from "TAKE TWO"
A Sonya Iverson Mystery
By Elsa Klensch
Publication: November 2007

Chapter TWO

Hilda Woodruff Fowler's Fifth Avenue apartment, Manhattan, Thursday, 6:30pm, one month later

THE PRIVATE ELEVATOR SLID TO A STOP AT THE PENTHOUSE FLOOR.
Sonya Iverson, senior producer for the top-rated The Donna Fuller Show, stepped out, and collided with a man standing in the entrance hall.
"Sorry," he said as he moved back. Sonya recognized him by his smile, a flash of white teeth in a tanned face. Steve Pendleton. As usual he was dressed in the East Side personal trainer's uniform, a black workout t-shirt and pants. Sonya had met him while working on a story about a new fitness craze.

"Working late, Steve?" she said.

"I take it as it comes." He grinned.

"So you train Hilda Woodruff?"

"You could say that," he said with another grin. "How's life with you?"

"Fine," Sonya said. "I'm working too. But I hope it won't be too late an evening. I have an early morning meeting."

"Hilda will be on time," he said. "We didn't do a full workout. I just massaged her foot. She won't need a shower."

Sonya looked at him with interest. "She hurt her foot?"

"It's nothing," he said and paused. Sonya sensed he was holding something back.

Then he added, "Hilda told me you were coming and that you're doing a story on the Woodruffs." He paused again and looked away for a moment. "Sonya, I know you are fair, so I am asking you to ignore the rumor that's going around about her. It's not true. Hilda would never do that. It's just talk-jealousy about her power and money."

Sonya raised her eyebrows and gestured her ignorance. "The Donna Fuller Show is not about gossip. I don't know what the rumor is and I'm not interested." But she guessed what it was. Hilda, whose husband was dead, had a lover. And probably one who was married.

"Don't tell me that." She heard the irritation in his voice. "You're a journalist; you must have heard something. All I'm asking you to do is to ignore it." He walked into the elevator.

Sonya watched him go. What was that about? He knew something about Hilda and was doing damage control.

Steve Pendleton worked with bored wives in Manhattan. He trained women whose husbands were too busy making money to pay attention to them. To many of them, trainers were like psychiatrists. The odds were Steve Pendleton knew all there was to know about Hilda Woodruff.

Sonya turned to the wall opposite the elevator where a gilt mirror hung over an ornate commode. On the commode's top stood an urn filled with dozens of white and pale yellow orchids. Pure luxury, just what she expected. She was here to talk to three of the richest women in New York, heirs to the Woodruff magazine empire. The subject was a story about the fortieth anniversary of the Woodruff thrift shop, Woody's, which was almost as famous as their fashion magazines. She had been invited to dinner to meet the Woodruff sisters and to discuss the benefit party they planned.

Sonya took advantage of the mirror to check her appearance. She wanted to look sophisticated and professional, so she had caught her red curly hair back from her face and added dark green shadow to bring out the color in her eyes. It worked. She smoothed the deep green satin of her dress over her body with satisfaction.

A maid in a snappy black-and-white uniform appeared in the doorway and led her to Hilda Woodruff's cool beige library. At first glance it suggested old money. Bookcases filled with finely bound books lined the walls. The armchairs, with their beige-and-white-striped satin upholstery, were wide and comfortable, and the pile on the carpet was deep enough to quiet any private conversation. Yet the room was like a stage set. Little if any reading was done there, and it was likely that the only time those books came off the shelf was when they were dusted.

As Sonya entered the room, she saw two women sitting on a sofa. They turned, smiled, and stood up to greet her. The taller of the two held out her hand.

"I'm Julia Jenkins, the middle Woodruff sister," she said. "And this is Gussie Ford, who runs our famous Woody's." Julia's voice was strong, almost theatrical in tone. She stood tall and dignified, with dark blonde hair framing her face.

"You'll remember me from your visit to Woody's last week," the small, plump woman said as she shook Sonya's hand firmly. "I'm so happy to see you again. And I think it's wonderful you're considering doing a story on our shop. I'll set up everything you want. You can count on me."

