“Where’ve you been?” Kym trilled. “Kevin said you were working here, but I haven’t seen any sign of you.”
She straightened his tie, although it didn’t need it.
He tore his intense gaze off me and answered Kym. “Been a little busy.”
“Of course you have,” she said, patting his chest as though investigating Claire’s death was a job akin to picking up garbage. “You must come to dinner Saturday night.” She leaned in with a flirty grin. “It’s Bunko night.”
“You play Bunko?” I was unable to contain my glee. Bunko was a simple dice game, favored by Kym and her friends who couldn’t master backgammon. Alcohol was usually involved.
“No …” Buster shook his head.
“He keeps Kevin company while we play,” Kym said. “I invite a single girl once in a while to make life interesting, but most of my friends are married. Unfortunately.”
I wondered why I had never been included in her invitations. She must not have thought me suitable for Buster.
I turned to him. I needed to tell him about seeing Justine outside Claire’s room. “Last night, I forgot to tell you …”
“Last night?” Kym asked, her face suddenly looming between the two of us. Her eyebrows were arched in a comical way.
“Yeah, I was at Dewey’s last …”
I shook my head, but Buster was either blind or incredibly stupid.
“For guitar lessons,” I jumped in.
“You’re learning to play?” Kym was skeptical.
“I’m trying to surprise Dad for his birthday. Buster agreed to help me. You can’t tell anyone.”
“Dewey, you’re as musical as a tree stump,” she said. “You couldn’t find middle C with a map.”
I pulled a face at her.
“I came to tell you your laptop is still at the lab,” Buster said, ignoring Kym.
Kym was like a toddler, insisting on including herself in every conversation. “Why do the police have your computer, Dewey?”
“I had it with me yesterday,” I said.
“We remove everything from a scene, Kym,” Buster put in. “It’s procedure.”
“Your laptop was in Claire’s room? Dewey, you didn’t tell me any of this,” Kym pouted.
I pulled up my ready excuse. “I can’t talk about that.”
“She’s part of an ongoing investigation, Kym,” Buster backed me up. “She’s not free to discuss what happened yesterday.”
Kym’s eyes darted back and forth from my face to his. I tried to keep my expression neutral, not allowing my face to show how much I wanted to touch him. Standing this close was creating whitecaps in my gut. Kym kept a proprietary hand on his sleeve. I wanted to pluck her fingers off him. Or maybe pluck her eyes out.
“It’s okay,” I said, bringing the discussion back to something I could handle. “I don’t really need the computer any more. It doesn’t work anyhow.”
Buster looked at me questioningly.
“It’s my fault.” Kym used her baby talk. “I bwoke it.”
“Yeah, she crashed the hard drive,” I said, embellishing freely. “Lost all the data. I’m going to have to start at the beginning. Re-enter all the inventory, the bills …”
“Lost the data? There are recovery programs, you know,” Buster said. “The lab … I’m sure we could help.”
I cut him off. “Oh, no. I’m pretty sure, this time, the data is gone for good.”
I was practically winking at Buster, but he wasn’t getting the hint. Last night, he’d anticipated my every need. This morning he was totally missing my signals. Maybe Kym was causing static interference.
I pointed at Kym. “Yep, she ruined my computer. Could you shoot her for me?”
“Kevin might be a bit upset with me,” Buster said, looking from me to Kym, still unsure of the dynamic. I tried to give him a “tell-you-later” look, but he just looked confused.
Kym’s neck twisted as Lark Gordon entered the booth.
“Good morning, Dewey,” Lark said.
I said hi as she walked past.
“Lark Gordon said hello to you,” Kym hissed, following Lark with her eyes. Buster was forgotten for now. I smiled at him, grateful Kym’s attention had been diverted. He touched my hand, brushing the pulse point on my wrist, sending blood coursing to meet his fingertips. I masked the gasp that escaped with a fake cough. So, no regrets.
“When did you meet her?” Kym demanded, turning back to me.
