Set Up by Cheryl B. Dale

the customers require. Jane herself goes to Europe periodically and picks up materials at special auctions.”
    Pete Fountain's magic didn’t distract Cal. “How long have you worked here, Melissa?”
    She stuttered, flustered. “F-four years. Since I got out of high school.”
    “Ah. A mere baby.”
    She managed a nonchalant shrug, but a blush gave her away. “Hardly. I've been on my own all that time.”
    “How long was Jane's here before you started? I've never heard about her till now.”
    Recovering her poise, Melissa was happy to enlighten him. “She opened about three years before I came, but she was at Macy's before that. Everyone knew her. Since I came, business has tripled. Even Jane says she can't believe the way it's grown. Something black, you said?”
    The abrupt transition back to the object of his visit threw Cal. He had to think. “Oh. Yes. Black. Strapless and straightish, made out of that kind of clingy stuff. Silk or chiffon, maybe? Long, with a slit on the side. And a kind of halter top.”
    The fifth dress she showed him was The Dress.
    When she held it out, the mellifluous sound of the fabric moving against her arm recalled the whispered rustle as he slipped the dress over Scarlet's head. He took the thin material in his hand and could have sworn it smelled of oranges mingled with cleaning fluid.
    Oranges. The scent brought back the softness of small breasts and rounded hips.
    Despite himself, inside the cold ashes of anger, something akin to desire flickered.
    He extinguished it, along with the tiny ache that always showed up whenever a woman disappointed or betrayed him.
    The redhead had done both. She'd duped him easily and coldly. “How many of these do you sell?”
    Melissa showed her shock. “I assumed you wanted an original. We have some styles in several sizes, but this dress is one of a kind. It will be fitted to the customer.”
    He brought the dress to his nose. That was definitely a faint citrus odor. “So there's only one dress like this and it's this one?”
    “Yes.”
    This was the actual dress Scarlet had worn. If proof other than the sales clerk's assurances was needed, the scent provided it. Unless an orange aroma permeated all Jane's dresses.
    “This has perfume in it.” He held it out to Melissa.
    She sniffed. “It does, doesn't it? Perhaps a customer tried it on, or one of the models.” Another sniff, and she said, “I don't recognize this particular fragrance.”
    “Nice scent.” Scarlet could have been a model. That would explain the eye-catching aura, the arrogance that demanded adulation. “You use models here?”
    “On weekends we have college girls come in and wear different outfits. That lets customers see what's available. You'd be surprised how many clothes a pretty girl can sell.” She added hastily, “Not that Jane's designs need a hard sell.”
    Scarlet was no college girl. He'd lay odds on that, but he'd check the lead out anyway.
    He was about to ask about customers from Houston when Johanna reappeared, a vision in ivory satin and lace. “Come here, Cal,” she called imperiously. “I want your opinion.”
    Cal turned. “Oh, so now I'm good for something?”
    Johanna spotted the dress he still held. “Oh, jeez. You don't mean that for Claire.”
    “You don't think she'd wear it?”
    She shook her head emphatically. “Nothing skimpy or sexy. Definitely no slits. This is Claire you're buying for, not one of your fancy whores.”
    “Johanna. Mother would have washed your mouth out.”
    “Cal, look at my dress. Does it fit all right?”
    “It's perfect. I never knew you could look so good. Jeremy'll faint when he sees you. I'll bet he never knew you could look so good either.”
    Johanna posed in front of the mirror wall. “I thought I wanted a cutout back, but I feel indecent with the point all the way down at my waist.”
    “You'll only be in it a few hours,” he said, anxious to send her away.
    “True. How about the hem. Is it too