“I’ll intimidate him,” Aileen growled.
I gave a somewhat shaky sigh. “Okay. We’ll let you know if anything else happens.” I watched Carson walk down the sidewalk and get back into his car. I was reassured by his faith that we could handle the situation, while at the same time I wished he had volunteered to stand watch over our house for the night.
“What time is it?” Aileen grabbed my wrist to look at my watch. “I gotta get ready for my gig!” She disappeared inside again, leaving McCarthy and me alone on the front porch.
“So when does Pete get back?” McCarthy poked at the pile of brush, turning over the sodden branches and spreading out some still smoldering spots.
“I don’t know. He’ll be late. They’re in the middle of filming so he’s looking at sixteen-hour days.” I peered at the porch roof, noting some scorching on the red trim under the eaves.
“Do you have a shovel? It would be good to get this stuff off the porch steps and a little farther away from the house.”
I went down to the basement and rousted out a shovel for him. Aileen was hauling her gear up from the basement. I liked to joke that it was her regular weight-lifting routine, but I stopped saying that when she suggested that the band could just take over the living room and then they wouldn’t have to carry their amps and things up and down the basement stairs. I had no intention of sacrificing my living room to the Twisted Armpits. A little exercise was good for her, right?
“I’ll be at Wexman’s all evening,” Aileen grunted, swinging a guitar in each hand. “You should get McCarthy to hang around until your brother gets home.”
I’d had the same thought. I didn’t relish the idea of being all alone in the big, creaky house for hours, and at the same time I didn’t want to leave it vacant for some jerk of an arsonist to have another crack at it. But asking McCarthy to hang out at my house all evening had overtones of taking our relationship to a new level, one that I wasn’t sure I was ready to explore. I shifted the shovel in my hand and turned to go outside, not at all sure what I was going to say to him.
I was saved by the unexpected sight of McCarthy greeting Fiona and Randall as they walked up to the front porch. I stared at them at a loss. I was pretty sure Fiona’s fitting wasn’t until tomorrow. I handed the shovel to McCarthy without a word.
Fiona threw me a smile. “Randy wanted to come along for my fitting. I told him he couldn’t have even a peek at my wedding gown. Still, it was sweet of him to want to come along.”
Randall stood by her side, the very picture of the solicitous bridegroom. He smiled lazily at me. “I’ll be good.” He watched McCarthy shoveling up the remains of the Japanese maples and tossing them into the front yard. “Funny place for a bonfire.” He reached for the door handle.
I beat him to it. Bowing to the inevitable, I held the door wide and ushered the two of them inside. I truly didn’t know if Fiona’s fitting was scheduled for today or tomorrow, but after forgetting about her last one and making her wait for me, I decided to just go with it. Luckily I had done the work on her gown, so I was actually ready for her.
I hovered in the doorway for a minute. “Thanks for moving that stuff, Sean. I forgot that I’ve got this fitting this evening. Let me know what you find out about John Ellis.”
He leaned on the shovel like a farmer spading his garden. “You gonna be okay here?”
I nodded with a quick glance over my shoulder. Fiona and Randall had disappeared inside the house. “I better get to work. Thanks again!” I ducked inside, both relieved and sorry that he wouldn’t be hanging out at my house all evening.
I hastened to my fitting room, to find the couple examining the dolls I had displayed on the mantel. Every now and then I got to sew period doll clothes for a local church guild’s fund-raiser auction, and I kept a few dolls to display sample dresses. Randall handled one of them, my favorite brunette with the soft curls, turning her around to examine the back of the dress. I could scarcely restrain myself from snatching her out of his hands.
“Randall, you can wait in the living room while we’re working on Fiona’s dress.”
He bent to give Fiona a lingering kiss. “Have fun, my dear.” He walked out of the room with a smirk on his lips.
The last thing I wanted was to have Randall on the loose in my house. I quickly pulled out Fiona’s dress and pressed it into her hands. “Go ahead and get dressed. I’ll be right back.”
