“Of course not!”
Relief flooded over me in a small wave.
Bev drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t very tall, and her heavy chest heaved. “I do things on the straight and narrow. I don’t need nepotism or secret handshakes, just this right here.” She stopped and tapped the side of her beehive. “I told that silly old coot she must be joking, to give her an out. And she took it, grumbling about a misunderstanding. I would have a little chat with the new florist and chocolatier, if I were you.” Bev raised her blond eyebrows.
“Maybe that’s where Lois got all of her money. And blackmailing all of the new business owners would create some pretty powerful enemies.” I liked running my theories past Bev.
She opened her mouth, but the silver bells on the door rang in a merry peal, announcing some shoppers. It was Whitney, on the arm of her father, Porter, who grimaced with each step, leaning heavily on a new cane.
“Welcome, sweetheart.” Bev rushed over to settle the bride and her father on a love seat and get them champagne. Porter declined, but Whitney nervously took a sip of the clear, bubbly, gold liquid.
“I hope I can find a dress. I’m running out of time.” She looked near tears, not excited like a bride should be.
Her father squeezed her hand. “You’ll look radiant in anything, Whit.”
Whitney gave Bev a dubious look. Bev’s style was eclectic, and today tiny sparkly pumpkins nestled in her voluminous blond beehive.
“These are gorgeous.” Whitney fingered the elaborate beading on each dress and held a few up against her petite frame, promptly bursting into tears.
“It’s okay, honey,” Bev put her arm around Whitney.
“It’s just—I’m not sure if I want to wear this style anymore. All I can see is that dress slashed down the middle. I’m sorry. I’m so confused!”
Bev raised her eyes over Whitney’s head, and we silently pondered.
“Ahem.” The three of us wheeled around, and Porter sheepishly spoke from the love seat. “I have a surprise for you, Whitney, in the trunk of my car. If you ladies could help me . . .” He seemed embarrassed that he couldn’t get the item himself, so I quickly hurried out to his car and emerged with a heavy box from the trunk. It was covered in aging pink satin fabric and closed with a bow. I placed it on the floor in front of the love seat, where Whitney now sat, dabbing her eyes and looking puzzled.
“Open it,” Porter gently urged. “I’m not sure if you’ll like it, and you don’t have to wear it, but I thought . . .”
Whitney peeled back brittle tissue paper and emerged with an old but pristine wedding gown. It was heavy satin, probably once a cream color that had deepened over time to a rich champagne. It featured a foam of frothy lace cascading down a high collar, a stiff, full skirt, and round puff sleeves that would make Princess Diana proud.
“Mom’s wedding dress,” Whitney gasped. She held the dress up to her in front of the three-way mirror and promptly burst into tears again.
“Oh, Whit. Did I do the wrong thing?” Porter turned his sad eyes anxiously to his daughter, and they went wide.
“No! It’s lovely, Dad.” Whitney bawled into a clump of tissues offered by Bev, and I took the dress from her. It was beautiful, but it screamed 1980s haute couture.
“It’s gorgeous,” Bev offered diplomatically. “And with some subtle updates, it will be just stunning.” Her seamstress eyes flicked over the gown, cutting here, streamlining there.
Whitney’s eyes lit up. “You can do that?” A wave of relief seemed to wash over her.
“Sure thing, honey. Come right over here.”
Whitney stood on a short raised platform in front of a mirror, where Bev discussed removing the puff sleeves, lace collar, and insert and making a new dramatic V neckline.
“It would go perfectly with your chocolate theme with a sash like the one in the window,” I suggested.
Whitney nodded, a light going back on in her dark eyes. “It’s the perfect color for fall.” She held the dress close to her and spun around. The heavy silk satin rustled and fell in pretty pleats. “Let’s do it!”
Bev ushered her into a fitting room, and Whitney emerged, wearing the heavy gown.
“It fits perfectly.” She stood in front of the mirror, and a small smile played on her lips. “It’ll be stunning with some updates.”
“There’s more in the box, honey.” Porter shuffled over and held a small lacquered jewelry box. “These were your mother’s as well.”
