Positively Pippa

by Sarah Hegger

  “So tell me.” Diamonds glittered from Phi’s wrists. They always dressed for dinner at the Folly. “Let’s start with that awful man and get it all off your chest.”

  Pippa toed off her heels and tucked her legs beneath her on the much more modest and comfortable rose-bedecked sofa. “Ray found a younger woman. She was ambitious, he wanted to get laid, and my show was the answer to both their needs.”

  Phi snorted into her wine goblet. “How boringly predictable. It lacks imagination.”

  Maybe, but it hadn’t lacked punch. She took a sip of her wine. Phi may have appalling taste in evening gowns and furniture, but her cellar was excellent. She had her wine flown in by the crate from Bordeaux. “I don’t really want to talk about it, Phi.”

  Those piercing green eyes snapped over to her and locked on target. With Phi, you never could tell whether she’d respect your wishes or plow right over them. “You’re right, of course. Such a small man doesn’t deserve any more of our time. How shall we spend the evening? We could drink our way steadily through several bottles of this excellent merlot.”

  “Or.” And Pippa knew exactly how she wanted to spend the rest of the night. An old ritual, as dear to her as it was to Phi. A way to feel connected with home again. “We could look at the treasures.”

  “The treasures!” Phi’s face lit up, and she bustled straight over to a huge, black oriental armoire. As a child, Pippa used to love looking at the lacquered images of dragons on the front and making up stories about the little etched figures fighting them.

  Phi threw open the double doors with a sense of occasion. “Where shall we go today?”

  “Russia.” Pippa plunked her ass on a velvet cushion, eager for the journey to begin.

  “Otlichno!” Philomene’s “treasures” were all carefully housed on the rows of shelves. Each wrapped in a silk or velvet covering in a dazzling array of colors. It was like a peep into Ali Baba’s cave of wonders. Phi stretched onto her toes to reach the heavy silver tray and tea set on one of the top shelves.

  Pippa got to her feet. “Let me do that for you.”

  “Pfft.” Phi threw her a dagger look. “I am not that old, missy, stay where you are.”

  The silver rattled as she lowered it. Pippa sat poised to leap in with a save if needed.

  Phi placed the tray on the ornate Louis XVI coffee table and took hold of the scarlet velvet draping. Pippa laughed and gave her a nod of encouragement. The game never got old, and right now it was the magic salve she needed on the place scraped raw inside her.

  “Doucement, ma petite. Darling Nikita gave this to me mere days before Brezhnev made his move.” Phi sighed and closed her heavily made-up eyes. Sapphire blue shadow glinted through her sooty false eyelashes. “Nikita loved the opera, such a fan. He gave me this set and assured me it had once graced the table of the last czar.” The czar must have had some fairly hefty tables.

  Phi whipped off the scarlet velvet cover and let loose a lusty, melodic trill. “Ah. How lovely it is.”

  They didn’t make things like this anymore. The artistry in the bowl’s shape and patterning reeked of lost skills and bygone eras. Pippa cradled the sugar bowl in her hand, carefully wiping it with the velvet before handing it to Phi.

  Phi’s gnarled fingers didn’t have such a sure grip anymore. “See the work, ma petite?” Phi turned the bowl toward the light. “All the hours of engraving this must have taken.”

  Probably by some hapless Russian serf. Pippa nodded and smiled.

  Phi dropped her head back and closed her eyes as she disappeared into her past. “I sang Turandot at the Bolshoi Theatre. A standing ovation. One of many that night.”

  Pippa smiled. She’d bet it had been. It took her back. Years of standing in her special spot in the wings of the great theaters of the world, listening to her grandmother’s heavenly voice fill the space with its throbbing purity.

  “Nikita had tears in his eyes.” Phi’s face softened into a smile. She handed the sugar bowl back.

  Pippa reached for the milk jug, the next item in the ritual. “Phi, where’s the milk jug? Did you take it for cleaning?”

  Phi’s eyes snapped open. “Of course not, I clean these myself. Not even June can be trusted with the treasures. Now hand me the milk jug.”

