The Lanvin Murders (Vintage Clothing Mysteries)

by Angela M. Sanders

  “Aye, although I’d like to see more vegan offerings,” the dreadlocked woman said.

  “I have a vegan—” Mac pronounced it “vedge-ann” “—coleslaw.”

  “That cabbage is not organic.”

  “Save it for later, Lou,” said the film maker. “Aye.”

  “Aye for me, too,” said the nurse. “The ayes have it. Next up, change of use of Clinton Street Theater to a retail space. Eve Lancer.”

  “Look,” Apple whispered. Sitting in the back row was Paul. Against Joanna’s will her pulse quickened. Paul nodded toward them. “He must have come in while Mac was talking,” Apple continued. “How much you want to bet he’s here to support you?”

  Joanna leaned toward Apple. “Or Eve. She definitely gave him the treatment at the store the other day.”

  “Stop it,” Apple said.

  Eve set up a laptop and projector on a small table in the aisle. Her heels clicked as she gracefully mounted the stairs and unfurled a movie screen. She glanced into the audience, and a frown momentarily marred her beauty when she spotted Joanna and Apple. She quickly relaxed again. “Hello everyone. I put together a small presentation—nothing really—to give you an idea of my vision for the new Clinton Street Theater. You see, I don’t want to change it, really. I just want to enhance it. I want it to be a credit to this wonderful neighborhood.”

  Her smile was warm. It said, Trust me. I want the best for all of us. The bearded man looked ready to chuck his wedding ring and go home with her now. No matter how many times she saw her, Joanna still couldn’t get over the perfection of Eve’s features—the heart-shaped face and dimples when she smiled.

  Eve opened the laptop and clicked a few keys. “Making the Clinton Street Theater a Vital Neighborhood Center” the first slide read. She clicked to the next. An interior designer’s drawing of a Hollywood Regency room—the audience area of the theater—filled the screen with French blue walls and ivory and gold molding. The old low ceiling seemed to have disappeared, and faux Louis XVI armchairs took the place of the theater’s current sprung seats. Golden ropes held abundant silken drapes away from the movie screen.

  “My plan is to gut the inside of the theater, then redo it as if it were the private showing room in a Hollywood mogul’s house in the 1930s, the time of Carole Lombard and Clark Gable. I’ll open for movies some nights, but during the day the movies will be silent—backlit projection—and the space will be retail for high-end vintage clothing.”

  She clicked to another screen, this one showing a few racks of dresses on wheels. The dresses, drawn in pastels, dripped in marabou and sequins. In the background was a glass-fronted refrigerator filled with orange-labeled champagne bottles. Joanna could practically smell the hothouse roses.

  “I’ll have private events at the theater from time to time, and the stage will be perfect for fashion shows. My business manager estimates that the theater will attract an additional three hundred people a month, from all around the metro region. These people will shop in local stores, eat in our restaurants—” Joanna groaned silently when she said “our,” “—and become ambassadors for the neighborhood as it grows.”

  “This one is the entrance to the dressing rooms, where the snack bar is now.” The screen showed thick velvet draperies tied off with tassels. An ornamental gold hook hung to the side—with the Lanvin coat on it. Joanna gasped. The illustrator’s touch had restored the coat to its 1930s pristine condition, but there was no doubt about it. It was Marnie’s coat.

  Joanna nudged Apple.“Look. The coat.” As far as Joanna knew, Eve had never seen the Lanvin coat in person. There’s no way she could have had an artist draw it from a description. Eve must have the real thing. Anger coursed through her body, and she sat on her hands to keep them from trembling.

  Eve looked at the slide and smiled in pure self-satisfaction. “Any questions?”

  Joanna stood abruptly. “Where did you get that coat?” The force of her voice surprised even her. She pointed at the screen, still lingering on the dressing room view.

  “I have some wonderful items to put out once the store opens. This coat, a Lanvin from the 1930s, is one of them.”

  “But how did you get it? It was stolen from my store. It has to be the same one—look, the drawing shows a little of the lining. It’s a replacement lining, pink and green.”

