“Terrific. A company?” Gabby asked taking a slip of paper from Maria’s outstretched hand. She read the name and popped up from the couch, her eyes as big as saucers.
“Gilly, look. Macy’s buyer called.” Gabby shook the slip of paper in front of Gilly’s nose.
Gilly rescued the paper from the shaking fingers and popped up beside Gabby. “Maria, what did she say?”
“Oh, just that one of their buyer’s saw your collection at the event last March. They want to include a few pieces in a new display they’re adding to their women’s department. A special display for the career woman. They are going to begin with twenty, t -w -e -n -t -y, of their major metropolitan stores including … are you ready?”
Nicole couldn’t hold it any longer. “New York,” she screamed jumping up and down, clapping her hands then grabbed Gilly’s arm twirling her around.
All four women were now hugging each other. Arthur slipped away and returned with five plastic water glasses and a bottle of champagne. Grinning, he tried to open the bottle but could only pull down the wire holding the cork. Gabby took the bottle from his shaking hands and did the honor of releasing the cork, pouring about an inch of the bubbling contents into the glasses stretched out in front of her. Tapping glasses, Arthur said, “Here’s to the beginning of the national brand—Gillianne Wilder Fashions.”
Gilly closed her eyes, took a sip, and then looked at her team. “Let’s expand this little celebration. Maria, do you think Hawk can join us? And, Arthur, how about Cindy? Tell them we’re going out for a celebration dinner. Oh, and, Nicole, call Vinsenso. We have to include him.”
“I’ll do it right now,” Nicole giggled. “He’s going to faint when he hears.”
“Hold on everybody,” Gabby said. “Before we go completely crazy, let me call the person at Macy’s to be sure she’s for real.”
Gilly smiled as Nicole stopped running around. “Gabby, you go make that call and then let us know if we’re going to dinner down on the waterfront or down the street for a hot dog.”
Gabby sat down at the end of the table, her cell phone and the piece of paper with Macy’s number in her hands. Arthur corked the champagne bottle and returned it to the fridge.
“I’ll run down to the shop to make sure our saleslady put the rest of the stock in the proper areas,” Nicole said. “Then, Madame Gilly, you have to join us. Inspect the cutest little shop on the street. After all we’re opening tomorrow.”
“I’ll be right down. I have two calls to make first—let Mom know I’ll be over to pick up Robyn on Saturday, and, Maria, I have to talk to Hawk. Gabby and I stopped to see Sheridan.”
“Oh, how is she? What’s the company like?” Nicole asked hesitating at the door and top step to the shoe shop below.
“I’ll fill you in later, but right now I’m too furious with our former roommate to give you an answer.”
“Oh, oh. Sounds bad,” Nicole said.
“It is. She stole our designs. Maria, I can’t believe it happened again. First Spiky and now Sheridan. From here on, no one, no one except us five, is allowed in the design studio.”
───
THE CELEBRATION DINNER WAS on. Gabby confirmed that Deborah Hollingsworth, Macy’s buyer, was for real and invited the buyer to visit the shop so Gillianne Wilder could present the collection and what she envisioned for the future of the label.
Boisterous laughter floated throughout the dinner crowd at Ivar’s seafood restaurant. Waiters scooted through the tables holding trays on their shoulders. Trays filled with steaming clam chowder, delicately fried gooey-duck clams, baked salmon, as well as swordfish and other seafood favorites. Ivar’s was hopping but none more so than the group seated in the window. The waiter served the Wilder party their second bottle of champagne.
They were ready to party—the shop was opening in the morning and they were looking at the prospect of inking a big sale, a sale that would launch GWF nationwide. The little shop in downtown Seattle was going to be its crown jewel, a shop to highlight the Gillianne Wilder Fashion label without distraction from competing brands.
Over coffee, Gilly asked Hawk if they could go for a walk. She had something to discuss with him. Excusing themselves they went outside and walked along the pier behind Ivar’s. The June evening had a little nip in the air and Gilly pulled on her sweater as she began relating her confrontation with Sheridan Cunningham. “I feel so stupid that I let my guard down … again.”
