“Well, no real harm done.” With a fake smile, I added, “My husband and I recently met Mr. Harper. That’s how I learned about this place. Too bad I didn’t realize he was here, I could have arrived earlier and said hello to Gordon.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Harper was in a business meeting until right before he left.”
Yeah, I thought to myself, still with the plastic smile plastered to my face, a business meeting that involved brute force and guns.
“He has an office here?”
“Yes, on the second floor. But he’s not here often. He has many other business concerns.”
“I’m sure. He told us he took over Seventh Veil after his ex-wife died.”
Mrs. Santiago didn’t seem to mind my chattiness, but she didn’t encourage it either. She responded to my last comment with a slight nod and indicated for me to follow her.
She led me through a door to a room decorated much like the reception area except instead of a loveseat, the furniture consisted of a small conference table and chairs in the same heavy, ornate style. Once out of the reception area, I could hear the hum of sewing machines and light chatter from the back area. As Mrs. Santiago took notes, I went through the motions of explaining the desired fantasy outfit, fire-engine red with black feathers. She showed me several sample books, explaining how elements from different outfits could be combined to make a custom outfit specially suited for my or my husband’s tastes. I kept waiting for a good spot to veer the conversation back to Gordon Harper, but that ship had sailed. Mrs. Santiago was all business. Soon she seemed satisfied that she knew exactly what I wanted for my costume, and she even sketched out a crude sample. Then she gave me a cost estimate. I about had a seizure.
Assuring me that they used only the highest quality fabrics and materials, she explained which modifications could be made to lower the price. Crystals, natural feathers, and other baubles were discarded. In the end, I ordered a red bustier with a short black-and-red striped detachable satin train. The bustier and train were edged with fake black feathers and a few sequins. I also ordered matching black stockings and gloves. G-string panties, I was informed, were included with the bustier. Something told me I was going to look like a fire plug on the make.
With great reluctance, I handed her my credit card for the fifty-percent deposit. Originally, I hadn’t planned on going through with the actual ordering of an outfit, but as time went by and Mrs. Santiago put more effort into my outfit, and I still hadn’t gotten any real information, I just couldn’t say sorry and pull out.
Finished with my order, she directed me out of the conference room and into a very large decorated dressing room. Here, there were clothes hangers and a large three-way mirror, as well as a single ornate chair.
“Effie, our fitter, will be in shortly to take your measurements.” She indicated the hangers. “You can use those for your clothing.”
“You want me to undress?”
She smiled at me in a motherly fashion. “Just down to your panties and bra, Ms. Grey. We can’t take an accurate measurement over clothing.”
“I’m a standard size 20, or a 2X, whichever you prefer.” I sloughed off my suit jacket and showed her the label. “See, size 20WP, women’s petite.”
“Here at Seventh Veil, we don’t follow standard sizes; we use only your personal measurements.” When I didn’t respond, she added, “You want the garments to fit properly, don’t you?”
She was assuming, of course, that I was going to wear them. And I knew that if this outfit came into the house, Greg would cajole me into wearing it at least once.
As soon as Mrs. Santiago left, closing the door of the dressing room behind her, I sank into the chair. Resting my elbows on my knees, I cupped my face with my palms. This would be the second time this week I’d had to strip down in the course of investigating Brian Eddy. At least no one was shooting at me—yet. But if, on the off chance, any shooting did start up, or Gordon Harper returned with his muscle, I’d really rather be fully dressed when I hit the pavement running.
A knock on the door brought me out of my thoughts. When the door opened, a woman poked her head in. A frown crossed her face when she saw I was still dressed.
“Do you need more time?” she asked in an accent thicker than Mrs. Santiago’s.
I stood up and sighed. “It’s just that I’m a bit modest.”
The woman came in and shut the door. “But the costume is not modest.” Then she smiled. “Ah, I see. Costume is for husband or boyfriend, huh? To make him happy?”
I nodded. “Yes, my husband.”
