“I’ll ask him,” Summer said. “Maybe he’s less busy during the holidays. I dunno, though. That guy is always working.”
“Next stop, Milano PD.” Dorothy grabbed a few napkins from the iron dragonfly holder on the counter and slipped an éclair or two from the pastry box in her purse. One never knew when one might need a little energy boost.
She and Summer would be sure to look out for Frankie on the way downtown. At this point, Angelica’s determined mother could be just about anywhere.
And so could Angelica’s killer.
*
“Hi, Merle,” Summer greeted the timid-looking, older man behind the round security window at the entrance to the Milano PD. “You remember us, right? Summer Smythe and Dorothy Westin?”
She had never seen him before in her life, actually, but he had to be related to Gladys. Those beady, watery eyes and the giant, beaklike nose were a dead giveaway.
“We’re very good friends of your lovely cousin,” Dorothy added. “Neighbors, too, in fact.”
“Gladys?” Merle shot up straighter in his office chair, on high alert. “Is she with you?” He looked around Dorothy to the front door.
“Nope,” Summer said. You can chill, she wanted to tell him. “Anyway, we’re here to see…”
Uh oh. She hadn’t exactly thought this getting-into-thestation thing through on the way over here. They couldn’t just say they wanted to talk to Esmé or Zoe. And the last thing she wanted was to have another fun convo with Caputo. The detective wasn’t going to give her any updates or decent info on the case, anyway.
Not on purpose, at least.
“Detective Donovan,” Summer blurted. She didn’t want to talk to him, either, but chances were good he wasn’t here, anyway. His precious grandma probably had him giving her a pedicure or something.
“What is this in reference to?” Merle reached for a yellow legal pad and pushed his wire glasses higher on his pelican beak, all business again.
The door behind Summer swung open, and a tanned, athletic-looking dad and his kid came through it with a yapping brown-and-white dog on a half-chewed leash.
“So, Merle.” Dorothy leaned closer to the window, blocking his view. “Gladys mentioned you’re a senior volunteer here, and a critical member of the department. It sounds fascinating. I’d love to find out more about the application process. I hear it’s quite extensive.”
“Nice dog,” Summer told its owners, as she passed them on her way through the entrance. The dog bared its gnarly teeth at her.
He and Mr. Bitey would be a great match.
Summer hurried past the main area of desks, file cabinets and busy office workers to the back of the open room, where she knew those orange plastic visitor benches were located. She knew exactly where people brought in for questioning and stuff had to wait. And think about their stories, very carefully. She’d learned that herself once or twice, the hard way.
No Zoe. No Esmé either. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?
“Well, hello there.” A broad-shouldered, sandy-haired officer with a moustache smiled at her as she peeked cautiously into one of the side offices. “Are you here for the Citizens Police Academy?”
“Gosh, no,” Summer blurted, then wanted to kick herself. That would have been the perfect cover.
“So who are you looking for?” the officer said. “Or maybe I can help you.”
Summer glanced around the busy stationhouse. Still no sign of Zoe or Esmé. Or Caputo, luckily. “Um, is Detective Donovan here?”
“You’re in luck, young lady. I just saw him come in a couple of minutes ago.” The officer, whose nametag said, “Sgt. Kash,” stepped out from behind his desk. “I can take you over there. I’m headed that way myself.”
“Super,” Summer said, forcing a smile. “Thanks.”
She knew exactly where the detective’s office was, of course—she’d actually thrown up in it once—but she kept up the clueless act until they arrived at the door.
“Donovan, you’ve got a visitor,” Sgt. Kash announced. “A real pretty one, too, I might add.”
Summer’s face burned as Detective Donovan looked up in surprise from the papers on his desk. His usual navy blue blazer was tossed on a side chair, and his “World’s #1 Son” mug was filled with steaming black coffee, as usual.
So he was a nana’s boy and a mamma’s boy. Well, at least he was a family guy. Most women considered that a good thing, right?
“Don’t do anything I would do, Detective.” Sgt. Kash chuckled, and left. Good.
