Fashionably Late (The Ladies Smythe & Westin)

by Lisa Q. Mathews

  “That won’t be necessary,” Dorothy said, her eyes sweeping the empty living room and dining area. Even the microwave was gone from the kitchen. “I’d especially like to get another look at the master bedroom closet.”

  “Oh, certainly,” Violet said, leading the way. “I know you’re going to be so pleased when you see what we’ve done with it.”

  Dorothy tried not to let her disappointment show when she saw the closet. All of Angelica’s things had been removed, as she’d expected. So had the shelving and the doors. And…the safe.

  “Is something wrong, Mrs. Westin?” Violet asked. “We could get Closet Cases in here and customize it for you in a jiffy, no problem.”

  Dorothy peered inside the space, taking care to sidestep the hovering real estate agent. No sense in setting herself up to be stuffed in a closet by a suspect. That had happened to Summer once. “I could have sworn there was a safe in here last time,” she said, casting a glance in the corners and across the carpet for any hint of sparkle.

  Angelica’s diamond earring was burning a hole in the side pocket of her purse. But for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to hand it over to Violet just yet.

  “Oh, you need a safe? Well, you wouldn’t have wanted that other one. So bulky and unattractive. But we can get another reinstalled for you by tomorrow.”

  “I suppose I could always rent a safety deposit box at the bank,” Dorothy said. Good heavens, the last thing she needed was to give Violet the idea she was wealthy. “The safe the previous owner had was for larger items that might not fit one of those, perhaps?”

  “No, in her case it was more an issue of excess,” Violet said, as she checked something on her phone. “She could have opened her own jewelry store.”

  Ouch, Dorothy thought. Had she intended to make such a snide comment about her own dead sister? Whatever the answer, this little charade had to end. “This condo belonged to Angelica, didn’t it?”

  That certainly grabbed Violet’s attention. “Why, yes, my sister did own the place,” she said, dropping her cell into her suit pocket. “I was going to mention that, but I figured it would come up soon enough as a minor disclosure in the paperwork. I am—in a very technical sense—related to the seller.”

  “The seller is your mother, I take it?” Dorothy asked. Surely Violet remembered their discussion in the powder room at the Majesty fashion show.

  “I’m not really at liberty to discuss anything about the seller,” Violet said. “But she isn’t around at the moment, anyway. I am handling her affairs.”

  “Will she be back soon, then?” Dorothy pressed. She was sorely tempted to add that everyone at Hibiscus Pointe, including her, knew Frankie had gone AWOL from the memory care facility. No need yet to also include the fact that she and Summer had had her in their custody—very briefly—and were doing their best to track her down.

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Violet said. “Not to worry, I can set everything up for a speedy closing.” She gave a tinny chuckle. “I hope you didn’t take that passing remark I made earlier about my sister’s jewelry collection the wrong way, Mrs. Westin. I simply meant, none of us can take it with us in the end, can we?”

  “No, we can’t,” Dorothy murmured. Violet’s clarification had hardly made her comment more palatable.

  The real estate agent pushed her tortoiseshell reading glasses up on her head and rummaged in her bag again, this time extracting a clipboard that held a thick ream of documents. “I’ve taken the liberty of filling out the initial paperwork,” she added. “Just to save time. Your attorney can review it later, of course, but I can assure you everything is in order. We just need to fill in a few blanks.”

  Dorothy quickly closed her mouth, which she realized was hanging open. If she’d thought Violet couldn’t be any more callous toward her sister’s death, she’d been entirely mistaken.

  “I’m afraid we don’t have a table in here anymore,” Violet went on. “But there are some chairs out on the balcony we could use.”

  Dorothy didn’t recall any balcony off of Angelica’s condo. All she remembered behind the drapes was the concrete wall Ernie had pointed out on their last visit. “I’m sure we can look at that paperwork somewhere else. The lobby, perhaps.”

  Flamingo Pass had to have some sort of security. From the way Violet was looking at her right now—her eyes were literally gleaming in the dim light—Dorothy wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone with her any longer. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought up the condo’s connection to Angelica—or Frankie.