“Not to worry. Effie understands. We will take off just one piece at a time. I measure, you put it back on. Next piece, same thing. How’s that?”
I smiled back at her. If there was trouble, I could make it down the street partially clothed. It was a compromise I could live with.
Effie was about the same age and height as Maria Santiago, but stockier in build. She wore no makeup and her long hair, streaked with gray, was pulled back in a clip. Behind plain glasses were expressive brown eyes the color of rich coffee. Her clothing consisted of stretch pants, a polyester tunic, and dirty white Keds. Around her neck she wore a tape measure.
After depositing my jacket on one of the nearby hangers, I unbuttoned my blue silk blouse and slipped out of it. Keeping my suit trousers on, I turned to face Effie in my bra. She smiled and unwrapped her tape measure.
“Have you worked here long?” I asked as she began measuring, noting the numbers in a small notebook.
“I was one of the first employees, back when Miss Crystal owned it.”
“Crystal Lee Harper? The woman who was murdered by the Blond Bomber?”
She nodded but didn’t look at me. “Miss Crystal was a saint.” Effie stopped scrutinizing my measurements long enough to cross herself. “Gave us living wages and benefits, not like the sweatshops.”
“Are there a lot of employees? Seems kind of quiet to me.”
She had me lift my arms up and out. “Now it is slow. Just the usual customers. Halloween and Valentine’s Day are the busiest. Then we work longer hours, bring in extra help. But times like now, there are just two of us sewing.”
“You and Mrs. Santiago?”
“Mrs. Santiago. That puta.” She made a spitting sound. “She hasn’t picked up a needle in nearly a month, not since she became boss lady. Not that she was that good of a seamstress to begin with.”
I may not be bilingual, but living in Southern California all my life did give me an understanding of many Spanish words. Puta, I knew, meant whore.
“I thought Gordon Harper ran Seventh Veil?”
“Mr. Harper owns the company.” She stopped fussing with her notebook. “You take off pants now.”
After slipping my blouse back on, I took off my trousers and hung them neatly on another hanger, taking my time about it.
“Who ran Seventh Veil after Mrs. Harper died?”
“I did. At least until that puta fooled with Mr. Harper’s head.”
Effie directed me to stand on a small, sturdy box. “She slept with him?” I asked as soon as I was aboard.
She shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe, maybe not. But suddenly she becomes boss lady and I’m back to seamstress.”
The tape measure went around my full hips, and I cringed. I didn’t care what the numbers were, I just didn’t want to know them.
“Weren’t you angry? If something like that happened to me at my job, I’d be madder than hell. Why didn’t you leave?”
Peering over her glasses, Effie gave me a condescending look. “Estúpida,” she said barely under her breath.
I knew what that meant, too.
Undaunted, I took another path in my questioning. “As I pulled into the parking lot, Mr. Harper was leaving with another man. Does he work here a lot?”
I looked down at Effie as she measured my inseam. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually this nosy. It’s just that I babble a lot when I’m nervous.” Okay, maybe the one lie
and one truth would cancel each other out.
She smiled as she jotted down the number and proceeded to measure a thigh. “Sometimes he uses Miss Crystal’s place for business. It’s on the second floor. In the back. Part office, part apartment. She worked many long hours.”
Finished, Effie stood up and looked directly at me. “Mr. Harper is not always a nice man, but he loved Miss Crystal very much and treats us very well.”
“Thank you, Effie, for your patience. I’m sorry if I was so chatty and annoying.”
“It isn’t easy to stand in front of a stranger in your underwear. Verdad?”
True indeed.
I was walking out the front door of Seventh Veil Costuming when the silver Mercedes returned. This time, Gordon Harper saw me. The car stopped directly behind my car, cutting off any possible escape. At least I was fully dressed.
“Mrs. Stevens,” he called to me as he hoisted himself out of the passenger’s seat. “What a surprise.” He walked towards me. When he got close, I held out my hand cordially.
“Hello, Mr. Harper. Nice to see you again.” The goon stayed in the car with the engine running.
