A bit harsh, Dorothy thought, but undoubtedly true. “And as soon as the show is over, we’ll talk to Jennifer, our resident services director, and see how to best address your future living situation,” she said. “She may recommend an attorney for you, or at least a mediator for your discussions with Violet.”
“Okay, I got it. Whatever you ladies say. So when do we get the show on the road for my makeover?”
“Right now,” Summer said. “Go on in the bathroom and get your hair damp under the sink. Not too wet, okay? Dorothy will get us some towels and I’ll mix up the gunk here in the kitchen.”
“I have a very bad feeling about this,” Dorothy told Summer, as soon as Frankie had disappeared into the powder room.
“She’s lying, you know,” Summer said. “I know why she wants to be in the fashion show. She wants to get backstage so she can get even with Roland Cho.”
“Roland?” Dorothy frowned.
Summer held up her phone. “Frankie said someone had screwed her over once. I did a little more research while I was in the bedroom, and made a call to a guy I knew back in Jersey. Remember that assistant who didn’t lock Frankie’s store while she was away and it got robbed? His name was Harold Koo. And here’s his pic.”
Dorothy peered at the photo on Summer’s phone. No doubt about it.
Jeweler’s assistant Harold Koo was celebrity jewelry design sensation Roland Cho.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Summer smoothed her short, tiger-print Lilly Pulitzer shift as she stepped out of the MINI right in front of Chameleon. Sunday mornings were the best time to find decent—make that any—parking in downtown Milano. Most of the population was either at church or sleeping off their hangovers from Saturday night club hopping.
Everybody else was at brunch. More specifically, at Chameleon.
“Summer!” Esmé motioned to her from the bar, where she was expertly lining up glasses for an endless stream of mimosas and Bloody Marys. “Want one?”
“No thanks,” Summer said. “I’m working. Sort of on the case, but mostly helping Mia for the resort wear show. She wanted me to bring something down to the auction preview at some gallery on Fourth Street.”
Esmé raised an eyebrow as she sabered a bottle of champagne with a knife. “Thought you’d be hanging out with the hot detective this morning.”
“Nope.” Summer sneaked an orange slice from behind the bar. “That’s totally over. I don’t want to think about it right now, though, okay?”
“Okay. But hey, really sorry to hear that.” Esmé looked over her shoulder, then leaned closer to Summer. “Listen, I know this is probably the worst time to ask, but can I bribe you with free brunch at the bar to take my darling cousin to a sample show? I think the place is right next to where you’re headed.”
Summer groaned. “Seriously?” Esmé was right. It was a terrible time to ask. She’d planned to enjoy an hour or two of freedom from watching Frankie while she did the errand for Mia. It was going to be a long afternoon, with the organization meeting for the resort wear show.
“Well, I have to work until two and then I’m headed straight to Hibiscus Pointe for that show meeting with you guys. Monique actually asked me to help out, can you believe it? I think Mia forced her into it. So maybe you could bring Zoe back home with you and meet me there?” Esmé gave her an exaggerated pretty-please face.
Summer looked past the bar. Zoe had already spotted her and was already headed toward them from a crummy table for two near the kitchen. The kid was looking a little more demure than usual, in an all-white dress with a lacy bodice and a short chiffon skirt. And…flats? The outfit was sort of Juliette-Margot, but the smoothly pulled back hair, sparkly jumbo ring and Roland Cho diamond earrings screamed Mia.
“Where’s Aleesha? Can’t she babysit?”
“Aleesha quit,” Esmé said. “Or Aunt ZeeZee fired her, one or the other. She flew back to LA about an hour ago.”
“Oh.” Well, that wasn’t good. And her life was already ruined, so what was a couple of hours with the brat? No one could stand to be with the poor kid. Had she been like that when she was younger, always desperate for attention? She hoped not, but maybe. “Okay, I’ll take her, I guess.”
“You’re the best,” Esmé said, in obvious relief. “Two orders of Captain Crunch French toast with extra-crispy bacon and a side of fresh cantaloupe with ice cream, coming up.”