  “How about right over here at the kitchen counter? You don’t mind standing for just a few more minutes, do you? I can make this quick and painless, trust me.”

  Dorothy’s heart began to beat faster. This solo meeting with Violet had been a mistake, after all. What exactly had she hoped to accomplish? Coming clean with a direct approach would be impossible now. Clearly, she should have taken Summer up on her offer to accompany her.

  Violet began lining up the documents across the counter, pushing the small box of kitchen utensils aside to make more room. “Come on over here, Mrs. Westin, while we still have some light left.” She patted one of the packets encouragingly. “Chop chop.”

  It was definitely growing dimmer by the minute in the condo. “You know, I believe I left my little pocket magnifier in the car,” Dorothy said, her voice croaking slightly. She’d have to pass the kitchen on her way to the front door. If she made it past Violet, could she outrun her? Unlikely, but she could try. She walked quickly toward the door.

  “You can use my reading glasses instead.” Violet pulled the tortoiseshell glasses off her head and stepped out from behind the counter to block her way. “I’m blind as a bat without them, so I’m sure they’ll work for you.” She reached for Dorothy’s arm, and guided her firmly toward the kitchen. “Oh, and there’s one more thing we’ll need. I’m just going to check this box…”

  Dorothy took a step back, horrified, as the real estate agent rummaged inside and pulled out an enormous carving knife. “Put that down, Violet,” she said. “Right now.”

  “Oh, of course, we don’t want an accident, do we?” the real estate agent said, laying it carefully on the counter. “Let me see if there are any other sharp things in here.”

  That was quite enough. Dorothy turned and ran for the door, as fast as her AeroLite shoes could take her. She grabbed the knob, threw the door open and barreled straight into something bulky and solid.

  Or, rather, someone.

  “Where’s the fire, Dot?” Ernie asked, as she collapsed against his shoulder in relief. “Everything okay in here? Just happened to be in the neighborhood.” He peered inside Angelica’s condo.

  “Mr. Conlon! I had no idea you were joining us. You’re just in time.” Violet sounded delighted. “Mrs. Westin, are you okay? No need to panic, I found what I was looking for. I knew Angelica had to have some of these around somewhere.” She held up a purple pen with “Violet Downs Realty” printed on the side in white letters. “So embarrassing that I didn’t have one with me, can you believe that?”

  No, she couldn’t. Dorothy stepped away from Ernie and smoothed her blouse, frowning. She was grateful he’d shown up at the perfect time, of course, but also a bit annoyed. Summer must have told him she was here. And as for the odd and possibly dangerous scene that had just unfolded… Had her imagination gotten away with her? Or had Violet almost gotten away with another murder?

  Either way, she wasn’t about to stick around to find out. She’d deal with the overly zealous Violet Downs—and the overly protective Ernie Conlon—later.

  *

  Now this was a date, Summer told herself, as she used her tiny silver fork to dip another chunk of lobster into a bowl of melted butter. Perfect choice of restaurant, perfect eats, perfect guy.

  Well…okay, maybe Shane Donovan wasn’t perfect, exactly. Which was a good thing, because she sure wasn’t, either. But so far, they’d been having an amazing dinner on the twinkle-light strung pat
io at Go Fish!, the latest four-star eatery on the bay.

  For once, there was no canned holiday music playing in the background. Just the murmured sounds of conversation from the tables around them, and the sound of quiet waves below. And the couple at the next table full-on making out.

  “More champagne, miss?” Their waiter reached for the bottle half-submerged in the silver ice bucket beside the table.

  “Yes, please,” Summer said, trying not to talk too much with a mouthful of lobster. She loved champagne, even though she hardly ever had it with dinner. One of her stepmoms used to yell at her when she did that. Or maybe it was because she was still in high school at the time.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” Detective Donovan told the waiter. So far, he’d stuck to one glass of beer.

