While Fiona dressed, I brushed my hair and freshened up in the bathroom. Hard to imagine that I’d been fighting for my life not an hour ago.
Fiona’s gown fit perfectly. The hem broke at the tip of her toes, exactly. She twisted and turned and admired herself in my big three-way mirror. “Randy will be so amazed. He told me he’s so glad you’re the one who made my dress for me.”
Yeah, right. He just wanted the chance to get back into my house. I bit my tongue and merely smiled.
Fiona chattered on while striking a few poses in front of the mirror. “Randy’s so sweet. He gave me a special gift yesterday, for our wedding. It’s a beautiful silver platter. It took my breath away. Here, let me show you.” She picked up her purse and pulled out her phone. After a few swipes she displayed a photo of an impressive silver platter. The camera had picked up the intricate detail of fluting around the edge, decorated with swirls and curlicues. “It’s pretty old. Randy said that when he got it, it was almost black from tarnish. It took him hours to get it to shine like this.”
Almost black. I caught my breath. I’d seen that brassy platter, spilling out of a pillowcase that Randall had filched from its hiding place in my attic. I hadn’t thought anything of it beyond the sense of violation caused by him breaking into my house. It hadn’t occurred to me that what I was seeing was a silver platter hidden beneath a layer of tarnish. I hadn’t asked the obvious question: Where had Randall gotten an old silver platter from in the first place?
My hands went cold as the obvious answer hit me. “Could you text me that picture, Fiona? I love old silver, and that’s the most beautiful platter I’ve ever seen.”
She shrugged and pressed buttons on her phone. “Isn’t he a sweetheart?”
I couldn’t bear to tell her. If I were right, the police would pick up Randall in time for her to postpone or cancel her wedding. She’d have a narrow escape, but it wouldn’t be me, the jilted ex-fiancée, who had ruined her bright future.
I felt guilty about taking Fiona’s money, but I knew I had earned it through my work. Her gown was stunning—no one could dispute that. I covered it carefully in plastic and handed it to her with as much of a smile as I could manage. As soon as she was gone, I called McCarthy. I needed to see one of his photographs.
McCarthy listened patiently as I blurted out my story. He gave a low whistle as I reached the end. “Those photos were published in the Chronicle last May. If you go to our website, you can find them. I’m almost done with the cops here. It’s your old buddy Carson. Shall I send him over to you when we’re done?”
“I’ll let you know.” I hung up, and searched the website of the Laurel Springs Daily Chronicle.
I couldn’t remember the woman’s name, so it took me a few minutes to call up the photos I wanted. When I finally found them, they took my breath away. Priscilla was right; McCarthy had taken fantastic photographs of Francisca Toumay’s antique silver, including the one piece that was made by Paul Revere himself.
It was a big silver platter, decorated by the master with swirls and curlicues running around the fluted edge. McCarthy had picked up the soft shine of the silver. His photo was far more artistic, but the platter was identical to the one in the picture Fiona had shared with me with such fond pride.
McCarthy had said the piece was worth half a million dollars, but how could Randall sell it without someone recognizing it? So he had decided to gift it to his bride as a wedding present. I laid my phone down in amazement. Maybe he really did love her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I spent the rest of the afternoon at the police station. I got chewed out for leaving the crime scene at Compton Hall, and lectured for taking off for a fitting instead of debriefing with the police after releasing McCarthy and Noah. I thought they were going to charge me with not showing proper respect for police procedure or something, but they calmed down when I mentioned Fiona’s silver platter. In the end, they sent me on my way with the hope of hearing the rest of the story if I called in later.
I walked home from the police station, enjoying the moment of respite in a hectic day. The downtown sidewalks hummed with the weekend crowd of window-shoppers, kids on their skateboards, and couples out on a dinner date. Nobody gave me a second glance. That felt odd—couldn’t they see that I’d escaped both death and heartbreak this afternoon? I could scarcely believe that the stress hadn’t left a mark.
