Murder by Design Trilogy

by Mary Jane Forbes

  DuBois pulled on a pair of latex gloves, handing a second pair to Skip. Both men read the letter. DuBois returned the items to the bag and called an officer from forensics to pick it up for testing.

  “Spiky didn’t give you any way to contact him,” DuBois said looking at Gilly. “I suggest you do nothing. Wait for him to come back and ask for the money again. Meanwhile we’ll step up the search for him, do some checking on that account number. Somehow he’s tracking you. Sent that package to your Seattle address. You haven’t been there very long.”

  “Only two weeks. His grandmother, Helen Churchill, knows the address. She’s loaning me the rent money. For six months.”

  “Does she know about the blackmail?”

  “No, only about when he assaulted me, and Gramps shooting at him. I think at first she was ambivalent about the incident, after all he is her grandson. But then she changed—obviously trying to support me. The rent may be her way of making amends for what Edward did to me.”

  “I think I’ll take a run out to Port Gamble,” DuBois said. “Talk to her. Feel her out. See if she’d call us if he told her where he’s hiding. I don’t like the fact he’s so blatantly taunting you. He’s in your face and I want you to keep your guard up.” DuBois said the last words looking straight at Skip.”

  DuBois obviously thinks I should be watching out for Gilly’s welfare. How was he supposed to do that when she barely talked to him? But, she did call him today. Another start. Or … another wall.

  ───

  SKIP TOOK GILLY TO Pike Place Market known for fresh produce stalls, souvenir boutiques as well as small shops with general merchandise, and a wide variety of restaurants. Holding her hand, he led her to Lowell’s, dining rooms on three floors, all with a view of Puget Sound.

  It was a restaurant, bar, and market displaying fresh fruit, vegetables and fish—lots of fish—a bright, cheerful place for a bite to eat and casual conversation, and as far from romantic as you can get unless you visit at night when it’s aglow with candles. He didn’t want to stir up any tension where she might dart away—just friends getting together at the end of a day. Trouble was she looked so darn cute—white long-sleeve shirt over jeans, the baby bump now obvious. She certainly had enough to deal with and romance, he was sure, was not at the top of her list, or anywhere on the list.

  “How’s it going in your new place?”

  “Great. Maria’s staying with me.”

  “What happens when she gets married?”

  “Oh, my staff is growing. There are three of us—four counting my mom. Nicole Bruni, my roommate from Paris—

  “Oh, I remember, I met her,” Skip blurted. Damn, why did I say that—another reminder of when she was away from me—way, way, away.

  “Oh, yes … I forgot.” Gilly said with a sheepish smile guilt twisting her stomach in a knot. “When I left Paris Nicole told me she wanted to come to the States, said if I needed her help to ask. I called and she said yes. We’re all working very hard and should be delivering the display samples in a couple of days to two stores. Mom is taking care of the books—hopefully we’ll get some income as everything is out-go now.” The knot eased and Gilly smiled at Skip. She wanted to put her hand out on the table, offering him a chance to respond. But she didn’t. She kept her hands tightly clasped in her lap, except when she took a bite of the stuffed shrimp. Even though she had lunch a couple of hours earlier she was hungry again.

  “Skip, have you been working on your novel? The expose of the Wellington gold robbery?”

  “I am, but I’m stymied on the ending. I feel there’s something more. I just feel that Eleanor Wellington had something to do with Sacco’s death but the police can’t find any evidence, and worse yet, no body. I wish I’d receive another phone call with one of those anonymous tips I got leading to Sacco in the first place.”

  “Ah, those bones of yours talking to you again—like you felt about the guy who was found lying in the surf by Gramp’s house.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Can I read it … sometime?”

  Her request took his breath away. Such a simple request but he had poured his heart and soul into the manuscript, taking great pains to keep it accurate. He didn’t want anyone to read it. Not yet. But Gilly wasn’t anyone. He trusted her and she was part of the story. “Sure. Sounds good. I’d like you to tell me what I can do to make it a good read.”

  “You’re the writer. I doubt I can help with the read. I’m sure the book will be a page turner.”

