Larcency and Lace

by Annette Blair

  “Before you say anything,” Eve warned, her hand on my shoulder. “He already interrogated me, and I caved like a kid caught with crib notes at a final exam. Detective Lytton Werner knows all.”

  Werner wore a look of smug satisfaction.

  I crossed my arms. “Why ask me questions you know the answers to?”

  “Details,” he said. “Different people notice different things.”

  Okay, so if I told him the truth, I’d be fine. “Fine. Ask away.”

  “What I didn’t tell Ms. Meyers,” Werner said, “is that a body, charred beyond recognition, was found in the rubble of the playhouse.”

  “That’s horrible.” I swallowed hard.

  “The bones, most of which have been broken, have to be sent to an FBI lab for DNA testing, but judging by the pelvic bone, a local forensics team was able to identify the remains as female between the ages of twenty and thirty, never had children. Death happened approximately thirty-five years ago. Cause unknown.”

  Nausea rose in me. I stood. “I need a cracker or I’m going to be sick.” Wishing I’d eaten that cinnamon roll, I ran for the kitchen, but Fiona met me with a cracker box. I dug in, grabbed one, and inhaled it, letting it fill the caffeine-raw hole in my quivering stomach.

  Werner watched with concern. Scrap, so did everyone else.

  I ate another, and another, until the nausea passed. I took a deep breath, kept the box, and returned to the sofa. “Sorry.” I looked at the contents of Werner’s evidence box and turned to Eve. “Probably not from a dinosaur, a bear, or a bizarro dog, then.”

  Werner raised both brows. “You thought it belonged to an animal?”

  I could either nod here or be honest. “We hoped it belonged to an animal. We hoped hard.”

  “Hard enough,” Eve said, “to go looking for Vinney Carnevale to ask him if he broke in, instead of calling you about them, because the guy who broke in looked a lot like Vin. I suspected,” Eve added, “though I didn’t say so, that he took the rest of the bones that belonged to that . . . set you’ve got there. We did plan to call you after we confronted Vinney.”

  “Animal bones.” Werner closed the box and put it aside, praise be. “Puts a different spin on obstruction of justice and tampering with evidence and a crime scene,” he muttered as he made a few notes.

  What a relief. Eve and I weren’t screwed then?

  “Madeira, Ms. Meyers said that you had two break-ins last night. Why didn’t you call the police the first time?”

  “Dad?” I said. “Do you have that report from our night watchman?”

  My father went for it and gave it to me.

  I handed it to Werner. “That’s why I didn’t call for either break-in. You know, I think maybe it was Vinney who broke in both times and maybe while I was away. I also think that the first fire last night was convenient. I mean, it got us out of my building so something could be taken away in that old mailbag.”

  “For argument’s sake, let’s call the contents bones,” Werner said, scribbling furiously on his notepad. “An old mailbag, not a sack.”

  “Oops,” Eve said. “I forgot.”

  “Details. That’s why I’m talking to Mad, er, Ms. Cutler, too.” Werner read the construction company watchman’s report, frowned, and held it up. “Can I take this?” he asked me.

  “Sure. I have a copy.”

  “I’ll make one for myself and return this; it’s the original.”

  “Fine.”

  “Now, what do you need to know, Detective? I’ll tell you everything.” Except about Isobel and the abandoned well, because I didn’t know if they meant anything at all beyond mixed messages and bad dreams. In my second vision, I didn’t know if I’d been falling into the well I’d seen in the first.

  Handing Werner clues—if they were clues—out of thin air would make him suspicious. When my sister was a murder suspect, I’d fed him the clues from my psychometric readings of certain vintage clothing items in a roundabout way. But I couldn’t be that lucky twice.

  Revealing my knowledge directly and prematurely would be like switching on a flashing neon sign: Maddie’s Psychic. Maddie’s Psychic. A nut. Not to be trusted.

  Nobody would say as much but everyone would be thinking: “Sure, she can read vintage clothes. Get her a vintage straightjacket to read.”

  I dug into the box for another cracker, but Fiona traded me the box for a hot ham and egg sandwich on a roll.

