Diane Vallere - Style & Error 03 - The Brim Reaper

by Diane Vallere

  For a moment I forgot about the hat store across the street and the exhibit at the museum and the video in my handbag. I forgot about everything but the connection I felt with Nick, the mutual attraction I knew was there underneath the unwanted don’t-get-involved advice and the haven’t-you-learned-anything lectures. The promise of something in the future, and the smell of mozzarella and cheese. I was going to have to stop allowing food to distract me from the important things in life.

  We finished off half the pizza before talking. I tore a piece of crust from a remaining slice and looked out the window. Vera Sarlow picked up the wooden tent sign from in front of her shop and carried it inside.

  “Did you see what that sign said?” I asked.

  “What sign?” Nick looked out the window, and I could almost see the light bulb go off over his head. Uh-oh.

  “Is that why you asked me to meet you here? You wanted to check out Vera’s store, didn’t you?”

  “I like the pizza here,” I said.

  Nick shook his head. “I want to believe you, really, I do. But you’re hiding something, I can tell.”

  “After this exhibit is over I won’t have to hide anything.”

  Nick stood up and tossed his napkin on the table. “Take the leftovers. Eddie might be hungry. Don’t worry about the showroom tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at five?”

  “Do we have plans for tomorrow night?”

  “The exhibit? I figured you’d be my date.”

  “Oh. Yes. Sure. Right.”

  “Then I’ll see you this time tomorrow. And Kidd? I’m looking forward to spending some time away from my showroom manager.” He left.

  I ate half a third slice and asked for a box for the rest. I carried it to my car and drove home. Eddie’s VW Bug was in my driveway. I parked next to his car and approached the front door. A cardboard box sat on my doorstep.

  I looked up the street. It was way too early for UPS. I looked back at the box. It had a white rectangular mailing label attached over the clear packing tape. My name and address were printed on the label. And on the side of the box was a small red number three.

  The return address was Milo Delaney’s showroom.

  30

  I used my car key to slice through the tape. Inside the box was the forest green fedora Eddie had taken from the museum the night Dirk Engle had been killed. It was wrapped in a large piece of plastic—the same kind of Bubble Wrap that had encased Dirk Engle’s head.

  I’d turned this hat over to Detective Loncar days ago. I hadn’t wrapped it in Bubble Wrap, and I hadn’t sealed it in a box with a small red number three on the corner. But I’d seen it again since then, at Milo Delaney’s showroom. The designer had gotten mad when I’d said it seemed familiar. What had he said? I’m not a copier, I’m a designer. I design. I turned the hat over in my hands and checked the label. It was a white rectangle, like the ones at the museum, only this one had Milo Delaney’s logo in the center.

  I carried the box inside and found Eddie in the kitchen, rooting around in the refrigerator.

  “Look at this.” I held out the box. Eddie looked inside and then quickly looked up at me when he realized what it was. “It was sent from Milo Delaney’s showroom.”

  I turned the box over and showed him the small red number three on the bottom corner. I extracted the hat and handed it to him. He set it on the kitchen table and stepped away from it like it was going to bite.

  “Were you expecting something from Milo’s showroom?”

  “Heck no! I haven’t even thought about Milo Delaney since the day he snapped at me at his showroom.” I stopped to think for a second. “I don’t even know how he has my address.”

  “You could ask.” Eddie held out the phone.

  I didn’t want to tell Eddie that I wanted to call Milo Delaney about as much as I would have wanted to trade out my collection of candy-colored T-strap sandals for Birkenstocks. I turned my back on Eddie and followed Logan into the living room. Instead of calling Milo, I called Nick.

  “Nick, I never got a chance to finish asking you about Milo Delaney. Did you give him my address?”

  “Why would I give him your address?”

  “I got a package from him today. A hat. I have no idea why he’d send it to me.”

  “Maybe it’s a gift. Designers do that on occasion. Was there a note?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t look.”

  “Check it out. He knows you’re helping, and he probably feels bad about the way he treated you.”

  “Are you going to give me a pair of shoes?” I asked suddenly.

  “No, why?”

  “Because I’m helping you, and if designers are in the business of giving things away, I’d much prefer a pair of your shoes to one of Milo’s hats.”

  “Nice try, Kidd.”

  “So no free shoes?”

  “Not for staff members. Tell you what. I’ll pay you in benefits.”

  “Benefits don’t pay the mortgage,” I said. I hung up.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Eddie asked.

  “We’re in a weird place right now,” I said. I noticed the keys in his hand. “Where are you going?”

  “To visit Thad. He was released today. I want to ask him about a couple more details about the exhibit.”

  “Ask him why he didn’t want me to go into the admissions office the first day I was at the museum. And why he took the list of collectors from me. And why he’s so rude to me for no apparent reason—” I stopped talking when I saw the expression on Eddie’s face. “Forget it. Tell him to take it easy.”

  After Eddie left, I took a much-needed shower. Twenty-five minutes later I was loofahed within an inch of my life. I dried off, moisturized with a rose-scented lotion I kept for special occasions, and pulled on a fresh set of underwear. I dressed in a soft green cashmere sweater and a pair of worn-in jeans and walked across the hallway to the spare bedroom.

