Designs On Murder

by Gayle Leeson

  “She was. She truly was.” He shook his head. “She once took Roscoe and me on a train and brought us all the way here from Pennsylvania to live with her family. We rode the Birmingham Special. It was after Papa died in the war.”

  I glanced at Max, who was looking a little sad at the man’s retelling of his journey from Pennsylvania to Bristol. I felt sorry for him too.

  Jazzy came over and rubbed around our visitor’s ankles.

  “What a pretty little thing you are!” he exclaimed. He patted his knees, and Jazzy obliged by hopping onto his lap. He stroked the cat’s back for a moment before glancing at me. He did a double-take, as if he hadn’t realized I’d been sitting there. “Oh...hello.”

  “Hello.”

  “I’m George.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, George. I’m Amanda.”

  “Is this your kitty?”

  “Yes. Her name is Jasmine.”

  “She’s very nice.”

  I smiled. “Thank you. She likes you.”

  “I like her too.” He sniffed the air. “It’s funny, but I don’t smell the tobacco.”

  “Tobacco?”

  “Yes. I thought this was a tobacco shop now.”

  “No,” I said. “Fortunately for me, Mrs. Meacham leased the shop to me instead. I design and make women’s clothing.”

  The door eased open, and a younger man stepped into the room. “There you are,” he said to George.

  “Roscoe! Come in and meet Amanda. She’s turned the tobacco shop into a...” He struggled to find the right words. “A sewing room.” He punctuated the end of his sentence with a triumphant nod.

  I stood and extended my hand. “Hi, Roscoe. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Hey, Amanda.” He shook my hand and lowered his voice. “It’s Brett, actually. Brett Meacham. George is my grandpa.”

  George got up and tottered toward the atelier. “I want to find that tobacco...see if there’s any cherry tobacco like we used to sneak from Granddad. Remember, Roscoe?”

  “There’s not any tobacco here, George.” Brett quickly caught up to his grandfather and took him gently by the arm.

  “Yes, there is. That good-for-nothing bum Mark has to go, and we’re putting in a tobacco shop.”

  “But it’s not a tobacco shop.” Brett got in front of George, bent slightly to look the stooped man in the eyes, and spoke in a calm but firm tone. “This is a dress store.”

  George blinked a time or two. “Brett...what are we doing?”

  “I brought you to see Grandma.”

  “Well, go up and get her, would you? I don’t feel like climbing those stairs.”

  “All right.” Brett helped George back to the navy chairs and helped him sit. He turned to me. “I’ll be back in just a second.”

  “Sure,” I said. “That’s fine.” I sat beside him. “I’m sorry we don’t have any tobacco, George.”

  “I am too,” he said. “But that Mark has to go. We’re giving him the bum’s rush because he won’t pay his rent. We don’t know what he’s doing with his money...gambling or drugs is our best bet.” He shrugged his bony shoulders. “You’re a pleasant young lady.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome. You remind me of my mother. She brought my little brother Roscoe and me here on the train way back in...” He screwed up his face. “I reckon it must’ve been ’44 or ’45.”

  “George!” Mrs. Meacham hurried into the room and took George by the hands. “Brett shouldn’t have brought you out today. I think he got you over-excited.”

  “Nonsense, love.” He smiled. “I was simply talking with this dear girl. She came here on the train...just like Roscoe and me.”

  “That’s wonderful, sweetheart. Let’s you and I go home. You can tell me all about it on the way.”

  “All right.” George stood, told me goodbye, and said he hoped to see me again sometime. “Brett, I’ll see you later.”

  “Okay, Grandpa. Have fun.”

  When Mrs. Meacham and her husband had left, Brett turned to me with a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that. Grandma thinks Grandpa should stay home and—how does she put it? —not get his feathers ruffled. But what a drag to be sitting around your house all day. Am I right?”

  “I can see both sides,” I said. “I understand that your grandmother wants to protect George, but I also feel that it’s sweet of you to want him to keep enjoying life.”

