Free A Fashionable Murder by Valerie Wolzien

truth.
    “Ready to go?”
    “Yup. I’m starving.”
    She was rewarded by a brief smile on Sam’s face. “Some things never change.” He opened the door for her and she walked through it, turning toward the elevator.
    “No, this way.” Sam pointed her in the opposite direction. They went down the corridor and through an unmarked door. Here the wall-to-wall carpeting was replaced by ugly, worn linoleum and three large plastic recycling containers almost blocked their way. They continued on, passing a garbage chute, and walking through another unmarked door leading to another elevator. Sam pressed the down button and the doors slid open immediately. This elevator wasn’t paneled in expensive hardwood nor were there any mirrors. It was metal lined and the metal was liberally covered with dings and scratches. “This is the way the furniture travels in and out of the building,” Sam explained. “And, of course, tradesmen use this elevator too.”
    The elevator moved more slowly than the one routinely used by residents so Josie had a few minutes to consider the fact that, if she had located her business in New York City, she’d be traveling in this elevator with its damaged walls rather than in mirrored luxury.
    “This building is unusual in that it shares a basement with the building next door,” Sam explained.
    “So?”
    “So we’re going to go out through their basement and enter the street not from behind Mentelle Park but from the side of Tanbry Towers, our neighbor.”
    “You’re saying that the press won’t notice us.”
    “Not if we’re lucky. So what do you want for lunch?” Sam asked as they negotiated their exit toward the street again.
    “I don’t care. Whatever you want.”
    “There used to be a nice spot a few blocks over. La Belle Jardin. It’s a traditional French bistro.”
    “Sounds fine.”
    “Of course it may no longer be there. Restaurants come and go in this town.”
    But La Belle Jardin was exactly where Sam had left it and the maître d’, apparently thrilled to see an old customer, ushered them to the best seat in the house and then dashed off to get a complimentary bottle of wine.
    “That’s amazing,” Josie commented, looking around the charming bistro. It was decorated to resemble a French farmhouse, with massive bouquets of flowering branches standing on tables scattered about. Inside this cheerful room, it was possible to forget the slushy streets outside.
    “What is?”
    “You haven’t been here for how long? A couple of years?”
    “At least.”
    “And there are millions of people in the city; it’s actually possible that thousands come here to eat every year.”
    “So?”
    “He remembers you.”
    “Carl probably remembers many good customers. It’s part of his job. Besides, Carl and I share a passion for wine. In fact, I was sitting in this very spot when I made up my mind to retire and go into the wine business.”
    Josie smiled. “I’m glad you did.”
    Sam smiled back at her and picked up the menu.
    Josie did the same. But for once she wasn’t thinking about food. She was wondering how long Sam was going to avoid talking about the murder. It seemed she was going to be the one to raise the topic. “Sam, are the police . . .”
    “Josie, I’d really rather not talk about all that in a public place.”
    She looked around. It was true that the tables were close together, but there was no one on either side of them and the table itself was tiny. If they leaned toward each other, certainly no one would overhear their conversation. But she couldn’t force him to talk about it. “Okay. So what do you want to do this afternoon?”
    Sam put down his menu. “I think I should spend some time with Jon. We have things to go over. Just in case.”
    “Oh . . . well, then I guess I’ll go back to the apartment . . .”
    “Josie, you’re in New York City. There are stores, museums, and lots of things to do. I hate to think of you sitting in that hideous