not too long after I spotted you, Nell, heading to Polly's for one of her amazing scones, I supposed. A short while after that Pamela stopped in the gallery."
Nell remembered Pamela changing directions, heading down the sidewalk. She assumed Pamela had seen someone she wanted to talk to. "Did she seem okay?"
There it was again. That irrational desire to pull out a reason, an emotion, something that would make sense of a woman being happy and ordinary and alive. And hours later, murdered.
"I've gone over the conversation often--believe me. She seemed happy, in that overconfident way of hers. Pamela comes to my studio whenever she's in town--she loves jewelry, and I always hoped she'd find something to feature in Fashion Monthly . I'm not much of a self-promoter, but I jumped in this time and asked her if she would consider using some of my jewelry in an issue. She was interested. She tried a few things on. A necklace and some of those long drop earrings that I've made for you, Nell."
"Did she buy them?" Birdie asked.
Rebecca nodded. "She bought several things. I would have given them to her if it meant they'd show up in her magazine."
"Maybe they'll show up anyway. Her cousin Agnes seems to be filling in at the helm, from what we can gather."
"Agnes Pisano? Oh, my, that's a surprise. I don't exactly see Agnes as being very fashion conscious."
"Maybe it's just an interim thing. So what did she pick out?"
"Well, not as much as she might have if we hadn't been interrupted."
"More customers?"
"No, that blond guy who's been staying with the Scaglias followed her in. They had been talking on the sidewalk earlier. He was upset; I could tell. A vein in his overly tan forehead was throbbing, but he was smiling, trying to be nice."
"He was upset with Pamela?"
"Well, I'm not sure. Their conversation didn't make a lot of sense to me, probably because part of it had occurred on the sidewalk. He was almost ingratiating himself to Pamela, I thought. He kept saying he'd be perfect, and he'd do anything she wanted." Rebecca chuckled. "And this was all with me standing there behind a felt pad filled with necklaces.
"Pamela kind of ignored him at first. She picked up more earrings, a couple of necklaces, and put them in her 'to purchase' pile. But he kept after her, nudging her, flirting one minute, coaxing the next. All the while, the vein was throbbing. At first she was more patient than I'd have been. But then she finally told him to stop. She turned and looked him right in the eye, her hands out in front of her as if she were warding him off. He had other talents , she said--in a suggestive way, I thought. Then kind of laughed, you know, in a teasing way. And then she told him he needed to face the hard truth. He was too old--over the hill, was how she put it--to be in any reputable fashion magazine. It was time to put him out to pasture, she said. And that was that."
"Over the hill? Out to pasture? Ouch. That must have hurt."
"His face was as red as Birdie's sweater, but he tried to hold it in. He swallowed hard and began flirting again, touching her, brushing up against her. He's a real lothario, that one. He came on to me the other day; can you believe that?"
Of course they could believe it. Rebecca was one of the most beautiful women in Sea Harbor. A willowy blond artist with skin like an angel's. But her relationship with Melanie Foster, a new fiber artist in town, seemed to be going well. Troy DeLuca wouldn't have stood a chance for all sorts of reasons.
"He's younger than Pamela, though I don't suppose that matters. But Pamela is so classy and sophisticated. This guy--for all his good looks--is definitely not that. There's something a bit . . . sleazy."
Nell didn't know Troy DeLuca at all, but Rebecca's feelings mirrored her own.
"I got the feeling Pamela was playing with the guy. Flirting with him, but making fun of him at the same time, assuming, maybe, that he was too dumb to realize it."
"How unpleasant,"
Nell remembered Pamela changing directions, heading down the sidewalk. She assumed Pamela had seen someone she wanted to talk to. "Did she seem okay?"
There it was again. That irrational desire to pull out a reason, an emotion, something that would make sense of a woman being happy and ordinary and alive. And hours later, murdered.
"I've gone over the conversation often--believe me. She seemed happy, in that overconfident way of hers. Pamela comes to my studio whenever she's in town--she loves jewelry, and I always hoped she'd find something to feature in Fashion Monthly . I'm not much of a self-promoter, but I jumped in this time and asked her if she would consider using some of my jewelry in an issue. She was interested. She tried a few things on. A necklace and some of those long drop earrings that I've made for you, Nell."
"Did she buy them?" Birdie asked.
Rebecca nodded. "She bought several things. I would have given them to her if it meant they'd show up in her magazine."
"Maybe they'll show up anyway. Her cousin Agnes seems to be filling in at the helm, from what we can gather."
"Agnes Pisano? Oh, my, that's a surprise. I don't exactly see Agnes as being very fashion conscious."
"Maybe it's just an interim thing. So what did she pick out?"
"Well, not as much as she might have if we hadn't been interrupted."
"More customers?"
"No, that blond guy who's been staying with the Scaglias followed her in. They had been talking on the sidewalk earlier. He was upset; I could tell. A vein in his overly tan forehead was throbbing, but he was smiling, trying to be nice."
"He was upset with Pamela?"
"Well, I'm not sure. Their conversation didn't make a lot of sense to me, probably because part of it had occurred on the sidewalk. He was almost ingratiating himself to Pamela, I thought. He kept saying he'd be perfect, and he'd do anything she wanted." Rebecca chuckled. "And this was all with me standing there behind a felt pad filled with necklaces.
"Pamela kind of ignored him at first. She picked up more earrings, a couple of necklaces, and put them in her 'to purchase' pile. But he kept after her, nudging her, flirting one minute, coaxing the next. All the while, the vein was throbbing. At first she was more patient than I'd have been. But then she finally told him to stop. She turned and looked him right in the eye, her hands out in front of her as if she were warding him off. He had other talents , she said--in a suggestive way, I thought. Then kind of laughed, you know, in a teasing way. And then she told him he needed to face the hard truth. He was too old--over the hill, was how she put it--to be in any reputable fashion magazine. It was time to put him out to pasture, she said. And that was that."
"Over the hill? Out to pasture? Ouch. That must have hurt."
"His face was as red as Birdie's sweater, but he tried to hold it in. He swallowed hard and began flirting again, touching her, brushing up against her. He's a real lothario, that one. He came on to me the other day; can you believe that?"
Of course they could believe it. Rebecca was one of the most beautiful women in Sea Harbor. A willowy blond artist with skin like an angel's. But her relationship with Melanie Foster, a new fiber artist in town, seemed to be going well. Troy DeLuca wouldn't have stood a chance for all sorts of reasons.
"He's younger than Pamela, though I don't suppose that matters. But Pamela is so classy and sophisticated. This guy--for all his good looks--is definitely not that. There's something a bit . . . sleazy."
Nell didn't know Troy DeLuca at all, but Rebecca's feelings mirrored her own.
"I got the feeling Pamela was playing with the guy. Flirting with him, but making fun of him at the same time, assuming, maybe, that he was too dumb to realize it."
"How unpleasant,"
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