Fashionably Late (The Ladies Smythe & Westin)

by Lisa Q. Mathews

  What? Dorothy buttoned her light sweater as quickly as possible over her boatneck T-shirt and threw open the curtain, stepping out of the dressing room at the same time as a woman in a much larger size of the same fringed bolero jacket Dorothy held over her arm.

  “Well, well, well,” Gladys said. “Looks like we have the same excellent taste, Dorothy.”

  How long had Gladys been in there, listening with her giant ears? Dorothy was guilty of the very same thing, of course. But that was different. Or was it?

  “You’re not going to wear our jacket to Majesty tomorrow, are you, Dorothy?” Gladys said. “That’d be a real fashion faux pas, ya know what I mean? You should go with the black dress, like your Big Bird friend said. It’s real chic on a skinny person like you, and it’ll come in handy for all those funerals, too.”

  Dorothy was about to reply when Summer reappeared in the dressing lounge, looking distressed. “What is it, dear?” Dorothy asked. “Is something wrong?”

  Summer dropped back onto the satin chaise. “It’s practically the worst thing ever. I just got a phone call. From the booker at PAGE Models.”

  “PAGE? What did they want?” Gladys said, eagerly. “Was it something about Angelica? Spill it, Beanstalk.”

  Both Summer and Dorothy glared at her. “It’s none of your business, Mrs. Rumway,” Summer said.

  “Anything for the Downs investigation is my business,” Gladys said. “I’m related to a member of the Milano PD, remember? Plus I signed up for the next Citizens Police Academy. I’m practically on the force already.”

  Dorothy had a feeling Gladys and the Milano PD differed on their definitions of “members of the force.” Mercifully, Summer just rolled her eyes at Dorothy and kept her mouth shut.

  “Come on, Dorothy. We need to look at shoes for you, too.” Summer pulled her out of the dressing lounge and headed them both in the direction of one of Monique’s clear plastic tower displays of evening shoes and furry bedroom kitten heels.

  “So what information did the modeling agency offer on Angelica?” Dorothy said, dropping her voice. Monique had spotted them from the cash register, and her eyes were already gleaming with the prospect of another sale.

  “They wanted me to fill in for Angelica at the Majesty show, can you believe it?” Summer said. “A lot of the models have been dropping out because of what happened at Waterman’s.”

  “Well, I think it’s a wonderful opportunity,” Dorothy said.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Summer said. “That’d be, like, a joke.”

  Dorothy smiled. “Don’t worry, you’ll do a wonderful job.”

  “I don’t want that kind of job,” Summer said, frowning. “Even if it pays more than volunteering at the pool. And Detective Donovan’s going to be there. With his grandma. It’d be the worst idea ever.”

  “Sometimes we have to put our personal preferences aside for an investigation.” Dorothy nodded toward the pink-and-black Monique’s Boutique bag Summer was carrying for her, with that frightfully short black dress and what looked like several tissue-wrapped pieces of jewelry. “Don’t you agree, dear?”

  *

  Summer stood in front of Grandma Sloan’s bedroom closet, which was now majorly jammed with both of their clothes and shoes—so full that the accordion wood doors were about to break, even though she kept them open.

  “I hate to say it, Cali Girl, but your whole bedroom is starting to look like something out of one of those hoarding shows,” Dash said, from his safe perch on the edge of her unmade bed.

  “Yeah, I know,” Summer said. “I’m going to clean the whole thing up and totally organize it, as soon as I have time.” Which she never did. But that was okay, because solving murders was a lot more important than having a perfect closet. And anyway, Dash was super picky, because he was an interior designer and didn’t even believe in dressers. He and Julian and Juliette-Margot each had walk-in closets twice the size of her entire condo.

  “Try the zig-zag dress again, Mademoiselle Summer,” Juliette-Margot said. “With the white hoop earrings and white envelope purse, s’il vous plaît.”

  “Okay.” Summer bit back a grin, but did as she was told. She had to admit, the kid had a definite eye.

  “Detective Donovan likes black and white,” Juliette Margot added, crossing her arms over her mint-green dress with the tangerine sash. She had matching Mary-Janes, too. How many pairs of those did she own, anyway? And they were never scuffed.

