Gown with the Wind

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  “Alma plans on showing Gone with the Wind once a week.” Jacqueline winced and raised her eyebrows.

  “I think it will get some buzz the first time it runs, but there may not be enough continued interest to show it once a week.” Not that I thought Alma would care. “What would you have chosen to run on opening night?”

  A dreamy look stole over Jacqueline’s delicate features, and she broke out into an impetuous smile. “The Wizard of Oz. It would be a nice nod to Port Quincy, with all the yellow brick roads downtown.” She set down her scone and turned to me excitedly. “I would play The Rocky Horror Picture Show once a month. And run classics like Citizen Kane and Casablanca on Wednesdays. And all the newest indie feature films as well.” The embers and sparkles died in Jacqueline’s eyes as reality seemed to set back in. “But I’m not running the show. Alma is.”

  It was too bad Jacqueline didn’t have more of a stake in what sounded like should have been a joint venture.

  But was it enough to kill for?

  The cherry grandfather clock in the corner chimed in a dolorous tone, making me jump.

  “I’ve got to go.” I bade Jacqueline goodbye. I was really no closer to whipping up a movie theater premiere worthy of The Duchess than I had been when I’d arrived. What I’d gotten instead was a whole host of reasons why Rhett and Jacqueline might want to murder Alma, and why Alma herself may have had an interest in killing her husband. I was happy to put the Cunningham house far in the distance as I made my way back to the B and B.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Early the next morning, Jacqueline’s revelations bounced around in my head like a game of pinball as I waded through a small village of box skyscrapers in Thistle Park’s basement. I squinted in the dull light afforded by the few hanging bulbs in the cavernous space. I was looking for the containers of decorations I’d amassed for my own wedding to Keith that had, thankfully, never come to fruition. But I was distracted by thoughts of the complicated relationships in the Cunningham family, and by my mind’s dogged pursuit to try to figure out why Alma had been attacked and Felicity and Glenn murdered.

  “Focus. You’re not Nancy Drew, you’re a wedding planner.” I delivered a stern admonition to myself and blew at a cobweb that had affixed itself to my nose. Truman would have a conniption if he found out I’d promised Alma to look into the death of her husband.

  Pay dirt.

  I found the boxes of decorations and favors in a particularly dusty corner of the basement. I thanked my lucky stars I’d chosen to stash them there last summer, rather than entomb them in a dumpster or set them aflame. I’d been pretty ticked off at Keith upon finding out about his affair with Becca, and trashing the decorations for my canceled wedding would have been cathartic.

  But I believed things happened for a reason, and I couldn’t erase the grin from my face as I ferried all twelve heavy boxes up the steep basement steps to repose in the kitchen.

  “Yuck.” Rachel sneezed and waved a hand in front of her face as I plopped down the last box. A layer of grime and dirt covered the cardboard.

  “Help me wipe down the boxes before Samantha gets here.” I tossed Rachel a dust rag, and we got to work tidying up the mountain of supplies. A tiny ribbon of guilt laced through my mind as we worked. I wasn’t about to reveal to Samantha that the boxes were dirty because the decorations had been for my own wedding to Keith. If we’d had more time to come up with decorations for Keith and Becca’s rushed big day, I would have started afresh with new trinkets and table settings.

  “All better.” Rachel surveyed our work with satisfaction and disappeared upstairs to clean up. I cut open several of the boxes to verify their contents, then showered to get ready for my meeting with Samantha.

  Half an hour later, I paused at the head of the dining room table to survey the representative centerpiece I’d crafted to show Samantha. I’d gotten frissons of déjà vu as I placed the same white ostrich feathers, coral and pink glass orbs, and strings of pearls around the birdcages and wicker nests Helene had dictated I use last summer.

  Rachel entered the room and slowly circled the table. “It’s lovely. Too bad it’s for those two ungrateful jokers.”

  I shrugged and adjusted a silk magnolia blossom. “Better Becca than me. And I thought I might be upset about going through my old wedding decorations.” I reached for the tray of bagels I’d set up for my meeting with Samantha and used my knife to paint on a cream cheese mustache. I affected my best Clark Gable voice and smirked at my sister. “But frankly, my dear, now I don’t give a damn.”

