Fashionably Late (The Ladies Smythe & Westin)

by Lisa Q. Mathews

  “A shame,” Roland said. “A few of the more elite designers, including yours truly, were counting on auctioning off several major pieces.”

  “For the senior center?” Summer asked.

  Roland smiled, sort of, but his eyes still looked mean. “A percentage of the proceeds would be donated, of course.”

  Probably not much, Summer thought.

  “Daddy already spoke to someone at Roland’s insurance company,” Mia said. “They’re going to expedite his claims on the pieces he lost, at least.”

  “I do hope I’ll be able to recreate the designs, though,” Roland said, with a sigh. “So horribly difficult to find just the right gems, you know. No stone is ever the same.”

  “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered from your injuries, Roland,” Dorothy spoke up. “But Mia, that’s terrible news about the models. Were they the same ones from the Waterman and Majesty shows?”

  “Pretty much,” Mia said. “We always book through PAGE, of course. Their senior division is key for resort wear shows.” She twisted her diamond necklace between her magenta-lacquered nails in frustration. “I just don’t know what we’ll do now. Mummy has such a bad headache she couldn’t even make it to brunch. She’s up in her room with a pharmacy’s worth of meds.”

  Summer looked at Dorothy, who was frowning thoughtfully in her nutty reindeer sweater. Was she thinking the same thing she was? Because she’d just come up with a crazy, but really awesome, idea.

  “Can you guys excuse me and Dorothy for a sec?” Summer asked. “We’ll be right back.”

  She pulled her friend aside to a café table set up near a pretty but noisy waterfall. “Didn’t Monique say something like, ‘the shows must go on’ after Angelica got murdered? What if we got Mia and her mom some perfect new senior models? Not exactly professional ones, but…”

  “Are you talking about the residents from Hibiscus Pointe?” Dorothy said. “Because that’s exactly what I had in mind. It’s a stretch, of course, but if we had enough security, some of them might be willing. Gladys, for sure. And maybe Helen Murphy, and all of her friends.”

  Summer nodded. “Exactly. It’s a perfect PR angle. You know, seniors helping seniors. We could make a ton of money for the new center, help Mia out and…”

  “…get another crack at bringing everyone together again—well, except for the models—for the investigation,” Dorothy finished. “We’ll need to convince Roland and the other designers to showcase their jewelry again, though. With all the recent events, they might not be too eager about that idea.”

  “Sure they will,” Summer said. “Didn’t you hear Roland back there? Last night he thought he was ruined, but everything turned out okay. They’re all dying for the publicity, and to auction off their stuff.”

  “True,” Dorothy said. “I think this is an excellent plan. Hopefully Mia will agree.”

  “Oh, she’ll love it,” Summer said. “A fancy charity fashion show for seniors, by seniors, like I said. The Rivera-Joneses don’t lose any money—not that they need it—the Hibiscus Pointers will be thrilled, Roland and his designer buddies get to sell their jewelry, and we get to set the perfect trap for Angelica’s killer.”

  “It would be even better if we find Frankie first,” Dorothy said. “Hopefully, she’ll turn up at the show, at the very least.”

  “Exactly,” Summer said. “This is a win-win for everybody, right?”

  “I certainly hope so,” Dorothy said. “It’s the only plan we’ve got.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Ladies, you are brilliant,” Mia said, after Dorothy and Summer returned to the pool house area and told her and Roland their plan to save the charity resort wear show. “Using models from Hibiscus Pointe is an amazing idea, especially for the senior crowd. They’ll be realistic and relatable. I’ll have to run it by Mummy, but I’m sure she’ll be all for it, too.”

  Dorothy gave a silent sigh of relief. Mia looked much less tired now. “We’re so glad you think it might work.”

  “It’s a fabulous idea,” Roland said. “I can handle things from the designers’ end. Maybe a few different choices in pieces here and there, since we’ll be dealing with less glamorous models, but who’s going to complain if we still have a show?”

  Less glamorous? Dorothy gritted her teeth.

  “Do you think you can get enough ladies who’d be willing to participate?” Mia said. “After the last two show fiascos, I mean?”