  “Hey, how do you know what colors Detective Donovan likes?” Summer said. “Not that I care, by the way.”

  Behind her, Dash snorted.

  “Juliette-Margot reads the fashion magazines,” the little girl said, in a perfectly serious voice. “All men appreciate the contrast of black and white. The zig-zags are slimming and sophisticated and draw the eye away from most figure flaws. Not that you have any of those,” she added, quickly.

  “Thanks, JM.” Summer rescued the matching jacket for the Donovan Dress from the floor and glanced over her shoulder at Dash. “You guys have created a little fashionista monster,” she told him.

  “Not guilty.” He held up his hands in defense. “Julian and I had nothing to do with it, I swear. Mother got her a subscription to Vogue for her sixth birthday.”

  “Not the black-and-white choker,” Juliette-Margot added, as Summer reached toward one of her favorite necklaces. “It is too much with the earrings. Remember, you must put three accessories on and take one off. Two, if you have an accent piece.” She stuck out her left wrist, showing off a gold bracelet with a tiny dolphin charm.

  “Got it,” Summer said. “Nice bracelet.” Juliette-Margot beamed.

  “Not to rain on your parade,” Dash said, “but aren’t you getting a little too dolled up for this gig? Most models show up for work looking like they rolled out of bed. Or from a club.”

  “I know that,” Summer said. “I just want to look nice, that’s all.”

  “Uh huh.” Dash smiled in an annoyingly smug way. “You’re still trying to impress this Donovan guy, aren’t you?”

  “Noooo,” Summer said, concentrating on the stubborn earring wire that refused to go through her earlobe. “Well, maybe,” she said, when Dash raised a skeptical blond brow. The earring finally went in with a nasty pinch, and she reached for her cosmetics bag on the dresser. The bag was mostly empty at the moment, since all the shadows and liners and mascaras and lipsticks she owned were scattered everywhere.

  “No makeup,” Juliette-Margot said. “You must have a fresh face so the stylists can have a blank canvas to create the perfect look.”

  Summer tried hard not to bust out laughing. Dash’s daughter was one crazy determined kid. Impulsively, she turned around from the mirror and messed up Juliette-Margot’s blonde curls with one hand, before she remembered how much she’d hated the way grown-ups did that when she was the same age. “Sorry, JM,” she said, as the kid carefully patted her hair back into place. “Maybe you should lay off the Vogue for a while, though.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Dash said. “So do you want us to give you a ride over to the club, Cali Girl? I promised Juliette-Margot we’d get there early to get a seat in front.”

  If she didn’t take her car, there was a decent chance Detective Donovan might offer her a ride home from the show—or, even better, take her out. After they’d dropped off his grandma, of course. “Thanks, that’d be awesome,” Summer said.

  *

  The Majesty Golf and Tennis Club looked amazing as Dash pulled the Mercedes up to the well-staffed valet stand in front of the main entrance. It was almost getting dark, thanks to the cloudy December day, and the palm trees lining the drive, along with the huge porch columns, were wound in white twinkle lights.

  “It’s like a reallive fairy land,” Juliette-Margot said, pressing her face up to the window in the back seat. She sounded like an actual kid now. “And oooh, look, it is snowing!”

  “What?” Summer peered out the passenger window as Dash
gave the valet his keys—and probably a few not-so-subtle suggestions about the best place to park his precious car. Juliette-Margot was right. It was practically a blizzard of fake snow out there now.

  “Cool,” she said. She hated real snow, unless she was in Aspen or someplace skiing, but this kind was okay. The stuff melted in two seconds in Florida or back home in LA, but it looked pretty while it lasted. “Guess Santa will be here soon,” she added.

  “Juliette-Margot does not believe in Santa Claus,” the little girl said, with what sounded like a semi-disdainful sniff.

  “Gee, that’s too bad,” Summer said. “Are you sure? He brings lots of presents if you’re on his Good list, you know. You were good this year, weren’t you?”

  “Juliette-Margot is always good,” she said. “But Santa never brings her the real present she wants.”

  Summer twisted around in her seat. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” If Dash and Julian had already done their shopping, she’d get whatever it was for the kid herself. In fact, maybe she’d do that, anyway, as long as it wasn’t that pony Juliette-Margot was always talking about.

