“Did you realize a woman was involved?”
“Sam’s dated lots of women. And he’s talked about them from time to time,” Josie explained, not adding that she had not enjoyed hearing about any of it.
“Pamela Peel?”
“I think I always knew Pamela Peel was special,” Josie answered slowly. “I knew that they dated for quite a while. And I knew that she was the last woman in his life before he left New York. I thought his mother liked her and compared me to her, but now that I’m here, it turns out that she couldn’t stand her.”
“And what about Sam? Had you judged their relationship correctly?”
“I don’t know,” Josie admitted. “The more I learn about her, the less I understand.”
“Yeah, I know how you feel. I’m taking an Italian course at the New School,” Dawn explained, recognizing the surprised expression on Josie’s face. “I knew a bit of Italian for two or three weeks. But now that I have a larger vocabulary and know some grammar, the classes are getting harder and I find myself recognizing fewer and fewer words and stumbling around more than ever. My teacher,” she added, “says it will get better in time. That you have to work your way through the confusion.”
“Yeah, I guess. I just hope the wrong person isn’t arrested before my confusion goes away.”
“You know, I may be able to help you more.”
“Anything you can tell me . . .”
“This isn’t me. It’s a friend of mine. She’s a personal trainer too, but she went back to school and became a licensed physical therapist. She works out of Mount Sinai’s Rusk Clinic, mainly with people who have had strokes. She’s a medical worker and isn’t supposed to talk about her patients. But . . .”
“But?” Josie repeated, wondering what was coming.
“But Sterling Henderson, Shep’s father, was one of her patients. She worked with him during the time he was a patient there and then he hired her privately to see him in his home for a few months. He was not an easy patient. Having a stroke doesn’t always improve patients’ personalities. And he had spent his entire life telling people what to do. Having people tell him what to do was more than a little difficult. But my friend, Gayle, is a fabulous therapist and she became good friends with Mrs. Henderson. Such good friends that Mrs. Henderson introduced her to Shep. She apparently hoped they would get together. They didn’t, but Gayle became something of a friend of the family. She and Mrs. Henderson have lunch together occasionally.”
“Could I talk to her? Maybe she knows something . . . ,” Josie said.
“Gayle won’t talk about patients to strangers. I’m sure of that. But maybe she could figure out a way for you to meet Mrs. Henderson. She must know a lot about Pamela Peel.”
“That would be sensational!”
“Look, it’s a long shot. Gayle may just flat out refuse . . .”
“But you’ll call her and talk to her. You’ll explain . . . won’t you?”
“I will. Where can I get in touch with you?”
“I’ll give you Sam’s phone number. And my cell phone number. And my friend, Betty, she has a new baby and she’s home a lot of the time and she’ll make sure I get a message.” Josie pulled a poster from the wall and began to write on its reverse side. “And . . .”
“That’s fine. I’ll get hold of Gayle and ask if she thinks there’s any way she can get you in to meet Mrs. Henderson. I’ll call you.”
“Right away.”
“Yes, right away.” Dawn glanced down at the Swatch on her wrist. “It’s time for my next client. You pay downstairs.”
“Oh . . .” Josie grabbed her purse and stood up. “I . . .” Hell, she had told this woman all sorts of intimate things about her life; why be embarrassed about this. “I don’t know whether or not I tip you,” she blurted out.
“This is the New York City rule: when in doubt tip and tip well. But not me, not here, not now. I’m glad to help. I told you. I came here to help people lead better lives. Keeping your boyfriend out of jail sounds like it falls under that heading.”
TWENTY-THREE
JOSIE WAS WRITING notes about what Dawn had told her at the little café across the street from New Age Way when Carol joined her.
“You . . . you look wonderful!”
“I feel wonderful! There is nothing like finding a new hairdresser who charges less than half of what I’m paying uptown! I should have come down here years ago!” She pulled out a chair and sat down beside Josie. “I have lots and lots of things to tell you, but I’m starving. Where is our waiter?”
“The menu is on that blackboard on the wall and you order for yourself at the counter.”
“Okay, just let me look for a second . . . what is all this stuff?” Carol looked at the selections offered.
“Macrobiotic. Vegan . . . ,” Josie read.
“Rice and roots!” Carol said dismissively.
“There are some salads.”
“With tofu!” Carol sighed loudly. “Oh well, what are you having?”
“I thought a number three and coffee.”
“Do you think that number three looks less disgusting than the number five?”
“I really don’t think it matters, Carol!” Josie answered, trying to keep the irritation from her voice. Everything looked equally awful, but they had to eat and compare notes. She didn’t want to waste more time looking for a suitable place.
“I’ll place our orders,” Carol announced, getting to her feet and heading to the counter.
Josie looked down at the page before her. There were several possibilities there—especially that of meeting Shep Henderson’s parents. Certainly they would know a lot about Pamela Peel. Of course, she couldn’t even begin to imagine why they would share their knowledge with her.
“So what did you learn?” Carol asked, sitting back down. “I heard some very interesting things—one in particular,” she added, not allowing Josie to answer her question. “Pamela Peel didn’t want to marry Sammy!”
“Really?”
