Perils and Lace

by Gayle Leeson

  “I hope that’s not the case, Pup. But, even if it is, there’s not much you can do about it.”

  “I know,” I said. “Unless someone is being mean to her. That’s something I can and will do something about.”

  He laughed softly. “You’re putting the cart before the horse. You don’t even know Zoe does have an unhappy homelife. You’re merely guessing and going on the word of someone else—someone who can’t expand on the subject now.”

  “I suppose I’ll simply have to find out some other way.” I didn’t know how I’d do that, but I would. I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone mistreating that extraordinary girl

  { }

  Chapter Seven

  I

  was happy to get inside my warm, safe home. Of course, Sandra Kelly had been inside her presumably warm, safe home when she died. What on earth had happened to her? Had it been a heart attack, as Grandpa Dave suggested? That seemed to be the most likely. For her to be so vibrant and alive at midday and then dead that evening—barring an accident of some sort—it had to be an emergency so sudden she didn’t even have the opportunity to call 911.

  And poor Connie! She was so traumatized. I could only imagine how horrified she must’ve been at finding Sandra dead. Would she be able to open Delightful Home tomorrow? If not, I should take some food over—maybe a pizza. I felt confident the kids would like that.

  To get my mind off Sandra, Connie, the play, and Zoe, I opened my laptop and got to work on my project for Max. Finding Dot was easier than I’d expected once I keyed her information into a popular genealogy site. Dorothy Ann Englebright had married Joseph Hall at age twenty-one. She’d given birth to a daughter named Maxine in 1937 and a son named Dwight in 1939.

  Maxine. I blinked back tears. Dot had named her daughter after Max. I could hardly wait to tell her.

  My doorbell rang. I closed the laptop and placed it on the coffee table before going to the door. Peeping out the window, I was happy to see Jason standing on the porch. He had a white dog in his arms.

  Flinging open the door, I exclaimed, “This must be Rascal!”

  The dog began wriggling with excitement.

  “It is,” Jason said, as he stepped into the living room. “I don’t want to put him down until we know he won’t freak out Jazzy.”

  “Go ahead.” I reached out to let the dog sniff and lick my hand before petting him. “She’s met dogs before. I think she’ll be fine.”

  I closed the door, sat on the sofa, and patted the cushion beside me. I’d intended for Jason to take the seat, but Rascal beat him to it and began covering my face in doggie kisses.

  Laughing, I asked, “Is he always like this?”

  “Pretty much.” Jason plucked Rascal off the sofa, sat beside me, and held the dog on his lap. That didn’t last for long. The rowdy pup squirmed out of his arms and was back to kissing me in no time. “He’ll calm down in a minute.”

  “I know,” I said. Actually, I didn’t know. But as I stroked Rascal’s wiry fur and talked to him, the newness of the situation wore off enough that he stretched out across my lap. He still demanded my attention, but he wasn’t as insistent about it as he was before.

  “I hope you don’t mind my dropping in on you like this, but I was driving by and saw your lights on and decided to take a chance.”

  “I’m glad you did. Play practice was cut short because of Sandra Kelly’s death.”

  His jaw dropped. “What happened?”

  “I have no idea. Everyone else was there getting ready to rehearse, and people were starting to get concerned about Sandra,” I said. “I called Connie to see if she knew what I should do, and she offered to stop by Sandra’s house on the way to the school.”

  “Aw, man, Connie found her? That’s terrible.”

  “It is. Connie called the ambulance and the police—or else, she called the ambulance, and paramedics called police, I’m fuzzy on the details.”

  “And you have no clue as to cause of death?” he asked.

  Shaking my head, I said, “Grandpa Dave and I are guessing heart attack because that seems to be the most likely scenario, but we’re only making assumptions—which we really shouldn’t do. Did you know Sandra?”

  “Not well. I’m acquainted with her from taking portraits at the school, but that’s the extent of my association with her.” He frowned slightly. “You know, I think she might’ve been a client of Carla’s. I should let her know about Sandra’s death.”

  “You should.” I was relieved that he didn’t immediately take out his phone.

  Jazzy finally got up the nerve to imperiously investigate Rascal. Tail held high and twitching, the cat hopped onto the arm of the sofa. Rascal stilled. As he inspected this new creature, his tail began to slowly wag. He stood up on my lap and stretched his neck out. Jazzy leaned in and sniffed the dog’s head. Rascal’s tail wagged faster, and he licked Jazzy’s face. She batted him on the nose, but kept her claws retracted. Rascal leapt onto the floor before posing front paws out and butt in the air—the universal dog sign for let’s play. When Jazzy didn’t immediately join him, the dog ran around the coffee table before stopping in front of her and slapping the floor with his front paws. On his next lap around, Jazzy jumped down and gave chase. They ran through the living room and into the kitchen. When they came back, Rascal was trailing Jazzy.

  They played like that for the better part of twenty minutes before lying down near each other and going to sleep.

  “I believe they’ve got the right idea,” Jason said.

  “I think you’re right.” I nestled against him, and we watched TV.

  WHEN I ARRIVED AT DESIGNS on You on Friday morning, I didn’t see Max. I was kinda glad. I had a lot to tell her, but I wanted to check on Connie first. I heard her minivan pull into the parking lot not long after I’d arrived, I decided to take her a cup of Kava tea.

  Ford was in the kitchen. “What happened last night?”

  “Sandra Kelly is dead,” I answered.

  “Who’s she?”

  It hadn’t occurred to me that Ford hadn’t met Sandra yet. “She’s a teacher at Winter Garden High and the director of the play.” I filled a mug with water. “I’m making Connie a cup of tea. She’s the one who found Sandra’s body.”