  “So how’d you get away from work?” Summer asked. “I was afraid you’d have to cancel, after what happened at the show last night.”

  He smiled. “I told them I was going off the grid for something very important, and they could do without me for the evening. Caputo seemed anxious to get rid of me for a while, anyway. She said to tell you she hoped we had a really good time, by the way. That was nice of her, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Summer said. “Really sweet.” Obviously, Detective Donovan didn’t get that Caputo was being totally sarcastic. But it didn’t matter, because she wasn’t going to think about her right now.

  She wasn’t going to bring up the Downs case, either. Not yet, anyway. Maybe just for a minute, during dessert or something. But Shane seemed so chill right now, gazing out over the dark, quiet water under the stars. Even with the occasional Saturday night boat traffic, it was super peaceful.

  She was glad she’d gone with the short black sundress with the cutouts at the back and neckline. She’d accessorized with white earrings, shoes and bag, just in case Juliette-Margot was right about guys liking contrasting colors. By the way Shane had complimented her earlier, and kept sneaking glances at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention, it seemed as if the kid hadn’t steered her wrong.

  “So that picture outside your grandma’s room at Hibiscus Glen,” she said. “Are those guys all related to you? They looked a lot alike.”

  Right away, she was sorry she’d asked, because he suddenly sat up straighter and she could tell his shoulders had tensed beneath his casual navy blazer. “My uncles, and a cousin or two,” he said. “That was my dad’s funeral. He was shot in the line of duty.”

  “Oh,” Summer said, wanting to throw herself over the railing to the sharks. Way to ruin a perfect evening. That was the saddest thing ever. “I’m so sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” Shane said, looking away. “He was a great guy. I’m sorry I didn’t get to know him that well. I was really young when he died.”

  “That must have been so hard on you,” Summer said. She couldn’t even imagine.

  “It was,” he said, turning his intense blue eyes back to her. “But I know my dad would have done it all over again. It was an honor for him to serve. All of us who commit to a career in law enforcement fully understand and accept the risks of the job.”

  Summer swallowed hard. She didn’t even want to think about that. What if something happened to him? “So is everyone in your family a cop?” she asked.

  “Pretty much,” he said, with a small grin. “Except Nana. My mom is the chief now up in Steering, Mass. My uncles are all retired, but my brothers are Boston PD.”

  “How come you came down here?” Summer asked.

  He shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure,” he said. “Usually I’m more of a planner, but I just went with my gut on that one. And sometimes there’s such a thing as a little too much family, you know?”

  Summer did know. Really, really well. That was why she was in Milano, too. Well, part of the reason. Come to think of it, her sister Joy hadn’t called to bug her about anything for at least a week. She made a mental note to check up on her later, because that never happened.

  “Nana came down here to Milano on vacation and never went back. Someone needed to keep an eye on her, so I kind of volunteered. Plus, I can get out on my boat year-round. I have this crazy idea I’m going to sail around the world someday.”

  “Not on the boat you have now, right?” Summer said. She’d seen it, and no way would that thing make it as far as Fort Myers.

  “No, that’s just for fishing, really. It’ll take a few more years before I can afford a more seaworthy vessel, I’m afraid.”

  “Would you go alone?” Summer asked. She loved the ocean, of course, but she couldn’t think of anything more boring. Sure, stopping at all the amazing ports of call would be great, but when you factored in all those super long stretches of nothingness and being tossed around in hundred foot waves without a surfboard…no thanks.

  “Maybe,” Shane said. “Unless I found the right person to go with me, I guess.” He smiled at her as the candle on their table flickered and that dimple she could never resist showed up again. Maybe she could fly to meet him in Greece or something, and then they could tour the islands in his boat.

  By the time the waiter rolled over the fancy dessert cart, piled high with cakes, key lime pies, mixed berries and crystal glasses of chocolate mousse, Summer still hadn’t brought up anything about the case. Why spoil the mood? The minute she said anything, he’d clam up on her, and the evening would be totally ruined.