  Brett sank onto the chair George had vacated and crossed his long legs at the ankles. “You’re pretty patient. How many times did you have to hear that train story?”

  “Oh, a time or two.”

  He chuckled. “Grandpa has his good days and his not-so-good days. This is one of the not-so-good. It was really hard to keep him out of the past today.”

  “I don’t think the clothes helped much. I design clothing using retro patterns, so they have a vintage look.”

  “They’re pretty.” Brett’s hazel eyes lingered on my face, and I could feel the color rising in my cheeks.

  “What do you do, Brett? When you’re not getting your Grandpa in trouble, I mean?”

  “I’m a physical therapist.”

  I supposed that explained his physique. The man obviously kept himself in shape. I ignored Max giving him the once-over while I thought back to what George had said.

  “I’m sorry your grandpa was so upset about the tobacco shop. Did he have his heart set on the shop going in here?”

  “Who’s to say?” He spread his hands. “It’s like once something gets in Grandpa’s head, it’s hard to get it out. He must’ve heard Grandma say someone was thinking of putting a tobacco shop in the building, and now he thinks there’s a tobacco shop here.”

  “What happened to the tobacco shop?” I asked. “I mean, I’m guessing I got this spot because I leased it first, but I thought the tobacco shop would go in where Mark’s office was.”

  “Nope. The guy backed out entirely. I believe our resident bookseller might’ve had a hand in his decision.”

  “Ford? What do you mean?”

  Brett shrugged. “You’d have to ask him about that.”

  “Your grandpa seemed fairly agitated about Mark Tinsley.” I grinned. “’Give him the bum’s rush’.”

  Brett got to his feet. “Yep, the old bum’s rush. Don’t pay your rent, you’re out.” He strode to the door. “It was nice meeting you, Amanda. I hope to see you again soon.”

  “You too.”

  “He seemed to be enjoying his visit until you brought up Mark,” Max said.

  “He did, didn’t he? Do you think it’s such a touchy subject because Mark was killed here?”

  “Could be. Or it could be a touchy subject for an entirely different reason.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like maybe he knows more about Mark—and his death—than he wants anyone to know.”

  { }

  Chapter Thirteen

  I

  spent the rest of the afternoon waiting on customers—mostly browsers, but I had hope that at least one or two would return—and creating a muslin pattern for Taylor’s prom dress. I learned the hard way when I made my first dress to always create a muslin to check the fit.

  After work, Jazzy and I took burgers and fries to Grandpa Dave’s house. While I put our dinner on paper plates and got out the condiments, Grandpa gave Jazzy a can of food.

  “How was your day, Pup?”

  “It was good...mainly. There were some odd moments.” I told him about George Meacham observing one of my dresses and then telling me about his mother bringing him and his brother down from Pennsylvania on the train when he was a little boy. “He was so sweet, but it was sad. And he kept looking for the tobacco shop. I think he wanted cherry tobacco.”

  “My dad smoked a pipe and used cherry tobacco.” He smiled slightly. “To this day, whenever I smell it, it takes me back to my old homeplace.”

  “Mr. Meacham’s grandson Brett had brought him to Shops on Main, and Br
ett told me that Ford had dissuaded the tobacco merchant from opening his store there. Do you think that’s true?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve only met Ford a time or two, and although he seems like a nice fellow, I wouldn’t want to get him riled up at me.”

  “No...me either. Still, if it is true, why would Ford care who opened a shop in the building as long as it wasn’t directly competing with his bookstore?”

  “I don’t know, Pup. If you’re that curious about it, ask him.”

  “I will,” I said. “That is, if I can come up with a way to do it diplomatically.”

  “You’re nothing if not a diplomat.” Grandpa Dave gave me a wink before biting into his burger.

  “Max and I noticed that when I asked Brett about Mark Tinsley, Brett said his goodbyes and left. We thought that was a tad suspicious.”

  He wiped his mouth on a napkin. “You and Max are turning into a regular Nancy Drew and Bess, aren’t you?”

