The Fashion Police (Amber Fox Mystery No 1)

by Sibel Hodge

  Wait a sec, bananas don’t move.

  I stared at the bag as my hands shook. Nope, the bananas weren’t moving at all. It was the ginormous tarantula inside the bag that was moving, tapping on the plastic with its hairy foot. I froze, hardly daring to breathe.

  Omigod! Spider!

  In my mental world, I was screaming my head off, but in the real world, I think my mouth was just wide open with no sound coming out.

  I threw the bag on the floor and rocketed out to the parking lot faster than the speed of light, probably warp factor ten at least.

  I did some deep breathing as I jumped in the car and locked the doors, just to be on the safe side. There was no way, absolutely no sodding way that I was going back in there again while that spider was on the loose. Paul Clark and Brad would just have to wait.

  ****

  I sped all the way home, cursing my life, my new job, and humongous, ugly spiders that shouldn’t even be let in the country. As soon as I pulled up outside my apartment, the heavens opened, sending cascades of water down the back of my T-shirt as I dashed into the building. I cursed that, too, running up the stairs to my apartment, which the estate agent had described as cozy, but which really translated into poky rabbit hutch.

  The smell of fried garlic chicken greeted me as soon as I shoved the door open. That could only mean two things. One, Marmalade Fox, my ginger cat, was cooking his own dinner tonight, or two, Romeo Lopez, my boyfriend, was whipping up one of his culinary creations in the kitchen. I was hoping it was the latter.

  As well as being an amazing cook, Romeo had other sterling attributes, as well. He had hazel eyes, cinnamon skin, and thick black hair, all courtesy of his Spanish father. He looked sexy as hell in just about anything, he knew which buttons to press on the washing machine, and he was pretty good at pushing my buttons, too. Additionally, he was also one of the best cops I had ever worked with. All things considered, this put him firmly in the minority – people who are beautiful on the inside and the outside.

  I kicked off my shoes, one of them nearly knocking over a giant, terracotta plant pot by the front door that I’d never found a home for, and flung my rucksack down next to them. Dripping rainwater on the wooden floor boards, I walked the few steps from the hall to the lounge and ignored the wilted yucca plant on the way, promising myself I’d water it later.

  Romeo stood in the galley-style kitchen, naked except for an apron. As I watched with appreciation, he poured two glasses of red wine and turned to me. ‘How was your first day?’

  My temperature shot up a few degrees. ‘All the better for finding a naked chef in my kitchen.’ I smiled, took the glass, and stood on tiptoes to plant a kiss on his lips.

  He grinned, nuzzling into my neck. ‘I aim to please.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be doing this to persuade me to move in with you by any chance, would you?’

  ‘Don’t know what you mean, but now that you mention it…have you thought any more about my proposal?’

  I flushed and glanced down at the floor, gnawing on my bottom lip.

  ‘Well?’ Romeo prompted me.

  I gulped down my wine. ‘Wow! Look at that rain.’ I pointed out of the window behind him.

  ‘Amber, you’re avoiding this conversation.’

  ‘I am not!’ I tried my best shocked voice. ‘I’ve never seen rain like it. It’s so…droplettyish.’

  Romeo’s steady gaze drilled into me. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that even a word?’

  I feigned a sudden interest in my fingernails.

  ‘You can’t avoid it forever, darling.’

  ‘You practically live here anyway, when you’re not working on special operations. Why do we need to make it so…official?’

  ‘I like official.’ Romeo turned the nuzzling into feathery, light kisses that were designed to make me cave in. Just when it was starting to get interesting, my mobile rang. I groaned, slipping out of Romeo’s grasp to answer.

  ‘Foxy, why haven’t you put those bugs in yet?’ Brad’s Australian twang sounded over the phone.

  ‘What are you talking about? I did put them in,’ I replied, taking a swig of wine and holding my glass out for more.

  ‘Did you activate them? I’m trying to listen to them, but I’m not getting any audio at all.’

  ‘Of course I did.’

  ‘Well, they’re not working. You’ll have to go back tomorrow and put some more in.’

  ‘Crapety crap!’ I said, eyeing up Romeo’s full moon as he tossed the salad.