When I got home Pete and Aileen sat at the kitchen table, eating some kind of unidentifiable slop that smelled like a mix between boiled cabbage and frosted cinnamon buns. Aileen waved at the empty chair. “Come join us.”
I just shook my head. I surprised them both by giving each of them a huge hug. “McCarthy’s picking me up for dinner. It’s a great day to be alive!”
Pete chuckled. “I guess you made up with him.”
I scooped up Mohair and gave her a big kiss. “Actually, we haven’t technically made up yet. But I rescued him from a murderer, so that’s gotta count for something.” I left them both staring and ran upstairs to shower and dress for dinner.
I put on a tea-length flowing dress in a pale blue floral print, paired with a cream-colored shawl that I’d crocheted out of the finest-gauge yarn possible. I slipped on my favorite pair of dressy sandals, and brushed my hair until it shone. I was ready to step out on the town with my guy.
McCarthy sat in my chair at the table when I got downstairs. I could tell from the absorbed looks on Pete’s and Aileen’s faces that he was telling them the whole story of kidnap and the apprehension of a murderer. Better him than me.
McCarthy broke off when he saw me. His eyes lit up and he jumped to his feet. He’d dressed for dinner as well, throwing a sport coat over his customary white button-down shirt and exchanging his jeans for a pair of gray twill pants. He extended a hand to me. “So Daria came bursting through the door to save the day, and the rest is history.”
I dropped a little curtsy and reached over to snag my keys off their hook under the mirror. I took McCarthy’s hand and waved goodbye to Pete and Aileen.
McCarthy led me to his car. “I thought you might like to check on the Compton sisters before we eat.”
I hadn’t had any lunch and I was pretty near starving, but I did want to see how Ruth and Priscilla were faring.
As if he’d read my mind, McCarthy said, “I got us reservations for seven thirty, so we’ll have time for a short chat.”
The driveway was empty when we arrived. No sign of any contractor’s van or lawyer’s smart vehicle. The TV vans bristling with technology were also long gone. Priscilla sat on the front porch, quietly rocking the way she had throughout my childhood. Ruth sat beside her, ramrod straight and clutching the head of her gold-tipped cane. Peace had returned to Compton Hall.
Priscilla’s lined face lighted up when she saw us. “So nice to see you, my dear, and your young man. Do sit down and talk for a minute.”
I sat in the rocking chair next to her, and McCarthy leaned against the porch rail. “You must be exhausted after everything that happened today,” I said.
Priscilla nodded. “The filming took much longer than I expected. The poor cameraman had to keep filming the same scene over and over again.” She indicated McCarthy’s camera dangling around his neck. “Do you have that same problem when you take pictures for the newspaper?”
He smiled. “I take multiple shots of whatever I’m photographing, and then I pick the best one. It can take a long time. But it’s usually worth it.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re right, dear. I don’t think I’ll win the million dollars, though. I think there was too much drama even for the reality show.”
Ruth rolled her eyes. “Cherry was intrigued by the reappearance of a long-lost son, but when he turned out to be a murderer, she backed off.”
“Poor Robby,” Priscilla murmured.
Ruth held her head high, her face grim. “He c
onfessed to the murder of Professor Burbridge. He also confessed to setting that fire seven years ago. He had hoped to kill both his father and me, but I foiled his plan by leaving that night. Then he hoped that I would be convicted for my husband’s death, but I was acquitted. So he seized the opportunity during the renovations to try again. He put those sleeping pills in my tea, of course.” She pressed her lips together and looked away.
Priscilla shook her head. “He must have lost his mind. So sad.”
“He heard my argument with Professor Burbridge through the open window.” I could tell this recitation was paining Ruth, but she seemed to need to get it all out. “He’d gotten the idea that he could inherit the Hall once I was dead, and the professor’s research threatened that plan. I don’t know what he intended to do to John, or Priscilla.”
“Robby would never hurt me,” Priscilla said. “Dear boy.”
Ruth looked down at her hands clenched around the head of her cane. “Probably not.”