I dropped my hand away. “Last night. She wanted to film me for her show.” I was winding Kym up, but I couldn’t resist.
“What do you mean? You didn’t refuse, did you?” Panic caused Kym’s voice to break.
Buster started to move off. He could finally see trouble brewing.
“I’ll see you later?” he whispered as Kym stared at Lark’s back.
I nodded. He backed away and hollered goodbye to Kym. Facing down murderers was a piece of cake next to facing down Kym.
“In fact, I did,” I said, answering Kym’s question.
Kym groaned. “How stupid can be you be, Dewey?”
I started to tell her Lark wanted to talk about Claire, not Quilter Paradiso, but Kym had already moved away.
“Nice decorating job,” I heard Lark say.
That was all the encouragement Kym needed. “My idea. Hi, Lark, I’m Kym Pellicano, Dewey’s sister-in-law. I’ve worked for Quilter Paradiso longer than she has. Let me show you around.”
Kym pointed out the coordinating sets of fat quarters she’d cleverly stuffed into canning jars. They moved on to the vintage cooler filled with old-fashioned soda bottles containing bits of fabric.
Kym could have her delusions of grandeur. I stepped into the aisle to see if I could catch a glimpse of Buster walking away. Eve came out of nowhere, pointing her pencil at me, nearly knocking me over.
“You need to be in the auditorium dressing room by five tonight. Do you know where that is?”
I watched Buster’s head bob over the sea of women and ignored her.
“About a size 12?” she continued, looking me up and down. “I thought you were smaller, more like Kym.” She licked the pencil lead and made a note.
I caught a glimpse of Kym smiling, the first spontaneous smile I’d seen on her face in days, and knew her delight was at my expense. She was even ignoring Lark, her eyes on Eve and me instead.
“What is this about?” I asked, starting to panic. Anything that made Kym smile that way couldn’t be good for me.
“The fashion show tomorrow night,” Eve said. “Kym’s been in it for the last four years; she said you’d model this year. Tonight’s the dress rehearsal.”
“Me?”
“You said you wanted to be more involved,” Kym singsonged, widening her eyes in fake innocence.
So that’s what she’d been talking about. Last week when we were discussing the show schedule, she’d told me to keep Saturday night free. I glared at her. She knew I hated getting dressed up. Modeling meant makeup and heels, maybe even pantyhose. I wasn’t sure I owned a pair.
Eve looked at me, her face contorted. “No one told you? Dammit, Justine told me she talked to you.” Eve’s voice broke.
“Well, she did leave me a message.” That must have been why she wanted to see me this morning. “I went up to her room, but she didn’t answer.”
“She’s not feeling well right now.”
I’d be sick, too, if I’d stolen money and gambled it away. Nor would I blame Eve if she kept Justine under wraps. How could Eve trust her again?
“Tell me more about this fashion show,” I said. I didn’t like the way Eve looked me up and down, still making notes. I’d missed those girly lessons handed out in junior high. My mother had been oblivious to the way she looked, dressing in the long denim skirts, sandals and tunics that had been popular with her quilt friends. My father cared about my fashion only to the extent that the clothes covered me up, and my brothers were only concerned that I get out of the bathroom we shared as quickly as possible.
“It’s the high point of the weekend,” Kym said. “Outlandish outfits made by fabulous textile artists. Clothes, makeup, shoes. What could be more fun?”
“A root canal, a colonoscopy, nail fungus,” I suggested. Any one of those sounded better than getting dolled up and paraded in front of an audience.
I noticed with embarrassment that Lark was following our conversation with interest. I didn’t want to create a scene, so I tried to tone it down.
“I wouldn’t wear more than one outfit, would I?” I asked, my voice breaking piteously.
“You and Justine can work all that out later,” Eve said brusquely. “Right now, all I need from you is a commitment to show up at rehearsal at five o’clock. Can I tell her you’ll be there?”
I hesitated, but Eve was not in the mood for indecision.