“That’s what KiKi said. I couldn’t believe it, of course.”
“Why not?”
“I . . . well, I . . .” Carol looked across the table at Josie and didn’t finish her thought.
“You can’t imagine any woman not wanting to marry Sam. It’s true, isn’t it?” she said when Carol didn’t reply.
“He’s good-looking, smart, well-educated, kind . . .”
“Nice to stray cats, drives a cool car,” Josie added, now smiling broadly. “I know just what you mean. And I’m sure I’ll feel the same way about Tyler when he’s older,” she added. “But we’re not talking in general here. We’re talking about Pamela. Did Sam ever say anything to you about wanting to marry Pamela Peel?”
“Well . . . he . . .”
Josie recognized the problem. “Carol, don’t worry about my feelings. I have them, of course, but that’s not what’s important now. I need to know how Sam felt about Pamela.”
“He . . . I think he told me that she was the one. You know, the woman he was going to marry.”
“You think he told you?”
“Josie, dear, I’ve been going over this in my mind and, while I’m positive he felt that way about her at one time, I can’t remember exactly when he would have told me that Pamela was going to be my daughter-in-law. Or if he even said so in just those words.”
Josie realized it was entirely possible that they were moving into the area of wishful thinking on Carol’s part— interesting in a personally painful way, but not particularly productive. “Was KiKi sure that Pamela didn’t want to marry Sammy?”
“Oh, my dear, that was the only way she could explain something Pamela did that didn’t make sense. Something that didn’t make sense to me either.”
Josie was completely mystified. “What?”
“She knew he would hate the way she decorated his apartment!”
Josie had been anticipating anything but this. “You’re kidding. How did she know that?”
“What did she say? I think I’ll redecorate my boyfriend’s apartment and make it as ugly as possible?”
“No. After all, this was a few years ago. And, remember, these women hear a whole lot of stories. And . . .”
“I’ll take it all with a grain of salt,” Josie said impatiently. “Just tell me.”
“She said that Pamela was complaining that she wanted to entertain potential clients in Sammy’s apartment, but that it was just an embarrassment that he hadn’t let her redecorate it. And then she had the idea of redecorating it as a gift—and announcing it publicly so he couldn’t refuse.”
“Well, not without looking like an ungrateful cad,” Josie agreed, thinking how incredibly manipulative Pamela’s plan sounded. Although she knew Pamela would have needed to manipulate Sam to accomplish her own goal. Sam had built a hideous deck on the front of his little house in the dunes. Josie had taken the fact that he didn’t consult her or ask for suggestions while the work was in progress as a personal and professional insult. From the moment it was finished, she had hoped it would fall down. Fortunately, Hurricane Agatha had dropped a tree on it last summer. Sam and she had designed the new deck together and Island Contracting would be building it as soon as they could put the pilings in the ground. “Why didn’t Sam design the apartment with Pamela?”
“I know the answer to that one. After all, I was there when she announced the gift. She explained that the design would be a surprise.” Carol paused. “I think she said something about the project being a breakthrough for Henderson and Peel—or a change of direction. Something like that. I remember thinking that it was foolish to do something different when you’re so successful. But, of course, I probably was wrong about that.”
“Why?”
“You have to stay ahead of the game. Fashion designers, interior designers, all those creative professions—they either follow or lead. And the big ones lead. And leading means changing. It’s the only way to stay one step ahead of the herd.” She smiled at Josie. “You don’t have to be around New York long to realize that. And I suppose that may be why it never occurred to me that Pamela would ask for Sammy’s input. If I thought anything was odd about it, I thought it was strange that she didn’t try to talk him into moving into a place where they could both live and decorate that for him. But we’ve talked about this, dear. What I want to tell you is what she told KiKi. See, at first, KiKi assumed that it was just a nice gift. But then, listening to Pamela describe her work for a few weeks, she realized that it was a really odd job and that not only was Pamela not interested in what Sammy would want, but she didn’t care at all that the apartment wouldn’t suit him. She thought minimalism would be the next wave in decorating and so that’s what she did.”
“But she had that window seat built so that Sam would have someplace to keep all his paperwork. So she did account for his needs, at least some of them,” Josie said.
“That’s a good point,” Carol said slowly, considering the suggestion.
“Did KiKi explain why Pamela did this to Sam’s place?”
“Well, she thought that it was a selfish gesture, not a mean one. She got the impression that Pamela wanted to do something different from what Henderson and Peel usually did and couldn’t find a client who would allow it. By doing something Sammy didn’t know about, she could do what she wanted. And then, of course, she probably thought she’d get a lot of publicity about the place in the Times and all and she’d move Henderson and Peel a step ahead of the competition.”
“Oh.” Josie said nothing else.
“I believe those two big platters on the counter are ours,” Carol stated flatly.
Josie jumped up. “I’ll get them.”
Two large, heavy pottery platters were indeed waiting for them. Josie picked up one in each hand. Each had a pile of dun-colored rice in its middle flanked by various steamed vegetables and grains that Josie couldn’t identify. She placed them on the table she and Carol shared. “I have no idea which is which.”
