Frankie crossed her arms. “You’re very smart, Goddaughter,” she said. “But no one else ever bought that story.”
“Where is Roland right now?” Dorothy said, looking around at the chattering crowd in the events room. “Did he definitely leave?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Summer said. “We can’t prove anything yet. We’ll have to wait ’til the show. Because we still have to find a way to tie him to…” She glanced at Frankie. “What happened to Angelica. But there’s one thing we can tell for sure right now. Hold on a sec, I’ll be right back.”
Dorothy waited beside Frankie as Summer hurried over to say something to Mia and Zoe.
“What is she doing?” Frankie said. “She’s not blabbing about Harold, is she? I don’t want the cops involved. He’s mine.”
“Frankie,” Dorothy said, “I understand you and Roland… Harold…have a history, but do you think Roland had anything against Angelica? Enough to want to kill her?”
“He wouldn’t have the guts to take anyone out,” Frankie said. “And he probably isn’t strong enough, anyway.”
“Hmmm,” Dorothy said, trying to size up Frankie’s own physical prowess. She looked so vulnerable, almost frail, there in the wheelchair. But they both knew that wasn’t the case. She still didn’t believe that Frankie would have harmed her own daughter, and had no clear reason to do so, but she wasn’t as sure whether the determined woman—and ex-con no less—would have any qualms about a man who’d betrayed and stolen from her years ago. And possibly again just this week.
They’d have to watch Frankie even closer now that she’d shown her cards. Revenge was always a powerful motive.
“Okay, I’ve got what we need,” Summer said, sounding a bit out of breath as she returned. She opened her palm to show two pairs of Roland Cho custom-design earrings. Both had huge diamond centers, surrounded by his trademark moonstone, but one had ruby petals and the other, emerald.
“How on earth did you get those?” Dorothy asked in horror, glancing around them. “And what are you doing with them? If he’s still here, Roland will have a fit.”
“Nah,” Summer said, with a wave. “They’re Mia’s and Zoe’s. I told them we needed them as close-up features in a little Facebook promo video for the show. You know, since all Roland’s stuff is downtown right now. Which is where I need to head right now, to find some jewelry place where they’ll do a quick, on-the-spot gem eval and tell us for sure whether they’re real or fake. My bet’s on fake.”
“Hand them over, and I’ll tell you right now.” Frankie motioned impatiently.
Dorothy frowned. Those earrings could be extremely valuable. Was it a good idea to give them to her like that, if she indeed had a gun in that bag? She doubted she could make much of a getaway in a motorized wheelchair, but she’d underestimated Frankie before.
Too late. Summer had already turned over the earrings. Frankie rummaged in her bag and brought out a jeweler’s loupe.
“Wow, that one’s a lot bigger than the one Monique had today at the gallery,” Summer said.
Monique? Dorothy thought, confused. Clearly she needed an update from Summer on her trip downtown today, but there simply hadn’t been time before the meeting.
“Fakes,” Frankie pronounced. “Decent ones, but phony as that woman’s face.” She jerked her head toward Helen Martin, who was smiling her nonstop smile as she flirted with a silver-haired gentleman at the refreshments table.
“But wouldn’t Mia and Zoe have had the pieces appraised for insurance purposes?” Dorothy said. “Surely they would have discovered that the jewels had little value.”
“Unless there’s a shady appraiser involved,” Frankie said. “They switch stones all the time. That’s why I always keep the plot diagrams.” She patted the bag beside her. “All the gem’s measurements and internal characteristics mapped. Can’t argue with those.”
“It’s hard to believe, based on their usual thoroughness, that the Rivera-Joneses would work with unscrupulous professionals,” Dorothy said.
“Except for Mia’s ex-fiancé, the creepy cardiologist,” Summer pointed out.
“True,” Dorothy said, shuddering a bit as she recalled their first case together. “But what about Zoe? It would be quite the coincidence if she and her family also had a dishonest appraiser.”
“Mia did tell me when she handed over her earrings that Roland always cleans her pieces for free when he’s in town or she’s in New York,” Summer said.
