Copy Cap Murder: A Hat Shop Mystery Part 7

Chapter 8.

Viv and I packed up the gelato and called it a night. She gave me a hug and told me not to worry but I knew I would. I suspected she would, too.

Viv's room is on the same floor as our kitchen and living room. She moved into it after Mim pa.s.sed away. My room and the guest room are on the floor above. I had recently painted my room. Previously, it had been a shade of heart attack pink but now it was a soothing pale green color with a creamy white trim. Don't tell anyone but I sort of miss the pink.

Okay, maybe I don't miss the pink so much as I miss the free spirit who painted her room such an eye-watering color. I suppose maturity gives a person better taste but I really hoped it didn't mean I was becoming bland.

After I was scrubbed clean and jammified, I picked up my phone just to see if there was any word from Harrison. There was not. He was much more polite than me and it occurred to me that he wouldn't text so late, whereas I had no trouble with it.

That being decided, I fired off a text asking him if things were all right.

I picked up the novel I was currently reading while I waited for him to answer. Here's a little-known fact, it's very difficult to read a novel when you keep one eye on your phone at all times. I figured evolution would take care of this problem when we evolve into creatures with tiny fingers for texting and eyes that can go in two directions at once so we can see what's happening around us and read our texts at the same time. It was one of those wee hour ideas that horrified as much as it fascinated.

Finally, after ten whole minutes, my phone buzzed. I s.n.a.t.c.hed it up relieved to see that it was Harrison.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Ginger, I just got your text. Why are you still up?" he asked.

Harrison has a nice deep voice and his British accent only makes it all the more charming. I realized that I always enjoyed talking to him on the phone but even more so right now, probably because there was a certain intimacy to having a man speak right into your ear while you're lying in bed in your pajamas.

"I've been waiting to hear what happened," I said.

"We got it sorted," he said.

I could tell he was giving me the brush-off.

"What does that mean exactly?" I asked. "Are you a person of interest?"

He was quiet for a moment, too long of a moment, and I gasped.

"Oh, no, you are, aren't you?" I asked. "It's because of the fight, isn't it?"

"Well, it certainly didn't help matters and when several people came forward as witnesses to the fight . . ."

"But I was there and I told them exactly what happened," I protested.

"I know," he said. "But there are some issues."

"What issues?" I asked. "I was with you the entire time. I'll go and see DI Simms tomorrow and tell him that you were with me. I'm your alibi."

"Ah, see, that's the problem," Harrison said. "You weren't with me the entire time."

"Yes, I was," I argued as if being bullheaded could make it so.

"Scarlett." He said my name quietly, my real name, which is how I knew he was taking this very seriously. "You know I left you for a few minutes after the fight."

"Seconds," I said. "At most, it was seconds."

He chuckled and then he sighed.

"I appreciate the support," he began but I interrupted.

"It's not support, you're innocent," I said. "And I'm not going to let a bunch of drunken toffs railroad you for something you could never do."

"Did you just say 'toffs'?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "How did it sound?"

"Awkward," he said. "Like me saying 'dude.'"

I laughed and when he spoke again his voice was warm and teasing. "You like me."

"That's beside the point," I mumbled. I could feel my face heating up. I wasn't sure I was ready to have this conversation, especially since he had no idea that I had been watching him pretty much the entire time he had gone to retrieve the wine at the party after the kerfuffle with Win. When I said he hadn't been out of my sight, I wasn't kidding but I wasn't sure I was ready for him to know that.

"I would do the same for anyone I knew to be innocent," I said. I tried to make my voice sound matter of fact.

"No, you really like me," he teased. "You more than like me."

"Are you being difficult on purpose?" I asked. I was beginning to get fl.u.s.tered. "Because it's not attractive."

"Oh, so you think I'm att-" he began but I interrupted.

"Do not read into that," I said. "Seriously, Harry, this situation is bad, very bad."

He sighed. I felt like a bit of a buzz kill but I was relieved to steer the conversation back to a safer port. Whatever feelings were happening between me and Harry, I was not yet ready to discuss them.

"Alistair a.s.sures me that it will be all right," he said. "And I trust him."

"I'm still going to tell Simms that you were only gone from my side for a few moments at most," I said. "And that's only if he asks me. I am volunteering nothing."

"You're something, Scarlett Parker, you know that?" he asked.

The affection in his voice gave me the warm fuzzies, which I promptly tamped down with serious talk.

"Who do you think did it?" I asked.

"No idea," he said. "Win was difficult. He didn't have many friends and the ones he did have were more like hostages, beholden to him for a debt or a favor."

"So there are a lot of people who aren't grief struck to see him gone," I said.

"Yes," he agreed. "Sad, isn't it?"

"Terribly," I said.

"Listen, Alistair is signaling me that he requires my attention," Harrison said. "Thanks for checking on me. That means quite a lot."

