I didn’t remind him that it was actually his brother, Ezra, who had exposed Charity Jones as a fake ghost. I’d just had Jesse cut the power.
A bit of spit flicked off his lips and hit me in the face.
“I’d be out of here if Xavier had decided to make me a regular feature on the show. I lucked out with Charity’s pranks. She even had me fooled at first. I thought for once there were real, live ghosts. I only had to set up one haunting, the black X on the ceiling. I thought I’d have one more shot to get back in the show’s good graces, but Xavier was already done with me.”
“You painted over the mural?” So it wasn’t Ingrid Phelan or Keith trying to sabotage the B and B.
“Charity started the hauntings, and I finished them. Too bad she found out about me pilfering financial info from you.”
A sickening new realization washed over me like a tidal wave.
“You killed Charity. It wasn’t an accident!”
“Very good, Mallory.” Hunter whirled around to stare at me. “I knew Charity was climbing up a rope attached to the fire escape, so I loosened it for her.” A sinister smile marred his boyish good looks.
A soft whine emanated down the alley. I prayed the dogs had fetched help, like good little reincarnations of Lassie. Hunter didn’t seem to notice. He continued to pace back and forth, almost ignoring Angela and me.
“Charity was going to turn me in for stealing using the Wi-Fi until I threatened to turn her in for the pranks. I had to get rid of her.”
A loud bark ricocheted down the alley.
“Those dogs!” Brandishing his gun, Hunter ran down the brick wall and straight into Truman.
“Oof!” They fell into a tangle of whirling arms and legs, and a gun went off.
“No!” I ran down the alley and scooped the howling dogs into my arms.
“Arrgh!” Truman kneeled on top of Hunter’s back. All of the air came out of his lungs in a stifled wheeze.
“Get that gun, Mallory!”
Angela stood rooted to the spot against the wall where Hunter had left us and slowly slid down to the pavement, as if her legs were made of jelly. I picked up the gun and trained it on Hunter with shaking hands.
Chapter Twenty-two
We headed to the police station, Hunter locked in the back of Truman’s car and Angela and me in the Butterscotch Monster. Whitney ran down the stairs in front of the station and into Ian’s arms as Hunter was led, cursing and straining his handcuffs, up the stairs.
“I knew it would work out.” Whitney flung herself into her fiancé’s arms. He embraced her in a bear hug and swung her around, laughing.
“I need to get home and get some beauty sleep. I’ll see you later today for our wedding!”
Ian and Whitney joined hands and half ran to his car.
“All’s well that ends well.” I turned to Angela with a smile.
“Thank goodness Truman heard Hunter confess.” Angela was still shaking from our encounter with Hunter’s pistol.
I dropped a weary Angela off at Pellegrino’s and headed home.
* * *
“I’m never dating again.” A glum Rachel put down her pastry bag and burst into tears.
My mother and I raced to her side, and I held her at arm’s length.
“He fooled me too, Rach. He was charming and charismatic and a grade-A con artist.”
She sniffed and wiped away a tear. “Well, the show has to go on. Help me with these cakes, would you?” Rachel’s hand shook, and her piping bag followed suit. The rose she was making wobbled and collapsed.
I gave my sister another hug, and my mother and I helped her ice the remaining two cakes for Whitney’s wedding.
* * *
Whit and Ian’s wedding day dawned cold and clear. The sun shone like a golden wafer in a deep cerulean-blue sky. Pale rays hit the frost on the grass, each blade glittering with translucent white sparkles. The sharp air felt good in my lungs. I shuffled off to the car with a hazy smile lifting the corners of my tired mouth. It was going to be a beautiful day. A day I wasn’t sure was going to happen, but now it was here.
“Are you ready to go to the jewelry store?” I turned to Jesse with a nervous glance. I still wasn’t sure if he was purchasing some type of ring for my mother.
He nodded wordlessly. He was jumpy and moved his long limbs with jerky little movements. He settled into the station wagon passenger seat and blinked enough times to dry out his eyes.
I texted Doug
Where are you?
He returned his answer a few seconds later
Just landed at airport. Taxiing in.