“You’re doing the right thing … closing off the studio to everyone but you and your staff,” Hawk said leaning on a piling sticking up out of the water anchoring a chain to the next piling. “If you have to meet with someone, get together down in Gabby’s sales area in the back of the shop. Besides with the renovation, her sales space is beautiful, and, if the appointment calls for a more personal touch, you can meet in the living room of your new apartment when its ready.” Hawk paused, then looked with a furrowed brow at Gilly. “You have to remember your studio is like a company’s R&D laboratory. It holds the current and future designs of the GWF label. Another thing, when a design is ready to be sampled in muslin, bring it to me and I’ll immediately register the copyright.”
“You’re right, Hawk. I guess the horse is out of the barn as far as Sheridan is concerned,” Gilly said looking out over the water. A full moon provided cascading beams of light over the rippling tidal water.
“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean we can’t scare her, maybe enough so she’ll abandon the idea of using your designs. I’ll write a letter, as your lawyer, saying you are going to sue her, her partner, and her company for the theft of your designs. We won’t actually sue but they won’t know that—get them looking over their shoulder worrying about what’s coming. And there’s one more thing I’ll do.”
“What’s that?” Gilly smiled at her long-time friend. How lucky she was to have him and how lucky he married Maria, keeping them in a tight-knit group.
“Maria and I have been talking about going to San Francisco for a few days, and I’m sure I can talk her into visiting Los Angeles as well. Maybe we’ll duck out early next week. With the shop opening tomorrow, I’m sure she’ll be ready for a little pampering.”
“And, my friend, you’re just the guy to handle that assignment. Thanks, Hawk. Let me know what you think of my conniving former friend in LA.”
Chapter 17
───
Los Angeles
AN AMERICAN INDIAN DRESSED in a black suit, tie, and white silk shirt, stepped out of the cab and frowned at the rundown orange stucco building in front of him. With a sigh he stepped through the door of a shop with a smudged display window and faced a counter, a dingy empty space, and no one in attendance. Exactly as it had been described to him.
“Hey. Anyone here,” he yelled. “Hey—
“Ya. Ya. Keep your britches on,” a voice hollered from the hallway. A man emerged with a can of beer in his hand.
Bingo, the Indian thought—baggy jeans, scuffed sneakers, and Zak stitched on a tank top—my man.
“What you want, mister?” the man in the shirt named Zak said setting his beer on the counter, swiping hair out of his eyes.
The visitor looked around, frowned. “I must be in the wrong place. Looking for a designer by the name of Sheridan Cunningham.”
“You’ve come to the right place. You a buyer?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My names Zak, Zak Foster, mister?”
“Hawk Jackson.” His black hair was slicked back into a short ponytail.
“Well, you come with me, Mr. Jackson. Ms. Cunningham is in the back … in her studio. You’ve come at a good time. She’s finishing up her designs for a new collection. A fall collection,” Zak said leading the way through the shadowy hall and into a bright, large room.
Hawk glanced at the Mexican women pushing fabric under the foot of the sewing machines, the needle pounding as they pushed. Three women today.
“Sher
idan, this is Mr. Jackson, a buyer. He heard about your designs.”
“Welcome, Mr. Jackson.” Sheridan smiled extending her hand. “Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“Yes. My fall line needs a fresh look. I heard from an attendant preparing for the LA Fashion Week in October that you were working on a new line. Spring collections of course will be shown in October, but I was hoping to buy some items now for fall. May I see your collection?”
“Yes. However, I only have the sketches at the moment. The patterns are being cut elsewhere, and the muslin samples aren’t complete. But, come over here and I’ll show you the sketches. If there is anything you like, I’m sure we could quickly fill your order.” Sheridan walked to the sketches tacked to the fall.
“Take a look at these—the complete fall collection.”
Hawk stepped to the first sketch, paused, stepped back, stepped to the next. “Do you have fabric samples?”
