Cement Stilettos

by Diane Vallere

  “If you’re not off this property in the next three minutes I’m calling the cops,” the voice said.

  I wiped the oil from my face and jammed the canister back into place. Slowly, I wriggled out from under the car. The peroxide-blond woman who stood in front of me was dressed in a brown leopard printed fake fur coat and black leather pants. By the time my eyes reached her face, recognition had hit.

  I stood up. “Debbi, right? Debbi Blum?” She nodded. “I’m Samantha Kidd. We met at Connie di Sotto’s house. I came by yesterday to pay my respects to the family.”

  She made no effort to mask her surprise. She looked down my jumpsuit and raised both eyebrows, and then looked back up at my (probably oil-streaked) face. “Are you a mechanic? This is Nicky’s truck, isn’t it?”

  “No. And yes. I work at Tradava. I borrowed Nick’s truck today.”

  “You were trying to fix it? You know a lot about cars?”

  “I don’t know anything about cars except I needed one to get to an appointment out here.”

  “Wait a minute,” she said. She held her index finger up, her long, red, square cut fingernail moving back and forth as she moved her hand from side to side. “You’re the person I’m meeting from Tradava?”

  “I don’t know. I’m meeting someone to talk about renting out a factory for a photo shoot.”

  “Yeah, that’s me. It’s my family’s factory. You should’ve said something the other night. Follow me.” She turned away.

  I grabbed my coat from the ground and shook the gravel and cement bits from it, and then pulled it on and ran to catch up with her.

  Unlike Vito Cantone’s factory where I’d met up with Nick on Monday morning, Debbi’s family’s factory was in working order. Conveyor belts were set up like a maze throughout the interior. Debbi flipped a large switch on the wall and light flooded the cavernous room.

  “This factory is in use, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “We’re still closed for the holidays, but normally things get going around seven. Is that going to be a problem?”

  “It might be.”

  “What do you need it for, anyway?”

  I outlined my idea to Debbi. “To be honest, I was looking for something wide open and empty. The conveyor belts and machinery will probably be distracting in the background, and the focus is supposed to be on the clothes.”

  She glanced back at my jumpsuit. “You in fashion like Nicky?”

  It took me a moment to realize what she was asking. “We used to work together. That’s how we met—in New York. I was a buyer and he was a designer.”

  “He still is a designer. Aren’t you a buyer no more?”

  “No, I work on the store’s catalog.”

  “That’s probably better. Buyers have to keep up with fashion and your job is behind the scenes.”

  Clearly she wasn’t a fan of my jumpsuit.

  “Besides,” she continued. “Keep your lives separate, at least until after you’re married.”

  “I think we’ll try to keep our lives separate after we’re married, too,” I said.

  She laughed. “Trust me. It’s gonna be hard to keep your lives separate after you start having babies.”

  I wrapped my arms around my torso and kept quiet. I could only deal with so many issues at once.

  Debbi and I walked out of the factory together. I fiddled with the seatbelt until after she pulled out of the lot and then got out and dumped a quart of oil into the place where the oil goes (I told you I don’t know much about cars). I looked under the truck and didn’t see anything drip.

  I drove to the next factory on my schedule. It, too, was a fully functioning factory, and unlike Debbi’s, it had already returned to post-holiday production.

  Over the sound of hydraulics and general machinery, I explained as best as I could that my factory needs were for backdrop, not production. The owner thanked me and I left. By the time I arrived at the third factory, also in full swing, I knew there were only two potential solutions: tell Tradava the idea wouldn’t pan out, which would put my professional reputation in questionable light, or work out a deal with Vito.

  But Angela was Vito’s ex-girlfriend and she’d been killed. I’d be a fool not to see that choice as fraught with risk, danger, and a minefield of relationship problems.

  I’d also be a fool not to see the opportunity to find out something more about Vito that might help Nick. He wasn’t asking for my help but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to give it.

  Neither solution was ideal. Maybe Eddie would have a suggestion.