Carol peered down at the plates, an unenthusiastic expression on her face. “I don’t think it can matter much, do you?”
“Probably not, but I’m hungry.” Josie sat down, picked up her fork, and plunged it into her pile of vegetables.
“Is there any salt?” Carol asked, looking around at the other tables.
“You don’t need it. It’s really spicy,” Josie said as she chewed. “And it’s not bad.”
Carol picked up her fork and followed Josie’s example. Soon the women were eating so enthusiastically that they didn’t notice Dawn’s approach.
“Oh, this is nice. I’m glad I ran into you.”
Josie introduced Dawn and Carol to each other and suggested that Dawn might like to join them.
“I’d love to, but I’m meeting someone for lunch. But I have some good news for you. My appointment after you canceled at the last minute, so I took the time to call my friend, the one who knows . . .” Dawn suddenly stopped speaking and let her eyes wander over to Carol. She lifted one eyebrow in a quizzical manner.
“Carol knows all about this.” Josie answered Dawn’s unasked question.
“Great! My timing was perfect. Gayle was on her way out the door to attend a big charity event down on the pier.”
“But she gave you the information?” Josie asked.
“To be honest, she was concerned about giving you any information without meeting you.”
“But time . . .”
“I told her you were anxious and she suggested that you meet her at the Spotlight Sale.”
“What a wonderful idea! I love going to those sales!” Carol spoke up.
“Do you have time?”
“I need to make some calls.” Josie looked at Carol. “I should call Betty and Sam.”
“We’ll call in the cab on the way there. Oh, I never knew detective work could be so much fun! Or fattening,” she added, looking down at her almost empty plate.
“One of the little-known facts of life is that a person can gain weight on a macrobiotic diet. It’s all those carbs,” Dawn explained. “Oh, there’s my friend, I have to go.”
“But how will I recognize Gayle?” Josie asked.
“She’s about fifty, is in great shape, has short gray hair and she’ll be looking at evening dresses. Size six or eight,” Dawn said, moving away from them.
“Oh, wait,” Josie cried. “I have a question . . . a quick question.”
“What?”
“It’s about Carollynn.” Josie hesitated before continuing. “I was wondering . . . Is she honest? I mean, does she tell the truth?”
“Carollynn? I wouldn’t trust her, no. Now I’ve really got to run.”
Carol stood up. “And we’d better get going.”
“Yes, of course.” Josie followed her lead and a few minutes later they were in a taxi heading back uptown. “What is the Spotlight Sale?” Josie asked, scrounging around in her new purse for her cell phone. “Oh, look!” she yelled before giving Carol an opportunity to answer. “There’s Tyler! And Tony! And that girl named Toni too. In that white limo there . . . Oh they’re turning! Damn! I wish we could have talked to them.”
“What a lucky young man to be chauffeured around the city in a luxury car. I’m sure he’s having the time of his life,” Carol said, moving her coat away from a spot of something sticky on the seat’s worn upholstery. “Now, about the Spotlight Sale . . . it’s famous. It’s one of the oldest charities in the city. It’s organized by the most wealthy women, many of whom belong to what used to be New York society. It’s a real honor to be asked to be on their organizing committee.”
Josie stopped dialing. “I thought you said it was a sale.”
“It is.”
“Of what?”
“Clothing. Fabulous, fabulous clothing. Designer things.”
“Where does it come from?”
“Oh, it’s donated. It’s all used, of course. You won’t believe it!”
Josie already couldn’t. That Carol would be this excited about a sale of used clothing. It just didn’t fit her image of Sam’s mother. But she didn’t have time to think more about it. Sam, finally, had answered his phone.
“Sam? Josie. Any news? Oh, well, that’s good, isn’t it?” She listened a bit more and then, after explaining where they were heading, she said good-bye, hung up, and turned to Carol. “Sam’s busy. The Realtor is at his place and they’re going over various options. But he says that he hasn’t heard from anyone official.”
“From the police department?”
“Exactly. He hasn’t heard from them and neither has Jon—he called. And I told him . . . Well, you heard what I told him.”
“We’ll call back after we’re done at the sale,” Carol said.
Josie was busy dialing Betty’s number. She answered almost immediately. And her answer to Josie’s question was short. “No way!”
“Betty could not convince Harold to open the door to Sam’s place for her,” Josie reported to Carol.
But Carol just nodded, leaned forward, and peered out the windshield.
The cab they were in was flying up the one-way street, dodging buses, cars, trucks, other taxis, and pedestrians. The radio was blaring music played on instruments Josie didn’t recognize, accompanying a singer crooning in a language she couldn’t understand. Nothing was going as she had expected or hoped. But she realized she was seeing an incredible city in an incredible way. Now all she had to do was convince someone she had never met to introduce her to someone who had no reason to want to talk to her.
The cab swerved. A young man on a bicycle, a huge bulging pack on his back, yelled out a familiar curse in a language she knew well. The driver lowered the window to raise one finger in the air and freezing cold air swarmed into the car. Carol pulled her coat closer to her neck and Josie took a deep breath. It didn’t matter how many dead ends there were. She had no choice. She had to succeed. Sam’s life depended on it.
A Fashionable Murder Page 18