An hour or so later, Summer walked up four flights of stairs behind Zoe to a dingy open space with a sign taped outside the door that said “Design Atelier.”
“How did you find out about this sample sale, anyway?” Summer said.
“Oh, it’s invite-only,” Zoe said. “It sort of travels around to different cities. You know, New York, LA. It’s pretty hush-hush and they contact you online, if you’re on their list.”
“Huh,” Summer said. If the stuff was any good, she’d have to look into that.
Looking around, she didn’t see any salespeople—they had to be hiding somewhere—but a guy in a black-and-white striped boatneck top came up to check Zoe’s plus-one invite. “Remember, final sale,” he said. “Can I offer you ladies champagne?”
“No thanks,” Zoe told him, to Summer’s relief. “I never drink while I’m shopping,” she said. “I need to focus, you know?”
“Right,” Summer said.
Due to the exclusive guest list, the large room wasn’t exactly crowded, which was unusual for a sample sale, in her experience. The place was minimally decorated in what could probably be called a “rustic-industrial” style, with the exposed-brick walls, a few trendy hanging lightbulbs, wire chairs and long wooden tables spread with folded cashmere sweaters, scarves and coiled belts. Racks of dresses, blouses and pricey jeans were sorted by size, mostly zero through two. That counted both her and Zoe out—she was too tall and Zoe was too curvy. Oh, well.
The shoes were cute, though, grouped together on top of oak wine barrels in strategic spots around the room, with boxes of available sizes piled neatly behind them. Minimalist jewelry hung from nails and what looked like sections of chicken wire at the far end of the room.
“Pretty cool,” Summer said.
“I know, huh?” Zoe said. “Totally un-Florida.”
And totally un-Monique’s Boutique, Summer told herself. Not a tomato dress in sight—and definitely nothing with tails.
She and Zoe browsed around for a while. The kid picked out a pair of buttery-suede cowboy ankle boots and she chose a sheer-ish flowy blouse that could double as a dress and a splashy floral kimono so she could toss out the one she’d worn last night when Detective Donovan held her. She never wanted to see it again.
“That’s three hundred even,” the boatneck guy told Zoe as Summer waited behind her with her own purchases. “Do you have cash?”
“No, but the invite said credit cards were accepted,” Zoe said, handing one over. Platinum, just like hers. “It’s my emergency card,” she explained to Summer. “Aleesha usually paid for stuff for me. She quit, can you believe it? She said I was too much work and she had other clients to take care of. Obviously, she hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Summer said “No one does. It was a business decision.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Zee, but your card has been declined.”
“What?” Zoe’s head swiveled back to the boatneck guy. “It can’t be. Try again.”
Zoe looked devastated. Was the kid actually going to start bawling? “There’s no limit,” she said to Summer. “Aleesha must have canceled it.”
Or Aunt ZeeZee got ticked off, Summer thought. “It could still be a mistake,” she said.
“No,” Zoe said, biting her lip to keep it from quivering. “Aleesha does hate me now. She was, like, my best friend. All those other people who hang around me just want to be seen with me because of that stupid TV show. That’s why I want to be a real actress.”
“Things don’t change when you do movies,” Summer said. “It gets worse, actually. And A
leesha wasn’t supposed to be your BFF. Your mom hired her to help you make smart business decisions.”
“I guess,” Zoe said. The kid seemed totally sad and embarrassed. “Thanks, but I won’t be taking these,” she said to the sales guy.
“Yes, you will,” Summer said, handing him her own platinum card. “My treat.”
“Really?” Now Zoe was looking at her the way Juliette-Margot did when she bought her ice cream. “Wow, thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Summer said. “Pay it forward, okay?”
They had to check their bags at the entrance to Gallery 4 next door, where the jewelry preview for Tuesday’s auction was being held. This place was super bright, all done in white, and nobody ran up to offer them free drinks.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” an older woman with silver hair swept into a chic chignon said from behind a linen-draped table. Summer thought she recognized her from Mia’s brunch. “Are you here to place a bid?”
“We’re not sure,” Summer said. “We’d like to take a look at the jewelry, though.”