  I climbed back into the truck and pulled out my phone. There were several missed calls from a number I didn’t recognize, but no messages. I called Tradava and asked the operator to page Eddie for me. A few seconds later, he picked up. “Dude, where are you? You need to get here. Like five minutes ago.”

  “What’s wrong? I made arrangements to scout factory locations for the photo shoot this morning. Don’t tell me Tradava is announcing post-holiday layoffs. I cannot handle getting laid off.”

  Eddie’s voice dropped down to a muffled whisper and I could barely make out what he said. “There are two women here who claim to be your friends. Katie Caprero and Connie di Sotto.”

  “They’re at Tradava? In my office?”

  “I can only entertain them for so long. Get here. Now.”

  12

  Wednesday, noon

  Two more of the leopard ladies were in my office?

  “I’m on my way.” I’d been so caught up on the phone that I hadn’t stopped to notice a police car had pulled up behind Nick’s truck. The sound of a siren went Woop! Woop! and his blue and red lights circled atop his cruiser.

  “Is that the police? Were you arrested?” Eddie asked. In the background, I heard a woman’s voice repeat the question.

  “I wasn’t arrested. I gotta go. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I hung up and dropped the phone. The officer approached the driver’s side window and I rolled it down and greeted him.

  “Hi, I’m sorry. I know I’m not supposed to be on the shoulder of the road, but I got a call, and it was important, and I didn’t think it was a good idea to talk on the phone and drive.”

  “License and registration, ma’am.”

  “Sure. But there’s no trouble at all. I hung up, see?” I pointed to the phone on the floor. “And I’m on my way to work.”

  He didn’t move. I pulled my license out of my wallet and then realized I didn’t know where Nick kept his paperwork.

  “Give me one second. This isn’t my truck and I don’t know where he keeps the registration.” I opened the glove box and pulled out the owner’s manual and service record books. The registration wasn’t inside. “Hold on,” I said, and flipped down the rearview mirror. The registration was clipped to the back and I handed it to the officer. “I borrowed the truck this morning. The owner gave me permission.”

  “Wait here,” he said.

  While the officer was running Nick’s plates and my driving record, I picked the phone back up and called Nick. Words rushed out of me before he had a chance to speak. “I got pulled over,” I said. “And your truck might be leaking oil and none of the factories are going to work except for Vito’s and I know you don’t want me to use it and if I don’t, I’m afraid I’m going to lose my job.”

  “Kidd, slow down.”

  I leaned back against the driver’s seat and inhaled sharply. The cold air speared my lungs. “It’s been a big morning,” I said.

  “Tell me about it. Your friend the reporter showed up looking for you. Said he heard about my showroom over the wire and was mad because, apparently, you two have an arrangement? Should I be worried about this?”

  “I don’t know, Nick, should I be worried about the fact that a pizza store owner punched you last night?”

  “Kidd—”

  The officer returned to the truck window. “Hold on, here’s the officer now.” I held the phone out. “This is the truck owner
. Do you want to talk to him?”

  “No need. You’re listed on his registration as co-owner of the truck.”

  “I am?” I put the phone back to my head. “I’m on your registration?”

  “I thought it was a good idea. Finish up with the police and go to work. We’ll straighten out everything later.”

  “Okay.” I hung up. “When did he list me on his registration?”

  “Couple of days ago. You work for Mr. Taylor?”

  “No. We’re engaged.”

  “That explains it. Usually these things happen when you get a job or get married. Bank account’s probably next.”

  I sure hoped not. Nick didn’t need to know how much I spent on pretzels.

  The officer handed the paperwork back to me. “Just a warning this time. The shoulder of the highway is for emergencies only. You best be on your way.”

  “Thank you, officer.” I tucked the registration back under the visor and put my license in my wallet. Seconds later, I pulled off the shoulder.

