to the design mall to order them. On the third floor balcony, the boxwood mission bells outside the Spanish Galleria guarded a dark, shuttered shop. No Beatriz in residence today, and I wondered if she were busy making arrangements for José’s funeral. But Breeze City, ablaze with lights, was open for business as usual.
A handful of customers strolled around the store, their necks craning upward as they peered at the overhead lighting displays. Ted Wolff, the same clerk I’d dealt with a few days earlier, greeted me with a smile.
“Hi, Mrs. Dunne, how are you today?”
“How are you?” I wanted to ask. Ted seemed remarkably untroubled. Didn’t he know about his boss’s legal problems? Actually, though, he might not have heard a thing. Not if Beatriz had confided only in the police. And so far no sensational publicity about José had hit the media, just a discreet death notice in the Naples Daily News. But the rumor mill usually churned 24/7, and I couldn’t believe it had shut down this time. Nevertheless Ted’s façade oozed calm.
I opened my cell phone and showed him the images of the fixtures I’d selected for Imogene’s home.
“Excellent choices,” he said, glancing at them. “You’re in good company with these. You know Harlan Conway? The architect who’s up for the Caldwell Prize? He bought the same fixtures for his place. The one that’s getting all the publicity.”
“That’s good to hear.” So unknowingly I had copycatted Mr. Conway. Hmm. Not necessarily a bad thing. When he saw his lights hanging in Imogene’s rooms, he’d be pleased. After all, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
“I’ve never met the man, just seen pictures of him,” I told Ted. “What’s he like in person?”
“Oh, I don’t know, tall and lanky. Kind of cool. Too bad the girl who works here is off today. She could tell you more. She helped him the last time he came in.” Ted laughed. “Said he was the handsomest man she ever laid eyes on.”
Uh-oh. Tall, lanky, cool, handsome and gifted. Maybe Imogene did need a little help after all.
Ted’s brow furrowed. “Yeah he’s quite a guy. Not many people know it, but we went to MIT together.”
“Really?” That caught my attention. A clerk-electrician with an MIT degree?
“Yeah, really. Then my father died, and I had to drop out senior year...but Harlan went on to grad school at Harvard. So now I’m working at Breeze City and he’s a big-time architect. But we stay in touch. Meet for drinks once in a while.”
As Ted completed the paperwork for the order, a low laugh and then a giggle came from the back room. Curious, I asked, “Is Mr. Lopez in today?”
“No, he’ll be out of the shop all day.”
Another giggle, louder this time. Sheer nosiness, nothing more, made me press on. “Is Mrs. Lopez in?”
Ted frowned and glanced back at the closed office door, his lips pressed together in a tight line. “Um, she’s in. But she said she didn’t want to be disturbed.”
I could have been wrong, but I read his expression as disapproval. He handed me a receipt, and we arranged an installation date for the following day.
“Painters will be working in my client’s house, but they’re not doing the ceilings, so your installer should have no problem,” I said, trying to tune out the low murmur of voices coming from the direction of the office. Then a muffled thump.
What was that? Had something been knocked to the floor?
“Fine. Our installer will be there at ten tomorrow,” Ted said. “With the lights.”
I got the impression he wanted me to leave. Strange. I was a repeat customer who always paid my bills on time. Was he being a good employee and covering up? Either for Raúl or his wife, Claudia, or both? One thing for sure, he wasn’t quite as calm as when I first walked into the shop.
Giving a mental shrug, I left, but on an impulse ducked into Ralph Lauren Homes next door. A chic young clerk in a Polo top and a black pencil
A handful of customers strolled around the store, their necks craning upward as they peered at the overhead lighting displays. Ted Wolff, the same clerk I’d dealt with a few days earlier, greeted me with a smile.
“Hi, Mrs. Dunne, how are you today?”
“How are you?” I wanted to ask. Ted seemed remarkably untroubled. Didn’t he know about his boss’s legal problems? Actually, though, he might not have heard a thing. Not if Beatriz had confided only in the police. And so far no sensational publicity about José had hit the media, just a discreet death notice in the Naples Daily News. But the rumor mill usually churned 24/7, and I couldn’t believe it had shut down this time. Nevertheless Ted’s façade oozed calm.
I opened my cell phone and showed him the images of the fixtures I’d selected for Imogene’s home.
“Excellent choices,” he said, glancing at them. “You’re in good company with these. You know Harlan Conway? The architect who’s up for the Caldwell Prize? He bought the same fixtures for his place. The one that’s getting all the publicity.”
“That’s good to hear.” So unknowingly I had copycatted Mr. Conway. Hmm. Not necessarily a bad thing. When he saw his lights hanging in Imogene’s rooms, he’d be pleased. After all, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
“I’ve never met the man, just seen pictures of him,” I told Ted. “What’s he like in person?”
“Oh, I don’t know, tall and lanky. Kind of cool. Too bad the girl who works here is off today. She could tell you more. She helped him the last time he came in.” Ted laughed. “Said he was the handsomest man she ever laid eyes on.”
Uh-oh. Tall, lanky, cool, handsome and gifted. Maybe Imogene did need a little help after all.
Ted’s brow furrowed. “Yeah he’s quite a guy. Not many people know it, but we went to MIT together.”
“Really?” That caught my attention. A clerk-electrician with an MIT degree?
“Yeah, really. Then my father died, and I had to drop out senior year...but Harlan went on to grad school at Harvard. So now I’m working at Breeze City and he’s a big-time architect. But we stay in touch. Meet for drinks once in a while.”
As Ted completed the paperwork for the order, a low laugh and then a giggle came from the back room. Curious, I asked, “Is Mr. Lopez in today?”
“No, he’ll be out of the shop all day.”
Another giggle, louder this time. Sheer nosiness, nothing more, made me press on. “Is Mrs. Lopez in?”
Ted frowned and glanced back at the closed office door, his lips pressed together in a tight line. “Um, she’s in. But she said she didn’t want to be disturbed.”
I could have been wrong, but I read his expression as disapproval. He handed me a receipt, and we arranged an installation date for the following day.
“Painters will be working in my client’s house, but they’re not doing the ceilings, so your installer should have no problem,” I said, trying to tune out the low murmur of voices coming from the direction of the office. Then a muffled thump.
What was that? Had something been knocked to the floor?
“Fine. Our installer will be there at ten tomorrow,” Ted said. “With the lights.”
I got the impression he wanted me to leave. Strange. I was a repeat customer who always paid my bills on time. Was he being a good employee and covering up? Either for Raúl or his wife, Claudia, or both? One thing for sure, he wasn’t quite as calm as when I first walked into the shop.
Giving a mental shrug, I left, but on an impulse ducked into Ralph Lauren Homes next door. A chic young clerk in a Polo top and a black pencil
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