by Gayle Leeson
Janice’s eyes widened. “What? Oh...I...um...the custom pieces are guaranteed to be one of a kind.”
“That’s all right. I’d love to have one that’s similar. I wouldn’t expect an exact replica anyway.”
She bit her lip. “Of course. I’m...um...backlogged right now...absolutely swamped, as a matter of fact...but I’ll let you know when I’m caught up, and we’ll talk about it.”
“Okay. That’d be terrific. Thanks.”
“See you later!” Janice left.
I turned to Max as we heard Janice clomping back up the stairs. “What do you think?”
“I think if that pillowcase ever made a bracelet anywhere near the quality of the one you found in that drawer then I’m Fanny Brice.”
I smothered a laugh. “Why do you keep calling her a pillowcase?”
“Because her head is full of feathers. And yours is too, if you believe that baloney she fed you.”
“No. She acted really weird...but why would she lie?”
“I don’t know. But I’ll see if I can’t find out.”
Before I could say anything more, Max was gone. I guessed she was off to spy on Janice. I wondered if I should feel guilty about that, but then I decided that I wasn’t the one spying.
I WAS IN THE WORKSHOP sewing Taylor’s muslin pattern when Jason came to see me. He brought a large canvas wrapped in brown paper.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said.
“That’s huge!”
“It’s twenty-four inches by thirty-six inches—the perfect size to go over your mantle. Open it.”
I carefully tore the paper away from the canvas and saw that it was the photo of me wearing the emerald evening gown and looking back over my shoulder at him.
“Shall we hang it?” Jason asked.
“Yes, please.”
After we got the photo hung, Jason asked me if I was free for lunch.
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t today. I really have to get this pattern done.”
“What about tomorrow?”
I smiled. “Tomorrow sounds good.”
“Then it’s a date.”
He handed me a CD with the rest of the photographs from the shoot on it. Once again, I offered to pay him, and he refused.
As soon as he left, Max said, “Good move turning down lunch today. Play hard to get.”
“I’m not playing anything. I really do need to get Taylor’s muslin pattern finished.”
Ford opened the door to the reception area and looked around before coming in. “Sorry...I thought I heard you talking to someone.”
“Just Jasmine...the cat...I was telling her I don’t have time to play right now.”
He looked over at Jazzy, who was snoring softly on her bed. “Uh-huh.”
“She likes to play...usually... Of course, she also likes to sleep. Like she is now. I guess I was just procrastinating.” I barked out a little laugh. “Did you need me?” I asked.
“I was just going out for lunch and wondered if you’d like me to bring you anything.”
“I appreciate that, but I’m fine.”
“All righty.”
“Before you go...”
He turned back. Was he looking wary, or was I imagining it? Of course, he did catch me talking to a sleeping cat, as far as he knew.
“I met George Meacham and Brett yesterday,” I said.
“They’re good people. George has gone downhill over the past year or so. I hate that.”
“Yeah...Mrs. Meacham said this morning she wished I could’ve met him when he had all his faculties.”
Ford nodded, and I got the impression I should say what I wanted to say because he was ready to leave.
“Brett mentioned that you opposed the tobacco shop,” I blurted.
“And?”
“And...thank you.” I smiled. “If that tobacco shop had moved in, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Well, then, you’re welcome. I just didn’t want my books to smell like tobacco.”
With that, he left.
I turned to Max and said—in hushed tones this time, “Would tobacco smell get into books? I’d have thought that would only be the case if someone smoked in the same room with them.”
“I don’t know about that,” Max said. “But you need to clam up from now on instead of trying to lie. The more you talk, the worse it gets. Dot was like you—that poor kid couldn’t lie if her life depended on it. Me? I could lie like a rug in a well-traveled hallway.”
{ }
Chapter Fourteen
O
lga brought Taylor in after school. When I brought out the muslin, I thought Taylor was going to cry.
