CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: YOUR LUCKY DAY

Francine and Nancy were waiting for the elevators when Amanda arrived on the second floor. She knew by the smile on Francine's face that she'd uncovered something.

"Good timing!" she said as Amanda stepped off the elevator. "We were just finishing up. Nancy here took me on a great little tour. I want to go back and try on a few things."

"I don't know if we really have time, Liza, we —"

"Oh, come on, Miranda. We don't have another meeting until one o'clock."

Amanda made a show of glancing at her watch. "If we're quick," she said. "It's across town and I'm not sure about traffic."

"Oh, you'll be fine," Nancy interjected. Her expression seemed pleasant enough but Amanda could see her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Liza here has given me a ton of ideas for how to merchandise her dresses, which I'll take upstairs with me."

"Thank you," Francine said, laying a hand on Nancy's arm. "I can't wait to see the pictures when everything is set up."

"I'll send them, as promised." Nancy pressed the 'up' button on the elevator. "I'll leave you to it," she said. "It was just lovely meeting you, Liza."

"Oh, you too, Nancy," Francine said, as Nancy stepped onto the elevator. When the doors shut her smile dimmed considerably and she turned to Amanda. "How'd you do?"

"Great, I think," Amanda said. "He's probably calling Lee now. What about you?"

"I found something, I think," Francine said, catching Amanda's sleeve. "Come on."

Amanda followed as Francine wove her way through racks stuffed with blouses and skirts, switching off the transmitter in her bag as she walked. Francine stopped at the back of the section, next to a wall covered in a rainbow of oversized shirts and tapered pants.

"These aren't real," she said, her voice low. She picked up a blouse and held it under her chin, as if asking Amanda's opinion.

Amanda frowned. "How do you know?"

"It's very subtle," Francine said. "This label usually puts a little red tag on the right seam, near the hem. These ones are on the left instead."

"Huh." She studied the blouses for a moment. "Mr Warren's not gonna like this."

"Nope."

"Did you see any others?"

"Nothing at first glance. But this is enough to get the fraud team down here."

Amanda nodded.

"Anyway, why don't we take that tour around and see if we spot anything else?"

Amanda smirked. "You just want to shop."

"I can't help it if they're having a huge sale and it just happens to serve the interests of this case, can I?" Francine asked.

"No, I guess you can't."

"So come on." Francine steered Amanda toward the shoe section. "I need some new pumps, so let's see what they've got." She glanced at Amanda's flats, but didn't say anything, and Amanda refused to take the bait.

In the shoe department, Amanda wandered aimlessly through the pyramids of designer heels. She picked up a bright green pump with an extremely pointy, gold-capped toe, curious, and peeked at the price tag on the sole of the shoe. "Two hundred dollars?" she said, her eyes wide, and immediately put the shoe back in its place. This department store was not for single mothers with mortgages.

There was a sale rack in the back corner, near the storeroom, and she wandered over there with no expectations. As she suspected, the largest sizes and least appealing colors dominated the stock, and she was about to walk away when a pair of silver sandals caught her eye. Their straps were looped together to keep them as a pair, and they sat free of a box, in a jumble on the end of the shelf. The turquoise label bore the name Vivianna La Croix in silver thread — a designer Francine had raved about the spring before. They were Amanda's size. And they were marked down eighty percent.

Amanda scooped them up and slipped off her shoe, unbuckling the strap. They wouldn't fit. Why would they fit? And where on earth would she ever wear them?

She had just fastened the strap around her ankle when she heard Francine's voice. "That was a bust for me," she said. "Did you find something?"

Amanda straightened and wiggled her toes. She expected the straps to pinch or cut into her feet, but they were butter-soft. "I think I did," she said, holding out a foot.

Francine's eyes widened. "Are those…"

"Mmhm. Vivianna La Croix." She studied them. "I mean the label says they are. Do you think they're real?"

