The Lanvin Murders (Vintage Clothing Mysteries) by Angela M. Sanders

Too bad.”
    “Just a few days ago. I'd really like some of her old friends to know.”  
    “Tell you what. Why don't I give Don your phone number and have him call you?”
    Joanna wrote her home number on a Tallulah’s Closet business card and handed it to him. She started for the door, then turned again to the manager. “One more question. I noticed the mural out there. It's—striking.” Especially for a club catering to straight men.
    “Oh, you like it? It was painted a long time ago by a guy named Monty LaMontayne.”
    Questioned answered.
    “Peace.” The manager returned to his computer.

CHAPTER EIGHT

    Apple was at the front of the store, settling the Lanvin coat on a mannequin over a psychedelic-patterned Leonard of Paris dress. She had set a pair of fringed boots at the mannequin's feet for a Janis Joplin effect.
    “What? I thought the Lanvin sold yesterday,” Joanna said with a mixture of relief and disappointment. “Didn’t you say Gisele bought it?”
    Apple stepped down from the platform that held the window display. “She brought the coat back. Said it just wasn't right. She hadn't even taken it out of the trunk of her car. I think it needs to be smudged. She said her house was broken into last night, too.”
    “Was she okay?” Gisele was a fashion writer for the local weekly. Joanna had been to her house once for a cocktail party after an event showcasing local designers. Gisele had done up the place in glam-rock luxe with a white fake fur couch and a large, arching silver lamp. She had hugged the designers, praised their work, and pressed them to drink up the marionberry Martinis, but she viciously panned the show in the newspaper the next week.
    “I guess she was fine. Nothing was even stolen. I bet you fifty bucks it was Tanya at Steam Fittings. She's still fuming over that 'Soviet vacation wear' comment from Gisele's review last winter.”  
    “Another thing, I saw Eve at the estate sale yesterday, and I mentioned the Lanvin,” Joanna said.
    Apple’s hands dropped to her side. “Why’d you do that? Now she’ll try to buy it off you so she can resell it. You know how stubborn she is, too.”
    “I know. She made a mean remark about Tallulah’s Closet, and I couldn’t help bragging. Whatever you do, don’t sell it to her.” Joanna tipped a veiled pillbox hat to a more flattering angle on its stand.  
    “Good Goddess. She must be the only vintage clothing dealer in town who doesn’t even wear vintage.”
    Joanna remembered the anguished look of the student Eve had paid to wait in line for her. “The guys sure love her, though.”
    Apple snorted. “Sure. She has all the beauty money can buy.”
    “She said she’s opening a store. She was kind of mysterious about it, too.”
    “I haven’t heard anything about that.” Apple walked back to the counter. “Who knows if it will actually happen, though. Remember Eve’s party planning business? Then her interior design consulting idea?” She picked up a pink phone message slip. Joanna had bought a case of them when a tire store went out of business. “Message for you. Andrew came by with a stack of flyers for the Remmick rally, too. And Paul was here to paint the door where he chiseled out the lock.”
    Joanna looked at the phone message. Don Cayle hadn't wasted any time getting back to her. This was turning out to be easier than she'd anticipated.  
    “Did you hear me?” Apple said. “I said Paul had been by. He asked about you.”
    “Yeah, I heard you.”
    “What's going on between you two, anyway?”
    “Nothing,” she said in a voice that warned not to press the subject. The memory of dancing at the Reel M’Inn and the parting kiss flushed her face. If only Apple knew. “Anything else?”
    “Just that guy I told you about. The one lurking around yesterday. I’m telling you, bad energy.”
    The bell at the door clanged as a customer came in, and Apple turned to greet her. Joanna returned Don Cayle's call.
    ***
    An