“This is only for your fitting,” I assured her. “If we make any mistakes in fitting, we want to make them with this cheaper material rather than that of your actual dress. This muslin is what I’ll use to create your actual pattern. And I can keep it on file for you in case you’d like another dress for a pageant or some other occasion.”
Taylor let out her breath. “That’s good. That makes sense.”
“Your dress fabric isn’t even here yet.” I led her behind the screen to try on the muslin. “We only ordered it yesterday, and it won’t be here for a few days. This muslin is simply to make sure I have the correct measurements.”
“Gotcha.” Taylor slipped out of her jeans and tee shirt and put on the muslin.
I needed to take it in a little more in the waist. I pinned the adjustment before allowing her to take off the garment.
When she emerged from behind the screen dressed in her school clothes again, she beamed at Olga. “It’s gonna be perfect, don’t you think, Grandma?”
“I do, angel. You’ll be the prettiest girl at prom.”
Taylor scoffed, but she was pleased by the compliment.
I didn’t hear Connie walk across the hall in her rubber-soled sandals, nor did I hear her open the door, so I was mildly surprised when she walked from the reception area into the atelier.
“Hi, everyone.” Her smile encompassed us all. “I was busy earlier but got over here as soon as I could. Did I miss the fitting?”
“Only of the—” Taylor looked at me.
“The muslin,” I supplied. “It’s to make sure the actual dress will fit just the way we want it.”
“It’s going to be gorgeous,” Olga said. “She’s going to be gorgeous. I mean, she already is, but—”
“Grandma!” Taylor rolled her eyes but squeezed her grandmother’s shoulders in a one-armed hug.
Olga glanced at her watch. “We’d better run. I promised Taylor’s mom I’d have her home before five.”
“We’ve got time,” Taylor said.
“Not if we stop by Anthony’s and share an ice cream.”
Taylor laughed. “See you guys later!”
“They’re sweet,” Connie said, as the pair left Designs on You.
“They certainly are.” I could tell Connie had a specific reason for lingering, and I wished she’d get to the point.
She must’ve read my mind.
“Janice seemed to be in a tizzy earlier... I hope it didn’t have anything to do with Guy.”
“It had nothing to do with Guy and everything to do with me.” I told her about being in her shop and opening the apparently forbidden drawer. “I’d have thought any special pieces would have been locked up somewhere, especially after her shop was ransacked.”
“So would I. What did the bracelet look like?”
“It was incredible. It had had sapphires and diamonds—fake, I’m sure—but it was elegant and done in an Art Deco style,” I said. “Janice later came down and apologized for flying off the handle, and I asked her about the bracelet. She said it was a custom piece made particularly for one of her clients. I asked her to make one for me, but she said she was backlogged.”
“Wait...Janice made this bracelet you found? The one in an elegant, Art Deco style?”
I nodded. “Why do you ask?”
“
I’ve never known Janice to make anything overly complicated. And never a one-of-a-kind piece.” Connie looked over her shoulder, as if doublechecking to make sure Janice hadn’t come in and was hearing every word. “Don’t get me wrong—her jewelry is nice enough...for what it is...but it isn’t high-end stuff.”
“This bracelet certainly was.”
“And she told you she made it?”
“Yes.”
“Huh...you learn something new every day, I guess.” She shook her head as if to dismiss thoughts of Janice and her jewelry. “I’m glad things worked out with Taylor.”
“Me too.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing the finished piece.” She wandered toward the door.
I wasn’t sure if she was waiting for me to say something or what, so I thanked her again for introducing me to Olga.
“Oh, that’s fine. That was all you and that gorgeous dress you were wearing.” She glanced up at the mantle and did a doubletake. “Well, there it is! That’s an incredible photograph.”
“Thank you.”
She gave me a wide smile. “I’d better get back. Talk with you later.”
Max appeared at my side and watched her go. “She thinks we’re all friends again, but I’m not so sure.”
