At least, that's what I tried to tell my pounding heart as I reached the front door and inserted my key.
Luckily, as I stepped inside and surveyed the room, some of the pounding subsided. While I was sure Grant's CSI crew had done a thorough job of cataloging just where the thief had tossed all my belongings, someone had then put everything right back where it was supposed to be. Minus the shattered lamp, which was just a memory now.
As I walked through the room and set my tote bag down, I knew that someone had to have been Grant. Who else would have known which shelf that photo of my mom and me at Christmas had originally sat on or that the afghan my grandmother had crocheted belonged over the arm of my easy chair? I felt tears of gratitude prick the back of my eyelids.
Feeling relatively safe that the boogey man wasn't going to jump out at me from any closets, I sat on the sofa and texted Grant.
Thanks
A beat later, his response came in.
For?
Putting my house back together again.
You're welcome :)
I never would have pegged Grant for a smiley face kind of guy, but I felt my heart warming at the little icon.
I'm sending you something, I told him. I switched screens and found the video that Al had sent me of Stalker Guy, then forwarded it to Grant, along with a brief explanation of where we'd gotten it. Very brief.
I wasn't sure if visiting a pawnshop in a strip mall violated my promise to him to be more careful, but I didn't really want to find out.
Luckily, the short version seemed to suffice, as he sent back a one liner: I'll see what I can find.
Feeling like I'd done all I could on that front, I dragged myself upstairs and into a shower to get ready for Gia's memorial cocktail party.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
While I'd been to the Links on several occasions for other events, I was always impressed by the club's level of attention to detail and decadence. Since the weather was mild that evening, the sunset having chased the heat away, the cocktail party was being held on the outdoor terrace, where flowering trellises, potted plants, and twinkling fairy lights had been erected to create an elegant ambiance. Soft music played from a string quartet set apart from a large outdoor bar, manned with ample staff to make sure no guest had to wait for their glass of champagne or aged malt whiskey. The party spilled out onto the south lawn, empty of golfers at this hour. Several men in suits stood chatting in amiable groups, while women in cocktail dresses and smart pantsuits mingled among the wait staff circulating trays of canapés. The only thing to delineate this occasion as a somber gathering rather than a celebration was a life-sized poster artfully placed near the entrance with a publicity photo of Gia and the words In Memoriam.
I was glad I'd erred on the side of overdressed as, apparently, my idea of "over" was different than the majority of the Links ladies. While my budget wasn't nearly in the same realm, I was happy to report that my go-to little black dress still fit, even if the hips were a bit snug. I'd paired it with simple silver stud earrings and a necklace with a pearl teardrop pendant that had been my grandmother's. Since I'd kept the palate simple and classic, I'd decided to add a little pop of flair with red lipstick and pair of red stiletto heels to match. Though, I was second guessing the stiletto part as I caught a three inch heel in the limestone tiles while I scanned the crowd for familiar faces.
I spotted Ava and David right away, heads bent together over a couple glasses of white wine beneath an arched trellis covered in flowering jasmine. I caught their attention and gave a small wave, carefully picking my way toward them through the growing crowd.
"Quite a turnout," I said as I approached.
"Very," Ava agreed.
"Especially considering the majority of these people never even met Gia," David said with a cynical grin.
"Glad you made it." Ava leaned in to give me a hello hug. She'd gone with a subdued knee length, strapless dress in a pale lavender that contrasted beautifully with her flowing blonde hair, kept loose. A silver shawl hung over her shoulders, complementing the silver hoop earrings that I recognized from her shop.
"You look lovely," I told her, meaning it.
"You don't look so bad yourself," she countered with a smile.
"Is the lipstick to distract from the lump on your head?" David Allen added, eyes going to my left temple again.
I fluffed my hair in an attempt to cover it. "It's not that noticeable," I mumbled.
