Dior or Die (Joanna Hayworth Vintage Clothing Mysteries Book 2) Read Free

only that morning. "What happened?"  
    Poppy shook her head. "I think—"   She picked up a paper clip already twisted into a knot and bent its ends together until it snapped. She tossed the pieces on the counter. "Never mind what I think. Bottom line, I don’t know. The police told me they suspected homicide, they closed off the warehouse, and that’s it."
    "Poppy, something else is wrong, isn’t it?" Sure, Vivienne North’s death was a shock, and who knew what the police were up to, but it wasn’t like Poppy to worry so intensely. She always seemed so capable, so able to see the bright side. Once, at an auction Joanna attended, from her podium Poppy had seen a bidder suffer a stroke. She’d managed to summon an ambulance, keep the crowd calm, and finish the auction without batting an eye.
    Tonight, Poppy’s eyes were bloodshot, and she avoided looking at Joanna directly. "I’m fine. I just have to get in touch with the people who bought things at the auction. Not looking forward to it."
    Joanna leaned forward. "Is that all? You’d tell me if something else were wrong, wouldn’t you?"
    "Everything’s fine."  
    Joanna picked up a hint of defiance in Poppy’s voice. If she didn’t want to talk about it, there wasn’t much Joanna could do. "What about the police? Did they say when they might be finished?"
    "Not sure. They might—"
    "Miss," a deep voice rang behind Joanna. "What are you doing here?"
    Joanna turned to see a uniformed policeman. "I bought the trunks of clothing in today’s auction. I came to pick them up."
    "Name, please." The policeman consulted a clipboard.
    "Joanna Hayworth."
    His finger ran down a list and stopped. "How long have you known Ms. Madewell?"
    "Poppy? Nearly four years, I guess." She glanced at Poppy, who nodded briefly. "I met her just before I opened Tallulah’s Closet, my vintage clothing boutique."
    She’d been on the verge of tears that night trying to secure one clothing rack that just wouldn’t stay put. The store was due to open that weekend, but all around her heaped bags of unpressed clothing. The store’s fixtures were pushed to the center of the room while paint dried on the walls.
    "Well," Poppy had said from the door. "This place has come a long way from the bike mechanic’s shop that was here before."
    Joanna set the screwdriver aside and wiped her hands. "Can I help you?" She recognized Poppy from excursions to the auction house, but they’d never talked. She looked so small off the stage.
    "Poppy Madewell." She extended a hand. "You bought the oak counter display case, right? Yep, there it is. God" —the word came out "Gawd" in her Jersey accent— "that thing’s a monster. Anyway, it came with tassels for the knobs. Must not have been in the cabinet when you picked it up. Thought I’d slide them through your mail slot, but you’re here."
    "Oh," Joanna said. Tassels hardly seemed important with the disaster around her. Although, as Poppy had pulled one from its envelope and dropped it in her hand, she saw that the tassels were lovely, woven of gold silk. They’d add a luxurious touch to the cabinet.
    "Let me give you a hand with that clothing rod,” Poppy had said. “That’s a job for two." They’d been friends ever since.
    Not that the policeman tonight would care about all that.
    "This is a crime investigation. You’ll need to leave," he said.
    "But I’ll be able to take the clothes, right?" Beyond Poppy, the police crew methodically sorted through boxes.
    "No, miss," the policeman said. "They’re evidence. We’re writing up a receipt now. We’ll let Ms. Madewell know when they’re ready to be released. She’ll be responsible for contacting her clients."  
    "I'm sure Vivienne North hasn't worn those clothes for years. You think she's been swanning around in fifty-year-old Fath evening dresses?"
    "Look, these guys aren't fashion mavens," Poppy said. "I don't know what they want with the clothes. I'm sorry. Hopefully it won't be too long."