A Walk in Ashes
Killian Jones has produced a key (that he is not supposed to have) that would have gained him access to Miss French's apartment at the time of the murder.
Gold raises the question as to the location of Miss French's car keys and car, neither of which are anywhere to be found. He gets a luncheon invitation from Regina before he goes off to question the employees at Prêt á Porter, Miss French's exclusive dress shop in downtown Asheville. He meets Jefferson Hatfield, a designer who works with Miss French, and two of her models – none of whom seem to have a motive to have hurt Miss French. Afterwards, he takes Regina up on her lunch offer at the tapas bar and Regina begins to tell him the story of her relationship with Miss French.
Chapter 4
Beginning
Regina had been talking, "I remember we dined here the night before her twenty-ninth birthday. Just we two girls - happy, making plans for her future. Everything had started to come up roses for her. But this was a far cry from the girl who'd walked into my life five years before."
"Pardon me. Excuse me." Regina made no response to the beautiful young woman who had pushed her way through to her table at Cúrate. "Excuse me. Ms. Mills, how do you do?" The young woman sat down at the table across from Regina. "My name is Belle French, and I'm with a small entrepreneurial company. I'd like to talk something over with you, if I may."
Regina barely looked up, "You can hardly fail to realize that I'm engaged in eating my lunch."
"Yes, I know. I'm awfully sorry to interrupt this way . . . but it's so hard to get to see you the regular way, and . . . this will only take a minute, really, and it's for a very worthy cause." Belle reached into a large canvas bag she was carrying and began to pull out something.
"My dear, either you were raised in some incredibly rustic community where good manners are unknown or you suffer from some delusion that because I'm a woman and you're a woman, we are exempted from the rules of civilized conduct . . . or possibly both. . . "
Unflustered Belle continued, "Possibly, but here's what I wanted to show you. Proceeds from the sale of these scarves are being donated to the Relay for Life. They have a unique design which has been done in different colors to represent the different cancers. We're giving scarves to various prominent women in the community and asking them to wear them to publicize the different events that will be going on."
"I don't wear scarves," Regina replied. "I'd be afraid someone would grab the ends and pull them taut about my throat or . . . I would use it to do the same to them."
Belle gave her a quick smile, "But this is for a very good cause, Ms. Mills. All we're asking is that you take one, wear it, tie it to your pocketbook or wrap your computer in it . . . and if anyone asks, you tell them you support Relay for Life and you got it from French Specials."
"I will not consider accepting, wearing, sporting, or offering my support to such an endeavor. If your friends from Relay for Life want to me to write an article about their pushy, guilt-tripping methods . . ."
"Oh, no! You mustn't do that! Relay for Life is a great organization that raises a lot of money for an excellent cause, Ms. Mills. They don't know anything about this. It was my idea to approach you. "
"Indeed?"
"Yes, I know that someone of your stature, a woman of your exquisite taste who sets the standard for fashion . . . well, I thought, what's the harm in trying? There was always a chance that you might agree to it, Ms. Mills. Just think what it would mean."
Regina had put down her fork. "You seem to be completely disregarding something more important than your little charity venture."
"What?"
"My lunch."
Belle's face reflected her disbelief, "Do you really believe that?"
"Implicitly," Regina said.
"Well, I never heard of anything so selfish," Belle began replacing the scarves into her canvas bag.
"In my case, self-absorption is completely justified. I have never discovered any other subject quite so worthy of my attention."
"But you write about people with such real understanding and sentiment," Belle told her slowly. "That's what makes your blog, your podcasts and your newspaper and magazine columns so good."
"Sentiment comes easily for what they pay me."
"Well, if that's the way you really feel . . . you must be very lonely."
"Will you kindly continue this character analysis elsewhere? You're beginning to bore me."
"You're a sad woman. I'm very sorry for you."
"Well, naturally, I was annoyed by the incident, but . . . but she had something about her, that young woman. I had to speak to her again. I had to see her," Regina continued, beginning on one of the two orders of setas al jerez that had just arrived.
Gold usually didn't care for mushrooms, but he had to agree that these were delicious.
Regina had found her way to a small warehouse, more the size of a double-wide garage, south of Asheville that was filled with fabric samples and screen printers. She entered the facility and stopped a young blonde woman carrying a roll of white silk.
