“I was just doing my job,” I said.
“Ironic, isn’t it? How far we’ll go to do our jobs. Becoming a dental technician was supposed to be a way to turn over a new leaf. And now, a bunch of teeth in a skull are going to bite me from beyond the grave.”
In the distance, I heard sirens. Please let them be headed this way, I thought. Let them be responding to my 911 call. A car turned into the driveway of the Tome house. I didn’t dare look away from Deep V to see who it was. If it was the police, the sirens would grow closer. If it was a random car using the end of the driveway to make a U-turn as people so often did, the driver would never see us. We were easily a hundred yards away from the road.
But the car, a glorious, freshly washed, bright yellow taxi, drove all the way to the house. Deep V turned and looked, giving me just enough time to grab one of the potted trees by the trunk. I swung it as hard as I could toward the back of her legs. She dropped to the grass. The gun fell. The tree came out of the pot, showering Deep V with dirt. I kicked the gun through the grass toward the driveway and used the trunk of the tree to pin her to the ground.
“Miss Samantha?” Mo called out of his window, “I think this time maybe you need more than a taxi so I call the police.” Four cop cars, blaring sirens and flashing lights, pulled into the driveway, parking him in. Judging from his smile, I don’t think he minded.
Chapter 31
WEDNESDAY
It wasn’t until the next day that I learned the full story of what had happened over the past week. Deep V, aka Natasha Whitbee, was Pritchard’s older sister. She’d been seven when Gene Whitbee had shot Pritchard Smith. She’d watched her father bury his business partner in the desert. Gene turned to alcohol to numb the memories of what he’d done. When their mom died of a drug overdose in the early eighties, she and Pritchard had been left to raise themselves. She dug up the skull and hid it in a box in the basement. Security, in case her father’s murderous streak ever threatened their own safety.
She watched and learned the ID operation and, after her father’s death, reinvented herself. It wasn’t until a Google Alert on Jennie Mae Tome popped up and let her know that the long-hidden archive of seventies fashion would become public thanks to Retrofit and Bethany House that she contacted her brother with a plan to steal the samples. She established her brother’s background and he wheedled his way into Retrofit.
While Pritchard had been tasked with logistics of the theft, Deep V had been crafty in her pursuit of the skull. She’d taken a job as a dental technician with a local dentist, hoping to gain early knowledge if the police requested dental records to find a match. She sent me on a wild goose chase through a series of misinformation delivered in the parking lot outside of her place of work. She’d manipulated me by tapping into my inquisitive side, something she learned after researching me just like I’d researched everybody else. Perhaps another reason why snooping was a bad idea, though I’d given up counting arguments against my own nature.
Speaking of snooping, thanks to me, Nick’s dad was going to be okay. Pritchard and Deep V had treated him much the same as they’d treated Nancie in the basement of Bethany House, so while being tied up and held against his will wasn’t the ideal way to spend a couple of days, it hadn’t been torture. Pritchard hadn’t known about Nick’s new apartment and had returned Nick Senior to the wrong location. Had I not happened along when I did, who knows how long he would have been tied up in the closet.
Tahoma Hunt had not been involved in any criminal activity. His past felony convictions had been accumulated during a time when he’d made it his mission to recover relics of his American Indian heritage. The very past that had seemed so suspicious to me had been the qualifications that made him an attractive candidate to Bethany House: someone who recognized the historical and cultural symbolism in all garments and was willing to put himself on the line to connect buyers to merchandise. In fact, the only thing Bethany House had done wrong was to leave their receptionist in charge of the office keys. Detective Loncar’s team found cartridges of nitrous oxide, readily available at most dentist’s offices, in her desk drawer, along with a small oxygen tank and instructions on how to care for Nancie. Turns out Deep V had bought her help with the promise of free dental hygiene. Somebody needed to seriously consider the ramifications of the health care crisis.
What I hadn’t known was that when Navajo had gone missing, Jennie Mae had gone to the police. Her accusation of catnapping might not have motivated them to act, but my 911 call plus the hysterical report of a taxi driver did. Mo, after hearing from his brother the fate of dead taxi #3, told Det. Loncar how often he’d been driving me to Jennie Mae Tome’s house. The coincidence had been far too great.
Loncar and his team arrived shortly after Mo had pulled into the parking lot, arresting Pritchard and Deep V and transporting Mr. Charles to the hospital for immediate emergency care. Navajo was reunited with Jennie Mae. The clothes in the attic floor were recovered. Loncar had left the keys to my house with an officer who in turn left them with the night nurse. I drove home and slept in my own bed for the first time in a week. I had completely forgotten about the turquoise silk blouse hidden in the scarf that was tied around my waist until I undressed for the night.
