He was tall and thin and wore a tan sport coat over a white shirt and brown sweater. A brown, gray, and camel wool scarf was wrapped around his neck, and a camel tweed cap covered his head. The sleeves on his jacket were too short, as were the hems on his pants. Ichabod Crane came to mind. He stared at the windows of the building for a few seconds and then spoke into his phone.
“Who’s he?”
“Arson investigator. He came with the cop.”
That’s when a second man stepped into view. Detective Loncar.
The detective appeared not to notice me at first, odd considering I’d been on his radar almost since the day I first arrived in Ribbon. Loncar and I had a history established through a couple of homicides. During at least one investigation he’d filed me in the Person of Interest column. Considering my recent turn as victim, I thought the best tack was to let bygones be bygones and say hello. I excused myself from Clive and started across the loose gravel parking lot, wishing I had more practical shoes than the kitten heeled boots I’d worn last night.
“Ms. Kidd. Why am I not surprised to see you here?” Loncar said before I reached him.
“Nice to see you, too, Detective,” I called out. I walked past two orange cones and stepped over a white concrete beam that marked off a parking space. Loncar stayed where he was, looking at the exterior of the building. Unlike the arson investigator, Loncar wore a coat over his suit. The shoulders of his coat extended beyond his own shoulder line and sloped down above his arms. The cuffs of his pants broke across the front of his rubber soled shoes. Considering his thick mid-section, I would have suggested he avoid cuffs in the future, but he didn’t appear to be in the mood for unsolicited fashion advice.
The arson investigator stepped forward and put his arms out on either side of him. “This is a restricted area. No access for the public.”
Loncar turned to him. “It’s okay,” he said. “I got this one.” He bowed slightly and held his hand out toward the parking lot. “Lead the way, Ms. Kidd.”
I looked at the lot, and back at him, and then carefully stepped over the loose gravel in my heels. When I reached the macadam, I turned to face the detective. “Do you have any leads?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned and looked at the building, then at the arson investigator, and Clive.
“What brings you here?” he asked when he finally turned his attention back to me.
“The fire. I was here when it happened. I thought I’d come back, take a look around, see if anything stood out to me as being off.”
He crossed his arms. “Ms. Kidd, perhaps you’d like me to sponsor your application to the police academy?” Before I could answer, he continued. “Because otherwise I can’t really figure out why you keep showing up in my crime scenes.”
It seemed we’d furthered our relationship. Detective Loncar made a joke at my expense.
“Detective, you really should talk to me about this. I could help you.”
“Ms. Kidd, we’ve been over this. The city of Ribbon employs me to perform a job. If you want to join my team, feel free to go through the proper channels. Otherwise, it’s best if you learn that I’m not going to share information with you.”
I glared at him for a few seconds, and then walked away. He could certainly point out that he wasn’t going to tell me anything, but to ignore my attack and the possible connection to the fire was a new level of cold. If he wasn’t going to help me find answers, I was going to find them myself.
I approached Clive, who had continued to take pictures while I was gone.
“How much is Amanda paying you?” I asked.
“We worked out a special rate.” He smiled with half of his mouth and glanced down at my body, as if he were implying that the exchange involved something other than money. “I could work out the same rate for you if you’re interested.”
I wouldn’t have minded learning some dirt about Amanda, but considering how high Clive rated on my Sleeze-O-Meter, I could hardly believe what he was insinuating.
“Is there any way I could get a copy of your film, too?” I asked.
“Not bloody likely. I’m afraid that’s not in my power to negotiate. Hello, Inspector Gigger,” he finished.
I turned to my left. The arson investigator had approached when I wasn’t looking and now stood by my elbow. Loncar stood to his side and didn’t look happy. Not that he usually exuded sunshine and daisies, but today, his attitude was more gutters and weeds than usual.
Ichabod Crane spoke up. “Mr. Barrington, I don’t know what you’re discussing with this woman, but I think it’s important to point out that the photos you’re taking are part of my arson investigation and are no longer your property.”
