As Angie exited the bistro and headed past the window, she saw Holgersen on his phone inside. She reckoned he was calling Maddocks to report she was busy on the Jasmine Gulati case.
That suited Angie fine. She knew it would put him at rest. He’d know she wasn’t taking that close-protection job. The fact he’d sent Holgersen nosing around after her put a flare of hope in her heart.
She was going to make this work.
CHAPTER 22
Angie walked into the teeth of the wind, and as she rounded a corner near the Chinatown area of Victoria, she caught sight of the boutique sign.
Candescence.
She stalled in her tracks and stared up at the hand-painted word. Slowly, she lowered her gaze to the dresses displayed in the bay windows of the heritage building. White lace. Sheer silk. Some designs frothy. Others sleek. Pink and white flowers everywhere.
A bridal boutique? You have got to be kidding me.
She took a deep breath and pushed open the door. A bell tinkled. The interior was small and had been refurbished to highlight the historic architecture of the building. Plaster had been stripped from walls to expose swaths of the original brick. Knotted pine floors had been burnished to a gleam. A wooden staircase with a balustrade painted with black enamel curved to a downstairs area. A glass showcase held tiaras and glittery necklaces and earrings with pearls and diamonds. Music was soft, a female vocalist crooning a song that sounded an awful lot like the one “Jukebox Jill” Monaghan had belted out when Angie went to meet her. Bridal dresses lined racks. Several gowns had been pinned into display alcoves set into the brick walls.
There was no one in sight.
Angie stepped forward cautiously, her biker boots clumping on the wooden floor. “Hello?” she called out. “Anyone here?”
A woman’s head popped out from behind a drape that partially screened a dressing room area decorated with Louis XV–style chairs upholstered in gentle florals. The woman, a blonde, removed pins she’d been holding between her lips. “Over here. Come on through.”
Angie stepped into the dressing area, immediately catching sight of her reflection being bounced back by a myriad of mirrors. In her black leather jacket, skinny jeans, biker boots, red hair scraped back into a functional ponytail, she couldn’t have looked more out of place against all this femininity and softness.
“I was just pinning up a hem for alterations,” the woman said as she smoothed down her dusky-pink skirt and draped silk blouse. She looked like a model out of some Calvin Klein ad. A hesitancy crossed her delicate features as she absorbed Angie, apparently coming to the conclusion that Angie was here for something other than a wedding gown.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for Mia Monroe.”
Concern shifted into her eyes. “That’s me.”
“My name is Angie Pallorino,” she said, digging into her pocket for a card. She handed it to the woman. “I’m looking into a cold case from twenty-four years ago involving an old friend of yours, and I think you might be able to help me. Do you have a moment? Is there somewhere we can talk?”
Mia studied the card in her hands. Time had been kind to this friend of Jasmine’s. She’d aged remarkably well. Or perhaps Mia had been kind to Mia. Maybe her looks came from eating carefully, sleeping, and exercising well. Maybe it was working with blushing young brides full with the promise of life that kept one peachy.
She glanced up from the card. “Which friend?”
“Perhaps we could sit down?” Angie didn’t want to dump the news on this woman that the body recently found on the Nahamish had been identified as her close school friend.
Mia’s attention went to the door. “Sure. My first appointment is in only fifteen minutes. And my assistant will be back any second to take over the front. She just stepped out for coffees.” She hesitated. “Shall I call and ask her to bring extra coffee?”
“No. I just had some. Thanks.” Angie perched herself gingerly on the edge of a Louis XV chair, unzipped her jacket, and loosened her scarf. It was warm in the shop.
Mia sat across from Angie, arranging her legs neatly to the side, hands folding in her lap.
“I don’t know if you saw the news about the remains in the shallow grave that was recently discovered on the Nahamish River?” Angie said.
Mia stared at Angie, her eyes widening. “Jasmine?” she said softly. “Is it Jasmine? I wondered if it could be her when I heard.”
Angie nodded. “DNA has confirmed it, yes. The coroner is ruling her death as an accidental drowning, but her grandmother has asked me to answer some questions about Jasmine and her life leading up to the trip. I believe you and Sophie Sinovich were her closest friends.”
She exhaled shakily. “Yes. Wow. I ... I suppose her gran can finally lay her properly to rest now. I can’t believe it, after all this time.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, I understand you and Jasmine had a big fallout shortly before her trip. Can you tell me what that was about?”
Mia’s shoulders stiffened. “Why?”
