The Lanvin Murders (Vintage Clothing Mysteries) by Angela M. Sanders Page A

evenly brown legs of a woman with regular appointments at the tanning booth and the waxer. The dress's wild pattern might make it a risky choice for a Washington cocktail party, but it fit like it was made for her.
    “You look fabulous,” Kevin said.  
    “Thank you,” she said, although she barely glanced at herself in the mirror. “Do you ever get clothes from, oh, I don't know, entertainers around town?”
    “No one particularly famous, if that's what you mean.” She was definitely fishing for information. But why?
    “What about Marnie?” Kevin said. “Wasn't she a dancer in the fifties-sixties?”
    “That's interesting.” Laura seemed to perk up. “She just died, didn't she? I read about it in yesterday’s paper.”
    Well, well. Joanna rested a hand on the back of Kevin’s chair. So, all this questioning was about Marnie. Didn't someone at the memorial service say Remmick knew Marnie? “Yes, not quite a week ago.”  
    “What was she like? She must have been attractive to be a showgirl and all.”
    “She used to be a real bombshell. Wait, I have a photo right here.” Joanna retrieved her purse from under the tiki bar and pulled out the photo Nina gave her. “I have the feeling she did what she wanted without caring what the rest of the world thought.”
    Laura studied the photograph, the thumbnail from her French manicure resting over the black and white image. She paused a moment, as if uncertain where she wanted to take the conversation. Finally she said, “What kind of clothes did she bring in?”
    “A lot of dresses with Polynesian prints, strangely enough. A few items from her working days, too. She did bring in a gorgeous coat, a Lanvin.”  
    “I'll try it on, please.”  
    Her stomach clenched. “I’m afraid you can’t. It was stolen last night.”
    “Oh. Pity.” The word ‘stolen’ had no effect on her. “The showgirl, Marnie—did she tell you much about her life?” Laura asked as she closed the dressing room’s curtains behind her.  
    “Not much.” Joanna cast a glance at Kevin, who was sliding a pedicured foot into a pearly beige pump. If it had been she and Kevin alone, she would have spent half an hour filling him in on finding Marnie’s body, the broken window, the memorial service, and Marnie's surprise son while he sat in the big, zebra-striped chair by the shoe display and ate take-out from Dot’s. “I heard she used to live in Oysterville, where I understand your husband grew up.”  
    “Yes, I asked my husband if he knew her, and he said they went to high school together.” When Laura pushed aside the curtains of the dressing room, she had changed back to her street clothes. Joanna noticed something new, a little vulnerability.
    Laura brought the Pucci and the black cocktail dress with the chiffon overlay to the counter. “I'll take these.”
    “I can’t imagine what it would be like to have to dress for constituents.” Joanna thought of her own wardrobe. She wouldn’t be marrying a senator any time soon.
    “Once I wore red nail polish when Chick and I were interviewed for a morning show. By the time we got back to the office, they’d already had five calls saying that it wasn’t proper for a congressman’s wife to have red nails.” She examined her tasteful manicure. “That was early on. I know better now.”
    “You can’t please everyone.”
    “No. That’s true. But when Chick and I got married—well, people said things.”
    Joanna remembered the brouhaha in the papers and the sniping Laura took for being the “trophy wife.” “Oh, people always say things. Likely, they’re jealous.” Laura’s hopeful face made Joanna realize she was looking for comforting words, even after all these years of parrying public opinion. “As long as you and your husband are happy together, they should be happy, too.”
    “Oh, we are. Happy, that is.” Laura looked earnest. “It’s just that, well, Chick is a little older than I am—”
    Joanna