  Pippa moved the two large pots aside. One shorter and stouter for tea. A taller, more elegant version reserved for coffee or chocolate. The milk jug was missing. “It’s not here.”

  “But it must be.”

  As far as Pippa knew, Phi was the only person allowed to open the “treasure trove.” Pippa went back to the bureau and peered at the shelf where the tea set normally rested in state. Empty. An uneasy tendril snaked through her belly.

  Phi’s eyes grew larger. “Have I been robbed?”

  “No.” Pippa hurried back to her side. This was Ghost Falls, not exactly the crime capital of the world. What would anyone in this town do with a pre–Russian Revolution milk jug?

  Phi’s breathing grew shallow and rapid and her face reddened. “We must call the sheriff.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t misplace it?” Pippa peered under the coverings of the other treasures.

  Phi’s bosom swelled. “Misplaced it? Me?”

  No, it didn’t seem likely. Phi guarded her treasures like the dragons on the cabinet. But still she was getting on in years, and . . .

  Pippa didn’t like the direction her thoughts were taking. Phi’s mind was as clear as a bell. “Has anybody been here lately?”

  “Darling.” Phi rose to her feet in a swirl of puce organza. “This house vibrates with people.”

  Maybe not vibrates, but Phi never lacked for visitors. “Anyone out of the ordinary?”

  Phi tapped her fingernails against her chin. “Laura was here with the lovelies.”

  Pippa couldn’t imagine her niece or nephew making off with Phi’s treasures. Except, they were very young. “Could one of them have taken the jug by mistake? You know, kids are always fascinated by shiny things.”

  “Never.” Phi’s impressive pipes made the word boom around the salon. “I do not allow them to touch. When they are older, perhaps, but they do not share your fine appreciation for the treasures.” Okay, totally childish, but still nice to know she was still Phi’s “special girl.”

  Pippa had a vague idea of the monetary value of the treasures, but the stories Phi told suggested a lot. It didn’t matter whether Khrushchev had given Phi the set, if it had belonged to the Russian royals, or some less well-known family. The set was old and solid silver and that alone made it valuable. “Any strangers?”

  Phi gasped and clasped her hands to her bosom. “Last week, there were some men here.”

  “What men?”

  “Matt sent over some roofers to check on my gutters. They said the gutters were fine but I will not be persuaded that the imp gargoyle is not spitting out more water than he used to.”

  “I’ll call the sheriff.” Pippa couldn’t imagine Matt sending the wrong sort of man out to Phi’s. “Or, maybe we should call Matt first?”

  Phi’s face grew redder. “I told him I do not like it when he sends strangers here. But that dreadful woman needed him at her house.”

  It took her a moment to remember “that dreadful woman” was one and the same as Matt’s mother. Nobody liked Cressy Evans, but “dreadful” might be a bit strong. “She’s a bit overprotective.”

  Phi snorted. “The woman is like a carbuncle on her son’s ass, slowly killing its host.”

  All right, then. Phi wasn’t going to take a moderate approach. “So, should we speak to Matt first or call the sheriff?”

  “Doesn’t make any difference.” Phi wilted into her throne. “Nate Evans is the new sheriff, and Matt will find out fast enough.”

  “Nate is sheriff? How the hell did that happen?”

  “He’s a changed man.”

  “He’d have to be.” Nate Evans, of the permanent parking space on Lovers’ Leap. Nate Evans who spent more time
out of school than in. Nate Evans who was on the “do not date” of the mother of every daughter in Ghost Falls.

  “Everyone deserves a second chance,” said Phi, giving her a minatory look. Phi read her so well. “And he looks simply edible in that uniform.”

  Pippa let herself dwell on the mental image. All the Evans boys were hot, but Nate had something extra, in bucketloads. “Okay, so why don’t I call the sheriff’s office?”

  “Do it in the morning.” Phi fluttered her beringed hand over the tray. “Put it away. I cannot bear to see it so denuded.”

  Pippa wrestled the tray back into the bureau. “I think I should check and see if anything else is missing.”

  “I cannot.” Phi’s voice weakened—La Traviata style, weakened—but still, theatrics aside, this would be very upsetting for her.