That’s when Summer noticed the other person in Detective Donovan’s office, glaring at her from the visitor’s chair across from the desk. Who else? Caputo.
Detective Donovan cleared his throat. “Ms. Smythe-Sloan,” he said. “What a surprise.”
“Hi,” she said. “I was just…in the neighborhood.”
Well, that sounded stupid. As in, what neighborhood? Downtown Milano?
Caputo stood up with her iPad. “If you don’t need me for anything else, sir, I’m headed out. Roberts and I need to follow up on those leads I mentioned.”
He nodded. “Thanks, Detective. Keep me posted.”
“You got it,” Caputo told him. “You again,” Summer heard the junior detective add under her breath, as she brushed past her. “Give it up.”
Summer’s mouth dropped open. What was that supposed to mean? Give up the case? Or any hope of a semi-relationship with Shane Donovan? Or maybe both.
“So hey, I’m glad you came by,” the detective said. “Sit down.” He motioned toward the visitor chair.
It was still warm from Caputo’s mean, skinny butt. Ugh.
“Detective Caputo was just filling me in on the details of everything I missed while I was off,” he went on. “Between my crazy caseload lately, and traveling, and my grandma, I’ve been a little out of touch with…well, everything.”
Like me? Summer wanted to say.
“But I, uh, was planning to call you and see if maybe you wanted to try again. You know, for an evening out or something.”
“You mean, an actual date?” Summer said. “No work? No grandma?”
The dimple that always showed up when he smiled appeared, just for a second. “I can’t promise that. But hopefully. Nana can be pretty demanding sometimes.”
Well, that was the understatement of the year. Summer caught herself pressing her already beat-up nails into the plastic seat. He’s just a guy, she reminded herself. No big deal.
“I love her, though, and she’s the only grandma I’ve got.” He shrugged. “So what do you say? Anywhere you want to go. Surprise me.”
“Okay,” Summer said. That probably hadn’t come out sounding very excited, but maybe that was a good thing. “When?”
“How about Saturday night?” he said. “I’ll pick you up at seven. I’d say tomorrow, but I have to accompany Nana to some golf club holiday fashion show she’s over the moon about. Apparently it’s the event of the season.”
“I’m going to that, too,” Summer said. “With Dorothy.” She almost added, For the case, but luckily she stopped herself from that in time.
“Great,” he said. “We can suffer together.”
“Deal,” she said, smiling for real as she stood up from her chair. She was kind of looking forward to this big-time show now. “Sorry, but I’d better go. Dorothy’s outside, waiting for me.”
“Well, thanks for stopping by,” he said. The dimple showed up again, deeper than the last time. “See you tomorrow.”
Summer stopped at the door. “I heard my friend Esmé was in here today,” she said. “She didn’t do anything wrong, I can tell you that for sure. And I don’t think Zoe Z had anything to do with what happened to Angelica Downs, either.”
The dimple immediately disappeared. “Caputo is in charge of the investigation,” the detective said. “Let’s leave it at that, okay? The evidence will support the facts, in the end.”
“So is there any evidence, then?” Summer
knew she was pushing it.
He sighed. “Not much, so far. The crime scene was unfortunately contaminated with all those people running around. We’re pursuing a few possible angles we have left, though.”
“Oh.” Summer waited, but the detective didn’t offer anything else. Talk about unhelpful. “See you at the show,” she said finally, and stepped out of the office without looking back. Hopefully she wouldn’t run into Sgt. Kash—or Caputo—on her way out.
She absorbed herself in checking her text messages as she made her way back through the main room. That way she wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone—and she could pretend she was invisible.
Esmé was at work now, bartending at Chameleon. And she’d texted her that Zoe’s overworked lawyer back in LA had negotiated some kind of deal to spring her from the holding cell. Esmé had no idea where the kid was now, but there were paparazzi camped outside the restaurant, in case she showed up.
Summer sighed. At least neither her friend nor the brat were in jail. Too bad her and Dorothy’s visit to the Milano PD had been pretty much a bust for the case, info-wise.