  “So far that makes two of us—both biased. I’ve sent out a few query letters to agents.”

  “And?”

  “And, no dice—‘I only take completed manuscripts,’ or ‘we don’t take new authors,’ or ‘not our genre.’ It’s depressing. I don’t know … maybe I just can’t write, or I can’t write what someone else wants to read.”

  “I do know your daily articles in the newspaper were riveting. Gramps saved them during the time I was away. I read them all. Don’t give up. You’re good. I bet Agatha Christie didn’t stop with her first rejections. She kept writing. If in your heart you believe the ending hasn’t appeared, then start another expose. I’m sure you have lots of subjects—the stories you bring to light everyday through your investigative reporting.”

  There it is, he thought. The sparkle, the enthusiasm of the young girl before she went to Paris. I’d like to be the one to keep that sparkle in her eyes.

  “By the way, I like your new look—slight five-o’clock shadow matching a shadow of hair—very Hemingway.” She unconsciously slid her hand out on the table. Quickly pulled back.

  The action was not lost on Skip, but he made no move. “I was talking to Wellington a couple of days ago. His gold is being shipped back to him from Mexico where Eleanor and Sacco had squirreled the gold bars away. He flew down, opened every crate, and counted the bars. Out of the forty-five million, I guess Eleanor only had time to spend a couple mill,” Skip chuckled. “DuBois, or rather the Mexican police detective he worked with, tracked the fence who sold some of the gold giving Eleanor money to spend. A little hard to buy a drink with a gold bar.” Skip looked at Gilly sitting on the opposite side of the table. He wanted to knock the table away and pull her into his arms.

  “Wellington is throwing a party in celebration once his gold is safely back in his possession. This time he’s keeping it in a bank vault and not his house. I know he’s going to ask your grandfather and you. Can I escort the two of you? It should be in a couple of weeks.”

  “Of course. Sounds fun and I’m sure Gramps would be thrilled to attend with you. Did you receive the invitation to Hawk and Maria’s wedding? That’s in three weeks, then it’s Christmas. Time is flying.”

  “I did. Again, can I offer you a ride?”

  “I’d like that, Skip. Thanks.”

  “Just let me know which side of the sound you’re on—your apartment or Gramp’s.”

  An awkward silence followed.

  No more topics to discuss—no more safe topics.

  He wanted to ask what he could do to help keep her safe. He wanted to move in with her but he didn’t think that idea would fly either. He settled for driving her home, insisted on walking her to her door, standing back until she disappeared into her apartment.

  Chapter 37

  ───

  IT WAS A BIG DAY.

  A big, big day!

  The girls woke and padded on bare feet to their little kitchen. After their first sip of coffee, the three broke out in big smiles. Within two hours they would be delivering the display samples to Susan Adams at Nordstrom’s and Stacy Sinclair at The Working Girl shop.

  “Last one in the bathroom has to buy lunch,” Nicole called out as she slipped away from the table, shut the bathroom door giggling.

  “Hey, Bruni, you’re not playing fair. You had a head start and our little mother can’t run,” Maria yelled laughing. “Five months down and four to go, girlfriend.”

  “If
I can’t run now, I hope I can still get out of a chair by then.”

  Maria shook her head. “Can you believe it? We are delivering the first garments with the label, Gillianne Wilder Fashions.”

  “I know. I know. Thank God Hawk let you borrow his van. If we ever get Nicole out of the bathroom and get ourselves dressed we’ll load up,” Gilly said, throwing half of her coffee down the sink, refilling her mug with milk.

  “Let me amend that statement,” Maria said. “While you’re in the bathroom, Nicole and I will load the van. You can sashay down the stairs, or whatever it is you call your waddle these days, and climb into the front seat. You’re going to ride like a queen today, at least until we dress the mannequins. Susan said she’d set them up for us in the women’s department. Then you have to pay attention to every detail because I’ll be too excited.” Maria said as she headed for her little space in the bedroom dressing room to put on her jeans. When Gilly emerged from the bathroom, Nicole was carting down the last pieces of the collection.

  The morning traffic was thick, but Maria was an expert at navigating the Seattle streets. A few blocks later she turned the van down the alley to Nordstrom’s loading dock.

