'Come on in. We do hair on Wednesdays,' he said.
'Sergeant Woo, Lieutenant Sanchez,' Mike said.
'Louis the Sun King. What can I do for you?' Louis's hair was yellow. It stood straight up. His shirt was purple. Stuck in the open collar was an ascot. Bright red and yellow spilled out. His nails were manicured, shiny. His accent was slightly, incongruously British. He tilted his head and looked, for a second, like a huge, curious canary.
'We're investigating the Tovah Schoenfeld homicide,' Mike took the lead.
'A terrible tragedy. Come out in the garden where we can talk.' Officiously, he patted his astonishing pompadour.
As they walked through the shop, April glanced around at the planters and display of glass and porcelain vases. Everything looked expensive. Outside, Louis plopped himself on a garden chair in the shade of the building next door and indicated to Mike and April the two chairs in the sun. Mike moved them into the shade and waited for April to sit down.
'I've already made a statement. What else do you want to know?' Louis said, leaning back in his chair.
'Details. A lot more details.'
'Why? Do you suspect me?' Louis laughed loudly.
Mike sniffed delicately and took out his notebook. 'How did you get the Schoenfeld job?' he asked.
'They came in one day. They wanted something no one else they know had done. And, of course, the more the better. The Schoenfelds were not hard to please.'
'People just come in off the street?' Mike said incredulously.
'Some do.'
'How do they know about you?'
'Oh, the magazines. I've been written up in all the industry rags. Plus the
'I understand you have a waiting list. And people offer to change their dates just to get you.' This from April.
'The spring is a busy time,' Louis said modestly.
'So people don't just come off the street,' she said.
'Well.' He lifted a shoulder.
'Who referred the Schoenfelds?' Mike again.
'I'll have to check. Maybe it was Wendy Lotte. I've been doing a lot of work with Wendy lately.'
April glanced at Mike. Wendy again.
'Does Wendy get a commission?' she asked.
Louis looked surprised. 'Why do you ask?'
'Decorators get commissions on everything they provide for a job. I just wondered if party planning works the same way.' April was all over it. She'd checked it out. Party planners got a commission on everything.
'No, I have one fee. The principals pay me directly. It doesn't go through Wendy,' he said glibly.
She made a note that he was a liar. 'Does Wendy use other people?' she asked.
'Oh, of course. And so do I.'
Mike grew silent as April took over and led Louis through his movements the two days before the Schoenfeld event. It took a while. They got an earful on the difficulties of working with suppliers of all kinds. This week, for example, Louis needed fresh coconut palm fronds. He had to order out of state. He showed them the plans for the Hay wedding.
'The Hays wanted whole grass huts constructed, but the St. Regis refused, so they had to settle on thatched umbrellas with twinkling lights.'
Mike and April saw how a ballroom got transformed into a fantasy place.
'Sometimes a client wants to create a real night sky complete with the Big Dipper and the Milky Way. I use theater techies for lighting, and carpentry. They're the best.' Louis's hand went to his hair again. 'I love the theater, don't you?'
'Absolutely,' April said.
Then Mike asked where Louis's staff had been at the time of the shoodng.
'We were gone long before the guests began arriving/' Louis said.
Mike asked a few more questions about his relationship to Wendy, then collected the names and addresses of the 'boys' in the video. Tito wasn't there at the moment, but Louis explained where he could be reached.
'Ah, and Jama?'
'Jama isn't his real name,' Louis said. 'I call him Jama because he's from Africa. That's how they say hello there.'
April knew Louis was misinformed about that or lying again. 'What's his real name, then?' she asked.
'I have no idea. He didn't tell me,' Louis said loftily.
'Where is he now?'
'Home sick.'
'What's wrong with him?'
'He's scared to death of cops. Wouldn't you be if someone was murdered and you were the only one on the scene who happened to be black?'
Mike took the man's address and stuffed his notebook back in his jacket pocket. From the car April called Poppy on her cell.
The inspector didn't have anything on the others yet, but a computer check on Louis's social security number revealed his real name as Steve Creese.
'Guy comes from western Connecticut, near Hartford. At the age of six, he and his older brother, David, were removed from their parents. An arsonist, possibly their estranged father, burned down the house, severely injuring their mother. Steve grew up in a number of foster homes, got in trouble in middle school, straightened himself out in high school. He turned up running an art gallery in Hawaii in the early eighties. Returned to California in the late eighties, where he dressed sets for movies. Migrated back east and became the assistant to Jack Eldridge, a well- known florist whose inspiration was the regimented shrubs and gardens of Louis the Fourteenth. Jack Eldridge died of AIDS in 'ninety-three. Steve Creese inherited the shop and the business and reinvented himself as Louis the Sun King.'
April handed the phone to Mike. He heard it all again. Then she dialed the lab out in Jamaica. Still no word on the gun. The rest of the day was busy, but uneventful. Just after ten April headed home to Queens alone, disappointed when Mike didn't mention spending the night together.
Twenty-two
P
rudence Hay woke up on Wednesday morning with the dreads, the same dreads she'd had for the few last months about whether she really wanted to marry Thomas Fenton, or not really The dreads were nauseating. Dizzy making. She'd also had too much to drink last night, trying to goad some life into him. She pulled her face out from under a mountain of pillows, rolled over on her back, and tried to make the room stop spinning.
Her thoughts were as agonizing as her hangover. They spun with the room, for Thomas was perfect on paper but not so perfect in real life.
Oh, Prudence felt sick. She was in her bed in the Sutton Place apartment where they were staying all week until the wedding—barely three days away. Her room was all pink and apple green.
was the only word for it. She groaned. She adored her mother even though her mother was sometimes silly and extravagant. Her mother had been loyal to her no matter what she did, and she'd had her share of scrapes growing up. Her mother wanted her to marry Thomas Fenton: he was tall, dark, handsome, suitable in every way. Her father was her rock, her advisor, and her friend. She was his only daughter, and he wanted her to marry Thomas Fenton: his family was prominent and wealthy. He trusted Thomas to take good care of her. Already Thomas had bought an apartment for them and was making it absolutely perfect. Everything with Thomas had to be perfect except himself.
He didn't like travel, didn't like going out and having fun. Didn't play golf or tennis, didn't finish work before
