No shoppers in sight. Milo and I passed through a narrow aisle walled by double-high racks. Some of the dresses and tops were marked Sale, which put them into three figures.

Edith Piaf on the stereo, Made in France on the labels.

Designers I’d never heard of, but that meant nothing.

He said, “I didn’t look that closely at the stuff in Kat’s pad but it wasn’t like this. She didn’t have any scarves, either – hey, how’s it going?”

Addressing a hollow-cheeked brunette in a black lace top, sitting behind the sales counter, drinking Evian and reading InStyle. Behind her was a high shelf of bath toys, fruit-shaped candles, pastes and gels that wouldn’t get past airport security.

She got up and glided around the counter, head back, hips leading, like a runway model. Thirty, give or take, with deeply shadowed dark eyes. Makeup thick as cake frosting worked at masking a complexion not much better than Milo’s. The black top was tucked tight into cream calfskin jeans.

“Hey, guys. Someone buying a guilt gift or are we talking birthday?”

Milo tugged his lapel to one side and revealed his shield. “Police. Katrina Shonsky’s body was just found a few miles away. She was murdered.”

Hollow cheeks puffed. Eyelids vibrated. “Omigod, omigod – Kat!”

She bent at the knees. I caught her elbow, walked her to a puce velvet divan. Milo fetched her water bottle and dribbled some between her lips.

She gulped. Started to hyperventilate. I returned to the counter and got a shopping bag printed with the store’s name. By the time I got back, she was breathing normally and talking to Milo.

Her name was Amy Koutsakas but she called herself Amelie, had been working with Kat Shonsky for just over a year. At first she sang the dead woman’s praises. We sat that out and let the shock wear off and soon she was confiding that she and Kat hadn’t been close. “Not that I’m bad-mouthing her. God forbid.”

Milo said, “You guys just didn’t hit it off.”

“We never fought, but to be honest, Lieutenant, we had different professional views.”

“Of what?”

“This job. Kat could be tactless.”

“With you or the customers?”

“Both,” said Amelie. “I’m not saying she went out of her way to be mean, it just… I don’t know what I’m really saying. Sorry. I can’t believe this…”

I said, “Kat was sharp-tongued.”

“She was – sometimes it was what she didn’t say. To the customers.”

“Not good at stroking egos.”

She sat up straight. “To be honest, guys, this business is all about fear. Most of our clientele is mature, who else can afford the prices? We’re talking about used-to-be size eights who are now fourteens. When you get older your body changes. I know, because my mom was a dancer and that happened to her.”

Stroking her own flat-plane abdomen.

Milo said, “Kat didn’t understand that.”

“We get lots of women coming in for special occasions. Wanting to look really fabulous and ready to pay for it. Sometimes it’s a challenge but you need to work with the customer. You examine her assets and liabilities without being obvious, guide her toward stuff that’ll minimize her issues. If she tries on something and it turns out horrible, you say something nice and ease her toward something else.”

“Applied psychology,” said Milo.

“I was a psych major in college and believe me, it helps.”

I said, “Kat didn’t take that approach.”

“Kat thought her job was to help carry garments to the dressing room and stand around examining her nails during the try-on. She’d never volunteer an opinion. Never. Even when the client was obviously needy – crying out for validation. I tried to tell her we were more than attendants. Her answer was ‘These are grown-ups, they can make their own choices.’ But that’s not fair. People need support, right? Even if something looked good Kat would just stand there and say nothing. She gave no guidance and that led to customers bringing a lot of her sales back. Returns come straight off the commission.”

Milo said, “Do you guys split commission?”

“That’s the way it used to be but I told the owners no way would I split with someone like Kat. They value me so they agreed and I ended up making around three times as much as Kat.”

“Is commission a big part of your salary?”

“Seventy percent.”

“So Kat wasn’t exactly raking it in.”

“And boy did she complain about that. Constantly. It made no sense. All she had to do was be nice.” She bit her lip. “I know it sounds like I’m putting her down but that’s the way it was. That’s why after she stopped coming in and didn’t return calls, the owners figured she’d flaked out. After three days, they fired her.”

“Who are the owners?” said Milo.

“Mr. and Mrs. Leibowitz,” she said. “They made money in the florist business and retired. It started as a hobby for Laura – Mrs. L. They’d travel to Paris each year and she’d bring back great stuff that her friends adored.”

“We talking absentee owners?”

“For the most part. I’m the manager and Kat is – was the assistant manager.” Past tense made her flinch. “Do you have any idea who did it?”

“Not yet,” said Milo. “That’s why we’re here.”

“I can’t imagine who would do something like that.”

“Kat ever get into an altercation with a customer? Or anyone else?”

“No, no, our clientele is sophisticated. Nice women.”

“What about the men in Kat’s life?”

“Never met any of them,” she said, “but from what she said she’d been through plenty of losers and was swearing off men.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“Uh-uh, we never got to the name level. She’d just make remarks. She was a big one for remarks.”

“About men?”

“Men, her job, life in general. Her mother – she talked about her mother a lot. Said there was all kinds of pressure to conform and she hated it. From what I could tell, she had an unhappy childhood. Basically, she struck me as an unhappy person. That’s probably why she drank.”

“On the job?”

Silence.

“Amelie?”

“Sometimes she’d come in with way too much mint on her breath. A couple of times she forgot the mint and I smelled the alcohol. I started keeping mouthwash for her.”

“Partying hard?”

“I guess,” she said. “You know who can answer these questions better than me? Her friend Beth. She works at a jewelry store up the block. She’s the one who told Kat about the job opening.”

“Thanks for the tip,” said Milo.

“Anything I can do to help.”

She walked us to the door, straightening garments along the way.

Before Milo’s hand touched the knob, she said, “This is probably nothing, but maybe there is something I should tell you. About a customer.”

We stopped.

“It’s not really an altercation, but – I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Everything’s helpful, Amelie.”

“Okay… About a month ago, maybe five, six weeks, I was off for the morning and came in after lunch and found Kat was in a real goofy mood. All giggly, which wasn’t like her. I said what’s up and she said the most hilarious thing had happened. A customer – a man – had just come in and started pawing through the sale items. Kat assumed, just like I did with you guys, that he was looking for a gift. Kat ignored him like she always does. The guy kept examining the goods, concentrating on the larger sizes. After a while, it made Kat nervous and she finally went over and asked if he needed help.”

“What made her nervous?”

“Being alone with him, how long he was taking. We’re not some huge department store, how much time does it take to go through the merchandise? And most guys have no patience at all, they’re in and out or asking for help. Anyway, this guy said he was fine and Kat returned to the counter. But something gave her a funny feeling and she checked him out again. Couldn’t see him, but heard him behind one of the double racks and she went over and peeked. The guy had taken out a dress and was holding it up against his own body. Stroking it – like fitting it on himself. Kat said she couldn’t control herself, she just broke up and the guy heard it and nearly fell over himself putting the dress back. But instead of apologizing, Kat just stood there. And instead of rushing out, the guy turned and stared at her. Being… blatant. Like he needed to show he wasn’t ashamed. Kat told me that really pissed her off, she wasn’t going to take shit from a weirdo, so she stared back. I guess you could call that conflict.”