  Rachel whooped with laughter as I wiped off the cream cheese and reached for a bagel. “They’ll soon be out of our hair.”

  I stiffened, hearing some movement in the hall. I’d left the front door open for Samantha, and not everyone rang the bell when they arrived. Rachel and I had learned to reflexively take care with our words, because we often had guests occupying the first two floors of the B and B. Thistle Park afforded so many nooks and crannies for guests to hang out and eavesdrop inadvertently, from narrow back hallways to window seats and the butler’s pantry.

  “Hi, ladies.” Samantha materialized at the entrance to the dining room. I felt a slow heat climb my neck, and wondered how much she’d heard. “I let myself in, I hope that’s okay.”

  Rachel sported two spots of color on her face but recovered and offered Samantha a bright smile. “Of course. Help yourself to some coffee and bagels while you work.”

  Samantha sat down and let out a sigh. “I hate to say it, but being here making decorations will be less stressful than joining Becca and Mom at the dress shop.”

  I’d also decided to skip attending Becca’s quest for a new gown, despite the bride’s protestations. If we had any hope of finishing the preparations for this latest iteration of Becca and Keith’s wedding, we needed to economize on time. And it appeared Samantha was happy to step out of the shadow of her domineering twin to steal some low-key downtime.

  “Weddings can be stressful,” I soothed. “They require as much preparation as the most complicated court case, and emotions can run just as high.”

  Samantha carefully slathered a swath of cream cheese on her bagel. “Becca told me you were an attorney before you became a wedding planner.” A rueful smile slyly stole across her round face. “I’m beginning to see that maybe the law is the more tame profession.”

  “I don’t know about that.” I offered her my own grin.

  “So, these were the decorations for your wedding to Keith.” Samantha set down a melon-colored glass globe and sent me a level and even gaze. Rachel held a bagel in front of her open mouth, shocked into inaction right before she took a bite.

  I felt my eyes widen and my heart begin to pound. I feared Samantha could see the rise and fall of my rib cage. “How did you know?”

  Samantha let out a rollicking laugh, the tension dissipated just as quickly as it had come on. “I may live in Colombia now, but I grew up in Port Quincy. And although Becca hid that Keith was involved with someone else when they got together, you can’t hide anything from your twin sister.” She frowned and set down the delicate glass ornament. “I’m sorry your engagement ended at the hands of my sister.”

  I shook my head, my brass-leaf-motif earrings fluttering around my shoulders. “I always remind myself that it was Keith’s choice to step out of our engagement, not Becca’s.”

  Samantha nodded and twined a cream ribbon through the top of the ornament. “Fair enough.” She cocked her head in thought. “If it were me, though, I would have torched all this.”

  I smiled at Becca’s twin, liking the way she thought.

  “I don’t want to spread bad juju by using this stuff, but time is of the essence.” I threaded a strip of peach lace through the lattice of a sisal birdcage. “Maybe these baubles and pearls and lace and feathers will do some good in Becca’s marriage to Keith.”

  “Maybe we should have them exorcised,” Rachel murmured from the other end of the table.
/>   “Pardon?” Samantha looked up sharply.

  Rachel struggled to cover her tracks. “So, how did it come about that Becca is still married to Eric?”

  Nice one, Rach.

  I sent my sister a poorly concealed glare, and she shrugged.

  “Oh, c’mon, Mallory. I’m just asking what everyone in Port Quincy is thinking.”

  Samantha laughed again, but this time her voice was tinged with weariness. She seemed to take no offense to Rachel’s query. “I think Becca and Eric wanted to stay married at one point. Their trial separation just lasted and lasted, and they went on with their lives. My parents assumed Becca had taken care of it.” An amused sparkle glinted in Samantha’s deep blue eyes. “Becca is the ultimate procrastinator. Maybe she still had feelings for Eric. That is, up until she met Keith. Plus,” she reasoned, “Eric was in Colombia. He wasn’t here to handle the divorce in person until it became necessary to marry Piper. Eric is the king of efficiency. He probably just figured he’d get divorced while he was back in town. A quickie divorce, and then a new marriage right after.”

