Some Like It Haute: A Humorous Fashion Mystery (Style & Error Book 4) by Diane Vallere

anymore.”
    I jotted single mother-seven years-woman on the legal pad and underlined woman three times. “Tell me about your daily routine.”
    “I get up, feed the hellions, get them off to school. Five hours later I pick them up.”
    “What do you do all day?”
    “I pick Cheerios out of my hair.” I considered writing that part down. “Do you have kids?” she asked.
    “No.”
    “So you don’t understand. You have no idea what kind of a terror two boys can be. They wreck everything. Everything . Meanwhile my rat-ex-husband already has a new girlfriend half his age. He gets the boys every other weekend and the boys think he’s a god. What do I do all day? Once I get them off to school, the house is quiet. I can relax. I have five hours to pretend my life turned out differently.”
    Molly Diers didn’t need a stylist, she needed a therapist. “How do you dress now?” I asked.
    “You’re looking at it. If it doesn’t have an elastic waist, I’m not interested.”
    I felt like I was on the Punk’d version of “What Not to Wear.”
    “I have to be honest, Molly. I don’t think we’re going to be much of a match, style-wise.”
    “You can’t turn me away. I need tough love. I read about you in the paper. You take on killers and whackos and police and you lived in New York. When I was fourteen, I used to walk around my house with a book on my head. These days, high fashion is a T-shirt without a stain. Besides, the boys are back in school and I need to look like I can hold down a job. I need you.”
    Already I felt bad for turning her down. I looked at my calendar. Amanda’s name had been written in, but that job ended with the runway show. I flipped the page to next week and the week after that. All clear. If it wasn’t for Molly Diers, what would I be doing? Looking for arsonists, flirting with Dante, and pining away over Nick. Maybe I needed Molly Diers, too.
    “Fill out this questionnaire and then let’s set up a schedule for you.”
    I handed over a clipboard with a couple sheets of paper on it. Molly looked relieved. I pulled three tissues out of a box on the corner of my desk and handed them to her. “There’s something green on your cheek.”
    “There’s always something green on my cheek.” She scrubbed her cheekbone until the green went away, leaving fresh, pink skin.
    I didn’t know how other personal stylists worked, but when I hung out my shingle, I assumed I could figure it out as I went. I compiled binders of looks that represented the fashion identities I’d once learned from a Cosmo quiz: Casual, Fashion Forward, Bohemian, and Powerful. My own personal style ran along the lines of whimsy, but my goal wasn’t to have my clients dress like me. I sat Molly in a comfy purple velvet chair and handed her a stack of binders. Day One involved identifying the way she wanted to dress, the sizes she wore, and the budget she had in mind. I’d shop and put together what I felt was the basis for a new wardrobe to suit her needs. My take was 10% of her spend.
    While she was busy with the binders, I snuck off to the back corner of the basement and made a call to Dante.
    “Where are you?” he asked.
    “I’m at my house.”
    “I thought we had an arrangement.”
    “No, you had an arrangement. I had a need to change my clothes and see my cat. I’ll be done here soon.” I glanced at Molly. She had her nose buried in Bohemian. “Can you come over in about an hour?”
    “Sure.”
    Molly and I finished our first consultation and she wrote me a check to cover my initial consulting fee. I thanked her, we set up an appointment three days away, and I walked her out. Dante’s motorcycle pulled into the driveway next to her car as we were saying goodbye.
    “Is he yours?” she asked.
    “I’m not sure.”
    “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for a man like that.”
    That made two of us.
     

11
    I waited until Molly drove away before I led Dante into the house.
    “You rang?” he