“Are you enjoying the summer off?” I asked him, to change the subject.
“Summer off? Not for me,” he said. “It may look like I’m not working, but I am. Call it a sick day or call it research. I need it. You know I’ve been busy at school all summer, and starting tomorrow I’m in full fall season mode. Besides rehearsals, I’ve got meetings, meetings and more meetings. I tell you it’s all too much. I have two classes of remedial English to teach along with the plays I direct. The worst part is I’m under the thumb of a principal with the most sophomoric taste. We’re doing
I tried to look sympathetic, but my head was starting to ache. I wanted to say, “Then hadn’t you better hustle on back to the scene shop at your high school and get busy cutting and stitching costumes, or pounding nails together for a set?” Instead, I reached into my bag for my pain pills and my bottled water.
Harrington and his sister both watched as if they’d never seen someone popping pills before. Not the ones prescribed by a doctor anyway. I hoped he’d take the hint and take his sister to lunch or at least go look at this season’s costume jewelry in the back room.
“Heard you had an accident. What happened to you?” he asked, his eyes on my bandaged ankle.
“Just a slight sprain.” I held my breath, expecting him to pursue the topic as Detective Wall had done by saying, “I didn’t ask for a diagnosis, I asked what happened,” but he didn’t. “I guess I’d better quit malingering and get up to help Dolce.” I struggled to get out of the chair, and Harrington took my hand and pulled me up. With hands that smooth, how was he going to construct sets and paint scenery?
I murmured something about how good it was to see them both before they wandered over to Dolce’s casual wear collection. Now what would I do? I could hardly stand around with one sprained ankle trying to help customers. Maybe I shouldn’t have come back to work so soon after all. Fortunately Dolce realized how awkward my position was, and she asked me to hang out in her office and answer the phone, which was ringing off the hook today.
“Is it because of MarySue?” I asked after gathering up my stuff and plopping myself into the chair behind her desk.
She said she didn’t know and closed the door behind her. “I wouldn’t mind the extra traffic and calls if they added up to sales, but as you saw out there, everyone just wants to talk about the murder. I’m going back and try to actually sell something. If anyone asks for me, just say I’m with a customer and take a message. Or better yet, try to solve their problem, whatever it is. An order for something special? Take it. Store hours? Tell them. Directions? Give them. What I hate is when they just want to ask about MarySue. If they do, just say she was a valued customer and I’m devastated. So upset I can’t talk about it. But I’m open for business. How does that sound?”
“Makes sense to me,” I assured her. But I hoped no one would ask. What if I said the wrong thing? What if someone really tried to pin me down about my relationship with MarySue, like the detective had? Maybe I could pretend to be the answering service.
“Take a break,” I said to Dolce. “I’m fine in here with my leg up on the desk. Don’t worry about a thing. Go mingle with the customers. I’ll handle all the calls.” I smiled and shooed her out. She closed the door behind her and immediately the phone started ringing.
“Good morning, you’ve reached Dolce’s,” I said.
“Ms. Loren? This is Detective Jack Wall. I have a few questions for you regarding the case of Ms. Jensen. I wonder if this is a convenient time to come by?”
“Ms. Loren is not available to come to the phone or for interviews,” I said, trying to sound like a temp who knew nothing about anything. “She’s extremely busy. Perhaps another day.”
“Is this Ms. Jewel by any chance?” he asked in a voice that said he knew damn well it was me and that he found it suspicious and almost criminal that I didn’t tell him up front who I was.
“Yes, it’s me,” I admitted with a sigh.
“I thought you were laid up for the duration. It’s good to know you’ve recovered enough to go to work. If Ms. Loren isn’t available, I have a few follow-up questions for you if you’re up to it.”
“We’re running a business here,” I said. “Customers might be put off by the presence of the police. It’s bad enough one of our customers is murdered, but to have the police hanging around makes people nervous.”
“Do I make you nervous, Ms. Jewel?” he asked in that deep voice of his that caused my hand to shake.
“I have nothing to be nervous about,” I said. Then why was my throat dry and my voice trembling?
“Then you won’t mind my dropping by.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” I said. All I needed was another interrogation. “As I said, the presence of the police tends to freak out some people.”
“I know what you said,” he said. “I understand that you prefer our interview occur away from your place of work. Since it’s almost lunchtime and we both have to eat, I propose we consider this a business lunch. I will provide the food, you will provide certain information.”
I didn’t know what to say. It sounded vaguely illegal or at least immoral to exchange lunch for ratting on someone, if that’s what he meant. On the other hand, I was so hungry my stomach was growling. It must be the pain pills.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Yes, you do. I can ask questions at the central police station, your home, or we can eat lunch in some outdoor facility nearby. It’s your choice.”
“Fine,” I said, wishing I knew where he meant. Lafayette Park? Ocean Beach? He said he’d be by at twelve thirty to pick me up.
When Dolce popped into the office to get her appointment book from her desk drawer, she was surprised to hear about my lunch date, as she called it. I didn’t tell her he’d originally asked to speak to her about the murder. I was sure she was still on his to-do list.
“The man is good-looking, no doubt about that. And if he wants to buy you lunch, why not go?”
I was glad to hear she approved. Then she said, “I wonder what he wants in exchange.”
“I thought I’d already told him everything I know,” I said. “Except the part about going to MarySue’s house that night. I suppose I’ll have to come clean about that.”
“Why shouldn’t you? You’re the victim there. Aren’t you?” she asked with a frown.
“That’s right,” I said. It was time to level with Dolce. “MarySue almost killed me when I tried to get the shoes back.”
“What? That’s terrible.”
“But I didn’t kill her,” I insisted. “There I was on the top of a ladder outside her bedroom because she refused to let me in. She’s inside dressed for the Benefit. I yell at her to give me back the shoes. She is not happy to see me. In fact, she opens her window and gives me a shove, right into her dead oak tree. You see, I am not just falling from a tall ladder. That’s bad enough. What’s worse is that she is furious. She reaches out. She pushes me. I fall. The next thing I know, I am waking up in the hospital with a concussion and a sprained ankle.”
“But how did you get there?”
I shook my head. “I have no idea. Maybe Detective Wall will enlighten me. I owe someone unless it was MarySue who dropped me off on her way to the park.”
“Doesn’t seem likely,” Dolce said. “I picture MarySue hoping you wouldn’t wake up until the Benefit was over.”
“Which I didn’t. Which was good because I have an alibi for MarySue’s murder.”
Dolce looked thoughtful. “But I don’t.”
“You don’t have a motive either,” I reminded her. “What good would it do you to kill MarySue? To get the shoes back? Somebody wanted those shoes. But not you. Especially after they’d been worn; we’d never be able to return them.”
I pictured myself flying back to Miami with the shoes, begging the artisans at the atelier to give us back the money in exchange for the slightly worn shoes. Maybe I could clean the dirt off the soles. If it would do any good, I’d volunteer for the job.
Someone knocked on the office door. “Dolce, are you in there? I desperately need your advice on this little Ellen Tracy coat. Is it me or not?”
Dolce patted me on the head and went out to help her customer. How like her to want to comfort me when