“You still asking questions about Crystal Lee?” He smiled as he spoke.
“Not this time.” I smiled back. “This time I’m a customer.” I pulled the receipt out of my tote bag and waved it gently. “After looking at Seventh Veil’s website, I decided to have a little something made. It’s a surprise for Greg.”
Harper took the receipt from my hand and read the description of the garment. He smiled broadly, then scanned my body up and down with his eyes. I felt naked.
“I can just imagine this on you.” A short, wheezing laugh followed. “Maybe you’ll let us take a few photos for our sample book. All very professional and glamorous, of course. We’re trying to expand our appeal to full-figured women.”
Professional photos of me in a bustier and feathers? Yeah, right, like that was going to happen.
“Hate to disappoint you, Mr. Harper, but I’m way too modest for something like that. And I don’t think Greg would like it very much either.”
Harper looked at the receipt again. “This says Odelia Grey, not Stevens.”
“Grey is my maiden name. I still use it.”
“I see. A modern but modest woman.” His eyes studied my bosom, taking their own measurement. I was glad Greg wasn’t around.
“It was nice seeing you, Mr. Harper. But I must get going if I’m to beat rush hour on the 405.” I held out my hand for the receipt. “I’m really looking forward to seeing my new outfit.”
He handed me back the paper. “I hope my staff was pleasant and helpful.”
“Very. Couldn’t have been nicer.” I started to get into my car, trying to act naturally. The last thing I needed was for Harper and his sidekick to think I was snooping.
Harper moved to the driver’s side of my car, standing between me and the open door. “I’ll have Mrs. Santiago take twenty-five percent off your order.”
“Thank you, Mr. Harper. It’s not necessary, but I never turn down a bargain.” I forced myself to smile.
“Then think again about the photo shoot. It’ll be free if you model it for me.”
The change in wording and emphasis caught my attention like a firecracker near my ear. He’d said me, not us, not Seventh Veil. He’d just invited me to model the bustier for him personally. Greg would have killed him. It also made me wonder if Maria Santiago was a puta. Maybe she’d snagged her promotion from the horizontal position.
“That’s a generous offer, Mr. Harper. I’ll think about it.”
He nodded and smiled and closed my car door. With a wave of his hand, the Mercedes moved out of my way.
As I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, I noticed that once again my hands were shaking. I also noticed they held the steering wheel in a death grip.
“You think who killed Laurie Luke?” Greg’s surprise came through my cell phone loud and clear.
“Gordon Harper,” I repeated. “Or at least I think he had her killed. Something to do with Kirk Thomas reneging on a deal or job, or something like that.”
Heading south on the 405 towards Orange County, I filled Greg in on my afternoon at Seventh Veil. He wasn’t happy to hear that I’d had another encounter with Gordon Harper, and I was glad I’d left out Harper’s proposition from my report.
“Did you buy an outfit?” My husband’s interest strayed easily from the matter at hand.
“Yes, Greg, I did.”
“Hot damn!”
Once I got Greg’s hormones calmed down, I managed to tell him that I was on my way back to Newport Beach to see Lisa Luke at the hospital. I promised I’d call as soon as I was heading home. If all went well, I would have just enough time to scarf down dinner and hit the road to Pasadena to visit Gabby’s mother.
It was just three thirty. I’d been up for eight hours but felt like I’d been up and working forty-eight hours straight—at least working for everyone but Woobie. By the end of the day, I would owe Steele and the firm about seven billable hours. I thought about using some of my accrued vacation time, but Greg and I were saving it for something special, like a nice, long vacation somewhere fun and exotic.
Tomorrow, I told myself, I would skip my morning walk and go into the office early. I had to leave in the middle of the day to go to Lil’s, but at least I could get in a half day’s work before then. And I should make sure I visit Lisa tomorrow, whether she’s home or still at the hospital. Using my fingers, I added up the hours I would be out of the office.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock. At this rate, I would be in debt to Steele until I turned sixty.
Lisa looked better physically, but emotionally she was still pretty distraught. Although dry-eyed, her face was splotchy and her eyes red.
