Dead is the New Black (31 page)

“What was going on at your job?”

“The 40th Street factory was closed, and André’s probably worried about his orders.”

They descended into the subway and, when they got on the R train south, Ruby said, “We stay on until 86th Street.”

Laura knew she meant 86th Street in Brooklyn, and that she wasn’t getting back to work that night.

CHAPTER 30.

On the subway out, Laura looked at the zipping tunnel lights and her own reflection, and thought about nothing but Jeremy. How she would be with him. How she would dress. What she would say when they were finally alone together. She wanted to be her best self, but feared giggle attacks, a problem no giraffe would have, and thus, felt it was in her interest to imagine every nook and cranny of the date so that preparation and practice would kill the nerves. She made it perfect a thousand different ways. He held the door for her. He didn’t. He ordered for her. She ordered for him. He kissed her at the end of the night. She landed on him.

Invariably, he quelled her fears of being used by making an embarrassing admission of affection that left no room for doubt. It was a fantasy, after all.

“What are you smiling about?” Ruby asked.

“Nothing.”

“It’s our stop.”

South Brooklyn felt like another planet. Ruby fussed with her phone, mapping out the address. In Manhattan, they never needed a map. The address told them the cross street, and every avenue made a kind of sense to them.

“This way,” Ruby said. They walked down 86th Street.

The weather was the same, but the buildings were lower, the sidewalks less crowded, and the street had fewer cars. Also, their expectations were different. Though they had been out to Coney Island when they were kids, and Sheepshead Bay for the odd baked clam dish, and Mom had taken them to Fire Island once and Montauk another time, those were day-long jaunts that required preparation and time. They had never been out this far after work and, though the world didn’t look that different, it
felt
different. Where in Manhattan was an AutoZone? A gas station even? Yet, there were all kinds of places to care for your car. And the grey sky was visible from the ground. Not a bad deal if you didn’t mind spending two hours a day in a tunnel.

“I wouldn’t mind living here,” Laura said. “We had an assistant once who lived in Sunset Park, which I think is a mile that way.”

“Are you serious?” Ruby asked.

“Yeah. It’s kind of quiet.” A city bus blew past, splashing their feet in freezing water.

“One date that hasn’t even happened yet, and you’re settling in the suburbs.”

“Oh, shut up.”

When they turned a corner, it seemed as though two city blocks had been designated for Centennial, the designer bargain box store. They turned two more corners and found two entrances to the store, which lined both sides of 87th Street.

“I don’t feel good about this,” Laura said.

“We should look for something for you to wear on Friday”

“And maybe we can find you a wedding dress,” Laura replied.

“Catty doesn’t suit you.” Ruby pulled Laura across the street.

Ruby, not one to waste an opportunity to fill out her closet, grabbed an armful of good, solid American designers—Marc, Vera, Todd—while she looked for Jeremy’s stuff. They checked everywhere. The store was massive, and their search took over an hour. By all rights, there should have been nothing. Jeremy destroyed bad production rather than have it show up at an outlet store. But they found a rack of his things on the third floor in a separate area of expensive things.

Ruby picked out a pair of red capris with ruffles at the cuffs. They looked perfect. Laura snatched them up. The brown lining was poly satin instead of silk. Otherwise, they were great knockoffs. Laura took a seam ripper from her pocket.

“What are you doing?” Ruby asked.

“Stand over here and block me.” Laura pulled the stitches out of the crotch.

“Laura! They’re three hundred dollars!”

But Laura was undeterred, as she pulled out the seam. “Look.” She held it out for Ruby. She laid the seam allowance between her forefinger and thumb to show tiny splits in the fabric. They were only an eighth of an inch long inside the quarter-inch seam allowance, and they were cleanly cut. “Notches. There are three notches in the back rise. That’s me. I’m the only one I know who puts three notches.”

“So, it’s your pattern?”

