The Corpse Wore Cashmere by Sylvia Rochester Page A

others from the lobby. Some were already dressed in costumes, a sign they were ready for the festival.
    As she eyed the throngs, she paid special attention to the men. Lorraine wasn’t exactly a wilting flower, and it would take a strong person to subdue her. Assuming she didn’t meet the mayor for drinks at the Rusty Nail, then whom? To leave with him aboard a boat, it had to be someone she trusted. A co-worker?
    If only her visions would give her a glimpse of the murderer, but it never worked that way. She never knew what she was going to see. Usually it left her with more questions than answers. Not until all the pieces came together was she ever able to figure out the meaning.
    She rolled her eyes. “Oh, if only….”
    Back in her room, she reached into her garment bag, took out her buccaneer costume, and laid it across a chair. The leather pants and silk blouse needed no ironing, and the unlaced vest brought a sly grin to her lips. A. K. was right. She needed to get with the program, show a little skin. After all, she was a lady buccaneer. They were bold and daring, if not downright sleazy. She couldn’t help but laugh at the thought and wondered what Wesley would think of her outfit.
    She placed a couple of gold bracelets, a pair of hoop earrings, and a leather choker on the dresser. Then she held up the tall, black boots, a far cry from her high heels. She propped them against a chair and got out of her clothes.
    After a shower, Susan dressed for bed and climbed between the cool, clean sheets. “One more thing,” she muttered. She picked up the hotel phone and requested a wake-up call for seven o’clock for the next three mornings. When her head hit the pillow, the worries of the day seemed to float away into oblivion. Sleep came within moments.

    Thursday morning, Susan sat alone at a table in the hotel restaurant. That usually didn’t bother her, but wearing a skimpy outfit did. Not only was she drafty, she felt like a hooker. Sneaking a quick peak at her boobs, she tugged the neckline of her blouse a little higher. Even that didn’t help much. Being the entrepreneur that she was, she realized the outfit was just the prop she needed to promote her business. Instead of slinking down in her chair, she went on the offense. She smiled at each passing guest and suggested they visit the costume shop on the mezzanine.
    By the time she finished her breakfast, A. K. arrived. “You’re late,” Susan said, tapping her watch. “It’s eight thirty.”
    A. K. stared at her through bleary eyes. “So what’s new? This wench had a long night.” She smoothed her outfit, and unlike Susan, she tugged the opening of her blouse a little lower in the front.
    “Really, A. K.? A rough night? In your dreams.”
    “You’re right about that. But, oh, what dreams.” She smiled then gazed at Susan’s loosely laced vest. “Hello. You do have something there. Nothing that would give me competition, but for you to show anything is a first.”
    Embarrassed, Susan crossed her arms. When she attempted to hike her neckline higher, A. K. held up her hand.
    “No, don’t mess with a good thing.”
    “Glad I meet with your approval. I could have used your help earlier soliciting customers.” Susan placed her napkin on the table. “Take your time. I’m going to open the kiosk.”
    “I won’t be long,” A. K. called after her.
    This time, Susan took the elevator to the mezzanine. Upon her arrival, a group of women stood peeking through the brass expansion gate that closed off the kiosk. “Good morning, ladies. See something you like?”
    “Too many things,” one of the women said. “I can’t decide what I want to wear.”
    Susan unlocked the gate and pushed it out of sight. “Maybe I can help.”
    “I love your costume. Maybe I should try something like what you’re wearing.”
    One look at the woman’s big boobs, and Susan knew the woman would do the outfit justice. “Let’s see what we can put together.”
    While