The Halston Hit

by Angela M. Sanders

  Alexis pulled a cellphone from her purse. Their backup plan. She was calling Crisp. Any way this ended would not be good.

  “You! What are you doing here?” Barry yelled.

  She would not make excuses. This was the plan. Their Hail Mary.

  Joanna pulled herself to sitting and wiped a viscous smear of red from her shirt. Her knee throbbed from the fall. “I know what you did.” She kept most of the tremor from her voice.

  The seconds she’d spent in the linen closet downstairs were nothing compared to this. Her breathing—and even heartbeat, she’d swear it—froze as she waited for a response.

  Barry clenched his fists at his side. The gun was downstairs, Joanna reminded herself as she struggled to breathe. She had witnesses to anything he might do or say.

  Adele calmly opened a cupboard and withdrew a box of wipes. She handed it to Joanna. “It had to happen,” she said.

  Barry’s gaze darted like that of a cornered animal. “Okay, I did it,” he said so quickly that his words were barely intelligible.

  Summer held up her cellphone. It was recording, Joanna knew.

  “Did what?” Joanna pressed.

  “You know,” Barry said.

  “Honey, don’t talk. You don’t have to say anything.”

  “Mom, let me handle this.” He drew a deep breath. “I dressed as VC and went to Marquise’s.”

  “And what?” With Hearty Burgundy’s help, Joanna pulled herself to standing. Lord, that knee ached.

  Another pause.

  “And what?” Summer repeated. The boys had come up the rear staircase, behind Barry.

  “And killed the cook,” Barry said. He glanced at his mother. “I dressed as VC and went and killed the cook.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Adele said calmly. “It was an accident, that’s all.”

  Joanna leaned against the wall for support. Barry, feet planted apart, was trapped between Hearty Burgundy and Sunset Blush on the service staircase behind him. Alexis, Summer, and Strawberry Crush blockaded the door to the hall and visitation rooms. They’d done it. They’d found VC’s ghost and Roger’s killer.

  Just then, the image of VC’s ghost running down the alley in leopard stilettos flashed through Joanna’s brain. The ghost had the grace of a runway model. Now she understood. Adele was right. Barry didn’t do it. There was no way Barry could run in those heels.

  “You’ll have the chance to tell the police more about that, Adele. After they arrest you.”

  24

  They gathered in the funeral home’s chapel, a long room that had once been the mansion’s living and dining rooms. A marble fireplace dominated one end of the rectangular space, and a low stage with a lectern and pedestal for a casket filled the other side. A long row of windows covered in filmy curtains ran up the room’s side.

  Joanna, Adele, Barry, and five drag queens—three in drag, and two in street clothes—sat in the chapel’s chairs. Detective Crisp stood. Another policeman took notes. This time, there was no vodka bottle to pass down the aisle. The drag queens looked like coffee might be what they’d prefer, anyway, and Summer had mentioned something about going out for chicken and waffles.

  As soon as Crisp had arrived, Joanna gave him a “don’t mess this up, too” stare. He’d visibly softened.

  “Listen to me,” Adele said.

  “Mom—” Barry started.

  “No, Barry. I’m going to tell the truth. We’re not letting the tragedies snowball.”

  “Ms. Milton,” Crisp said. “Please go ahead.”

  “Mom, at least wait until we get a lawyer.”

  “Your son’s right. You don’t have to talk now. We’ll need to take you to the station, but you can wait there for your attorney.”

  “No. I want to talk. The truth needs to come out.”

  The queens looked at each other. Joanna thought Summer might be taking measure of Adele’s tunic for possible reproduction. Joanna flexed her knee and winced.

  “Fine. Tell me about Roger Bing.”

  Adele could have been royalty in another life. She was calm. Proud. She had something awful to do, and she would do it, because it was right.

  “When my son died, I was distraught.”

  “Naturally, you were upset. Any mother—” Barry started.

  Joanna had to give him credit for trying, but Adele cut him off.