I’d thought about bringing her some magazines to read, but generally fashion magazines make women depressed, and Lisa didn’t need encouragement in that department. Instead, I stopped by a nearby bookstore and bought a People and two light chick-lit novels.
She picked up one of the books and glanced at the title. “I love this author, Odelia. Thank you.” Her voice was flat and far away.
I smiled. “You seem much better, Lisa. Are you going home soon?”
“The doctor said he wants to release me tomorrow.”
“That’s great news.”
She shrugged and looked away.
“Lisa, is there something else?”
“It’s Kirk.” She didn’t look at me while she spoke. “He just left. Said he had to go back to Africa tomorrow. Didn’t know when he’d be back.”
I thought about the scene I’d witnessed earlier. Back to Africa to finish his job for Gordon Harper? Or back to Africa to finish a real assignment?
“Well, I suppose that’s where his work is.”
“This morning he told me he wasn’t going anywhere until next month. Said he’d help me go through Laurie’s things.” She started to cry again.
“Did the police tell you the news?”
She looked at me, tears running down her face. “What? That they don’t think Laurie was killed by the Blond Bomber? Yes, the detectives stopped by and told me that. The one who was here this morning and another. I don’t remember his name, started with a Z, I think.”
“Detective Zarrabi?” I asked. Lisa nodded. Kami Zarrabi was Dev Frye’s partner.
I’d called Dev and left him a voice mail to call me back. I told him I was heading to the hospital and that it was important—that I had information about Laurie Luke’s murder.
“So you see, Lisa, you had nothing to do with Laurie’s murder.”
She didn’t say anything or move a muscle. Her mind was definitely somewhere else.
I walked over to the nightstand where there was a large, beautiful bouquet. I took a sniff. “These are gorgeous.” Another one stood bright and cheerful on a sill near the window.
“Kirk’s family sent me those. The others are from my office.”
“When are you returning to work?”
“Probably Monday. I didn’t tell them exactly why I was in the hospital, but I think my boss suspects something like this. She told me to take as much time as I needed. She’s been terrific through this whole ordeal. In fact, the whole company has been great.”
Returning to Lisa’s bedside, I sat in the visitor’s chair. “Lisa, do you have someone who can stay with you, or maybe someplace you can stay for a few days? I’m concerned about you going home and being alone right now.”
“So is the doctor. But I’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t as confident, especially knowing that behind the scenes Gordon Harper was now threatening Lisa’s life. It was something I wanted to discuss with Dev. As if by magic, the man himself filled the doorway to Lisa’s room.
“How are you doing, Ms. Luke?” Dev nodded a greeting to me as well.
“Better, thank you.”
“Lisa may be going home tomorrow,” I announced.
Dev looked at her and smiled. He shot me a look laced with curiosity and edged with impatience. I gave him my own bug-eyed look back.
“Would you mind, Ms. Luke, if I stole Odelia away from you for a few minutes?”
“I have to be going anyway,” I told Lisa. “Greg and I have an appointment tonight.” I jotted my cell phone number down on the back of one of my Woobie cards, along with Zee’s number. “Please call either Zee Washington or me as soon as you know you’re being released. One of us will pick you up and take you home.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble, Odelia. I’ll be fine. And Zee was here earlier today. She brought me toiletries and makeup.”
On the side, Zee was a Golden Rose Cosmetics consultant. She believed the two best ways to cheer up any woman were with prayer and lipstick.
Wagging a finger at her, I said, “You are to call. You are not to go home alone, understand?”
Behind me, I heard Dev chuckle. It sounded like a truck grinding its gears. “Trust me, Ms. Luke, do what Odelia says. It’ll be easier for everyone in the long run.”
The comment caused Lisa to give us a small smile.
As he had that morning, Dev steered me out of Lisa’s room and into the waiting room. This time we found it full. Once again, he offered to buy me a cup of coffee in the cafeteria. We settled in at the same table we’d sat at this morning.
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