She entered a white world of beading, Swarovski crystals, lace, silk, and ruffles. If trying to explain the action to Carol wouldn’t have been more daunting than staying, Josie would have fled immediately.
A wave of white brocade parted and a short, bluehaired, chubby woman appeared. “Josie Pigeon.”
“Gertrude Weintraub?”
“Got it in one, my dear. Although everyone calls me Gert.” She peered behind Josie. “Didn’t dear Carol say you would have a friend with you? And a baby?”
“Yes, they’re waiting for the elevator. The baby is sleeping and his mother—my friend Betty—didn’t want to take him out of his stroller and risk waking him up.”
Gert beamed. “Lovely. To tell you the truth, I was a tiny bit worried. This is no place for children—sticky fingers can make such a mess of my skirts.”
Josie realized Gert was talking about the wedding gowns lining the walls and stuffed on racks, not the sensible black cotton skirt she herself wore. “I’m sure. But you don’t have to worry about JJ—he’s a sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart or no, I’ve set up a playpen full of toys in my office for him. So many women are getting married more than once these days, and so many bring their children to fittings, that I’ve become accustomed to taking care of the dear little heirs while their mothers shop.”
Just then JJ and Betty appeared. JJ was still asleep, and Betty rolled him into a corner where he couldn’t do any damage when he woke up. Then she introduced herself to Gert. Josie wandered around, fingering thick embroidered and beaded silk, touching feathery layers of chiffon, putting her hands behind her back when she discovered what looked like handmade lace. She couldn’t imagine herself in anything she saw, but she was ready to endure whatever Gert offered—for Carol’s sake.
She was becoming depressed over the prospect when Gert left Betty and appeared by her side. “I already pulled out a few dresses after dear Carol described you and your life. She seemed to have little idea of what sort of wedding you wanted, whether something casual at the beach, a church wedding, or possibly something small in a private home. So I picked out one for each. And two dresses that are my favorites—I couldn’t resist. They’re waiting in the dressing room back there.” Josie took a deep breath and, steeled for the worst, headed toward the white curtain offering privacy from the rest of the room. At least no one would be able to see the expression on her face when she looked in the mirror.
As promised, there were five dresses waiting for her. Josie approached them slowly. All were the color she had learned this morning to refer to as ivory (at Saks the word beige had been roundly scorned). Three were full-length, one had a handkerchief hem, and one, surprisingly, was a tailored suit with a fitted jacket and knee-length skirt. She decided to try the suit on first.
A few minutes later, she was standing before the bank of mirrors, absolutely amazed by her appearance. The suit was transforming. She looked wonderful—fashionable, and if not thin, appealingly curvaceous. She pushed aside the curtain and rejoined the others.
“Fantastic! Josie, that suit is fantastic!”
“But only appropriate if you’re going to be married in a private home, or perhaps before a judge at City Hall. You need to try on the others as well, my dear,” Gert suggested firmly.
“We could get married at Sam’s house,” Josie said, turning around in front of the mirror.
“Perhaps,” Gert said. “Now I think we should skip the gown with the handkerchief hem. I hadn’t met you when I picked that one out, and it really won’t do at all. Try on the floor-length sheath with the little bolero jacket next. That will do for a beach wedding without the jacket and a church wedding with it.”
Josie did as she was told—repeatedly—and in slightly over an hour or so, she had chosen three dresses that she actually loved. “So which is it?” Betty asked when Josie reappeared in her street clothes.
“I . . . I really don’t know.” Gert was leaning over the playpen and patting JJ on his back. “There aren’t any price tags,” she whispered.
Apparently she didn’t whisper quietly enough. “You don’t have to worry about the cost, my dear,” said Gert. “Carol said to assure you that the gown you love is her present to you. Such a dear woman.”
“But I . . .”
“Pick the one you like and I’ll have it ready for you on the big day.”
Betty and Gert were smiling expectantly. Josie looked from dress to dress, completely undecided. “I . . . is there a ladies’ room?”