“Just be there,” Eve said. “I’m sick of fighting Justine’s battles today.”
Eve checked me off her list and moved on. I rubbed my eyes. I’d thought I’d be working at the show all weekend, playing with the computer. Instead, I was involved with a fatal accident and, maybe even worse, a fashion show.
Lark dumped a pile of notions and books on the table next to the cash drawer and pulled out her wallet. Kym insisted she was the only one capable enough to write up her sales slip.
“I’ll see you at rehearsal,” Lark said to me.
I was embarrassed she’d overheard my hissy fit. “You’ll be there?”
“I said I’d help out,” Lark said.
Kym blanched; she’d have sold her soul to be in the fashion show now. That was reason enough for me to be glad I’d agreed.
“I do the makeup, hair, make sure people look their best,” Lark said. “I can give you a few pointers if you’d like. Got a moment to join me for a latté?”
Kym’s mouth was set in a straight white line.
“No camera crew? Sure,” I said.
“No cameras, I promise. Just some fashion advice. I’ll tell you how to avoid getting the most uncomfortable outfit,” Lark said, handing over a credit card. “There’s always one top that won’t stay up unless it’s taped to your body. And no matter what they tell you, that stuff hurts like hell when they pull it off.”
“Come on, Dewey, strut your stuff,” Ina yelled from the other side of the booth, laughing.
I tried to affect a model’s pose. Lark lifted my chin with a long finger. Kym pushed the credit card machine lever so hard I thought she’d snap Lark’s card in half.
“Like that. You’ll look thinner if you keep your chin pointed upward.”
I jutted my chin.
“That’s a little too Leno. More up than out,” Lark said.
I tried again. Lark placed her hand between my shoulder blades, telling me to hold the tension there and tilt my chin up. Kym’s frown deepened. She handed Lark her credit card slip to sign. I made a mental note to make sure that slip didn’t disappear into Kym’s autograph collection.
Ina said, “Now suck in your stomach, assume an air of insouciance, and you’re all set.”
I lost all composure, laughing at Ina’s silly instructions. Lark joined in.
“Look, the fashion show is a hoot,” Lark said. “Justine promised to keep the atmosphere light and breezy. By the time the show arrives, you won’t be nervous at all.”
“If you say so.”
I waved goodbye as Lark and I left the booth.
As I passed Kym, I whispered, “Careful, your face might freeze like that.”
She just glared as we walked away. As soon as I was in the aisles with Lark, I could feel the change in the atmosphere around us. People were electrified by Lark’s presence. I was reminded of the buzz that had followed Claire. Lark kept a small smile on her face.
“Is it always like this for you?”
“Like what?” Lark dodged a man walking a hinged ostrich puppet with blue tufted feet.
“You don’t notice the way crowds part when you walk? The silences? The glances?”
My words were not getting through to her. I could see she was so used to the star treatment, she didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. It was like asking a fish about water, or a teenage boy about violence in video games. Without a word, we skirted a gang of women who’d stopped mid-aisle to stare. Lark kept the half-smile in place and never missed a step.
Suddenly a chant resounded from behind us. “What do you want?”
“Dinner!” was the answer. It was male voices.
“When do you want it?” The call and response repeated.
“Now!”
I looked around, but couldn’t see where it was coming from.
“Got any idea what that’s all about?” Lark asked. As I shook my head, the crowd parted and a group of men marched by, led by a pixyish woman who was guiding them with the enthusiasm of a religious fanatic.
“We’ve got to see this,” I said. “Come on.”
We fell in step behind them. They stopped in front of a booth that was already surrounded by women. By the greetings they got, I could tell at least some of these were the wives of the band of men and that this was where the impromptu parade had started. The pixie put on a wide smile and a rock-star-style headphone microphone and climbed on a platform behind a table. More people gathered around. A huge plastic banner behind her head read, “The Cutall System.’”
“What is that thing?” I asked. “It looks like a complicated vegetable slicer.”