“I work the line on Saturday nights,” he said as if he’d read my mind.
Not sure what that meant. Maybe he had no social life. Maybe he was devoted to serving the poor. He just didn’t look the type in that expensive suit. I started to think they’d never leave and it was my fault asking him about his charity work when it was murder we needed to discuss. Not just discuss, but do something about.
They did finally leave. They crossed paths with the delivery man, and Detective Wall noted the van and wrote something on his famous notepad. Then he turned and looked back at my house. As if he might wonder just how sick I was if I could handle a tofu crepe stuffed with bean sprouts.
It turned out I could handle it just fine. After polishing off every single delicious bite, I drifted off again. When I woke up, I read a few chapters from a well-regarded vampire novel (not in the original, but translated from Romanian into English) guaranteed to put me to sleep again. The book probably gives some readers nightmares, but I don’t scare easily. The next thing I knew it was Monday morning, and after I had a cup of coffee and the rest of the chocolate alligator, I called Dolce to report to her about my interview and ask her about hers. And explain why I wasn’t at work today.
Five
“Dolce,” I said.
“Rita,” she said. “What happened? I tried to call you last night and again this morning.”
“Sorry, I turned off my phone.” I stretched my leg out and critically surveyed my ankle. I thought the swelling had gone done a little. “My doctor wants me to rest.”
“You had me worried. I thought they might have arrested you and hauled you off to the new county jail.”
“The one they call the San Francisco Hilton South? No they didn’t, but I’m sure the detective in the long flowered skirt would have liked to.”
“That skirt,” Dolce said with an audible shudder, “was bad enough. Then there was her sweater. Jones New York if I’m not mistaken. Someone should tell her to avoid raglan sleeves or at least wear a scarf tossed over the sweater to broaden her shoulders. I’m telling you, if the fashion police had been on duty that woman would be behind bars.”
“Was it that bad?” I asked. “I didn’t notice.”
“Didn’t notice her sloped shoulders? Rita, you must really be sick. Now don’t even think about coming in today.”
“I have to. I can’t sit here with my foot up another day of watching TV and reading Romanian vampire novels or I’ll go mad, I swear. How was your interview on TV?”
“Fine, in fact we got some free publicity from it. We’ve been mobbed so far today.”
“I wish I’d seen it,” I said.
“I TiVo-ed it so I can play it for you. Of course they tried to get me to say something incriminating, but I think I did pretty well dodging the questions. ‘How well did I know the deceased? What kind of clothes and accessories did she purchase ? Any financial problems? When was the last time I saw her?’ You should have heard me doing a sidestep. How about you? Did you tell the police you went to get the shoes back from MarySue?”
“They didn’t ask. Either they already knew, or they still don’t know or don’t care.”
“What did you think of Detective Wall? Quite a hunk, as you girls would say, or were you too sick to notice? Can’t complain about his taste in clothes. I hope he didn’t give you a bad time.”
“He asked questions, but I think I convinced him I couldn’t have killed MarySue or stolen her shoes. The bad thing is they found the shoe box in my garbage can.”
“The shoe box?” Dolce said. “The one the silver shoes came in?”
“That’s the one,” I said. “Needless to say I have no idea how it got there except that whoever put it there is someone who wants to frame me.”
“Who would want to frame you? Everyone likes you. Except MarySue of course and she’s dead. Why, everyone’s asking about you. Claire Timkin is here now. On her way to a teachers’ meeting.”
“Don’t tell me she’s actually buying something?”
“No, of course not. How can she even look at our merchandise on her salary? And why waste high fashion on the fourth-graders in her classroom? But she tries to keep up. She does. She comes in and she looks. Then she goes to Macy’s and buys her clothes.” I could just picture Dolce shaking her head at the tragedy of it all. A woman with solid-gold taste forced to shop at a department store. “At least that’s my theory.”
“You sound better, Dolce. How do you feel?”
“Physically I’m fine, but I can’t help think about the shoes . . .” Her voice dropped as I reminded her of the trouble she was in. Both of us actually.
“That’s what I wanted to ask you about. Any word from the repo people?” I asked. “I was hoping they’d found them and somehow later dumped the box in my garbage.”
“No such luck. If only I’d never ordered them, never sent you to get them, . . . Never mind, I’m afraid the shoes are gone for good,” she said sadly.
“Maybe not,” I said, feeling the medicine kick in and elevate my mood as well as relieving my pain. “No one could wear those shoes in this city without being noticed. And once they are noticed, the police will be all over them. I’ve got Detective Wall’s card here with his cell phone number.” I didn’t tell her I wouldn’t mind calling him with some information just to see how he took it. Would he really be grateful enough to change his opinion of me as a dimwit, treat me with respect, maybe even give me a medal or a certificate the police hand out to citizens who help solve crimes? Or would he just dismiss me with a curt thank-you and hang up. I was a little intrigued and very curious about how he planned to solve this murder case. The sooner the better. “Who else was in? Was everyone talking about MarySue?”
“Not everyone, no. Some people avoid the subject like the plague, but it’s on everyone’s minds, that’s for sure. Harrington Harris dropped in and said he’d be back with his sister a little later so she can see our fall collection. He won’t buy anything, of course. Why do I cater to these deadbeats?” She sighed. “Here I am with another penny-pinching schoolteacher taking time off so he can troll the shop for ideas for his drama productions. Says it’s part of his job. Never buys a thing, just steals ideas. Guess I can’t prosecute him for that. But funny thing, he did ask about MarySue’s silver shoes. Probably hoped to get his hands on them.”
“Wouldn’t we all,” I said. “How did he know what she was wearing? Was he at the Benefit?”
“I don’t think so. He said he saw them in a magazine last month and he’s the one who showed the picture to MarySue. Then she got us to order them for her. So in a way he’s responsible for her death, am I right?”
“I suppose . . .” I said. Suddenly it was all too confusing. “Time for my medicine, Dolce. I’ll come in as soon as I can pull myself together.” By that I meant as soon as I found an appropriate outfit to wear.
“Are you sure?” she asked anxiously.
“Absolutely. I’ll come in even if I’m on crutches. I have to get out of the house.”
“If you think you’re up to it. I really need you, so I won’t say no. I wouldn’t mind if sales were up, but it seems like everyone just wants to drop in hoping to hear some gossip. But they’re not buying. They all want to know what she was wearing. Why she was murdered. Who killed her. I wish I’d never ordered those shoes for her. It was my fault. I was too trusting. I’m going crazy.”
I was feeling a little crazy myself, so I hung up, took a pain pill and still hungry, found a fortune cookie in the bottom of the take-out bag I’d thrown away. Cambodians made fortune cookies? Who knew. Anyway, mine said, “You cannot step in the same river twice without getting your feet twice as wet.” I puzzled over this for a few minutes, knowing I’d heard it before. But where? In my dreams or in my college class on pre-Socratic philosophy? Greek thinkers are sometimes hard for me to follow, which is why I took Romanian in college instead of Greek. I put the fortune aside to try again later.