Read Online Some Like It Haute: A Humorous Fashion Mystery (Style & Error Book 4) by Diane Vallere - Free Book Online
Authors: Diane Vallere
Tags: Humor, Fiction, General, Humorous, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Mystery, love triangle, Short-Story, New York, cozy, amateur sleuth, Pennsylvania, Thriller & Suspense, General Humor, Humor & Satire, cat, Fashion, Designer, samantha kidd, black cat, diane vallere
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the warehouse to showcase their creations. I wondered why.
I parked at the far end of the parking lot and approached the building. The recent cold weather had long ago killed any plant life that had grown around the perimeter of the building, leaving only loose pebbles and broken chunks of concrete scattered on top of the macadam. Yellow caution tape had been wound around a few rusted out poles that marked the edges of the parking lot. The tape had broken and two ends now snapped in the wind.
The first set of doors I tried was locked, as was the second. By the third, I concluded that the building hadn’t reopened after the fire. I pressed my face up to the glass and squinted, trying to make out the interior. The bright pop of a flash bulb blinded me. I stood up straight and blinked several times, waiting for the dots in front of my eyes to clear. The door to the building opened and Clive Barrington leaned out.
“Just don’t stand there. Come in, if you’re coming in.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “As far as I can tell the building is locked up.”
“Documenting the aftermath,” he said, tapping his camera. “‘Model Sizzles On And Off Runway’,” he said. “Or maybe ‘Designer Turns Up The Heat.’ My contract gave me access to a much bigger story than documenting her twee show.”
“Amanda knows what you have in mind?”
“I have unrestricted access and the freedom to do what I choose with the footage.”
“I can’t imagine anybody was happy about giving you access to come back today.”
“Happy, no. I can’t say they were, either,” Clive said with a grin.
“But yet, here you are.”
“I can go anywhere Amanda went on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“I turn over a copy of my photos to my new friend.”
“Anybody I know?” I asked. Clive tipped his head toward a man who stood by the end of the building.
He was tall and thin and wore a tan sport coat over a white shirt and brown sweater. A brown, gray, and camel wool scarf was wrapped around his neck, and a camel tweed cap covered his head. The sleeves on his jacket were too short, as were the hems on his pants. Ichabod Crane came to mind. He stared at the windows of the building for a few seconds and then spoke into his phone.
“Who’s he?”
“Arson investigator. He came with the cop.”
That’s when a second man stepped into view. Detective Loncar.
The detective appeared not to notice me at first, odd considering I’d been on his radar almost since the day I first arrived in Ribbon. Loncar and I had a history established through a couple of homicides. During at least one investigation he’d filed me in the Person of Interest column. Considering my recent turn as victim, I thought the best tack was to let bygones be bygones and say hello. I excused myself from Clive and started across the loose gravel parking lot, wishing I had more practical shoes than the kitten heeled boots I’d worn last night.
“Ms. Kidd. Why am I not surprised to see you here?” Loncar said before I reached him.
“Nice to see you, too, Detective,” I called out. I walked past two orange cones and stepped over a white concrete beam that marked off a parking space. Loncar stayed where he was, looking at the exterior of the building. Unlike the arson investigator, Loncar wore a coat over his suit. The shoulders of his coat extended beyond his own shoulder line and sloped down above his arms. The cuffs of his pants broke across the front of his rubber soled shoes. Considering his thick mid-section, I would have suggested he avoid cuffs in the future, but he didn’t appear to be in the mood for unsolicited fashion advice.
The arson investigator stepped forward and put his arms out on either side of him. “This is a restricted area. No access for the public.”
Loncar turned to him. “It’s okay,” he said. “I got this one.” He bowed slightly and held his hand out toward the parking lot. “Lead the way, Ms. Kidd.”
I
I parked at the far end of the parking lot and approached the building. The recent cold weather had long ago killed any plant life that had grown around the perimeter of the building, leaving only loose pebbles and broken chunks of concrete scattered on top of the macadam. Yellow caution tape had been wound around a few rusted out poles that marked the edges of the parking lot. The tape had broken and two ends now snapped in the wind.
The first set of doors I tried was locked, as was the second. By the third, I concluded that the building hadn’t reopened after the fire. I pressed my face up to the glass and squinted, trying to make out the interior. The bright pop of a flash bulb blinded me. I stood up straight and blinked several times, waiting for the dots in front of my eyes to clear. The door to the building opened and Clive Barrington leaned out.
“Just don’t stand there. Come in, if you’re coming in.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “As far as I can tell the building is locked up.”
“Documenting the aftermath,” he said, tapping his camera. “‘Model Sizzles On And Off Runway’,” he said. “Or maybe ‘Designer Turns Up The Heat.’ My contract gave me access to a much bigger story than documenting her twee show.”
“Amanda knows what you have in mind?”
“I have unrestricted access and the freedom to do what I choose with the footage.”
“I can’t imagine anybody was happy about giving you access to come back today.”
“Happy, no. I can’t say they were, either,” Clive said with a grin.
“But yet, here you are.”
“I can go anywhere Amanda went on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“I turn over a copy of my photos to my new friend.”
“Anybody I know?” I asked. Clive tipped his head toward a man who stood by the end of the building.
He was tall and thin and wore a tan sport coat over a white shirt and brown sweater. A brown, gray, and camel wool scarf was wrapped around his neck, and a camel tweed cap covered his head. The sleeves on his jacket were too short, as were the hems on his pants. Ichabod Crane came to mind. He stared at the windows of the building for a few seconds and then spoke into his phone.
“Who’s he?”
“Arson investigator. He came with the cop.”
That’s when a second man stepped into view. Detective Loncar.
The detective appeared not to notice me at first, odd considering I’d been on his radar almost since the day I first arrived in Ribbon. Loncar and I had a history established through a couple of homicides. During at least one investigation he’d filed me in the Person of Interest column. Considering my recent turn as victim, I thought the best tack was to let bygones be bygones and say hello. I excused myself from Clive and started across the loose gravel parking lot, wishing I had more practical shoes than the kitten heeled boots I’d worn last night.
“Ms. Kidd. Why am I not surprised to see you here?” Loncar said before I reached him.
“Nice to see you, too, Detective,” I called out. I walked past two orange cones and stepped over a white concrete beam that marked off a parking space. Loncar stayed where he was, looking at the exterior of the building. Unlike the arson investigator, Loncar wore a coat over his suit. The shoulders of his coat extended beyond his own shoulder line and sloped down above his arms. The cuffs of his pants broke across the front of his rubber soled shoes. Considering his thick mid-section, I would have suggested he avoid cuffs in the future, but he didn’t appear to be in the mood for unsolicited fashion advice.
The arson investigator stepped forward and put his arms out on either side of him. “This is a restricted area. No access for the public.”
Loncar turned to him. “It’s okay,” he said. “I got this one.” He bowed slightly and held his hand out toward the parking lot. “Lead the way, Ms. Kidd.”
I
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