We all crowded in as Whitney lifted the lid and displayed a striking amethyst and diamond pendant necklace, fashioned as an iris touched by snow, and an ornate diamond and emerald band on a bed of black velvet. Whitney gasped. “These are gorgeous, Dad.”
“I’ve been waiting for years for the right moment to give these to you.”
Whitney slipped the pendant over her head and placed the ring on her finger. “They’re beautiful.” Tears came anew, but this time they were joyful ones. Whitney hugged her father, and Bev turned away, wiping at her eyes behind her purple cat’s-eye glasses.
“Are these family pieces?” I peered at the distinctive jewelry and wondered if they were Whitney’s style.
Porter shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure. Vanessa loved jewelry. She collected it and sometimes brought in old pieces to exchange for new.”
A gasp tore through the store. We turned to see Angela in the doorway, transfixed by Whitney in her mother’s dress and jewelry.
“Sweetheart, you’re so beautiful.” Angela slowly walked over and joined Whitney, clearly choked up. After embracing her niece, she leaned back and took her in again. “You look so much like your mother. You nearly startled me. Amethysts were her favorite.” Angela’s voice was hollow with emotion. She gently picked the necklace up from Whitney’s throat and studied the large stone in the light.
“Isn’t it gorgeous? Dad’s been saving it all these years.” Whitney stepped from the platform and turned to Bev. “Are you sure you have enough time for the alterations?”
Bev grinned at the bride. “For you, we’ll get it done. Now, slip out of that dress and I’ll get started today.”
“Eeek!” Whitney hid behind a dress display and peeked her head out. “Ian’s here. He can’t see me in my dress!” She shimmied into a dressing room.
“Where’s my girl?” The tinkling of bells announced Ian’s arrival.
“You can’t see her in her dress,” Angela sniffed as she echoed her niece. Her warmth evaporated, and her ramrod posture returned, transforming her into a schoolmarm.
Ian gave her a wide smile. “That’s why I walked in with my eyes closed. Right, guys?” Ian had brought the Westies with him, and they strained their tartan leashes, sniffing around the store.
I finally got to introduce myself to Whit’s fiancé. He was a foot taller than her, with a shock of blond hair that neatly framed his wide face and deep-set blue eyes. His smile was kind, and he gave me a warm, charming, chipped-tooth smile.
“Hi there, little guy.” Bev leaned over to pet Bruce. “Why, hello there, sweet peas.” Maisie stood on her hind legs, showing off for Bev, and Fiona yapped with glee.
Whitney emerged from the dressing room and ran to her fiancé. “Here’s my favorite ring bearer!” She leaned down to accept a doggy kiss from Bruce. I smiled. The dogs would make adorable ring bearers.
“Wow, what’s this?” Ian gently picked up the heavy amethyst pendant from Whitney’s grasp and swung it back and forth. It glistened like a sparkly plum on a pendulum in the light, ripe and heavy and full. It was too enticing for Bruce. He leaped up in a surprisingly graceful doggie arc and nimbly plucked it out of the air with his mouth.
“Bruce!” Whitney lunged for the dog, but he evaded her and shook his head back and forth. I joined Whitney in chasing the dog around the room, and we cornered him under a gilt chair near the entrance to the fitting rooms. The chain slithered to the floor, but he still held the jewel in his jowls.
“
Drop the amethyst, sweetie,” Whitney cooed. She petted Bruce on the head and made to grab him when he chewed the purple stone, with a yelp, and swallowed it whole, his Fu Manchu mustache quivering.
He broke out into a doggie smile. “Arf!”
“Oh no,” I moaned. “Bruce, that couldn’t have felt good.”
But the Westie settled back on his haunches and looked quite pleased with himself. His pink tongue darted out, and he licked his lips, then sat back and dangled his front paws, seemingly delighted with his trick.
“Let’s take him to the vet.” Whitney’s elation at wearing her mother’s dress evaporated over concern for her dog. “It looks like we’ll be staying in Port Quincy after all.” She and Ian scooped up their charges and hurried off.
* * *
Whitney called me on Monday with the verdict. The vet’s advice was to become intimately familiar with Bruce’s bathroom habits over the next week.
Ian offered to be the one to follow Bruce around and hunt through the doggy doo-doo. His bride was more concerned about Bruce’s discomfort, but the vet assured Whitney that Bruce would be fine.