  “Right. You’re saying the right words, but you don’t understand. Can’t. The day after his death, after the police searched his room, I looked at Bo’s gowns and thought about what a wonderful son he’d been.”

  Joanna glanced at Barry. He was listening, but she couldn’t read emotion in his expression. Maybe it was a funeral director thing. You learn to shift to neutral when emotion gets ugly.

  The policeman scribbled notes while Adele talked. “I tried on one of his dresses, then another. I felt closer to my son that way. It might sound funny to you, but dressed in his clothes, I made him come alive just a little.”

  The drag queens listened intently. Except for the scratching of a pen, the room was silent.

  “I called the medical examiner’s office. We’ve worked with them for years, of course. I wanted to know about Bo. How he was killed. What they found.” She looked at Joanna. “Joanna told me a little, but the ME’s office would know for sure.”

  “They told you?” Crisp said. Joanna couldn’t blame him for looking irritated, but he needed to stay cool.

  “They told me he was shot with a gun registered to the cook at Marquise’s. The night of his memorial service, I—” Adele leaned forward, her face in her hands. Her whole body shook as if she were sobbing, but she was quiet. Barry moved next to her and put his arm around her.

  “I dressed as VC that night. Honestly, I felt possessed. All the rage and sadness.…”

  “Grief is tricky emotion,” the note-taking policeman offered. Crisp shot him a warning look. He returned to his notebook.

  “Yes. I had to see where my son was killed. I spray painted the side of the building—I hardly remember what I wrote—then went to Marquise’s. Bo’s memorial service was still going on. The music was loud. No one saw me when I went downstairs.”

  She stopped. They all waited for her to resume. She’d said so much already. She’d surely continue.

  “He was there. The cook. The man who killed my son. I didn’t expect to see him.”

  This was the important moment. Would she say what happened? Or would she wait?

  “I was so angry. My vision was full of blood. I couldn’t see. At all. I remember grabbing the counter behind me.” Another moment passed. Her voice dropped. “When my vision cleared, he was on the ground. Bleeding. It was like someone had doused me with ice water. I realized where I was and what had happened.…”

  Crisp said gently, “You pushed him?”

  “No. No, he fell. He saw me and fell. He must have.”

  The scent of lilies seemed to emerge from nowhere, and for a moment the fragrance was almost stifling. Maybe the scent had been there all along, but Joanna had been too distracted to notice. She never wanted to smell lilies again.

  “Then I ran away. I saw Joanna and another man across the street. Right after that.”

  No one must have gone downstairs after the memorial service. Bing’s body had lain on the kitchen floor all night and into the next morning. But Adele had been in a bathrobe with no makeup when Joanna had seen her back at the funeral home. “How did you change so fast?”

  “As a model, I could change my clothes and clean my face in seconds.”

  “The Alaïa. You wore it when you came to Tallulah’s Closet, too.” Joanna studied Adele’s face. The mask was off, and pure emotion played on her features. Joanna saw grief and pain and desperation. Joanna shifted her gaze to Crisp, who nodded once to let her know she could go ahead with her questions.

  “How did you get downtown? Barry had the sedan, and the minivan hadn’t been driven,” Joanna said.

  “VC’s Mustang. I drove that. H
e kept it in the garage with the hearse.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m sorry,” Adele whispered. “After the cook died, I—I didn’t know what to do. I spray painted your store and blamed you for his death. That was wrong.”

  “I thought it was Barry at first,” Joanna said. Strangely, she wasn’t angry at Adele. She felt only pity.

  “I know, honey,” Adele said. “He’s had enough to contend with. My responsible boy.” She turned to hug him. After a moment, she swallowed and pulled back. “So. You’ll take me away?”

  The next morning, Joanna arrived just as Apple was setting out the sandwich board for Tallulah’s Closet.

  “Oh, good,” Apple said. “I was going to call you.” Smudges darkened the skin under her eyes, and her lace-trimmed muslin dress wrinkled toward the hem. Apple’s style was bohemian, but she was usually particular about keeping sharp.