  Eve’s voice was calm. “Oh, I don’t know anything about that. A homeless person sold it to me. I was glad to be able to help him out and acquire something beautiful for the new boutique at the same time.” She dismissed Joanna by looking at the audience. “Any other questions?”

  Reluctantly, Joanna sat down. She’d have this out with Eve later.

  “Do you have a name for it yet?” a nun knitting in the front row asked. She was probably responsible for closing up the chapel after the meeting.

  “How about All about Eve?” Apple muttered to Joanna.

  “Not yet,” Eve said, “But I welcome your suggestions. I’ll hand out my card at the end of the meeting. Feel free to call any time with ideas.”

  “What kind of films will you show?” the film maker asked. The Clinton Street Theater traditionally held a few local film festivals, including Filmed by Bike and an annual gay and lesbian series.

  “Films from Hollywood’s Golden Age, of course,” Eve said.

  “Such as?”

  She smiled again. Joanna realized she probably couldn’t identify a single 1940s movie without prompting. “All the classic movies people love,” Eve said. “You know, Humphrey Bogart, stars like that.”

  God, Eve was handling this well. The audience was clearly enraptured. Joanna wanted to get up and wipe the drool from the bearded man’s face. How could she possibly compete?

  The film maker crossed his arms. “You’re not from this neighborhood, are you?”

  Joanna’s attention sharpened. Maybe she had a chance yet. Eve had a new condo in the Pearl District, the kind built with exposed pipes to look like it was carved from an old warehouse. An old warehouse with granite countertops and travertine tile bathrooms, that is.

  “I’ve loved this neighborhood for years,” Eve replied, avoiding the question. “Why, I’ve even been in touch with the drama teacher at Cleveland High School, and I’m going to help her do the costuming for Bye Bye Birdie this year.” A few people in the audience murmured their approval.

  The dreadlocked vegan raised her hand. “I see a refrigerator and wine bottles. Will you be serving food, too?”

  “Only for private events and the occasional glass of champagne for shoppers, of course.” Her heels ticked rat-a-tat as she approached the table. The bearded man appeared to have trouble keeping his breathing regular. “One of my best friends runs Earth Goddess catering. Perhaps you’ve heard of them? Local, sustainable food. Maybe not as tasty as Mac’s.” Eve’s laugh rang like bells. “But tasty nonetheless.”

  Suddenly Tallulah’s Closet felt shabby and small. A store Joanna had once envisioned as a welcoming boudoir with beautiful things to wear now seemed second rate. She didn’t have a refrigerator stocked with Veuve Cliquot. She wouldn’t be able to lure Vogue to feature the store. She was starting to build a little bit of a cross-town clientele, but it was nothing like what Eve would be able to attract with her new boutique.

  Still, Tallulah’s Closet had been a neighborhood fixture for three years. Joanna helped plant flower baskets for the light poles and held a benefit fashion show for the community garden. She wasn’t a business looking to turn a buck and move on. Unlike Eve, she really loved what she did. Joanna had to say something, had to defend Tallulah’s Closet. Should she wait for the audience comment period at the end or jump in now?

  Deena seemed to read her mind. “What about Tallulah’s Closet? We already have a vintage clothing store, and it’s just down the block from the theater.”

  Joanna would find that patchwork sundress and bring it to Deena personally.

  “I’m glad you asked,” Eve said. “I see Tallulah’s
Closet’s presence as an asset. With two vintage clothing stores in the neighborhood, people will know it as a vintage clothing destination.”

  Joanna couldn’t take any more of this. Heart hammering, she stood. “I don’t agree. Eve’s store will shut down Tallulah’s Closet before the year is through. The neighborhood can’t support more than one vintage clothing store. Once Tallulah’s Closet closes, where will neighbors buy their vintage clothing? Sure, Eve’s store will be around to supply evening dresses, but they won’t be cheap. If you doubt me, look at her website. Look at the stock and the prices.”

  Eve shook her head, “No—”

  “When fall comes, where are you going to get your old Pendleton skirts? When you need a cotton sundress for the summer, where are you going to go? Eve won’t have them, and if she does they’ll be priced to sell to her clients in New York.”

  “You just proved my point,” Eve said, arms akimbo in a victorious stance. “We complement each other, not compete.”