Laura nodded. “And it’s 40th street, because no one else knows how to use all three, but look, they match, so they know what to do with them.” Ruby just looked confused. “It’s for when you have pants and one leg feels a little different than the other in the thigh? The problem is in the crotch, not the thigh. Because the double needle machine, when it’s taking in fabric, takes a little more from left to right, so the third notch is to match up the fabric so the machine operator makes sure it doesn’t take too much.”

“I don’t get it. But you’re saying this is your pattern?”

“Yes.”

Laura saw Ruby’s eyes go to something out in the walkway, and her expression changed enough for Laura to follow her gaze.

Carmella strutted down the aisle on her cell phone as if she owned the place.

“Seriously?” Laura craned her neck. “What is she doing here?”

But there she was, with a St. James shopping bag over her forearm, talking earnestly on the phone. Maybe to Mario. Maybe about some line she was starting or a job she needed to set up. But Laura was laser-focused on the bag as Carmella pocketed the phone and went toward one of the “Authorized Personnel Only” doors.

“She’s not,” Ruby said.

“She is,” Laura said. “But not with that bag.”

Laura hooked her finger around the hangers on Ruby’s selections and took off at a run, the clothes flowing behind her like a cape. She knew where she was going, but had no idea what she was going to say when she got there.

Laura hit Carmella like an asteroid. Carmella, blindsided, stunned, went sprawling. Laura faked the accident badly, her bag opening, contents skittering across the stone floor, Ruby’s selections covering the St. James bag.

“Laura!” Carmella shouted, as three shoppers helped her up. “What are you doing?”

People gathered around, and accusations and vilifications flew. “What the hell did you think you were doing?” came from a guy balancing a baby and a basket, and “I saw the whole thing if you need a witness,” came from a Russian lady with a mink coat. “This is what you get for talking on a damned cell phone while you’re walking,” came from a hundred-year-old woman wearing a huge rocky necklace.

Laura rubbed her head and played dizzy, but she felt fine, just fine, thank you. Just fine. She asked how Carmella was and got a pinch for it.

“It’s okay,” Carmella announced. “I know her. It’s her way of saying hello.”

With that, Laura listed forward feigning dizziness, and stepped on the St. James bag, ripping it open. The guy with the baby dropped his basket to catch her, while still balancing the baby, who thought the whole thing was hilarious. Though concerned about the baby, Laura was grateful because it added to the illusion that she didn’t intend to rip the bag, sending dozens of sparkly Jeremy St. James logo buttons all over the floor.

They were the buttons André had been looking for, the ones for Bloomingdale’s. How had they ended up at Centennial? In Carmella’s possession?

Laura pretended to lose her balance again, tipping more toward the Russian lady, who stepped back, allowing Laura’s butt to hit the floor in a way that was sure to bruise. Carmella scuttled along the floor, chasing after buttons. Ruby finally arrived and helped with the buttons, and Laura saw her slip one into her pocket. Bless her beautiful, skinny, overconfident ass.

Laura heard the old woman with the necklaces say, “We need to call security.” She realized she was going to lose control of the situation quickly if she didn’t act. She wanted to go into the door Carmella had been headed for, not some real door with a first aid kit that the security person would take her to.

“Oh, God,” she said, holding her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

The Russian in the mink coat and her friend backed off until they disappeared into the racks. Chunky Necklace Lady looked baffled and wide-eyed. Man with Laughing Baby said, “Let’s see if there’s a bathroom behind that door.”

“No!” Carmella shouted. “The bathroom is that way.”

But Laura ran for the Authorized Personnel Only door. Ruby and Carmella followed close behind, jostling and jockeying for position.

Laura hit the metal bar with a clang, and the door swung open, almost decapitating a lady wearing the pink scrubs that passed for a uniform at Centennial.

