shuttle, south on the IRT. I was dying to go home and tell Abby about everything that was happening (and have a cocktail or two—okay, three ), but instead of going all the way down to Christopher Street—the subway stop closest to my apartment—I followed a sudden urgent impulse and got off at 34th Street, the stop for Macy’s. Christmas was just four days away, you see, and though I’d already sent a box of gifts home to my family in Kansas City, I still had three presents to buy: one for Abby, one for Lenny, and one for Dan. And while I was there, I figured, I might as well pay a little visit to the lingerie department—Judy Catcher’s department.
The sidewalks around Macy’s were snowless. So many people had been walking in and out all day, and circling the store to look at the dazzling window displays, that even the cement was worn down. Ordinarily I would have taken the time to join the crowds of oooohing and aaaahing window gazers—to observe and admire the magical exhibits of mechanical angels, puppies, children, elves, and reindeer that Macy’s was so famous for—but tonight I had more important things to do: buy gifts for my friends, and try to solve a murder.
I entered the store, crammed myself into the crowded elevator, called my number out to the operator and headed up toward the seventh floor, wondering how many times Judy Catcher had stood in this same tiny wood-paneled box, rising toward the same destination. When the doors popped open, I squeezed my way out and approached the heavily decorated entry to the floor, trying to get my bearings. I looked for a sign saying Lingerie, but there was none. There were just tons of twinkling lights, dancing candy canes, and great high clouds of angel hair with little cherubs sitting around on top of them like babies at a picnic.
Music was coming from somewhere to my right. Choral music. A crisp, perky rendition of “Come All Ye Faithful.”
I wondered if the song was beckoning me to come to Bethlehem, or to the Lingerie department. Repelled by the grating sound, I turned left and began walking down a wide aisle thick with boughs of holly, sprigs of mistletoe, and herds of people in a hurry. I didn’t know where I was going, but I figured I’d run into the brassieres and underpants eventually. All roads lead to Rome. (Or is it Bethlehem?)
Unfortunately, the road was long. I had to fight my way through Women’s Robes, Women’s Nightgowns, and Women’s Hosiery before I reached the underwear zone. And—even more unfortunately—when I got there the real live Christmas carolers were there, too, looking every bit as robotic as the other mechanical holiday displays, singing “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” in voices so loud and chirpy I wanted to pluck some angel hair off the lowest cloud and stuff it in my ears.
There were three salesladies working the Lingerie department, and I made a beeline for the youngest one—a plump, freckled redhead wearing a fuzzy white scoop-neck sweater and a wide green velvet ribbon tied around her neck in a bow. She was short and cute, and she looked to be about Judy’s age.
“Merry Christmas!” she piped as I lurched up to her counter. “May I help you?” She had big green eyes and a surprisingly throaty voice.
“I hope so,” I said. “I’m looking for a present for a friend of mine. Her favorite color is red and she loves sexy lingerie almost as much as the men she wears it for.”
The girl let out a husky giggle. “I think we have just the thing—a red bra, panties, and garter belt set. It’s a special Macy’s Christmas item.” (Sounded more like Frederick’s of Hollywood to me.)
“Perfect,” I said. “May I see it?” I knew I couldn’t afford such an elaborate gift, but I decided to take a look anyway. And while I was at it, I figured, I could look for a good way to bring Judy Catcher’s name into the conversation.
“Sure. Come this way. We have the set on display.” The girl led me down to
The sidewalks around Macy’s were snowless. So many people had been walking in and out all day, and circling the store to look at the dazzling window displays, that even the cement was worn down. Ordinarily I would have taken the time to join the crowds of oooohing and aaaahing window gazers—to observe and admire the magical exhibits of mechanical angels, puppies, children, elves, and reindeer that Macy’s was so famous for—but tonight I had more important things to do: buy gifts for my friends, and try to solve a murder.
I entered the store, crammed myself into the crowded elevator, called my number out to the operator and headed up toward the seventh floor, wondering how many times Judy Catcher had stood in this same tiny wood-paneled box, rising toward the same destination. When the doors popped open, I squeezed my way out and approached the heavily decorated entry to the floor, trying to get my bearings. I looked for a sign saying Lingerie, but there was none. There were just tons of twinkling lights, dancing candy canes, and great high clouds of angel hair with little cherubs sitting around on top of them like babies at a picnic.
Music was coming from somewhere to my right. Choral music. A crisp, perky rendition of “Come All Ye Faithful.”
I wondered if the song was beckoning me to come to Bethlehem, or to the Lingerie department. Repelled by the grating sound, I turned left and began walking down a wide aisle thick with boughs of holly, sprigs of mistletoe, and herds of people in a hurry. I didn’t know where I was going, but I figured I’d run into the brassieres and underpants eventually. All roads lead to Rome. (Or is it Bethlehem?)
Unfortunately, the road was long. I had to fight my way through Women’s Robes, Women’s Nightgowns, and Women’s Hosiery before I reached the underwear zone. And—even more unfortunately—when I got there the real live Christmas carolers were there, too, looking every bit as robotic as the other mechanical holiday displays, singing “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” in voices so loud and chirpy I wanted to pluck some angel hair off the lowest cloud and stuff it in my ears.
There were three salesladies working the Lingerie department, and I made a beeline for the youngest one—a plump, freckled redhead wearing a fuzzy white scoop-neck sweater and a wide green velvet ribbon tied around her neck in a bow. She was short and cute, and she looked to be about Judy’s age.
“Merry Christmas!” she piped as I lurched up to her counter. “May I help you?” She had big green eyes and a surprisingly throaty voice.
“I hope so,” I said. “I’m looking for a present for a friend of mine. Her favorite color is red and she loves sexy lingerie almost as much as the men she wears it for.”
The girl let out a husky giggle. “I think we have just the thing—a red bra, panties, and garter belt set. It’s a special Macy’s Christmas item.” (Sounded more like Frederick’s of Hollywood to me.)
“Perfect,” I said. “May I see it?” I knew I couldn’t afford such an elaborate gift, but I decided to take a look anyway. And while I was at it, I figured, I could look for a good way to bring Judy Catcher’s name into the conversation.
“Sure. Come this way. We have the set on display.” The girl led me down to
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