  “Deena, if a coffee shop opened across the street from you, what would happen to your business? Especially if the owner of that shop had the money to take the losses until you went under? If Eve’s store is approved, Tallulah’s Closet will cease to exist.” Joanna felt as if she were clinging to a log in a rushing river. “I couldn’t survive if I didn’t sell the occasional wedding dress or high-end cocktail dress. I sell the 1940s sandals and old hostess gowns because I love them, not because they make enough money to keep me afloat. With my high-end sales leached away, I might as well close the store now.”

  “The focus here should be what’s best for the neighborhood.” Eve’s voice took a steely edge. “Which is ready to take the next step forward.”

  Joanna’s voice raised a notch. “My plan has always been to stay here for the long run. I started Tallulah’s Closet not to get rich, but to match beautiful clothes with people who love them.” She took a deep breath. “All I ask is that you consider these things before you vote.” As Joanna looked around the audience, she knew her argument sounded weak. Clicking from a nun’s knitting needles filled the silence.

  Apple whispered, “Good work,” as Joanna sat down.

  The nurse hoisted herself from the table with her cane. “Is that all? Any other comments or questions?”

  A chair scraped at the rear of the room. Paul rose. “All this talk is moot if the landlord hasn’t agreed to the new lease. That building needs a lot of work. God knows what you’ll find once you gut the interior. Is the building owner really ready to go through with this?”

  Their eyes met. She tried to telegraph her gratitude.

  Eve pulled a lock of hair behind her ear. “Hello, Paul. Those are such good points. I met with the landlord this afternoon and signed the lease. He’s having it notarized tomorrow. Assuming the vote goes well, of course.”

  Joanna’s heart dropped.

  “I’m fully aware of potential problems with the space, and we’ve built renovation into the lease agreement.” Her hands went to the twisted gold pendant resting low on her chest. “There’s a lot of woodwork in the lobby. I’ll need a skilled craftsman to restore it, by the way.”

  So, he was here looking for work. Figures. Joanna dropped her eyes and turned to the stage again.

  “Thank you,” the nurse said. “Are we ready for the vote?”

  Apple clutched Joanna’s hand.

  “Aye,” the bearded man said. “I look forward to having you as a neighbor.”

  The film maker snorted. “Nay. The theater’s too important to the community to be left to a bunch of films you can find on the old movie channel at home.”

  “I have to say nay, too,” Deena said. “I’m thinking of the long run, and in the long run I want to see Tallulah’s Closet on our block.”

  “Aye,” the dreadlocked woman said. “It sounds like the new store will be nicely integrated with the neighborhood. I like that.”

  Two ayes, two nays. Only the nurse’s vote was left. “I, too, appreciate having Tallulah’s Closet in the neighborhood. Without it, I don’t know that we’d have grown as much as we have. We have a flourishing artistic community. Hell, you can’t turn over a rock without finding a musician or writer, and Tallulah’s Closet has been a natural part of that.” She shifted on her feet, leaning on her cane. “But the neighborhood is getting tonier all the same. Eve is right. It’s time to move to the next level. My vote is aye.”

  “The ayes have it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Joanna slammed the phone in its cradle. She’d left her third message for Eve about the Lanvin coat. Knowing Eve, she’d make Joanna stew a while. Pepper lay, belly up, in a patch of morning sun near the chaise.

  She took a calming breath and dug Don's business card from a stack of papers on her desk. It read simply, “Donald Cayle, Investment Properties” and listed a downtown address. While she waited for his secretary to patch her through, she downed two aspirin and half a glass of water. Her grandmother had always said when you feel bad—and she felt plenty bad—you should do something nice for someone else. At least giving Don the safe deposit box key and so proof of his paternity was a start.

  Don’s voice was gruff but upbeat. “Hello, Joanna. I want to thank you again for arranging Marnie's memorial service. What can I do for you today? Looking for a new space for your shop?”

  Not such a bad idea. “It’s funny you say that. I just might be looking for a new space.”

  He chuckled. “We need to talk before you make any hasty decisions.”