  “Oh, sure.” Summer gave a breezy wave. “Piece of cake.”

  Dorothy felt a stab of worry. Usually, whenever Summer said things would be a “piece of cake,” they turned out entirely differently. Don’t borrow trouble, she told herself. All will be well.

  They’d make sure of that.

  “Well, I guess we still have Bryana,” Mia said. “And Summer, since you were so great in the Majesty show last night…”

  “No way,” Summer said quickly. “I mean, I need to…uh, help handle things backstage,” she added, with a glance at Dorothy. “I’m much better at that.”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Roland said, with an unpleasant smirk. “We’ll all feel very safe with you in charge.”

  Dorothy frowned. Why was Roland always so unpleasant to everyone except Mia and his other wealthy fans? He was especially rude to Summer. From the start, the two of them had gotten off on the wrong foot.

  “I’ll talk to Jennifer at Hibiscus Pointe and see if we can arrange some kind of special transport here for the models,” she said, trying to change the subject. “Most of them don’t drive.”

  “You know, we could still change the venue,” Mia said, slowly. “What if, instead of hauling everyone back and forth, we just set up the tents and stuff at Hibiscus Pointe? I went there once for a mother-daughter golf tournament. It’s a nice enough place, with all the fountains and landscaping. There’s plenty of room and parking, too.”

  “Well, a retirement community would certainly give a more mature feel, if that’s what you’re going for,” Roland said. Not very enthusiastically, Dorothy noted.

  “I’ll run it by Jennifer,” she said. “She might take a bit of convincing.”

  “Hey, it’ll be great PR,” Summer said. “And Mia already has a great security staff. Hibiscus Pointe will be featured in every paper and society column and social media platform, and it’s all for a good cause. Think of the zillions of potential residents out there who’ll hear about the place.”

  “Exactly,” Mia said. “We’ll still need some younger models, though. Otherwise some of the resort and cruise clothes won’t work. Like swimwear, for instance.”

  “Dorothy swims a lot,” Summer said. “She’s got a great figure.”

  “Thank you, dear,” Dorothy murmured, ignoring the slight twitch of Roland’s nose. “But no.”

  “Wait, I’ve got it!” Summer said, excitedly. “Mia, didn’t you just say you were in some mother-daughter golf tournament? What if we made the resort wear show a mother-daughter deal?”

  “That’s a nice idea,” Dorothy said. “But most of the residents don’t have any family members nearby. And a number of the daughters would be seniors themselves, or close to it.”

  “That’s okay, family is family,” Summer said. “It could be mothers and daughters, or grandmas and granddaughters, or even great-granddaughters.”

  “We actually do have some kid clothes,” Mia said. “And we’ll need some guys, too.”

  Summer turned to Dorothy. “Oh, I think we could persuade a few around Hibiscus Pointe. But maybe you should ask Ernie, Dorothy. I’ll work on Dash. I’m sure they’d do it for a good cause.”

  Dorothy bit back a smile, imagining Ernie twirling onstage in a pair of floral golf pants. “We’ll see.”

  “Perfect.” Mia looked positively perky now. “I’d better go work the crowd, and talk to Mummy, while she’s still under her meds. But this is going to be fabulous, I just have a feeling. Let me know what Jennifer says, and I’ll start working things on my end, okay?
Talk to you soon,” she added breathlessly, as she left.

  “Well,” Roland said. “Moving the Rivera-Joneses’ holiday resort wear show to a retirement community will make for an interesting event.”

  And hopefully a productive one for their case, too. “Yes,” Dorothy said, ignoring the designer’s sarcastic tone. “It certainly will.”

  “If it weren’t for that sweet Mia, I would never have agreed to this,” Roland added.

  “Yeah, right,” Summer said. Dorothy threw her a slight frown. They needed the designer to be in a cooperative mood.

  “So tell me, Roland,” she said. “Now that you’re feeling better, are you able to remember anything at all about what happened last night at the Majesty show?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” he said, but Dorothy didn’t believe him. Something in his tone sounded just a tiny bit evasive.

  “Did you see anyone hanging around backstage before you got attacked?” Summer said. “Maybe someone said something to you, or to another person?”