  “Okay, darling.” Pippa pressed a kiss against her powdered cheek. Patchouli oil engulfed her. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll make a list of what’s missing and go around and see Nate in the morning.”

  Phi tottered out of the room, the wine bottle clutched in her hand. Pippa would go up and check on her later. After Phi had time to change into her sleeping attire. The changing of a diva was a lengthy process and she’d learned to honor it. Nobody busted in on the Diva before she was ready to be seen.

  This thing with the missing milk jug worried her.

  The feeling worsened as she checked the cabinet. One of the Queen Victoria napkin rings was not in the set of twelve, and two missing teaspoons—allegedly from the Vatican—had also gone AWOL.

  Chapter Five

  Pippa crawled out of her canopied yellow bed the next morning. Draped in yards and yards of buttercup and white organza with tiny little flowers and butterflies tacked onto the drapery, it was a bed for a princess. Phi surprised her with it when she was twelve. Unfortunately, Phi hadn’t replaced the mattress since then either. Pippa recognized the lumps in this one from past visits. But it wasn’t only the mattress keeping sleep at bay. Allie hadn’t called back. She suspected Allie wasn’t going to call either, and that meant another look at her action list.

  The missing treasures bugged her too. It didn’t make any sense. Sure, the stuff was valuable but it had limited marketability. It wasn’t like taking an iPad and fencing it, or getting rid of a DVD player.

  The treasures were unique, easily traceable, especially in this part of the world. Around two in the morning she’d come up with the theory that perhaps whoever took them didn’t know that, and had no idea what they’d really taken. Which made her want to scream, because this person could be selling them for ten bucks in a back alley somewhere. Which then begged the question, why would anyone working for Matt risk their job for ten bucks?

  The entire thing made no sense. In fresh, spring green, the happy bathroom mocked her mood as she stumbled into it. Ghost Falls was tiny, everybody knew everybody else, and Phi was like royalty here. Phi used the same cleaning lady she’d had for the last twenty years. Of course, she couldn’t rule June out completely, but why now?

  She snapped on the faucets to run water into the mammoth claw-foot tub. Phi didn’t believe in showers, and there wasn’t a single one in the house. God, what Pippa would give for a shower to wash away the fugue this morning.

  It made sense to go and see Nate. He was sheriff here, he knew this town, and might have some ideas for her. Then again, he was the law around here, and she hesitated to escalate it to that level. Matt was the logical person to speak to. He knew Phi almost as well as she did. She wouldn’t go in there all guns blazing, she’d take it easy, slow and careful, and see what happened.

  The bath made her sleepier and she tripped over the curling edge of the delicate silk carpet as she tried to get dressed. Three times. You would think sooner or later her brain would register the fact that the end curled up. Jeans seemed too casual for her morning mission, so she opted for a summer dress, fitted on top and skimming an inch above her knee. She paired it with heels, because this was not a trip to the beach.

  She checked her reflection before she left. Age appropriate, occasion appropriate, and looking cool and in control. So many women on her show got those things confused. Younger piece of ass was hosting Your Look, Your Way now, and God help the women on it, because the girl saw no reason not to dress everyone like a size two twenty-four-year-old. Pippa had to get her show back. It was everything she’d worked for, dreamed of.

  She finished her hair and makeup. Battle armor in place, and ready to face central Ghost Falls. May God be with her.

  Her phone buzzed and she glanced down. Allie’s number. Her hands shook as she answered the call. “Hi, Allie.”

  “Um . . . no. It’s not Allie, it’s her husband. Todd.”

  Pippa sank onto the edge of her bed, knees shaky. “Hi.”

  “Look.” Todd cleared his throat. “Allie asked me to call you.”

  Pippa got a sinking feeling in her gut.

  “She got your messages, and stuff.” Todd cleared his throat. His voice came back stronger, with an edge of determination. “You know what she’s like. She’s shy and all this stuff has been hell on her. People stop her on the street and ask about it. Everyone calling her all the time. It was hard enough to get her to do the show in the first place.”

