Dior or Die (Joanna Hayworth Vintage Clothing Mysteries Book 2) by Angela M. Sanders Page A
Authors: Angela M. Sanders
Tags: Mystery
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momentary panic faded. "Something's been a little off with Travis. When the police questioned me I didn't want to say anything. He's just a kid, you know?"
"Poppy told me something about you having to fire him." Was he trying to throw suspicion off himself?
"He was nosing around here after hours. Like you."
Where was Helena, anyway? She opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by the creak of the door between the showroom and warehouse. "Anybody home?" a man's voice asked.
"Must be the appraiser." Ben heaved his body from the chair. The fluorescent overhead light emphasized the dark hollows under his eyes.
"I'll be right behind you," Joanna said.
"No. We're finished here. I'll lock up." Ben waited until she'd left Poppy's office. She glanced regretfully at the filing cabinet where the inventories were likely still locked away.
Helena, breathless, appeared from the showroom. "Joanna? Are you all right? I'm sorry. I got a call from Gil. I had to take it." Her skin was clammy, and she breathed shallowly. "He’s at the hospital. Something is really wrong."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
That night, hours after the store closed, Joanna leaned over the tiki bar to tally receipts. The student had come back for the lemon chiffon prom dress, but otherwise the day's sales were pathetic. Joanna moved to her bills. The web designer agreed to take trade, but she faced the rent, a stack of dry cleaning invoices, and a shockingly large plumbing bill. Honestly, plumbers must earn more than plastic surgeons. She'd managed to put off the landlord until after the NAP auction, but he'd made it clear she wouldn't have a day longer. To make things worse, the first payment on her line of credit was coming due.
The store was dark but for a small pool of light from the Marie Antoinette-shaped lamp on the tiki bar. There was no way around it. Unless she got her hands on Vivienne's clothes, and fast, she couldn't make ends meet.
What was she going to do? Joanna shoved the bills to the side. She could ask Paul for a loan. He wasn't rich, but he said he had a few jobs in the offing. Warmth spread over her at the thought of him. Too bad he wasn’t there right now, relaxing in the armchair by the dressing rooms. She glanced toward the chair at the darkened rear of the store, imagining his hands turning the page of a Raymond Chandler novel. But she wouldn’t ask him for money. Especially when it originally came from Eve.
A faint sound, like a pebble hitting tile, tapped from behind her. The skin on Joanna's neck prickled. She rose from the stool and eased the bathroom door open. Night showed through the window to the alley. It must have been something out back—maybe a cat. She boosted the window open and glimpsed someone relieving himself behind the Dumpster down the block. She shut and locked the window and shook her head. Nerves.
She returned to the tiki bar and bundled the receipts to take home. To help pay bills she could get a roommate, but that thought galled. What if the roommate wanted to hang some mall crap in the living room or put in a microwave? Forget it. Of course, Paul could move in and share the mortgage. She shook her head. Not that it mattered, since by then her bills would be long past due.
A movement in the front window caught the corner of her eye. White skin and dark eyes, looking in. It was only there for a moment before ducking away. Adrenalin surged through her body. Calm down, Joanna willed herself. People pass by the window all the time. It's a busy street. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her.
Nonsense, she thought. Everything that's been happening lately is getting to me, that's all. I'm going home. She piled the bills in her purse and clicked off the lamp.
The phone rang.
At this hour? As Joanna watched the phone, her uneasiness grew. The phone continued to ring three then four times, when the answering machine would pick it up. The machine clicked on to a
"Poppy told me something about you having to fire him." Was he trying to throw suspicion off himself?
"He was nosing around here after hours. Like you."
Where was Helena, anyway? She opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by the creak of the door between the showroom and warehouse. "Anybody home?" a man's voice asked.
"Must be the appraiser." Ben heaved his body from the chair. The fluorescent overhead light emphasized the dark hollows under his eyes.
"I'll be right behind you," Joanna said.
"No. We're finished here. I'll lock up." Ben waited until she'd left Poppy's office. She glanced regretfully at the filing cabinet where the inventories were likely still locked away.
Helena, breathless, appeared from the showroom. "Joanna? Are you all right? I'm sorry. I got a call from Gil. I had to take it." Her skin was clammy, and she breathed shallowly. "He’s at the hospital. Something is really wrong."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
That night, hours after the store closed, Joanna leaned over the tiki bar to tally receipts. The student had come back for the lemon chiffon prom dress, but otherwise the day's sales were pathetic. Joanna moved to her bills. The web designer agreed to take trade, but she faced the rent, a stack of dry cleaning invoices, and a shockingly large plumbing bill. Honestly, plumbers must earn more than plastic surgeons. She'd managed to put off the landlord until after the NAP auction, but he'd made it clear she wouldn't have a day longer. To make things worse, the first payment on her line of credit was coming due.
The store was dark but for a small pool of light from the Marie Antoinette-shaped lamp on the tiki bar. There was no way around it. Unless she got her hands on Vivienne's clothes, and fast, she couldn't make ends meet.
What was she going to do? Joanna shoved the bills to the side. She could ask Paul for a loan. He wasn't rich, but he said he had a few jobs in the offing. Warmth spread over her at the thought of him. Too bad he wasn’t there right now, relaxing in the armchair by the dressing rooms. She glanced toward the chair at the darkened rear of the store, imagining his hands turning the page of a Raymond Chandler novel. But she wouldn’t ask him for money. Especially when it originally came from Eve.
A faint sound, like a pebble hitting tile, tapped from behind her. The skin on Joanna's neck prickled. She rose from the stool and eased the bathroom door open. Night showed through the window to the alley. It must have been something out back—maybe a cat. She boosted the window open and glimpsed someone relieving himself behind the Dumpster down the block. She shut and locked the window and shook her head. Nerves.
She returned to the tiki bar and bundled the receipts to take home. To help pay bills she could get a roommate, but that thought galled. What if the roommate wanted to hang some mall crap in the living room or put in a microwave? Forget it. Of course, Paul could move in and share the mortgage. She shook her head. Not that it mattered, since by then her bills would be long past due.
A movement in the front window caught the corner of her eye. White skin and dark eyes, looking in. It was only there for a moment before ducking away. Adrenalin surged through her body. Calm down, Joanna willed herself. People pass by the window all the time. It's a busy street. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her.
Nonsense, she thought. Everything that's been happening lately is getting to me, that's all. I'm going home. She piled the bills in her purse and clicked off the lamp.
The phone rang.
At this hour? As Joanna watched the phone, her uneasiness grew. The phone continued to ring three then four times, when the answering machine would pick it up. The machine clicked on to a
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