  The designer gave an exaggerated sigh. “You’re worse than the cops,” he said. “What part of ‘amnesia’ do you not understand? I’ve been through a highly traumatic experience. The doctors in the ER said I need to avoid stress, and you’re upsetting me.”

  “Roland,” Dorothy said. “We are so sorry.” Beside her, Summer nodded like a bobble head doll. “Please understand, we’re hoping to help solve a murder here. We don’t want anyone else to get hurt like you and Angelica did.”

  “Maybe you should both just butt out,” Roland said. “Let the police take care of the crime stats. That’s their job. You know, your tax dollars at work, and all that? You two are wasting your time, running around playing Miss Marple and”—he looked disdainfully at Summer—”Charlie’s clueless angel here.”

  Dorothy bristled. “That is very unkind,” she said. “And entirely inappropriate.”

  “Jeez. What is your problem, dude?” Summer said. “Don’t you want to see Angelica’s killer—and whoever tried to kill you—go to jail? You know, payback?”

  “I don’t believe in revenge,” Roland said. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, there are some Belgian waffles back at the party with my name branded on them.”

  He swept past Dorothy, knocking into her hard with his shoulder and sending her flying off the concrete. She frantically grabbed for him, landing hard on her back as a wall of cold water closed over her face.

  *

  “Dorothy!” Summer dove into the pool and came up beside her friend. “Are you okay?”

  Dorothy tried to reply, but coughed and sputtered as she swallowed more water. Summer quickly grabbed her under the arm and lifted her to the surface, then towed her swiftly toward the side of the pool.

  “I-I’m okay,” Dorothy gasped, her hands closing on the ledge. “Just give me a second to catch my breath. So embarrassing. He caught me by surprise.” She coughed again.

  Summer patted her on the back and glanced over her shoulder at Roland, who was creating tons of splash as he doggy-paddled his way to the ladder at the other end of the pool. He’d get there eventually, but she sure wasn’t going to help him. His hair was plastered down over his face now, making him look doubly pathetic. “He’s the one who should be embarrassed, knocking into you like that. Serves him right you pulled him in with you.”

  Dorothy hoisted herself out of the pool. “Agreed.”

  “Let’s get you out of here,” Summer said. “You’re shivering like crazy. And we don’t want to ruin your reindeer sweater.”

  “Roland did that on purpose,” Dorothy said, wringing out her sleeve. “I can’t imagine why he would do such a thing.”

  “Because he’s a no-good creep,” Summer said. “I knew I didn’t like that guy, from the first time I saw him. As soon as he shows up at the waffle table I swear I’m going to give him another lump on the other side of his spiky little head. Or…”

  “No, dear,” Dorothy said. “Neither of us is going to do anything.”

  “What do you mean?” Summer said. “He can’t get away with pushing you into a pool like that. You could have drowned or something.”

  “Unlikely,” Dorothy said, with a small smile. “I have to say, I’m glad I dragged him with me into the water. But we don’t want to rock the boat any more with Roland right now, no matter how insufferable he is. We need him and his clunky jewelry at the Hibiscus Pointe resort wear show.”

  “I guess.” Summer knew Dorothy was right, but it still ticked her off. And her friend was fine now, but she was standing there shivering, and sopping wet. And her own dress would dry fast, but it was sticking to her like crazy. “We should find some towels or something,” she said. “They must have some in the pool house.”

  Fortunately, the building covered with leafy vines and tropical flowers—which was about ten times bigger than Grandma Sloan’s condo—was open and well-stocked with fluffy, R-J-monogrammed towels. Summer grabbed a few and handed them to Dorothy. “Looks like they’ve got some spa robes in the closet, too,” she said.

  “Wonderful,” Dorothy said. “I might even take a nice hot shower, and throw my clothes in the dryer over there. Except for the reindeer sweater. Too much heat might ruin it.”

  “Right,” Summer said. Dorothy sure was attached to that sweater. It was kind of cute, though—the type of thing you wore to an ugly-sweater party, and made everyone want a selfie with you. “You go ahead,” she said, wrapping her wet hair in a towel. “I’ll wait and send my dress to the cleaners later.”

