Larcency and Lace Part 33

This was so not the man that Eve and I got drunk with on Mexican beer a couple of months ago. Werner had crawled so far back into his stiff, unfriendly sh.e.l.l-as far as we, the enemy, were concerned-he was going to crack his tail bone bending over backward to be polite.

I so wished I hadn't called him Little Wiener in third grade. Who knew the name would stick like frickin' forever? As had the animosity between us, with the occasional foray into a shadowy land of s.e.xual awareness, on the few occasions we were forced to try to solve a crime together.

I pulled myself from my deer-in-headlights trance. "To what do we owe the pleasure, Detective?"

"We found an abandoned Wings truck in the Mystic Seaport parking lot."

"And that's of interest to me, because?"

"It's empty. Key in the ignition. No fingerprints. No cargo. Nothing inside except an Internet map starting in New York City and heading straight to this address. Your name and the name of your shop are written in miniscule handwriting-very unabomber-on the top of the printout."

I shrugged. "We did get a seven A.M. delivery."

No need to share my concerns. If there was a murder, it took place in New York City, not Lytton's jurisdiction.

"d.a.m.n," Eve said. "I guess my date with that driver is off."

"You saw the driver, then?" Lytton pulled out his trusty notebook.

We both nodded.

"Hair color?" Lytton asked.

"Er."

"Um." I described the whole face cover-up.

The detective growled.

Fortunately, Eve had the uncanny ability to describe the rest of his body, his "squeezable tush and quarterback shoulders" included, in detail.

"Any identifying marks?"

"He wore gloves," Eve said.

"Emporio Armani, logo labeled. Men's dark brown Nappa leather."

Eve and Lytton looked at me like I had two heads, both designer originals.

After giving me a double take, Eve turned back to Werner. "He had a tat at the edge of the glove on his right lower arm. I wouldn't have seen it if I hadn't nearly dragged the glove off, trying to pull him closer. It was a capital B or an 8, in blue with red and yellow fire around it."

"Why so interested in an abandoned truck?" I asked.

"A.P.B. It was stolen last night around midnight in New York."

Oops.

My thought processes were having a parting of ways. Should I admit that I knew Dominique, a Broadway star, not a movie star, or that I was carrying a dress that might-if one had a wild imagination-be construed as evidence? Or should I let it ride because the crime, if there was one, had been committed in New York City?

My decision: Shut up, Mad. "If we've answered your questions, Detective, I have an errand to run."

Werner nodded toward my package. "Is that the box the pseudo driver for Wings delivered?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eve slip the note from Dominique into the folded newspaper.

I handed Werner the box.

He opened it and whistled. "This is primo designer, isn't it? Big bucks?"

"Why thank you, Detective."

"Why thank me?"

"I designed it for Dominique. That's why she wanted me to have it."

That took Werner aback. If I didn't know better, I'd think he suddenly regarded me with a touch more respect. "It must have cost her a fortune."

"Today, it'd cost a fortune, because of its age and provenance, not the least of which was the linking of Dominique's name with mine, and our resultant friends.h.i.+p."

"That's why your eyes are red," Werner said.

I hated that my nemesis noticed these small, personal things about me. I raised my chin. "Yes, I lost a dear friend last night, and she left me this dress to remember her by."

"Too bad somebody felt the need to steal a truck to bring it to you."

Sc.r.a.p. "There is that."

I'd never been so grateful to hear my cell phone ring. I answered right away.

My caller identified himself and shocked the Hermes out of me. "Kyle," I said. "I'm so very sorry to hear about your mother. She'll be deeply missed."

Werner kept mouthing "speaker phone," so I had no choice but to set the phone down so we could all hear it.

"It's chaos here, Miss Cutler, but Mom left strict instructions about what she wanted after she died."

"Funeral arrangements, you mean?"

"Uh, no, not that. They're not releasing the b-her until the investigation is cleared up. No, this has to do with her vintage clothing collection. She wants the collection to make the charity rounds, fas.h.i.+on shows and such, while she's still news, and she wants you to arrange the events. She left a list of locations and causes. Can I count on you Aunt Mad?"

Oh, sure, play the Aunt card in front of Werner. d.a.m.ned kid's nearly as old as me. "Of course, Kyle."

"After the charity events, I have permission to sell her collection at a private auction-all except for a dress she wanted you to have. And don't worry, I'm sure I'll find it eventually. Mom included a list of the people she wanted to invite to the auction. Your name's at the top. She wanted you to have first pick before you hosted the event."

"Kyle," I said, "it sounds like your mother knew she was going to die."

Magic or destiny, Annette Blair's bewitching romantic comedies became her first national bestsellers. Now she's entered a world of bewitching mysteries and designer vintage, a journey sure to be Vintage Magic. You can contact her through her website at www.annetteblair.com.

Berkley Prime Crime t.i.tles by Annette Blair.

A VEILED DECEPTION.

LARCENY AND LACE.

Berkley Sensation t.i.tles by Annette Blair.

THE KITCHEN WITCH.

MY FAVORITE WITCH.

THE SCOT, THE WITCH AND THE WARDROBE.

s.e.x AND THE PSYCHIC WITCH.

GONE WITH THE WITCH.

NEVER BEEN WITCHED.