  ‘Let me know when they’re in – oh, and Foxy…I need it done bright and early.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’ I hung up and frowned.

  ‘Problem?’ Romeo asked.

  I didn’t want to get onto the subject of Brad, so I deflected the conversation sharpish. ‘Nope, nothing to worry about. Hey, have you tidied up in here?’ I glanced around the room. My haphazard magazine stack had been arranged in a neat pile on the coffee table. The fluffy cushions on my black leather sofa had been perfectly plumped. My DVDs had been re-stacked in my reclaimed wooden rack – in alphabetical order, no less – and my photos all stood to attention, marching in a perfect, ninety-degree-angled row across the book shelf. ‘You’ll make someone an excellent wife.’

  ‘Well, it’s no use leaving the cleaning up to you. It would never get done. I even tidied up your tool box.’ He nodded his head toward the small case that now closed perfectly, instead of having miscellaneous handles and tools poking out willy-nilly. ‘So, how was your day really?’ Romeo gathered me back into his arms.

  ‘Somewhere in between rubbish and very rubbish.’ Where did I begin? My boss had come on to me on my first day, I had a suspicious-looking mochaccino stain on my passenger seat, I’d just bugged the offices of one of the most famous fashion designers in the world, and a tarantula had tried to eat me. And that didn’t even include the toilet arrangements. God, my life was so doomed.

  ‘That good, huh?’ he asked, his voice full of sympathy.

  ‘Insurance investigation is about as interesting as an Anorak convention.’

  ‘Want me to make it better?’

  ‘Only if you insist.’ I giggled.

  Romeo’s mouth widened into a lazy smile. ‘Hmm, let’s start with your clothes, then. You’re wet.’ With expert precision, he slipped my T-shirt over my head.

  ‘No kidding.’

  3

  The following morning I was ripped from my slumber by Romeo licking my foot. I could think of worse ways to wake up, but I’d never really been into toe-licking in a big way.

  ‘Get off!’ I groaned, moving my foot out of reach and sinking back into la-la land.

  A few minutes later he did it again. I sat up and saw Marmalade eyeing me with a naughty expression. Romeo was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘You are gross,’ I said. Marmalade, who seemed quite pleased with that pronouncement, let out an ecstatic purr.

  Getting up, I picked up my ginger fur-ball, carried him into the kitchen, and poured some very stinky kitty biscuits in his bowl. I heaped a teaspoon of coffee into a mug and then added another for luck. I had a weird feeling that today was going to be a very long day.

  After soaking in the shower for ten minutes, I dried my hair and went a bit overboard with some brown eyeliner and mascara. Even though my life seemed to be a bit crappy these days, it didn’t mean I had to look it, right?

  ****

  On my way back to the Fandango building, I realized that I was near Callum Bates’s house so I took a detour, hoping to cross him off my list of files.

  When I pulled up at the address, I shook my head. You couldn’t mistake his house if you tried. It was the only one on the dreary looking street whose front garden looked like a car breaker’s yard. At least the other residents had tried to spruce up their gardens with the odd gnome and hanging basket. I dodged past the dissected car parts and empty vehicle shells that sat abandoned on the drive, arriving at Callum’s lime-green front door with only one drop of oil on my
shoe. I thought that was pretty good going, all things considered, as I reached up and banged on the door a couple of times. A few slivers of peeling paint dropped off onto my shoes. I pulled a disgusted face and wiped them off.

  After waiting a few minutes and not getting an answer, I peered through one of the windows, but I couldn’t see anything other than some threadbare, yucky–looking brown curtains. I glanced around the outside of the house. There was a garage attached to the side, with doors painted the same lime color. Luckily, the garage doors had windows in the top section, which would hopefully make it easy for a quick peek inside. I’d just stepped over an old steering wheel when I heard someone calling out.

  ‘Yoo-hoo,’ a voice said.

  I looked around and spotted an elderly woman next door, standing on her front step. She beckoned me forward with the stack of mail she held in her hand.

  ‘Are you looking for Callum?’ Granny whispered.

  ‘Yes, I’m from his insurance company. I need to ask him a few questions about the van he reported stolen.’ I smiled at her.