"You certainly can count on Gussie. We all do," Julia broke in. "She's run Woody's for forty years, and she's the reason for its success."

Sonya liked Julia immediately. Her manner was down-to-earth and at the same time warm and gracious. "Well, I certainly was impressed with Woody's when I looked it over last week with your press director. And I hear you have some interesting customers for me to meet."

"Real characters," Gussie said. "Some even buy things from us and then sell them on eBay for triple the price. I've told a few that The Donna Fuller Show might do a story on us and they can't wait to be interviewed. You know how people are. They all enjoy boasting how smart they are at finding bargains."

Julia motioned them to the sofa and pulled up a chair to be near them. After the maid had served each of them a glass of champagne, Sonya turned to Julia. "Tell me how and why your mother started the thrift shop.

"Well, as you know, my mother and father were from Maine and moved her a few years after they were married. My mother had been involved in charitable work in Maine and wanted to continue here, but she found it difficult. In those days, in the fifties, New York society was pretty much closed to newcomers.

"My father, who was a no-nonsense man, told her to start her own charity. He came up with the idea of a high-end designer thrift shop and he helped her find a good location on Madison Avenue. At first, they raised money to educate children whose fathers had been killed in World War II, and our list of charities has grown over the years."

Gussie thumped the arm of the sofa defiantly. "Julia, dear," she said. "Give credit where credit is due. It was Anthea, your mother, who was the force behind Woody's."

Julia laughed. "Yes, Gussie, you and Mother were a team. No one ever expected Woody's to grow into such a success."

Sonya thought Gussie's round, corseted body would burst with pride. Her eyes gleamed and her whole body shook, including the tight ginger curls on her head.

"Well," Sonya said, getting back to the focus of her story, "I guess being connected to the Woodruff family and its powerful fashion magazines didn't exactly hurt."

"Of course not," Gussie said. "Anthea decided to take full advantage of it. We never pressured them, but designers and manufacturers realized what we were trying to do. They wanted their fashions to appear in the Woodruff magazines and we wanted their leftover clothes to sell in our thrift shop."

She laughed out loud. "Of course, James wouldn't let us have any influence on the contents of his magazines. Those decisions were up to the editors. But who could refuse, especially when Anthea called?"

Sonya nodded, then said, "And you still get designer clothes?"

"Yes, and I'll save some of the best for you to photograph. Let's see, Thursday is furniture day. That's the day we bring the new pieces in from the warehouse. That would be great to photograph too. Often we have customers waiting to see what comes in and, if they find something they like, they hold onto it until I come and price it. Last week I had two women fighting over the same set of chairs." She dropped her voice confidentially. "That was an uncomfortable hour or two. But I simply upped the price until one woman backed out."

Gussie's enthusiasm was infectious, but underneath it, Sonya surmised, was a shrewd business mind. Woody's might make good television, but Sonya still had to have it approved by her executive producer, Matt Richards.

She smiled at Gussie. "You know things aren't quite definite, so don't plan too far ahead yet. We'll make the final decision tomorrow at our morning meeting."

She turned to Julia. "What part do the Woodruff sisters play in running the shop?"

"Hilda heads our family foundation, so she is technically in charge of the shop and has a small office there. Ellin and I help out when needed. I'm there a lot. It's fun."

Hilda swept in to the room, dressed to kill and determined to dominate her two younger sisters. Her red silk caftan dipped to a deep V, revealing much of her thin, bony chest. Her high-heeled gold mules sank into the deep pile of the carpet. Sonya got up to shake her hand.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here to greet you," Hilda said. "I had an urgent call from Paris and I didn't want to wait till the morning to solve the problem. Have Julia and Gussie told you about our benefit party?"

"Not yet," Sonya replied. "I'm getting some background on Woody's. It's fascinating."

The maid refilled their glasses and poured a drink for Hilda. The oldest Woodruff took a delicate sip and said, "The party will be sensational. We'll make the shop look like an extravagant bazaar filled with the most charming wonderful things for people to buy."

"You'll sell things at the party?"

