Page 79 of Road Queens
“C’mon, let’s go back to my Hole. You can come, too, Beane.”
“Oh, fine,” he said, and sulked most of the ride, to Amanda’s petty, triumphant delight.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Look, Virgil Abloh does great work. Did great work, sorry, still can’t believe he’s dead. Anyway, his work is amazing, and not just the menswear he did for Louis Vuitton. I love his leggings, but I’m not dropping five hundred bucks on a dress that looks like it was made out of rusty tinfoil. I’m just not.”
They were back at Amanda’s store, still reeling from the strangest garage meeting ever. As they took their leave, Sonny promised he’d keep a close eye on Cassandra’s Commando, a textbook case of locking the barn door after the motorcycle had run away.
Their choices were so narrow as to be almost nonexistent. Take the bike out of Sonny’s garage? And then what?
Cass picks up where she left off and starts riding again? Too soon.
Turn it over to the cops? Bad idea, given how little they knew about what was going on. Even the innocent should hesitate to openly invite the police to investigate them.
Let Sidney store it at her place? Same problem, only in a different garage and, worse, could make her an accessory after the fact.
Throw it away? Sacrilege.
Blow it up? Give it a Viking funeral? Maaaaaybe ...
“You guys know a lot about designers,” Beane commented.
“No, we know a lot about designers with connections to Wisconsin,” Amanda corrected. “Elena Velez, for example.”
“Ohhhhhh, Elena Velez,” Cass sighed. “Love her.”
Beane was blinking like four or five eyelashes had dive-bombed his eyeball. “There are Wisconsin designers?”
Sidney sighed. “Jesus Christ, of course there are. Just because New York and LA assholes blow us off as flyover country doesn’t mean they’re right.”
“We’ve been over this, though,” Cassandra said. “Wewantthem to think of us as flyover country.”
Sidney nodded. “Point. Like we need to be discovered? Let the snobs stay in New York, where the island of Manhattan is eventually going to get swallowed by the Atlantic. And the entire state of California is just gonna drop off into the Pacific one of these days. We all know it! Wildfires and mudslides, and soon enough, mudslides on fire; those poor fuckers are doomed.”
“Bleak,” Beane commented.
“But not incorrect. D’you even know how many high-end stores have headquarters here?” Cassandra asked.
Sean rubbed his forehead. “You must know I don’t.”
“Lands’ End, Bon-Ton, Harley-Davidson ...”
“Harley-Davidson, Jockey International ...” Amanda added. “And yet, you left, Cassandra.”
Cass rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but not because of any local designers or the fact that Kohl’s has their headquarters here.”
“Where’d you even go? Sidney won’t say.”
“You never asked me,” Sidney pointed out. “I would’ve told you, but I’m not a fucking telepath.”
“Northfield,” Cassandra confessed.
Amanda laughed. “You put it all behind you, gave up your life, and killed Operation Starfish, all to move for a fresh start ... thirty miles away?” It was astonishing that they’d never run into each other. Amandawas in Northfield all the time, even before the teahouse opened. Was it just coincidence she’d never seen Cass? Or had Cass been avoiding her?
Cassandra shrugged. “I guess I suck at moving far, far away.”
“Not really a surprise, though. We already established she had to stay close to her mother,” Beane said, though nobody asked. “And we’re talking about fashion instead of murder because ...”