  I had to come at this from another angle. If I tried, I could think like a collector. I pulled a large aqua plastic tub down from the shelf in the closet. It was something I hadn’t looked at since moving in. It was my collection of designer Barbie dolls.

  I sat on the taupe carpet that had been worn to a sheen by my sister when this was her bedroom and opened the tub. Inside were more than a dozen long white boxes, each holding exquisite Barbie dolls in their high-fashion glory. Opaque white tissue protected each doll inside the box in the way they’d left the factory.

  I hadn’t planned to collect Barbie dolls. I’d planned to buy just one. But after the first purchase came a second. After the third and fourth came a fifth. Each doll was viewed, admired, coveted, and then packed up and tucked safely into this bin.

  The doorbell rang. By the time I got out from behind the display of dolls surrounding me, I heard a fist pounding on the front door.

  “Sam! It’s Cat. C’mon, open up!”

  “Hang on, I’m coming!” I shouted down the stairs in a not-so-lady-like manner.

  I opened the door, and Cat pushed past me. She held a cream garment bag over one finger and a black plastic garbage bag in the other.

  “We have to talk.” She went directly to my kitchen. “You went through it, didn’t you?” she asked, pointing to the trash.

  “Cat—”

  She pushed her hand palm-side out to shut me up. “Listen. You were all intense when you brought my hat to my store. I felt bad about saying no. I wanted to do something to say thank you. So I picked out an outfit that I thought you might like to wear to the exhibit tonight. It’s my way of saying thank you.”

  I reached for the bag, but she held it just out of range. “And then I find out you gave the trash to my brother to hold. So you basically involved me even though I didn’t want to be involved.”

  “I already told you I made arrangements with your brother. You were never supposed to know.” My eyes flickered down to the bag she held in her fist. “What’s that?”

  “He left one behind.” She raised both han
ds, the trash in the left and the garment bag in the right. “You get one. Choose.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  She stamped her foot. “Samantha, you’re a fashion person! You’re supposed to like garments, not garbage. This should be a no-brainer.”

  “Cat, I might spend a disproportionate amount of money on my wardrobe, but that doesn’t change who I am. I got into this because I’m helping a friend. A pretty outfit isn’t going to change my mind about seeing him through the mess he’s in.”

  She handed me the garbage bag. I untied the knot and looked inside. My eyes watered when a rank chemical odor hit me in the face. I waved my hand back and forth to clear the air.

  Cat picked up a copy of Vogue from the coffee table and used it to fan the air. “Eww. It smells like developing fluid.”

  I reached inside and pulled out a piece of wet paper. Along the top it said INTEREST IN HATS. It tore at the corner, and the soggy sheet stuck to the leg of my pants.

  “How do you know what developing fluid smells like?” I asked while I peeled the paper from my leg.

  “Dante’s a photographer. He turned his closet into a darkroom once and stank up the whole house.”

  “Why would someone at the museum be using developing fluid?”

  “Maybe Dante knows. Let me ask him. He’s waiting outside.”

  I grabbed her arm. “He’s here? I don’t want him to see me going through the trash.”

  “Here’s a tip. If you don’t want people to see you going through the trash, then stop going through the trash.”

  If only it were that simple. I folded my hands in front of me in a please??? gesture.

  “Okay, I’m not going to tell him, but if that list is really as important as you think it is, don’t you think it’s crazy how fate got it to you? Weird, right?”

  “Yeah, weird. It’s like someone up there is looking out for me.”

  We raised our eyes to the ceiling. Something scraped the ceiling over our heads. Cat screamed. I jumped.

  There should have been no one else in the house. The idea that someone was in the room over the kitchen was too much to take. I rummaged around in a kitchen drawer for a weapon. The front door opened and Dante charged in.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” There was an unmistakable expression of fear on Cat’s face. He looked back and forth between our faces and then rested his gaze on my weapon. “What’s that?”

  I gripped a rolling pin. My mom had left it behind for me, along with her notions that one day I might actually learn how to bake pies. The rolling pin was my starter kit to pie domesticity. Or self-defense, depending on the circumstance.

  “There’s someone upstairs,” I whispered.

  His eyes didn’t leave the rolling pin. “Are you going to roll him to death?”

  “Dante, will you check it out?” Cat asked.

  It was one thing for Cat to ask her brother to check out the situation but a completely different one for me to sit back like a helpless female while he fearlessly went to the front lines. The helpless-female gene was one that didn’t exist in my DNA. Unless you count spiders.

  “I’m coming with you,” I announced and told Cat to stay put by the phone.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  I followed him up the stairs. We reached the door to my old bedroom—the room directly above the kitchen. Logan sat outside the door, a low growl coming from his throat and his tail fat with anticipation of a fight. “Is this where the noise came from?”

  I nodded.

  “Are you sure you want to keep going?”

  I nodded again but felt it was somehow less convincing.

  He opened the door and faced a flight of stairs covered in green shag carpeting that led to my childhood attic-bedroom. There was no mistaking the noise this time; hands desperately clawing against the window screen, trying to get away. Logan stalked his way up the stairs past us.

