“I know, right?” said Zoe as she pushed the front door of the store open. “Who does that?”

“We were so close,” said Sean once they were out on the sidewalk. “I thought that saleswoman was going to give up her name. This turned out to be a big waste of time.”

“Are you kidding?” said Zoe bouncing on the balls of her feet. “We learned a ton. Her name isn’t GG at all, but she’s obviously some kind of Gucci freak—Gucci sunglasses, Gucci necklace, Gucci bag. And, she has an accent, that means she’s not American. We didn’t know that before. That’s a huge piece of intelligence.”

“Wait a second. We don’t know for sure if she’s the same woman we saw in the park,” said Sean. “This could be a completely different person.”

“It’s her,” said Zoe, nodding. “I know it was her. I feel it.”

“Whatever you say. Where to next?”

“Madison and 53rd, the Thayer and Company flagship store.”

21

Walking down Madison Avenue discussing “their case,” the amateur sleuths devised a plan of attack for Thayer and Company—Sean would pretend to be a customer in search of dress shirts. When they arrived at the iconic clothing store, the scene inside was eerily like Gucci. With no other customers in the store, several masked salespeople rushed towards them.

“We’ve started a stampede. They must all work on commission,” whispered Zoe as the first salesman approached.

“Good afternoon,” said a middle-aged man. “May I help you with something today?”

“We’re just browsing,” said Sean with an air of confidence. “Give us a few minutes to look around, won’t you? Can you direct me towards the men’s dress shirts?”

Disappointed, the salesman pointed to the men’s shirt department and the two friends moved slowly through the aisles pretending to examine the merchandise. “What are we supposed to do now?” whispered Sean. “We’ve been in here for nearly fifteen minutes. They’re all staring at us.”

Another salesperson, a younger man, approached. “Is there anything I can help you find?”

With a sudden burst of inspiration Sean spoke up, employing an affected British accent. “I’ve shopped here numerous times in the past and I remember there was a lovely young woman here who helped me. She had long dark hair, a delightful foreign accent and a keen sense of style. I’d like to work with her again, please. Might she be available for a consult?”

“No one here fits that description. All of our stores are on skeleton crew these days,” said the salesman rather coldly. “The only salespeople in the store today are those two men standing by the front door, me, and that woman over there behind the tie counter in the beige dress.” Zoe and Sean’s heads snapped around to look at the woman.

“She’s a blonde,” said Sean, frowning.