“Were we all ever not friends?” I asked softly.
“You didn’t drink the tea, did you?”
“Well...no. But I was ridiculous not to...don’t you think?”
She lifted and dropped one thin shoulder. “Who’s to say? At this point, I’m going with the old better safe than sorry adage. Connie and I agree on one thing, though—Janice didn’t make that bracelet.”
“Then where do you think she got it?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” Max ran her index finger below her lower lip as she contemplated. “I do know this. After she came down here and said she was sorry for blowing a gasket, she went back upstairs, called someone, and said she wasn’t comfortable keeping the pieces here anymore.”
“Do you have any idea who she was speaking with?”
“No, but she said she didn’t want the responsibility for the jewelry on her head.”
“What did she do with the jewelry? Surely, she didn’t put it back in the drawer where I found the pieces?”
“Yep, she did.” Max shook her head. “Ridiculous. If she’d really wanted to hide the jewelry, she should’ve put it in one of Ford’s old books.”
I frowned, not following her logic.
She rolled her eyes, reminding me of the teenager who had so recently left. “Didn’t you see those books Ford has with the middles cut out?”
“No!” I reminded myself to lower my voice. “Why would Ford have books with the middles cut out? Those are rare editions.”
“I’m just telling you like it is, sister. The man cuts up some of those books so people can hide things in the middle.”
“What kinds of things?” I asked.
“Depends on how big the book is, but I’d imagine you could stuff money or a pistol in one easily. And I know for sure that jewelry would fit. I mean, if Janice couldn’t get it all in one book, it would fit in two, no problem.”
“Wait.” I ran my hand across my forehead. “You’ve actually seen Ford cutting up books? You’re sure they aren’t book safes?”
“Yes. They’re books until Ford cuts the middles out of them and puts the discarded pages through the shredder. Then they are safes.” Max spread her hands as if I was being particularly dense.
“Why would he do that?”
“Obviously, so somebody can hide something in the books.”
“That doesn’t strike you as odd?” I asked.
“People stopped trusting banks soon after I died. I know about my family going bankrupt. If I was alive today, I’d keep all my money in Ford’s books.”
“Banks are more secure these days.”
She shrugged. “We thought they were secure then too.”
“I’m starting to have serious doubts about setting up shop here.” I wandered over, picked up Jazzy, and cradled her against my neck. She started to purr, a low, soothing rumble.
“You’re having doubts about this place? Dollface, you’re doing great here! I was honestly afraid you’d be off to a slow start. But news about your skills is spreading like wildfire, and you’re doing aces.”
I merely nodded.
ABOUT HALF AN HOUR before closing time, the woman who’d been one of my first customers came in. She was the woman who’d accompanied her frenemy into the shop and then ran back inside to get a business card after “forgetting” her purse.
“Hi! It’s great to see you again.”
“It’s great to see you. I don’t think I told you my name the last time I was here. It’s Ruby Mills.”
“It’s a pleasure to officially meet you, Ms. Mills.”
She scoffed. “Please call me Ruby. Anybody who’s going to wind up seeing me in my skivvies should call me by my Christian name.”
“All right.” I smiled. “I take it you’re here about that dress for your granddaughter’s wedding.”
“You’re absolutely right. Keen memory!” Ruby held her arms akimbo. “What can you do for me?”
I tilted my head as I considered her. “You’re a petite pear shape, meaning your hips are wider than your shoulders, and you have a defined waist. We’ll want to accentuate your shoulders and draw attention to your upper body and waist.” I stepped over to the desk and grabbed a sketchpad and a pencil. “We’ll also want to elongate your legs.” I began sketching out an A-line dress with a wide scoop neck and three-quarter length sleeves.
“What about bows on the shoulders?” Max murmured.
I hadn’t realized the ghostly fashionista was in the room, but I was too caught up in the dress design to be startled. And she’d made an excellent suggestion.
