Laura Caldwell - Red Blooded Murder

“Excuse me?”

She pointed to the crotch of the panties. “Make sure you sniff.”

I had to be misunderstanding something. “Do you mean…” No, she couldn’t mean.

“Yes,” she said in an irritated voice. “We have to ensure that the merchandise wasn’t worn before it was returned.”

“Would someone do that?”

She gave me a look that made it clear she thought I had reached new levels of stupidity.

“So we have to smell the underwear to make sure they didn’t do that?” I said, just to make sure I was hearing her right.

“Yes.” No hiding her irritation.

“Well, isn’t it rude to the customers to smell the panties right in front of them?”

She actually rolled her eyes this time. “You do it surreptitiously, of course. Like this.” She turned her body away from the register and grabbed one of the return forms behind the desk. As she did so, she casually and quickly lifted the panties and waved them in front of her face, taking a clandestine inhale.

“Got it?” she said.

“Sure.” Despite myself, I giggled a little.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Another small laugh escaped my mouth. God, I wished Q was here. The fact that I was sniffing undies for a living would slay him.

“Lexi…” Josie said in a stern voice, not bothering to complete the sentence.

“I’m sorry. Really.” I squelched down a laugh and gave the panties a practice sniff.

From the vantage point of the watcher in the crowd, Jane Augustine looked stunning. She stood in front of the Daley Center, the sunlight glinting off the Picasso sculpture and giving her face a luminescent glow. Her hair and her smile gleamed as she spoke into the camera.

“Welcome to Trial TV,” she said, flashing a vivacious grin, “where we bring you gavel-to-gavel coverage of the courtrooms topping the news. From New York to L.A., from Chicago to Miami and from every city in between, we’ll bring you up-to-the-minute reporting, but we’ll also give you the real stories of what’s happening behind the scenes. We’ve got the best news team in the business. We’ve got our ears to the ground. If there’s breaking legal news, you’ll hear it on Trial TV first.”

She paused. She flashed that smile again.

“Cut!” her director yelled.

The crowd that had gathered to watch broke into a smattering of applause.

Jane gave a half bow to the onlookers. “Thanks!” she called out.

She began to discuss something with her director, pointing at the courthouse behind her, then at the light. They glanced at their watches. They moved a few inches to the right and seemed to be preparing to try another promo shot.

Some of the crowd drifted away, but there were still enough people to hide behind. It was easy enough to watch her as she checked her makeup in a small compact, as she adjusted her red scarf. She tugged it a little as if she was irritated. A look of distaste crossed her face as she glanced down at the scarf, almost as if she was considering removing it, then the irritation cleared.

She signaled to the cameraman that she was ready again.

“Action,” the director yelled.

“Welcome to Trial TV…”

Jane and her crew went on like that, trying different shots from different angles, pausing when she occasionally flubbed a line.

The crowd loved it when that happened, because Jane would joke or make some silly head-rolling gesture. It showed how human she was, despite her exterior of perfection.

But even when the crowd laughed, even when Jane took a mock curtsy in front of them, it was obvious that she wasn’t really seeing the individual faces. It seemed to the watcher, the one in the crowd paying the closest attention, that this was typical of Jane. She’d gotten so used to the crowds and the cameras that she never looked behind them. It was as if she perceived a shell around herself that separated her from everyone.

Unfortunately for Jane, she seemed to think that this shell remained firmly around her personal life, as well. She seemed to think that no one could really see inside her, that no one really knew the things she did away from the cameras.

Unfortunately for Jane Augustine, she was wrong.

I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to stay awake, moving between the empty times of no customers and then the abrupt arrival of eight or more who suddenly flooded the store. Most were women who had money to spend and who weren’t in the slightest bit embarrassed to discuss whether their nipples would show through a lace bustier. A few, however, were men. They were the funniest, trying to act nonchalant while they cupped their hands in an attempt to describe their girlfriend’s bra size.

Only two of the customers were Josie’s regulars. Both times, she hopped from behind the register and strode confidently to the front, calling hello in a breezy, sparkly-eyed kind of way. Both times, I scurried away and watched as she expertly doted when she needed to and gave people the space when they needed that. And each time, her customers left the store happy, waving goodbye, and with a hell of a lot more merchandise than they had seemed ready to buy when they came in.

At 4:45 p.m., I was starting to fantasize deeply about getting on my scooter and getting out of there. I was supposed to meet Mayburn tonight to tell him about the day, and the thought of a beer and a chat was appealing.

Josie joined me at the front of the store with an armful of what looked like white camisoles. “Bridal wear,” she said. “We’re getting lots of it.” She looked at her watch, then gestured toward one of the sleepwear tables. “Make some room here for these, will you? After we close the door, you can head back and start unpacking the shipments that came in today.”

I tried not to let my disappointment show. The back room was exactly where Mayburn wanted me-peering into the operations of the store, keeping my eye out for anything amiss. It was just that I was starting to fade.

“No problem.” I took the camisoles from her. They felt silky smooth, almost like water, on my hands.

The door dinged, and a couple walked in, laughing and shoving each other playfully.

“Hello, Nina!” Josie trilled.

The woman was a wisp of a girl dressed in fitted jeans, a long powder-blue T-shirt that matched her eyes and an ivory leather jacket. Her hair was twisted into two braids on either side of her face, a hairstyle few women over the age of fourteen could pull off. But this woman not only pulled it off, she rocked it.

Nina waved at Josie with a slender hand, gold bangle bracelets on her wrists jangling like a wind chime.

The man she was with waved, too, although he could barely take his eyes off his girlfriend.

Josie shot me a glance. I nodded and turned away. Obviously, regular customers.

I moved to the round table to make way for the bridal wear.

“I’m looking for something to wear under a white dress,” Nina said.

“And don’t forget…” the guy said, laughing.

Nina laughed, too. “He wants me to get one of the pearl thongs.”

I looked at them. The guy was raising his eyebrows in a salacious but cute way.

“Oh, sure,” Josie said. “I’ve got them in the back.” She turned and headed for the storerooms. She looked at me. “Lexi, can you help Nina find a nude bra?”

“Sure.” Josie must have thought I was half-capable if she was letting me at her regulars. I felt a shot of pride that woke me up and propelled me across the store.

Nina shook hands with me as if we were meeting at a dinner party, as if I weren’t a store clerk. “This is James.”

James, who was rubbing his five-o’clock shadow, smiled and shook hands with me, too.

Josie came out of the back a minute later, holding a flat, black box with a white ribbon. She opened it and presented a piece of lingerie so beautiful, it looked like a piece of art. “We only have the black right now in your size.” She raised the lingerie higher-an intricate black lace panty, from which hung two strands of white pearls.