CHAPTER SIXTEEN - KEEPING UP APPEARANCES

Warren's department store stood proud on the corner of a major intersection in the shopping district. Once upon a time, its impressive storefront had been a focal point for shoppers who trailed between it and Woodward and Lothrop and Garfinkel's, and in its heyday the tea room had been a destination for ladies who lunched. But times and consumer preferences had changed, and people migrated to the suburbs and their shopping malls full of chain stores and food courts.

Now, a century after it had first opened its doors, the street outside Warren's was quiet, and Francine and Amanda's heels echoed on the checkered tile as they approached the brass-handled doors of the main entrance.

Amanda hadn't been inside Warren's for years, but she was lost in memories the moment she stepped through the doors. To their right, a wide staircase led to the basement, where her mother used to stop at the food hall for packages of special shortbread cookies for company and cigars for her father. To their left was a department still labeled "Haberdashery," where purses and hats hung from neat racks, and a rainbow of scarves ran along the wall behind. At its center, a glass and wooden display case filled with gloves and wallets.

Underneath all the show, she couldn't help noticing things looked a little shabby. The linoleum tile was worn beneath their feet, and the carpeted floors of the departments were threadbare in spots. Warren's was definitely due for a renovation.

"The offices are on four," Francine said, moving toward the bank of elevators nearby. She studied the directory as they waited. "Maybe if this goes well we can stop on two on the way down."

"Two" was ladies' wear, formalwear and ladies' shoes, Amanda noted. She knew that once upon a time Warrens had been the best place to go for prom dresses and wedding gowns, if you could afford them. Not hers, because her mother was good with a needle and had made her prom dresses and her wedding dress had come from a little shop in Arlington, but her friend Debbie Ann had bought dresses here.

Warren Company's head of purchasing sat behind a massive walnut desk in an office that would have had a fabulous view when it was built, but now looked directly across the street at another office with shuttered, yellowed windows. The room oozed a kind of charm that Amanda knew had once screamed 'old money,' but now screamed 'no money.' Still, the silver-haired gentleman behind the desk, Robert Terwilliger, was dressed in a finely tailored suit, a Harvard business degree hung on the wall.

She knew immediately that he was thrown by their presence. She ignored the butterflies in her stomach and reached out a hand, channeling Francine at every management meeting she'd seen her in. "I'm Miranda Keene, Mr Terwilliger. Thank you for seeing us on such short notice."

"Of course," he said. He glanced at Francine. "And who's this?"

"I'm Liza Deveaux, of course," Francine said. Terwilliger froze. "Is this a bad time?"

"Oh, uh, Miss — Miss Deveaux," Terwilliger stammered. "I somehow didn't expect we'd ever meet."

"I suppose you don't often meet the people behind the designs you sell," Francine said, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of Terwilliger's desk, "but I like to give things the personal touch once in a while. You know, see my work out in the world. It always gives me such a thrill."

"Of course," Terwilliger said, stiffly.

"And I have a bone to pick with you."

Surprise flickered across Terwilliger's face before he blinked twice, cleared his throat, and attempted a smile. "What might that be, Miss Deveaux?"

"Well, Miranda says you've bought all these dresses from me, but there isn't a single one downstairs on your floor," Francine said. "They were supposed to be front and center."

Robert Terwilliger opened his mouth, closed it, and cleared his throat. "Well, that's probably a merchandising error."

"Well, would you mind if I had a word with them?" she asked. She closed her hands around the arms of the chair and leaned toward Robert Terwilliger, her mouth curving in a sweet smile. "I'd like very much to talk everything over in person."

"Uh, I'm not sure if that's — if they're available," Terwilliger said, his eyes darting to Amanda, then back to Francine.

"Well, I'm sure Liza would like to see the floor in general, if someone can show her around," Amanda said. "And perhaps we can go over the terms of our agreement."

"Shouldn't Miss Deveaux be here for that?"

"Oh, well," Francine hesitated, gave a sweet smile, and turned her gaze to Amanda. "Miranda here has all the details. I'm really just a creative and I have to admit, pretty terrible at the business side of things. She really has the inside track on all this."