  She hoped things had gone okay for Dorothy, going over to question Violet like that. It was a good thing she’d tipped off Ernie to surreptitiously check on them, so she didn’t have to worry about her friend’s safety so much. Still, it made her feel kind of bad that Dorothy was working while she was here having fun with someone who might have some info for them.

  What was she supposed to ask about? If he knew about the will, for starters.

  Would Angelica have left the condo and all her money to Frankie, even if she and Violet weren’t close? Frankie might gamble away every penny, if she managed to make it to Vegas. If she’d been in jail there once, though, would she want to go back? And if she really was mentally impaired now, and not just faking it, wouldn’t Angelica have left her money in trust for her or something? Violet would probably be the trustee. On the other hand, she was so greedy that maybe her sister hadn’t trusted her to take care of their mother.

  Jeez. It couldn’t have been easy for Angelica to deal with those two when she was alive—and it was probably just as much of a mess now that she was dead. At least neither Frankie not Violet had tried to kill each other yet, as far as they knew. But Angelica had seemed really worried about her mom’s safety. Maybe it was just a matter of time.

  “Do you need a bit more time to decide, miss?” The good-looking young waiter with the slicked-back hair was doing his best not to look impatient.

  “Oh. Sorry.” Summer snapped back to the immediate issue at hand. Dessert. Detective Donovan already had a ginormous slice of seven-layer chocolate and coconut mousse cake in front of him. “I’ll take the banana crème torte with all the caramel on it. And some strawberries on the side, please, with a little extra whipped cream?”

  “You want the fudge sauce, too?”

  Was the waiter making fun of her? Well, if he was, who cared? It wasn’t like she was dying to be a PAGE model or anything. “Sure, pour it on.”

  “So I heard there’s a big event coming up at Hibiscus Pointe on Tuesday,” Shane said, casually digging in to his black-and-white cake. “Another big fashion week show, maybe?”

  Summer froze with a forkful of gooey bananas halfway to her face. “Um, yeah. The Rivera-Joneses’ resort wear show got moved there.”

  “Was that your idea, or Dorothy’s?”

  He didn’t look too mad. Actually, he looked as if he were trying to keep himself from laughing. “Um…it’s kind of a long story,” Summer said. “How did you find out about that so quick?”

  He took a sip of iced water. “My grandma has decided that she’s going to be a model. Mrs. Rumway was apparently round
ing up the troops, and made the mistake of discounting her due to her broken leg and wheelchair.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Summer said, stabbing a strawberry from her plate. “I was talking to Jennifer in her office about the idea, like, a few hours ago and Gladys had already heard about it. I swear, I don’t know how that battle-ax does it.”

  “Is Jennifer on board with this project?”

  Detective Donovan always trusted Jennifer. “Oh, yeah, she loves it,” Summer said. “We’re going to have some pretty tight security, though. Much better than those other shows.”

  He didn’t look that impressed. “So how did you and Dorothy happen to come up with this plan? Any particular, uh, reason that you two wanted to host a fashion show?”

  Well, this was heading south fast. “Oh, we’re just doing Mia and her mom a favor,” she said. “You know, since all their models quit. And it will help Jennifer get some great PR for Hibiscus Pointe if everything goes well, and all the residents are excited like your grandma, and… Dorothy and I are, uh, really getting into this fashion world stuff.”

  “I see.”

  Jeez. He was staring at her again, but she couldn’t tell if it was in a good way or a bad way. Then he suddenly started chuckling. What was so funny?

  “I guess there’s zero chance I can convince you two to back off this murder investigation for your own safety, is there?”

  “No,” Summer said, staring down at her gloppy plate of caramel, hot fudge and melted whipped cream. “I guess not.” Oh, well. It was a great date while it lasted.

  To her surprise, Detective Donovan reached across the table and took her hand in his. “You know what?” he said. “I give up. Maybe we’ll just have to agree to disagree on this. But I want you to promise you’ll be careful. And if anything—as in, anything at all—comes up that you think I should know about, you’ll tell me. Deal?”