“She must’ve let the kitties out onto the roof the day they were locked out in the rain,” I mused.
“And she already knew we were opening this place as a B and B when she moved in. It was always her intention to drive us out.” I shuddered.
Truman shook his head in wonder. “She really wanted you out of here. Her whole house was soundproofed, with acoustical tiles on the ceiling, heavy drapes, and triple-paned windows. She truly was worried about noise. She called us a few times about it, actually, and wondered whether there was a noise ordinance to cite you with.”
My heart ached for Charity, despite her antics and sabotage of the renovation. “I never meant to drive her crazy.”
Truman shook his head. “It was all in her head, I’m afraid. We went over three times when she claimed she could hear construction noise, and each time we heard nothing when we were inside. She was worried about summertime weddings, but if you really were going to locate them in the far southwest corner of your property, I don’t think she could have heard them with your acreage. She was obsessed.”
It didn’t make me feel better, but knowing we had no real ghosts in the house and exonerating Ezra did.
“You figured it out!” Rachel bounded up and threw her arms around Ezra. A blush spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.
Jesse had hired him back, and he had started this morning, just in time. It was Thursday, and the wedding was only two days away.
“No problem.” Ezra sheepishly patted Rachel’s back. “Is Hunter around?”
Rachel shook her head, and this time a scarlet bloom blossomed on her face. It hadn’t been pretty when Xavier realized there were no ghosts. A shouting match ensued between Hunter and the crew, who packed up to leave. Xavier insinuated that Hunter was in cahoots with Charity, and I wondered the same thing.
“No, we believe Charity was acting alone,” Truman assured me. “Hunter was tricked just like the rest of us.”
He’d slunk off and not returned, and now that he wasn’t getting her a spot on a reality show, Rachel’s ardor for him had cooled considerably.
“I hate to admit it. I thought it was my brother.” Ezra shook his head. “And he thought I was sabotaging this place. I’m just glad you ladies are alright.” He cast a tender look at Rachel and left us in the breakfast room to return to painting.
“I feel awful about Charity.” I couldn’t get the image of her in the fallen leaves out of my head.
“She brought it upon herself,” Truman said gently.
My cell trilled in my pocket, and I gingerly answered the call from an unknown number.
“Are you looking for a Westie? I may have found him.”
“Thank goodness!” Things were looking up.
* * *
I picked up Whitney, and we drove the Butterscotch Monster to a little blue Cape Cod–style house on the northern outskirts of town. An older woman with fake cobwebs stretched across her lower windows met us at the door, and a matted, bedraggled but tail-wagging Bruce bounded out and into Whit’s arms.
“Bruce! Don’t ever run away again!”
The dog gave her a slurpy kiss.
“What a happy ending,” the woman sighed and patted the Westie.
“And here’s your reward.” Whitney clasped a leash around Bruce’s neck and took out her wallet.
“I can’t possibly—”
“No, please.” Whitney’s firm voice allowed no exceptions, and we left the astounded woman on her porch. Whit gathered up the wriggling mass of dog and settled him on her lap.
“Lois would be so happy we found him.” She glanced up as if she were addressing her aunt.
Bruce would have to agree. His stumpy tail wagged so fast and hard it could have acted as a propeller and sent him skyward. I drove us straight to the vet, who gave Bruce an X-ray and a clean bill of health.
“The amethyst is gone.” The vet raised his brows. “Maybe someone did take him to get their hands on it.”
“That’s awful!” Whitney grabbed up her Westie and clasped him close to her. “But who would have known? It was just my family at Bev’s bridal salon.”
The veterinarian threw back his head and laughed. “Bev as in Beverly Mitchell? Oh, Miss Scanlon, you really haven’t been back in Port Quincy in a long time. If Bruce ate that amethyst in Bev’s presence, there isn’t a person on the eastern seaboard who doesn’t know about it.”
“He’s right,” I affirmed. “Bev is the biggest gossip in town. She’d have started spreading the story the minute we left the store.”
