“What’s wrong, Rita?” Dolce said, picking up on my fastfading composure. “Is it your ankle?”
“It does feel a little weak,” I said, rubbing my anklebone. Not to mention my wrist. “I’d better go home and ice it. It was a wonderful show. The interruption just made it more exciting. I venture to say everyone who was here tonight will be talking about it for some time to come.”
“Talk is cheap, Rita. Let’s hope they do more than talk.” She took a deep breath and made a visible effort to bring herself under control. When she finally spoke her voice shook only slightly. “You know,” she said, “that’s what I love about you. You always put a positive spin on everything.”
She didn’t say, “Even murder,” but that’s what she was thinking. As for the detective, what was he thinking, I wondered as I rode home in the cab Dolce called for me. In the past she’d always paid the driver before I left, but not tonight. Tonight I had to pay myself. Was she really hurting for money? Or just hurting? I’d never seen her lose her cool like that.
I also wondered if it was possible Dolce had seen MarySue without her shoes. If so, why hadn’t she mentioned it to me before? Was I really the only one in the world who’d seen both pairs of shoes? If so, it was too bad I couldn’t tell the difference between them. Was that a testimony to the skill of Harrington Harris?
When I got home, I put in a call to Detective Wall. How could I not? I had to know what happened. Didn’t I deserve to know what had happened? After all I’d been through. Of course he didn’t answer, so I left a message asking for a follow-up. I hoped he wouldn’t give me the official line about how this was none of my business.
He didn’t call me back that night, and I had to go to work the next day. After the fashion show, it seemed the energy had been sucked out of the shop. The customers who’d been there last night were nowhere to be seen. I didn’t blame them. If I hadn’t had to work, I’d be home too, sipping lemonade on my patio and watching the sailboats bobbing in the Bay. And getting lost in a vampire novel, which was my favorite way of forgetting my troubles, which were minor compared to being bitten by a vampire and turning into one. Although Nick’s aunt seemed to do all right posing as a vampire. She had a good job and seemed to lead an interesting life.
By the end of the day I’d refreshed all the outfits we’d worn in the fashion show the night before and hung them back on hangers. I didn’t notice any uptick in sales thanks to the fashion show; in fact, there was a decided slump, but you never know what the future might bring. I still hadn’t heard from Jack Wall, and Dolce hadn’t heard from Harrington or Patricia even though she’d tried repeatedly to call them. We speculated that they were both locked up or they were out on bail or it was a big mistake and Jack Wall apologized profusely and gave them complimentary tickets to the Policeman’s Ball.
“Any plans for tonight?” Dolce asked me as I got ready to leave at five. Since there was no one in the shop but us, I knew she wouldn’t ask me to stay late, and I didn’t see how I could face another minute pretending all was well.
“No, actually not. I have a date to go to Alcatraz tomorrow with Dr. Jonathan. But tonight it’s just me and some reruns of The Young Doctors I TiVo-ed.”
She nodded as if she felt terrible that someone my age would have to spend Saturday night watching a dated Australian soap opera where the sexy doctors flirt and cure patients at the same time. Maybe she thought I hoped it would give me an insight into the life of sexy Dr. Jonathan Rhodes.
As for Dolce, she’d acted more or less normal today, but I was sure she was just as tired as she looked. “What about you?” I asked.
“I’m going to do a little bookkeeping in my office. I’ve had to let our accountant go. No reason I can’t handle it myself. It’s not like we’re taking in thousands every day.”
I frowned. “Business is down, isn’t it?” I asked.
She nodded sadly. “Don’t worry about it,” she told me. “We’ll pull out of it. On second thought, I might just go to bed and not get up until Monday. I’ll have the Sunday papers delivered along with Chinese food from the Grand Palace.”
“Good for you,” I said. “You deserve to be pampered after what you’ve been through.”
“What we’ve all been through,” she said with a weak smile. “I wish I’d never seen those silver shoes.”
Puzzled, I said, “But you didn’t.”
“I mean I wish I’d never heard of them. Never ordered them, never sent you to pick them up.”
“If I hadn’t, MarySue would be alive today,” I mused.
“Are you sure she isn’t?” Dolce said, her gaze somewhere far away. “There are times when I feel her presence, hear her voice saying, ‘I have to have those shoes.’ ”
As for me, I could almost hear Dolce’s voice saying she’d get the shoes back . . . “If I have to hunt her down.” Is that what she did? Is that why she went to the Benefit?
“Get some rest,” I told her, and then I hurried down the front steps without a backward glance. I had planned on going straight home to rest and recuperate, but an evening at home suddenly seemed dull and boring.
I walked down the street. The bars were filling up with people my age. The restaurants had lines waiting outside. I could stop in for a drink or dinner. But the usual activities of swinging singles, like flirting and hooking up, didn’t hold much attraction. Then I remembered Detective Wall said he served dinner to the homeless at Saint Anthony’s Dining Room on Saturday nights.
I could have taken the bus, but when a cab pulled up in front of a popular hangout and some of the beautiful people got out, I got in and gave the name of the famous church in the Tenderloin, one of San Francisco’s worst neighborhoods. I’d avoided the area since I arrived in town thanks to Dolce’s warnings that it was full of drug dealers, addicts, prostitutes and other lowlifes, but it was time to step out of my comfort zone and see how people who didn’t wear Gucci, Pucci or Ralph Lauren lived.
Thirteen
Saint Anthony’s was more than a church. It was a school, a job training center, a nursery, a homeless shelter, a health care facility and a cafeteria. I saw the line for the cafeteria snaking around the block the minute I got out of the cab. I went to a side entrance and told a woman at the door I was there to volunteer.
“Are you with the Sons of Norway Lodge contingent?”
“Are they serving dinner?” I asked.
She gave me a funny look as if to say, “You don’t look the least bit Nordic, and if you didn’t know they were serving dinner, then you probably aren’t with them.”
“I mean I wasn’t sure if it was lunch or dinner. Actually I’m volunteering with the police department.”
She studied a list in her hand.
“Detective Jack Wall,” I said. “He should be here.”
“Is he expecting you?” she asked.
“He always needs help,” I said. That much was true. Whether I could help him or he could help me remained to be seen. “In any case, I’m a whiz at scooping mashed potatoes.” Surely mashed potatoes would be on the menu, wouldn’t they? At least I hoped so.