  She looked up and down the street, scanning for any curtain-twitchers, although something led me to believe that Granny here was probably the only curtain-twitcher on the street. ‘Come in.’ She led the way into her house.

  The unmistakable smell of ganja nearly blew my nose off as soon as I entered the front door. I coughed, looking around and taking in the sight of cannabis plants as far as the eye could see. Ashtrays sat on every surface, overflowing with joint butts. It looked like she was running a dope factory and smoking the proceeds at the same time.

  Ignoring the illegal plants, I turned to face her. ‘So, did you see anything?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  I waited, expecting her to elaborate, but she stayed silent.

  ‘Callum reported that his van was stolen three nights ago, when it was parked outside his house. Did you see anyone take it?’ I prompted her, wanting to get answers before I ended up hallucinating on the fumes.

  ‘First of all, I saw Callum outside with a man.’

  ‘OK, and what happened with this man?’

  ‘They talked for a while, and then the man got in Callim’s van and drove it away.’ She winked at me. ‘Fancy a smoke? It’s good for arthritis.’ She waved a gnarled hand in front of my face. ‘It’s legal for medicinal purposes, you know.’

  ‘Er…no thanks. My arthritis is tickety-boo this week. You’re sure this was three nights ago?’

  ‘Oh, yes. In fact, I wrote it down. Hang on a sec, love.’ She rummaged around in a stack of papers on the kitchen table. ‘Yes, here it is.’ She read from her notes. ‘Callum was talking to a good-looking man in his thirties. Actually, he was very good-looking. A bit of a dish really. My, if I was five years younger, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed. Do you know, I haven’t had a fella since nineteen-ninety–’

  ‘The van?’ I cut in before I got to hear a complete rendition of her life story.

  ‘Oh, yes. The dish and Callum had a conversation – looked quite cozy, too – then they shook hands, and the man drove off in Callum’s van.’

  ‘So, what color was the man who had this conversation with Callum?’

  ‘Purple.’

  ‘Purple?’ I raised an eyebrow. One word flitted through my mind: Whacko!

  ‘Yes,’ she responded.

  I didn’t really know what to say to that, but I thought I’d keep her talking just in case. Sometimes the most valuable witnesses are the ones you least expect. ‘OK. Was he light purple, dark purple, lilac?’

  She tilted her head and pondered my question for a few seconds. ‘Light purple, almost violet. That’s good, you know. A violet aura is pretty good.’

  ‘Hang on a minute, let me get this right. The man that drove off in the van had a purple aura?’

  She nodded. ‘I see auras. You’re dark green. That’s not good. It means danger. You should be careful.’

  Granny’s brain cells must’ve taken quite a beating over the years, probably from the pot. I suspected she also saw little green men and pink fairies. Maybe a few flying pigs as well.

  ‘Well, I have to be going now.’ I hastened toward the door. ‘Thanks for…the information.’

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I got back outside and made my way back to Callum’s garage. Standing on my tiptoes, I gazed through the murky windows, looking for anything that would give me a clue. Finding his van inside would be a big one. Unfortunately, it was too dark to see a thing. So much for wishful thinking.

  Maybe I could get inside and have a little look-see. I glanced up and down the street. No one was about. I tried the door handle, and it turned, but the door only popped open an inch. I pushed on the panel, but it wouldn’t budge. Well, I certainly wasn’t about to be beaten by a stupid garage door. I glanced around again, making sure the curtain twitching brigade wasn’t about, and heaved the door forward with my shoulder. It groaned and suddenly gave way, my torso crashing through the door with momentum.

  Big mistake! The door slammed into a tall metal shelf that sat behind it, and a tin of lime green paint toppled off, splattering its gooey contents straight onto my head.

  No, that didn’t just happen, I chided myself. Tell me, Amber, that what I thought didn’t just happen. I stood there for a moment, stunned, with my hair and shoulders dripping lime green rivulets of paint. ‘Bloody bugger fuck,’ I shrieked as it dawned on me that no, I hadn’t imagined it, and yes, it had actually happened.