  “Juliette-Margot would like to meet her maman. Margot.”

  Ohhhh. That might be even harder to come up with than a pony. “Well, I don’t know,” Summer said. “She’s probably super busy over the holidays.”

  “Models do not work on Christmas,” Juliette-Margot said.

  Good point. What could she say to that? Summer wondered. Luckily, one of the maroon-and-gold uniformed attendants opened the front passenger door for her just then, and she was saved from having to come up with an answer.

  The kid needed one, though. She’d definitely have to talk to Dash about this. But right now, unfortunately, it was time to go humiliate herself in a super-public way.

  Summer had never been in the grand lobby of Majesty Golf and Tennis, just in the tony pro shop, but it was pretty awesome. The elaborate domed ceiling was so far up, she and Juliette-Margot had to really tilt their heads back to see it. And then there was the enormous Christmas tree under the dome, kitted out with more white twinkle lights and a ton of gold and maroon ornaments. A giant silver menorah with three of its candles lit shone under a spotlight in an alcove beside a group portrait of the club’s ancient-looking founders.

  “Here comes the train.” Juliette-Margot pointed to a Lionel engine pulling several cars and a cute red caboose along a set of tracks that circled the lobby molding above the arched doorways.

  “Wow, they really do this place up for the holidays,” Summer said. “Pretty cool, huh?”

  Juliette-Margot wasn’t paying attention to the decorations anymore. Some cheery classical music Summer almost recognized was playing from hidden speakers somewhere, and the little girl was twirling in her mint-chip colored dress, her arms in a circle over her head like a ballerina. “Juliette-Margot is the Sugar Plum Fairy!” she called.

  “Um, okay,” Summer said. “Very nice.” A fairy. Well, that was super cute, especially for a kid who didn’t believe in Santa Claus.

  “From The Nutcracker,” Juliette-Margot said breathlessly, as she twirled her way toward Summer. “You know, the ballet? Grandmère took Juliette-Margot to see it last year at Lincoln Center in New York City.”

  “Ohhh.” Summer felt really stupid now. Grandma Sloan had never taken her to see a ballet, but she’d sent her a little jewelry box once for her birthday. A tiny pink ballerina with a white net tutu twirled around like Juliette-Margot whenever the lid opened. And she was pretty sure the tinkly tune it played was the same music that was on right now.

  “Dance with me, Summer!” Juliette-Margot threw her a winning smile as she tugged on Summer’s arm and started dragging her across the luckily deserted lobby. “You can be Juliette-Margot’s partner for the pirouettes, so she won’t get dizzy.”

  “Okay, but just for a minute,” Summer said, as the little girl twirled and twirled under her arm. “I have to go get ready for the fashion show.”

  Jeez, she was getting dizzy now. Where was Dash and everybody else, anyway? She hoped she hadn’t gotten the time wrong. The models were supposed to show up at Ballroom A, wherever that was, by six, and it had to be…

  Whoa, wait. Was that Frankie Downs scurrying past that big column by the palm court? What was she doing here?

  Summer caught Juliette-Margot mid-twirl. “Hold up, JM,” she said, over the music. “I just saw someone I need to talk to.”

  But she couldn’t just leave the kid here by herself. She had no clue what had happened to Dash.

  “Juliette-Margot does not see anyone.”

  Summer bit her lip in frustration. Had Frankie really just disappeared like that, or had she totally imagined Angelica’s AWOL mom in the Majesty lobby?

  She couldn’t run after her with Juliette-Margot. But maybe, if they just went a little way past the lobby, and she was super careful…

  “Come on, JM,” Summer said. “I’m not sure where your dad is, so let’s go find the hair and makeup place.”

  Juliette-Margot’s eyes were practically glowing at the chance to hang out backstage. Summer held on tight to the kid’s hand and headed for the doorway where she’d seen Frankie—well, maybe seen her.

  Where was Ballroom A, anyway? The fashion show organizers could have at least put up a sign.

  They’d reached the last, huge white column in the lobby. Should they go right or left? There were a bunch of closed doors on both sides of the hall, all the way down, and plenty of potted palms for a tiny woman to duck behind.