I walked noiselessly out to the living room, half hoping and half fearing to catch Randall snooping through the house. He had strayed into the hall, where he checked out the corners and lifted up the window bench to look inside. He eased the lid down slowly, so it wouldn’t bang, no doubt. His eyes roved around the hall, resting on the framed photograph on the mantel. It was a close-up of a white rose that I’d taken with McCarthy’s camera. It replaced a series of photos of Randall and me, laughing together on ice skates. They were taken several years ago by a college friend, back when Randall still allowed me to have friends. Without turning his head, he said, “I see you’ve changed the photos on the mantel.”
I held my head high, wondering how long he’d known that I was watching him. “Those old photos? I couldn’t relate to them anymore.”
He turned to face me, crossing his arms and leaning against the door as if he had nothing to do all day but harass me. “You’ve changed, Daria.”
Darn right I’ve changed! He wasn’t going to find a submissive, starry-eyed pushover in this house anymore. “What do you want, Randall?”
He opened his eyes wide in a parody of innocence. “I’m not supposed to see my bride in her wedding gown before the wedding. You’ve banished me. I’m simply passing the time until her fitting is over.” He turned his superior gaze on me. “Is her fitting over?”
I bit back a retort, and gritted my teeth under a smile. “Not yet. Please have a seat in the living room to wait for her.” I held out my hand to indicate the living room, which he knew perfectly well how to find.
For an instant I thought he was going to refuse, and then we would be at an impasse. But he merely stood up and proceeded to the living room, where he lounged in an easy chair and pulled out his phone. Hoping that he would become immersed in the news, social media, or an addictive app, I hurried back to Fiona.
She had donned her dress and the white satin shoes she would wear at the ceremony, but she was unable to button up the back by herself. She clutched the strapless bodice to her chest, unable to move, no doubt, for fear that the weight of the flowing skirt would pull the whole thing off her.
I bit back a smile at her predicament, and buttoned up the back. “You’ll need to have a bridesmaid help you dress on the big day.” I checked the drape of the skirt in the front. Perfect! “Okay, here comes the hard part. You have to stand up straight and still while I pin up the hem.” I surveyed the shining folds of satin. Actually, it would be a lot easier than Priscilla’s period gown, because I only had to make sure that the front was the right length. The train could be off by as much as an inch without spoiling the look of anything.
Still, I anticipated that it would take a good half hour to get the hem pinned up. I couldn’t leave Randall to his own devices for that long. I set the first panel’s worth of pins and then scrambled to my feet. “It’ll be just a minute, Fiona, I just need to run up to my workroom to get something.”
“Okay. Could you check on Randy for me? I don’t want him dying of boredom.”
“Sure thing.” I bustled out of the room, glad for Fiona’s permission to do what I intended to do anyway. Slowing my steps so as not to make any noise, I slunk up to the door of the living room. It was empty.
I whirled to check the hall, but he had already cased that area of the house. After a quick check of the kitchen, I determined that he was not on the first floor of the house. Where would he go, upstairs or to the basement? I hesitated an instant, then ran up the st
airs, trying not to make too much noise on their creaky treads. I had this horrible thought that he might be checking out my bedroom for some twisted old time’s sake or something. If I found him in my bed, I was going to call the cops!
I scouted the hallway that ran down the middle of the second floor with bedrooms opening off it on both sides. No sign of Randall. I ran into my bedroom, which was Randall-free, and peeked out the window to see if Aileen had already left. Her red Ford with the flames painted on the hood was absent from its usual parking spot along the curb. McCarthy’s bright yellow Mustang was also gone. A sleek dark blue sedan parked further down the street probably belonged to Fiona, unless Randall had gotten a new car since he ditched me. Either way, he wasn’t outside getting something from the car. What could he possibly be doing sneaking around my house?