"It's turning purple." He took a step closer, and I could smell his expensive aftershave. I had to admit, he had cleaned up well. While he was still in jeans, he'd traded in the band T-shirt for a button-up and blazer that, instead of looking overly casual, just looked like he was too cool to try that hard. "You sure you don't need to get this checked out?"
"I'm fine," I told him, taking a step back. "It's just a bruise." And a lump. And maybe some minor whiplash.
"Well, you missed some excitement," Ava told me.
"Oh?" I asked, glad for the change of subject.
David nodded. "Hughie Smart just got into it with the manager."
I frowned. "Over what?"
"Hughie said no one had compensated him for the use of Gia's likeness." Ava gestured toward the large In Memoriam poster.
"You're kidding?" I had to laugh. "He wanted the club to pay to use her picture at a memorial?"
Ava nodded. "He must be very hard up."
"If Trask is to be believed, he is." My eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the agent, and found him scowling into a glass of Scotch near the musicians. He was dressed in black slacks and a blazer paired with white loafers and no socks, showing off his unnaturally orange ankles.
"I think I missed something," David said, gaze going from me to Hughie. "What's Trask's connection to Hughie Smart?"
"Hughie owes him money," I said. "A lot of it." I hesitated to say exactly how Hughie had amassed those debts, as knowing David's penchant for card sharking, he was liable to take advantage of it.
David gave me an assessing stare. "You're holding something back, Ems." He shook his head and tsked his tongue.
Ava laughed, the sound light and airy. "Hughie is a gambler."
I shot her a look.
"What? He was going to find out eventually," she reasoned.
"I'm assuming not only does Hughie gamble but he's not very good at it, then?" David asked.
Ava nodded. "Forty-K a month not-good-at-it."
David's eyebrows went up into his dark hair. "I may have to invite Mr. Smart over for a friendly game of five card stud."
"Don't you dare," I told him.
He gave me a shark-like grin that said he totally dared.
"Anyway," Ava cut in, "it's possible Hughie found out what Gia was up to and decided to take the emerald for himself to help alleviate his debt."
"What did you say the emerald was worth—a hundred grand?" David asked Ava.
She nodded.
"I don't know." He cocked his head to the side, assessing Hughie's spray tan, white veneers, and leather loafers. "You really think a guy like Hughie would kill for that amount of money?"
"I think it depends on how much pressure Trask was putting on him and how much he likes his kneecaps," I said.
David laughed. "Good point."
"Speaking of bodily harm," I said. "I don't suppose either of you have seen any sign of Stalker Guy–slash–Partner in Crime?"
Ava shook her head, and I felt a small lift of relief. As much as I'd like to see Grant arrest him, I wasn't sure I could take many more run-ins with him.
"But the rest of your gang's all here," David noted, nodding toward the bar where Costello stood, a champagne flute in one hand and his "boyfriend" Fabio's arm in the other.
It might have been my imagination, but as Costello leaned in close to Fabio, giggling in his ear, it seemed like he was laying the lovey-dovey act on extra thick that night.
I spotted Jada standing beside a potted palm with a couple of the other models I reco
gnized from the hotel pool. If the frown on her perfect features was any indication, she'd noticed Costello's over-flirting as well. While her tall, slim companion talked to her, Jada's eyes seemed to be rooted on Costello. Or, more accurately, on Costello's lips as he kissed Fabio on the cheek and nuzzled closer.
"Daisy just walked in, too," Ava said, pulling my attention away from the love triangle. She gestured toward the glass doors where the woman with the multicolored hair was making a grand entrance in a form-fitting, cheetah-printed jumpsuit beneath a white feathered cape. She'd capped the outfit off with a pair of green snakeskin boots and peacock feather earrings. It looked as if she was wearing half of the Amazon rain forest.
I thought I heard a woman in a tasteful navy suit sneeze as Daisy flounced past, and I had to stifle a grin.
"Hello, Silver Girl!" Daisy said, spotting Ava and making her way toward our little group. She paused to give air kisses. "Don't you look scrumptious tonight?"
