The Lanvin Murders (Vintage Clothing Mysteries) Read Free Page B

length and strong nylon lining, Joanna guessed it was from the mid-1960s. She could imagine a guest wearing it on the Merv Griffin Show. Maybe Nancy Sinatra.  
    While Joanna was trying to figure out how to flush the cigarette smoke out of the dress, Marnie had commented on her grandmother’s ring. She took Joanna’s hand in her dry palm and touched the ring’s pearl. Then she mentioned she had a few other things she could bring in, as well.  
    Early on she had dreaded when Marnie came to the store because she was so difficult to talk to. But as they got to know each other, their relationship eased. Marnie might sit on the red velvet bench in the center of the store, the bench Joanna sat on now, and recount her days dancing at Mary's Club. She described her dresses, the nightclubs she visited, and laughed about some of the people she used to know. One snowy afternoon when the store was deserted, she’d even brought Martinis from the bar next door to sip while they sorted through some Ship 'N Shore capris and blouses. Joanna had come to look forward to Marnie’s visits.
    How could she explain to the detective the friendship that had sprung up between them? She tried to think of a polite way to put it. “We had a sort of understanding, but I’m not sure Marnie was the type to have a lot of close friends.”
    “Maybe the type to have enemies?” The detective looked alert again.
    “I didn't say that.” Was he trying to confuse her? “Why, do you think someone killed her?”
    “Is there a reason she'd be murdered?”  
    “No, I mean, not that I know of.” She grabbed a scarf on a nearby display and began folding it meticulously, willing her hands to be calm. “But I don’t know why she’d go out in house shoes.”
    The detective glanced at Marnie’s feet. “Getting a little confused, was she?”
    Joanna shook her head. “She had a bad cough and could be curt, but she was still sharp. Nothing wrong there.”
    “I see.” Detective Crisp’s tone was indifferent. “Anything else?” he prompted. The policeman who had been on the phone was engrossed in figuring out the latch on a lizard handbag.  
    “No. Nothing.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “Yes.” His gaze unnerved her.
    He jotted a few things in his notebook. Joanna couldn’t read his upside down, scratchy writing. “You don't have any plans to leave town right away, do you?” he asked.
    “No. I'll be here.” The detective couldn't possibly think she killed Marnie. Could he?  
    The policeman had abandoned the lizard clutch and was examining a marabou boa. Detective Crisp had to tap him on the shoulder to get his attention. “Sorry. The medical examiner will be here in a few minutes, and you can get back to business.”
    “Crisp, look at this.” The policewoman held the Lanvin coat open with latex-gloved hands. A foot-long cut sliced the lining cleanly a few inches above the hem.  
    Joanna’s jaw dropped. “That wasn’t there yesterday. I’m sure of it.”
    “The lining looks old. Could have frayed. Maybe one of your customers got her heel stuck in it. That happened to my wife once,” Detective Crisp said.
    “Sure, but not against the grain of the fabric like that. I’ve seen enough old silk to know shredding from a clean cut. That lining was definitely slit.”

CHAPTER FOUR

    The Lanvin coat hung lifeless from the mannequin’s shoulders. Each time it caught Joanna’s eye later that day, she remembered Marnie. Remembered the gurney trundling past a rack of skirts. Remembered Marnie’s frail shape under the white cover.  
    A man the landlord had sent to replace the lock on the front door worked quietly. He was tall with sandy brown hair and long, tapered fingers. He wore a tee shirt with an old wool shirt open over it, its sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The odor of raw wood and oil drifted from the front of the store.
    She picked up the steamer and ran it under the skirt of a 1940s peach slip, releasing the scent of lavender