“Please sign in first.” The woman pointed to an open black leather book next to a crystal bowl filled with Tiffany pens. “I think you’ll find that we have quite a range of items on display, for casual and formal wear. A few spectacular pieces from some new designers to watch, as well. I’m sure you’ve heard of Roland Cho, and several others, as well.”
“Yep,” Summer said, as she turned toward the exhibit hall. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have an envelope from Mia Rivera-Jones that I’m supposed to give Michaela Johnson.” Summer reached into her bag, which the security guys at the front had practically turned inside out.
“I am Michaela,” their greeter said, holding out her hand. “I’ll take that now, thank you, and provide you with a receipt.”
“What is it?” Zoe whispered to Summer, as Michaela’s heels clicked toward a back room marked “Staff Only.”
“A check, I think,” Summer said. “Probably a donation to help kick things off for the auction.”
“Well, let’s go look at the jewelry already,” Zoe said. “She’s taking forever.”
Even though she was acting more like a normal kid today, Summer didn’t want to let her anywhere near the jewelry exhibit by herself. That’s all she’d need—another shoplifting incident for Zoe and another trip down to the PD for her. The last thing she wanted was to run into Detective Donovan.
Luckily, Michaela returned a few seconds later and Summer caught up with Zoe just as she entered the small exhibit space off the main hall.
They headed for the first display, a gorgeous, chocolate diamond teardrop necklace, but Summer stopped short and caught Zoe by the arm. “Hold on,” she said.
Monique was hovering over a table at the far side of the room with a giant, black-and-white Roland Cho photo above it. It looked as if she was taking pictures with her cell phone—and making notes. What was she doing? And wait—was that a jeweler’s loupe she was using?
“Oh, no, that’s the mean lady from the Waterman’s show,” Zoe whispered. “The one who kept yelling at Esmé and that model who got murdered. I don’t want her to see me. Let’s go.”
“Why don’t you want her to see you?” Summer asked. If anybody didn’t want to be seen right now, it was probably Monique. She sure was acting sneaky.
Actually, there were probably cameras all over this place, so it wasn’t like she could get away with stealing jewelry, or anything. Besides, she carried Roland Cho designs in her own store. She could look at them all day long, if she felt like it.
“I dunno, she just gives me the creeps,” Zoe said, shuddering. “Like when she told the model lady… Oh.”
“What?” Summer pressed. “What did Monique say to Angelica?”
“I just remembered,” Zoe said. “It was something like, ‘Don’t even think you’ll get away with it. I’ll make sure of that.’ They were behind me, so when I heard that, I thought she was talking about me and the jewelry, so I guess I kinda blocked it out.”
“Huh,” Summer said. It sounded like Monique had made a pretty obvious threat, if what Zoe had said was true. Had she been referring to Angelica dating her ex-husband again?
“Come on,” she said to Zoe. “We need to get back to the Pointe for the meeting. And we’ll get another chance to see the jewelry at the show.”
Just then, Monique turned around and spotted them. Uh oh, Summer thought, as the boutique owner quickly stuck her phone and the loupe in her purse and crossed the room.
“Lovely pieces, aren’t they?” Monique said. “I was just updating a bit of inventory for Roland. I’m sure the entire collection will go for a pretty penny.” She smiled at Zoe. “I see you’re wearing some of his earrings.” She leaned toward her, and Zoe drew away. “Very nice.”
“We were just leaving,” Summer said, pulling Zoe behind her. “I’m sure we’ll see you at the resort wear show meeting.”
“Oh, yes,” Monique said. “Resort wear isn’t my thing—not high fashion, really—but I’m happy to help. Don’t forget to bring my red dress with you,” she called after Summer as they hurried toward the door.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dorothy had to hand it to Jennifer and the Rivera-Joneses. Between them, and Mia’s highly efficient staff, they seemed to have everything well under control for the Hibiscus Pointe Resort Wear Fashion Show.
That meant it would probably be okay if she took a little break for the holiday sugar cookies and decaf iced tea the dining room had thoughtfully provided.