McCarthy flicked a glance at me. “Have you two ladies had dinner yet? Daria and I would be happy to have you join us.”
Not really, but I smiled nonetheless.
“Oh, no, we couldn’t intrude on your date, my dear. John is coming to take us to dinner.” Priscilla leaned forward and patted me on the hand. “We can’t eat at home until that nice Carl Harper gives us back our modern-day kitchen. He’ll be back next Wednesday, once he finishes this other job that’s been causing him so much trouble.”
“What other job?”
The three of us all concentrated on Priscilla. She waved a hand. “A member of his crew was replacing a kitchen floor with wooden flooring. The whole floor was done when he realized that he’d put it in wrong, with the planks going crosswise instead of lengthwise, or something like that. It was a simple mistake, but the poor man had to rip it all out and put it in right before the client would pay for the job. Poor Carl was very upset, because he lost a lot of money on the job. I can’t tell you how many times I heard him fussing about it over the phone.”
“Me too.” I shook my head, thinking that I should have mentioned Harper’s phone conversations to Priscilla earlier. I could have taken him off my list of suspects.
McCarthy checked his watch. “We should be going.” He waited while I gave Priscilla a gentle hug.
“I did hope you would win the million dollars,” I said.
“Oh, no, my dear. I’m not at all sorry. If I won, poor Louise would have to learn how to cook over an open hearth. We couldn’t keep on going out to eat like this every night. The million dollars would be gone by Christmas.”
I laughed and gave Ruth a hug as well. I felt her stiffen so I kept it very short. “Thanks for helping me flush out a murderer. I’m just sorry it turned out to be your son.”
She nodded, twisting the handle of her cane between both hands. “My husband used to tell the boys to strive to grow up to be like their honorable ancestor, Major Samuel Compton. Robert may have taken that advice a bit too far, as it turns out.”
“Seriously.” I picked up my shoulder bag and turned to go. “If either of you ever need another eighteenth-century gown, please call me.”
“Of course, my dear,” Priscilla said with a smile.
“I don’t foresee the need for any future gowns, but if I ever need a detective, I know where to look.” Ruth gave me a genuine smile that meant more to me than the check for payment that she’d pressed into my hand.
McCarthy threw me a curious glance as we walked down the porch steps. “Looks like you tamed the dragon there.”
I nodded. “She’s got a soft underbelly like most dragons do, or so I’m told.” I waved to Louise, who lingered at the bottom of the steps, finishing a cigarette. She tossed the butt into the flower border when she saw me.
“Didn’t I tell you those pills were attempted murder? We’re all lucky to get out of this alive.”
“You called it,” I said. “But you’re sticking around, right?”
She dusted her hands on her pants. “Looks like it. Miss Priscilla could hardly be expected to manage without me.” She looked McCarthy over. “I see you’re off the missing persons list.”
I stared at her. “How did you know McCarthy was missing?”
She shrugged, with the closest thing to a smile that I’d yet seen on her face. “It’s a big house, chock full of doors with keyholes.”
I laughed. “I’m glad Priscilla and Ruth have you to watch out for them.”
McCarthy opened the car door for me. I slid into the seat and rummaged through my bag for my phone. I got the answering machine. “Rats, the police department is closed for the weekend. I wanted to find out if Randall got arrested.”
He zoomed away from the curb and hurtled down the hill toward town. “Don’t tell me the nosy seamstress is looking for revenge?”
I put on my most innocent face. “Who, me?”
McCarthy pulled into a parking spot adjacent to the Commons. He picked up his phone.
My stomach growled at that moment. “Dinner?” I said.
“I just need to make one quick call.” He dialed, and then covered his phone with the palm of his hand. “I’ve got a contact in the police department. Riley can tell me what’s up with Randall.”
I got out of the car and strolled up and down the sidewalk while McCarthy sat and talked with Riley. I didn’t want to hear a lengthy one-sided conversation; I just wanted McCarthy to give it to me short and sweet.
