Half-Price Homicide by Elaine Viets Page A

items. The brown-haired girl bought her birthstone—an amethyst—for the second sale of the day.
    Helen wrapped up the ring. She was ready with a “May I help you?” when the door opened. The words died on her lips. This was a tough customer and an unwelcome one—Detective Richard McNally.
    “Is Ms. Salinda here?” he asked.
    Vera came out of her office carrying six shirts to be tagged. She hung them on the dry-cleaning hook at the counter.
    “You want to talk to me?” There was a touch of defiance in Vera’s voice. Helen tried to slip away, but Detective McNally said, “Don’t go far, Ms Hawthorne. We may have a question for you, too.
    “We want to know where you get your clothes, Vera,” he said.
    “This shirt is from a Palm Beach woman,” she said, indicating her lime top. “I got some things from Chrissy, as I told you before. A Hendin Island woman is another good source.”
    “So your sources are all women?” he asked.
    “Desperate housewives. Well-dressed women who need cash,” Vera said.
    With that, Roger walked in. He looked like he’d stepped off a Malibu beach. He was carrying a soda can and three evening dresses, carefully wrapped in clear plastic. Even ten feet away, Helen could see expensive beading and sequins on the long dresses.
    Roger’s blue eyes widened when he saw the detective, and he started to back out.
    “May we help you, sir?” McNally said, blocking his exit. “Or maybe I should say ‘ma’am.’ Vera told me she only buys clothes from women.”
    “Uh, no. Yes. I brought these in for dry cleaning.” Roger was stuttering.
    “They look a little small for you, Roger,” McNally said.
    “I’m running an errand for a lady at the salon. I said I’d drop off her dry cleaning.”
    “She keeps her dry cleaning in plastic?” McNally asked.
    “The beads and sequins fall off if you aren’t careful,” Roger said.
    “Funny how clothes get dirty on hangers in the stores,” McNally said. “I see tags on these.”
    “I—she—uh, the lady likes them cleaned before she wears them. You never know who tries them on in a store. They might have bugs or something.”
    “Right,” McNally said. “Neiman Marcus is infested with bedbugs. But one escaped and is standing in front of me.”
    “Uh, can I leave my dry cleaning and go?” Roger asked.
    “For now,” McNally said. There was a trace of a smile. A smirk, actually.
    “I’d like them back Tuesday,” Roger said, hardly pausing between words. He set down his soda can, then dropped the dresses on the counter as if they were on fire. He was out the door.
    “Well, he seemed desperate all right,” McNally said. “But I don’t think Roger is a housewife.”
    As if on cue, a size zero appeared lugging a green shopping bag brimming with clothes. She was blond as a Christmas angel. Vera seemed to regard her as a heavenly savior.
    “Kelly,” she said, “what a pleasant surprise.” Helen had never heard Vera give such an effusive welcome.
    “I’m cleaning out my closet,” Kelly said, “and I wanted to bring you some summer clothes while you can still sell them. I have Versace, D&G, Gucci and—oopsie, this Vera Wang still has the tag on it. Please don’t tell my husband. Jason would have a fit if he knew I never wore it. These are shopping errors. My head cleared when I got home, so I didn’t wear them in public. I don’t know why I ever bought that hot pink Ed Hardy shirt. There are too many imitators. My maid bought one almost like it at Target. I was mortified. And these white clamdiggers make my ass look wider than Roseanne Barr’s.”
    She looked up and saw Detective McNally. “Excuse my language.” She attempted a blush.
    “I’m sure he’s not offended,” Vera said. “Let’s talk price quickly and I’ll send you on your way.”
    Vera made an offer that Helen thought was overgenerous. She suspected it was out of gratitude for Kelly’s timely arrival. The woman didn’t argue. Kelly signed the agreement