Design for Dying Read Online Free

Hansen over to a bank of file cabinets, out of earshot. I occupied myself with an inventory of his desk. One smudged ashtray, empty if not clean. A second ashtray containing a battered baseball, the sole indication of a life beyond this office. No photographs of a new bride posing by the sleeping car in her going-away suit, or a fresh-faced kid with a soapbox derby trophy. And no reason for me to be cataloguing clues about Detective Morrow’s marital status.
    I got the impression the partners were disagreeing. Maybe it was the way Hansen kept shaking his head and scowling before finally stalking off.
    Morrow returned. “Detective Hansen is retrieving the clothes from Evidence. He doubts the trip will be worth it.” He slipped the file of photos back into his desk. “I think we should adjourn to an interview room. The clothes may be more upsetting to you than the photographs would have been.”
    My new surroundings made the stockroom at Tremayne’s look like a suite at the Beverly Wilshire. A dim overhead bulb spilled weak light over two chairs and a table that had recently hosted a mumblety-peg tournament. Hansen skulked in with a cardboard box. Morrow opened it while Hansen stood sentry in the corner.
    â€œOne pair of sandals.” Morrow deposited the shoes on the table.
    â€œSilver kid high-heeled sandals with rhinestone buckles,” I said.
    Morrow scarcely faltered. “One white evening gown.”
    â€œWhite silk, with tulle overlay trimmed in fur.” I glimpsed a dark stain on the dress and averted my gaze, studying the rest of the garment. It was gorgeous, intricately designed. I could envision Ruby wearing it with startling ease. She would have looked like a million bucks that night. She would have looked like a movie star.
    â€œYour expert opinion, Miss Frost?” Morrow asked.
    â€œIt’s a stunner, all right. Certainly not cheap. Is there a label in it?”
    â€œIt was cut off. Do you recognize the dress?”
    â€œThat’s the queer part. I do and I don’t. I feel like I’ve seen it, but not on Ruby.”
    â€œMaybe on a hanger at the store.”
    â€œTremayne’s doesn’t carry anything like this.”
    â€œHow can you be sure?” Hansen addressed the table, not me. “You don’t work in Dresses. We found you in … the other department.”
    His spasm of manners was slightly endearing. “I know our stock. I have to.”
    â€œAll of it?” Morrow looked dubious. “And where else would you have seen it? You spending your evenings at the Trocadero?”
    He made a valid point, but I couldn’t shake the certainty that the ivory gown was familiar. The explanation flickered maddeningly at the edge of my thoughts.
    Morrow placed his hands on the cardboard box like a teacher at a lectern. “Tell me again, when did you start at Tremayne’s?”
    â€œLast Christmas.”
    â€œGift-wrapping,” Hansen said, finding the notion amusing.
    â€œAnd that led to your current position? In … the other department?”
    â€œYes.” We were no longer discussing the clothes. My stomach soured. This wasn’t going the way I’d hoped.
    â€œAt least the job allowed you to find your own place. You live alone, is that right? Dangerous out there for a girl on her own.”
    I gestured at the bloodstain on Ruby’s gown without looking at it. “It would appear so.”
    â€œGetting back to this dress from Tremayne’s—”
    â€œI never said that. This dress is not—I don’t think it’s from Tremayne’s.”
    Morrow raised a calming hand. “For the sake of argument, let’s assume it is. And Ruby was in her usual dire financial straits. If she wanted this dress, how could she get it from the store?”
    â€œSteal it,” Hansen fairly spat.
    â€œWouldn’t be easy,” Morrow said. “Not with all those salesladies