“I can appreciate your position, Inspector. I’d rather give my film to you than to her any day. But I am a bit baffled as to why you don’t want to talk to her.”
“Why would we want to talk to her?”
“She’s had as much access to the scene as I have.”
Inspector Gigger looked at me with new interest. Clive pointed his camera at the building and the shutter clicked several times.
“He’s right,” I said. “I’m Samantha Kidd. Detective Loncar knows me. I’ve been working with Amanda Ries on her runway show. And before you think I had something to do with the fire, let me assure you, my only interest is in finding out who attacked me the night before the show.”
Loncar scratched his head. “You were attacked, here, two nights ago?”
“Yes.”
“If I go back to the station, will I find a police report?”
“Yes.”
Clive stepped closer. “Go ahead and tell the detective how you were the victim in all of this. That’s what you want everybody to believe, right?” He elbowed me in the ribs and I doubled over in pain.
I coughed twice, blinked back tears, and fought waves of nausea. Clive stepped back and looked surprised. I felt Loncar’s hand on my back.
“You okay?”
Slowly, I stood. “I’ll survive.”
“You’re done here,” Loncar said to Clive.
“I’ll expect copies of your photos in my inbox this afternoon,” Gigger added.
Clive looked back and forth between their faces. “That’s not the arrangement. You can’t revoke my access.”
“Mr. Barrington, I’ve been over your contract. Page four, third paragraph. Ms. Ries retained the right to replace you,” Loncar said. For the briefest of moments I saw him as my hero and overlooked the unfortunate cuff choice.
“That’s right. If she wants to replace me, she’s the one who has to do it. Not you,” Clive said. “And not him.” He pointed to Gigger.
A light bulb went off in my head. “Amanda already retained a new photographer.” All three men looked at me. “Dante Lestes. I know you saw him at the show. He was sitting next to me when you took the photos before the show started. You waved at him and then you went backstage. Come to think of it, that was right before the fire started.”
“If Amanda wants to replace me, she should have told me.”
Clive’s elbow-to-the-injury move had left me angry and vindictive and I hit him where it hurt. “She did. Maybe you were mad at her and set the fire yourself? As a way to get back at her?”
Clive looked like he’d bitten into a rotten lemon. He turned and spit onto the gravel behind him. “I don’t have to listen to your accusations.” He put his camera in a black nylon duffle bag.
Loncar looked at me. “Do I know this Mr. Lestes?”
“I don’t think so. But I can arrange an introduction if you’d like.”
Loncar studied me for a few seconds and then turned to Clive. “Mr. Barrington, I’m going to follow up with Ms. Ries, and I suggest you do the same.”
The cockiness that had come with Clive’s all-access pass vanished, and in its place was a scowl. I thought back to what Dante had told me about Clive. Was he a predator among the models? Most of them could take care of themselves,
but Harper had been the loner. Had he been after her? Would my constant interference have angered him enough to assault me in the parking lot?
I knew he’d be calling Amanda sooner rather than later, and if she was in any kind of vulnerable state, he would convince her she needed him. I had to get to her first and explain why it would be a very bad idea for Clive Barrington to remain part of her inner circle. The good news was, Dante could step in without missing a beat, as long as he had nothing else on his plate.
“Detective, you don’t need me to stick around, do you?” I asked Loncar. He looked at me like he thought I was nuts. “I just remembered I have to make a couple of phone calls, and you probably have things to do here. I imagine you don’t want anybody who isn’t on the force hanging around, trying to figure things out on their own.”
“Not so fast,” he said. He looked past me at Clive and didn’t speak until after the Brit had backed out of his space, turned around to glare at us, and driven away. “I’m going to get Ms. Kidd’s statement,” he said to Gigger. The arson investigator nodded and walked away.
“New partner?” I asked.