  “It’s mainly Max. She’s eager for us to solve this crime.” I sipped my soda. “I have to admit, though, I’d feel a lot better knowing Mark’s killer was behind bars.”

  “I don’t want you working somewhere you don’t feel safe. I’ll be happy to help you find another location.”

  “No...not yet, anyway. I really like the shop, and...”

  “And you don’t want to leave Max,” he finished.

  “Well, yeah. I’ve never known anyone like her,” I said. “Oh, by the way, Connie told me this morning that the man she was with at the restaurant was Janice’s ex-boyfriend who was asking for advice. She ducked out of the restaurant because she didn’t want her husband to know she was helping him. Connie says her husband thinks she’s too involved with other people’s problems.”

  “You sound as if you don’t buy that story.”

  “I do...it was just weird, that’s all. Guy—Janice’s ex—did show up later with flowers, and I think he took Janice to lunch.”

  Grandpa Dave studied me as he stuffed a fry into his mouth. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I don’t know. I just feel aggravated at myself because I don’t even know Janice but was so willing to jump to conclusions about her.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like believing she has loose morals because the man she was dating was murdered and two days later, Max and I could hear her heels clippity clopping across the hall to Jason’s studio every little bit. And now this guy...Guy...shows up.”

  “But, as you pointed out, you don’t really know Janice. And Max might tell you that you’re basing your conclusions on circumstantial evidence,” Grandpa said.

  I shrugged. “I doubt it. She doesn’t like Janice...and she’s known her from the start.”

  “Observing and knowing are two different things.” He chuckled.

  “Maybe I’ll go up and check out Janice’s shop sometime tomorrow. At least, I could make an effort to get to know her.”

  “There you go. After we finish eating, would you like to play a game of rummy before you head home? Or do you and your young man have plans?”

  “I’d love a game of rummy...and I don’t have a young man.”

  “Well, what do you call a beau these days?” he asked.

  “I’m calling Jason a friend.” I took a big bite off my burger, so my mouth would be too full to answer Grandpa Dave’s next question should he ask one. Fortunately, he didn’t.

  I WENT INTO WORK EARLY the next morning hoping to catch Janice before customers began streaming in. Janice wasn’t there yet, but Mrs. Meacham was in her office. After letting Jazzy out of her carrier and into Designs on You, I went upstairs to the office. I tapped on the door, and Mrs. Meacham told me to come in.

  “I don’t want to disturb you,” I said. “If this is a bad time, I can come back.”

  “This is fine. What’s on your mind?”

  “I wanted to tell you it was a pleasure meeting your husband and grandson yesterday.”

  Mrs. Meacham blew out a breath. “I’m glad. I was actually afraid you were coming to back out of your lease. I know there have been a lot of crazy things to deal with for having been here such a short amount of time.”

  “I don’t plan on going anywhere.” I smiled. “I enjoyed talking with Mr. Meacham.”

  “How many times did he tell you the same story?”

  I glanced down at my folded hands. “Three.”

  “Which one?”

  “The story about his mother bringing him and his brother to Bristol on the train.”

  “Ah, yes, the Birmingham Special.” Her eyes grew misty. “I wish you could have known George when he still had all his faculties. He was as sharp as a whip, so very observant, and such a strong leader that people would follow him anywhere.”

  “From what little I spoke with him, Mr. Meacham appeared to have led an adventurous life. He made me wish the passenger trains were still running in Bristol. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  “Fun? Travelling from Bristol to New York on a train?” She wrinkled her nose. “Not to me. Frankly, I prefer to stay at home. Travel is too much of a hassle anymore...at least, it is for me.”

  “Well, I need to get back downstairs.” I stood. “I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed meeting Mr. Meacham and Brett.”

  “I’m glad...and I know Brett means well, but it disorients George when Brett takes him out galivanting.”

  I heard the clip-clop of heels and the jangling of keys in the hallway that cued me in to the fact that Janice had arrived.

  “I’ll talk with you later, Mrs. Meacham. I’m going to check out Janice’s jewelry before I head back to Designs on You.”