“Are you sure you’re ready to get engaged?”
Jesse crossed his beefy arms. “Yes. It’s now or no time. I need to make an honest woman out of her.”
I gunned the engine, and minutes later we pulled up to Fournier’s Jewelry Store. Mr. Fournier was carefully removing the tasteful Halloween decorations of gossamer cobwebs and pumpkin brooches from the display window and installing items more befitting for December than November; he was clearly a subscriber to Christmas creep. He swapped chunky enamel fall-leaf pins for delicate diamond snowflake earrings, and amber and citrine necklaces for ruby rings and emerald bracelets.
He left his window display to greet me and take up his station behind the glass counter. “Hello, Mallory.”
“Mr. Fournier. I couldn’t help but wonder what happened with the emerald and diamond band Whitney brought in.”
“Confirmed stolen,” Mr. Fournier said crisply, folding his hands with a satisfied motion. “I’ve been informed it was reunited with its original owner in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.”
“And how did it get stolen?” I was afraid I knew the answer.
Lois and Charity’s murders might be solved, but Vanessa Scanlon’s murder was no closer to resolution.
“The owner was here in Port Quincy in nineteen ninety-four for a funeral. She dined in the Senator dining room and checked her coat and believed the ring slipped off in her glove, which remained in her pocket. Or she thought maybe she left it on the hotel dresser. Because she couldn’t be sure, the Senator was off the hook. But she filed a police report anyway.”
Vanessa had been in charge of managing housekeeping. Her position gave her ample opportunities to steal jewelry from guests.
Jesse dithered next to me, turning his poor hat around and around in his hand. I snapped myself back from my thoughts.
“Mr. Fournier, my friend Jesse here is looking for an engagement ring.”
Jesse blushed red and nodded, suddenly struck mute.
Mr. Fournier smiled and rubbed his hands together. He was eager to help Jesse find the right piece.
“And what do you think she would like? Something elegant, like a solitaire?” He bent down to remove a display of simple, sparkly rings, but Jesse found his voice.
“Oh, no, those are much too plain for her. She has a lot of pizzazz. She’s bold and original and creative.” His eyes took on a dreamy cast, and his wide mouth lilted up in a small smile.
Mom was bold and original and creative, especially with her designs. I felt a sickening clench in my stomach. He wouldn’t really try to woo Mom right out from under Doug’s nose, would he?
“These have a lot of flair.” Fournier selected a different tray, with antique rings arrayed on a bed of gray velvet. “All from the art deco era, estate pieces. They’re one of a kind. Can you picture her in any of these? They’re very daring, and nontraditional.”
Jesse swept his designer’s eye over the display and pointed decisively to a large cluster ring of rubies and pearls. “That one. She looks killer in red.”
The ring was gorgeous, heavy, and vibrant, but it wasn’t anything my mom would ever wear. My spirits lifted marginally.
Mr. Fournier rang Jesse up, and I waited a minute in the store as he headed to the station wagon.
“One more thing, Mr. Fournier. Did you ever sell an amethyst and diamond necklace, one that presents as an iris touched
by snow?”
Fournier’s face lit up. “No, but I know the piece exactly. Angela had one just like it, and she’d wear it for big events. It was striking, especially on her. You know she loves to travel,” he gushed. “I believe she got it in Thailand. Amethyst is her birthstone, for February. She’s an Aquarius.”
A niggling thought tickled my brain, but I pushed it away.
“Are you sure Angela wore the necklace, not Vanessa? Could Porter Scanlon have gotten her something similar?”
“Oh, no.” Fournier shook his head. “I’d bet my life on it. That necklace is Angela’s. You don’t forget a piece like that. It’s one of a kind. Though, come to think of it, she hasn’t worn it in years.” I left the store pondering what it all meant and hightailed it home. I had a wedding to put on in six hours, and I’d need every minute from now until then.
* * *
Jesse was a jangling ball of nerves as we pulled into the driveway.
“When are you going to propose to your mystery lady?”
He glanced at his large nautical watch. “Hopefully within the next hour.”