  I drove to Tradava and parked around back. Despite new shipments in three of my four favorite departments, I went straight to my office. Connie di Sotto sat at Nancie’s empty desk and Katie Caprero sat at mine. Both ladies wore floor length fur coats. Connie’s was black mink. Katie’s was dark green that set off her auburn hair. Eddie sat in the chair in front of my desk with a look of panic on his face.

  “Dude!” He jumped up. “Great, you’re here. I gotta get back to the store.” He opened his eyes really wide, shook his head, and then left.

  I pushed aside every crisis that was jockeying for my attention and hugged them one at a time. “Connie, Katie. What are you doing here?”

  Connie answered. “We heard about Nicky’s showroom last night, poor thing. He’s had a rough time of it lately so we started thinking how we could help and Katie had an idea.”

  “We’ll throw a benefit!” Katie said. She gestured widely with her hands and her fur coat opened up to reveal a green leather blazer and leopard printed skirt. “Now, we don’t have a ton of time so we had to come here right away to get you involved.”

  “Can you believe none of us has your phone number?” Connie asked.

  “You’re right. That’s a major oversight,” I said. I unbuttoned my coat and slipped it off.

  Connie’s eyes dropped to my jumpsuit. “Were you working on a car?”

  Again with the jumpsuit? “Yes,” I said. “This jumpsuit is French. I bought it at a designer sample sale last month.”

  “Okay...” she said. “So listen. Debbi’s out getting us a location. Mama sent the boys shopping. We’re going to spend the afternoon telling everybody we know and we’ll open the doors tomorrow night. Can you come with?”

  “Right now?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Is that a problem?”

  Before I could answer, Pam Trotter came around the corner with two older men. I recognized the one to her left from the picture that hung in the employee entrance. He was Harry Tradava, the owner of the store for which I currently worked. The other man was a slightly younger version of him.

  “Samantha,” Pam said. “Am I interrupting a meeting?”

  “No, I was just finishing up.” I picked up a business card from the edge of my desk, turned back to Connie and Katie. I flipped it over and scribbled my cell phone number on the back. “You two go on and call me later.”

  “Sure,” Connie said. She took the card and flapped it back and forth past her cheek like a miniature fan. “Come on, Katie. We got work to do.” She paused next to Pam and looked down at her feet. “Nice shoes,” she said, and then left. Katie followed.

  Pam waited for the outer door of the advertising wing to close and then turned back to me. “Friends of yours?”

  “More like acquaintances. They’re helping me find a factory for the photo shoot.”

  “That’s exactly why we’re here. Samantha, this is Harry Tradava and his brother, Otto. They’re the co-owners of the company.”

  “I recognize your picture from the back hallway,” I said to Harry, and shook his hand. I shook Otto’s next. I tipped my head toward Harry, “Older brother, right?”

  Otto smiled. “Ah. You understand.” We all chuckled.

  “Samantha, the Tradava brothers came by to visit the store and when I told them about you and your proposal, they insisted they meet you.”

  Harry spoke up. “I’ve read about you in the papers. Glad we were smart enough to put you on our payroll.”

  “I was sort of on your payroll when I first moved here,” I said, “but things didn’t quite work out.”

  Otto chimed in. “That’s right. Patrick hired you, didn’t he? Good man, Patrick. Did a lot for the reputation of our store. Too bad, what happened. When he died, the trend office died with him. We’ve lost a lot of ground in terms of fashion credibility since them.”

  Pam spoke up. “Samantha’s helping with that. She’s a forward thinker and has done wonders since we acquired her magazine, Retrofit. Keep up the good work, Samantha. Is everything on track for the photo shoot?”

  “Sort of. Like I said, there’s a small hiccup with the factory backdrop but I’m pretty sure I can work it out.”

  Otto’s brows pulled together. “What do you need a factory for? We don’t make the clothes, we sell them.”

  Pam laughed. “That’s what makes Samantha’s idea so great. She proposed shooting the fully accessorized models against the interior of an empty factory. The juxtaposition will be perfect for the ladylike suit trend of the season.”