  Joanna followed her into the shop. “I figured I’d better finally choose a dress. Is the Cahill still here? If I play down my hair, it might work.” She wasn’t sure how to approach Apple again about whatever bothered her. Apple had been adamant she wasn’t going to talk about it.

  “Never fear.” Apple pointed to a mannequin toward the store’s rear. “That, my friend, is your wedding dress. It came in last night just before closing. ” A floor-length ecru lace gown from the 1930s with a modest train clung to the mannequin’s curves. Dozens of lace-covered buttons ran up its front to a Peter Pan collar. Its long sleeves ended in points at the wrists.

  Apple was right. Joanna loved it. “It’s amazing. Absolutely perfect.”

  “Try it on,” Apple said. She was already slipping it from the mannequin.

  Joanna held the dress to her body and looked in the large gilt mirror at the store’s rear. The gown was elegant, but not precious, sinuous yet simple, glamorous but not too much for a late morning wedding. “Do you think it will fit? I doubt the lace gives, even on the bias.”

  “I look at you every day. This dress will fit perfectly. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was the one for you.” She touched a sleeve. “A really sweet guy brought it in. A bus driver, still in his uniform. He said the dress belonged to his grandmother.”

  Joanna lay the gown over the zebra-print armchair. She couldn’t wait any longer. “I love the dress. It’s exactly what I wanted. But you have to tell me what’s wrong. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

  Apple walked to the front of the store and looked down the street, as if she were willing customers to come in. She turned to face Joanna. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Tell me.”

  Apple clenched her hands. “No. I really don’t want to go there. Not with your wedding tomorrow. Plus Bo’s death. You have enough to deal with.”

  Joanna pulled Apple by the arm to the store’s central bench. “Sit down,” she commanded. “You told me you’re not dying.”

  Apple choked off a laugh. “My health is fine.”

  “Then what?”

  Apple sat mute.

  “Listen, we’ve been friends practically our whole lives.” Apple turned away, and Joanna pulled her shoulders to face her. “You’ve helped me through my toughest times, from when Grandma died to all the drama with Paul, to being poisoned when it was meant for me. You even found my wedding dress.” She looked at the flowing lace. “I can’t ignore the fact that something is bothering you. You have to tell me.”

  “But your wedding—”

  “Nothing’s going to ruin the wedding. It’s a simple event, and it’s all planned out. I’ll be happy, no matter what. Now, talk.”

  “I’m going to cry.”

  Joanna reached behind the tiki counter and pulled out a box of tissues. “Ready?”

  Apple clutched the box and looked toward her lap. Her lips parted, but she said nothing.

  “Spill it, Apple. Tell me.” Joanna kept her voice soft but insistent. “Whatever it is, we can deal with it together.”

  Apple rested her head in her hands, covering her eyes. “Gavin left me.”

  “What?” Joanna dropped to the bench next to her. “Are you sure?”

  “You think I’m not sure?” She pressed a tissue to each eye. “Last week. He said it ‘wasn’t working’ and moved to a yurt.”

  This was incredible. They’d always been such a solid couple. Gavin was devoted to Apple. Joanna searched the boutique as if answers could be found among the d’Orsay pumps and pastel scarves. In her shock, all she could say was, “A yurt?”

  Apple began to sob quietly.

  “Tell me about it.” She bit her lip. “If you want to.”

  “Things haven’t been right for a year now, but I thought we could work it out. Gavin hates his job, and I’ve tried to be encouraging, but it didn’t help. He just moped around the house. Then one day I discovered he hadn’t been into work for two weeks.”

  “He hadn’t told you?”

  “Hadn’t said a thing. I found out by accident. I’d left work early—remember a couple of weeks ago when you said you’d close up?”

  Joanna nodded.

  “I stopped by the art supply store. When I came out, he was leaving the bar next door. I asked him what he was doing, and we got into a big fight. Right there on the street.” She almost laughed, but it flashed to tears. When she quieted, she said, “I threw a pot of gesso at him. He’ll never get that shirt clean.”