I dropped Whit off at her father’s apartment so she could give Bruce a bath and headed back to the house.
“Where is everyone?” I followed the uneasy silence to the parlor, where Jesse, Ezra, Rachel, and my mother stared sorrowfully up at the ceiling. The mural, which was still damaged but beautiful enough to stand until we found an artist to completely restore it, was riddled with a thick, black X. Beneath it in neat black letters a message was scrawled: “Get out.” Black paint was splattered on every wall of the parlor, which we’d meticulously painted a pretty pistachio green, and the floor, which was awaiting a polish.
“We went to get pizza.” Jesse’s voice was small and high. “Every single one of us. Who would’ve done this?”
A clamminess spread between my shoulder blades. “Not Charity. And I don’t believe there are ghosts here.”
A frisson of realization skittered across my brain. “Ingrid Phelan.”
Jesse snorted. “That harridan? What’s she got to do with this?”
I shook my head in wonder as the realization hit me. “She’s hell-bent on being the only B and B in town, and now she’s going to hold weddings at the Mountain Laurel Inn as direct competition. I bet she’s been sabotaging our renovation in addition to Charity.”
“Now that Charity’s out of the picture, it would make sense.” Jesse stared up at the X.
Rachel puzzled at the abomination. “I can’t picture Ingrid scampering up the scaffolding to do it.” Her eyes lit up with an idea. “What about Keith?”
I nodded at my sister. “Ingrid and Keith both come to mind.”
“Hey! Where are you going?” Jesse’s eyes snapped up as four painters from the Senator Hotel trooped out of the house.
“We’re done.”
“I’m not painting that room again.”
“This place is cursed.”
One by one, they streamed out the door.
“Oh no oh no oh no!” I ran after them with Jesse, and we begged and pleaded, but it was a no-go.
I willed myself to stay calm once we were back inside. “We still have tons of painting to do, and sanding floors, and putting down new tile, and the furniture isn’t back. Not to mention covering up that X.” I sank into the window seat and stared ahead, willing a solution to appear.
“There have to be contractors willing to work here,” my mother soothed, taking a seat next to me.
“Word gets around.” Rachel’s voice was flat. “No one will want to work in this house of horrors.”
A drop of black paint dripped from the ceiling and stained my sleeve.
“If we pull a couple all-nighters, maybe we can pull it off.” Ezra’s tinny voice betrayed him, and I shook my head.
“There is one person we can call.” My voice was infinitesimally small.
“So do it!” Rachel jumped up and took my hands in hers.
I reached for my cell phone.
Chapter Nineteen
“Well, well, well. What brings me the pleasure of meeting with you?” Helene, my once mother-in-law-to-be, fingered the gumball-sized black pearls at her throat. A spray of diamonds and rubies littered her right hand. She was wearing one of her ancient but perfectly preserved tweed Chanel jackets, and her rings played off the red and gold threads running through the thick bouclé wool. She’d donned her panty hose and pinched mouth, completing her trademark look. She arched a gray eyebrow at me. She was enjoying watching me dine on crow.
>
“My contractors quit. I’m throwing a wedding on Saturday.” I swallowed. “I need your help.” That wasn’t so bad.
Helene’s smile tipped up even more at the corners.
“Oh?” Helene took a sip of white wine and left a shadow of coral lipstick on the glass.
“You must have some incredible contractors at your disposal.”
Helene had whatever she wanted at her disposal. She was the reigning queen bee of Port Quincy, and a request for people to jump left many in her wake clambering and repeating, “How high?”
“Who do you have now?”
“Flowers Historical Restorations.”
“Jesse Flowers does exceptional work.” Helene lifted her fork and took a tiny bite of her wedge salad. “But he isn’t the fastest.”
“He was going at a pretty good clip until the workers quit.”
“So I heard.” Helene’s flinty eyes sparkled. “A little problem with some ghosties this October?”