But for her and a certain awkward, annoying, but hot detective, things might just be looking up.
Chapter Fifteen
“Come on out, Dorothy. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Dorothy sighed as she took a last glance in the ornate, gold-framed mirror in the frilly dressing room of Monique’s Boutique. Not a single dress in the entire walk-in closet worth of outfits Summer had collected for her seemed right for the Majesty Holiday Fashion Show.
Or right for her, anyway. Was her choice of wardrobe really that important? Summer had pointed out that they needed to blend in with the well-dressed guests, of course, but all this fuss seemed downright silly. Their focus should be on finding Angelica’s killer.
“You can’t go wrong with a little black dress,” Summer said, as Dorothy reluctantly stepped out into the outer dressing lounge.
Emphasis on the little, Dorothy thought. “It’s much too short,” she said.
“Nah.” Summer shook her blonde head from her perch on a satin striped divan. “You’re just not used to that length. It looks really nice on you, I think. You’ve got great legs.”
That might be true, Dorothy had to admit. All that swimming over the years had served her well. But still…
“Try the sparkly blue one,” Summer said, pointing back into the dressing room. “That’s going to be my favorite, I think.”
“I’m not sure beading is really my style,” Dorothy said. “To tell you the truth, I was perfectly comfortable in that coral sweater and skirt set yesterday.”
Summer’s mouth dropped open. “What? No way. You cannot be an outfit repeater. Especially only two days later, jeez. And it’s an evening event.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Dorothy drew the curtain carefully shut on her private dressing area.
“Ow,” she heard Summer say, sounding annoyed, as Monique pushed her aside and poked her head through the curtain. “How are we doing in there, Mrs. Westin? I’ve brought a few more dresses I know you’ll just love. These are a bit more high-couture.”
Dorothy tried not to think about the rainbow of dresses already hanging from the gold hooks all around her as she took the new batch. “Wonderful,” she said. And exhausting.
This was ridiculous. But there was a reason they had chosen Monique’s Boutique.
Summer appeared again behind Monique. “Wow, these are all such great outfits,” she said, her mouth quirking slightly. “How are you ever going to choose, Dorothy?”
Very easily, Dorothy wanted to inform her. Every one of these pricey dresses was going straight back to the racks. As soon as they got some information—any miniscule piece whatsoever—out of the boutique’s sharklike owner, they were leaving.
“That black dress is just stunning on you,” Monique said. “And it’s marked down for the holidays. Imagine how perfect it would be for New Year’s Eve. You do have plans, don’t you?”
Dorothy truly hadn’t thought that far ahead. Last year’s festivities had included a nine-thirty champagne or cider toast and balloon drop in the activity room at the top of Hibiscus Tower B.
“We’re shopping for the Majesty fashion show tomorrow,” Summer said. “You’ll be there, right, Monique?”
The boutique owner gave a dismissive wave. “Oh, of course. Our entire Parisian holiday collection will be featured.” She dropped her voice. “So many people were disappointed to miss the full premiere at the Waterman’s show yesterday.”
Especially those who were suffocated to death with a dry cleaner’s bag, Dorothy thought. Or questioned as possible murder suspects. But what a stroke of luck for her and Summer’s investigation that there was a second opportunity for Monique to unveil her questionable fashions—and for all the same people to gather.
“Hey, now that you mention it, Monique,” Summer said, gathering up the dismissed dresses and replacing them with all the new ones she had collected. “Do you have any idea what happened to that really nice model Angelica, before…well, you know. She went backstage with you after you guys left our table, right?”
Monique didn’t bat an eye at the question, Dorothy noticed. “Yes, she did,” the boutique owner said. “She’d spent far too much time chatting. But then she disappeared somewhere, and missed her cue. I have to say, I was rather put out about it. Angelica was a former employee of mine, and I approved her for the Waterman’s job only as a favor.”
“A favor?” Summer said, as Dorothy pulled another overly tight dress over her head. Now she’d need to redo her hair before tomorrow.