  “If it’s an empty factory you need, I can help you out,” Otto said. “One of my buddies has a factory. Go back to work and I’ll make some calls.” He smiled.

  “I’ve seen a lot of factories already,” I said. “What’s your friend’s name?”

  “Vito Cantone.”

  13

  Wednesday afternoon

  If I wasn’t screwed before, I was now. No way could I decline Otto’s offer. Be careful what you wish for, Samantha. You just might get it.

  “How do you know Vito?” I asked. My voice rose slightly, but since Otto and Harry had just met me, they probably wouldn’t notice. I hoped.

  “One of his factories produces our private label bedding,” Otto said. “Something else, too,” he said, and looked to his brother for help.

  “Our curtain collection,” Harry added.

  “Curtains, that’s right.” Otto smiled. “I should have an answer for you by the end of the day.”

  I returned his smile with a feeble one of my own. If this didn’t work out, it was going to be curtains for me.

  After the Tradava owners and Pam left, I buckled down on work. I propped the concept boards against the wall behind Nancie’s empty desk and made a few notes. Begrudgingly, I added Vito Cantone to the factory section. I added a question mark and a frowny face behind his name.

  At about four, I called Eddie. “Is the visit over?”

  “Finally. I can’t believe the store manager told me to baby sit some mob wives while the company owners walked the store.”

  “About that...can you come up here? I need your opinion on something private.”

  Nothing motivated Eddie like potential insider information. “Be right there.”

  He arrived a few minutes later.

  “What, no coffee?” I asked.

  “I’ve bought the last five cups of coffee. You have a paycheck now. I’m boycotting your habit until you reciprocate.”

  “Fine.” I opened a drawer and pulled out a small bag of dark chocolate covered espresso beans. “Go crazy.”

  He tore the bag open and popped a handful into his mouth. “Whah goih oh?” he asked.

  “What’s going on is this: last night someone smashed the windows of Nick’s showroom. The showroom was sealed because of the murder, but the break-in compromised the evidence. Loncar called Nick and I was at Nick’s so I went with him.”

  “I’m sure that went over well.”

 
“Actually, Nick’s still acting weird.”

  “You mentioned that. Did something else happen?”

  “A lot of something else’s happened. The weirdest one was that after we left Loncar, we went to Brother’s Pizza—”

  “What’s weird about that? You eat there every other night.”

  “Shut up and listen to me, okay?” He stuffed another handful of espresso beans into his mouth. “We didn’t get a pizza. We got out of the truck and Jimmy, one of the owners, came out and punched Nick.”

  Eddie choked on one of the espresso beans. He put his fist in front of his mouth and coughed a few times, and then stood up and poured himself a glass of water from the cooler. He threw it down his throat like a shot of kamikaze and then swallowed. After he crumpled the paper cup and tossed it into the trash, he spoke. “Let me get this straight. Nick got into a fist fight last night? How bad was it?”

  “He has a black eye.”

  “Why would Jimmy punch Nick?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Didn’t you ask him?”

  “I tried. Sort of. I was respecting his privacy.” Eddie wasn’t buying it. “Fine. I like my autonomy and sometimes I do things I’d rather Nick not know about. This time the tables were reversed and I thought it was a good opportunity to establish some boundaries.”

  “You’re the most curious person I know. You’re more curious than your cat.”

  “Leave Logan out of this.”

  “You know I’m right,” he said.

  “What do you want me to say? Nick’s showroom manager was murdered at his studio, and if that wasn’t enough, someone vandalized the place. Anybody else on the planet would have been worried about that but Nick was worried about me being hungry and getting me a pizza. I can help him if I dig around a little, but he hates it when I do that so I’m trying to respect his privacy.”

  “Yeah, you’re not so good at that.”

  I sat back and popped an espresso bean into my own mouth. I moved it to my cheek like a squirrel and then changed the subject. “Remember how last month when Cat’s husband died everybody kept bringing her casseroles?”