Gert pointed. “That door to your right.”
“Thank you.” Josie fled toward a few minutes of privacy, leaving Betty and Gert behind, happily discussing veils versus hats. As she closed the door behind her, the subject of flowers came up. It was all too much.
Josie flipped down the toilet seat lid and sat. She needed to think. She was losing control of her life. She hadn’t really come to the city to shop, anyway. The wedding dress had been an excuse to see Betty, and to talk her into asking her husband for help. Now here she was, being forced to choose between dresses, which meant that she had to decide on the spot what sort of wedding she and Sam were going to have. Dresses she couldn’t possibly afford. Dresses she was not going to allow anyone else to buy for her. She was further than ever from getting what she had driven so far for.
She looked over at the pile of magazines and newspapers laid out on the windowsill and recognized a name in a headline. She picked up the yellowing newspaper and returned to the salon.
“Betty, how well do you know your neighbors?”
“Some well, some not at all.”
“How about Maud Higgins?” Josie asked. “It says here that she lives in your building.”
“Oh, I know Maud. She has a daughter the same age as JJ. We meet in the park sometimes, and we’re talking about forming a play group for the kids before winter comes.”
“You know Maud Higgins?” Gert spoke up. “I sold her her wedding dress. A dear young woman with a lovely, willowy figure. She chose the most gorgeous Edwardian sheath in the palest, palest pink, and she carried cream tulips with just a hint of blush in the center of each flower. Beautiful.”
Josie smiled. New York City was really just a group of small neighborhoods. Maybe this trip wasn’t going to be a waste of time after all.
TWENTY-ONE
“SHE WAS A lovely bride,” Gert said, looking over Josie’s shoulder at the magazine she held. “But did she decide to use Higgins instead of her husband’s name?”
“She’s still married,” Betty answered the unasked question. “She uses Higgins because that’s how she’s known professionally.”
“What does she do?” Josie asked.
“Right now she’s a stay-at-home mom, but before her daughter was born she was a magazine editor. She worked everywhere—Harpers, Vogue, Elle—as well as a bunch of smaller magazines.”
“That’s right. She was such fun to help find a wedding gown. She knew wonderful stories—things that happened backstage at Bryant Park during Fashion Week, the fall shows of the really big designers in Paris, all sorts of lovely things.” Gert smiled at the memory.
“And she’s the granddaughter of Seymour and Tilly Higgins?” Josie asked, wanting to be sure of her facts.
“Yes,” Betty answered.
“No,” Gert protested. “Or perhaps I should say not exactly. Seymour Higgins is her grandfather, yes. But the present Mrs. Higgins—Tilly Higgins—isn’t her biological grandmother. Her biological grandmother is the first Mrs. Higgins. I seem to remember that her first name was Doris.”
“I didn’t know he was married more than once,” Josie said.
“Are you working with the trophy wife then?” Betty asked.
“She seems a little old to be a trophy wife,” Josie answered.
“How old is she?” Betty asked.
“It’s not how old she is that makes her a trophy wife, it’s the difference in their ages,” Gert explained. “And trophy wife or no, the seco
nd Mrs. Higgins has had that title for well over three decades. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Seymour or Tilly but they’re forever appearing in photographs in the paper at various charity dos and benefits.”
“So this isn’t the story of a rich older man and a beautiful younger wife,” Josie said.
“Not at all,” Gert said. “In fact, the present Mrs. Higgins is at least as wealthy as her husband. Her family was in insurance—one of the big companies located up in Hartford. They were loaded and she was an only child. And she raised Seymour’s children as though they were her own. I think there were four: one boy and three girls. Maud Higgins is his son’s daughter. The two youngest girls bought their wedding gowns from me decades ago, as have their daughters.”
“What about the third daughter?” Josie asked.
“Bergdorf’s,” Gert answered dismissively. “The marriage only lasted a few years. She took off with another man and moved to California.”
