Dior or Die (Joanna Hayworth Vintage Clothing Mysteries Book 2) by Angela M. Sanders Page B
Authors: Angela M. Sanders
Tags: Mystery
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dial tone. Joanna let out her breath. The caller probably just wanted to find out the store's hours and wasn't patient enough to wait through her message.
The phone rang again. The hairs on her arm stood up. This is ridiculous, she thought. Why are you afraid of the phone? She turned on the lamp again. At the third ring she grabbed the receiver. "Hello?"
"Hello, Joanna," a voice whispered harshly.
She sucked in her breath. "Who is this?"
"You're alone."
Her blood turned to ice. "No, I'm not. I have—have people here."
"I see you." The whisper’s rasp removed any indication of whether the caller was a man or woman. "There's no one with you."
Her heart pounded. With the single light in the store, she'd be a clear target to anyone looking in. She glanced at the front window, but only the silhouettes of late night diners in the restaurant across the street moved. Too far away to hear her scream. Still clutching the phone, she sank to the floor behind the counter, out of view, and yanked the lamp's plug from the wall. "What do you want?" she asked.
"You can't hide from me, Joanna. I'll always find you. Stay out of business that doesn't concern you."
"What do you mean?" Her voice shook. Then, in a firmer tone, she said, "This is a hoax. Some kind of joke."
The raspy laughter was freakish. "Look in the dressing room. And don't say I didn't warn you." The phone call ended abruptly.
A cold sweat broke over Joanna's neck and forehead as she replaced the receiver. She sat still, hearing only the occasional car on the street. A minute passed, then two. I can't stay here forever, she thought. I have to get up, turn on a light. I have to go home.
Look in the dressing room, the voice had said.
Lights still off, Joanna felt around the tiki bar's lower shelf until she found a broken hat pin. As a weapon, it wasn't much, but it was all she had. Taking a deep breath, she crept from the protected area behind the counter and tiki bar. Cold Dupioni silk brushed her face as she passed a rack of dresses. Behind the zebra-striped chair, she paused again and listened. Silence. She leaned forward for a clear view of the front window. No one.
The curtains encircling both dressing rooms were closed. Who had been in the dressing rooms last? Apple closed shop today. She would have cleaned them both out before she left. They should be empty.
Shaking, Joanna stood and jerked open the curtains of the first dressing room. Nothing. All she saw were the small, velvet-topped bench and gold-framed mirror usually there. That left the other dressing room.
She glanced again at the darkened window, then focused on the dressing room's silk curtains. God, she wished someone were with her. She bit her lip and counted silently. One, two, three—she drew aside the curtain and instantly let it fall closed again. She clicked on the store's overhead lights then ripped aside the dressing room curtains. Hanging from a hook was a shredded silk nightgown, its top bunched like a head. It dangled from a tiny silken noose.
***
Joanna ran all the way home. Gasping and cursing her kitten-heeled pumps, she collapsed against her front door. Locked. Good. Inside, her house, lit by a single lamp on the fireplace mantel, was still. Pepper raised his head from the couch.
The police had been useless. They wouldn't even send a cop to the store to take a report. Once she'd reported nothing was stolen and no one hurt, the dispatcher had transferred her call to a sleepy sounding officer who replied "Uh huh" to everything she said and offered a case number. Probably doing a crossword puzzle the whole time they talked.
Remembering the caller's threat, her anxiety mounted. The voice—she couldn't tell if it was a man or woman—had warned her to mind her own business. The diamonds. It had to be about the diamonds. Or was it? The only thing she’d done was to see Travis and Ben. Maybe she’d struck closer to home than she’d thought.
"Damn it." She threw her
The phone rang again. The hairs on her arm stood up. This is ridiculous, she thought. Why are you afraid of the phone? She turned on the lamp again. At the third ring she grabbed the receiver. "Hello?"
"Hello, Joanna," a voice whispered harshly.
She sucked in her breath. "Who is this?"
"You're alone."
Her blood turned to ice. "No, I'm not. I have—have people here."
"I see you." The whisper’s rasp removed any indication of whether the caller was a man or woman. "There's no one with you."
Her heart pounded. With the single light in the store, she'd be a clear target to anyone looking in. She glanced at the front window, but only the silhouettes of late night diners in the restaurant across the street moved. Too far away to hear her scream. Still clutching the phone, she sank to the floor behind the counter, out of view, and yanked the lamp's plug from the wall. "What do you want?" she asked.
"You can't hide from me, Joanna. I'll always find you. Stay out of business that doesn't concern you."
"What do you mean?" Her voice shook. Then, in a firmer tone, she said, "This is a hoax. Some kind of joke."
The raspy laughter was freakish. "Look in the dressing room. And don't say I didn't warn you." The phone call ended abruptly.
A cold sweat broke over Joanna's neck and forehead as she replaced the receiver. She sat still, hearing only the occasional car on the street. A minute passed, then two. I can't stay here forever, she thought. I have to get up, turn on a light. I have to go home.
Look in the dressing room, the voice had said.
Lights still off, Joanna felt around the tiki bar's lower shelf until she found a broken hat pin. As a weapon, it wasn't much, but it was all she had. Taking a deep breath, she crept from the protected area behind the counter and tiki bar. Cold Dupioni silk brushed her face as she passed a rack of dresses. Behind the zebra-striped chair, she paused again and listened. Silence. She leaned forward for a clear view of the front window. No one.
The curtains encircling both dressing rooms were closed. Who had been in the dressing rooms last? Apple closed shop today. She would have cleaned them both out before she left. They should be empty.
Shaking, Joanna stood and jerked open the curtains of the first dressing room. Nothing. All she saw were the small, velvet-topped bench and gold-framed mirror usually there. That left the other dressing room.
She glanced again at the darkened window, then focused on the dressing room's silk curtains. God, she wished someone were with her. She bit her lip and counted silently. One, two, three—she drew aside the curtain and instantly let it fall closed again. She clicked on the store's overhead lights then ripped aside the dressing room curtains. Hanging from a hook was a shredded silk nightgown, its top bunched like a head. It dangled from a tiny silken noose.
***
Joanna ran all the way home. Gasping and cursing her kitten-heeled pumps, she collapsed against her front door. Locked. Good. Inside, her house, lit by a single lamp on the fireplace mantel, was still. Pepper raised his head from the couch.
The police had been useless. They wouldn't even send a cop to the store to take a report. Once she'd reported nothing was stolen and no one hurt, the dispatcher had transferred her call to a sleepy sounding officer who replied "Uh huh" to everything she said and offered a case number. Probably doing a crossword puzzle the whole time they talked.
Remembering the caller's threat, her anxiety mounted. The voice—she couldn't tell if it was a man or woman—had warned her to mind her own business. The diamonds. It had to be about the diamonds. Or was it? The only thing she’d done was to see Travis and Ben. Maybe she’d struck closer to home than she’d thought.
"Damn it." She threw her
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