Read Online Dior or Die (Joanna Hayworth Vintage Clothing Mysteries Book 2) by Angela M. Sanders - Free Book Online
Authors: Angela M. Sanders
Tags: Mystery
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girl earlier in the day. That and the landlord’s impending deadline must have made her edgy.
The shop’s bell startled Joanna, nearly causing her to topple the mannequin in the front window. She’d been fastening a strapless daffodil-yellow satin gown around it.
She turned to find Clary next to her. "Whoa, let me help you."
With one hand, he reached for the mannequin to steady it. He had three book-shaped packages under his other arm, each wrapped in brown paper. Today he looked professorial in khaki trousers and a tweed jacket, complete with leather elbow patches. The gentle wear on his Belgian loafers and a wrinkled corner of handkerchief poking out of his breast pocket kept him from coming off as too self-consciously put together. No wire-rimmed glasses today, either. His eyes were gray flecked with amber.
She stepped down from the platform at the front window. "Thank you. How are you?"
"I was just at the bookstore around the corner." He set the packages on the counter. "Thought I'd check in on how you're coming along with the dresses for the art auction."
Wouldn't he already have this information from Helena? "I might have seen you pass by the store earlier."
"What? Oh, yes. I was getting these books." He patted the package.
"I visited Helena." She glanced up to see if his expression changed, if he would volunteer that they'd had lunch. Nothing. "Vivienne didn't have any other vintage pieces at home. Helena did give me a lead to a group Vivienne had donated gowns to, though. Should be no problem."
"Eve is pretty excited about some dresses she could lend. Really, if it's any trouble at all for you to—"
"No. Not a bit of trouble. In fact," Joanna faked a laugh, "it would be more trouble for me not to donate them at this point. Everything is worked out." Shoot. She'd better get in touch with the Mother Superior right away.
"If you're sure," Clary said absently.
"Oh, I'm sure all right."
He didn't reply. He seemed absorbed in looking at the store.
"You like it?"
Clary nodded. "I was just marveling at all the colors. They don’t make blue like that anymore." He touched the sleeve of a mid-century swing coat. "Did you go to design school? Parsons, maybe?"
"No. Law school, if you can believe that. But I always loved vintage clothing. The world it evokes is so glamorous, so Golden Age. Maybe it's from watching a lot of old movies, but I can't help but think that someone wearing a Grace Kelly-style dress will surely lead—I don’t know—a charmed life full of roadsters and Manhattan penthouses."
When she was in high school, at a church bazaar Joanna had picked up a cardigan in a saturated lavender color she'd never seen before. "Pringle" its label said next to a small crown. The cashmere was soft as a kitten's paw. She’d buttoned it over her blouse and admired the form-fitting cut and sleeves that stopped just below her elbow.
"You like that?" the woman minding the table had said. "Used to be my aunt's."
The sweater had felt so right, so her. She was ready to leap on a Vespa as she’d seen Audrey Hepburn do in Roman Holiday , although the church's Bible study room in the backwoods of the Pacific Northwest was about as far from mid-century Rome as you could get. "I love it."
"Come to my house later in the week, and I'll show you a few other things she had."
At first Joanna only wore the older clothing at home. But little by little she ventured out in full-skirted cotton day dresses from the 1950s and wild-patterned blouses from the sixties. She showed up her first day in college in a broad-shouldered rayon suit that had undoubtedly been worn by a secretary during World War Two. She’d haunted thrift stores and yard sales for vintage fedoras, coats with fox fur collars, and Pendleton plaid skirts.
The record player's arm bumped at the end of the album. She flipped the record and lowered the needle at the beginning.
"Law school, huh? Funny," Clary said. "I went to law school, too,
The shop’s bell startled Joanna, nearly causing her to topple the mannequin in the front window. She’d been fastening a strapless daffodil-yellow satin gown around it.
She turned to find Clary next to her. "Whoa, let me help you."
With one hand, he reached for the mannequin to steady it. He had three book-shaped packages under his other arm, each wrapped in brown paper. Today he looked professorial in khaki trousers and a tweed jacket, complete with leather elbow patches. The gentle wear on his Belgian loafers and a wrinkled corner of handkerchief poking out of his breast pocket kept him from coming off as too self-consciously put together. No wire-rimmed glasses today, either. His eyes were gray flecked with amber.
She stepped down from the platform at the front window. "Thank you. How are you?"
"I was just at the bookstore around the corner." He set the packages on the counter. "Thought I'd check in on how you're coming along with the dresses for the art auction."
Wouldn't he already have this information from Helena? "I might have seen you pass by the store earlier."
"What? Oh, yes. I was getting these books." He patted the package.
"I visited Helena." She glanced up to see if his expression changed, if he would volunteer that they'd had lunch. Nothing. "Vivienne didn't have any other vintage pieces at home. Helena did give me a lead to a group Vivienne had donated gowns to, though. Should be no problem."
"Eve is pretty excited about some dresses she could lend. Really, if it's any trouble at all for you to—"
"No. Not a bit of trouble. In fact," Joanna faked a laugh, "it would be more trouble for me not to donate them at this point. Everything is worked out." Shoot. She'd better get in touch with the Mother Superior right away.
"If you're sure," Clary said absently.
"Oh, I'm sure all right."
He didn't reply. He seemed absorbed in looking at the store.
"You like it?"
Clary nodded. "I was just marveling at all the colors. They don’t make blue like that anymore." He touched the sleeve of a mid-century swing coat. "Did you go to design school? Parsons, maybe?"
"No. Law school, if you can believe that. But I always loved vintage clothing. The world it evokes is so glamorous, so Golden Age. Maybe it's from watching a lot of old movies, but I can't help but think that someone wearing a Grace Kelly-style dress will surely lead—I don’t know—a charmed life full of roadsters and Manhattan penthouses."
When she was in high school, at a church bazaar Joanna had picked up a cardigan in a saturated lavender color she'd never seen before. "Pringle" its label said next to a small crown. The cashmere was soft as a kitten's paw. She’d buttoned it over her blouse and admired the form-fitting cut and sleeves that stopped just below her elbow.
"You like that?" the woman minding the table had said. "Used to be my aunt's."
The sweater had felt so right, so her. She was ready to leap on a Vespa as she’d seen Audrey Hepburn do in Roman Holiday , although the church's Bible study room in the backwoods of the Pacific Northwest was about as far from mid-century Rome as you could get. "I love it."
"Come to my house later in the week, and I'll show you a few other things she had."
At first Joanna only wore the older clothing at home. But little by little she ventured out in full-skirted cotton day dresses from the 1950s and wild-patterned blouses from the sixties. She showed up her first day in college in a broad-shouldered rayon suit that had undoubtedly been worn by a secretary during World War Two. She’d haunted thrift stores and yard sales for vintage fedoras, coats with fox fur collars, and Pendleton plaid skirts.
The record player's arm bumped at the end of the album. She flipped the record and lowered the needle at the beginning.
"Law school, huh? Funny," Clary said. "I went to law school, too,
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