Dior or Die (Joanna Hayworth Vintage Clothing Mysteries Book 2) by Angela M. Sanders Page A

would lend me a few of her dresses, the ones she didn't auction off. They said they would, but the Mother Superior put a condition on it." Joanna looked up to see if Helena was paying attention. She seemed to be listening, but was still turned away.  
    "Anyway," Joanna continued, "She wanted me to find out what I could about Vivienne's death. I guess the police won't tell her anything. That’s why I called you."
    "Watch her," Helena murmured.
    "What?"
    "The girl." She raised her head. "You," she said to the girl. "Give it over."
    "Really, she’s okay," Joanna said, surprised at Helena’s harsh tone. "I don’t mind if people want to look around. They don’t all have to buy.”
    "I saw you put that scarf in your bag. Give it over."  
    "I don’t know what you’re talking about," the girl said.
    "The scarf. Now."
    The girl pulled a vivid green and blue Vera scarf from her bag and tossed it on the bench. "Take your stupid scarf." She edged toward the door and left without speaking.  
    "Sharp eye. Thank you," Joanna said and retrieved the scarf.  
    Helena shook her head. "Gypsy kid. Probably here because of Rose Festival. Take my word for it—you don’t want her type in here."
    "But, surely, just because she’s a gypsy doesn’t mean she steals." Any girl might be fascinated by old things and drawn in by the window display.  
    "True. Not always. But there was something about her—" She didn’t finish her thought.
    “I had no idea there were gypsies around here,” Joanna prompted, fascinated.
    "Oh yes. You’d be surprised." Helena returned to the counter. "But you were telling me about the nuns. About the Mother Superior wanting to know about Vivienne."
    "I thought gypsies lived in caravans and read fortunes."
    "Not American gypsies. Not these days. For one thing, they drive RVs. Nice ones, too." Helena must have picked up on her surprised expression. "Sociology professor, remember. I did my dissertation on travelers—that’s what you call them in this country. But about Vivienne."
    "Yes," Joanna said, still thinking of the girl. She’d have to tell this story to Apple. She’d love it. "If you don't mind filling me in on what you know about the police investigation, it would help me out."
      "I’m happy to. I don't have a lot to share, though. The detective hasn't come by or called since they searched Vivienne's room. I don't know if that's good or bad. Gil has called them a few times."
    "Did they give you any hint as to how Vivienne died?"
    "I wish they did. But we know no more than the papers said. Poisoning. The police aren't even sure what exactly was poisoned. They tested her liquor and came up dry. Gil and I were out that night at the biennial art awards ceremony. When we came home, we found her. In the library."
    "She was reading?"
    "She'd had a guest. There were two glasses—Vivienne's and a tumbler, like for Scotch. She'd had her usual apéro as she called it, at five o'clock, before we left. She must have decided on another when the guest arrived. I imagine she made herself a drink, then sat by the fire. The coals were almost burned out. A few things were knocked off the coffee table, but the doctor said that would have been normal if she’d had a seizure." Her eyes had a faraway look. "She was just lying there. She'd always had so much dignity, but—" She seemed unable to finish her thought.  
    Joanna's stomach turned at the grisly image. "But no sign of the guest."
    "No. We don't know who it was. The police have questioned all the neighbors. One of them saw someone—a man, she thinks—hanging out in the front in the early evening, but she didn't see him go in."  
    Joanna waited for her to say more.  
    "I wish I could say I was more attached to Vivienne, but I wasn't. I feel kind of guilty about it, actually. I let her down in so many ways. For one thing, we never had children. But I really don't see the need to bring children into the world. That was a huge disappointment to Vivienne.