She held out the spare shoe for inspection. Jealousy flickered across Francine's face. "They look like the real thing to me. How do they feel?"

"Fabulous." She reached to unbuckle them. "I shouldn't, though."

"Amanda." Francine rolled her eyes. "Treat yourself once in a while."

"I have perfectly good shoes at home."

"They're eighty percent off. The fates are telling you to buy them."

"You try them on," Amanda said, holding them out to her.

"I have four pairs of silver sandals," Francine said. "I don't need another. Those ones are yours."

"They're still forty dollars," Amanda said.

"They're designer. You'll probably have them for years. In fact I know you will. Good fashion is an investment."

"I know."

"So invest." Francine crossed her arms over her chest. "Look, you're full-time now, and you know that's going to mean showing up at more events. So why not? I bet you could even expense them."

"I don't need to expense them." She fastened the straps together but she didn't put them back on the shelf. Instead she stood, rubbing her thumb along one of the straps and thinking how nice they'd look with her black dresses. Maybe Francine was right this time. She knew Lee would tell her to get them. She turned away from the rack, shoes in her hands. "Fine," she said, "i'm going to find a cashier."

Francine gave her a wide smile. "There you go."

She thought Francine would leave her for the formalwear, but she followed as Amanda made her way to a polished wooden counter, where a bored-looking woman in her fifties rang up the purchase with a laconic, "No box?"

"No box," Amanda said. "They were sitting on the sale rack."

"Huh." The woman frowned. "Well there's been some kind of mistake with the discount."

"Oh. Well." Amanda didn't know what to say. She felt oddly disappointed.

"They come up as ninety percent off, not eighty."

Beside her, Francine laughed. "They're twenty dollars!"

"That's right."

Amanda fished the money out of her purse and slid it across the counter. Francine picked up a shoe and turned it over, squinting. "What are you looking at?"

"Checking to see if these aren't really horseshoes. It's obviously your lucky day." She waited as the cashier slipped the shoes into a paper tote, then caught Amanda's sleeve. "Come on, let's see if some of your good fortune rubs off on me in formalwear."

Amanda went, her disappointment turned to satisfaction. She'd never owned a pair of designer shoes before, and her mother was going to laugh when she heard how much they'd cost. Dotty loved both luxury and a good bargain.

Francine waded into the racks of dresses like a goddess entering the sea. "Oh, Amanda, you need to come look."

"Oh, I'm not getting anything," she said. "You go ahead."

"Amanda. This stuff is on deep discount, too."

"I know it is, but I don't need anything. I have about seven dresses at home that I almost never wear and I don't mind repeating. You go on ahead."

Francine tutted and shook her head. "Fine, if you say so. I'll try to be quick."

Amanda sat down on the sofa in one corner of the formalwear department, shopping bag perched on her lap. She sat looking around, thinking about how long the building had been there. An entire century, give or take. Her mother had worked there for a summer once, before she'd gotten married ("The year it opened?" Phillip had asked, jokingly, and the look Dotty had given him could have cut glass).

The department store pitch idea had been niggling at her since Saturday afternoon. She'd done a little work on it on Sunday, but she hadn't had enough time to really think about it. Now, sitting in the faded luxury of the Warren's store, the wheels started turning again.

She reached into her purse and dug out a notebook, jotting down notes as she waited.

"What do you think?" Francine asked, turning in front of the mirror. The dress was perfect, of course, an ice-blue sheath that fit her as if it had been made for her. When Amanda didn't answer right away, she rolled her eyes and huffed out a frustrated breath, one hand on her hip. "Are you thinking about pitches again?"

"No," Amanda said, guiltily, shoving her notebook back into her purse.

"You have about fourteen ideas, Amanda. I'm sure Lee has approximately zero."

"I'm sorry. I can't stop. I was just looking at all the plaster work in here and thinking." She shifted on the sofa.

Francine looked up at the cornices on the ceiling. "It is pretty nice," she admitted. "But no one's going to want to make a documentary about plasterers."