"Thank you," Ava said. "You look…lovely too." She even said it with a straight face. Points for her. "Uh, you remember Emmy?"
"Oh, yes, yes. Miss Wine & Dine." Her gaze moved to David. "And who, may I ask, is this dashing young man?"
David raised an amused eyebrow my way. "Dashing?"
"Uh, this is my…friend. David Allen," Ava said, making the introductions.
"Delighted to meet you," David said, giving an exaggerated bow and kissing Daisy Dot's hand.
She giggled, molting a few feathers onto the terrace. "Oh, a charmer, huh? I'll have to keep my eye on this one."
David grinned. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was enjoying the attention. "Can I get you ladies something to drink?" he asked, eyes going from Daisy to me.
"I'd kill for a glass of rosé." Daisy Dot paused, seeming to realize what she'd said. "Oh. Poor taste?"
David shook his head. "Simple slip of the tongue," he assured her, waving it off. "Emmy?"
"Rosé is fine for me too," I decided.
"I'll help," Ava added, taking David's arm as he turned toward the bar.
"Well, aren't they a cute couple," Daisy Dot said, watching them walk away.
"They're not a couple," I said quickly.
Maybe a little too quickly, as Daisy's pink eyebrows rose in response. "Oh?"
I shook my head. "I meant to say, they're just friends."
"Yes, well, isn't it nice to have such charming friends." The way she was still staring after David, I feared that maybe I should have let her believe he was taken.
"You know, I hadn't realized when we talked last that you and Gia knew each other so well," I said, trying to draw her attention away from the fit of David's jeans.
"Hmm?" She turned a distracted gaze on me.
"You and Gia. I didn't know you worked together so closely."
She blinked at me. "Well, the fashion community is small. We all work together."
"I heard that Gia even walked in your spring show," I said, watching for a reaction.
But if she had any, it was expertly covered. "Gia was a lovely creature, and I'm sure she'll be missed," she said flatly. "But all of this is all so morbid," she went on, gesturing around her to the not-so-grief stricken. "This dwelling on death. It's not good for one's creative psyche."
"Your look tonight is very creative," I noted, hoping that came off as a compliment.
She smiled. "Thank you. I shall never be accused of being mundane."
Of all the things I'd mentally accused her of, she was right. That was not on the list. There were other things, however…
"You know, I always wondered where designers like you get their creative inspiration," I said carefully.
"Oh, you know. Here. There. Everywhere, really," Daisy said, flapping her arms again like wings.
"I'm curious…where did your inspiration come from for the line you showed here this past weekend? Those dresses with the cutout backs?" I asked, hoping to jar a reaction out of her this time.
"Hmm?" She blinked at me. "Oh, uh, yes. Well, things like that just seem to come to me."
"Really?" I asked. "You didn't see anything or hear of anything similar that, maybe, put the idea into your head?"
"No." Daisy's eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure what you're getting at."
By the way her posture had become defensive, arms crossing over her chest in a flurry of feathers, I thought maybe she did.
"Carl Costello says his original designs for his fall line featured cutouts. Very similar to yours."
I could see her working out several possible answers to that in her head before she finally settled on one. "Well, my models were the ones wearing them down the runway, weren't they?"
"Are you saying you knew he had the idea?"
She waved her arms in a blur of cheetah spots. "I'm saying I have no idea what Costello's pea brain might have come up with. How would I even know what goes on in his stifled little studio?"
"Gia would have known," I pointed out. "She worked with him all the time. I'm sure she could have seen his early sketches."
"Yes, I'm sure she could have," Daisy Dot said, frowning.
"Did she?"
"What?"
"Did she see them and share them with you?" I paused, realizing I was flat out accusing her at this point and figured I might as well go all in. "For a fee?"
Daisy Dot paled to just one shade above a ghost. "I'm sorry, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. Now, if you'll please excuse me." She maneuvered her body around mine and stalked across the terrace toward the lawn.
