“That was a great contest. It’s almost a shame that there wasn’t a winner,” I said.
They turned my direction. “Well, there was a winner, but we decided not to announce it because of what happened. We’re on the fence on how we should proceed with that.”
“Who was the winner?”
“Only one group succeeded in getting away with one of the challenges.”
“Which one?” I asked.
“The statue.”
I half-hopped in my seat. “That was me.” I studied their expressions. “I mean, I had help. I didn’t do it alone.”
Wrinkled Linen Shirt looked at me with open admiration. Tan Cleavage looked skeptical, and Belle looked shocked.
“You were the one who stole the Puccetti statue?” she asked.
I nodded. “It was a great contest, only I don’t think the store got the kind of publicity you wanted.”
Cleavage cocked her head to one side. “Are you kidding? That publicity was a wet dream.”
Three of the men chuckled. Wrinkled Shirt leaned toward me. “PR can spin anything.”
“Well, I guess that gives us our answer about what to do,” said Belle, reclaiming everyone’s attention before the meeting got out of hand. “The rules clearly stated that no employees of Heist were eligible to win. Since Samantha is now an employee, the contest becomes void. We can make an announcement that there was no qualified winner and move on.”
Her secretary crossed the office with a pink phone message in her hand. She set it in front of Belle, who glanced at it then looked at me. She tucked the message into the spine of her desk calendar and slammed the book shut.
“When should we make the announcement?” asked Cleavage.
Belle reopened her calendar and the pink message floated out from the inside. It landed in front of Wrinkled Shirt. He slapped it down on the table and held it out for Belle. Call Mallory. Belle tucked the pink paper back inside her notebook and ended the meeting.
“Samantha, can you stay with me for a couple of minutes? I want to talk to you.”
The rest of the staff left her office, huddled in their own conversations about visuals, publicity, merchandising, and gossip. When the office was empty, Belle closed the office door, leaving the two of us secluded.
“I want a person like you on my team. Here.”
“But I am on your team.”
“I don’t just mean Heist, I mean here. Running the store. You pulled off that statue prank very well, and it’s a shame that you weren’t allowed to win, because you deserve it. I’ll see what I can do about a prize.”
Guess she didn’t know about my new clothing allowance.
“People don’t stay in jobs for long at Heist. It’s a fast- moving company, with lots of opportunity. Talent gets recognized, and I think you’ve got talent. I want you helping to run the store.”
“I’m flattered, but my experience is in buying, and I’d like to see what I can do with the handbag job first,” I answered slightly mechanically. It was starting to feel like my career at Heist was a train on tracks that had no brakes, and the rails were getting shifted underneath me. “Thank you for thinking of me.” I stood, thinking the meeting was over.
“I’m a determined woman, Samantha, and I’m willing to fight for what I want. I want you by my side. I think you’re a risk taker. Now, I have to return a couple of calls, but meet me back here in about ten minutes and I’ll give you that tour of the store I promised. And don’t worry about the handbag job. I’ve got plans for that, too.”
My hand was on the doorknob, but her last words halted my exit. I turned back.
“Belle, is there something you want to tell me about Kyle Trent?”
12
Our eyes remained locked for at least six seconds, assuming my pounding heart was keeping a beat-per-second rhythm. She broke the stare, looked at her calendar and then sank into her chair.
“I forgot about a late appointment. We’ll do the tour another time.” She picked the phone off the cradle and without looking at me dialed a number from memory. And with that, I was dismissed.
I wandered through the store. Something was up at Heist, but I didn’t know what. Mallory had intimated that Kyle wanted the handbag job. And Mallory had called Belle. Maybe Belle didn’t know Tony Simms had offered me the job, and this was her way of opening the position back up for the looker from Tradava. Sure, it felt good to be praised, but there was no way the attention I was receiving had anything to do with my eight-hour performance on the job.
When I finally returned to my office, Mallory was working on the Vongole order. I considered asking her about the message I had seen on Belle’s desk but didn’t. I wasn’t sure how to interact with Mallory just yet. I didn’t know how to interact with anybody, and until I felt a little loyalty from someone, I was going to stick to myself. I went to my desk and checked my e-mail. One note, marked urgent, was from Tony Simms: I noticed you haven’t had time to shop. I’ll have a few things sent by your house tonight.
Yep, something was definitely up.
I left early, knowing I was being watched. There was no other explanation for Tony knowing whether or not I’d selected a few items to fulfill his agreement with me. And though I’d been the one to demand such a greedy perk, his insistency that I claim my due felt more like bribery than part of my compensation packet.
I needed to sort my thoughts. Logan met me at the door, still lethargic from the sedative. He grazed my ankles and purred. I carried him to the kitchen and set him on the counter. A wave of paranoia washed over me. Was I being watched right now? I carried both my laptop and Logan to my sister’s old bedroom. Logan settled into a beanbag chair and I sat at Sasha’s eighth grade desk, feeling only slightly less vulnerable.
