“Of course I don’t believe in vampires,” I assured him. “But many people do, and they’re not all in Romania. What they believe is that you can’t bury a vampire and expect her to stay buried unless you remove her heart. That’s all I’ve got to say.”
But before I hung up, I asked if he knew when the event was going to be, the one Jim was planning for MarySue.
“Forget it, Rita,” he said. “It’s only for close friends and family.”
“I understand,” I said. “And after our last meeting, I’d prefer not to see Jim Jensen,” I said. “And if I did, I’d probably run the other way since he’s convinced I’m the one who fingered him. My life would be much easier and safer if you’d catch the murderer.”
“Your life? Try my life. This is my first high-profile murder case. The chief’s job is on the line. Mine too for that matter. I’m going to solve it.”
I was relieved when he finally hung up. I hoped he was right about solving it. It couldn’t happen too soon to suit me. As for my not wanting to see Jim Jensen, I didn’t, but that wouldn’t stop me from attending this “close friends and family” party. I owed it to myself, to MarySue, to Dolce and to my adopted city to find out who murdered MarySue and took her silver shoes.
Ten
I bought two lattes and went back to work. It was a slow day, which was bad news for business and bad news for keeping one’s mind off of murder. I couldn’t stop thinking of that photo Jack had showed me. It couldn’t have been Dolce. In the first place, why wouldn’t she have told me she was there? “Because,” said a little voice in my ear, “she didn’t want anyone to know. If you don’t know, you can’t tell the police.” But if she was really there, then other people saw her. Why not ask them? I almost called Jack Wall back to tell him my suggestion. Second, why would she go to the Benefit at all? The answer to that one was obvious. To retrieve the shoes. Still, I couldn’t, wouldn’t believe it.
I rearranged the jewelry and hung a Swarovski crystal necklace on a mannequin with a black rolled-neck cashmere sweater—the combination looked stunning. Even though the big social weekend was over, I pressed a few gowns and rehung them on a rack. I chatted with customers and actually sold a scarf and a pair of gold hoop earrings. I wished I’d called the restaurant myself for a list of the reservations, but I knew Jack wouldn’t want me to interfere.
I was almost glad to see Peter Butinski come in. That’s how bored I was. He had brought in more shoes. But he didn’t return the magazine he’d lifted from Dolce’s desk.
“Have I got something for you,” he said to me. “Five fall shoes no girl can live without.” He sat himself down in one of Dolce’s padded chairs as if he belonged there. “That means you, Ms. Jewel.”
“Not for me, Peter, but I want to see what you’ve got.” When had I not been interested in the latest fashion footwear?
He opened the boxes. He was right: a girl could do worse than stocking up with his five selections—a kick-ass pair of boots in gray suede, a wooden wedge heel that could go anywhere from dusk to dawn, an updated clog, an open-back mule to wear now or later with tights, and a pump that looked totally classic but, he explained, was actually waterproof.
“You may not know this,” Peter said, “but the latest thing for fall is wearing a pair of chic socks with your strappy heels.”
“Socks, with strappy heels?” I was trying to visualize the combination.
He nodded and reached into his canvas bag. “Like these Falke over-the-knee socks in soft cotton. What do you think?”
I ran my fingers over the ribbed socks. They were incredibly soft and would look good with shorts and a pair of espadrilles.
“Fifty-five percent cotton, twenty-five percent virgin wool.”
“I love them,” I confessed, “but . . .” I was losing sight of my goal here, distracted as usual by something I just had to have. I forced myself to focus on the problem at hand. I looked at the shoes he’d set on the table.
There was just one thing missing.
“No silver stilettos, Peter?”
I expected him to tell me he could get them if I wanted them. I didn’t expect him to turn deathly pale, almost the color of gray suede.
“Wh . . . what do you mean?” he asked.
“I just wondered if you had anything like a pair of handmade silver heels,” I said as innocently as I could. “Not that I have any place to wear them like a society benefit or anything, but you never know. Always best to be prepared for any occasion, right?”
He hesitated for a moment, looking at me as if he thought I might know something I shouldn’t. Then he recovered his poise. “I have ways of special ordering any shoe you want, my dear.” Maybe he thought I might actually buy something from him. “Just let me know ahead of time. Now where’s Dolce?”
“In her office.”
“I’ll leave the shoes then and the socks. I expect they’ll fly off the shelf. Especially if you promote them. I’ll make it worth your while.” He looked at my feet. “What’s your size?”
“Eight and a half,” I said. I wondered what he had in mind. A discount on his shoes?
After he left, I went over our conversation in my mind. He knew something about MarySue’s silver shoes, I could swear he did. But what?
The rest of the day dragged by. I didn’t hear from Dr. Jonathan, Nick or the detective. I couldn’t think of how to bring up the subject of the benefit with Dolce without sounding like I was accusing her of something. So I didn’t. If Jack Wall thought it was her, let him do it. I just hoped he wouldn’t. Dolce didn’t need that kind of harassment.
The more I thought about it the more I was intrigued by the thought of MarySue returning as a vampire and going to dinner at Café Henri the same night I did. If only I was a true believer. If only I knew what perfume she wore. No, that was ridiculous. The woman whose shoes I’d seen at the restaurant was a living, breathing person, and I wanted to know who she was.
That night I couldn’t face going straight home alone. I realized I was getting hooked on fun and excitement, if you can call looking for a murderer fun and exciting. With my ankle feeling almost normal, I decided to sign up for one of Nick’s classes instead of resuming kung fu. It would give me something to do at night besides vegging out in front of my TV, and I didn’t mind the fact that it would bring me into close attention with Nick.
At five o’clock I left Dolce’s and took a bus to the Ocean View Gymnastics School on Vista Avenue. I wasn’t sure if Nick would be there. If he was, I’d observe his class and see if he really was a good teacher. If he wasn’t, I’d just sign up for one of his classes and take a chance. I didn’t think he’d mind if I just dropped in. Hadn’t he invited me to do just that? My action didn’t count as chasing men, did it? If only Aunt Grace were around, I’d check with her to be sure.
Before I committed to anything, though, I’d take a look around the gym to see if there were students swinging from trapezes or gyrating to rock music or jumping on trampolines. If there were, I’d slip out unnoticed and find another activity for my empty evenings.
As it turned out, Nick was there, wearing shorts and a “Romania the Land of Choice” T-shirt. He was just about to teach a tumbling class for children when he saw me at the front desk. “Rita, I am very glad to meet you again,” Nick said. “You came to join the class, yes?”
“Wouldn’t it be better if I joined one with adults?” I asked with a glance at the group of children waiting for him on the gym floor. I’d stand out like a sore thumb, being larger and less able to perform than everyone else.