  “I understand that, Todd.” Pippa could hardly hear her own voice over her hammering heartbeat. Her entire life hinged on this call. “But she was there. She knows what really happened. Without her I’m—”

  “She says she’s sorry,” Todd said. “She wanted to make sure I told you that, but she can’t help you.”

  “But, Todd, she’s the only—”

  “She’s sorry. We’re both sorry, but this thing. It’s gotta stop.”

  “I’m trying to make it stop,” Pippa said—to the dead phone line.

  * * *

  Evans Construction’s offices sat on a side street off Main. Pippa pulled her car into a marked parking spot and stared through her windshield. She may as well deal with this now, and give herself time to regroup from the Todd shutout.

  The original office had grown to swallow up the two buildings on either side of it. Matt ran all this and still fixed her grandmother’s kitchen sink?

  She pushed open a set of glass doors into a smart but modest lobby. Good, quality leather furniture, and a couple of discreet photographs of projects, but a lot like Matt himself—quiet, self-assured, and straight to the point.

  A middle-aged woman sat behind a tall, wooden desk. “Can I help you?”

  “Mrs. Cameron?” The school secretary seemed to have made a career move. The change hadn’t extended to her tightly curled crop of aggressively chestnut hair.

  Mrs. Cameron’s purple mouth disappeared into a thin line. “Hello, Pippa.”

  Okay, then. Another ex-fan on the rampage, or was it Mrs. Cameron being the same Mrs. Cameron and taking no crap from anybody? It had to be tough taking the combined hormonal backlash of four hundred students between the ages of thirteen and eighteen. “You look well.”

  “Thank you.” Frost coated the words.

  “I wondered if Matt was in.”

  “Mr. Evans is a very busy man.” Mrs. Cameron held up a finger and answered her ringing phone. “Evans Construction.”

  Well, she considered herself firmly put in her place. But Mrs. Cameron still had nothing on an LA casting agent. Pippa waited for her to finish her call. It was all in the delivery. Say it with enough conviction and the other person might come around to seeing things your way. “I realize he’s busy, but he’ll want to see me. Is he in?”

  Mrs. Cameron’s lips nearly disappeared, she pressed them together so tightly. “I’ll check if he’s in.”

  “I’ll wait.” Matt was here. Gorgons didn’t guard an empty cave.

  Mrs. Cameron picked up her phone and spoke to someone on the other side, keeping her voice low enough that Pippa couldn’t hear. She put the phone smartly back in its cradle, clearly not happy with the response. “Mr. Evans said he
will see you now.”

  “Lovely.” Pippa sailed past her with a smile.

  “I saw your television program.” Mrs. Cameron wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

  Pippa stopped and met her hostile stare. “Yes, I would imagine you did. There are a lot of people who saw the program, particularly the last one.”

  Mrs. Cameron sniffed and braced her shoulders, warming up for more.

  “But unlike most of the people watching, you knew me before the show and have the advantage of being able to discern whether what you saw was the whole truth or not.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice, forcing Mrs. Cameron to lean in to hear. “Not everything you see on TV is real. You told me that in high school.”

  “Agrippina.” Matt’s bass rumble skittered across her nerve endings. She really was going to have to cure him of that habit.

  She jerked her chin at him. “Meat.”

  He got close and kept on coming, stopping right in her space and grabbing her hand. “This is a nice surprise.”

  Yeah, well, about that. She was going to send his day right into the toilet. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” She glanced at Mrs. Cameron, who wasn’t missing a word of this. “In private.”

  “Sure.” He kept hold of her hand and led her down a corridor deeper into the office. Warm and callused, his hand engulfed hers.

  He’d been busy in the years since she’d left town. What used to be a dusty old building with a couple of offices had been transformed. At least a dozen people milled around in a large, bright central space. She nodded a greeting to a couple of familiar faces. Doors to glass-fronted offices led away from the central space, two glass-fronted conference rooms dominated the street side. “Did you do all this?”

  He shrugged. “I had some help.”

  “I’m impressed.” He’d built himself a small empire here. A long, long way from the lost nineteen-year-old forced to take over his father’s business.