“Bingo,” Frankie said, and Dorothy was inclined to agree. It would have been very easy for the designer to switch the stones that way after the appraisal and get away with it.”
“I told Mia and Zoe they’d get their earrings back by tomorrow all spiffed up, by the way,” Summer added.
“Piece of cake,” Frankie said. Dorothy hid a smile at one of Summer’s favorite expressions.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s head back over to my condo. We can order in dinner and discuss our strategy for Tuesday.” While keeping Frankie safely hidden, she added to herself. So far, so good.
With all the other residents and their guests moving in the opposite direction toward the Canyons dining room for dinner, the three of them headed for the doors to the front entrance. They had just made it onto the sidewalk when someone stepped out in front of them from the hibiscus bushes.
“Did you really think you’d get away with this, Mom?” Violet demanded. “The jig is up.”
*
A good forty minutes later, Violet Downs was still ranting in Dorothy’s living room. “All of you lied to me! Why do people always lie to me?”
Oh dear, Dorothy thought. This was not going well. They’d tried to explain some of their decisions and actions over the last few days, and Angelica’s more vocal sister wasn’t having any of it.
“I’m the one trying to look out for my mother here, and everyone hates me for it. Why does everybody hate me?” Violet stopped pacing and threw up her hands.
“Because you’re sneaky, loud, greedy and obnoxious, and no one trusts you,” Frankie said.
Dorothy glanced at Summer. Frankie had just described herself to a T. No wonder she and Violet clashed so much.
“All you think about is real estate and money,” Frankie added.
“And all you think about is gambling and money,” Violet said. “And getting revenge on Harold Koo.”
“Ladies, please,” Dorothy broke in. “None of this unpleasantness is getting us anywhere.”
“And you, Mrs. Westin.” Violet turned on her. “You pretended you wanted to buy my sister’s condo, and wasted my time. And then you and your junior detective sidekick hid my mother here at Hibiscus Pointe, after she broke out of a perfectly good assisted living facility.”
“Well, we tried, but she kept getting away from us,” Summer said.
“That wasn’t living,” Frankie said. “It was worse than prison, especially since I am of perfectly sound mind and body. Angelica only made me go there temporarily while Harold Koo was here in town, so I wouldn’t do something sensible, like roundhouse his butt.”
“You did hit him over the head, didn’t you?” Summer pointed out. “He sure didn’t do it himself, unless he was super desperate and stupid.”
Frankie crossed her arms. “I did nothing of the kind, Goddaughter. I’m gonna get my payback when he least expects it. Besides, I spent most of that stupid fashion show crawling through steam tunnels. Lucky they had them turned off, or I coulda gotten scalded to death. I’m real grateful to whoever clobbered him for me, though.”
Monique? Dorothy wondered. Zoe had been sitting in front of her with Aleesha. That left… She took a deep breath. “Violet, you were at Majesty the other night. We spoke in the powder room. Did you attack Roland backstage?”
Frankie and Summer both turned to stare at the angry blonde woman. She looked away, and shrugged. “Maybe. He needed to pay for all he did to our family. He may even have murdered my sister. But no one can prove I attacked him.
I took that golf club I found in the men’s locker room back to the hotel with me and threw it in the ocean.”
“Wow,” Summer said. “That’s, um, terrible.”
“Now that’s my gutsy daughter,” Frankie said, sounding proud. “Good girl, Violet.”
Dorothy was horrified. Maybe Roland wasn’t the most pleasant person in the world, but that was assault. On the other hand, so was pushing elderly women into swimming pools, she imagined.
“Frankie, why don’t you and Violet go into the guest bedroom and discuss things privately?” she suggested. “Summer and I will order dinner. What’ll it be—Chinese, Mexican or BBQ?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
So far this was the best fashion show Summer had ever been to, at least in Milano. Everyone seemed so happy, and it was totally relaxed and casual. The DJ was spinning holiday tunes from the Beach Boys, instead of weird songs about cats or the usual canned carols. All she and Dorothy had to do was solve Angelica Downs’s murder for the grand finale.
