Some Like It Haute: A Humorous Fashion Mystery (Style & Error Book 4)

by Diane Vallere

  I dressed in pajamas and went to the kitchen for a glass of wine. So what if it was only three thirty? That was practically happy hour. I downed the first glass and poured a refill. After the second, I had a really good idea. I would call Nick. Just to say hi.

  I ignored the voice that said two glasses of wine plus one call to an ex-boyfriend was not only a not good idea, it was plain old bad math. When his message came on, I pulled myself together. “Hi Nick, it’s Samantha.” I stopped. What was I thinking? I ended the call and stared at the phone.

  That went well. Not.

  Seconds later my cell buzzed with a text: Sorry didn’t answer. At Brothers Pizza. Come join if you’re not busy.

  I tried to text back something that communicated that I missed him and was looking forward to seeing him but not let on that I’d kissed Dante. I ended up going with: See you soon.

  I stood up and stumbled. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to drink wine on a stomach filled only with pretzels. And maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea to drive to Brothers Pizza. How far away was it? I rolled my eyes up while I tried to calculate if I could walk, lost balance, and landed on the sofa. No, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to walk, either.

  I called Eddie. “Yo,” I said when he answered. “Do you want to go to Brothers?”

  “Can’t. I’m pulling an all-nighter at Tradava. Pizza does sound good, though.”

  I’m meeting Nick and I could use some backup.”

  “Did he call you or did you call him?”

  “I called him.”

  “And?”

  “And he texted back and told me to join him.” I waved my hand around, not really necessary since he couldn’t see me. “I just want to talk to him.”

  “About what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you okay?”

  I spun around and caught my reflection in the microwave. The stranger-who-might-have-a-plan looked back at me. “I’m great. I chopped off all my hair,” I said. And then I hiccupped.

  “Dude, don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  12

  Eddie arrived quickly. When I opened the door, his eyes moved around to the left, right, and top of my head.

  “You weren’t kidding,” he said. “Follow me.” He charged inside and started up the stairs.

  “Aren’t we getting pizza?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “The bathroom.” I stopped halfway up the stairs. He reached the landing and turned around. “How to put this gently,” he said, drumming his fingers on his chin. “The right side of your hair is an inch shorter than the left. Come on.”

  I climbed the remaining stairs and entered the bathroom behind him. My two chopped off ponytails lay next to the sink like some kind of sacrifice to the beauty gods. He stared at them for a few seconds, shut the lid of the toilet, and instructed me to sit facing the wall. He fed the wet comb through my hair a couple of times, sorting it into sections. I felt him tug on the length, and then I heard a series of snip, snip, snips. He repeated the process toward the back left of my head and then the back right.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me why I did it?” I asked.

  “Dude, someone put you in the hospital a couple of days ago, you almost got burned down at Amanda’s runway show, and you’re fresh from a break up with Nick. So you freaked out. I’m surprised you didn’t dye it purple.”

  He tipped my head forward and I felt the cold metal scissor blades against the back of my neck.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” I asked.

  “I style the mannequin wigs at Tradava. Now, sit still and shut up.”

  Eddie lined up the apparently jagged edges of my butchered haircut. I hiccupped again.

  “What have you eaten today?”

  “Wine and pretzels. Are you almost done back there?” I waved my hand around behind my head, feeling the layers.

  He swatted my hand away and set the comb and scissors on the counter. Like an expert stylist, he threaded his fingers into the back of my hair and shook it from side to side. “Turned out pretty well, all things considered.”

  “Great. Let’s go.” I stood up and swung my leg over the toilet seat like I was dismounting a horse.

  “You might want to put on clothes first,” he said, pointing to my pajamas.

  I went to my bedroom while Eddie went downstairs. In my closet, I shoved my collection of candy-colored pumps to the side, and stared at a pair of Doc Martins I’d bought in the nineties. Black leather lined in red plaid. They were tough. They were don’t-mess-with-me shoes. That’s what I needed. I also needed a don’t-mess-with-me outfit.

  I changed into an oversized red V-neck sweater that I turned backward, and a pair of black skinny jeans. I looked in the mirror at my reflection. My hair was already mostly dry, hanging in waves around my head.

  Something was off. I found a black beaded necklace shaped to look like a peter pan collar and tied it around my neck. Long black ribbons dangled down my exposed back. I folded the cuffs of the Docs down so the red plaid lining showed and looked at my reflection again.

  “What’s taking you so long?” Eddie called up the stairs.

  I knew exactly what was taking me so long. The wine buzz was wearing off and in its place was self-consciousness. What had I intended to accomplish by calling Nick? If I was being honest with myself I’d say I wanted attention. I wasn’t ready to be honest just yet.

  I jogged down the stairs, gave Logan a can of Fancy Feast, ate another pretzel to calm my nerves, and we left.

  It took seven minutes to get to Brothers Pizza. On a good day, when the lights cooperated with my need for cheese and dough and tomato sauce, I could get there in four. Tonight I welcomed the additional three. They gave me a chance to cycle through all of the potential disastrous situations that might occur once I walked inside.

  “Why did I think this was a good idea?” I said to Eddie.