  “Well, I’ll be quick,” Dorothy said. “We have to track down Frankie, and now we have a fashion show to help plan, too.”

  And I have a date with Shane Donovan tonight, Summer added to herself. So far, anyway.

  After Dorothy headed toward the luxurious marble showers, Summer checked out the main room. It was filled with boxes and rolling suitcases. Empty jewelry display stands and forms, covered in black or blue velvet, stood on the pink marble coffee table in the center, and there were more on the glass side tables.

  Was this all Roland’s stuff? She walked over to take a closer look at a stack of glossy promotional postcards set out beside a giant seashell. He had been heading here into the pool house earlier, she remembered. It looked like he was storing everything at Mia’s mom’s estate while he was in Milano, so maybe he’d wanted to do a quick check to make sure nothing had been stolen.

  Or it could be he was so paranoid he carted his stupid jewelry around with him everywhere he went. That had to be pretty inconvenient, but he must have figured the Rivera-Joneses had better security than whatever hotel he was staying at, no matter how fancy it was.

  On the other hand, no one seemed to notice when Dorothy got pushed into the pool.

  “Hands in the air, Miss,” a gruff voice said.

  “What?” Summer turned to see a guy about ten feet tall and at least half as wide looming in the doorway of the pool house. Behind him, another security guy watched her with narrowed eyes as he said something into his Bluetooth.

  At least, she hoped they were security guys, and not jewelry thief thugs or something.

  “I said, hands up,” the giant said. “Now.”

  “Okay, okay.” Summer did as she was told, and backed up slightly toward the kitchen area.

  “Move again, and you’ll be sorry,” the guy said.

  “I’m not stealing anything,” Summer said. “I’m just…”

  What should she tell them? With luck, if these were bad guys, maybe they wouldn’t realize Dorothy was here in the pool house, too. They might not check the showers, and her friend could get away.

  The two men started toward her, and Summer grabbed a cheese knife from the board beside the sink. “Back off,” she said. “I’m a friend of Mia’s. And, um, a fashion blogger.”

  “You don’t have a badge,” the giant said. “And we got a tip about a disturbance over here at the pool house. You got any other ID?”

  Summer looked down at her still-wet, sup
er-clingy dress. Great. The badge must have fallen off in the water. And she had no idea where her purse was. Probably back at the brunch table, with the food she never got to eat. “Come on, guys, give me a break,” she said. “My name is Summer Sloan. I’m on the guest list. You can check with your bosses.”

  “Sorry, you’re out of luck,” the shorter man said. “Ms. Mia asked that she and her mother not be disturbed right now.”

  “I was looking for a bathroom, for heaven’s sake,” Summer said.

  “Over by Mr. Cho’s jewelry?” the giant said, nodding toward the boxes and cases. “Check them out, and make sure nothing’s busted open,” he added to his companion.

  Summer rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, be like that. Ms. Mia isn’t going to be very happy when she finds out how you harassed me.” She frowned. “Hold on a sec. Did you say you got a tip?”

  Just wait until she got her hands on that no-talent lowlife Roland now. He’d set her and Dorothy up.

  “That’s right,” the giant said, twirling a pair of silver handcuffs out of his inside jacket pocket. “Too bad we caught you red-handed with someone else’s very valuable property. But don’t worry, you can explain all that to the police.”

  Hopefully not during dinner with Shane Donovan in the Milano PD lockup. Summer was about to try a different tack when Dorothy walked out of the shower room in her guest robe. “Look what I found just lying out on the counter. I’m pretty sure it’s…oh dear.” She stopped short when she noticed the hulking man in the kitchen.

  Summer squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pretend she hadn’t seen the sparkling emerald-and-ruby rope necklace in Dorothy’s hands. Great. Now they were both cooked.

  “Hey, Marty,” the giant called over his shoulder. “We got another perp. Call the cops.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dorothy poured the remnants of her Fast and Frostee lemon shake down the disposal and tossed the plastic cup in the recycling bin beneath the sink. “What a mess,” she said to Summer. “Just like our morning at the Rivera-Joneses’ brunch. And pretty much the whole Downs investigation so far.”