Laura Caldwell - Red Blooded Murder

The door to the Fig Leaf chimed when I walked in a minute later. Josie was behind the counter, squinting at her faux-antique register, a pen tucked behind her bobbed hair. She peered over her glasses at me, but said nothing.

“Hi!” I hurried through the store. There was nothing that made me try harder than someone who clearly didn’t like me.

But then Josie surprised me. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, although without changing her bland expression. “We’ve got a bride and a pack of bridesmaids coming in an hour. The bride wants everyone to wear matching underwear.”

I unbuttoned my coat. “Are you serious?”

“Can you believe that? She’s actually making everyone wear the same bras and the same panties.”

“What a Nazi.”

“I know.” I saw the first full and genuine smile ever from Josie. “I can’t handle it,” she said. “I need you to help them.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.” The smile disappeared. “I got dumped last year by the guy I thought I was going to marry.”

Suddenly, I truly wanted to make her feel better. I couldn’t offer up my exact story. My fiancé took off, and he allegedly stole a bunch of money from my client, who was also my father figure. But I sure as hell could talk generally about it. And convincingly.

“I was engaged,” I said. “He left town two months before our wedding.”

She took off the glasses. “Are you freaking kidding me?” She sounded oddly excited.

“Yep. Had the dress, the hall, the ring.” I looked at my hand and didn’t have an ounce of trouble mustering up a sigh. “I miss that ring.”

“Holy shit.” Her tone was full of grudging admiration.

I shrugged. “These things happen for a reason.” Best to get off this topic before it depressed me more than I already was.

“Yeah, well…” She turned back toward the register. “If these things happen for a reason, the reason in my case is my ex is a self-righteous, pigheaded child with mommy issues.”

I laughed, then went into the back room to hang up my coat. I looked around the other storerooms, finding most of them piled with boxes of product. If Josie was up to something, as the owner thought she was, it was not a failure to stock the store.

Josie came in back. She gestured at the boxes. “Until the Nazi bride and her SS officers get here I need you to unpack this. I try to schedule all our deliveries for Tuesday, and we got a ton today.”

“No problem.” Then I thought of Maggie. “Oh, and can I get a pearl thong for my friend?”

Josie stopped and studied me with an expression I couldn’t read. “Did you try yours?”

I blushed a little. “Yeah.”

“Hot, huh?”

“That’s an understatement.”

She grinned. “What size is your girlfriend?”

“Small. Or extra small. About the size of that girl, Nina, the other night.”

Josie pulled out a step stool and used it to reach a metal box on a high shelf. She took keys from a ring in her pocket and unlocked the box. “I keep the thongs in here because they’re so expensive.”

They weren’t more expensive than some of the peignoirs she carried, and those weren’t locked up, but I said nothing.

Josie reached in and drew out a silver box, the same as she’d given me the other night. I started to say that I thought she only had size smalls in black. That was what she had said the other day to her customer, Nina. But maybe she’d gotten more stock today. And it didn’t sound as if Maggie cared what color it was.

Josie handed the box to me. “I can’t give you the discount on that since it’s for your friend. Now, get to work on this stock, okay? It’s all got to be on the floor by the end of the night.”

For the next hour, I sliced cardboard with a box cutter, I steamed, I hung, I tagged. At first, I found the work soothing. I ran my finger over purple velvet straps as I smoothed them; I stopped and appreciated the embroidered swirls on pieces of slick silk. After each item was hung, I had to find it on a list of expected inventory that Josie had prepared. I had to note the price and then create a handwritten ticket on a small linen card. The card was then threaded with yellow ribbon and attached to the garment.

I knew Mayburn needed information about the products and the pricing to determine whether Josie was involved in anything shady. I looked over my shoulder to make sure Josie was still in the front, took a notebook out of my purse and then scribbled as fast as I could the names of lingerie items, the makers, the cost, the markup.

I heard the front door chime once or twice, followed by the sound of Josie’s voice greeting a customer, the murmur of conversation as she helped them.

But now the door chimed again and the store was soon filled with the loud chatter of women who had obviously stopped for drinks on their way over. The bridal party, I thought. I straightened my suit and headed out of the back room.

There were eight women buzzing about the place, all shrieking and pointing and holding up negligees. Their joy was palpable and innocent, and I felt a kind of envy I hadn’t experienced before-a feeling that I might never again have such unencumbered joy.

I’m the same Izzy I always was, I told myself. But as I stood in the doorway, gazing at a bunch of women a few years younger than me, I knew that no matter what happened from here on-with the cops, with Jane’s death, with Trial TV, with Sam, with Theo, with Grady-I was different because of what I’d done and seen over the last year; because of what I’d done and seen over the last week.

Still, I was there for a job. I put on my anchorwoman face-the calm, confident one that I’d learned from watching Jane-and I began to walk toward the pack of women.

But then I froze. I could tell who the bride was now-she was at the center of a knot of women who were holding out every piece of white lingerie we had. “Look at this one!” they were saying. “No, this one is perfect!”

The bride laughed and swung around, gazing at everything with big eyes. “I can’t decide, you guys. My wedding night will be the most important night of my life.”

Josie stood to the side, and I could see her hiding a grimace. She turned and looked at me, giving me a glance that said, Can you believe this piece of work?

The good employee in me wanted to charge in and take over, helping the bride the way I’d been asked to do. But there was one very big problem. I knew the bride. I knew the asymmetrical cut of her shiny black hair. It was Faith Lowe, the producer from Trial TV.

J osie found me in the back, furiously steaming cashmere pajamas, trying to hide behind a cloud of vapor.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she said in a fierce whisper. “I need you out there.”

I struggled for something to say. I couldn’t exactly tell her that I knew Faith from Trial TV.

“I know that girl,” I said.

“Who?”

“Faith. The bride. She’s a lawyer, right?” I remembered that Jane told me Faith was one of the Trial TV employees who also had legal experience.

“I don’t know,” Josie said, irritated. “I’m just trying to sell her a lot of merchandise, and I told you to handle her. I run this store, Lexi.”

“I know.” I bit my lip, trying to come up with something to sway her, some reason I could stay hidden in the back. I quickly reviewed all my dealings with Josie. The only time I’d seen her frosty exterior melt even a little bit was earlier tonight when I’d told her about my fiancé taking off.

“She’s the one,” I said, at the same time sending a silent apology to Faith for the fact that I was about to trash her name.

“The one what?”

“The one who my fiancé was involved with when he dumped me.”