"No problem," I said. "We'll talk tomorrow."

"Definitely," he agreed. "Night, Ginger."

"Night, Harry."

I ended the call and fell back on my bed. I felt better knowing that he was safe at home, but I couldn't shake the feeling that his time in the hot seat was far from over.

"Enid Griswold is the most demanding woman ever," Viv huffed. "First she wants a fedora then she wants a cloche and why do I have to charge her twice and can't I just bend the fedora into a cloche?"

I said nothing as I watched her cut the ribbon she planned to use on the freshly formed cloche with a pair of very sharp scissors.

"Next she'll change the b.l.o.o.d.y ribbon from red to blue and I'll go mad, absolutely mad," Viv said.

"Then you'll officially be a mad hatter," I said.

"Argh, I can't even go mad without it being redundant," she said.

"Go batty instead," I suggested. "The batty hatter sounds much more hip anyway."

Viv gave me a look that indicated I should stop talking. I am nothing if not receptive to this sort of thing.

"I'll just go open the front," I said. I gathered up the morning paper and my cup of coffee and left the workroom to Viv and her tantrum.

I switched on the lights, did a check of our stock and then went and opened the window shades and unlocked the door. It was a clear, sunny day on Portobello Road and I found it hard to be pessimistic in the face of such glorious weather.

It was still quiet on the street. We rarely had customers this early in the morning unless they were coming for an appointment for a bespoke hat, you know, one measured and created to their exact specifications.

I unfolded the paper and spread it out on the counter. I a.s.sumed there would be an article about Win and, frankly, I'd been gearing up for it all morning. The news media and I are not friends. After my very scandalous public breakup, I've never looked at reporters the same way again.

Sure enough, a professional portrait of Win was on the front cover above the fold. He was smirking and his blond bangs hung roguishly over his forehead. Even his picture gave me a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. The headline shouted in bold letters: Win Dashavoy Murdered at Guy Fawkes Party.

I heaved a sigh and then began the article. It talked about Win's position at Carson and Evers and how he'd been considered a star on the rise in the financial world. I wondered who they'd gotten that bit from since as far as I could tell his star had been a dim sparkle at best.

Finally, toward the middle there was a bit about the altercation between Win and Harrison. I leaned over the paper as if getting closer to the words would make me closer to the story. It stated that several witnesses reported punches being exchanged between Harrison and Win over a plain-faced ginger.

I stopped reading. My eyes read the previous sentence again. I felt my brow furrow. Plain-faced ginger? Were they referring to me? I punched the article with my fist right in the kisser.

"So I take it you got to the part where you're mentioned?"

My head snapped up and there was Harrison, smiling at me as if I was the brightest spot in his day.

"What makes you think that?" I asked. "Do you have a shredder? I think this deserves a good shredding."

He laughed. "Not on me, sadly, but you know you have to feel sorry for whoever gave them that description of you."

"Sorry for them. How do you figure?"

"Well, quite clearly, they are blind," he said.

"Oh." The word came out of me on a soft sigh. Yeah, it took everything I had to keep from leaping over the counter and putting him in a stranglehold, you know, the good kind where you use your lips. Instead, I just said, "Thanks, Harry."

I noticed that he didn't correct my use of his nickname, and I wondered if he was just preoccupied or if there had been a subtle s.h.i.+ft in our relations.h.i.+p.

"How are Tyler and Reese managing this?" I asked. "I can't imagine that Win's clients are very happy right now."

"I don't know," Harrison said. "I tried calling Tyler this morning but he didn't answer. I received a text this morning that the office was to remain closed."

"They must be taking Win's death pretty hard," I said.

"Reese is," Harrison said. "Tyler and Win were not particularly close, or so I a.s.sumed but maybe I was wrong."

Harrison's phone chimed and he checked the display. "It's Reese, excuse me."

I nodded. Then I did what anyone else in my situation would do, I eavesdropped, trying to hear what was being said without appearing to do so. Harrison did not make it easy as he paced back and forth and around the displays. I picked up the occasional grunt, which sounded unhappy, but not much else.

Finally, he pocketed his phone and came back over. "Well, I guess they are figuring things out."

"Is the office open again?" I asked.

"It will be tomorrow, but not to me," he said.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"It seems I've been suspended from my position without pay until further notice," Harrison said.

"Oh, no!"

"Oh, yes," he said. "It looks as though they've made up their mind about who is guilty of killing Winthrop Dashavoy. Me."

Chapter 9.

"But that's ridiculous!" I said. "They have absolutely no right to do that to you."

"According to Reese, my altercation with Win proves that I had ill will toward my colleague, that I took advantage of his drunken state to thrash him, and they suspect that I got too carried away and strangled him with his necktie," he said. "I think they find it particularly distasteful that it was the company tie I used to kill him."