“Ms. Kidd, my superiors think last night’s fire was an accident. I don’t want to encourage you, but I don’t agree with them.”
“How would that encourage me?”
“I have no authority here. Inspector Gigger is an arson investigator for the Pennsylvania Arsonists Association. He’s using my office and my resources. He has full cooperation from the department. As far as my captain is concerned, there is no ongoing criminal investigation from our office.”
“There was a fire here last night, and Amanda told me about the threats to her company.”
“What threats?”
“Letters that somebody’s been sending her. She said she told the police about them.”
“First I’ve heard of them.”
“Amanda showed them to me. I don’t know if it’s related, but two nights ago I was attacked backstage at her rehearsal. Then there was the fire. I think the two things are connected. Even if she hadn’t confided in me I’d be looking for answers.”
“She confided in you? Why would she do that?”
“I don’t think she trusts anybody else. No offense.”
A few beats of silence passed between us. I hadn’t planned on making it sound like Loncar couldn’t do his job. Truth was, I knew he could, but now hardly seemed the time to offer an apology. Perhaps a nice manly arrangement of flowers delivered to the precinct tomorrow would be better.
“I can advise you to mind your own business, but since there’s no investigation, I can’t do much about it if you don’t.”
“You always tell me to mind my own business. You tell me to steer clear of your investigation for my own good. This time, I’ve already been attacked and hospitalized before there even was an investigation.”
He wiped his arm across his brow. “Officially, I have nothing to say. Unofficially? You’re in dangerous territory, and there’s pretty much nothing I can do about it.”
10
“You just said you had no authority here, but I bet you want to know what happened, right?” I said. “I was here. I’ve been here all along. Whoever attacked me told me to stay out of it. That means somebody thinks I know something about something. And I bet that something has to do with whatever happened here. I bet I could help you. Ask me something. Go ahead, ask.”
He glared at me. “As much as I hate to admit it, you’ve got a knack for this stuff. And after that article on you in the paper, my boss won’t get near you with a ten foot pole. He says you’re making us look bad. Just do me a favor? If you figure anything out, keep me in the loop.”
I’d experienced a certain amount of notoriety since moving back to Ribbon, and what at first seemed like a case of bad timing had turned into a mild celebrity status. Carl Collins, reporter for the Ribbon Times, had done a small profile on me after I’d saved the local museum considerable embarrassment over an exhibit of hats on loan from a Hollywood actress. When I wasn’t working for Amanda, I acted as personal shopper and stylist to Ribbon’s fashion challenged. It covered my immediate budgetary needs and allowed me to splurge on the occasional heavily discounted off-season garment at the Ribbon Outlet Center. Even Logan had traded up in his quality of life, his kitty bed lined in cast off cashmere sweaters beyond repair.
“No problem.” I looked behind me at where Clive’s car had been. My announcement that he’d been replaced had started a ticking clock and I needed to talk to Amanda and Dante. “Detective, I really have to go,” I said. I waited another second to see if he had any last words of warning for me, and hopped back and forth from foot to foot so he’d think the situation was urgent.
“Be careful, Ms. Kidd,” he said.
I drove half a mile down the street, pulled the car over to the shoulder, and called Amanda. After four rings, her machine picked up. I hesitated before talking. What if Nick was still there? What if Tiny heard the message? I hung up and redialed. This time she answered.
“Amanda Ries Studio,” she said.
“This is Samantha. Can you talk?”
“What is this in reference to?” Her tone was curt.
I guessed from her answer that she was not alone. “I found Clive Barrington lurking around Warehouse Five. There were cops, too. One I know. The other was an arson investigator. I sort of made it sound like you had replaced Clive with another photographer.”
“Please hold,” she said. I was treated to a soft jazz version of a Billy Idol song, which was almost as offensive as her rudeness. She picked back up before the song ended. “I’m back. I’m sorry about that back there, but Nick was here and I told him it was Tiny on the phone.”
“Where is he now?”
