Elaine Viets & Victoria Laurie, Nancy Martin, Denise Swanson - Drop-Dead Blonde (v5.0) (pdf) Unknown (audio ebook reader .txt) 📖

``Michael, you can't outrun the police!''

``I'm not outrunning them.'' But he squeezed his car be- tween two tractor-trailers, where no other vehicle could fit without endangering lives. At a perfectly moderate speed, SLAY BELLES 65 he drove the rest of the way into the city between the two trucks, humming along to the music on his radio. Finally, we scooted off an exit. Among the city streets, Michael ran a traffic light on the yellow and zipped into a parking ga- rage. He took a ticket from the automated machine, drove up two floors and back down again to exit on the other side of the city block. When he paid the confused attendant, he turned onto the one-way street and down a few more blocks to another garage. He passed several open parking spaces until he found a spot he liked between two very large SUVs.

``You've done this before,'' I said.

``What would you think about going up to New York before Christmas?'' he said. ``We could see the decorated windows, have a nice dinner someplace expensive? Go ice-skating . . .?''

``You can ice-skate?''

We got out of the car and Michael opened the trunk. From inside, he dug out another license plate.

``Is that legal?'' I asked as I watched him swap the new plate for the one already on the car.

``Technically?'' He dropped his screwdriver and the origi- nal plate into the trunk and closed it. ``Maybe not. I just happen to have two cars the same make and color. Confus- ing the plates might be an honest mistake.''

``Hmm.''

We walked across the street and into Haymaker's depart- ment store. As far as I could see, nobody followed us.

``There are a lot of cameras in this place,'' Michael ob- served on the escalator. ``Somebody really knew what they were doing when they shut down the whole system.''

``Maybe Popo's murder wasn't a one-person job,'' I said.

We arrived at Popo's salon, where the sentry at the door was still the mannequin wearing the Oscar de la Renta dress. Inside the salon, Darwin Osdack gave a squeak of terror when we walked in.

``What are you doing here?'' he cried, seizing a leather coat off the nearest rack and holding it against himself as if it were a bulletproof shield. He stared from me to Mi- chael and back again. ``Oh, my God, you're going to kill me!''

``Don't be ridiculous, Darwin. I just want to talk.'' 66 Nancy Martin

``Who's he?''

``A friend.''

``You're kidding, right?''

Michael ignored us and took a tour of the merchandise that crammed the salon. He flipped over a price tag or two, picked up a spike-heeled shoe decorated with dragonflies, and nudged a thousand dollar suitcase with the toe of his boot.

``Don't let him do that!'' Darwin hissed. ``It's worth more than my monthly salary!''

``Darwin, how about telling me a little more about the night Popo died?''

``Why?''

``Because I'd like to know what I missed after you locked me in the bathroom.''

He flushed. ``I did no such thing.''

I sat down in one of the Louis Something chairs that stood before Popo's desk. ``I'm sure the store security cam- eras recorded the truth. Shall we find out?''

Darwin lowered the leather coat at last. ``All right, so what if I did lock you up? You deserved it.''

``Darwin, if I promise to help your career in whatever way I'm capable, will you please drop the wounded act and talk to me? The fate of this store is probably at stake.''

He took a tentative step toward me, unable to resist the drama. ``It is? How?''

``Trust me when I say that Alan Rutledge's future is the key to the store's future, too. After you made sure I was stuck for the night, what did you do with the Lettitia McGraw handbag?''

``I told you. I put it into the store safe.''

``Try again,'' I said. ``It never arrived. Did you sell it to Cindie Rae?''

``What if I did?'' Darwin demanded. ``She's going to be Alan Rutledge's wife! I didn't see any point in denying her what she wanted.''

``But Popo had other plans for the bag, right? Like maybe she planned to keep it for herself?''

Darwin frowned at me. ``I don't think I should discuss this with you.''

``I know about Popo's business on the side, Darwin. She SLAY BELLES 67 was stealing from the store, wasn't she? And reselling goods privately at parties she conducted at her apartment.''

``That would be very wrong.'' Darwin staunchly defended his mentor. ``Any employee would be instantly fired for stealing store merchandise.''

``But Popo blamed the shrinkage on you. Why are you protecting her now?''

Darwin glanced nervously at Michael, who made a pretty good pretense of looking through some dresses on a rack. Darwin jerked his head. ``Is he okay? I mean, really?''

``He's not working for store security, if that's what you mean.''

Darwin sighed and drooped into the chair beside mine. ``All right, here's the real deal. Popo planned to let Cindie Rae have it. But Cindie Rae jumped the gun and came here to the store to get the bag. That was supposed to happen at Popo's house.''

``How do you know?''

``I'm not dumb. But Cindie Rae certainly is.'' He edged his chair closer to mine. ``She left a message on Popo's voice mail. Which I am supposed to check every hour. When Cindie Rae showed up for the bag that night, Popo was furious.''

``Because she hadn't had a chance to steal the bag for herself yet?''

Darwin nodded. ``Plus she realized I finally figured out what she was doing. I've been taking the blame for months, and it was Popo all the time!''

``Did the two of you argue?''

``We had customers,'' Darwin said with a lift to his nose. ``Popo and I would never be so