Josie got the impression that Gert didn’t think this would have happened if the bride had more carefully chosen her shopping venue.
“What happened to Maud’s biological grandmother? To Doris? Did she die?” Betty asked.
Gert walked over to a manikin and straightened the lace hem of the gown on display as she answered. “I seem to remember that she fell in love with another man and ran away from her family. And then she died under unusual circumstances. I can’t say I remember the details, if I ever knew them. It was all something of a mystery.” She removed the veil and, cradling the yards of lace and silk in her arms, disappeared into the dressing room.
“That’s odd, isn’t it?” Betty asked Josie.
“What’s odd?”
“A bride vanishing like that. It’s sort of like the story of the Bride’s Secret Bed and Breakfast come to life.”
“If she had four children before leaving, she wasn’t exactly a bride,” Josie mused. “It is odd, though. But that’s not what interests me.”
“What is?”
“Tilly and Seymour knew the Bride’s Secret when they were young—before he was married to his first wife.”
“So?”
“So it’s interesting that they ended up buying it together decades later, isn’t it?”
“Do you think it has anything to do with the murder?”
“Probably not.”
“Could the body you found be his first wife?” Betty asked.
“Not unless his first wife was a man,” Josie reminded her.
Betty laughed before asking another question. “And there’s no reason to connect the murder with anyone in the Higgins family, right?”
“Just that they own the house where it happened.”
“And no one has identified him?”
“No. Fingerprints were taken and I suppose someone somewhere is trying to find a match, but I haven’t heard anything.” Josie paused. “Did I tell you that Leslie Coyne—he’s the electrician on the crew this summer— that his papers were found on the body?”
“What sort of papers?”
“His driver’s license.”
“Weird. How did he explain that?”
“He had no idea how it happened—at least that’s what he says.”
“How did you end up hiring a male electrician? Is he from Island Electric?”
“No. Island Electric went out of business and I’m trying not to subcontract these days—cuts too much into my profits. Besides, Leslie is also a carpenter. He does pretty much everything.”
“How did you find this gem?”
“I didn’t,” Josie answered, and then explained how Nic had found the crew for her.
“Sounds like you were surprised when a man showed up on the job.”
“Yes, but you know Island Contracting has no policy against hiring men. And Vicki, Leslie’s fiancée, is working for me this summer as well.”
“So how long has Leslie been missing his identification?”
“He says he lost his license awhile ago, and when he realized it, he applied for a replacement. He’s been carrying the replacement ever since then. He claims to have no idea how his original license ended up on the body. In fact, he claims to have lost his license more than once and didn’t even know it.”
“Isn’t that odd? How could you lose your driver’s license?”
Josie considered. “You know me. I’m always losing things. My driver’s license could vanish and I might not realize it—not unless I was stopped by the police and asked to produce it.”
Betty grinned. “If you were stopped on the island, the Rodneys wouldn’t bother to ask for your license. They know who you are.”
“Only too well,” Josie agreed.
Gert reappeared, a big smile on her face. “So, which one will it be?”
“Which what?” Josie began before realizing what she was being asked. “Oh, the dress. Can you give me a few days to think about it?”
“You’re being married on Labor Day?”
“Yes.”
“I can give you two weeks. I can put a rush on any gown you pick as a favor to dear Carol, but it will still take a month to make it.”
“That’s great!”
“But two weeks is the absolute limit, my dear. You be sure to come back in before then.”
“I . . . do I need to come back in?”
“Of course you do. For your fitting.”
“You can’t do it long distance? I run a business on the shore. I don’t know if I can get away again.”
Gert pursed her lips. “I don’t see how . . .”
“What if you measure Josie right now?” Betty asked.
“I can do that, of course, but each dress is completely individual. Once you pick out your gown, there will still be questions. Of course, if you decide now . . .”
Josie hadn’t run her own business for years without learning that there were times when her only option was to make a quick decision and stick with it. “The sheath with the bolero,” she said.