  Two weeks? And Apple hadn’t told her any of this because of the wedding. “He’s just depressed over his job. So he’s touchy. It’s a guy thing. He wants to provide—you know, the caveman thing—but he hated his work. So he’s distancing himself, because he feels like a failure. He’ll be back. You’ll see.”

  Apple watched her with what initially looked like hope but disintegrated again into grief. “I wish it were just that. I think—he might—” Unable to finish the words, she looked to her lap.

  Uh-oh. “Someone else?”

  The bell at the front door rang, and almost simultaneously Apple slipped to the store’s bathroom beyond the jewelry counter.

  A couple came in, holding hands. The woman, a tiny brunette with spiky dark hair, waved with her free hand.

  “Is there anything special you’re looking for?” Joanna asked, rising from the bench.

  “A wedding dress. We’re getting married.” The woman beamed at her fiancé. She dropped his hand and in a few steps was at the lace gown Apple had found for Joanna. “I love this. What about this?”

  “It’s for me, actually,” Joanna said. “My wedding.” For once, the words were bittersweet. She realized how much her and Apple’s lives intertwined, like sisters. She couldn’t be completely happy when Apple was so unhappy, and Apple knew this. It’s why she’d kept her secret for so long. “It would be too big for you, anyway. Let me show you a few other options. We have a really nice Cahill.”

  25

  Joanna sleepwalked through the next morning. In the tradition of the groom not seeing the bride on their wedding day until the ceremony, Paul had spent the night with family. She and Apple had stayed up late watching Auntie Mame and Father of the Bride, and Joanna had even convinced Apple to try a martini. It was a throwback to earlier years when Joanna would join slumber parties at Apple’s house. Sometimes they had pitched a tent in the backyard to get away from Apple’s many brothers, and they’d talk until they fell asleep snug in their sleeping bags.

  Last night they’d also talked, but instead of chasing dreams about their lives to come, talk had eventually drifted to marriage.

  “How do you feel about the wedding?” Apple had asked. “Any last minute jitters?”

  Joanna considered this. “No. I mean, the logistics have been more difficult than I’d planned, but as far as the wedding itself goes—it feels surprisingly easy. Inevitable, even. Like it has always been going to happen, but it took me until last winter to recognize what was so obvious. Do you know what I mean?”

  The television was off, and the finished basement—nicknamed the “TV
pit” by Paul—was dark except for a candle and the pendant lamp in the corner. Joanna couldn’t quite make out Apple’s expression.

  “I’ve felt that,” Apple said.

  “I’m sorry,” Joanna whispered. “I hope Gavin works his problems out before he wrecks the best thing that ever happened to him.”

  “Let’s not talk about that. Tell me about the ceremony. Did you write your vows?”

  “I did.”

  The ceremony’s highlight was that the Mother Superior of a convent Joanna had helped out the year before was going to officiate. Her brand of the church was flexible about vows, and she encouraged Joanna to come up with something that didn’t include the word “obey.”

  “Did you memorize them?” Apple asked.

  “They weren’t that hard to memorize.” She’d spent hours drafting one set of vows after another, tossing each draft because it felt too stiff or too precious. Finally, she wrote down what was at her heart’s core. “They’re simple. ‘I vow to be who I truly am, and I will love you for who you truly are.’ Do you think that’s enough?”

  Pepper, who’d been lounging on the couch between them, jumped down and went up the stairs, probably to bed.

  “I’m not sure what I’d add,” Apple said. “Being loved is knowing you’re valued for exactly who you are, not who you are despite something.”

  “Exactly.” It was a miracle to love and be loved like that. It had taken her too long to trust it. She was so lucky. “Despite being cranky in the morning, for instance.”

  “Or despite not wanting to go camping.”

  “Or be campy,” Joanna had said, thinking of the girls at Marquise’s. Memories of VC drifted back into her mind. Tomorrow would be a week since she’d found VC’s body.

  Not long after their conversation, Joanna had left Apple to the guest room and had gone to her own bed for a restless night.

  Now it was breakfast. Joanna would don her wedding gown, and they’d drive to Penny’s house on the river for the ceremony.