Killer Look

TWENTY-SEVEN

It was ten thirty when I tried to call Mike. I thought the autopsy would have been wrapped up by this time.

I hailed a taxi and directed the driver to Seventh Avenue, then I dialed Joan Stafford’s home number in DC.

“Can you talk?” I asked.

“Back up a minute. How are you, my friend? Have you readjusted to city life?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“What does Mike think?”

“Let’s just say it’s delicate, okay?”

“Aha! Then Mike might be back on the open market soon.”

Joan was as clever and funny as she was smart. She could make me laugh at everything about myself, and about most other situations. She was an accomplished playwright, but longed more than anything else to help Mike solve a case.

“Dish with me,” she said. “Wolf Savage was murdered?”

“Looks that way.”

“Don’t you know? I saw Mike’s picture in the paper at the press conference,” Joan said. “Don’t hold out on me.”

“I’ve got nothing to tell yet. Remember, I’m on leave?”

“But you share a bed with the world’s hottest detective, Alex. You must have your ways.”

“I may be slipping, Joanie. I have no information for you.”

“When my first play debuted in London ages ago,” Joan said, “Reed Savage came to the opening-night party. He’s divine. I could have gone for him but he had the cutest wife in tow. Then I heard he split from her. I think he sort of liked me.”

“Every man alive likes you,” I said. “Most especially your husband.”

As deep as Joan’s literary knowledge was, she also had an encyclopedic memory for anyone who had ever been in the society columns. She had attended their balls, dated their brothers, been at their premieres, knew their net worths, remembered their sins, and rarely forgave them.

“Think Savage,” I said. “Think of the time we were at that benefit and some of his gowns were being auctioned.”

“We must have been tipsy. You bought one and I remember buying two. I swear the tags are still on them.”

“Blood oath. You cannot tell this to Mike or he’ll have my head, Joanie.”

“Go on.”

“I think I can wangle my way into the Savage fashion show on Monday night.”

“At the Met? Temple of Dendur? You must take me with you. I’ll fly up-”

“Joanie, Joanie. Big fat no. I’m talking about sneaking in somehow. There is so much intrigue within the family, within the company, that I just think it pays to be under that roof with all the drama inherent in the situation.”

“I thought you didn’t know anything about the case.”

“I don’t. But what a great way to try to find out,” I said. “The problem is I only have one fancy Savage gown.”

The ladies who graced the rows of seats at the big shows always wore their best looks of the designers’ past seasons. Saint Laurent and Versace and Michael Kors boasted a lineup of high-end customers who pulled out all their classics. I couldn’t go to a Savage extravaganza wearing de la Renta. It just isn’t done.

“Wear it, Alexandra. You have to wear it.”

“Do you remember the one I bought?”

“I’m thinking white and flowy, right? Am I close?”

“It’s a toga, Joanie. That long white gown with the gold braiding.”

“Stop! Don’t even think about it. It was almost comical when you tried it on, Alex. You looked like the handmaiden to Elizabeth Taylor when she gave Cleopatra the asp in that endless movie,” Joan said. “Bad idea. Fashion mistake in the first degree. Not your look.”

“Damn. That’s why I was calling. I have to wear Savage.”

“But not a white toga, and not in the middle of November. The fashion police will arrest you,” Joan said. “You’ll have to wear one of mine.”

“Are they in DC with you?”

“No, they’re at my mother’s, in the guest-room closet. She’ll be so happy to see you. I bet she’ll lend you her pearls, too. She’s got a fortune in eight-millimeter pearls that you can wrap around your neck two or three times. No one will notice the dress.”

“What are they like?” I asked. “I’m tempted.”

“One is too summery, too floral. The one I have in mind is Wolf’s take on the Downton Abbey period. I just never had the occasion to wear it.”

“Tell me, am I an upstairs member of the family or a downstairs kitchen maid?”

“Upstairs. Very racy. Kind of flapperish. It’s black silk with a dropped waist. Short and sexy. Think about it, Alex. If you stop at that store on Second Avenue and pick up one of those Lady Mary Crawley black, cropped wigs and put on a glittery headband, no one-I mean no one-will recognize you.”

I laughed. “You are so melodramatic, Joan.”

“But I’m not wrong. You’ll be deeply undercover. You could even fool Mike if you wear some dress style that’s against type, and with dark hair. To him, you’ll always be ‘blondie.’”

“This has real possibilities, Joan. I may drop in on your mother tomorrow.”

“I should come to town to help you dress.”

“Stay put.”

“But if you solve the crime, do I get credit?”

“An honorary gold shield, I promise,” I said. “Gotta go.”

The cab stopped in front of 530 Seventh Avenue. I paid the fare and jumped out, dodging the usual foot traffic of men wheeling hand trucks and assistants dashing up and down the avenue with patterns and samples and fabrics of every kind.

I stood in the lobby and tried Mike’s phone again. This time it went to voicemail. “Call me. I’ve got an idea.”

I thought about waiting till he returned the call, but I always preferred the element of surprise. It was after eleven A.M. and I knew the autopsy wouldn’t have taken this long.

I pressed the elevator to go to the WolfWear offices on the twenty-eighth floor. I was anxious to see if Mike and Mercer were already at interviews with Reed and Hal.

The reception area was packed with even more flower arrangements than the day before. I could barely see the top of the head of the woman behind the desk.

“Good morning,” I said. “I’m looking for two gentlemen who are supposed to be meeting here this morning.”

“Who are they?”

“Mr. Chapman and Mr. Wallace,” I said.

“Oh, the detectives,” she said, getting up from her desk to walk me to the hallway door. “They’re in Miss Lily’s office.”

“Lily Savitsky? She didn’t have an office here yesterday.”

The receptionist smiled at me and opened the door. “Well, she certainly does now.”