  “Bless you,” I said. “I forgot to eat yesterday. Oh, this is delicious, like a handheld omelet.”

  She offered egg sandwiches all around, but only Eve took her up on the offer.

  “I have to get down to my shop and get ready for my grand opening,” I said. “Are you finished with your questions, Detective?”

  “Not quite.”

  I looked out toward our driveway. “Do you want to talk in your car on the way to Vintage Magic?” My face warmed, again, at the thought of being alone with him. “Because I seem to have misplaced my rental.”

  Werner stood. “You talk. I’ll drive. But you can’t work in your shop today. It’s a crime scene.”

  “The whole shop!”

  Seventeen

  The intoxication obtained from wearing certain articles of clothing can be as powerful as that induced by a drug.

  -BERNARD RUDOFSKY

  “Before you leave, Madeira,” Aunt Fiona said, “can we talk for a minute? The subject is important and time sensitive.”

  I questioned Werner with a look about delaying our departure, since he was driving.

  “Go ahead. I have some calls to make,” he said. “I’ll be outside.”

  Eve grabbed her keys and followed Werner to the door. “I’ll meet you at your shop in about an hour.”

  My dad went silently up the stairs.

  Aunt Fiona and I sat at the keeping room table. “Thanks for the sandwich. I really needed it.”

  “You shouldn’t go so long without eating.”

  “You sound like Mom when I used to forget to eat because I was too busy dressing my Barbies.”

  “All twenty of them.” Aunt Fiona sat forward and took my hand. “I’m sorry about the delay in preparing for your grand opening, sweetie. I have a timing problem, too, and I’m thinking that maybe we can help each other.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m the chairman of the White Star Circle of Spirit, Southeast Connecticut Chapter. We sponsor a Halloween costume ball every year, but this year, we’ve lost our location. We were booked into Sampson’s ballroom, but it’s gone.”

  “How can I help?”

  “I’ve been on the phone to our board members all morning, and we were wondering if you’d let us hold our costume ball upstairs at your place? Please. We’ll publicize it as your grand opening ball, sponsored by the Circle of Spirit, and invite the general public. That’s a huge room you’ve got.”

  “Three thousand square feet,” I said, but I sat back stunned. “It’s got rough-hewn timber beamed ceiling and walls. Never was, never will be, a ballroom.”

  “All the better for Halloween. Caskets and hearses and spiderwebs. Oh my.”

  “That’s right,” I said, picturing it. “We could use the funereal rubble as decorations. Except that we wouldn’t be able to see them. There’s no electricity up there.”

  “I thought of that. Our rental fee is enough to pay for you to have electricity and lights put in, as the place stands right now. One of our members is a licensed Connecticut electrician, and he and his crew are prepared to drop everything and wire your upstairs as soon as we give him the go-ahead.”

  I shook my head. “I wouldn’t charge you.”

  “In this case, I insist, because we’re forcing you to get work done before your budget allows. The price is not negotiable.”

  “I was planning to set up a workspace up there as soon as possible, in the back corner, a sewing room. Would that be a problem?”

  “It’s a necessity. I’ve been waiting for you to come ho
me so you could fit me for a costume. Our theme is classic movie characters. A lot of our members were waiting for you to come home, too. They’re sure that your vintage treasures will fit their movie character needs.”

  “I love it. Oh. Can Dolly come to the ball, too? She can wear her Katharine Hepburn as Tracy Lord wedding gown from The Philadelphia Story. She has so few chances to wear it.”

  “You mean the dress she wore to your sister Sherry’s wedding?” Aunt Fiona asked. “Dolly told me that she was planning to go and meet Dante in it. I was afraid she’d die right there at the wedding.”

  “So was I,” I admitted. “I was never so happy to see someone leave.”

  I watched Aunt Fiona go to the kitchen and her offer registered. “You’d be bringing me customers! I’m as thrilled about that as I am about helping you and having lights upstairs.”

  “The place is huge,” she said, putting a cinnamon bun down in front of me. “Your sewing corner won’t bother us. And if you’re worried about us touching anything, we could put up screens.”