At last he hung up and got out of the car. I turned to walk along the Commons without delay. He fell into step beside me.
“You were right; Fiona had the missing platter from Francisca Toumay’s estate—the one that was made by Paul Revere. Police recovered a number of other pieces that most likely came from Compton Hall. They suspect that there were many more that had already been fenced. There’s been a rash of thefts from the estates of half a dozen people who have died in this area in recent years. The police are reviewing those cases for links to Randall.”
“Wow. I lived with a silver thief.” I couldn’t believe it, but at the same time I knew it had to be true.
McCarthy clicked his tongue. “When confronted, Randall initially claimed that he’d gotten the Paul Revere platter from you as an engagement gift.”
I cried out in dismay at that, but he only chuckled. “That tactic got him exactly nowhere with Fiona. It only highlighted the fact that he’d never mentioned that the two of you were engaged, and that he was low enough to try to pin the crime on you. Riley says she pulled off her diamond ring and handed it back to him, right there in front of the police officers.”
“Poor Fiona. I never told her, either. I’m as bad as he is.”
McCarthy took my hand and swung it lightly as we walked. “Never in a million years.”
I squeezed his hand gratefully. “Where are we going for dinner?”
“You’ll like it. Trust me.” His eyes twinkled at me.
I punched him on the arm. “I said I was sorry for not trusting you.”
He rubbed his arm as if I’d slugged him with a two-by-four. “True, but you were under the influence of extreme stress, so I’m not sure that it counts.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll say it again if you want me to.”
“Wait until we get seated.” He waved his arm with a flourish to indicate the entrance to La Trattoria. “Best new restaurant in town.” He slipped past the dozen or so people milling about outside and went up to speak to the hostess. I waited for him to say, “Reservations for McCarthy,” but instead he said, “Hey, Janice. Daria and I are here for our seven-thirty reservation.” He held out his hand and drew me to his side. “Janice is a big fan of My House in History. She can’t wait to see the episode on Compton Hall.” He turned his attention back to Janice. “Daria made all the historical gowns. You’ll love them.”
Janice smiled
at me. “I wish I could sew like that.” She ushered us to the coziest table in the place.
I settled my napkin in my lap and watched McCarthy order us some wine. It all felt somehow familiar. With a start, I remembered that whenever Randall and I would eat out, he would turn on the charm for the waitstaff, just like that. But Randall was nothing like McCarthy. When I was with Randall, I never knew where I stood. With McCarthy, I didn’t need to wonder. Everything about McCarthy was genuine—I could put my trust in that.
I picked up the glass of wine he poured for me. “Time for me to say it again, Sean. I’m sorry I said I didn’t trust you. There’s no one I’d rather trust than you.” I put the wineglass down and reached out to take his hand. “Really, I mean it. You’ve never let me down. I don’t know why I thought you ever would.”
He squeezed my hand. “And I’m sorry for taking off in a huff like that. I shouldn’t have taken it so personally.” He rubbed his thumb across the back of my knuckles—an incredibly sexy touch. “I guess it hurt because I care what you think about me.”
“You know what I think about you. You’re an obnoxious photographer—my favorite obnoxious photographer in the whole wide world.”
He laughed. “I’ll take that. And you are a nosy seamstress, who always manages to figure it all out in the end. You’re the sweetest nosy seamstress I’ve ever met in my life.” He raised his glass in a toast. “To trust, whatever that means.”
I raised my glass to clink with his. “We’ll figure it out. Trust me.”
If you enjoyed Historically Dead, be sure not to miss the first Stitch in Time Mystery
Historical seamstress Daria Dembrowski has her work cut out for her as she searches for a killer’s pattern....
Daria has come up with a brilliant new plan to expand her seamstress business beyond stitching wedding gowns—historical sewing. And with Civil War reenactors setting up camp in her hometown of Laurel Springs, Pennsylvania, she has plenty of opportunities, including one client portraying a Confederate colonel who’s a particular stickler for authenticity.
Historically Dead Page 26