The usual e-mails greeted me: coupon from the bookstore, discount offer on shoes, promotional code for the latest as-seen-on-TV item. And one from Nick: We have to talk.
Nothing good ever came from the four words he’d used as his subject line. I ignored his e-mail and went downstairs to check the answering machine.
Beep! “Ms. Kidd, this is Detective Loncar. Call me when you get in.”
All things considered, the men in my life were a little too demanding. Between Nick’s “we have to talk” and the detective’s message, I wondered what was behind door number three. I dialed the detective’s number anyway, wanting to get this part of my day over with.
“Detective? It’s Samantha Kidd.”
“Ms. Kidd. You done with work?”
“I left early.”
“You didn’t get fired already, did you?”
“No, I didn’t get fired.”
Rustling papers. A clunk. A curse word. “Can you come down here? I have a couple things to go over with you.”
“Sure. When?”
“Now,” he barked. “Unless you have other plans.”
Considering my only other plans included reading Nick’s note, my schedule was wide open. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” I grabbed my notebook and a few items that needed the detective’s attention and headed on my way.
Detective Loncar was waiting for me by the front desk. “Ms. Kidd. Follow me.”
I followed him down the linoleum-tiled hallway. A janitor pushed a dark gray mop over the tiles, barely changing the color. I hopped over the wet spots where dirty water pooled on warped tiles and moved past the questioning room to his office. I sat by the wooden table.
“Nice outfit,” he said, eying my pink trench coat.
“Thank you.”
“That your undercover spy look?”
I didn’t answer, largely because it was. Every self-respecting fashionista knows you wear a trench coat to spy.
“So, how was your day, dear?” he asked in a joking manner.
I filled him in on everything I could remember. I won’t bore you with the details because you were there the first time, but before long he knew what I knew about Andi Holloway, Belle DuChamp, Mallory George, and Kyle
Trent. I consulted my composition book a couple of times when he prompted me with questions and even remembered to share that my team had won the Heist contest, though we weren’t eligible to claim the prize. I couldn’t tell anyone else, and I had to tell someone. I expected him to at least say congratulations. He didn’t.
“When you go into work tomorrow morning, move your flowers to your assistant’s office.”
“Why?” My eyes darted to the left and then the right, and then back to the detective. “How do you know about my flowers?”
“They’re from us. They’re bugged.”
“I thought they were from—” I stopped.
“Who?”
“The card was signed with Xs and Os.”
“Nice touch, dontcha think? Figured it would keep the riffraff away if they thought you were taken. You’re a pretty girl, Ms. Kidd. We don’t need you to have any distractions while you’re working with us.”
“That is so wrong.”
“It’s for your own good. We think we might learn something from your assistant, so we want you to move them in there.”
“On one condition.” I pulled a Tupperware container out of my handbag and set it on the detective’s desk. “Have someone at your lab analyze the butter on this roll.”
“Are we back on your sick cat?”
“My friend was poisoned, and my cat was poisoned, and this is my only link between those two things.”
“Are you trying to negotiate with the police?”
“I’m having second thoughts about helping you.”
“Too late.”
I put my index finger on the top of the Tupperware lid and pushed it across Loncar’s desk calendar. “Find out about the butter and I’ll play ball.”
“Ms. Kidd, I really wish you’d start talking like a normal person.”
“Is it a deal?”
“Yes, it’s a deal.”
“Are we done here?”
“Yes, we’re done. Unless you got something else?”
I stood to leave. “Yes, one more thing. Mallory will think it’s strange that I’m giving away my flowers, especially if they’re from the man in my life. I’ll expect another arrangement tomorrow.”
It’s a good thing I had the cops sending me flowers because by the looks of Nick’s subject line, the prospects of our ever being a couple were slim to none. I stared at my inbox for seven and a half minutes before I opened We have to talk.
Samantha, There’s a problem at the factory and it won’t be fixed for a couple more weeks. I’ll call you tonight, and every night, at nine o’clock your time, to make sure you’re okay. Be on the other end of the phone, or else. -N.
It wasn’t the response I’d expected.
By not mentioning my e-mail, I had no context for his note. Was he mad? Concerned? Interested? Or did he simply not care?
I picked up my phone and dialed the first half of his number in Italy before I hung up. What would I say? That I wanted to know what he thought about my involvement in a homicide? I already knew what he’d say about that. No, I wasn’t going to sit around worrying about what Nick thought of my life. Despite our attraction, he was there, and I was here. Fine, I thought. I can take care of myself. I turned off the computer and relaxed into the chair.
Until I heard the front door slam downstairs.
13
“Sam? Sam! Are you here?” Eddie called from downstairs.
Aside from the near heart-attack inducing surprise of having someone wander unexpectedly into my house, Eddie’s arrival wouldn’t have bothered me if I didn’t have something to hide. I left the room, closing the door behind me.
“I’ll be right there,” I called before descending the stairs.