  “Because you like drama. You thrive on chaos.”

  “It was a rhetorical question.”

  We crossed the lot and went inside. Eddie wasn’t used to me walking so fast (thank you, Docs) and had to jog to keep up with me. I pulled the door open and waited a second for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior.

  Brothers was my favorite pizza place in all of Ribbon. They had opened in 1971 and appealed to every generation of locals since then. The interior was classic old-school Italian, with Chianti flasks and plastic ivy hanging from the ceiling. The wallpaper was pink flocked with burgundy. The interior configuration was long and narrow, with booths on the right hand side, tables on the left, and a couple of pinball machines next to the sliding glass doors that led to the outside seating. An Internet juke box, the only modern addition to the place, stood next to the bar, halfway to the back.

  Booths were red vinyl and tables were wood. Initials, expressions, and a couple of phone numbers were carved into most of them. The seven pizza ovens were in constant use, and contributed to the scent of tangy tomato sauce, oregano, basil, and cheese. They probably had the fixings for a salad around somewhere, but I’d never seen anyone order one.

  “Shoe designer, ten o’clock,” Eddie said. “Oh no, he didn’t.”

  “What?” I asked. I scanned the interior and spotted Nick and Amanda together by the Ms. Pac-Man machine. I had the top score on that back in high school. Focus, Samantha. “He brought Amanda? He didn’t say anything about her being here with him.”

  “What exactly did he say?”

  I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the texts. “At Brothers. Come join.”

  “That’s what I thought. You know, because texting is so good for nailing down specifics of a post-breakup rendezvous.” He took my phone, deleted the text, and handed it back. “You wanted this, right?” He gave me a push.

  I turned around and grabbed his bicep. “I don’t want it to look like I called you for moral support. I’m going to play it cool. Pretend we met up in t
he parking lot and you’re getting takeout.”

  “Fine.” Eddie split off from me and stood in line at the ordering counter. I watched Nick and Amanda. They appeared not to have noticed me yet. He said something to her and she laughed. He put his hand on her shoulder. She didn’t shrug it off.

  No way was I going over there now. Not gonna happen.

  I turned and headed back to the exit. Eddie stood in a crowd by the ordering counter. I flashed him a look and jerked my thumb toward the door. He shook his head no and pointed to the pizza oven and then at his watch. I turned around and went outside.

  A blast of cool air hit my face. I couldn’t leave; Eddie had driven me. And I wasn’t about to walk the two miles home, even if I was wearing comfortable shoes. I looked at the moon, and then looked at my phone. There was one other option.

  I texted Dante and suggested if he wasn’t busy, he join me for pizza. He texted back almost immediately. Now, all I had to do was wait outside until he showed up. And then, I’d be on a date too.

  The door to Brothers opened and Nick came outside. “Kidd,” he said.

  “Taylor,” I said back, opting for mimicry like we were in fifth grade.

  “I almost didn’t recognize you. You look different.” He smiled and the crinkles at the corners of his root-beer-barrel colored eyes deepened. “New haircut,” he added.

  “I needed a change.”

  “Change can be good.”

  He reached up as if he were going to push my hair away from my face like he’d done so many times before. I put my hand palm-side out and stopped him before he touched me. The smile dropped from his face. We stared at each other as if there was something to be said but neither one of us knew where to start.

  “How’s the job hunt going?” he asked.

  “Great. But I’m guessing I shouldn’t count on you for a reference.”

  “Come on, you know it wasn’t like that.”

  “No, I guess it wasn’t. But hey, thanks for recommending me to Amanda.” I held both thumbs up and gave him a fake smile. “That’s sure to head somewhere really great.”

  He grabbed my wrist and pulled me around the side of the building. I looked over my shoulder at the parking lot. No signs of Dante.

  “If you have something you want to say, then go ahead and say it,” he said.

  “Me? What could I have to say? The last actual conversation we had was you telling me to turn my back on Eddie in his time of need. But all of a sudden, it’s your friend with the crisis. What do you want me to do now, Nick? Ignore Amanda’s problems and watch somebody destroy her business?”

  Nick’s eyes flashed. “It’s not the same thing.”

  “You’re right, it’s not. Because this time you asked me to help her.”

  “And I’ve felt guilty about that ever since.”

  “Well, don’t. None of this is for you or for her. I’m only trying to figure out who attacked me. Maybe nobody else cares about that, but I do. Saving Amanda’s business would be icing on the cake, but you know something?” I put both hands on his chest and pushed him back. “I can totally eat cake without icing.”

  He looked at me as if I’d turned blue and told him I planned to live under a mushroom. “Kidd, you’re not making any sense.”

  Did I just say something about eating cake without icing?

  I sensed that righteous indignation was a limited resource that would soon give way to tears. I would not let Nick see me cry. I would not let him know how I’d felt when the days after our last conversation turned into weeks. When I’d been in the hospital and he hadn’t even sent me a card.

  “Samantha?” said Dante from behind me. I looked over my shoulder and smiled. He approached us and put his hands on either side of my waist. “You didn’t have to wait outside for me.” He looked at Nick and then back at me. “How about I go get us a booth?”

  “Sure. I’ll be done in a second.”

