurry of “Good to see you,” “How've you been,” and a couple “You wouldn't believe what Giovanni did last week.” I ushered the six women inside and led them to the sewing stations.

“Ladies, this is Jun Wong. She's going to help with the dresses,” I said. Giovanni stood by the front door, looking up and down the street.

“Mr. Giovanni was expecting food,” one of the ladies said.

I excused myself while the ladies introduced themselves to Jun and chatted like giddy coeds who had been allowed out of their all-girls school for a mixer with boys. I joined Giovanni at the front door.

“Donuts or croissants?”

“Today, donuts.”

“Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee.”

“Can I trust you here while I go get it?”

“Don't insult me.”

“Let me rephrase the question. The store is not open yet, but there is a chance that one or two or twenty young ladies who are pageant contestants will show up at any time. If I'm
not here when they arrive, can you manage to keep things under control?”

He looked at his watch. “It'll take us about an hour to get the workstations set up. You get coffee and donuts and we'll be ready when the kids arrive.” He pulled his wallet out of his pants and opened the billfold. What was this? Was Giovanni actually going to give me money for the donuts and coffee?

He peeled off a one-dollar bill. “Put this in the tip jar. Stores like that.”

Cheapskate.

On a normal day, I would have walked the four blocks to Lopez Donuts, allowing internal negotiations to convince me that the walk would offset any baked goods I might eat once I arrived. Today I took my old yellow VW Bug. I knew I'd be too loaded down to make the walk back, and even though Maria or Big Joe would readily volunteer to help me, I didn't want to pull them away from their shop.

Business was better than it had been on Sunday, but they weren't breaking any records. Maria was behind the counter. I was third in line but the two people in front of me ordered a cruller and coffee each, so I advanced quickly.

“Hi, Maria, can I get three dozen glazed and two urns of coffee?”

“Now
that's
how you order in a donut shop,” she said, looking at the man who was doctoring his coffee with half-and-half. “But I know you don't expect those pageant contestants to eat donuts. Whose army are these for?”

“My old boss's army.” I told her about Giovanni bringing the workroom to San Ladrón to help me with the dresses.

“That sounds like a nice gesture. I thought you said that man was greedy?”

“You don't know Giovanni. He'll find a way to make this about him.”

Maria went to the back to fill the pink boxes with donuts
fresh from the oven and returned a few minutes later. “Joe! Come out here and man the counter. I have to help Poly to her car,” she said.

“I can handle it,” I said.

“No you can't. I have to talk to you about something.” She pulled the apron over her head and tossed it on the counter, grabbed a pink box, and pushed me ahead of her. When Joe came out to the front counter, he glared at me. I looked away and kept walking.

When we reached my car, Maria opened the door and got into the passenger side. She wrapped her arms around the pink bakery boxes on her lap. “Is everything okay?” I asked.

“No. I mean yes, probably. I mean, this is embarrassing.”

I sat behind the wheel and started the engine. “What is it?”

“I'll tell you while you drive.” She waited until I pulled away from the curb to continue. “I know you have a lot on your plate, and I wouldn't normally bring this up, but it's kind of important. And you're the only one who can help me.”

“Maria, you're scaring me.”

She sighed. “The last time I wore a formal dress was my wedding! That was”—she looked down at her body—“before the donut shop.”

“A formal dress?”

“Nolene asked me to judge the pageant. That means I have to wear a formal gown. I don't have time to go gallivanting around San Ladrón trying on dresses like a lot of the other ladies around here. Between the cleaning business and the donut shop and the boys, it's a wonder my shoes match.”

“Maria, you are one of the nicest people I've ever met, and your generosity made a huge difference to me when I first moved here. I'd be honored to make you a dress for the pageant.”

“I don't want anything too fussy. I'm not a fussy type. And I can't handle a bunch of fittings, either. And nothing
green. I heard nobody looks good in green. Oh, I shouldn't have asked.”

“You
should
have asked and I'm glad you did. Come to the shop later today. We'll look at the fabric and you can pick out whatever you want.”

“You pick out the fabric for me. Whatever you think will look good.”

I waited for a car to pass before turning into the side street that led to my back parking lot. A small crowd had formed in front of the shop. Young women holding folders and sketch pads and portfolios that I assumed included drawings.

“Is that Charlie? Is she helping you, too?” Maria asked.

I hadn't expected to see Charlie that morning. She was with a tall, thin young woman with long, straight, brown hair. They crossed the street and stopped in front of Material Girl. The brunette said something to Charlie and then went inside. Like last night, Charlie looked up and down the street, then jogged back to her shop.

The plot thickened.