Eddie stood in my living room. His cargo pants carried three different colors of paint, two of which were repeated across the ironic quote on his T-shirt, one of which was smudged by his hairline. A large cardboard wardrobe box with black arrows on the side indicating which end was up stood between the coffee table and the black and white chair closest to the door.
“What’s that?”
“Dunno. It was sitting on your front porch. Has your name on it. Says it’s from Heist.”
Apparently Tony Simms had been serious.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
“No, I’ll wait till later.”
“You’re not curious,” he said.
“Not really?”
“It wasn’t a question.”
“Mine was.”
Eddie crossed the room and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with the kind of knife that most people kept for carving turkeys. “I want to see what you got.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. Just stuff I need for the job.”
“I’ve worked in retail for fifteen years and have never, ever heard of or seen a box this size show up on someone’s doorstep on their first day on the job. And you sit here and say you’re not curious.” He set the knife on top of the box. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing. I’m just trying to focus on my new job.” That wasn’t so far from the truth.
We both heard the muffled meow at the same time, followed by scratching. “Logan! He’s probably trapped in the bedroom.”
“I’ll let him out. You mind if I hop on the Internet?” He jogged up the stairs without waiting for my answer. Then it hit me that Nick’s e-mail might still be open. I scaled the steps two at a time, but was still too late. Eddie sat in my chair, staring at the screen. I pounced on the mouse and closed the browser.
“Sorry, that was an e-mail from Nick. Kind of personal.”
“Speaking of Nick, we never got around to him the other night. What does he have to say about the job? Or the cops?”
“Nick’s proud of me.”
“Interesting. What did he say about the homicide?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m pretty sure Nick would say something about it. What gives?”
“Nothing gives. You know Nick—he’d worry.”
“So you aren’t confiding in him either?” His gaze hadn’t faltered since I entered the room.
“It’s not like he could do anything from Italy.”
“Dude, if something’s going on, you should confide in your friends. As in me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
He looked at my trench coat for a second, down to my shoes, and then back up to my face. I was starting to wish I wasn’t wearing a standard issue fashion-spy outfit.
“I may have contacted Detective Loncar after the night of the murder.”
“You’re confiding in Loncar, now?” He pushed his grown-out Mohawk back, away from his forehead. When he let go it flopped to the side of his head. “The detective is a one-way street. He’s going to take your information and use it to solve the homicide, but he’s not going to keep you in the loop. Don’t expect him to. That’s not his job.”
“Yeah? Well, my job is handbag buyer. For Tradava’s competition, and since you work for Tradava, I’m not going to tell you what I do at Heist. It would be a conflict of interest. Even though Nick’s in Italy, I can talk to him.”
“Nick’s two thousand miles away, so he’s safe.”
He sat in my chair, twisted at the waist, watching me with his intensely green eyes.
I fidgeted with the belt knotted on my trench coat, and then shoved my hands into my pockets. Eddie stood up.
“I thought you wanted to check your e-mail?”
“Nah, I can do it from my place.”
I followed him down the stairs to the living room. I had met Eddie in high school but didn’t really get to know him until six months ago after I’d moved back to Ribbon. He’d seen me through a murder investigation and had been the only new friend to stand by my side as my life fell apart. I wanted to tell him what was going on. I wanted to tell him we’d won the contest but weren’t eligible for the prize. I wanted to tell him about Tony Simms and Belle DuChamp and Detective
Loncar and Andi Holloway, and Kyle Trent ….
“By the way, Cat’s doing much better,” he said. “I thought you’d want to know. She’s going back to her store tomorrow.”
“Dante stopped by Heist today and told me.” I thought back over what Dante had said. My face grew hot.
“She’d probably like to see you, if you can manage a visit.”
“Dante’s staying with her, right? I’d rather avoid him.”
“Why? Is there something he knows that you’re trying to hide?”
We stood in my living room, Logan swirling around Eddie’s purple Vans, occasionally licking the paint smears on his pants. He slinked over to the wardrobe box and ran his head against one of the corners. Then he eyed up the distance to the top of it, leaned back, and easily cleared the four feet to the top. Eddie reached over and scratched his ears.
“I’ll get out of here so you can open your giant package. You might be trying hard to not act like yourself, but curiosity is killing your cat.”
Logan flopped onto his side and pawed at the brown packing tape that sealed the box.
“Eddie, are you busy for lunch tomorrow?
“Why?”
“I thought I might stop in.”
“Come to my office around noon.”
“Deal. I’m buying.”
For the first time since he’d entered my house that afternoon, he laughed. “I know.”
Eddie was right; I was bursting to open the giant package from Heist. But I also only had about forty-five minutes until Nick’s call, and I wanted to write notes about my first day before I forgot anything. Several pages of makeshift shorthand later, I shooed Logan from the top of the giant box and sliced through the tape.
Inside, hanging from a metal rod, were four plastic garment bags. I pulled each one out and set them on my sofa. Then I pulled the blinds and locked the front door.
Diane Vallere - Style & Error 02 - Buyer, Beware Page 8