  “Now, girlfriend, you are not to lift a finger until Nicole and I have the pieces up in the ladies department and then only to adjust a scarf. Understood?” Maria turned off the engine of the van and held Gilly’s eyes in a mock-stern face.

  “Understood, but I can take that large tote with the tops. You get the jackets and the other pieces. Nicole, I love the garment bags. However did you get our logo printed so fast?”

  “Oh, I just worked my Persian whiles on this cute guy at the graphic print shop,” Nicole giggled, batting her long black lashes. “Do you realize this is the first time and maybe the last that we’ll back up to a loading dock. Vinsenso will be doing all future honors.”

  In no time the garment bags were hanging on a rack the department manager had positioned next to the mannequins. “Look at that gold easel and framed poster would you,” Maria said gaping as she read out loud. “Announcing Gillianne Wilder Fashions now available for pre-order. Gillianne Wilder, the winner of the State’s fashion designer competition.”

  A chill of excitement passed through the three girls. “This is it. This is it! Your label is launched,” Nicole said squeezing Gilly’s arm.

  Gilly wiped a tear off her beaming face. “Okay, you guys, let’s get these naked ladies dressed. We have another store to visit.”

  Carefully sliding the dress over the mannequin’s head, Gilly topped it with a shimmery cropped jacket, the first of two looks. The second, the jacket was reversed, and topped with a beautiful tank top over a pencil skirt.

  Maria set a lookbook against the easel describing the various pieces: reversible two-in-one jacket—pants, sleeveless dress, and another top—the dress doubling as a party dress ready for ropes of gold, or pearls, or other gems. The lookbook listed the three sizes available, and three color palettes.

  Arriving at The Working Girl shop, Nicole and Maria carted the three looks for the career woman in the garment bags. Stacy had placed three mannequins in the window under sheets waiting to be dressed with the new line. It didn’t take Gilly long to add her finishing touches. Stacy and the girls hustled outside to admire the new window display. As with Nordstrom’s, Stacy had prepared a sign in a shiny ebony frame announcing the new label.

  “Let’s go back inside,” Stacy said. “I have something to tell you, to discuss.”

  Gilly felt a tense undercurrent from Stacy. She was not her usual spirited self. Stacy called to her salesgirl that she would be in the back if she was needed.

  Sitting at a table, Gilly looked at Stacy. She was growing more apprehensive by the minute. “Is this good news or bad news?” she asked.

  “Well, it depends. Good for me, something I’ve been ready to do for at least a year. And, an offer to you. But you may not be ready to take advantage of it.”

  “For heaven’s sake, don’t keep us in suspense,” Maria said trying to be lighthearted but failing. She felt tension-filled vibes in the air.

  “I’m going to retire. Sell the shop.”

  Her statement came out in a rush as if, had she not said it quickly, she might not say it at all.

  “Oh, Stacy, you’re not sick are you?” Gilly reached out for Stacy’s hand.

  “No, no. I’m fine. My husband retires in a few months and we want to do some traveling.”

  “You said something about an offer,” Nicole whispered.

  “Yes. Gilly, this is a prime spot. Perfect really for someone such as yourself, a new designer launching a label, a perfect place to test market your brand.” Stacy’s eyes began to twinkle. “I wonder if you want to manage the shop for six months adding your designs to the existing stock. I could help you with the transition to manager. Then if things go well, you could take over the lease and I’ll sell you the business.”

  Gilly’s jaw dropped. “I…I…don’t know what to say.” She looked from Stacy to Nicole to Maria. Her friends were as dumbfounded as she was. Their heads switching from one to the other and around again.

  “You’ve never seen the second floor. There’s an apartment and plenty of space for a design studio. I know it’s sudden,” Stacy continued. “But the more my husband and I discussed our plans, the more I thought about you, and how I started the shop. But I always sold other designer’s clothes. You would have a retail outlet that wholesale buyers could visit, see your brand in a setting that you design to show off your label in the best light. Your light.”