True, it was a super-hot day for December in Florida, as it had been all week, and she’d been busy handing out endless cups of water to the senior models. It was a good way to keep her eye on everything going on with the show, though, and Dorothy was handling the perimeter.
Or, more to the point, the tent where the designers were hanging out. They needed to keep Roland Cho under constant surveillance, in case he tried to pull a fast one with the jewelry right here at the show…or, say, kill someone.
It was also for his own safety, in case Frankie snuck away from the show somehow to finish him off by stuffing his own jewelry down his throat or something. Right now, though, she was about to strut her stuff in her wheelchair alongside Violet—and Peggy Donovan escorted by her darling grandson.
She’d carefully avoided Detective Donovan all day, even though she’d caught him stealing glances at her a couple of times. She had no idea what he was thinking, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Right now, her total focus had to be on the case.
She tried to check in with Dorothy on the walkie-talkies Mia had handed out to everyone involved with organizing the show. She couldn’t really hear anything other than static, though, because the music was pretty loud.
She kept her attention on Frankie as she motored around the stage in a brightly colored beach dress, with Violet wearing an identical version. Peggy Donovan wore a lime-green tennis outfit, but she was not watching her and Shane, who looked extra-hot in white shorts and a Dash Hamel-worthy striped shirt.
It was almost time for Gladys and her daughter—who looked just like her, only a lot younger—to take the stage with her gaggle of friends. They’d volunteered for the swimwear collection. Maybe she could safely skip that, and check things out backstage. All the jewelry had been moved there to be ready for the auction during intermission. With luck she could get close enough to it with all the security there to try and see if Roland was going with real or fake jewels today.
Either way, even if she and Dorothy couldn’t pin him for Angelica’s murder today, they’d agreed to expose him for theft and fraud. Unfortunately, they still didn’t have much of a motive for him to kill Angelica, unless he was trying to steal that bracelet off her arm and killed her by mistake while they were fighting over it.
She headed to the backstage tent, and found Juliette-Margot sitting by herself on a folding chair, while the other kids ran around playing tag among the tables of shoes and accessories. “Hey, kiddo, why so glum? You’re about to make your big modeling debut out there.”
“Maman did not come, and Juliette-Margot does not want to be a striped fish,” she said, looking down at her zebra-patterned swim dress.
“Oh, come on now,” Summer said, kneeling beside her in her hot-pink capris. “Santa said he couldn’t interfere with your mom’s job commitments, that’s all. Those Paris holiday shows would have been ruined without her, right? And your black-and-white outfit is very chic. Way nicer than the stuff I got to wear at the Majesty show. Models don’t get to choose. They just have to do their jobs.”
Juliette-Margot sighed, and gave a little nod.
“I wasn’t going to show this to you until later, and we have to be quick, but check this out. Santa sent it just for you.” Summer took her phone from her canvas shoulder bag and pulled up YouTube.
Juliette-Margot watched in fascination as she played a short clip of a trendy Paris holiday show, complete with fireworks and pounding techno and the Arc du Triomphe in the background. At the end, a masked woman in velvet and feathers leaned into the camera and said in French. “See you in the New Year, cherie.”
“Is she really coming?” Juliette-Margot squealed.
“Yep,” Summer said, as the little girl jumped up to give her a hug. Dash’s famous mystery mother mom, Georgiana Hamel, could be very persuasive. She would have shown up here today herself, if she hadn’t been stuck touring the Galapagos Islands for the holidays.
“Excuse me,” a familiar voice said, “but I need you to come with me, Summer. We have an issue.”
Great. Monique had singled her out from all the volunteers at the show to do her bidding. “What’s the problem?”
“Come with me,” Monique said, pulling her away with a disdainful look back at Juliette-Margot. “We need to talk somewhere private.”
“We’re fine right here,” Summer said, as they reached the far end of the tent. She wasn’t going anywhere with Monique.
“I’d handle this myself, but I can’t leave the show. Some brash woman named ZeeZee has shown up—apparently she is some minor TV celebrity—and is insisting on being added to the show with her daughter. Mia told me that they must be squeezed in, against my advice.”