I practically ran out of my room, and collided with Randall in the narrow hallway. I gasped and staggered backward. He was emerging from the back stairs that led from the kitchen. He was so startled that he stepped backward as well, and would have fallen down the back stairs if I hadn’t reached out and grabbed his forearm. I gripped his arm hard, resisting the temptation to dig in my fingernails.
“What are you doing up here?” I cried.
He shook off my hand and smoothed his rumpled shirt. “I was just looking for the bathroom.” He turned as if to head down the hall to the bathroom.
I drew myself up as tall as possible, blocking his way. “I’m sorry, Randall, but I can’t have clients ranging through my house while I’m in a fitting. In case you hadn’t noticed in your prior inspection of the downstairs, there is a new powder room under the stairs for the use of my clients and their guests. I have to ask you to return downstairs and use those facilities.”
Randall smiled down at me, clearly amused by my attempt to throw my petite weight around. “Your request is duly noted. But I don’t think it should apply to me. I’m not a client or a guest, but former owner of this house.” He took a step closer, backing me up against the wall. “If I want to use the upstairs bathroom like I used to do, I think I have a right to do so.”
I ducked past him while still blocking his way to the bathroom. “You have no rights to this house or anything in it! You never owned this house—you moved in with me. I agreed to open a joint bank account with you, and look where that got me. But your name was never on the lease of this house, which is mine! If you don’t want me to start screaming bloody murder for your fiancée to hear, you will turn around and walk down the main stairs and sit down in the living room and stay there until Fiona’s fitting is finished.” I glared at him, heart pounding, daring him to make a move so I could start hollering.
He must have believed I would do it, because he turned and stalked down the stairs without another word. I watched him go, then collapsed against the wall, breathing heavily. I wanted nothing more than to curl up in my bed and hide, but Fiona was downstairs waiting for me to quickly fetch something, and Randall was down there too, up to who knew what. I grabbed a random tape measure and hurried down the stairs.
A quick glance into the living room reassured me that Randall had complied with my demands. I hurried into my fitting room.
“I’m sorry, Fiona, I couldn’t find my tape measure.” I made a show of measuring the hem to the floor, while adding the rest of the pins as fast as I could.
“Perfect! I’ll have the dress finished and ready for you to pick up next week.” I unbuttoned each of the fourteen buttons in the back and steered Fiona to the curtained-off corner of my fitting room. “Go ahead and get changed. I’ll be right back.”
I stole out into the hall and peeked in the living room. Randall lounged in an easy chair, his eyes on his phone. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Fiona emerged a few minutes later, dressed in her street clothes. She entered the living room unnoticed by Randall, and leaned over his shoulder to hug him around the neck and drop a kiss on the top of his head. I looked away.
“The gown is so lovely, dear. You’ll be amazed at what Daria can do.”
He stowed his phone in his pocket and stood up. “We’d best be going.” He linked his arm in hers and propelled her out the door without even a goodbye. Fiona waved over her shoulder, “See you next time!”
I closed the door behind them, locking it securely. I ran to the back door and checked the lock there as well. Then I climbed the back stairs to the second floor, retracing Randall’s steps to make sure he hadn’t set any booby traps or anything.
A loud grumble from my stomach reminded me that I hadn’t had anything to eat since that delicious Philly cheesesteak at Franco’s. I headed to the kitchen and rooted through the fridge, coming up with nothing better than some scrambled eggs and toast for supper. I filled Mohair’s food bowl, and talked to her while she ate. Pete used to laugh at me for holding a conversation with my cat, but sometimes I felt like she was the only one I could be completely honest with. I wished she could talk back to me. Maybe she had seen where Randall went and what he was doing in my house.
