A Fashionable Murder by Valerie Wolzien Read Free Book Online

I should leave Sam alone?” she asked, picking up the sweater from where it had fallen on the bed.
    Sam himself answered that question for her, sticking his head in the door to make an announcement. “Josie, I’ve got to go out. I’ll be back by dinnertime.”
    “I . . . you’re what? Where are you going? What about the police? What if they come back?”
    “They’re done here. The team that showed up were old friends of mine back in the days when I was prosecuting for the city. They did a thorough investigation—but, perhaps, not as thorough as if they hadn’t known me. They have everything they need. I can’t imagine that they’ll be back.
    “Anyway, I left keys for you on the coffee table. The silver one opens the apartment door. You and Betty have a great day exploring the city. I’ll see you tonight.” His head vanished and a few seconds later the front door slammed.
    Josie ran from the bedroom with Betty close on her heels. They found themselves alone in the apartment.
    “He’s gone!” Both women looked around as though expecting Sam to materialize in the corner or suddenly appear sitting on the couch. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” Josie repeated, obviously bewildered.
    “I thought you said he had some phone calls to make.”
    “That’s what he told me. I never expected him to dash off like that.” Josie frowned. “I don’t know what to do.”
    Betty took over. “Get your haircut. It’s the New York City woman’s response to crisis. Besides, what else do you have to do today? You don’t want to hang around here, do you?”
    Josie glanced around the dreary interior, now liberally doused with fingerprint powder. “I sure don’t. Let’s go.”
    Elizabeth Arden’s Red Door Spa and Salon on Fifth Avenue was well known all over the world. Probably millions of women had walked through the door and into the inner sanctum dedicated to beauty during the many decades it had been in existence. And certainly many of them had been less than chic when they arrived, but Josie, looking at the other women zipping in and out of the small street-level shop, couldn’t imagine that any of them could look any smarter than they already did.
    “The elevator’s in the back.” Betty nudged her forward. “We’re going to the second floor.”
    “Oh . . . okay.” Josie, who had been reaching out for a tiny bottle of pale green liquid, moved forward.
    A thin young woman sporting an asymmetrical haircut bent her perfectly outlined lips into a half smile. “We have numerous displays of that product on the upper floors. You’ll be able to buy anything you want after you get your hair done,” she assured Josie.
    Josie merely smiled back and hurried after Betty.
    The elevator walls carried advertisements for the various spa services, but Josie was still trying to figure out what lava rocks had to do with beauty when they arrived at their floor.
    “Back there.” Once again Betty pointed out the way and once again Josie followed, feeling like a kid on the first day of kindergarten. Three gorgeous blondes, giggling shrilly, brushed by them in the hallway. “I could have killed her,” one of them announced as she passed. Josie swung around and stared.
    “Come on, we’re late. And they’re not talking about Pamela Peel,” Betty insisted, pulling on Josie’s sleeve.
    “How do you know?”
    “Josie, this is a huge city. What are the odds. . . ? Oh, thank you.” Betty interrupted herself to accept a shiny brown robe from the coatroom attendant. “She needs one too,” she added, nodding to Josie. The gray-haired attendant handed Josie a wooden hanger with her robe hanging from it. A red plastic disk with number seven stamped on its surface was tied to the hanger.
    “Thank you,” Josie said, smiling vaguely and following Betty down another narrow hallway, this one lined with curtained booths like a department store dressing room.
    “Take off your sweater and put this on,” Betty ordered.
    Josie did