“That doesn’t seem like much of a problem,” Summer said.
“No,” Monique said. “But I must make sure they’re both ready and the schedule is adjusted in the most efficient manner. My concern is with Roland Cho.”
“Yeah? What about him?” Summer glanced out through a narrow gap in the tent. She should check on Dorothy.
Monique looked around. “I think he’s up to no good,” she said, dropping her voice. “In fact, he may even be fooling us all. He didn’t come in with all the other designers, so I need you to go find him and bring him back. Last I knew, he was at the tent just over the hill where they were keeping the auction jewelry.”
“Got it.” Summer removed the boutique owner’s talons from her arm and took off at a jog in her tennis shoes.
So Monique was on to Roland, too. That’s why she’d been checking the auction pieces at Gallery Four with a jeweler’s loupe. She knew he’d been switching the jewels and precious stones in his designs for fake ones, and claiming insurance on major pieces he claimed were stolen. Only he’d swiped them himself.
Maybe he’d killed Angelica because she’d found that out somehow. She was a jeweler’s daughter and she’d gone to those trade conventions with Frankie in Vegas. She could have realized Roland was a fraud, and threatened to reveal him. Especially since he’d also ruined her mom’s business years ago by stealing her entire store inventory.
Whoa, wait a second. Summer stopped short in the middle of the dry brown lawn. Roland and Monique had been doing business together. She sold his stuff in her store. Roland wouldn’t have used real jewels for her pieces, because he couldn’t have switched them by personally “cleaning” them for all her Milano customers. He wouldn’t even have known who they were.
So as soon as anyone figured out they’d been paying top dollar for Roland Cho “originals” at Monique’s Boutique, but they were actually fake, her business would be ruined. And she’d already sold plenty of faux jewelry.
Hadn’t Zoe said Monique told Angelica she couldn’t get away with something before she threatened her life? What if it wasn’t starting to date her ex-husband again? What if it was…revealing Roland and Monique’s jewelry fraud to the world?
They’d both be ruined. And probably spend a lot of time in jail.
She had no idea whether Roland was capable of murdering someone. But she was pretty sure Monique would stop at nothing.
She had to find Dorothy, quick. And Roland, too, while she was at it. Jerk that he was, he could be in serious danger. And so could Dorothy.
*
“Summer, don’t come in here!” Dorothy called, but it was too late.
“What the…?” Summer gazed around the jewelry tent, empty now of everything except some boxes, a horseshoe of bare tables and two back-to-back chairs. With Dorothy and Roland duct-taped together in them.
“Here, let me undo you guys,” Summer said, springing forward.
“No,” Dorothy said. “It’s a trap. Get out of here and call 911.”
Too late. Monique had stepped noiselessly into the tent behind Summer, in her bright orange linen suit. She also wore blue rubber gloves and carried a stylish but effective-looking gun.
Dorothy could tell that Summer was mentally calculating what it would take to disarm her. But Monique had stepped to the other side of the tent near a pile of boxes, well out of range.
“Excuse me, I forgot to do this.” She moved quickly around the tent, keeping her back to the flaps and her aim on Summer as she zippered the flaps one by one.
“What are you doing?” Summer asked.
“Just closing up some loose ends,” Monique said. She motioned for her to move closer to Dorothy and Roland.
Could Summer reach her phone? Dorothy wondered. She’d seen her text on the sly that way before. A peculiar but potentially useful talent.
“Throw me your bag, Summer.”
“No.” Summer kept her eyes on Monique and reached inside it instead.
“You won’t get away with this, Monique,” Dorothy said, trying to distract her and stall for time. “Roland and I have been having a nice little chat. He’s told me everything.”
“I don’t want to die,” Roland whimpered.
“You won’t,” Summer told him. “I’ve already texted 911. There are tons of cops already on the grounds.”
“I’ll speed this up, then.” Monique reached into her purse and took out a pack of cigarettes. She extracted one and lit it.
Fashionably Late (The Ladies Smythe & Westin) Page 24