"Miss, would you mind if I," she managed to get out.
"Just a moment, please," the young woman interrupted and continued by her.
Regina looked around. She could see Miss French on the far side of the room, sitting on a stool at a large table, talking on a land line telephone. "Of course we can get that order out to you. . . . I'm so glad those skirts were such a success. . . . yes, we are working on a fall line, different colors . . . masala, yes," she laughed. "That's what the color palate is being called that we're going with for the fall, Indian spices . . . . Well, of course, you're one of our established vendors. We'll definitely save you a shipment."
Regina made her way over to a front desk. A young woman with dark red-brown hair, fixed into long two braids, looked up at her. "Can I help you?" she asked Regina.
"Regina Mills to see Miss French," Regina told her.
The silk-woman came by again, this time carrying hand-made patterns and she went to the back of the warehouse to stop by the large table where Belle was sitting. Silk-woman set the patterns in front of Belle and called her attention to the top envelope.
"Look at the layers here. It looks great on paper, but do you think these will hang right?" the silk woman asked.
Belle looked them over with her artist's eye. "Oh, Elsa, let's make a prototype. I suspect we'll have to get the right mix of fabric weights."
"Regina Mills to see Miss French," the young woman at the desk announced, yelling across the room.
Belle did not look up. Her voice rang out, "Anna, please tell Ms. Mills that I'm too busy to see anyone."
Regina ignored Anna and began to pick her way through the chaos over to Belle. "Miss French, I have something to say to you," she called to Belle.
"You've already said it, Ms. Mills, quite eloquently." Belle had focused herself on the patterns, sorting them into some semblance of order.
"I wish to point out that you caught me at my most difficult. Ordinarily I am not without a heart," Regina was steadily making her way over to the work table.
Belle looked at her and raised an eyebrow in a semblance of disbelief, "Really?"
"Shall I produce X-ray pictures to prove it? I wish to apologize."
Belle gave it a brief moment, then smiled, "Your apology is accepted. Now good-bye Ms. Mills."
"Well now, for reasons which are too embarrassing to mention, I'd like one of those scarves."
Belle stood up in amazement, "Ms. Mills! Thank you." She reached under the table and picked up the same large canvas bag she'd carried into Cúrate. It had a myriad of the colored scarfs in it. "You're a very strange woman," she said to Regina as she pulled out several of the scarfs.
"What?!"
"You're really sorry for the way you acted in the restaurant, aren't you?" Belle asked softly, laying out the scarfs on the table.
"Let's not be analytical, Miss French, but, in a word, yes."
"It's very kind of you, you know," Belle smiled at the other woman.
"But I am not kind. I'm vicious. It's the secret of my charm. But if you choose to think me kind. . . "
Regina sighed and continued, "Well, I tied one of those damn scarfs on my tote bag and mentioned them with their truly extraordinary design in my next blog and of course the cause they were supporting. Well, Belle's career, her serious career as a fashion designer, began. Boutiques immediately called on her to secure their supply of her accessories and, very quickly, her clothing line. Over time, I broadened her customer base to include Charlotte, Atlanta, Miami, finally New York and her designs were just beginning to get to the west coast. I might have introduced her to important distributors and given her a start, but it was her own talent and imagination that enabled her to rise to the top of her profession and stay there."
Regina took another drink Gold wondered how much she had drunk and looked Gold over critically, "I doubt someone with your background has ever heard of the famous "Swing Dress" that Michelle Obama picked up when she and her husband were vacationing in Asheville or "The Little Blue Dress" that Kate Middleton bought when she was on tour in the U.S. but I would think even someone like you has heard of her very famous 'Oscar Red Dress.'"
Gold considered and nodded, "That's the one that little blonde actress wore to that awards thing?
"The Academy Awards," Regina supplied. "And that little blonde actress won Best Supporting that year. She got more attention for that dress than she did for winning the award," confirmed Regina.
"Yeah," Gold smiled slowly. "Even I have heard of that dress."
"Every man with a pulse has heard of that dress. That dress sealed Belle's career as a top designer," Regina took another sip of wine. "Before all that happened, I had been able to connect her with stylists that would improve her appearance and writers that would improve her mind. Belle had innate breeding, but in regards to her own personal appearance she usually deferred to my judgment and my taste."