“Expect the bolts of fabric to be delivered in a few days. I can describe the weave, the blends—
“That’s all right. I like your work, Miss Cunningham. It is Miss Cunningham?”
“Yes. Zak is my business partner.”
Zak rocked on his feet, a slight nod, at the mention of his name. His hands folded behind his back.
“I have to make a call … to my corporate office.” Hawk patted his jacket pocket, his breast pocket, both pants pockets. “I seem to have left my cell phone at the hotel. Could I borrow yours, Miss Cunningham?”
“Of course.” Sheridan picked up her cell from the table and handed it to Hawk.
“Thank you. If you don’t mind I’ll just step out front a minute … easier to talk,” he said winking at Sheridan. He turned and started down the hall, catching the pair high-fiving out of the corner of his eye.
At the front counter he quickly activated the phone, tapped the picture icon and flipped through the frames. Satisfied that most, if not all of Gilly’s sketches were still stored on the phone, he smiled. Yes, he thought, this will give her a nice piece of insurance against Sheridan ever daring to use the designs.
Hawk pocketed the phone and left, climbing into his waiting cab.
Hearing the front door bang shut, Sheridan ran down the hall. “Hey, where are you going? My phone.” She ran out into the street, Zak on her heels. “Hey, mister, my phone,” she hollered to the cab speeding away. “Give me my goddamn phone.”
Hawk looked out the back window. Their high-fives had turned into very obscene gestures.
Chapter 18
───
Hansville
“BREATHE IN.
Breathe out.
In. In.
Out. Out.”
Running at a slow pace, Skip kept his breathing in cadence with his stride. Two strides: inhale. Two strides: exhale. His second pair of new shoes felt good. He had to replace the first pair since they didn’t leave the suggested inch between his big toe and the shoe leather for distance running. Knee length shorts were just right—no friction between the thighs. His neck and shoulders were relaxed.
“I see myself running easily. I feel strong, I feel powerful. I can run forever.” His mantra. Today he said the words out loud, then let them run through his head several times. As important as getting his muscles and bones hardened, was setting the mental images. He had to maintain a positive attitude—all part of marathon training.
His goal was to finish. It didn’t matter how long it took, as long as he finished.
Four more weeks and he would start the sixteen-week training program his college coach had given to all students who had signed up to run a marathon—26.2 miles.
Running the marathon was at the end of the fifteenth week. Week sixteen was recovery, refortifying what was depleted during the rigors of the race. The preliminary training was not for speed or endurance, but to run slow and easy in preparation for the longer distances to come. Today was Saturday—a long run of four miles.
He focused once again on his breathing pattern: breathe in for two strides and breathe out for two strides.
“In. In.
Out. Out.”
The same motorcycle that passed him last Saturday pulled around him again this morning. The man, with a girl straddling the seat behind, waved as they passed.
“Stay positive. Looks like rain … but it doesn’t matter. There’s a hill ahead … but it doesn’t matter.” Skip smiled. He remembered how he hated hills but then his coach told him if there is something you don’t like, say to yourself but it doesn’t matter and let it go. The first day after being given those words he saw a huge hill ahead. He had laughed out loud … “but, it doesn’t matter,” and took the hill in stride.
“In. In.
Out. Out.”
The Eglon sign was ahead, he ran up to the marker, tapped it, turned around and without breaking stride headed back to Gramp’s house.
Approaching the driveway he saw two cars parked next to his Jeep. One was Gilly’s, the other her mom’s. His concentration broke and then his stride. Breathing turned erratic. His heart rate spiked, a smile spreading across his face. Gilly was here.
He trotted down the steps to the patio door, swung it open and called out, “Hey, where is everybody?”
“In the kitchen, son,” Gramp’s called back.
The three were sitting at the kitchen table sharing a cup of tea. Skip was so happy to see them, he kissed Anne and then Gilly on the cheek.
“Gramps tells me you’re taking up residence on the weekends—the two Rs,” Gilly said.