He cleared his throat. "All right. Well, I can call someone up to give you a tour and perhaps… take some notes. Would that be all right?"

"Perfect." Francine smiled. "I'd love to see which dresses you've received so far, as well."

"Oh well, they're —" Terwilliger cleared his throat. "We've had some problems at our central warehouse. They might still be there."

"Oh." Francine looked disappointed.

Terwilliger reached for his phone and dialed someone named Nancy, who he conscripted to show Liza Deveaux around the second floor. Nancy appeared just a moment later, her hair teased into a cloud of blonde curls. "Nancy here is one of our senior sales associates. She'd be happy to give you a tour, wouldn't you?"

"Of course, Robert. Miss Deveaux, please come with me. I'll take you down to the second floor."

When the door closed behind Francine and Nancy, Terwillger turned to Amanda with an icy glare. "What's this all about?" he asked, his voice low.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You know as well as I do that Liza Deveaux is not a real person. She's a name only."

"Is she? She was standing right here just a second ago." Amanda smoothed the cuff of her jacket, hoping the transmitter in the buckle on her bag was doing enough transmitting for Lee to hear their conversation — and that the one Francine had planted on the underside of her chair was working, too. "As far as she's concerned, we have a deal to get her dresses to market."

"Miss… Keene… if that is even who you are… why are you here?"

"Oh you know why I'm here, Mr Terwilliger. This arrangement isn't going quite the way we planned, is it?"

"Look, if you're talking about Warren being some kind of agent, I —" Terwilliger coughed. "We had no idea when we started. You can tell that to your bosses. The deal is going forward no matter what, I assure you." He sounded desperate now, and Amanda wondered exactly what they'd wandered into. What was Terwilliger doing with Carrington Textiles? "I can call Pendleton, if I need to."

This was not a threat, Amanda could tell right away. It was a desperate attempt to smooth any ruffled feathers. He obviously thought Pendleton was her boss, and Amanda tried to remember if she'd seen his or her name in the Carrington Textiles file.

"That won't be necessary," Amanda said. "I'm happy to relay everything."

Terwilliger nodded. He was silent, fidgeting, and then he sat down at his desk.

"So…"

Terwilliger huffed out a breath, fiddling with his pen.

Amanda took a huge risk. "We received the transfer from you yesterday."

Terwilliger nodded. "Right. But I've hit another snag. I didn't want to say anything with Nancy in the room, because she feels like she's handling it appropriately, but I don't think Warren fell for our little ruse."

"With the woman," Amanda ventured.

"Right."

"What makes you think not?"

"Nancy said he didn't budge. I don't think we're going to get a dime out of him."

"Well…" Amanda said slowly. She wasn't sure what to say next, but Terwilliger forged ahead anyway.

"Look, I"m not sure about this whole thing. I've never even spoken to Pendleton on the phone, and now here you are, and this is all getting a bit too complicated for my liking."

"I thought you just said the deal was going ahead."

Terwilliger's eyes widened, as if he was worried he'd offended her or something. He leaned forward, placating now. "It is. It is. I don't mean — I just mean I need some assurances that this is going to work."

"Of course it's going to work," Amanda said, trying to sound confident. "We have it all planned out."

"Then what is going on with this Liza Deveaux woman? Why is she here?"

"We're keeping up appearances, Mr Terwilliger. It's very important that if anyone ever asks, Liza Deveaux is a real person. You understand that."

"But she… Who's going to ask?"

"This agency Warren is connected to might ask," Amanda said. "Or the IRS might ask."

"Me? You think they'll ask me?"

"You're the one purchasing all the dresses, aren't you? It's your signature on the bottom of the purchase orders, isn't it?"

Terwilliger rubbed his forehead, then nodded.

Amanda pushed up from her chair. "I'll let you get back to work now, and see if I can find Liza down on two. I promised her she could have a little browse afterwards. She loves to scope out the competition."

"I'm sure," Terwilliger said, dryly.

"Thank you for your time today," Amanda said, extending her hand. "We'll be in touch."