"That wasn't what I was thinking," Amanda said. "I was thinking about the store itself."

"Well, anyway." Francine shook her head, her hands on her hips. "What about this?"

"You know it's perfect, Francine. You don't need me to tell you."

"It's still nice to hear once in a while." She studied Amanda for a moment. "Are you sure you aren't going to try something on to go with those fancy new shoes?"

Amanda shook her head. "No. I used up my gown allowance on orthodontics this month, Miss Rockefeller."

"Hm. Well, I have another one to try, so…"

"Go on," Amanda urged, watching as Francine disappeared into the change room again.

"Ohh, this one is the perfect blue to wear to that party at the French embassy," Francine said from behind the curtain.

"Mmm," Amanda said, her eyes on a plaque on the wall near the mirror. She got up to read it, curious.

Francine drew back the curtain and stepped out into the room again, giving herself a critical look in the mirror. "Oh, I don't like this one at all," she said, then turned to look at Amanda. "What's that?"

"Oh, nothing. Did you know this room is named after Marvel Warren, Marshall Warren's grandmother?"

"I had no idea this room was named after anyone," Francine said. Her eyes narrowed. "Seriously, Amanda, you're like a puppy with a bone."

"I'm sorry." Amanda held up her hands in contrition. "I'll stop for now." She looked at her watch. "We should get going, don't you think?"

She waited as Francine changed again and hung the two blue gowns on the door. They headed for the main staircase, Francine picking up the pace. "I'm just going to make it back for one o'clock," she said as they reached the bottom. "Do you have class?"

"Not today. I'm going to work on my pitch when we get back, unless Lee needs me," Amanda said as they moved through the front doors and onto the street.

"You're putting a lot more effort into that than you need to," Francine said. She stopped walking and turned to face Amanda. "Is this because of the bet? I had no idea you were so…."

"I can't lose," Amanda said, hating the edge in her voice. "I mean, it started out as something fun and it's been so interesting to think about all these things, but Francine, I cannot lose. I don't think I can take that firearms test."

"Of course you can. I saw your practice scores. You've improved enough to pass. You just need to put in those hours."

"That's not it." Amanda sucked in a deep breath. She had avoided admitting it to anyone, even Lee, and now here she was about to reveal a huge secret to Francine, of all people — possibly a career-ender. "I'm terrified every time I pick up a gun. I hate the noise, I hate the way they feel in my hands, I hate the way they smell. Everything."

"But you have to, or you can't qualify as an agent. You know that."

Amanda squeezed her eyes shut. "I know. I know that. I'm trying to be reasonable about it but right now I cannot be reasonable. Right now I panic every time I think of it. And I'm three hours behind everyone else. They're all going to be finished next week and I'm lagging because of this case and because I'm a big…chicken."

Francine made a little noise in her throat. Amanda was sure it was pity, or maybe even disgust. But when she looked at the other woman she only saw sympathy. It surprised her, enough that she drew in her breath in a deep hiccup.

"I don't understand," Francine said after a moment. "You've handled guns before. You even shot the pulley that time."

"I can do it if I have to, I guess," Amanda admitted. "But when it comes to cleaning them or being on the range or carrying one in my purse I can't get my head around it."

"I'll help you," Francine said.

"You don't have to do that," Amanda protested.

"Amanda, I do not offer things like this very often, so you'd better take it. I'll help you. Lord knows we women have to stick together in this business, and as much as it pains me to admit it, you're going to be a good agent someday." Francine hesitated, then drew in a deep breath. "In fact, you already are."

Amanda felt one corner of her mouth lift. "Aw, Francine. Thanks."

"Don't tell anyone I said it," Francine said, but Amanda knew she wasn't being entirely serious.

"My lips are sealed. Promise."

Francine nodded. "Now let's get going before I'm late for my meeting. When I'm done we'll hit the firing range, okay?"