The next day, I woke up early and on edge. I was one year older but back to square one in my quest for steady employment.
I showered and dressed in a pair of amber culottes and an ochre chiffon blouse with full sleeves. I hung a gold pendant around my neck and slipped on a pair of striped espadrilles with ribbons that laced around my ankles. I blow dried my hair without benefit of a brush, letting the curls pop up on their own, and then knotted the yellow paisley scarf over the top and tied it on the side. My project might have ended, but I’d become charmed by the style of the Seventies.
I had a long list of people to call and things to do, but one item rose to the top of the list. I called Eddie and arranged to pick up Logan at Tradava. Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in his office, one hand on a cup of coffee, the other stroking my chubby black cat.
“Dude,” Eddie said.
“I know.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
I was quiet for a moment. So much had happened in my small little world. The Seventies project, the trashing of Retrofit, being shot at, being trapped in the basement of Bethany House, crawling through the air conditioning vents, and being held at gunpoint. I’d learned a lot about the people around me, but I’d also learned something significant about myself. Pritchard Smith had been right: I did not follow direction well. How many times would I have been safe if I’d stayed put like Loncar, Nancie, even Nick had asked? But the isolation—the sense of being trapped, or of missing out on something—had been stifling.
The thing that had gotten me through it all were friends: Eddie, who’d taken care of Logan no questions asked. Nick, who’d been dealing with the nuances of moving in with his dad but had taken time out to take care of me. And possibly the most surprising of all, Detective Loncar, who was dealing with his own drama: the estrangement of his wife, daughter, and her new baby.
“I’ll probably want to talk about it at some point, but right now, I’d rather hear about you. What’s up with the junk food?”
He sighed. “Tradava got the idea to put out a monthly catalog. As part of my visual director responsibilities, they have me sitting in on the buyer presentations and styling the pages. In addition to dressing the store. And until they find someone to run that division, it’s all on me.”
“But junk food? That’s what I do when I’m stressed. You usually turn to spinach and grilled chicken.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You seem kind of invincible so I thought I’d give your way a try.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
He looked down at his stomach. There was a pooch on top of his waistband.
I picked up Logan and slipped him into his carrier, and then stood up. “Here’s a thought. I work for a maga
zine that is currently without a home. I have a feeling my boss would be open to a conversation with Tradava on taking over this catalog of which you speak.”
Eddie leaned back and pushed his blond hair away from his face. He laced his fingers together and rested them behind his head. “That’s not a bad idea,” he said. “Retrofit and Tradava working together. Your boss has the know-how and the contacts. All I’d have to do is style the pages.”
I stood a little straighter. “You do know I have a little experience with that sort of thing,” I said.
“You’re suggesting a package deal?”
I nodded once.
“Exactly how many employees are there at Retrofit?” he asked.
“Two. And trust me, that’s as many as we need.”
Epilogue
FROM THE DESK OF SAMANTHA KIDD
Send birthday thank you notes to:
1. Eddie: for 1-year membership to the sandwich of the month club
2. Nick: for arranging an “extraction” on my birthday because he thought it was the kind of experience I’d enjoy
3. Cat: for 30% discount coupon to Catnip
4. Mo: for 1 complimentary taxi ride
5. Detective Loncar: for approving my new application to the Citizen’s Police Academy
6. Logan: for sleeping on my head last night
About the Author
After close to two decades working for a top luxury retailer, Diane Vallere traded fashion accessories for accessories to murder. Diane started her own detective agency at age ten and has maintained a passion for shoes, clues, and clothes ever since. Sign up for her newsletter for contests, free stories, and more here.
Also by Diane Vallere
Style & Error Mysteries
Designer Dirty Laundry
Buyer, Beware
The Brim Reaper
Some Like It Haute
Grand Theft Retro
Mad for Mod Mysteries
“Midnight Ice” Prequel Novella
Other People’s Baggage
Pillow Stalk
That Touch of Ink
With Vics You Get Eggroll
Material Witness Mysteries
Suede to Rest
Crushed Velvet
Silk Stalkings (coming Aug 2016)
Costume Shop Mystery Series
A Disguise To Die For
Masking for Trouble (coming Oct 2016)
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Grand Theft Retro (Style & Error Mystery Series Book 5) Page 20