  “What’s it like, working with your twin’s ex?” I knew from Piper that Eric and Samantha had founded their NGO together.

  Samantha tied a coral taffeta bow to the handle of a wicker basket. “It’s surprisingly normal. Becca, Eric, and I all went to Duquesne for law school together.” She set down the fussy decoration and seemed to stare into the distance. “Felicity too.”

  I recalled Becca’s consternation and claim that Felicity had copied her decision to go to law school.

  “Everything Felicity did, Becca had to do too. Or vice versa,” Samantha said with a small, tight smile. “We all planned to go into humanitarian law once we graduated, except for Becca, who wanted to do corporate work at a firm. In the end, only Eric and I ended up doing humanitarian work.”

  I knew Becca had practiced law for a short time while she waited for her bar results, before she failed the test twice and left the law for good.

  “Felicity decided she didn’t want to practice, and moved back to Port Quincy to work in her parents’ jewelry store. She used her law degree to expand the family business, but she stayed friends with Piper and Eric. I actually saw her more than I got to see Becca these last few years. She came to visit us in Bogota a few times a year.”

  The plot thickens.

  It wasn’t lost on me that Felicity had been murdered just as everyone from her past coalesced in town for Becca and Keith’s, as well as Eric and Piper’s weddings. It couldn’t have been easy for Becca for her twin to be friends with her ultimate rival.

  “What I don’t get is how Becca’s relationship with Eric ended in the first place. Becca may have her secrets, but she eventually tells me everything.” Samantha took a fortifying slug of coffee. “They were so well matched, even though Becca was interested in a corporate career, and Eric wanted to work on human rights and asylum cases. I thought everything was going well with them. Then he suddenly left her. He asked me to get him a position with my nonprofit in Colombia. I wasn’t happy he was leaving my sister, but I thought it would blow over. But on one of his trips back to Port Quincy, Grandpa Glenn introduced Eric to Piper, and that was it. Eric was smitten. And I knew then it was truly over between my sister and Eric.”

  “Your grandpa introduced Eric to his new fiancée?” This time I had the pleasure of sticking my foot firmly in my mouth.

  A flush graced Samantha’s pretty, rounded face, belying her embarrassment. “Piper was Grandpa’s star student at Quincy College. I don’t think he realized anything would come of it, or that it would be the nail in the coffin of Becca’s marriage. He certainly didn’t want to hurt my sister. She was the apple of his eye.”

  Interesting.

  I recalled my conversation yesterday with Jacqueline, when she’d made it sound as if Samantha had been closer to her grandfather than Becca.

  “Your mom said yesterday that your grandfather didn’t like Gone with the Wind.” I decided to slip in a question about Glenn, in an effort to officially close my unofficial investigation of his death. I’d be seeing Alma later this afternoon, and I wanted to report that I would no longer be doing any off-the-clock sleuthing for her. This would be my last foray into the matter, and then it would be case closed. I had enough to do with planning weddings and events, without Alma deputizing me as an investigator.

  Samantha set down her coffee cup and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “Alma and Glenn had a kind of James Carville and Mary Matalin relationship.” A wistful smile stole across her face.

  “About politics?” Rachel piped up from her end of the table.

  “Oh, about everything,” Samantha confirmed. “Sometimes oil and water do mix well, and that was my grandparents. Except for Gone with the Wind. He barely tolerated Alma’s love of it, but her collection really flourished after his death.” She winced and laid her napkin back across her lap. “Alma has sunk much of their joint savings into creating the premier, private Gone with the Wind collection.”

  “How do you feel about Alma’s treasures?” I set down a willow branch and waited for Samantha’s reply. Her dark eyes danced with laughter.

  “I see both sides of Gone with the Wind, having grown up in its shadow my whole life. It certainly isn’t a politically correct movie or novel when viewed through the lens of our current time.” She cocked her head in momentary thought before seeming to carefully choose her words. “It’s very problematic. But it also has its own history. I think it’s a great teaching tool to examine history and consider it from all sides. As a history professor, Grandpa thought so too.” She frowned, the thoughtful look from before slipping from her face. “Grandma never wanted to talk about Gone with the Wind’s negatives. I think the collection brought Alma much joy. But also a lot of trouble.” Twin beads of moisture collected at the corners of Samantha’s eyes. “To be honest, I’m a little miffed she gifted the entire collection to Becca.” She straightened in her chair and resumed her work with the centerpieces. “But I can’t say I was ever truly interested in it either.”