“Well, she was practically destitute after losing her position here at the boutique,” Monique said. “But I was forced to let her go for unprofessional behavior. It was too bad, because she’d received ample compensation and a more than generous employee discount. I’m not sure she even deserved a second chance, frankly.”
“What did she do wrong?” Summer asked, before Dorothy could stop her.
Monique gave a hard yank on the striped bolero jacket with god-awful fringe Dorothy was still struggling to bring down over her shoulders. “Let’s just say some women are driven to desperate measures after they run through all their dead husband’s money and have to find a new sugar daddy.” Her lips, bright orange today, pursed in high disapproval.
She had to be referring to Angelica’s alleged pursuit of her former husband, Dorothy told herself. Was she trying to justify her poor treatment of a woman who was now sadly dead? Or was she offering an explanation of why someone might be driven to murder?
Like herself, for instance.
“I was willing to look past that kind of behavior to allow Angelica to be hired in a different capacity,” Monique said. “On a very limited basis, just a few holiday shows to start.”
“So she was going to model at Majesty tomorrow, too, then?” Summer’s eyes met Dorothy’s in the mirror.
“That’s right,” Monique said, with a put-upon sigh. “She was the perfect model for our exclusive, ermine-trimmed Christmas gown over there, too.” She gestured toward a ghastly heap of poufy red netting, fur and taffeta strung on a satin-padded hanger. “Such a pity.”
Summer visibly shuddered, and Dorothy briefly considered the idea that the fringe nightmare currently draping her shoulders might not actually be the ugliest vestment on the planet.
“Tell me, Monique,” Dorothy said. “Did Angelica have any visitors when she worked here, people stopping by the store to talk to her?”
Monique sniffed. “Other than unavailable men, you mean?”
Oh dear. Dorothy hadn’t meant to bring up the ex-husband again. “Did she ever seem nervous or frightened in any way?” she rephrased.
“I really can’t recall.” The boutique owner’s tone was evasive. “So what do you think, Mrs. Westin? Which of these lovely garments will you take home? I’m sure we can arrange a very nice discount should you decide to purchase multiple items.”
/>
“Go for it, Dorothy.” Summer could barely contain her glee at the hilarity of the situation, it seemed.
“I’ll think about it,” Dorothy said. “Overnight, perhaps.” Or over the next millennium, more likely.
“But the Majesty show is tomorrow night,” Monique said. “I can’t promise any of these outfits will still be available by store closing.”
“Mmm,” Dorothy said, closing the curtain.
“Other than our regular customers and one man of questionable character I prefer not to name, the only person I ever saw Angelica with was her mother,” Monique offered, as the silence grew in the dressing room. “The elder Mrs. Downs was in here many times. She’s a huge fan of the store, I’ll say that. But with all that time spent away…” Her voice trailed off delicately.
“Away where?” Summer said, immediately.
“Well”—Monique lowered her voice—”she was briefly incarcerated in Nevada, I believe. Angelica never confided in me, but that’s what I gathered.”
“What was she in for?” Summer asked. Behind the curtain, Dorothy stayed silent. Her sleuthing partner was fishing for leads, and she didn’t want to distract Monique.
“Mrs. Westin, have you made a decision?” Monique called into the dressing room. Dorothy had to admire her equal sense of focus.
“Not yet,” Dorothy said. “So difficult to choose.”
“Maybe if you could tell us a little more about Angelica’s mom,” Summer said. “I had no idea she was such a…um, criminal. That’s horrible.”
And that criminal had been staying in Summer’s condo, Dorothy thought. Although not for long, it had turned out. Perhaps that was a good thing.
“Well, I have no idea why the elder Mrs. Downs went to jail,” Monique said, “but I’m sure it was something especially shady. And one never knows how far the apple falls from the tree, if you know what I mean. That’s another reason why I had to let Angelica go.”
“Wow,” Summer said. “Well, thanks, Monique. Dorothy will take the black dress,” she added. “And maybe some accessories, too. Can we go look at all the jewelry you’ve got?”
Fashionably Late (The Ladies Smythe & Westin) Page 13