Slay Belles

by Nancy Martin

  I leaned across the seat and kissed his cheek. “Down, boy,” I said.

  Before we left the Pinkerton estate, I telephoned Pinky’s oldest friend, Ann Murdock-Smythe, and asked her to hotfoot her way to Pinky’s home. She must have guessed my purpose in calling, because she agreed to come at once. I felt sure Pinky would be safe.

  When her car arrived in a spray of gravel, we left and headed for Philadelphia. In the city, Michael and I discovered that Haymaker’s department store was closed for the day because of the police investigation. Printed signs had been taped to all the locked doors. I could see employees inside, however, gathered in small groups. A uniformed police officer stood outside beside a forlorn Santa who dutifully rang his bell for the Salvation Army, despite the lack of shoppers. Michael slipped him a few bills.

  “I suppose I can wait until tomorrow to talk to Darwin Osdack,” I said as we walked to the Four Seasons for an afternoon snack.

  We ordered a cheese plate and a bottle of a wine Michael had been wanting to try. It was delicious—very dry, yet hinting of berries in hot Italian sunshine. We talked about Popo’s murder for a while; then Michael’s cell phone began to chirp. While he gave monosyllabic answers to his caller, I sipped the wine and watched him, wondering if the time would ever come when I might want to know exactly what he was doing.

  Michael closed his phone with a snap and said he had things to take care of and did I want to go home. I needed to attend a cocktail party for a small historical society in my role as the assistant to the Philadelphia Intelligencer’s society columnist, so he agreed to take Spike and dropped me at the home of Trenton Aquinas of Society Hill.

  “Nora, don’t you look lovely,” Trenton said when he opened the door and I identified myself.

  “How would you know, Trent?” I stepped carefully around his Seeing Eye dog, Buster, and gave his whiskery cheek a kiss.

  “Well, you smell wonderful,” he said on a laugh. “Very feminine. Welcome to my party. Are you here on official newspaper business, or in response to my private invitation?”

  “Can I be both?” I asked.

  “Of course. But I heard a rumor that your boss gets testy when you’re invited as a guest and she’s not. I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

  “I can handle Kitty,” I said, although I wasn’t sure I was telling the truth. Even six months after I started working for the newspaper, Kitty Keough was still jealously trying to make my life miserable. She hated that I’d been born into a world in which she would always be an outsider.

  Trenton pulled me inside and closed the door. For the evening’s festivities, he wore a Brooks Brothers sport coat over flannel trousers, a pin-striped shirt, and a tie decorated with reindeer—all carefully chosen by his wife. His beard was neatly trimmed, his hair impeccably combed. “How do you like having a job? Evie thought you might have trouble adjusting.”

  “Actually, the hours suit me very well. I go to parties in the afternoons and evenings, and I do my writing at home on my computer. I can e-mail my pieces anytime before midnight.”

  “Sounds like a great gig. I wonder if I could get Evie hired somewhere? She spends my money faster than I can make it.”

  Trenton Aquinas didn’t need any more money, no matter how fast his wife could spend it. He had inherited a fortune from his father, who invented a pump for oil wells, and he was due to receive an even bigger inheritance when his elderly mother—one of the Kendricks of Main Line—passed away. Perhaps Trenton’s academic career brought in a little pin money, but it hardly paid the taxes on his Federal-style house that had once been a boarding school for young men of society.

  Before I could respond, Evie appeared and greeted me cheerfully. She was a petite woman several years her husband’s senior, but she strove to keep her figure trim enough to wear expensive, tailored fashions. Tonight she looked svelte in plum silk with a pearl necklace and matching earrings. She swept me into their home to meet the other guests and admire her decorating skills.

  The grand salon of the Aquinas home showed Evie’s penchant for endless shopping. Flowered chintz pillows and dozens of fussy bibelots mixed with fine Hepplewhite furniture that had come from Evie’s old-money Philadelphia family, the Cardomans. Heavy Scalamandre draperies hung in swags from the tall windows. The rose, powder blue, and buttercream colors were also echoed in velvet upholstery and the subtle shades of the enormous floral rug. Nautical prints hung at precise intervals on the walls.