  “That’s why I called, actually. To talk. But not about Tallulah’s Closet—at least not today. Before Marnie died, she sold me some clothes. I found something in a coat she brought in, and I was never able to return it to her. I thought—you know, you were close with Marnie—that I'd like to give it to you. I think you'll appreciate it.”

  “That's very thoughtful of you.” His chair creaked, and she pictured him standing up. “Do you want to drop by the office? No, it looks like I have a meeting at eleven, then I'll be out most of the afternoon. I'll tell you what. Why don't you come by my house around five and we'll have a drink? I'll call the housekeeper and have her make up something to leave in the ice box. She's a terrific cook. Besides, I’m glad you called. I was planning to give you a call myself—I have something for you, too. Something I think you’ll be glad to see.”

  ***

  Mid-afternoon at Tallulah’s Closet, Joanna lifted her head from mending the lining of the jacket of a Forstmann suit as Nina entered the store. The scent of Jungle Gardenia wafted across the room.

  “I brought some clothing you might be interested in. Where can I put this?” She held up a thick garment bag.

  Joanna tucked the needle into the lining and set down the jacket. “Let me take it.” She hung the garment bag at the edge of clothes rack. “Thank you, Nina.”

  “Oh, it's just a few things I don't wear anymore. My waist isn't what it used to be.”

  Joanna unzipped the garment bag and drew out a navy blue dinner suit, two cocktail dresses, and a mink stole. One of the cocktail dresses, a Lilli Diamond, was of lipstick red fabric shot through with silver thread. A perfect holiday dress. The other, deeply décolleté, sported a banner of pink chiffon that crossed the torso diagonally, then dropped freely down the back from the shoulder to the waist. She ran her hands inside the dresses, one of which still had its dry cleaning tag attached. They were in top condition. At least she’d have something to sell before Eve ran her out of business.

  “These are perfect for the store. I wish I could have seen you wearing them.” Nina certainly knew how to dress for her figure and coloring. Elizabeth Taylor might have taken a few pointers. She picked up the suit. “A whole different mood. I love the inside.” It was a late 1950s Lilli Ann suit with a tight skirt to below the knee and a jacket with three-quarter length sleeves and a shawl collar. “Tissé à Paris” was woven into the suit's silky lining.

  “Gary was in the military and I went to a few f
unctions with him. I didn't see a lot of use in playing up the dancer angle.” Nina ran her fingers down the stole's shoulder. “I wasn't sure if you took fur. But it's an Oleg Cassini.”

  “We don’t get many takers for mink stoles, but I like to have one or two on hand.”

  Nina’s gaze roamed the store, then lit on the restroom at the back of the store. “Is that where you found Marnie?”

  “No. She was here. Where I’m standing, actually.” As if the ground had turned hot, Joanna stepped away. They both stared at the linoleum.

  “I just felt a chill down my neck,” Nina said. Then, more quietly, “Poor old girl. At least she was surrounded by things she loved.”

  “I miss her.” If only she’d known about Marnie’s connection with her grandmother while she was alive. Joanna sighed and stepped back behind the tiki bar to hang the clothes to be priced later.

  “Let’s not talk about that. It’s too nice out to be depressed. How’s business?” Nina asked.

  Another sore spot. “Someone’s opening a vintage clothing shop on the corner, in the theater. It’s supposed to be pretty spectacular.”

  Nina, a businesswoman, saw the implications immediately. “Retail’s a bitch, let me tell you. I guess it’s the same if it’s old clothes or fish.” She reached into her bag for a pack of cigarettes.

  “It is nice to see you, though.” Joanna meant it, too. “Let’s have lunch again sometime. Oh—I saw Congressman Remmick and asked him about Marnie. You know, to see if he might be Troy’s father.”

  Nina slid the cigarette she held back into its pack. “No kidding. What’d he say?”

  Remembering the conversation, Joanna’s face burned. “At first he pretended like he barely knew her. Then he admitted to an affair.”

  “Well, then. It’s like I thought.”

  “He can’t have kids. Some kind of medical thing,” Joanna said. Nina’s brows raised. “It was awful.”

  “Oh dear. Kind of embarrassing.” She laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m just imagining it.”

  “It was horrifying. I think he suspected I was trying to blackmail him.”