  “Ow.” She winced in pain as a hard piece of metal suddenly jabbed into her back.

  “Hold it right there, Goddaughter,” Frankie said. “Or you and your little ballet friend will be dancing Swan Lake.” She leaned closer to Summer. “Spoiler alert. The swan dies.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dorothy twisted around in her velvet-backed chair. Goodness, the grand ballroom at Majesty Golf and Tennis was certainly filling up fast. It was a lucky thing Ernie had dropped her off early. She’d managed to snag an excellent seat, just a few rows behind the roped-off Reserved area.

  The fashion show organizers had spared no expense in creating a luxurious and festive atmosphere, right down to the sparkling crystal snowflakes and multi-pointed stars hanging from the ceiling. The stage area at the front had been draped with heavy maroon-and-gold curtains that might have been borrowed from the Milano Metropolitan Opera House.

  “Excuse me. Pardon me. So sorry.”

  Dash, looking extremely debonair in a white dinner jacket with black lapels, was doing his best to squeeze his way down the endless row of fashion show audience members toward the seats Dorothy had saved beside her for him and Juliette-Margot.

  Summer’s friend was frowning, which made him seem very unlike his usual, charming self. Something is wrong, Dorothy thought.

  “Have you seen Summer and my daughter?” Dash asked, without taking a seat. “I was hoping Juliette-Margot might be with you.”

  Dorothy rose immediately. “No, but I’ll help you look for her,” she said. “Perhaps Summer took her to see the models’ dressing area.”

  Doubtful, she added to herself. But possible.

  “I certainly hope that’s it,” Dash said. “But she knows how strongly I feel about steering Juliette-Margot clear of the modeling world.”

  He guided Dorothy through the well-heeled crowd still milling in the outer reception area, sipping champagne with strawberries. “Can you ask someone how to get to wherever the models are getting ready before they head backstage?” he asked. “No one would tell me. They thought I was some kind of stalker, I guess, even after I told them I was looking for my daughter.”

  “Well, security is extra tight, after what happened to Angelica,” Dorothy said.

  “I’m not sure that’s very comforting.” Dash’s tone was grim as they entered the main lobby.

  No one was eager to share the location of the models’ dressing area, as Dash had found earlier, but Dorothy ma
naged to wheedle the information from a harried looking young woman balancing several large bottles of water and a clipboard.

  “Medication for my granddaughter,” she said, hastily retrieving a flowered pill case from her pocketbook and holding it up. “It’s very important that she have it right away.”

  “Well done, Dorothy,” Dash said, as they turned a corner on their way toward Ballroom A.

  “It’s just aspirin,” Dorothy said, trying to keep up. Gracious, this was another long hall. The Majesty Golf and Tennis Club had to have more function rooms than the Milano Grand.

  “There’s Summer!” Dash said, pointing straight ahead.

  Sure enough, she was standing with her back to the doors of yet another ballroom. She had one hand on a door handle and the other on the arm of… Frankie Downs.

  Thanks goodness, Summer had found Angelica’s missing mother. But oh dear. Where was Juliette-Margot?

  “Am I glad to see you guys,” Summer said, as Dorothy and Dash came up.

  Frankie looked considerably less enthusiastic, Dorothy noted. Even the tiny woman’s distinctive blue hair sagged as she stood, slumped and clearly miserable, under Summer’s iron grip. What on earth was going on here?

  “Where is my daughter?” Dash looked frantic again.

  “Don’t worry, she’s fine,” Summer said. “No thanks to you,” she added to Frankie, before jerking her blonde head toward the door behind her. “She’s in there. If you hold on to this crazy person for me, Dash, I’ll let her out.”

  “What is going on here?” Dash threw up his hands, bringing one of them down on Frankie’s shoulder. “Why is Juliette-Margot locked in a conference room?”

  “It’s for her own safety,” Summer said. “Trust me on that.” She threw open the door to reveal Juliette-Margot sitting calmly on a velvet chair, clutching her purse on her lap.

  The little girl rose, smoothed the skirt of her mint-green dress, and walked through the doorway. “Let’s go, Papa, we will be late for the show,” she said.

  “Hey, I’m sorry, kid,” Frankie said, lifting her chin. “Hope I didn’t scare you or anything.”