Authors: Grace Carroll
I was so dizzy I had to sit down again. I knew if I had another concussion I wouldn’t have far to go to find a doctor. Or maybe it was a hangover from my last concussion. Finally I stood and unlocked the door with trembling fingers. The woman in the shoes was standing at the sink.
I coughed. I choked. I reached out as if to grab her. She breezed out of the bathroom so fast she left a trail of scent in her wake. It was familiar, but I couldn’t decide what it was. There was a hint of musk, vanilla and spice. Was it Chanel?
I washed my hands and raced out of the bathroom. But she was gone. Almost like the day MarySue rushed out of the shop with the shoes in her hand. Just like then, I’d waited too long once again. I walked slowly away from the restrooms, looking right and left. What I couldn’t do was crawl on the floor to observe everyone’s shoes. It was maddening and frustrating. The shoe thief and presumed murderer was right here in this restaurant. So it was a woman. Unless it was a man who stole the shoes to give to a woman. Could Jim Jensen have given them to his girlfriend? No one had said he had a girlfriend, but maybe Detective Wall should look into it. I circled the restaurant before I went back to our table, but I didn’t see anyone I knew or anyone who looked like they were wearing silver shoes.
I took several deep breaths before I joined Jonathan at the table. I tried to act like nothing had happened, but Jonathan, being in the medical field, noticed.
“Are you all right?” he asked, looking at me closely.
“I’m fine. Just a little dizzy. I get that way sometimes ever since my accident. But I’m okay, really.”
He put the back of his hand against my forehead. He frowned. “You may have a fever. Maybe we should leave.”
“Oh, no, not now. Not before dessert.” I knew the coffee and the pastry puffs filled with ice cream and smothered with chocolate sauce would help revive me. “Besides, we have to hear your friend play.”
“If you’re sure you feel up to it.”
I nodded. What a thoughtful, considerate date he was. Just as thoughtful and considerate as he was at the hospital in his professional capacity. Besides wanting the wonderful evening to go on and on, I thought maybe I’d see the shoes walk by our table. And if I did? I’d pounce on the wearer and phone Detective Wall on the spot. I tried to pay attention to the trio of bass, trumpet and drums who played my favorites like “Two O’Clock Jump” and “Satin Doll,” but all I could think about was the shoes. Fortunately Jonathan didn’t seem to notice my wandering brain. When the trio took a break, he introduced me to Daniel, who, though his mother was South American, spoke English with a charming French accent.
It was like a dream, my being here with a handsome doctor, chatting with the musician and eating fabulous food. It was so dreamy that I almost forgot about the one negative. There was the possibility of a murderer in our midst. If she had known I was in that bathroom, the woman in the shoes might have killed me to keep me quiet. I shuddered at the thought.
After the music and an after-dinner drink, Jonathan took me home. He said he’d had a great time. I said I had too.
“I’d like to see you again,” he said when he parked in front of my house. “But not for professional reasons.”
“That would be great because I’m really fine,” I assured him. “Completely healed except for a little soreness in my ankle.” I felt fine except for the nagging feeling that I’d let the shoes slip through my fingers once again. How many times could this happen? I’d let MarySue get away with the shoes twice and now this. In every instance, I was younger and faster than my adversary, but not more motivated or I’d have the shoes in my hand by now.
“I’ll check my schedule and see when my next day off is,” Jonathan said. “There’s so much to see and do in this town. Have you been to Alcatraz?”
I shook my head. Dolce told me she’d take me to the former prison on the island in the Bay, but so far we hadn’t had a chance to go.
“I’ll call you,” he said. Then he leaned over, tilted my chin toward him and kissed me on the lips. I felt a shiver of pleasure up and down my spine. It was the perfect ending to a perfect evening. Except for one tiny detail.
I gave a full account to Dolce the next day except for that one detail. I debated who to tell first about the shoes. The detective or my boss. I hated for either one of them to know I’d failed to get them when I had the chance to grab them. Even worse, I missed a chance to find out who’d killed MarySue. I was sure the missing shoes were tied to her death. Whoever had the shoes had either killed her or knew who did.
The store was quiet that Monday morning, so I told Dolce I was going across the street to get us each a latte to go and I’d be right back.
Once outside I called Jack Wall and told him I’d seen the shoes at Café Henri last night.
“Where are they now?” he asked. He sounded tired. But was he tired of this case or just tired of working too hard?
“I don’t know. I didn’t act quickly enough. She got away.”
“Any ideas? Any hunches? Any clue at all as to who it might have been?” he asked.
“I know who it wasn’t. It wasn’t Dolce. So you can cross her off your list.”
“How do you know?” he asked. I could tell he didn’t believe me. He thought I’d made up something to divert suspicion from my boss. “Because she wore perfume. Dolce never does. It was heavy, but not too heavy. A combination of musk and some other things. I’ve smelled it before, but I don’t know where. But I’ll know it if I ever smell it again.”
“Isn’t there some way you can pin it down a little better? This may be an important clue.”
“I’ll try, but I’m at work now. I can’t just take off and go try on different scents.”
“Never mind. I’ll call Café Henri and ask for a list of their reservations for last night.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said. It was interesting to know what you could find out with the power of the law behind you.
“I’m glad you think so,” he said with a tinge of sarcasm. Detective Wall appeared to have a problem accepting praise, at least from me.
“You won’t see my name on the list or anyone who came with a date unfortunately. But still . . .” I said.
I thought he might ask who my date was, but instead he said, “How was the food?”
“Fantastic,” I said. “You should try it.”
“I will. Once I get this case solved. Until then, it’s deli sandwiches and the occasional business lunch.”
I assumed he was referring to the lunch he’d taken me to. “I’m trying to help you,” I said. In case he hadn’t noticed.
“You’ll have to try a little harder. You seem to get that close to the shoes. A little too close.”
“I know, I know. Then they slip out of my grasp. But I’m getting closer. There’s no way MarySue isn’t really dead, is there? I mean, some people might think she was a vampire.”
There was a choking sound on his end of the phone connection. “You’re joking, right? You don’t believe in vampires, do you?”
I was tempted to tell him about the vampire tour of the city, but he’d probably just laugh at me. You can’t minor in Romanian as I did and not have a healthy respect for people who believed in the possible existence of vampires.
“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.