My mother was measuring furniture in the parlor when I walked by, and she quickly hid a large upholstery sample book behind her back. She was in official decorator mode. A pencil was nestled behind her ear, holding back a lock of her new haircut. She held a clipboard and was all business.
“Hi, Mom.” I tried to hide the trepidation in my voice.
“Just getting some dimensions for the furniture.” The upholstery book landed on the floor behind her with a dull thud, and she whipped around to close it before I could see the fabric.
“I know you’re nervous.” She set the book on a table.
“Nervous?” I squeaked like a mouse. “No, Mom, I’m not nervous. I trust you.” I had no choice but to hope my mom had gotten the memo. I needed her decorating expertise, even if it meant palm trees and coconut rattan, because Whitney’s wedding was due to take place in less than two weeks.
My mother’s face relaxed, and she clasped my hand. “Sweetie, it’ll be beautiful. Tabitha told me about the contest the Historical Society’s sponsoring, and this redecoration is going to win. I’m sure of it.”
This time I actually did relax a bit as my mother told me the parameters of the contest I’d secretly helped make up.
“I’ll have to ditch the watermelon pinks and lemon-lime plaids, but it’ll still be gorgeous. I’ll just adjust my color palette. Tabitha and I have been poring over pictures of the house. I won’t slavishly follow the old design, but I will use historically accurate touches and blend it with modern comfort and charm.”
My anxiety began to melt away. It had taken a contest to get my mom on the right track, but I thought we were finally there. I pretended to hear about the contest for the first time. “That’s awesome, Mom! You have a great chance of winning.” Too bad it wasn’t a real contest.
“I have one more trick up my sleeve.” My mother’s eyes danced and sparkled with hidden plans.
“Everything you just told me about the contest is great, Mom. Why don’t you stick with that?”
“Nonsense! This is a surprise you’ll love.” She stuck her pencil back behind her ear, collected her fabric swatches, and whipped out of the room.
“Yoo-hoo, Jesse?” My mother headed down the hall and stuck her head into the rooms along the first floor.
I wished for the thousandth time that Doug had made the trip up with my mom.
I left her in her search and climbed to the second floor.
I opened the door to my temporary bedroom to find Jesse crouched with his body half in, half out of the wardrobe. He looked like a giant, tool-belted ostrich with its head in the sand.
“Um, what are you doing in there?”
He froze, then jumped up and hit his head on the shelf inside the wardrobe.
“Ouch! Oh, it’s you, Mallory.” He dropped his voice and colored. “I’m, um, hiding from your mother.”
I tried to tamp down my bemused smile, but a peal of laughter escaped.
Jesse backed out of the wardrobe and held his hands up in surrender.
“Relax. She’s downstairs, but she is looking for you. I bet you have five minutes.”
Jesse took off his Penguins hat and twisted it around in his large hands. “I wanted to ask you a favor. I’m not good at this kind of thing, and—” He stopped and craned his head.
Snick, snack. Snick, snack.
We both froze and stared at each other. The knitting needles had returned.
“Do you hear . . .”
“Yes!” Jesse’s high voice was even higher and thinner than usual. He scrabbled to get out and slipped on the wool rug, landing in a heap in the hall.
We weren’t alone. The rest of the contractors appeared in the hallway after their trek from the third floor, and from the looks on their panic-stricken faces, they had also experienced paranormal phenomena.
“It’s the moaning again—”
“There’s phantom water splashing in the bathroom—”
“I quit!”
I turned to Jesse with a look of panic. “You have bigger issues than my mom. The contractors are mutinying.”
We rushed out into the hallway and down the grand front staircase in time to see all five contractors beating a path to the front door.
“You couldn’t pay me a million dollars to stay here.”
Jesse turned to me, his eyes round and stricken. “Call Hunter.”
* * *
“I can’t believe I missed it.” Hunter sagged against the door, as deflated as a kicked-in pumpkin the day after Halloween. He fiddled with his EMF meter, which was still, the digital display calm and silent. “I didn’t leave any recorders in the room either, since you’re staying there, Mallory. I would give anything to have heard the knitting needles.” He gazed wistfully up the stairs.