  Unlike Lexie, who had the confidence to live in a simple, self-effacing sort of home, Evie seemed to need to acquire more and more belongings to confirm who she was.

  “Your home is more stunning than ever,” I told her. “Every little addition you make enhances the elegance.”

  Having heard satisfactory praise for her efforts, Evie happily went off to find me a drink.

  I saw Lexie Paine talking with friends by the grand piano. She spotted me at the same instant and met me beside a tray of hors d’oeuvres on a sideboard. Lexie looked fabulous in an understated Valentino suit cut to emphasize her slender figure. In her ears, diamonds and sapphires sparkled together.

  “Sweetie,” she said, giving me a hug. “You ran off last night without a word!”

  “I’m sorry, Lex. I should have said good night, but—”

  “No excuses required.”

  “Michael got me home before I fell apart.”

  Lexie’s brows twitched. “Did you really fall apart? I’m so sorry, darling. You had a very rough night. I hope you feel better today.”

  “Actually, I had a surprising visitor this morning.”

  “Do tell.”

  Lexie nibbled on mushrooms and made appropriate exclamations when I told her about Cindie Rae’s call, Alan’s arrest, and my visit to Pinky Pinkerton’s home.

  “Do you know Kerry Pinkerton?” I asked.

  “Only from an occasional country club wingding. She’s not very social. And she hasn’t any money of her own, so she doesn’t need my services.”

  “No money at all? Didn’t her parents leave her something?”

  Lexie shook her head. “Her mother’s still alive, living in California and hoarding her cash in case she decides to open a yoga studio or something. Kerry’s got a trust fund somewhere, but she doesn’t take possession until she’s thirty. Until then, she’s on a shoestring, I gather. That is, unless a sporting-goods company asks her to be a spokesperson. Then she’ll be rolling in dough.”

  “But she has to become a better player first, I assume?”

  “She’s getting to that level. I always assumed Pinky took care of her.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “What is it?” Lexie asked.

  I attempted to wipe my expression clean. I didn’t want to spread rumors about Pinky and Kerry, even to my best friend. Not until I was sure.

  I changed the subject. “What about Alan and his department store, Lex? Last night you told me the store might be for sale.”

  “The drumbeats were noisy all day today. I understand the retailers who wanted to buy Haymaker’s are rethinking their offers. With her sales figures, Popo was one of the big assets. Of course, a murder in the store isn’t exactly great publicity either.”

  “Do you know anything about shrinkage?”

  “Stolen goods? Sure.” Lexie ate another mushroom and reached for a napkin. “All stores have shrinkage.”

  “I mean goods stolen by employees.”

  “Haymaker’s is no different from any gift shop or mall emporium. A lot of goods disappear.” She chewed thoughtfully and wiped her fingers. “Now that you remind me, I think Haymaker’s had a big number in their shrinkage column.”

  “Popo mentioned something to me before she died. She blamed a fellow employee.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past Popo to have some sticky fingers herself.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I dunno. Even with her Christmas bonuses, how could she afford that wardrobe of hers, let alone the money s
he gave me to look after?”

  “She had some cash put away for a rainy day?”

  “You bet. For a monsoon, in fact.”

  Lexie didn’t talk to me about her clients unless they were dead. Still, I knew I was expected to be discreet.

  “Maybe Popo had a sugar daddy?” I asked.

  “Who would be attracted to the likes of her? Hell, she was more prickly than I am!”

  “I know plenty of men who are attracted to you, babycakes.”

  She tossed the napkin down. “Keep the list to yourself, sweetie. Oh, here’s Evie.”

  Evie Aquinas pressed a glass of very good pinot noir into my hands and engaged Lexie in a conversation about buying jewelry. Lexie glanced surreptitiously at me and rolled her eyes.

  I eased away to sip my wine and make small talk among the other guests. Writing mental notes, I composed my newspaper piece in my mind. Trenton Aquinas had revived a small historical society, and the members were pleased to be invited into his home for their first annual holiday gathering. The crowd was mostly university professors. I saw a few friends, met a newcomer or two, and tried to make an early escape once I had a rough draft of a story in my head.