  I clutched the rolling pin tightly. Dante’s knuckles were white on the banister. Four steps up, he whispered for me to stay put; this time I didn’t argue. He climbed the rest of the stairs, but the chains hanging from his jeans caught on the banister and stopped him in his tracks. He unclipped the chain from the belt loop and handed me his wallet. I watched him reach the top of the stairs and then disappear into the room.

  “What are you doing up here? And how’d you get past her?” He was silent for a few seconds. “You’re scaring everybody. Calm down. I’ll get you out.”

  Dante knew my intruder. That was one coincidence too many. I raised the rolling pin in the air and pulled myself up the remaining stairs. I found myself face to face with a pair of beady brown eyes.

  31

  The squirrel that stared at me did not seem especially happy that I stood between him and the stairway. We both remained frozen in time until he turned away and charged toward the window.

  The light in the room was minimal, but after my eyes adjusted I was able to see that the closet door was open, the attic stairs were unfolded, and there were a few small piles of, shall we say, droppings in the room. On the opposite side of the room the window was raised and the screen had a squirrel-sized hole.

  Dante stepped away from the window, and the squirrel made a break for it. He went through the screen-door hole, onto a branch of a nearby crabapple tree, and raced as far away as he could. Dante shut the window before the squirrel could change his mind and then crossed the room and disappeared into the attic.

  Minutes later he reappeared and closed up the stairs and the access door. “You need an exterminator.”

  “How did he get into my attic?”

  “There’s some sunlight coming from the wall on the other side of the attic. I think he came through there. I pushed a trunk over to the wall so he can’t get back in. How long have you lived here?”

  “About a year. But I know the previous owners pretty well …” I grabbed the phone and called my parents in California.

  I stood in the kitchen making small talk with my mom while waiting for my dad to came to the phone. Cat and Dante were in the living room. My mom rattled on about a basketball game while I watched Dante clip his chains back to his jeans and tuck his wallet into his pocket. He looked up, caught me watching him, and made his way into the kitchen.

  I hoisted myself onto the counter and swung my legs. Dante reached out for my hand and slowly traced his index finger along the lines of my palm.

  I blushed and balled my hand into a fist without thinking. He turned it over, held it up to his lips, and kissed it.

  “Always a pleasure seeing you, Samantha.”

  I was about to reciprocate the thought when I heard my name repeated in my ear.

  “Hello, Kid. Kid? Hello? Are you there? Samantha!” The use of my full name from my dad brought my attention back to the phone. I pulled my hand away from Dante, who walked out of the room. Cat peeked in and waved and I heard the front door close behind them.

  “Dad! Hi!”

  “Hey, Kid, what’s up?”

  “What can you tell me about squirrels in the attic?”

  “He’s back, huh?”

  “Who?”

  “We had a squirrel in the attic. An exterminator cut a hole in the side of the house so he could get out.”

  I already knew the answer to the question I was about to ask. “What happened to the hole?”

  “It’s probably still there. Come to think of it, you might want to get someone out there to patch it up or Rocky might come back.”

  “Rocky?”

  “The squirrel.”

  “You named him?”

  “Consider yourself lucky he didn’t show up with a moose,” he joked.

  Yeah, lucky, that was me.

  I asked several pointed questions about other potential house problems that hadn’t been disclosed when I bought the house at a price they’d argue was far below market value, and then we moved into chitchat. We talked about their new life in California and my job search in Ribbon.
I told my dad I was working for a local designer, and he told me he was happy I’d found something steady. He handed the phone off to my mom, who asked about my love life. I told her Nick and I were seeing each other on a regular basis. She mentioned something about free milk and cows, and I told her I had to go because dinner was burning.

  The next morning I woke, finally well rested. I snuggled into a bathrobe and eased my way down the stairs to the kitchen where Eddie was pouring two cups of coffee.

  “I didn’t hear you come home. What time did you get back?”

  “Around eleven. I went to the twenty-four-hour print shop after I visited Thad and had some last-minute banners done. I had a brainstorm too. Do you still have that video from Hedy London?”

  “Yes, in my handbag.”

  “Thad told me about a projector in the basement of the museum. I’m going to project the video on the main wall inside, right behind the check in desk. I think it’ll be a nice touch. There won’t be any sound, but still, it’s all about her image, right?”

  “That and the fact that you might be able to figure out who it was sent to.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. I’m pretty sure it was sent to Dirk. Who else could it be?”

  “I don’t know. It seemed like she was flirting with someone.”

  Eddie pushed one of the steaming mugs of coffee toward me. It was the color of motor oil. Steam evaporated from the top while it sat on the counter. Eddie drank from his own cup and didn’t even wince. Now that’s commitment to caffeine.

  “Do you think the exhibit will open tonight?” I asked.

  “If it doesn’t, it won’t be because of me. There are a few last minute things to tend to, but everything’s doable. I mean, I Plan B’d the whole exhibit but let’s face it, this week hasn’t exactly gone according to plan.” He took a pull on his coffee. “Did you call Milo? Do you know why he sent you the hat?”

  “No, but I keep thinking about the box. It had the same small red number in the corner that we saw on the boxes at the museum?”