“I’m going to stay and see this project through.” Jesse jutted out his chin. “But I don’t blame them for getting out of Dodge.”
Ezra rolled his gray eyes and jammed his hands in his pockets. “I’m used to the supernatural because of my brother.” He nodded at Hunter. “But that was scary, even to me.”
“Hello, sweetie. You just missed the fireworks.” Rachel descended the stairs in a clingy scarlet sweater dress and calfskin boots.
Her face was carefully and tastefully made up to impress. She made a beeline for Hunter and planted a big wet one on him. He returned her kiss in front of everyone with no compunction. Rachel leaned back when they separated and touched his chin dimple, an adoring look making her features soft.
Ezra stepped back from her and blinked fast. “I’m going to grab some lunch.” His voice was gruff but didn’t hide the pain underneath.
Rachel, oblivious, wrapped her arms around Hunter and gaily called out, “There’re some leftovers in the fridge. Help yourself!”
“I’m not so sure it’s ghosts.” I frowned and gestured to the second floor.
“Mallory! Just because you don’t believe—” Rachel was more indignant than Hunter.
“Now hold on.” I held my hand out in front of me like a cop directing traffic. “There are two explanations here. One, there are ghosts in this house, who are mad we’re renovating. Or, two, there’s someone playing a prank.”
Jesse shook his head. “We’ve searched in the walls for speakers, Mallory. We can’t find anything.”
We all fell silent for a moment.
“I’m not sure if we can finish in time.” Jesse’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “With just Ezra and me left, we can make a go of it, but it won’t likely happen. Everyone else just quit.”
A bath of icy cold water seemed to drench my veins. I couldn’t let ghosts ruin Whitney’s wedding.
“We have to figure out something.” I couldn’t keep the panic from my voice, which was an octave higher than usual.
“Rome wasn’t built in a nanosecond, Mallory.” Jesse held up his hands in mock surrende
r. “I’m doing everything I can.”
“I know the guys at the Senator just finished up a big project,” Hunter broke in, rubbing his hands together. “They redid the recreation area in the hotel, and I don’t think they have a new project yet.”
Jesse perked back up. “Calvin Cook’s guys?”
“That’s them. I can call Cal if you like.”
Jesse’s face relaxed, and he broke out into a smile, newly invigorated. “I’ll call him. Mallory, if we can hire them, we might pull this off.” He bounded down the hall, cell in hand.
My mother emerged from the outside.
“Have you seen Jesse? Why did all of the contractors get into their trucks and drive away? I’ve never seen grown men run so fast.” Her face clouded with concern under her new hairdo.
I shook my head over Rachel’s shoulder, and she cottoned on.
My sister deflected my mom. “C’mon, Mom, let’s grab some lunch, and I’ll explain.”
I was left in the hall with Hunter.
“I hope the contractors from the hotel can work here. You may have just saved the day.”
Hunter offered me an easy smile, and I could see why Rachel was so smitten. He was boyish and friendly and helpful. And ghost hunting was pretty interesting, even if you didn’t quite believe.
“I need to get back to work at the hotel. But if you hear anything, give me a call.” He placed his hand on my arm and jutted out his chin dimple to go with his hero’s promise.
“I do have a few questions about Lois.”
Hunter paused. “What would you like to know?” He appeared slightly more guarded, as if he maybe regretted complaining about her the other day.
“You said she had a lot of enemies among the employees since she spied on them?”
Hunter sighed and relaxed. “Like I said, she was like the secret police. She was persnickety and acted like just because her family worked there for years that it was her hotel. She fired someone for running their candle business on company time. That’s legit, but she’d also dig into personal business that had nothing to do with work. Lois used her role in HR to act as a de facto private investigator for her employer.” He ran a hand through his thick hair. “She skulked about with her terriers like they were bloodhounds. She’d sneak up on people, but the dogs gave her away. She got mad when I was updating the Facebook paranormal page, then admitted it was my lunch break. She was furious when anyone dared to eat seafood around her. Just last week, Lois flipped out when someone brought in shrimp ceviche for a going-away-party appetizer and left it in the break room.”
Murder Wears White Page 14