  I felt a rush of pathos for Samantha. Though she didn’t seem to want Alma’s collection, it still hurt that her grandmother had favored Becca in making the gift. Not that it would matter so much now that the prime pieces had been stolen.

  “My dad is another matter.” Samantha seemed to weigh her words before pressing on. “My father was absolutely furious that Alma gave the collection to Becca.” A sheepish cast marred her features. “I think Dad was expecting a sizable inheritance from Alma, but she’d tied up all her funds in the collection. And she obviously didn’t protect it very well.” She let out a barely perceptible shiver. “I’ve never seen him so angry.”

  Rachel and I exchanged shared raised eyebrows across our opposite ends of the table. Samantha was studiously avoiding our gazes, seeming to realize she’d said too much. It was nearly time for our meeting to end anyway. The three of us had made some great headway. There now were the tidy beginnings of elaborate centerpieces, complete with glass peaches, lace ribbons, and willow and ash branches. The centerpieces would be placed back in their boxes. The night before the wedding, Rachel and I would reassemble them and twine them down the length of twenty long tables.

  “We’d better wrap this up.” I offered Samantha a kind smile. “I need to shore up some plans for Alma’s theater reopening and then meet with her downtown.”

  Samantha nodded and rose to go. “I know Alma deputized you to look into Grandpa Glenn’s death.”

  I felt my mouth open into a little round o.

  Samantha laughed. “If one person can’t keep a secret, it’s Alma. Don’t worry about her request. The situation is sad, but I believe Chief Truman is doing all he can. Grandpa was shot in his office. There was no sign of forced entry, but then again, Grandpa’s office door was always open when he was at work, in case a student wanted to drop by. They found him with Wilkes, and that’s all anyone knows.”

  It’s too bad the dog
gy can’t reveal his secrets.

  “You can’t think of any reason why someone would want Glenn gone?”

  Samantha shook her head. “I’ve thought about it for a whole year. He did expect a lot from his students, but he wasn’t so harsh with his expectations that someone would murder him.”

  There was one person who had a good, if not rational, reason to clear Glenn from the picture. I squirmed in my chair as dark thoughts about Alma needled their way in.

  Samantha seemed to read my mind, and I wondered briefly if I’d accidentally spoken them aloud. “It doesn’t help with the rumor mill,” Samantha said softly, “that Alma broke ground on renovations to The Duchess a mere week after Glenn was killed.”

  She bade us goodbye and slipped out of Thistle Park.

  Rachel let out a slow whistle. “And I thought our family was complicated.”

  * * *

  I shook off my misgivings about Alma and sat behind my desk in the office I shared with my sister. The soothing green walls and poufy chintz furniture usually worked to put my mind in a great state for tackling the knottiest of wedding plans. I had practice negotiating, cajoling, and persuading brides and family members to come to agreements and put aside their differences during various phases of planning a wedding.

  But this afternoon, I would be outright begging. I needed my former contractor, Jesse Flowers, to come back on board with Alma’s project and finish the last few touches before premiere night.

  “What can I do for you, Mallory?” Jesse’s surprisingly high voice answered his cell on the third ring.

  I decided to cut right to the chase, because time was of the essence. The Duchess would be opening in less than two days, and according to Alma, the elevators and bathrooms still needed to be painted. “I need a big favor.”

  “Anything for you, doll.” Jesse and I had bonded over the particularly accident-laden restoration of Thistle Park last October. I knew I could count on him. It didn’t hurt that I was on deck to host his wedding to Bev in a little over a year, right before the Fourth of July. I’d received a few panicked texts from the bridal storeowner herself right after Samantha had left. It appeared Becca hadn’t been able to find a dress she loved as much as the ruined and forever cursed Scarlett-O-Hara replica gown. I didn’t envy Bev’s job right now, though it seemed like half the darn town of Port Quincy was either mobilized to make Keith and Becca’s ever-changing wedding successful or to help Alma’s theater reopening get off the ground.