“What do you think he wants, Mohair? Why did he come here today? He couldn’t watch what Fiona and I were doing, so he obviously had some ulterior motive for accompanying her here. He wanted to see something in the house—something upstairs. The bathroom was a ruse. What could he have wanted to see?” I scratched behind her ears, and Mohair meowed appreciatively. But she had no answers to offer me. When she finished eating I scooped her up and carried her upstairs. I hid my face in her soft fur and whispered, “Fiona is such a sweet girl. Do you think she even knows about me and Randall? I can’t stand seeing her in love with him. Remind me not to go to their wedding.” Mohair purred in my arms.
I kept her with me the rest of the evening while I worked on the buttons on the back of Ruth’s gown. I should have made button loops by hand, out of red thread to match the dress, but I didn’t. Instead, I made regular buttonholes using my Bernina sewing machine. Definitely not authentic in any way, but I rationalized it with the thought that the filmmakers wouldn’t be focusing on her back.
I had a hard time concentrating. First I turned the radio up loud to cover any noise from the creaky house; then I switched it off so I could hear if anything out of the ordinary was happening. I got up to check the door locks and peer into the darkening yard so many times that I probably walked five miles up and down the stairs.
Finally Ruth’s eighteenth-century gown was finished. I hung it up in my fitting room as if it were a wedding dress, and pulled out my planner to take stock of my projects.
Once the hem was done, Fiona’s gown would be finished. She hadn’t talked to me about a veil or other headpiece. I didn’t know if I wanted to bring it up or just leave her to figure that out for herself. Veils were always fun to make, with more room for creativity than most gowns. But I really wasn’t interested in Randall accompanying Fiona again to hang around my house and snoop. I dropped the planner for another surreptitious scan of the yard. Nothing.
I shook myself and picked up the planner again. Priscilla’s everyday gown was finished, as were the living room curtains at Compton Hall. Ruth’s simple gown was done—all I had to do was deliver it. Cherry had talked of making a gown for Louise Pritchard. I was game, but I doubted if Louise was. I could check in with her tomorrow when I went to deliver Ruth’s gown.
I plucked Fiona’s wedding gown off the rack. I carried it into the living room and settled into an armchair to hem it while watching an old Fred Astaire movie. I needed some pleasant background entertainment while I worked on the mindless hem. I didn’t want anything dramatic or suspenseful for tonight.
* * * *
I woke with a start, with Fiona’s gown draped over me like a blanket. I had fallen asleep to the sound of Fred and Ginger dancing, and the movie was now over. Some noise had jerked me awake.
I kept perfectly still, listening. Just when I was about to write it off as nothing but nerves, I hea
rd it again. It was a stealthy creaking, just outside the front door—the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the front porch.
I slid the dress off me and got up from the armchair. I crept to the kitchen doorway, where I could see the front door. The doorknob rattled. He was trying the front door! I slipped into the kitchen to pull a cast-iron skillet out of a bottom cupboard. I held it with both hands, hoping that the sight of it would be enough of a deterrent that I wouldn’t have to really whack the intruder with it. I lurked in the kitchen doorway with beating heart as the handle turned and the front door swung slowly inward.
The intruder shined a flashlight in front of him, making it hard to see him clearly. He was tall, clearly a man. I couldn’t tell if he wore a mask or gloves. He closed the door softly behind him, clicking the lock closed. I seized my chance while his back was turned, and jumped out of my hiding place, hollering at the top of my lungs, hoping to scare him off.
I scared him, all right. He yelled in response, spinning around and dropping his light with a clatter. With his back to the door he fumbled behind him and hit the light switch, to illuminate me advancing on him with upraised skillet.
“Back off, Daria!”
It was Pete.
The skillet fell to the floor with a loud thud. I doubled over in hysterical laughter, tears streaming down my face. Pete collapsed against the door, breathing hard. Then he slowly approached me, leaned down, and snatched up the cast-iron skillet to get it out of my reach. I laughed harder.
“What the hell was that? You almost gave me a heart attack.”
I sank down to sit on the floor, trying to stop laughing. He stared down at me for a few minutes, then squatted down to my level. “Do you need a glass of water or a cup of coffee?”
Historically Dead Page 15