This wasn’t going as planned. I felt like a juicy fly writhing in a web, and Helene was the spider gearing up for the kill.
“Aren’t there any secrets in town?” I bit into a crusty roll. Any pretense of begging Helene with grace and dignity flew out the window. “I drove by the lot you bought for me and Keith in late July, and there was just a bare-bones foundation. Now it’s completely finished, and it couldn’t have been an easy house to build.” I pictured the cubist colossus and suppressed a smirk.
“It’s an abomination of a house,” she admitted. “But yes, it was built fast, per my specifications, if not my design.”
So Whitney was right. Helene had decorated the inside, and Becca had designed the outside.
Helene cut a single leaf of iceberg with exquisite precision and dipped it in Thousand Island dressing. She delicately nibbled it like a rabbit. “I could make a call to my contractors, who would be most amenable to help if it were on my behalf.”
“And there’s something else.” I twisted my napkin into a ball in my lap and dared to look up at Helene. “It doesn’t look like the Planning Commission will approve my rezoning application from residential to mixed use. If it doesn’t go through, no wedding, and no B and B.”
Helene nodded, as if this were old news. “I believe,” she said carefully, patting at her lipstick with her napkin, “I may be able to help you.”
My heart soared.
“But I would need something from you.”
I had a flashback to Lois’s shakedown, and my throat got tight.
“Helene, Mallory. I’ve sent over an appetizer for you ladies. It’ll be out shortly.” Angela materialized at my elbow, and I gave her a grateful look.
“Everything ready for my niece’s big day?”
“We’ve had a few setbacks,” I cautiously began. “But things are looking up.” Thanks to the deal I’m about to make.
“Let me know if you need anything. And keep up the good work.” Angela parceled out a rare and genuine smile, and I was invigorated.
Helene couldn’t want something too extravagant.
“Name your price.” I boldly picked up another buttered roll.
“You will put on the Dunlap Women’s Academy’s Winter Ball in February. Free of charge, of course, in exchange for my . . . help.”
I dropped the roll back on its plate. I knew Helene was on the board of her alma mater, a swanky boarding school. “How many guests?” I squeaked out.
“Fifty.”
That’s not too bad.
“Fifty debutantes,” Helene clarified. “And their dates.”
I winced. A debutante ball for one hundred, at no charge? “No way, José.”
“That’s my final offer.” Helene sat back and crossed her legs.
Check and mate.
Whitney was getting married in two days, and the house had hours of work left. A modern-day cotillion for one hundred would eat into my profits and tie up the B and B for a whole weekend in prep work, not to mention the actual ball. But desperate times called for desperate measures.
“Deal,” I croaked.
“Here you are, compliments of Mrs. Pellegrino.” The waitress arrived with our appetizer, a plate of old-fashioned chilled shrimp surrounding a bowl of cocktail sauce. Helene’s favorite. Angela knew her customers. “Would you like anything else?”
“A glass of white wine, please. A big one.”
Helene extracted her cell phone from her tiny quilted purse and gave a few clipped orders.
“Regis Contracting will be at Thistle Park within the hour. They will be at your disposal between now and Saturday afternoon, when I presume Whitney Scanlon’s nuptials begin. They will do all that you and Jesse Flowers ask, but their price will be triple their usual rate.” Helene quoted a number that made my head spin, and I did some quick calculations in my head.
“I can swing that,” I whispered. But I’ll have nothing left.
We ate in silence. Well, Helene ate, and I picked at my linguine puttanesca and studied my copious goblet of wine. Finally, I lifted my head.
“Why are you doing this for me?” Besides the crazy high price you just exacted.
Helene weaved her fingers together and set them before her. “I was somewhat impressed that you agreed to house Keith and”—she shuddered—“his fiancée after they were attacked. You consented to take them in, and you didn’t have to do that.” Her mouth screwed up in an approximation of a smile. “So thank you.”