Regina continued, "It was through me that she met everyone. The famous and the infamous. Her youth and beauty, her poise and charm captivated them all. She had warmth, vitality. She had authentic magnetism. Wherever she went, she stood out. Men admired her. Women envied her. On Tuesday and Friday nights, we often had dinner together at my place or here or at another restaurant. Sometimes I would read my latest articles to her. The way she listened was more eloquent than speech. When she made a comment, it was deep and insightful. I actually made changes in my work on the basis of some of her comments." Regina sighed, "Those were the best nights."
Regina got quiet for a moment as they started on the ham course.
"Then one Tuesday, she phoned and said she couldn't come. It didn't matter, really, but when it happened again the following Friday, I was disturbed. I couldn't understand it. I felt betrayed and yet I knew Belle would never betray anyone. I walked around for a long time and found myself outside of her apartment building. The lights were on and it pleased me to know she was at home. Then I saw that she was not alone."
Regina rubbed her eyes, "I waited. I wanted to see who he was." Regina smiled, a nasty, sly smile. "It was Gaston, the same blow-hole who had recently painted her portrait. I'd never liked the man. He was so obviously conscious of looking more like an athlete than an artist."
Regina took a deep breath. "I sat up the rest of the night writing a posting about him. I demolished his affectations, exposed his imitations of better painters. I did it for her, knowing that Gaston was unworthy of her.
"It was a masterpiece because it was a labor of love. Naturally she could never regard him seriously again. There were others, of course, but her own discrimination and taste for quality ruled them out before it became necessary for me to intercede. "
Regina sniffed and paused. "Until one night at a party at my mother's. It was one of mother's usual round-up of bizarre and nondescript characters corralled from every stratum of society."
"Belle dear, this is Miss De'Vil. She's been waiting to meet you," Cora made the introductions.
Belle smiled and shook hands, "How do you do?"
A tall, handsome man came up, "Excuse me, honey," he was speaking to Miss DeVil but noticed Belle, "Oh my, you're Belle French."
"Yes," Belle answered.
"Hello, I'm Killian Jones. Do you want to dance?"
"I don't believe so. I'm here with a friend," Belle gently rebuffed him, nodding in Regina's direction.
"With her? She looks like someone who does the Macarena and Back the Bus Up," Killian said disparagingly.
Regina joined them, "Yes, Madonna taught them to me."
"Regina, darling," Cora joined them, interrupting the persiflage.
"Hello Mother, how are you?"
"Lovely dear. I see you've met Killian."
"It was unavoidable," Regina was being petulant.
"Now, my dear, he was awfully nice to me in Louisville, at the Derby. His family's from Kentucky," Cora explained.
"Sharecroppers, no doubt," Regina said caustically.
Killian gave them a smug smile and, momentarily giving up, went into the kitchen where he could hit on the help.
"Lilly, Lilly, Lilly for the last time, will you marry me?" Killian was following around a spry older woman, Lilly Wolfe, known to most simply as "Granny." She was an experienced chef and caterer that Cora often hired for her parties.
"I won't, but I've saved some of the lasagna for you," Granny told him.
"Oh, but you are an angel. In the meantime, darling, you think you could get this spot out for me? I think it's lipstick," Jones pointed to a spot on his white shirt.
Lilly looked at the spot closely, "I think it's booze," she told him.
"Whatever, please help me. I can afford a blemish on my character but not on my clothes."
"Just put it out for the next two-bit that you talk into doing your laundry for you."
"Too harsh," Killian complained, as he ate some of the lasagna that had been topped with premium Parmesan. "Mmm. Couldn't eat another mouthful. You are a genius, Lilly."
"Sounds like the liquor's talking," Lilly shot back at him.
"Oh Lilly, you wound me."
At that moment, Belle walked into the kitchen. She didn't spare a glance at Killian, "Ms. Wolfe, lovely work tonight. I'll be calling on you for a little get-together I want to have in a couple of weeks."
"Why thank you Miss French. I have some ideas I'd love to discuss with you."
"Wonderful!" Belle answered. "I can always depend on you for something new and different. I'm looking forward to it. Now, may I have a glass of milk for Ms. Mills? Her indigestion seems to be acting up."
Lilly nodded, "Of course, Miss French."