  The bells over the door chimed as Dante disappeared inside. I turned back to Nick. The crinkles were gone from his eyes. “Kidd,” he said. “I never expected things to get so complicated.” He bent down and kissed my cheek. “Take care of yourself.”

  He went back inside, leaving me out front. Seconds later, Eddie came outside with a white pizza box balancing in his hand.

  “Dude? Are you okay?”

  A single tear dropped from my eye and left a cold track over my cheek. I swiped it away. ““I know you have to get back to Tradava, but I’m not ready to leave yet.”

  “I saw Dante come in. Are you responsible for that too?”

  I nodded. “Go. I’ll be fine. I’ll catch a ride home with him.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  I pushed through the doors, scanned the interior, and found Dante seated at a booth in the back. I snaked through the crowd and lowered myself onto the opposite side of the vinyl booth. The wine buzz from earlier was wearing off, but under the circumstances, I knew it would be a good idea to order something to eat.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey yourself,” he answered. “New look?”

  I reached up and felt the new shorter ends of my hair. “I needed a change.”

  “With just your hair or with other things too?”

  “I’m considering a total lifestyle overhaul.”

  A beer sat on a cardboard Bud Light coaster on the table. The glass was more full than empty. I glanced at it, and then at him.

  “Why’d you want me to meet you here?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I needed an excuse to get out of the house.”

  “I don’t think that’s the reason.”

  “Okay, fine. I like their pizza.”

  “You picked a fine time to start telling the truth.” This time he smiled.

  A waiter carried a silver tray to our table. “Large round with cheese, right?” he said to me.

  “This can’t be ours. We haven’t ordered yet.”

  “Missy, you’ve been ordering the same thing since you were in high school.” He looked at Dante. “Good luck with this one,” he said. “She’s been breaking hearts for two decades.”

  Dante transferred a slice onto a beige plastic plate for me and then for himself. I shook on a generous portion of oregano and bit into the tip of the slice. Too hot. Burnt my mouth. I reached for the water and guzzled half of the glass. Dante watched me. I set my slice down and looked at him.

  “It’s hot,” I said.

  “I hear some like it hot.”

  “I heard that too.”

  “What about you, Samantha? How do you like it?”

  “I like it room temperature.” He raised one eyebrow. “Are we still talking about pizza?”

  He smiled. “For now.”

  “I can live with that.” I turned my attention back to the slice. I was reaching for my third when I realized Dante’s second still sat on his plate.

  “Go for it,” he said.

  “I can’t eat a third slice if you’re not going to at least pretend to finish your second.”

  “I have a better idea. Let’s get a to-go box and get out of here.”

  “But—”

  “Your friend Eddie asked if I could give you a ride home. And I said I would, only, there’s someplace we have to go first.”

  After packing the pizza up, I followed Dante out of Brothers. Out of the corner of my eye, I looked for Nick or Amanda, but saw neither one. It was just as well. I wasn’t sure what Dante had in mind, but I thought it best not to have the image of Nick in my mind when it happened.

  Dante led me to a black sedan. He beeped a remote at it and the lights flickered once.

  “Isn’t this Cat’s car?” I asked.

  “Yes. For what I have in mind, I thought it better to not draw attention to ourselves.”

  “What exactly do you have in mind?”

  “We’re working a case, Samantha.” He rested his forearms on the top of the car and looked across the hood at me. “We’re going back to the scene
of the crime.”

  13

  All over the world, couples were heading out to dance clubs, bars, and restaurants for date night. Dante and I were headed to a crime scene.

  Samantha Kidd, this is your life.

  While I wondered what Dante’s sister would say about the scent of pizza that would most certainly cling to the interior of her otherwise pristine car, Dante drove us to Warehouse Five. It was dark and the roads were crowded. He parked the car under a streetlamp about a hundred feet away from the gravel lot I’d stood in earlier. The aches and pains I’d been ignoring all day were catching up to me, and I moved slowly. Dante was halfway to the building when he realized I was still by the car. He doubled back.

  “You okay?”

  “I’ll manage. I think I’m getting more stiff as the night goes on.”

  “You need to exercise. Stretch. Stay limber.”

  “I exercise plenty,” I lied. “I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

  He reached for my hand and guided me forward. My initial instinct was to shake him off, but I found it comforting to hold onto him. Even though he was ahead of me, he walked at a pace that I could match. He didn’t let go when we reached the lot, and suddenly it seemed awkward to stand in a faintly lit parking lot with Dante holding my hand, like maybe this rendezvous was about more than searching for overlooked clues.

  “You said Clive was here today?” Dante asked. I nodded. “Was he paying special attention to anything?”

  “Hard to say. The building was locked, but he was inside. When he came out, he took pictures of the back door and windows. We’re not going to be able to see anything he was looking at.”

  He turned toward the building and guided me along with him. Together we stumbled over the loose gravel, getting farther and farther from the car. Dante pulled a leather glove out of the inside pocket of his motorcycle jacket, let go of my hand, and pulled it on. He reached for the doorknob and jiggled it. Locked. He pulled on another glove and leaned close to the window, framing the light away from his eyes so he could see inside.