They’d already gone over the basics. The tents would arrive tomorrow, as well as the racks and clothes. Two stylists, as well as Esmé and the other interns from MIFD, plus Monique, of course, would be on hand to meet with the models in the morning. Right before dinner, Bryana, Summer’s model friend from PAGE, would help block out the stage and give them tips for ways to show off their outfits to best advantage.
The caterers and music were all set, security was in place, the models’ relatives had already begun arriving, and the Milano Women’s League was handling the auction. Best of all, Frankie had been good as gold and not a single person had recognized her. She fit right into the crowd of additional guests. Really, what else could she and Summer ask for?
All she’d had to do was put out a sign-up sheet for models after Gladys had blasted the news and it was five pages long by lunchtime. Helen Martin and her friends were ecstatic, and even some of the men were game to be escorts. Ernie had gallantly offered to take a spin, but there were so many volunteer models already that she let him off the hook.
This was so much easier than organizing the Hibiscus Pointe Book Club. Dorothy bit into a cookie and surreptitiously put her feet her up on the chair in front of her.
“So, Dotty, why aren’t you signed up to model?” Gladys plopped down heavily beside her and fanned herself with a Hibiscus Pointe napkin. “The ol’ ticker not up for it?”
“No, Gladys,” Dorothy said. “You may recall that I get plenty of exercise at the pool.” And swim a mile’s worth of laps per day, as opposed to doggy paddling in the shallow end like you, she refrained from adding. “I’m just making my small contribution for the show behind the scenes.”
“Well, you should get yourself out there,” Gladys said. “I’ve been really busy, too, with the case, but I make an extra effort, you know?”
Dorothy took a long sip of her iced tea. “And how is the case going for you, Gladys?”
“Fine and dandy.” Gladys stood up again. “I’m just biding my time a little. You know, to sit back and let my prey come to me.”
“That sounds like an excellent strategy,” Dorothy said, tiredly.
“What about that weirdo friend of yours from Albuquerque?” Gladys jerked her thumb toward Frankie, who was sitting quietly beside Summer in her borrowed wheelchair, a pink chiffon bow tying up her newly titian-hued hair. No one would guess that she was seat-belted in. “She sure doesn’t talk much. How come she’s gonna model?”
Frankie was frowning behind her dark glasses as Dorothy came up. “Everyone isn’t here. Where are the designers?” she asked. “I wanted to ask them some questions about the jewelry they’re auctioning off. Shop talk,” she added. “I used to be a jeweler, you know.”
“Yes, we do know,” Dorothy murmured, exchanging a glance with Summer. Had Frankie planned to confront Roland here in public, she wondered. Or worse? That was ridiculous, of course. The tiny woman was well restrained in her motorized chair, although she did have a rather good-sized bag with her—the one that she’d kept her poker winnings in back at the Glen. Could she possibly have a real gun this time?
“They’re not going to be here until the day of the show,” Summer said. “And all the jewelry’s downtown. I think Roland was here for a while, though. I saw him talking with Monique. She seemed really ticked off about something.”
“Guess I’ll have to settle for looking at this for now, then.” Frankie reached into her bag and pulled out the diamond earring. “Found it on the counter next to the guest soaps in your bathroom, Dorothy, but it just happens to be mine. And it also happens I’m missing a lotta valuable loose rocks from my safe back in Angelica’s condo. Someone cleaned me out after bumping off my daughter.”
Oh dear. “I can explain,” Dorothy said, quickly. “The safe was open in Angelica’s closet when I visited there with Violet. I found the earring on the carpet. And I was going to return it when I went back the second time but Violet gave me a fright and I…” Her voice trailed away, as Frankie regarded her with a raised eyebrow.
“So the diamond is real, then,” Summer said slowly, as if she were thinking aloud. “And a bunch of jewels were stolen from Frankie. Again.” She knelt down beside the glowering woman’s wheelchair. “We know about Harold Koo, Frankie. AKA Roland Cho. And that he stole the jewels from your store, years ago.”
Fashionably Late (The Ladies Smythe & Westin) Page 23