  I touched my hair. Saturated. Clothes? T-shirt now looked like a hippie, lime green tie-dye explosion. Fan-bloody-tastic. And after all that, the van wasn’t even in there.

  I winced, dripping a bright green trail all the way down the drive to my car. The only spot of good news was that I happened to have an old blanket in the boot. Wrapping it around my head and shoulders, I drove home, wondering what the hell I was going to do if the paint didn’t wash out of my hair.

  ****

  I stood in the shower for the second time that day, washing my hair for the tenth time, trying to work up enough enthusiasm to go back to work. I found that I quite liked the idea of staying in the shower all day, but then the hot water ran out, and it didn’t seem as appealing.

  Toweling off, I surveyed the damage in the mirror that hung over the sink. Wow. That was a lucky escape. I was almost back to my normal chestnut locks. And I was probably the only one who would notice that my hair had a slightly green, crusty appearance.

  Who was I kidding? Everyone would notice. I flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.

  ‘Why can’t something good happen?’ I asked Marmalade, then did a mental head slap. Of course he couldn’t answer an open question. I’d have to put it in simpler terms. ‘Is my life destined to be boring from now on? Meow once for yes and twice for no.’

  Marmalade, somewhat confused by the instructions, just yawned.

  ‘You’re no help.’ I closed my eyes and sighed.

  I stared at the clock an hour later in disbelief. An hour! Where had all the time gone? Trying to make up for the lost time spent procrastinating, I got dressed and raced to my car. I had just slid behind the wheel when my mobile rang.

  ‘Hey Foxy, have you put those bugs in yet?’ Brad asked.

  ‘I’m just on my way. You won’t believe what happened…’ It was then I noticed that someone had broken into my car. ‘I’ll call you back.’ I disconnected and stared at the glove compartment, which hung open like a gaping mouth. It had been ransacked, and the contents flung to the footwell. I picked up the pens, maps, mini voice recorder, a chocolate Easter bunny that had melted and now looked like it had one giant eye – not sure how I’d overlooked eating that – and a moldy packet of chewing gum. The only thing that seemed to be missing was my heavy-duty flashlight. I flung everything back in the glove compartment, slamming it shut.

  Could today get any worse?

  ‘Speak,’ Brad said when I called him back.

  ‘Why can’t you answer th
e phone like a normal person?’ I snapped, dropping my head back against the seat.

  ‘What’s going on, Foxy?’

  ‘Not only have I been attacked by a tin of paint today, but my car’s been broken into, as well.’ I sighed, fighting the urge to scream my head off. Good job I’d had two teaspoons of coffee. Otherwise I’d be doing an extremely good impression of a wailing banshee right about now.

  ‘Is there much damage?’

  ‘No. Looks like a professional job. No sign of forced entry, but the strange thing is they didn’t take the CD player. The only thing missing is my flashlight.’ I rested my elbow on the window and rubbed at the tension worming its way into my forehead. All right, so it wasn’t the best thing to happen to me in a while, but at least they hadn’t taken the whole car. And they’d left the Cyclops bunny, which was quite considerate.

  ‘OK, well get your ass over to Fandango’s, then. I’m hearing some rumors from my informant that he’s gone missing. And that’s the last thing I need.’

  ‘Missing? Missing how?’ I asked, surprised.

  ‘As in I’ve heard that Fandango is nowhere to be found, and there was blood all over his office this morning.’

  Yep, that would definitely constitute missing. ‘On my way.’

  ****

  The rear parking lot at the Fandango building was eerily quiet as I pulled up. Crime scene tape, which had been placed across the front doors, flapped loose in the wind. I wandered up to the building and looked through the windows. An empty, dark reception area glared back at me. I didn’t have a clue what had happened, but I knew how to find out.

  ‘Hey, darling,’ Romeo answered his mobile on the second ring, his husky voice sending a chill across my skin. ‘How is the interesting world of insurance?’

  ‘It may be about to get more interesting. What do you know about Umberto Fandango?’

  ‘The mega-rich fashion designer?’

  ‘That’s the one. Apparently, he may have gone missing. I’m at his place now. The building looks empty, and there’s crime scene tape everywhere.’