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

Author:Angela M. Sanders [Sanders, Angela M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
Publisher: Widow's Kiss
Published: 2014-06-12T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Although she hadn't had much to drink, Joanna woke the next morning feeling hung over. She groaned remembering the look on Chick Remmick's face when she accused him of fathering Marnie's child. What made her think she could march up to Remmick, say a few words, and hand over the key? He was supposed to be grateful. She was supposed to go home feeling safe and satisfied. Instead she felt like a first class heel.

As long as she had the key, and as long as someone wanted it, she was still at risk. Or was she? Sunlight filtered through the blinds in her bedroom. Maybe she was overreacting. Then her thoughts turned to Marnie’s eyes, open in death, and the razor-clean slit in the Lanvin coat's silk lining. She shivered.

She pushed off her sheets and felt next to the bed with her feet for slippers. She'd talk to Troy and see if Marnie had dropped any hints as to who his father was. Troy's father had to be the connection to the key.

Cup of coffee in hand, Joanna called Troy. “Remember me from Marnie's memorial service?” A trace of vintage L'Aimant, a perfume that had always comforted her, rose from her dressing gown. “Could we meet? I'd like to talk to you about Marnie.” She wrote “Velveteria, 10 a.m.” on the back of an invitation to an art opening and hung up the phone.

She still felt roundly humiliated from talking to Remmick. Aunt Vanderburgh stared disapprovingly from the wall above the couch.

“I know, I know,” Joanna said to the portrait. “You don’t think I should be giving away the key anyway, especially to someone who would break into the store—and God knows what else—to get it. You’re right. That was dumb. I was desperate.”

The portrait’s lips remained pursed.

“All I want now is to know the enemy. Maybe once I figure out who wants the key, I’ll know what to do. Maybe Troy can shed some light on that.”

Joanna set down her coffee mug and stretched. The key still sat in her evening clutch, tossed on the dining room table the night before. She slid out the key and looked at it, as if it could tell her something. Apple said the spirits said things had to do with a “baby.” If Remmick wasn’t Troy’s father, who was? She put the key in her hands and closed her eyes as she'd seen Apple do when she wanted to feel an object's energy. Nothing.

She shrugged and went to the bedroom to get dressed.

***

A few minutes before ten o'clock, Joanna pulled up in front of a storefront on East Burnside. Her destination, a museum of paintings on velvet, was wedged between a store selling raw pet food and another with a window display of western shirts. Through the open door, she glimpsed Troy on a stepladder adjusting track lights. He bit his lip in childlike concentration on his task.

When he saw Joanna, Troy stepped down and smiled. “Thanks for meeting me here. I've been so busy lately that I haven't had much time even to grab a beer with friends.

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