  I inhaled the bun. “We’ll have to move fast. As soon as the police clear out?”

  “The circle is ready if you are.”

  I applauded. “As for the ball, I’m more excited for Dolly than I am for myself, even though it’ll be a great opportunity to show off my shop. I’d love to get some of my outfits on mannequins, however bare the downstairs might still be at that point, so people who come to the ball can get an idea of what I plan for Vintage Magic. And I’d like to furnish the lounge area leading to the dressing rooms before then, too. Come shopping with me this week?”

  “Sure. Can we rent your ballroom?”

  “Of course. Call me superwoman. I can get it done. Have you already advertised the ball?”

  “Yes, so we have to do a big media splash and fast to tell everyone that we’re having it at Vintage Magic now, instead, as part of your grand opening.”

  I shot to my feet. “My grand opening. However the downstairs looks, I’ll actually have one because of you.” I hugged her. “You’re a godsend.”

  “A Goddess-send. And don’t celebrate too soon. You have a lot of work to do.”

  “Starting with returning my rental and buying a new car, and in between, I have to set up shop and clear Tunney’s name. Two murders in such a short time. What is this world coming to?”

  “Two?” she asked.

  “Sure. Sampson and the bones.”

  “The bones, of course,” Aunt Fiona said. “A young woman, according to Detective Werner.”

  “I don’t know enough about her yet to talk about it, even to you, Aunt Fiona”—except maybe her name, I thought—“but I intend to start looking.”

  “You know that you can talk it through with me when you get some vibes, right?”

  I found myself pacing again. “I have to find the last person who saw Tunney at the market last night and anybody who might have seen him run over to the playhouse. Obviously the time each event occurred is key—Sampson’s death, the fire, and my burglary. What time does Tunney close on Fridays?”

  “Around the time the fire started.”

  Eighteen

  I design to hit people at a gut level; to capture the soul and raw beauty of people and nature.

  —LINDA LOUDERMILK

  “Can you stand it?” I asked Werner as we stood in the parking lot of Vintage Magic. “Twelve days before my grand opening and there’s yellow crime scene tape across my front door? And look, more donation boxes from our neighbors.”

  “Our neighbors are well-intentioned,” Werner said. “And the crime scene crew will be out of here before the day is over.”

  “The day nearly is over. I slept through most of it. Hey, aren’t you tired?”

  “I got a few hours,” he said. “Not as many as you—”

  “I’ll stop whining. I’m being selfish. Look at our beautiful old playhouse. What a loss to the community and its historic profile.”

  Werner and I crossed my parking lot to take a closer look.

  Sampson’s building smoldered still, half a wall standing, firefighters sifting through the rubble.

  Councilman McDowell, the publicity hound, was giving a TV news interview, using the grisly scene as a backdrop.

  “He’d hang around at the dump,” I muttered, “if a reporter and camera crew were due to show up. Leave it to him to cash in on a tragedy. Was the fire set?”

  Werner jiggled the change in his pocket. “We found ac celerant on the curtains the first time, and on the bones the second time.”

  My stomach lurched again. Why did I believe the bones belonged to Isobel? I didn’t know any Isobel. “What about Tunney?”

  “Prime suspect. I questioned him last night and let him go, so no arrest. Yet.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t. I do my job, whatever it calls for.”

  I nodded. “Have you seen any sign of Vinney Carnevale since all this happened?”

  “We’re checking trains, buses, planes.”

  “This is the first time you’ve answered my questions about a case without biting my head off.”

  “Let’s call it a trade for your hypothetical scenario.”

  “What scenario did I hypothesize?”

  “In a roundabout way, you said that the first fire might have been set as a diversion to get you out of your building so someone could get into your storage room.”

  “If I said that, I didn’t hear myself.”

  He shrugged. “Good detective work, Ms. Cutler.”

  Ms. Cutler. “About last night—”

  “Never happened,” he said. “I’m a gentleman, believe it or not, and gentlemen don’t tell.”