My heart sank. It was just me, Rachel, Mom, three culinary students from our class this fall who we’d hired to help us cook for the wedding, and the wait staff. Was Jesse’s mystery woman among them, or was it Mom?
And where in the heck is Doug?
There was no sign of a rental car, and I feared he hadn’t arrived.
“Good luck,” I muttered to Jesse as we parted ways in the hall.
He disappeared into the library, and when I peeked in a few minutes later, he was pacing around and practicing a speech.
Delilah wheeled up the hallway and dogged my steps.
“Um, what brings you here today?” I tried to sound polite.
“My son is here,” she bristled. “I’m not sure why, as it’s Saturday, and his contract with you is complete. But he said he had to do something important, and as soon as he’s done, we’ll be out of your hair.”
The doorbell chimed, and I hurried down the hall to open the door.
“It’s ready, just in the nick of time.” Bev bustled into the foyer with Whitney’s voluminous dress in tow, battened down within its garment bag.
“It’s great you were able to pull this off,” I gushed to the seamstress. “I’ll just hang this upstairs.” I turned to go just as my mother and Rachel hustled down the hall from the kitchen to see who had arrived.
Jesse burst out of the library and made a beeline for my mother. She hadn’t seen him yet and moved to chat with Bev and Rachel.
“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” I muttered as he reached into his pocket for the ring.
The doorbell rang again, but the newest guest didn’t wait.
Jesse bent one long leg and touched his knee to the ground. My mother’s face formed a tiny o.
“Get away from my wife!” Doug burst in the front door and made a run for Jesse. My stepfather isn’t tall, but he managed to tackle all six-foot-eight inches of Jesse with a loud oomph.
“Get off of me. Are you crazy?” Jesse stood and jumped back from Doug. The velvet jewelry box bounced out of his hand and down the hall.
“You were about to abscond with my wife. Unhand her.”
Rachel started to laugh at Doug’s chivalrous speech, but I wasn’t laughing. Neither was Delilah, who zipped down the hall on her scooter toward the commotion.
“Jesse! What are you doing?” She leaned her cane over and used the claw attachment to snatch up the ring box.
“Give that back, Mother.” Jesse seized the ring out of his mother’s extended grasp and, panting, ran back to my mother.
Doug moaned on the ground after being tackled, and my mother moved over to tend to him.
“That was so brave. You’re the love of my life, Douglas Shepard.”
“Help me up, please. I think I popped my back out.”
Jesse resumed his kneeling stance and whipped the top of the box off and presented it to a blushing, gushing Bev.
“Beverly, darling, you are the sun to my moon. The yin to my yang. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Yes!” The seamstress squealed as Jesse stood and clasped her tight, and Delilah’s screams could be heard echoing around Thistle Park.
“No! You can’t get married! What about me?” Her hoop earrings shook and her bandana slid down over her eyes. She clawed at the cloth with her fingers and wailed in a maudlin caterwaul louder than Whiskey and Soda when they heard me open a can of tuna.
“Mother,” Jesse puffed out his chest and placed his arm protectively around Bev, “I’m moving out. It’s high time I got my own life.” His eyes flickered sideways to my mother, who was settling Doug onto the bottom stair. “This is something I should have done a long time ago.”
Rachel and I left them in the hall and hurried up the stairs to hang up Whitney’s dress.
* * *
For the next four hours, we worked at Mach speed to transform the newly completed B and B into a scene of autumn splendor for Whitney and Ian. We spread dark espresso tablecloths on the long banquet tables in the back hall and topped them with plum and milk-chocolate overlays. Lucy’s team arrived with the flowers, and we helped them create wavy lines of lush mums in copper, dark wicker, and brass pots marching down each table. Nestled among the blooms were fat and squat pillar candles in varied shades of brown. We positioned Penelope’s savory chocolates in their gold boxes at each place setting among the brown toile china and Fiestaware.
Whitney’s wedding decorations looked lovely against the furniture and décor my mother had chosen. She had done a masterful, if expensive, job. It was cozy and mostly historically accurate, but also warm, rich, inviting, and livable. It was a home for fancy weddings, and a place where guests could cozy up with a book.