“I think Valentino did something similar with a sleeveless dress, and it was stunning,” I said.
“Did what, dear?” Ruby asked.
“Um...bows on the shoulders.” I sketched in the bows. “But since this wedding will take place in the fall, you’ll want at least three-quarter length sleeves.” I elongated the sleeves. “Still, I like the bows...do you?”
“I do.” Ruby peered at my sketchpad. “It gives the dress some extra oomph.”
“I like this woman,” Max said.
“What color do you think?” I asked.
“Green,” Max said.
“I don’t know,” Ruby answered.
“What color is the bridal party wearing?” I asked. “We don’t want you to clash.”
Max waved her arm around. “Clash...stand out...it’s a gray area.”
“The bridesmaids are wearing blue,” Ruby said. “Or, at least, I hope they are. Right now, Heather, my granddaughter, says the gals are bickering like crazy over the dresses.”
“Well, it’s difficult to choose one particular dress that will be universally flattering.” I led Ruby into the atelier so I could try swatches of fabric against her skin. “Hopefully, they’ll find something they can agree on.”
“Would you mind consulting with them?” Ruby asked.
“Not at all.” I held a forest green bolt of crepe fabric beside Ruby. “You’d be breathtaking in this color, and it would complement any shade of blue nicely.”
“All right.” Ruby smiled. “Let’s do it.”
I got out my tape measure and took the necessary measurements. When we were finished, Ruby called her granddaughter. By the time Ruby left, I had an appointment to see Heather and her four bridesmaids at ten a.m. the next day.
“Good job!” Max said. “See? I told you not to get discouraged.”
“You had some excellent suggestions. Thank you. But the reason I was discouraged wasn’t because of business, it was because of...well, everything else.”
“We’ll figure out who murdered Mark soon enough. Then we’re coasting.”
I sat down to do a more accurate sketch of Ruby’s dress. “I beli
eve we should leave the investigating to the police.”
“What? Are you off your nut? We know far more than the coppers. And we’re in the perfect position to investigate.”
“No, we aren’t. We don’t know anything. Everything we think we know is purely conjecture.”
“That’s why we need to keep investigating.”
I concentrated on my sketch.
“I can’t do it alone, or I would,” Max insisted.
I gave my head a weary shake. When I looked back up, Max was gone.
MY DAY HAD BEEN ONE of extreme highs and lows, and when Jazzy and I got home, I felt drained. I gave her a can of food, and I had a peanut butter sandwich and some pretzels while I thumbed through a catalog that had come in the mail.
I tried to concentrate on the good—Taylor’s muslin fitting had gone well, Ruby was pleased with her dress design, and Ruby’s granddaughter and her bridesmaids were coming in to see me tomorrow morning. Still, the bad kept intruding.
Even if that bracelet and the other pieces of jewelry in the drawer at Janice’s Jewelry were custom pieces, I couldn’t understand why Janice would get so upset by someone admiring them. If I had a custom dress in the atelier at Designs on You and someone saw it and wanted one like it, I’d be flattered. And then I’d offer to make her a custom dress more suited to her personal style. I wouldn’t be angry. It wasn’t as if I’d opened Janice’s purse. Had the jewelry supposed to have been kept somewhere private, then it shouldn’t have been on the sales floor. I realized I was making excuses for myself, but I really didn’t think I’d committed such a huge sin by merely opening a drawer and admiring a bracelet.
Max was positive that Janice hadn’t made the bracelet herself, and Connie seemed to agree with that assessment. I, too, conceded that nothing else in Janice’s Jewelry even came close to the workmanship of that bracelet. But if Janice hadn’t made it, where had she gotten it, and why was she lying about making the bracelet? I’d never lie about making an Alexander McQueen should someone come into my shop and see one hanging in the workroom.
I played the conversation out in my head.
“Wow, did you make this?”
“No, it’s an Alexander McQueen. Isn’t it lovely?”