"Where's she going?" Ava asked, coming up behind me.
"Away from me," I mumbled, turning to find David with two glasses of pink colored wine in hand. I gratefully took one and filled them in on what Daisy Dot hadn't said.
"Doesn't sound like the actions of an innocent party to me," David said when I'd finished. Then he took a sip of rosé from the glass previously procured for Daisy.
"No," I agreed. "But not innocent of what—stealing fashion designs or killing Gia?"
"And stealing my emerald," Ava added, her eyes tracking Daisy as she made her way through the crowd, greeting guests.
"Well, why don't I see what kind of dashing charms I can work on Mizz Dot," David said. "Maybe I can flatter her into unburdening her soul a bit."
"You're not that charming," I mumbled.
"Oh, ye of little faith." He raised the glass of rosé and sent me a wink.
"Good luck," Ava told him before he made his way over to the human zoo.
"He's gonna need it," I added. "She's looking at him like he's dessert."
"David can handle himself," Ava said.
I didn't want to know how she knew that.
"Emmy?"
I turned to find Jada approaching us. She was dressed in a simple white sheath dress that might have looked plain on anyone else, but the way it fell over her elegant shoulders and slim hips made her look like a Grecian goddess.
"Jada," Ava said, stepping forward. "How are you holding up?"
She glanced past us to where Costello was still glued to Fabio's side. "As well as can be expected," she answered.
I was pretty sure Ava had been talking about the fact that we were at her friend's memorial, but I could see how deeply the display Costello was putting on was affecting her.
I leaned in, lowering my voice. "He's a little overzealous this evening, isn't he? It must be tough to watch."
She nodded. "Some days are definitely harder than others." She blinked some emotion away, tearing her gaze away from the fake couple. "Anyway, I'm glad I found you. I saw that police detective…the one you're friends with?"
"Grant?" I asked, my eyes immediately going to the glass doors. I hadn't known he'd be there, but considering it was a memorial for the victim of an ongoing investigation, I suppose it stood to reason.
She nodded. "I guess so. Anyway, I just ran into him outside. He said he was looking for you. He asked me to tell you to meet him in Gia's dressing room."
; I felt my heart kick up a notch. This could be either very good or very bad. It was possible he'd found out about our breaking and entering to nab Gia's fake glass emerald and he was calling me to the scene of the crime to pry a confession out of me. Then again, it was also entirely possible he'd found something on Stalker Guy's identity that he wanted to share.
I glanced to Ava, a question in my eyes.
She shrugged. "Go. How bad can it be?"
I gave her a rueful grin. "I guess I'm about to find out."
Jada looked from Ava to me, like she was left out of some inside joke.
"Thanks for relaying the message," I told her.
"Sure." She gave me a quick smile and nod before turning and melting back into the well-dressed crowd.
"I hate to leave you alone here," I told Ava.
She shook her head, sipping her wine. "I'm fine. I'll mingle. Maybe go save David Allen from being devoured by the Cheetah-Bird-Snake."
I let out a snort before I could stifle it. "I'll be right back," I promised, setting my half empty glass of rosé down on a side table before threading my way toward the glass doors.
The din of the party was less once inside the club, though I could still hear the soft music playing and the mild chatter of voices. I passed by the lounge, which looked like it was serving as a secondary party room, a lively crowd of men in expensive suits and Italian leather shoes downing shots at the bar. Though, as I moved down the hallway and into the Grand Ballroom, all the party sounds faded, replaced only by the echoing of my own footsteps as I crossed the cavernous room.
The police tape was gone from the door to the storeroom that Gia had used, and any evidence that a horrific crime had been committed there had been whisked away by the efficient Links staff. The former dressing room's door was closed, but as I turned the handle, I realized it was not locked.
"Hello?" I said, stepping into the room. "Grant?"
Fashion, Rosé & Foul Play (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 6) Page 20