  “I…I…”

  “Think about it, dear. The holidays are upon us—Thanksgiving this week, Christmas just around the corner. I’ll need your answer by January first … a new beginning on the first day of the New Year. How does that sound, unless you don’t want to consider the offer. Maybe too soon?”

  “Of course, I want to consider it. I’m overwhelmed is all … and with your faith in my designs. I want Nicole and Maria and I to run out in the street, throw our Mary Tyler Moore hats in the air and scream YES! YES! YES!”

  Chapter 38

  ───

  THE THREE GIRLS PLUS Anne sat around the table eating turkey wraps slathered with cranberry chutney from the tearoom. A salmon casserole with peas and carrots was in the refrigerator, big enough Anne hoped that they could eke out two dinners.

  The four were brainstorming if, or how, they could swing the takeover of The Working Girl shop along the guidelines that Stacy had laid out. The brainstorming was actually a continuation and refinement of the discussions that had ensued around the Thanksgiving table. Anne, Will, and Gramps had sprung for all the fixings prepared by the neighborhood deli.

  Today’s discussion, while spirited, was honing in on whether taking Stacy up on her offer was really doable—in other words the money angle.

  “With the apartment included, we would be living relatively rent free for the first six months as we manage the shop,” Gilly said. “That would give us a chance to bankroll Helen’s rent money until we pick up the lease. Of course, the lease will triple the amount we’re paying now. Stacy said she’d show us her books. But if she’s paying the rent from her sales, then I don’t see any reason why we can’t.”

  “As I see it,” Maria said. “It all depends on how many sales are generated from the display samples we dropped off last week. If there aren’t very many, then I say we have to pass on the deal.”

  Gilly’s cell rang, and as she answered she said, “I agree, Maria. Hello. …Oh, Stacy, sorry I was just talking to Maria and Nicole. Your offer has us spinning. What’s up?”

  “I had to call, Gillianne Wilder.” Whenever Stacy got excited she always called Gilly by her full name. “I’ve had several orders for your collection. Do you think you can deliver them by January second? They all said they wanted something new to spice up their wardrobe for the dreary winter months ahead.”

  “Yes. Sure we can deliver. That’s wonderful. I’ll be
down in an hour to pick up the orders and get them off to our factory manager. Oops, I have another call. See you in about an hour, Stacy. Hello, Gillianne Wilder here. Oh, hi, Ms. Adams … What? … Wait a minute. You have some orders? Several orders?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Wilder, on the condition they can have the clothes by January first or the day after being the first is a holiday. If not, they will cancel.”

  “Well, Ms. Adams, you tell them, yes. I’ll drop by in an hour to pick up these orders and any others you write up. We’ll get right on it. And, Ms. Adams, thank you.”

  Gilly hung up her eyes bulging, jaw dropping. Nicole, Maria and Anne looked back at Gilly all bug-eyed, and dropped jaws. Gilly screamed back: “Do you understand what just happened?”

  “Yes, dear,” Anne said. I’ll help you pack so you can move into The Working Girl shop on January first.”

  Nicole started screaming, jumping up and down, skittering back and forth high-fiving everyone including Coco.

  ───

  GILLY AND NICOLE PUT on their coats and Anne volunteered to drive them to The Working Girl shop on her way to the ferry. She was already making lists of what she had to do at home in order to be free to help her daughter. Maria said she’d take the opportunity to run some errands and buy a few items she needed for Hawk’s new apartment, soon to be their apartment.

  First stop was to pick up the orders from Stacy, and then Gilly and Nicole scooted over to Nordstrom’s. Ms. Adams met them with a fist full of order sheets. Another five orders complete with style numbers, sizes, and colors, had come in. She handed the paperwork to Nicole and rushed off to help another customer.

  Gilly and Nicole walked down the hill to the subway station chattering like magpies as Nicole read off the order sheets. Nicole jumped aboard the train, holding out her hand to help Gilly. They stepped off at their stop and walked the block to the main entrance of the factory. Tony Vinsenso greeted Nicole with a hug and shook Gilly’s hand vigorously. Business had been a little slack and when he saw the orders in Nicole’s hand as she shoved them at him, he hugged Gilly as well.