“He just left. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Okay.” I told Amanda about Clive’s presence at Warehouse Five, but left out the part about Detective Loncar having no authority at the crime scene. Loncar felt like an unlikely ally, but in a way, I felt a loyalty to him. Weird. “Clive said you granted him unlimited access. Is that true?”
“Yes. When we started the whole thing. Tiny set it up. She said, depending on what kind of pictures he took, we could use them for publicity. She had to get him access to the warehouse for when we weren’t there, too, because he said there would be times when he wanted the quiet before the storm, you know, when none of us were there. There’s not much he hasn’t seen.”
“So Clive could have gotten into the warehouse and rigged the platform before your show?”
“Why would he do that?”
“I’m not asking why yet. I’m just asking if he could.”
“Sure he could. But so could a lot of people. Your friend Eddie had access too. Tradava loaned me the mannequins that sat in the lobby. And the food service people came in early, and there are other artists that show their work in Warehouse Five, so they could have gotten in—”
“I only want to know about Clive right now. Has he given you any footage so far? Any preliminary photos to approve?”
“He gave Tiny some preliminary backstage shots to use early on. She handled everything that didn’t involve the actual collection so I wouldn’t have to be bogged down in details. She has his contract.”
“Can you get it to me?”
“Sure. Is that all?”
“No. Dante Lestes is going to be your new photographer.” I chewed my lower lip and debated whether or not to tell Amanda the truth about Dante. “He’s a legitimate photographer, and you can trust him.” I made arrangements to come by her office tomorrow morning and ended the call. Phase one, complete.
I started up the Stingray and headed back to my house. The smell of my clothes was making me ill. Or maybe it was something else. Since the breakup with Nick, I’d been keeping myself busy, trying not to think about how things had gone wrong. But trading one relationship for another didn’t feel right either. I hadn’t mourned the breakup, and a part of me wondered if a meltdown was ling
ering under the surface.
Six weeks ago, things had been going well. Nick and I had moved into steady-date-Saturday-Night territory, and I’d stupidly traded on our relationship and asked him to put me on his payroll.
Nick was a high end shoe designer. He had started his career working for a few top designers and eventually landed a position as creative director for a French couture house which was expanding from apparel into the accessories market. After he’d built up a name for himself, he literally sold off that name to a couple of financiers and launched Nick Taylor Designs. He’d received professional recognition and cemented his fan base, but felt he’d lost some of his creative control.
Nick had been one of the designers in my vendor matrix when worked for Bentley’s New York. There’d been chemistry from the first time we met in front of his showroom but our positions in the industry kept us on our respective sides of the don’t-cross line. It wasn’t until after I left Bentley’s and moved to Ribbon that we reconnected. He had bought back distribution in his company and invested every dime he had into a relaunch of his brand. I’d given up my lucrative career at Bentley’s to become the trend specialist at Tradava. By all measures, we were both experiencing new beginnings, and the timing for a relationship finally seemed right.
And then we’d found the body of the man who had hired me and I spent some time wondering if Nick was capable of murder. Turns out that’s a biggie when it comes to determining if a relationship is on the horizon.
After that was cleared up—and after the six months he spent in Italy—I was ready to address my affections. Things were fine until I traded on our relationship for a job. Ultimately we broke up.
And then he told me he’d given my name to Amanda to help out with her runway show.
And now, forty-four days later, I was dealing with the aftermath.
Amanda Ries was everything I wasn’t: beautiful, successful, and, apparently, an upstanding law-abiding citizen who didn’t question authority. She and Nick had gone to design school together. I still didn’t quite believe him when he said they never had a romantic relationship. She was Barbie doll pretty, with sleek black hair that fell to her waist and proportions that didn’t come from pizza and meatball sandwiches. I couldn’t compete with someone like that. And because I wanted to show that I was a class act, despite every instinct that I had, I took the job.
Some Like It Haute: A Humorous Fashion Mystery (Style & Error Book 4) Page 6