Laura ran past chipped paint, worker’s comp notices, and drinking fountains. She heard something she recognized, the bursting buzz of sewing machines, and chose a green door on the left. Then, she heard the hiss of steaming irons and the sharp clap of buttonholers. One more door. The sounds were behind one more door, with a codebox over the knob. She stopped. She had no proof but the sounds coming from behind it and her own belief that there was a factory floor in there with people sewing designer labels into cheap goods.

She had to find out. She backed against the wall next to the door as Carmella, Ruby, and a lady in a security uniform ran up to her.

“Laura?” Ruby asked.

“Laura!” Carmella said.

“Ma’am,” the security lady said.

Laura put her back to the cinderblock wall and pressed her palms against it. She knew someone would come out of the door eventually, for the bathroom, or a smoke break, or something, if she could just hang on here long enough.

“It’s you, Carmella. You went up to the office the night of the party because you needed those buttons. You’ve been counterfeiting Jeremy’s stuff. And that’s why you had Mario beat me up—not because I was getting close to you being the killer, but because I was getting close to your little counterfeiting ring. Which was financing what? Your own line? The loft? Or another bunch of lies? I understand, Carmella, I really do. I just want to know how you got into my closet to steal my patterns.”

“You can make up whatever stories you want to get yourself to sleep at night,” Carmella said.

“What are you doing here?” Laura asked.

“Shopping.”

The security lady reached out for Laura, who shrank back against the wall, letting her know it wasn’t going to be easy.

“Come on, ma’am,” the security guard said, and Laura knew she was done. She’d proved nothing and made a fool of herself. Laura stepped away from the wall, ready to be taken away to wherever. Suddenly, Ruby, who had been quiet the entire time, flung herself at the door and banged on it with the flat of her hand, screaming her head off.

Somewhere in China, the dead awoke.

The security lady pulled Ruby off the door, but it was too late. Someone behind it had become alarmed and opened it. She was a short, round lady with a puffy bracelet stuck with pins, and a blue Teresa jacket over her arm. Behind her, a small sewing floor buzzed away.

“
Que tal?
” the lady with the Teresa jacket asked.

Security Lady pulled Ruby away, and said, “Nothing to see here,” then shut the door. Turning to Laura, she said, “We’re calling the police.” Ruby and Laura let themselves be led away. There was plenty to see there, and the police were exactly who they wanted to call.

“You’re where?” The irritated tone of Cangemi’s voice rang crystal clear over the spotty cellular line.

Laura could practically hear him roll his eyes over the phone. “I’m at the 68th precinct. I don’t have the fake desk’s number, but I’m sure Detective Buchanan will be hearing about it.”

“She was getting a warrant for Centennial, which we cops have to do before we break down doors.”

“You’re welcome,” Laura said, deflated. She wasn’t helping herself at all.

“You’ll read in the papers today that Sheldon’s denying he killed Gracie. And the guy at the freight elevator, what’s his name?”

“Olly?”

“Olivero, yeah. He didn’t recognize our man. So Sheldon couldn’t have gone up that morning.”

“Show him a picture of me.”

“Why? You finally admitting you did it? That would make my life easy.”

“I only used the freight once. And supposedly, Sheldon only used it once. If Olly doesn’t remember me, then that just means he’s likely to forget someone he hasn’t seen a lot.”

There was a long silence, during which Ruby sat next to Laura and sniffled too hard for post-nasal drip.

“You’re good,” Cangemi said. “You know, if I wasn’t taken and you weren’t having an affair with St. James—”

“You’d still be a pain in my ass,” Laura completed. “I have to go.” She hung up without saying goodbye, which probably made Cangemi feel like he’d said something inappropriate, which he had, but it wasn’t hang-uppable.

Laura nudged Ruby with her elbow and got no response.

“Okay, what?” Laura asked.

“When someone loves you, shouldn’t they want to help you no matter what? Shouldn’t they be proud of you when you do something good, or defend you when you do something bad?”

“Possibly,” Laura said. “That’s a little simplistic.”