I blinked, looking at my mom. Her protective, den-mother attitude was not something she showed often. Even though she was a restrained person, she was someone who exuded energy, who made everyone want to be close to her. But her depression had led her to spend most of my childhood in pajamas, silently wandering the house, her thin frame like a mannequin I’d seen in the windows of Marshall Field’s.

“All right, let’s think of something…” Maggie glanced around the room. “Let’s really think about this…” You could tell she was excited by the way her eyes darted past all of our faces and then back again. This was the same way Maggie looked at a jury when a closing argument really started to roll-as if she was letting every one of them in on a secret.

“The cops don’t usually make deals,” Maggie said, “and I wouldn’t normally suggest you talk to them, because we have a little history with forced confessions in this town. But I’m thinking that I can call in some favors. We could tell them you’ll agree to be questioned, as long as they keep it quiet.”

“Izzy is a lawyer,” my mom said. “She can handle being questioned. And you would be with her, right, Maggie?”

“Of course.” Maggie nodded. “Let’s just think about this some more, and see what happens. I’ll put in some calls tomorrow and see if I can find out anything.”

My mother gave a small exhale of relief. “Thank you, Maggie. Thank you.”

When I walked Maggie and Wyatt to the door, Maggie pulled me aside. “How are you doing with all this? I mean losing Jane, finding her.”

“I’m messed up.”

“I can’t imagine.” She shook her head.

I gestured at Wyatt. “How’s it going?”

A sweet grin turned up her mouth. “It’s great. It’s sexy.”

“It was always sexy, right?”

She made a sound of exasperation. “Please, don’t judge him because of last time. We’re good. I’m good.”

“Okay. No judging.” It was the least I could do. “And hey,” I said, “if you need any lingerie, let me know. I have to work at the store tonight.”

She scoffed. “You’re the lingerie girl, not me. I can barely muster up something other than my cotton undies to go out with him.”

“I’ve got something to get you out of those old cotton scraps.” I whispered to her about the pearl thong.

When I pulled away, her eyes were wide, her mouth O-shaped. “Where can I get it?”

“I’ll get you one tonight.”

A half hour later I was off to peddle some panties.

36

I took a cab to my place to get my Vespa, the only thing I could think of that might clear my head. But as I drove down Sedgwick toward the Fig Leaf, the cool air, instead of being invigorating, only made me shiver. Or maybe it was the phrase that kept circling my mind. Person of interest. Person of interest. I tried to focus on tonight. On the job that I had to do-pretending I was someone named Lexi Hammond, a law student who worked part-time in a lingerie store.

In the last year alone, I’d been a lawyer, a fiancée, a jilted lover, a mourner, a broadcaster, a moonlighting P.I., a witness. And now a person of interest. It made me feel fragmented, all parts entirely separate, almost ephemeral.

But then I remembered Forester. He had given me a mountain of legal work for reasons no one understood at first. And even though I now understood more why he’d done it, none of it changed the fact that he had believed utterly in me. Sometimes remembering that was just the kick in the ass I needed. It made me pull hard on the gas. It got me there with five minutes to spare.

But I pulled over a block away and called Mayburn. “What if the manager, Josie, has seen me on Trial TV?”

“She seem like the type to watch a legal channel?”

“No.”

“Any PR on you yet?”

“No.”

“Then I’d say it’s fine. Just watch her in case she’s looking at you suspiciously.”

“She looks at everyone suspiciously.”

“You know what I mean. And hopefully I just need you for a week or two more.”

The door to the Fig Leaf chimed when I walked in a minute later. Josie was behind the counter, squinting at her faux-antique register, a pen tucked behind her bobbed hair. She peered over her glasses at me, but said nothing.

“Hi!” I hurried through the store. There was nothing that made me try harder than someone who clearly didn’t like me.

But then Josie surprised me. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, although without changing her bland expression. “We’ve got a bride and a pack of bridesmaids coming in an hour. The bride wants everyone to wear matching underwear.”

I unbuttoned my coat. “Are you serious?”

“Can you believe that? She’s actually making everyone wear the same bras and the same panties.”

“What a Nazi.”

“I know.” I saw the first full and genuine smile ever from Josie. “I can’t handle it,” she said. “I need you to help them.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.” The smile disappeared. “I got dumped last year by the guy I thought I was going to marry.”

Suddenly, I truly wanted to make her feel better. I couldn’t offer up my exact story. My fiancé took off, and he allegedly stole a bunch of money from my client, who was also my father figure. But I sure as hell could talk generally about it. And convincingly.

“I was engaged,” I said. “He left town two months before our wedding.”

She took off the glasses. “Are you freaking kidding me?” She sounded oddly excited.

“Yep. Had the dress, the hall, the ring.” I looked at my hand and didn’t have an ounce of trouble mustering up a sigh. “I miss that ring.”

“Holy shit.” Her tone was full of grudging admiration.

I shrugged. “These things happen for a reason.” Best to get off this topic before it depressed me more than I already was.

“Yeah, well…” She turned back toward the register. “If these things happen for a reason, the reason in my case is my ex is a self-righteous, pigheaded child with mommy issues.”

I laughed, then went into the back room to hang up my coat. I looked around the other storerooms, finding most of them piled with boxes of product. If Josie was up to something, as the owner thought she was, it was not a failure to stock the store.

Josie came in back. She gestured at the boxes. “Until the Nazi bride and her SS officers get here I need you to unpack this. I try to schedule all our deliveries for Tuesday, and we got a ton today.”

“No problem.” Then I thought of Maggie. “Oh, and can I get a pearl thong for my friend?”

Josie stopped and studied me with an expression I couldn’t read. “Did you try yours?”

I blushed a little. “Yeah.”

“Hot, huh?”

“That’s an understatement.”

She grinned. “What size is your girlfriend?”

“Small. Or extra small. About the size of that girl, Nina, the other night.”

Josie pulled out a step stool and used it to reach a metal box on a high shelf. She took keys from a ring in her pocket and unlocked the box. “I keep the thongs in here because they’re so expensive.”

They weren’t more expensive than some of the peignoirs she carried, and those weren’t locked up, but I said nothing.

Josie reached in and drew out a silver box, the same as she’d given me the other night. I started to say that I thought she only had size smalls in black. That was what she had said the other day to her customer, Nina. But maybe she’d gotten more stock today. And it didn’t sound as if Maggie cared what color it was.

Josie handed the box to me. “I can’t give you the discount on that since it’s for your friend. Now, get to work on this stock, okay? It’s all got to be on the floor by the end of the night.”

For the next hour, I sliced cardboard with a box cutter, I steamed, I hung, I tagged. At first, I found the work soothing. I ran my finger over purple velvet straps as I smoothed them; I stopped and appreciated the embroidered swirls on pieces of slick silk. After each item was hung, I had to find it on a list of expected inventory that Josie had prepared. I had to note the price and then create a handwritten ticket on a small linen card. The card was then threaded with yellow ribbon and attached to the garment.