“Two Rs? What’s that supposed to mean?” Skip asked rinsing the empty water bottle on his belt, refilling it, and draining half.
“Running and wRiting,” she said with a giggle throwing him a hand towel to wipe the water dripping from the stubble on his chin.
“Cute,” he replied with a smirk. “How about a walk on the beach, smarty pants? It’s a beautiful day—first of July. The fourth coming up.”
“Thanks, for the invite, but I was just about to leave.”
“Nonsense,” Gramps said. “There’s always another ferry.”
“Go ahead,” Anne said. “Robyn’s still sleeping.”
“Well, in that case, the last one on the beach is a snarky turtle,” Gilly said as she ran down the hall, out the patio door, skidding to a halt at the top of the rickety stairs.
Skip caught up with her and they disappeared down over the bank.
“How far did you run today?” Gilly asked dropping from the bottom rung of the ladder to the beach. The tide was out leaving a mixture of small rocks and sand as well as streamers of bright green slimy kelp releasing the smell of seaweed.
“Four miles. Not far. Still in the preliminary phase of my training—toughening up the muscles and bones,” he said joining her.
“Ah, your bones are talking to you again.” They both laughed thinking back to the time he was the first reporter on the scene when a body was found on the Hansville beach. He had said his bones told him the man was murdered. “Could feel it in my bones” were his exact words.
“And your exposé, how’s it coming along?” Gilly asked shading her eyes from the brilliant noon sun.
“I still have a couple more chapters to write. Eleanor’s trial won’t happen for several months, maybe not until the first of the year, but I’m not going to wait for the verdict. I doubt she’ll get the death penalty given there’s no body. At least that’s what DuBois says. So, I’ll write the ending that she’s hit with a life sentence. The main thing is we know she helped Sacco over the railing.”
“By the time an agent hooks you up with a publisher you’ll probably know the actual sentence—change a few words.”
“Don’t even mention the words agent and publisher. I’ll have three or more books written before that happens.”
Gilly stopped walking and looked into Skip’s intense blue eyes. “I’m so happy to hear you talk like that. And, I’m a little jealous that you’re out here on weekends wit
h Gramps … writing.”
“He’s terrific. We don’t talk much except at dinner. I asked him how the deck was named the Queen Betty.”
“And he said that—
“He said that when you were a little girl, on Sunday morning he and your Grandmother Betty served blueberry pancakes for breakfast down on the deck. And, that your dad dubbed the deck the Queen Betty. Right?”
“Right. Breakfast on the Queen Betty. It was wonderful.” Gilly dug the toe of her shoe in the rocky sand.
“Now that I’m in training,” Skip said in a stern voice, “Your grandfather is asking me for a list of food I should be eating. Then he buys the stuff during the week. And then there’s your mom. Holy cow, does she ever stop cooking?”
“Never!” Gilly laughed. “So what are you supposed to eat?”
“Lots of carbs, like oatmeal and pasta which I love, and vegetables which I’m growing to love. I never knew broccoli could be cooked so many different ways.”
“Umm, Mom has a million pasta recipes. Some with broccoli as I recall.”
“And then there’s protein—fish, chicken, beans, nuts, whole grains, egg whites, low-fat milk, low-fat cheese and—
“Stop. You’re making me hungry.”
Skip looked at her smiling face turned up to him. He threw caution to the wind, grasped her shoulders and pulled her into his arms, and tenderly kissed her pink lips. Releasing her, he started to jog up the beach. “Come on. Let’s run up to that boulder.”
Gilly stood rooted to the ground, smiling, but shaking her head, no. He walked back. “Okay, but what about next Saturday? Come over and help me eat Gramp’s banquet.”
“I don’t think I can. I’m only here today because Mom took care of Robyn for a few days. We’re crazy busy now that the shop has reopened. Stop over, or run over when you get a chance.”
“I’ll do that.” He held her hand as they walked back to the rickety stairs.
Murder by Design Trilogy Page 48