Helene finished her meal and motioned for the check. “I can guarantee the contractors.” Her mouth twitched, making the deep lines around her mouth dance up and down. “But I make no promises regarding the Planning Commission. Good luck, Mallory.” She gave me her enigmatic Mona Lisa smile and wafted out of the room, a whiff of Calèche trailing after her.
I sat for a moment and pondered my fate. I hoped I wouldn’t regret making a deal with Helene Pierce.
* * *
Regis Contracting trucks were already in the drive when I pulled in, and Jesse gave me a thumbs-up as I walked past.
“You sure do have friends in high places.” He stared in awe at the army of men tiling, buffing, and painting.
I considered his statement. “I’m not sure if she’s a friend, but time will tell.”
A knock on the door startled me, and my mother breezed past us.
“The furniture is here! I’m going to start my transformation.” She clapped her hands together with glee and bustled to let the movers in.
I braced myself for tropical splendor and opened my eyes to see a tasteful, high-backed couch done in yellow and maroon stripes. It looked stately and comfy.
“Shoo!” My mother clasped her hands over my eyes and shuffled me toward the stairs. “I still have some surprises up my sleeve. I don’t want you to see until every piece is in place.”
I obeyed my mom and scampered upstairs to paint the last two bathrooms, my mind suddenly at ease.
“Um, Mallory?” Jesse appeared in the doorway. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” I sat on the edge of the claw-foot tub, bending down to coat the baseboard with rose paint.
“I need your help.” He dithered in the doorway, an edgy, hulking ball of nerves. He unconsciously buttoned and unbuttoned the top of his shirt.
“There’s a special woman in my life—,” he began and gripped the black pedestal sink.
“Oh, God—”
“Who I’d like to ask to be my wife.”
“Jesse? Where are you?” Delilah’s sixth sense must’ve kicked in, and she’d realized her son was about to cut the cord. She had spent the whole day marauding around the second floor after the contractors carried her and her scooter up. She wheeled into the big bathroom. “Where have you been?” Her voice echoed through the tile room, bouncing off the walls and sounding doubly accusing. Her eyes swept over her son. She took in his nervousness. “Why aren’t you downstairs with the new contractors?”
“I need Mallory’s opinion about something. For the house,” he
added lamely.
Delilah scooted off, her countenance full of disbelief.
“That was close.” Jesse shut the door firmly behind him. “Like I said—”
“This mystery lady,” I interrupted. “It’s not anyone I know, is it?”
Jesse bristled. “You’ll just have to wait until I propose.” He rubbed his hands over the stubble that had cropped up on his cheeks this week in the mad rush to finish the house, scattering silver whiskers over his usually smooth face. “So, will you help me find a ring?” He blinked at me, his eyelashes a nervous flutter.
“Sure thing, captain.”
As soon as Jesse left the bathroom, I whipped out my cell phone.
“Red alert.” I texted my stepfather Doug. “Jesse is buying an engagement ring.”
A second later, Doug’s face filled the screen. I accepted the prompt to have a face-to-face call.
“That lily-livered momma’s boy lumberjack. I swear, if he has designs on your mom, he’ll have hell to pay!” Doug’s usual cheerful, calm face was filled with anguish.
Just then the bathroom door burst open again. It was Jesse and my mom.
“You ought to see what your mother put together for you, Mallory. She’s a decorating phantom.” Jesse’s face was florid and flushed with admiration and excitement.
“Don’t you mean phenom, Jesse?” I tried to hide my phone, but it fell out of my hands and onto the black tile with a clatter.
“Thank you, Jesse dear!” My mother gazed at Jesse, and the pair left the room.
I inhaled sharply and chanced a glance at my phone.
“How much of that did you see?” I asked Doug.
“I saw it all,” he replied grimly. “I’m on my way.”
* * *
I was done painting hours later and itching to see Mom’s decorating. She’d made me promise to wait until every last piece was in place. I stood from an interminable squat in the corner of the now bright pink bathroom.
Murder Wears White Page 22