  I certainly wished he’d tell me, so I’d know what did happen, precisely. “I appreciate that, Lytton. Your questions back at the house, did I answer them to your satisfaction? If you want more answers, ask away.”

  “I might be back for more.”

  Whoa. Was that a double entendre on his part? Or wishful thinking on mine?

  Neither. Definitely. “I’m a phone call away.”

  “Have a good day.” He left with a wave and didn’t look back.

  “Have a good day yourself, Detective.” I watched him go, freaked out because I remembered the sound of his heartbeat accelerating beneath my ear, and relieved because we were back to formality, if not impolite indifference.

  While I waited for Eve, I opened some new boxes of clothing at my door, being careful not to touch any, especially after last night. To my surprise, I found that a set of pristine double-wide, white file boxes held a vintage treasure trove. Designer clothes, half of them couture, mostly from the seventies to mid-eighties, though a few might be older.

  Who in the world could have left me such treasures? Who around here could have afforded to buy them new or vintage?

  I’d wear most of them, especially the buff-colored suede fringed wrap skirt, and the white-and-beige, leather horizontal-banded three-quarter coat. I moved corners aside with box covers. I adored the ivory beaded silk faille floor-length cape, reversible to black sequined faille. Evening wear at its finest. I resisted the urge to hold it up to search for a label because I didn’t want it dragging in the parking lot or taking me back in time.

  A poodle skirt topped one box, an aqua silk beaded cocktail dress with a petaled skirt, another. I found a beige shift dress that I believe went with the leather dress coat. My favorite was a Cardin burgundy minidress with a pocket high on the chest, which I just might keep for myself.

  “Hello,” a woman called from across the street as she ran my way. “I’m Fiona’s next in charge for the Halloween Ball,” she said, out of breath as she reached me. “Are you Maddie Cutler?”

  She had the most beautiful head of long red curls I’d ever seen. “I am, yes.”

  “Thank you so much for letting us hold our ball here. Oh, I’m Virginia Statler, and I need a costume today, because I’m on my way out of town first thing in the morning, and I
won’t be back before Halloween.”

  “Oh, but my stock isn’t here yet.”

  “What about this stuff?” She started rifling through the white boxes and opened the last two.

  I was a little taken aback. I didn’t even know what to charge for these things. Normally, I’d research them before putting them out for sale.

  “Oh, this is it,” she said. “I’ll be the heroine, whoever she is, from Flower Drum Song. I’m sure I can find a Japanese fan to go with it.” She held up a rare Japanese wedding kimono. Uber valuable. In Japan, it would cost at least five thousand dollars new. I’d priced them when my old boss Faline held a fashion show there.

  “I have at least two if not three Japanese fans in my vintage stock in storage,” I said, “but as for the kimono, I’d have to look it over for flaws, but it’s worth at least three thousand.”

  The woman didn’t blink. “I’ve always wanted one. I know that’s a fair price for vintage, even if it costs more, unless it has a cigarette hole in it or something. I’ve wanted one for years to mount in Plexiglas on the wall in my living room, which I’ll do with this one, after the ball. Do you want a deposit so you can hold it for me?” She took out her checkbook. “Will five hundred dollars do?”

  Who knew that I’d find vintage collectors with money to burn right here in Mystic? Normally, I wouldn’t take a check from a stranger if I couldn’t immediately verify it with her bank, but if I was keeping it for her, I’d have time to do that.

  She handed me the check, and before I knew what she was doing, she tried on the kimono, right there in the parking lot. I squeaked and ran behind her to grab the fabric and keep it from trailing in the leafy lot. Virginia talked non-stop the whole time, as if a parking lot sale were normal for something this pricey.

  In a dizzying blink, I saw a young man in a white tux walking into a country club. “I certainly hope this is worth the expense,” he said to his companion, a young man similarly dressed.

  “Think of it as an investment, old boy,” his friend said with an English accent. “She’s worth a bloody fortune, and she’s gorgeous besides. You’ll have everything you ever wanted, and it’ll hardly be a sacrifice to put your shoes under her bed.”