Betty jumped up and hugged her friend. “Oh, you’re going to have a formal wedding!”
“And it’s a decision you’ll never regret, my dear. Now take off your clothes. Let’s get busy and get those measurements.”
Josie stripped down to her bra and underpants. Gert was wrong—she already regretted her decision.
One of the many mistakes the Rodneys had made was to arrest Betty for murder years before. That mistake had led to her meeting and, in time, marrying Jon Jacobs. Jon and Sam, both attorneys, had known each other in New York City, where they had been on the opposite sides of many cases when Sam worked as a city prosecutor and Jon was a lawyer hired by the defense. Even now, years after Sam’s move to the island, they spoke on the phone regularly. But Jon had become something of a wine expert and their conversations these days, as far as Josie could tell, were frequently more about wine than law. Now, sitting in Betty’s beautifully decorated living room in her prewar co-op, Josie was trying to figure out how to convince Jon to help her without talking to Sam about it.
They had demolished a feast of Thai food before Betty and Jon had disappeared to put JJ to bed. So far their talk had been about the baby and the wedding. Now Jon, his shirtfront a bit damp from helping with his son’s bath, reappeared and sat down across from his guest. “More wine?” he asked, picking up the bottle of Riesling they had enjoyed with dinner.
“I think I’m fine, thanks. Does Betty need any help with JJ?”
“No. The truth is, she’s better off putting him to sleep by herself. JJ hates to sleep when he thinks something else is going on. We turn off all the lights and close the curtains—sort of bore him to sleep,” Jon explained, pouring the last of the wine into his glass and sipping. “This actually goes very well with the spiciness of Thai food, don’t you think?”
She knew nothing about wine, but she was used to agreeing with the experts. “Excellent. How are things going at work?”
“Oh, you know. Same old, same old. How’s Island Contracting? Bett
y says you have another murder on your hands.”
“Oh, I don’t think the body has anything to do with us,” Josie answered. “But I do have a problem that you might be able to help me with . . .”
“Anything. You know that, Josie. But if it’s a legal problem, why not ask Sam?”
Josie took a deep breath and repeated the lie she had come up with during dinner. “It’s not exactly a legal problem. See, I’m trying to make sure everything— absolutely everything—having to do with Island Contracting is organized and on my computer before the wedding.” She paused. “You know how organized Sam is . . .”
“And you’re not?” Jon guessed.
Josie was fairly sure that Sam had complained about this very thing to Jon, probably more than once, so she thought he wouldn’t question her next words. “Not at all, and things have gotten into a terrible mess. To tell you the truth, I don’t want Sam to realize how messy everything is.”
Jon nodded. “So how can I help you?”
Josie had just finished explaining what she needed when Betty returned to the room. They opened another bottle of wine and were still talking when JJ woke up at two A.M.
TWENTY-TWO
JOSIE WAS TIRED and just a bit hungover on her drive back to the island. But she had accomplished more in her short time in the city than she would have thought possible in her most optimistic moment.
The connection between Betty and Maud Higgins might or might not reveal something useful. Betty had promised to talk to Maud about her grandparents right away. “Probably today,” she had added, waving JJ’s hand in the air as Josie started her truck and pulled out into the speeding traffic. Driving in New York City was as different from driving at home as it was possible to get. Josie had panicked until Sam pointed out that each driver was responsible only for his own front fender. It didn’t make a lot of sense, but it always worked, and Josie made it to the Garden State Parkway without incident.
Once out of the city, traffic was light and Josie allowed herself to think of something other than the road. She reviewed her conversation with Jon. After admitting she was sometimes unsure how long she had to keep legal documents pertaining to her business—and relating an incident concerning the Internal Revenue Service and a lost contract—she had mentioned health insurance. With crews changing from year to year, and sometimes from month to month, Josie had a fair number of insignificant questions she could ask without exposing the dire situation she found her company in.
Death at a Premium Page 14