Free Some Like It Haute: A Humorous Fashion Mystery (Style & Error Book 4) by Diane Vallere

Then there was the fire. I think the two things are connected. Even if she hadn’t confided in me I’d be looking for answers.”
    “She confided in you? Why would she do that?”
    “I don’t think she trusts anybody else. No offense.”
    A few beats of silence passed between us. I hadn’t planned on making it sound like Loncar couldn’t do his job. Truth was, I knew he could, but now hardly seemed the time to offer an apology. Perhaps a nice manly arrangement of flowers delivered to the precinct tomorrow would be better.
    “I can advise you to mind your own business, but since there’s no investigation, I can’t do much about it if you don’t.”
    “You always tell me to mind my own business. You tell me to steer clear of your investigation for my own good. This time, I’ve already been attacked and hospitalized before there even was an investigation.”
    He wiped his arm across his brow. “Officially, I have nothing to say. Unofficially? You’re in dangerous territory, and there’s pretty much nothing I can do about it.”
     

10
    “You just said you had no authority here, but I bet you want to know what happened, right?” I said. “I was here. I’ve been here all along. Whoever attacked me told me to stay out of it. That means somebody thinks I know something about something. And I bet that something has to do with whatever happened here. I bet I could help you. Ask me something. Go ahead, ask.”
    He glared at me. “As much as I hate to admit it, you’ve got a knack for this stuff. And after that article on you in the paper, my boss won’t get near you with a ten foot pole. He says you’re making us look bad. Just do me a favor? If you figure anything out, keep me in the loop.”
    I’d experienced a certain amount of notoriety since moving back to Ribbon, and what at first seemed like a case of bad timing had turned into a mild celebrity status. Carl Collins, reporter for the Ribbon Times , had done a small profile on me after I’d saved the local museum considerable embarrassment over an exhibit of hats on loan from a Hollywood actress. When I wasn’t working for Amanda, I acted as personal shopper and stylist to Ribbon’s fashion challenged. It covered my immediate budgetary needs and allowed me to splurge on the occasional heavily discounted off-season garment at the Ribbon Outlet Center. Even Logan had traded up in his quality of life, his kitty bed lined in cast off cashmere sweaters beyond repair.
    “No problem.” I looked behind me at where Clive’s car had been. My announcement that he’d been replaced had started a ticking clock and I needed to talk to Amanda and Dante. “Detective, I really have to go,” I said. I waited another second to see if he had any last words of warning for me, and hopped back and forth from foot to foot so he’d think the situation was urgent.
    “Be careful, Ms. Kidd,” he said.
    I drove half a mile down the street, pulled the car over to the shoulder, and called Amanda. After four rings, her machine picked up. I hesitated before talking. What if Nick was still there? What if Tiny heard the message? I hung up and redialed. This time she answered.
    “Amanda Ries Studio,” she said.
    “This is Samantha. Can you talk?”
    “What is this in reference to?” Her tone was curt.
    I guessed from her answer that she was not alone. “I found Clive Barrington lurking around Warehouse Five. There were cops, too. One I know. The other was an arson investigator. I sort of made it sound like you had replaced Clive with another photographer.”
    “Please hold,” she said. I was treated to a soft jazz version of a Billy Idol song, which was almost as offensive as her rudeness. She picked back up before the song ended. “I’m back. I’m sorry about that back there, but Nick was here and I told him it was Tiny on the phone.”
    “Where is he now?”
    “He just left. Tell me what’s going on.”
    “Okay.” I told Amanda about Clive’s presence at