containing the sandwich and a bottle of water from the refrigerator in the back when she heard the bell on the front door, signaling that a customer had entered. Before she could make her way to the doorway leading from her office to the store, she heard a male voice.
“Hey! You here?” The person standing in her doorway was a young Hispanic male. Although he was obviously barely twenty, he was handsome, dark hair and skin, thin, medium height, dressed all in black—not the profile of her usual customer.
“May I help you?” She couldn’t deny a bit of trepidation. She’d lived in New York too long to be unconditionally trusting.
His dark eyes took her in for a moment. “You must be Ms. Seligman.” He extended his hand. “I’m Angel,” he said, pronouncing it
Ahn-hell.
“Angel Barreda. Mrs. Baumgarten sent me.”
“Oh…yes.” When Harriet had said she was sending someone named Angel, Irene had thought the person would be female. She chided herself that she should have known better. She was back in New Mexico now.
“You okay?”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” she said, a little too quickly.
“I know about the death. Or deaths. It must be hard for you.”
“Uh, yes. Yes, it is. Of course.” She couldn’t stop looking at him.
“Oh, I get it. You thought I’d be a chick.”
“Well, as a matter of fact—”
He smiled. “It’s okay. Mrs. Baumgarten probably didn’t tell you. Probably pronounced my name wrong, too.” He turned his head to look around. “Nice place. She said you need some help.”
“Perhaps,” Irene said, still cautious.
“Don’t worry, I can provide you with documentation on my background check, and I…” He stopped mid-sentence when a customer walked in the door—a middle-aged woman, slightly overweight, with a pleasant face. “Good morning,” he said, walking up to her. “May I help you?”
“Oh, no, I’d just like to look around.”
“Of course.” Angel smiled and moved a few feet away. Irene kept her eyes trained on him. “Isn’t that beautiful,” he said, when the woman pulled a gray sleeveless Lela Rose from a rack.
She held the hangered dress at arm’s length. “It is, yes.”
Angel quickly pulled another dress from the same rack. The rich sapphire blue was stunning. “Look at this,” he said. “Now this would make those gorgeous blue eyes of yours sparkle.”
The woman studied the dress for a moment before she took it from Angel. “I’ll try on both of them,” she said.
“The changing room is there,” Angel said, directing the woman toward a door clearly labeled
Changing Room.
“Not bad,” Irene said when the woman was securely inside the mirrored room. “But I think you talked her into the Chanel. It’s less expensive than the Lela Rose.”
“I don’t know the fancy brands,” Angel said, “but if you mean I pushed the blue one instead of the gray, then you’re right. She’s not going to buy the gray one. It’s sleeveless. She’s middle age. The arms don’t hold up in middle age. The long sleeves on the blue dress will be more flattering. Think Jane Fonda.”
Irene gave him a doubtful look. “We’ll see.”
Within a few moments, the woman emerged holding the blue dress. “I’ll take this one,” she said, handing Angel the blue dress. “You’re right. It brings out my eyes.”
“Oh, yes, I knew it would,” Angel said. “Would you like to look around some more?”
The woman declined, saying she’d already spent her limit.
“I understand,” Angel said with a pleasant laugh. “But where else can you get a designer brand for such a bargain? Especially one that looks that great on you?”
“You are so right,” the woman said. “I’ve seen dresses similar to this at Neiman’s in Dallas selling for thousands.”
“You’re from Dallas?” Angel took the dress from her and, without asking Irene’s permission, headed for the cash register near the front of the store to ring up the sale.
Irene was about to
“Hey! You here?” The person standing in her doorway was a young Hispanic male. Although he was obviously barely twenty, he was handsome, dark hair and skin, thin, medium height, dressed all in black—not the profile of her usual customer.
“May I help you?” She couldn’t deny a bit of trepidation. She’d lived in New York too long to be unconditionally trusting.
His dark eyes took her in for a moment. “You must be Ms. Seligman.” He extended his hand. “I’m Angel,” he said, pronouncing it
Ahn-hell.
“Angel Barreda. Mrs. Baumgarten sent me.”
“Oh…yes.” When Harriet had said she was sending someone named Angel, Irene had thought the person would be female. She chided herself that she should have known better. She was back in New Mexico now.
“You okay?”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” she said, a little too quickly.
“I know about the death. Or deaths. It must be hard for you.”
“Uh, yes. Yes, it is. Of course.” She couldn’t stop looking at him.
“Oh, I get it. You thought I’d be a chick.”
“Well, as a matter of fact—”
He smiled. “It’s okay. Mrs. Baumgarten probably didn’t tell you. Probably pronounced my name wrong, too.” He turned his head to look around. “Nice place. She said you need some help.”
“Perhaps,” Irene said, still cautious.
“Don’t worry, I can provide you with documentation on my background check, and I…” He stopped mid-sentence when a customer walked in the door—a middle-aged woman, slightly overweight, with a pleasant face. “Good morning,” he said, walking up to her. “May I help you?”
“Oh, no, I’d just like to look around.”
“Of course.” Angel smiled and moved a few feet away. Irene kept her eyes trained on him. “Isn’t that beautiful,” he said, when the woman pulled a gray sleeveless Lela Rose from a rack.
She held the hangered dress at arm’s length. “It is, yes.”
Angel quickly pulled another dress from the same rack. The rich sapphire blue was stunning. “Look at this,” he said. “Now this would make those gorgeous blue eyes of yours sparkle.”
The woman studied the dress for a moment before she took it from Angel. “I’ll try on both of them,” she said.
“The changing room is there,” Angel said, directing the woman toward a door clearly labeled
Changing Room.
“Not bad,” Irene said when the woman was securely inside the mirrored room. “But I think you talked her into the Chanel. It’s less expensive than the Lela Rose.”
“I don’t know the fancy brands,” Angel said, “but if you mean I pushed the blue one instead of the gray, then you’re right. She’s not going to buy the gray one. It’s sleeveless. She’s middle age. The arms don’t hold up in middle age. The long sleeves on the blue dress will be more flattering. Think Jane Fonda.”
Irene gave him a doubtful look. “We’ll see.”
Within a few moments, the woman emerged holding the blue dress. “I’ll take this one,” she said, handing Angel the blue dress. “You’re right. It brings out my eyes.”
“Oh, yes, I knew it would,” Angel said. “Would you like to look around some more?”
The woman declined, saying she’d already spent her limit.
“I understand,” Angel said with a pleasant laugh. “But where else can you get a designer brand for such a bargain? Especially one that looks that great on you?”
“You are so right,” the woman said. “I’ve seen dresses similar to this at Neiman’s in Dallas selling for thousands.”
“You’re from Dallas?” Angel took the dress from her and, without asking Irene’s permission, headed for the cash register near the front of the store to ring up the sale.
Irene was about to
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