Our three friends from our cooking class put the final touches on the meal we’d envisioned back at the beginning of October, and Rachel and I bustled around the kitchen, making sure the lamb was done just right.
Helene’s contractors finished painting over the black X on the mural in the parlor just in time. Jesse painted fluffy white clouds on a periwinkle-blue background and the contractors moved quickly to break down their scaffolding.
“She’s all finished.” A tear beaded up in Jesse’s eye. “This was a helluva job, but we pulled it off.”
I grinned. “And now that Hunter has been apprehended, I’ll actually get my money back to pay you.”
* * *
Rachel carefully applied makeup to Whitney’s face, concealing the red the roller coaster of emotions had brought out. She had performed the same careful ritual this morning, blending and wiping away the blotches and puffiness due to stress and tears over Hunter. My sister was a true artist, whether the medium was icing or makeup.
“How do I look?” Whitney twirled around in front of the full-length mirror in the purple bedroom. The deep-satin gown had been transformed by Bev into a full yet sleek dream of a dress, the champagne satin rich and mellow against Whitney’s skin. The brown sash tied it all together with the chocolate theme, and she had replaced the amethyst necklace with a pretty coffee-colored quartz pendant. I left her with her father in the hallway, as they enjoyed a moment together.
I found my mother, Rachel, and Doug gathered at the other end of the hall.
“We did it!” my mother whispered.
We smushed in a group hug, and I thought about how much I loved my family. We’d made order out of chaos, and it all came together at the end. I beamed and thought of Whitney, Porter, and Angela as I looked over my shoulder. They were getting pictures before Whitney walked down the staircase to meet Ian on the landing.
Whitney broke away from her father right before she descended.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Go get ’em.”
She linked arms with a frail but buoyant Porter and started her march as the accompanist struck up. She clasped a bouquet of mums and rust-colored freesia, tiger lilies, and
maroon foxgloves. Angela’s eyes swept over her niece’s bridal splendor, and she clasped a hand over her mouth, overcome with emotion.
“Sweetie, you look just radiant.”
* * *
The ceremony went off without a hitch. Becca descended the stairs on the arm of Keith, a little unsteady but resplendent in her café-au-lait satin gown.
She sent me a little smile, which I found myself returning.
Fiona, Maisie, and Bruce appeared at the top of the stairs, a small champagne satin pillow tied between them like a yoke. Rachel lifted a slender silver dog whistle to her lips to summon the dogs down the stairs and to the landing. The doggie’s ears pricked up, and they bounded down with exuberant barks, past the couple on the landing, and headed for the guests, yipping and cavorting.
“Oh no!” Whitney’s hands flew to her mouth in horror as the pillow between the dogs came untied and skittered under a guest’s chair.
“Somebody get the rings!” Ian started to make his way from the landing.
Bruce emerged from beneath the chair with the pillow in his mouth. Maisie grabbed a corner, and the two executed a short game of puppy tug-of-war as guests lunged for the scamps. Fiona gamboled around them in a blurry, furry circle.
“Bruce, no!” I moved toward the little white Westie as he tore the rings from the pillow and made a run for it.
“Here, Bruce, here, sweetie!” Whitney crouched down in her billowing gown on the landing and pulled a tiny dog treat from her pocket. Bruce scampered up the stairs and dropped the rings, still tied in their chocolate satin ribbon, at his mistress’ feet and accepted the treat.
“Thank goodness,” I muttered under my breath, as the ceremony proceeded.
Marcus Callender led Ian and Whitney through their vows, and in no time, they were pronounced man and wife. The party began in earnest, and Whitney’s guests danced the night away in the front hall.
Rachel, my mother, and I scurried around in the background, putting out small fires and making sure the first wedding at Thistle Park ran smoothly. I finally caught a break near ten and checked out the guest book. Next to it was an iPad playing a slideshow of Ian and Whitney’s childhood photos on a continuous loop. There were silly photos of Whitney dressed up for Halloween with her friends when she was about Summer’s age, and several Christmas gatherings around a tree. My eyes caught on one photo, and I swiped my finger to reverse the slideshow.
Murder Wears White Page 25