"Of course, that's what Woody's is about. We've been collecting unique pieces for months. We want our celebrity guests to go away with treasures and say to their friends, 'I bought it at Woody's.' It will be a first-of-its-kind party and chic fun. Tell me, what would be the point of having a party in a thrift shop unless the guests get a bargain?" She didn't wait for an answer. "I want to upgrade Woody's image. After all, it's a showcase for the Woodruff Foundation-"

Julia interrupted, "Mother wasn't concerned about image. She cared about helping the misfortunate."

Gussie turned to Sonya, "Yes, That's what was always important to her." Hilda snorted in irritation. "Don't be so dumb. That's exactly what raising the image will do. It'll attract more customers, and that means we'll increase earnings-and donations." She turned to Sonya. "We'll do our own documentary. I want a record of everything for our family museum in Maine. Father built it, in Portland, where my great-grandfather started in business. We are one of the great old New England families. Everyone knows that."

Sonya shifted uncomfortably. "Tell me about the guests?" she asked. "Who will you invite?"

"Everyone of importance. Name a celebrity and you'll find them on our list. And believe me, they'll come. When the Woodruffs throw a party, people are afraid not to come. Everyone will be here. Just everyone."

She looked around the room and drew a sharp breath. "Everyone that is, except my baby sister, Ellin. She's not here tonight and she probably won't make the party-"

"Please, Hilda," Julia interjected, "not now."

But Hilda wouldn't stop. "Oh, Sonya. I don't want to burden you with our problems, but there's one in every family. The relative who always comes late with no consideration for anyone else."

"Hilda, why don't you call Ellin? That will put your mind at rest," Julia said, attempting to smooth things over. "I'm sure she's coming."

Hilda left the room abruptly, with a dramatic sweep of her caftan. No one spoke. Julia sat back in her chair, sipped her champagne, and finally said, "You must excuse Hilda. She's always impatient with Ellin."

Gussie sat up. "I think I hear the elevator opening. Ellin's arrived."

Ellin Woodruff Shelby was a slight pretty woman who was dressed in a trim beige suit with a double row of pearls-the conservative style of the Upper East Side matron.

"It was the cats, wasn't it, that kept you late?" Gussie asked as Ellin stood at the door looking around the room, as if she didn't want to enter.

"Yes, it was the cats," Ellin replied softly. "I'm glad to have them, but they are a lot of work." She walked to Sonya and held out her hand. "I'm Ellin, the youngest sister. My husband is a vet, and a few years ago he became interested in Bengals. They're a mix of an Asian leopard and a domestic cat. He started breeding them, but it took up so much time that I took over. Now it's taking too much of my time. That's why I'm often late, as I supposed Hilda told you."

"Not exactly," Sonya replied, then added quickly, "I've seen your Bengal cats on your website and they're adorable. I'm a cat lover and I found each one more appealing than the next."

Ellin's face lit up. "Then you must come and see them. Let's arrange a date. Saturday afternoons are always great for me."

"Thank you," Sonya said. "That sounds fine."

"Ellin, you're here at last." Hilda's voice came from the hall.

"Yes, and I'm sorry I'm late, but feeding and putting the Bengals down for the night takes time, particularly when I've just had a new litter.

"Enough about your cats." Hilda moved ungraciously to Ellin and let her place an apologetic kiss on her cheek. "Come girls, bring your champagne to the table and let's eat," she commanded. "We have a lot to discuss this evening."

Hilda stepped forward and waved to Sonya to come with her. As she did, her mule caught on the carpet and she stumbled. She would have fallen if Ellin hadn't reached out and caught her. Sonya glimpsed her ankle. It was bound in an Ace bandage.

She looked up and saw Julia and Gussie exchange alarmed looks. Hilda saw them too.

"Julia, don't look like that, there's nothing the matter with my foot," she snapped as she bent and pushed her mule back on. Sonya was surprised at the strength of her reaction to a simple stumble. What was wrong with her foot?

Hilda's tone changed in a flash as she smiled at Sonya. "Come, Sonya, you must be hungry."

They all walked toward the dining room in silence. Sonya could feel the tension among the sisters.

--end Chapter 2--