  “Nora!” Evie Aquinas caught me in the foyer. “Lexie tells me you’re interested in Popo Prentiss’s death. Are you as shocked as the rest of us?”

  Why hadn’t I thought of Evie sooner? Of course, she had probably been one of Popo’s most frequent clients.

  “I’m very shocked,” I assured Evie.

  “She was practically my best friend,” Evie said quietly. A sparkle of tears welled up in her eyes. “I could always call her just to talk when I was feeling down. I don’t know what I’ll do about my spring clothes. Popo planned to order everything for me in the next few weeks.”

  “Maybe Darwin can help.”

  Evie winced. “Or maybe I’ll try another store. Darwin’s not exactly my type. He doesn’t have Popo’s joie de vivre.”

  “Or,” I suggested, taking a chance, “her access to the best merchandise?”

  Evie laughed awkwardly. “Oh, you know Popo. She always had a few little treats tucked away. For special clients. She called them her small investments.”

  “Investments?”

  Tears forgotten, Evie started to blush. “To tell the truth, I suspected she bought the things herself for later resale. Why, last summer she suddenly realized she had some of those Hermès ties that were so hard to find months earlier—the ones with the sailboats? Just in time for Trenton’s birthday. I feel certain she kept them just for me.”

  “But you think they came from Popo, not the store? From some kind of special stash?”

  “Well, that was my suspicion.” Evie began to look distressed. “She hand-delivered personally. Come to think of it, she didn’t provide store receipts either. I wanted those ties so badly that I never—”

  “Evie, this is important or I wouldn’t ask. Do you think Popo might have stolen the ties from the store?”

  “Of course not!” Evie mustered some indignation. “No, I think she purchased the treats with her own money and simply resold the ties to me later. She really went the extra mile for special clients. We were friends, honestly.”

  “Do you know where Popo kept her little treats?” I asked. “The things she held back for her pals?”

  “Not at the store,” Evie said slowly. “Last May she invited me to an after-hours sale at her apartment. I was so flattered to be asked. Popo has a condo in Rittenhouse Square. In fact, it might be the same building you lived in before your husband— I mean, before now. She gave us caviar and a tour of the things she wanted to sell. Some of it was out-of-date, but she had a lot of new merchandise, too. I bought a Lettitia McGraw tote.”

  So Popo had been hoarding merchandise for years and reselling it to her most trusted clients. Now I needed to find out if the merchandise had been legitimately hers to sell or if she’d stolen from Haymaker’s to keep her side business well stocked.

  But I wasn’t going to learn more from Evie. She pulled herself coolly together, obviously sorry she had told me anything. “It was so nice to see you again, Nora. Thank you for coming.”

  She couldn’t get me out the door fast enough.

  I decided to hike across town to Rittenhouse Square. If Popo truly lived in my old building, perhaps I could chat up the doorman. He might have some insight into Popo’s private boutique.

  But the weather had gotten ugly, and I made it only a few blocks before stopping to dry off in a coffee shop. I didn’t want to ruin my shoes in the slush, so I found a pay phone and got lucky. Well, sort of.

  Twenty minutes later, my sister Libby pulled up in front of the coffee shop. I ran out across the sidewalk to the street and popped open the passenger door of her minivan.

  “I was picking up a few more gifts! Shopping is such an adrenaline rush. Almost as good as aerobics, don’t you think?” She chattered with even more animation than usual as I climbed in. “I had a fabulous day. First I went to the King of Prussia mall; then I dashed into the city for another look around Haymaker’s, but they’re closed. Can you believe it?”

  “Are you taking those metabolism herbs again?”

  “Of course not! I’m just enjoying the season! Look, I even bought a few things for myself. There was an Elizabeth Arden special bonus and a Vera Bradley diaper bag discount, so I went crazy.”

  I glanced into the backseat and saw a mountain of bags and packages. “Boy, you’re not kidding.”

  “You don’t have to hurry home, do you? Can you have dinner with me?”