Jones moved in to get Belle's attention, "I forgot to tell you. I also read palms. I cook. I swallow swords. I mend my own socks. I never eat garlic or onions. And I never eat crackers in bed. What more can you want of a man?"
Lilly intervened, "Don't listen to that swashbuckler," she warned Belle.
"I didn't expect to find him back here in the kitchen," Belle told her.
"Whatever do you mean? Lilly and I are old friends. She feeds me, humors me, repairs me . . . and refuses to marry me, don't you, honey?
"I do," Lilly quickly agreed pouring a glass of milk and handing it off.
Belle spoke up, "She has good sense."
"Now, wait just a minute," Jones spoke up still trying to get Belle's attention.
"Thank you so much, Ms. Wolfe," Belle told her as she turned to leave the kitchen.
"You're wasting your time," Lilly warned Jones. "She's got good sense too."
"Oh, you're jealous," Jones said as a parting word, and he followed Belle out of the kitchen hovering over the young designer.
"You must tell me what it feels like, Mr. Jones," she finally spoke to him.
He was puzzled, "What does what feel like, Miss French?"
"Living on the income from an estate."
"Well, I, uh . . . " the young man stammered.
"Or don't you know?" Belle followed up with another question.
"Well, I did, until the sheriff took it over a year ago," he confessed. "You must have been talking with Cora," he surmised.
Belle nodded. "Why maintain the fiction? Why not work?" Belle asked him, concern showing in her face.
"Believe it or not, I asked one of my many friends for a job once," Jones began his story. "He was an executive of a big company . . . had hundreds of employees. He could have pressed a button and done it, but he just laughed. He thought I was joking."
"But you weren't," Belle realized.
"No, not at all. But when I convinced him, he got embarrassed, said he'd phone me. That was months ago. Now whenever he sees me, he looks the other way."
"Do you really want a job?" Belle asked him.
"Oh yes, absolutely yes," he answered her.
They were interrupted by a petulant Regina, "Oh, here you are." She took the milk Belle was carrying. "Belle, dear, I cannot stand these morons any longer. If you don't come with me this instant, I shall run amok."
"Of course, Regina," Belle answered with an indulgent smile. She glanced back at Jones, "Tomorrow, Prêt á Porter on Haywood, ten o'clock, ask for me. I'll be upstairs in my office. We'll see if there's anything that meets with your particular skills."
Another course, the shrimp and garlic, had arrived.
Regina sighed and continued, "Of course, I concealed my annoyance with masterly self-control but I sensed that this was a situation that would bear watching. Killian has a certain oily charm that . . . well, you've met him."
Gold nibbled at the shrimp, "I have," he agreed. "So I take it your fears were founded."
"In the worse way. Belle gave him a job helping with her advertising and running her business office. It gave her more time for the creative end of things, the designing, all the new ideas that she had. Of course they began dating, so no more Tuesday night dinners."
"So you were jealous?" Gold asked her.
"I was appalled! Belle was so much better than Jones. He was way out of his depth with her. And I knew he couldn't possibly be faithful to one woman."
Gold gave her a small feral smile, "So you had him investigated."
Regina smiled back in appreciation of the man's quick mind. "What else could I do? There was so much objectionable about the man. It was quickly clear that he was availing himself of her models. Now Ashley and Ruby had both turned him down but apparently Lacey had not."
"Lacey?" He consulted his notebook. "Lacey Redfern? She hasn't shown up to work in a while."
"Probably stole money out of the till and went off to Cancun. She'd be the type. I suspect her real name was Sadie Mae not Lacey," Regina shared. "She's Belle's 'petite' model; they're about the same size. Belle always styled her clothes to look right on women of different heights. She always started with size six and would then work on more robust sizes," Regina took another bite of the shrimp and sighed. "Well, all the while Killian was wooing, and when I say wooing I mean pestering, Belle, he was seeing Lacey. I knew it. I just had to prove it."
Thanks so much to everyone who is following and favoriting this little story. Special thanks to my insightful, helpful reviewers: OneMagician, onlyinyourdreams77, Erik'sTrueAngel, deweymay, Robin4, MyraValhallah, Aletta-Feather, Chauchi, cynicsquest, jewel415, juju0268, Grace5231973, and orthankg1.
Next: the outcome of the investigation, Gold does more interviews, and Gold realizes that he is developing feelings for Miss French