  “Could you ask her to come over for a moment please?”

  “Of course.”

  I stepped across the hall and greeted Janice.

  “Hello.” She sounded bored...or maybe tired.

  “I’m finally getting up here to see your jewelry,” I said. “Oh, and Mrs. Meacham wants to talk with you when you get a chance.”

  “Oh.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Um...well, you go ahead and look, and I’ll...I’ll see what she wants. Hopefully, this won’t take long.” She clickety-clicked across the hall.

  I walked slowly around the shop. Many of Janice’s pieces were the same but in different colors. For instance, there were tassel earrings made using red, black, white, yellow, pink, green, and orange beads.

  “She keeps the good stuff in there.”

  I started at the sound of Max’s voice. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.” I looked at where Max was pointing. It was a round table in the center of the room. There was an ornate necklace on a mannequin in the middle of the table. “Over there?”

  “In the drawer.”

  I noticed that the table did indeed have a drawer. I went over and opened it. Inside there was a red velvet pouch. I opened the pouch and found a sapphire and diamond bracelet. Of course, it was bound to be fake, but it was lovely. I slipped it onto my wrist and held out my arm to admire it.

  “This is gorgeous.”

  “You have excellent taste, kid. That’s Tiffany.”

  Before I could disagree with Max, I heard Janice sputtering from the doorway, “T-take that off!”

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “The p-pieces in that drawer are not for s-sale! Y-you shouldn’t have been nosing through my things!”

  “I didn’t mean to.” I took off the bracelet and returned it to the pouch. Then I apologized again, handed the pouch to Janice, and hurried downstairs.

  As soon as I closed the door to Designs on You behind me, I looked at Max. “What just happened?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing. What got that old pillowcase into such a lather?”

  “I suppose I shouldn’t have opened the drawer, but if the pieces were that important—or not for sale—then she should’ve had them somewhere else. Right?”

  “I agree a hundred percent. I truly thought that was where Janice kep
t the stuff she saved for her special customers or something.”

  I raised my brows. “I’m obviously not a special customer.” I sank onto one of the navy chairs by the window. “That was a gorgeous bracelet though.”

  “I’m telling you—it’s Tiffany. Excellent quality.”

  “I’ll see if it’s on their website.” I got up, went to the desk, and opened my laptop. “I’m sure I can’t afford it, but it might make us laugh to see how much the bracelet is selling for.” I sat down and booted up the Tiffany & Co. website.

  I scrolled through page after page of bracelets, but I couldn’t find one like the bracelet Janice had in the drawer.

  “I think you might be mistaken,” I told Max. “There’s nothing like that on the website.”

  She shook her head. “I know my onions when it comes to jewelry. Maybe the company only lists the newer designs on the website. That one is nearly as old as I am.”

  I scoffed. “No way.”

  “Okay, maybe it isn’t as old as I am, but it’s pretty old. My Aunt June had one just like it. We all loved Aunt June, but Dot and I were a little envious of all her jewelry. That woman was loaded. But she always gave us her cast-offs, so that was nice. We never got our mitts on that Tiffany bracelet though.”

  “Wait...you really think that bracelet upstairs is a real Tiffany & Co. piece from the 1920s?”

  “Yeah...or thereabouts.”

  I searched for antique Tiffany bracelets and found one similar to the bracelet I’d discovered in Janice’s shop. My jaw dropped when I saw the price tag—$85,000.

  We heard Janice’s heels clicking down the stairs, and I closed the laptop. She gave a perfunctory knock and then came into the shop.

  “Hi.” She gave me a smile that was a mere notch above a snarl. “I’m sorry I acted so crazy upstairs. It’s just that...well, after having my shop vandalized and everything—”

  “Oh, my goodness, I didn’t even think of that!” I interrupted. “I really am sorry I opened the drawer.”

  “Nonsense. There wasn’t any reason for you not to. It’s just that the pieces in that drawer are custom items done for a particular client.”

  “I understand. That bracelet was beautiful. How much would you charge to make me one like it?”