  “Don’t you have to get home to the baby? Aren’t you still nursing?”

  “I’m weaning him. I don’t mind the extra cup size, but the leaking has become a problem. You should have seen the puddles I made on the massage table last week.”

  I remembered I wanted to ask Libby about her massages, but she bulldozed over my voice.

  “It’s time to wean, anyway. I can’t put my own life on hold forever,” she rattled on as she pulled into traffic. “And that child can thrive on Bright Beginnings just as well as my milk, which is probably tainted by preholiday stress.”

  “Why don’t you let me help with your shopping, Lib? You could stay home and enjoy the children.”

  “Dear heaven, I’m trying to get away from home! The twins are driving me insane. Lucy’s invisible friend gives everybody the creeps, and who knows what Rawlins has been doing. He’s hardly ever at home anymore. I think he needs a father figure, a strong man to be a role model.”

  I began to suspect that the blaze in my sister’s eyes was a hormonal surge, not seasonal mania. “Are you doing something about that? The father figure, I mean?”

  “Of course not! I’m not dating anyone. Or seeing anyone at all, in fact.” Her madly cheerful front began to crumble. “Who would want a lactating cow like me? What man could possibly enjoy spending time with a widow with five children when he could have anyone in the world, b-b-but he chooses another man over me, for crying out loud, because I’m too disgusting?”

  “Are we talking about—”

  “J-J-Jason, of course! He’s gay! How come nobody ever tells me these things? Attractive gay men should be required to wear name tags so women don’t make fools of themselves! I-I-I felt like such a breeder!”

  “Libby,” I said, “let’s go get some dinner and talk.”

  She burst into tears.

  She wobbled the van next to a fire hydrant, set the brake, and bawled for a while. I made soothing noises and calmed her down with some platitudes, pats on the back, and finally a butterscotch Life Saver that I found in the glove compartment. She blathered a lot of nonsense and soaked through her own handkerchief and mine. Nobody could have hysterics the way my sister could. I think there was even runny mascara on me by the time she was finished. But she emerged from the handkerchiefs looking radiantly beautiful.

  Eventually, she was able to drive again. She made a beeline for a Friendly’s, and we skipped dinne
r to order gargantuan ice-cream sundaes in a booth near the jukebox.

  “For five seconds I thought about trying to change him.” She scraped the last molecules of whipped cream and chocolate sauce from the bottom of her dish. “But remember what Mama used to say?”

  “That you can’t change a man unless he’s in diapers?”

  “It’s true, I know. But I thought if anybody could get Jason to change his tune, it’s me.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “I’m not unattractive, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “I may have a few more curves than some women, but I’m very firm. He told me that. I have firm flesh. He said it.”

  “I’m sure he meant it.”

  “He has wonderful hands.” Libby’s eyes began to glaze over again, and not from the shock of all the ice cream she’d just ingested. “I’ve never had a massage like he gives. So sensual. So caring. Jason really leans into his work, and when he touches my—”

  “Libby.”

  “Right,” she said. “There are lots of fish in the sea.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “More men where Jason came from.”

  “Even better men.”

  “I need a passionate, but spiritual person, somebody who understands my subconscious needs. Someone whose desires meld with my unique chakras, who will interface with my physical and nonphysical being as we travel beyond this plane to a self-actualized illumination. Are you going to finish your ice cream?”

  I passed my dish across the table. “Have you heard from Emma?”

  “She phoned this morning. Maybe that’s part of my problem.” Libby swirled chocolate sauce into the melting ice cream. “Now that Emma’s out of commission for a while, I feel as if I should be wreaking havoc on the males of the species on her behalf.”

  Our youngest sister, Emma, could attract men wherever she went. Of the three of us, she was the incredibly gorgeous one, the sister who exuded sexual invitation the way other human beings perspire. She handled men as deftly as she managed the wild horses she trained. They obeyed her every command.

  But gradually Emma’s social drinking had gotten out of hand. Libby and I had risked a powerful sisterly bond by insisting Emma get some help. She had checked into a rehab program just a week earlier.