  “Woah. That’s intense.” Before I could say anything more, Ford took his coffee and strode down the hall.

  I knew he was going to see Connie, and I hurried to catch up with him. I didn’t want her to think I was talking about her to Ford—which, of course, I had been, but it wasn’t like that. I don’t know—maybe it was like that, but I wanted to be there to explain my position when he opened his big mouth to Connie.

  “Connie,” Ford was saying as I followed him into Delightful Home. He opened his arms and engulfed the woman in a hug. “Are you all right? Amanda told me what happened.”

  “I’m sorry, Connie,” I said quickly, hoping she could hear me through Ford’s fortress of muscle and cotton. “Ford was helping Grandpa Dave with the set design last night and wondered why we’d called off practice.”

  “It’s okay.” She stepped out of Ford’s embrace and walked over to the stool that sat behind the counter. “It was a rough evening, but I’m all right.”

  “I was making you some Kava tea,” I said.

  She held up a mug. “Way ahead of you, hon. But I appreciate the thought.”

  “You wanna talk about what happened?” Ford asked. “If you don’t, we’ll respect your privacy.” He leaned across the counter.

  I couldn’t fault the man. I, too, wanted to know what the heck had happened after Connie volunteered to check on Sandra Kelly yesterday evening.

  “There’s not a lot to tell,” she began in her soft voice. “I stopped by Sandy’s house and knocked, but she didn’t answer. Since she hadn’t been answering her phone, the fact that she didn’t come to the door worried me, especially since her car was in the driveway. I turned the knob, and since the door was unlocked, I opened it and called to
Sandy from the doorway.”

  I noticed Max in the corner near Connie. She met my eyes but said nothing.

  “When she didn’t answer, I went inside. I didn’t even think about the possibility of getting in trouble—”

  “You didn’t, did you?” Ford interrupted her.

  “No. The police were very nice to me.” Connie gave him a sad smile that faded as she continued her narrative. “Although they did ask me a lot of questions.”

  “Like what?” he asked.

  She gave a slight shrug. “They asked me if I’d noticed any glasses or plates Sandy might’ve been using. But since Sandy was in the living room, I didn’t go anywhere except that room, and there weren’t any dishes in there.”

  “The coppers must think she was poisoned,” Max murmured.

  Connie shuddered. “She looked so awful lying there on the floor. Her...her head was a mess—clumps of hair had fallen out, and her scalp was bleeding.”

  “Had she been hit on the head?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Connie said. “But I don’t think so. The wounds looked more like abrasions than cuts.” She squinted into the distance. “And the room smelled like pineapple.”

  “So she had been eating?” Ford asked.

  “No. I think maybe it was room freshener or something.” She wrinkled her nose. “It just smelled rank to me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat pineapple again.”

  { }

  Chapter Eight

  B

  ack inside the atelier at Designs on You with the door shut, I gave Max an abbreviated version of what had occurred the night before. She’d already determined from the conversation in Delightful Home that Connie had found Sandra Kelly dead yesterday evening, so I filled her in on the events leading up to the discovery.

  “What a rotten thing to have happen to a poor little bunny like Connie,” Max said. “Had I found Sandra Kelly, I’d have cased the joint to see if I could figure out what did her in.” She shrugged. “Of course, I’ve been dead a long time, and I’m kinda jaded.”

  “Kinda,” I agreed. “We didn’t announce to the kids that Sandra was dead, but we quietly told the parents and staff. Their reactions fell into two camps—those who were sorry about Sandra’s misfortune and those who were merely concerned about the play going forward without her.”

  “Well, I can understand that. If they didn’t know Sandra very well, their minds would be on their kiddos and how disappointed they’d be if the play was canceled.”

  “True, but some who did know Sandra didn’t seem terribly broken up about her death.” I walked over to the rack and took down Ruby Mills’ dress. All I needed to do was put the zipper in before calling Ruby to come in for her fitting. “Something else weird happened last night. Remember Zoe, the girl I told you about?”

  “The stage manager?” Max asked.

  “Yeah. I insisted she let me take her home, and she lied to me about where she lived. I saw her leave the porch and hurry across the street as I was driving away.”

  She waggled her fingers at Jazzy, who’d come to sit near her. “Maybe the gal’s just private—didn’t want you knowing her beeswax.”

  “That, or she’s ashamed of where she lives,” I said.

  “True.” Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t know much about today’s youth. I imagine you should keep mum about what you saw—if she wants you to know something, she’ll tell you.”

  “I guess.” I chose a black zipper and sat at the sewing machine with the dress. “But I’m keeping an eye on her.” I began basting the zipper to the dress. “Jason stopped by my house last night—which was nice—but when I told him about Sandra Kelly, he said he thought she’d been a client of Carla’s.”

  “Carla? Miz Boom-Chicka-Boom? Keep-Your-Piehole-Closed-Frank? That Carla?”

  Laughing at Max’s description, I said, “Yep. The very one. Jason said he should call her.”

  Max growled. “He didn’t, did he?”

  “Not while he was with me.” I finished basting the zipper as Max ranted on about Carla, and then I looked up. “I can’t believe that with all the excitement I forgot to tell you—I found Dot.”

  “What?” She sank slowly onto the worktable like a deflating balloon.

  “In 1935, Dot married Joseph Hall. She gave birth to a daughter in 1937 and a son in 1939.” I grinned. “Want to know their names?”

  She nodded.

  “Maxine and Dwight,” I said.

  With tears in her eyes, she whispered, “She named her daughter after me.”

  “Of course, she did!” I’d never wanted to hug Max more than I did in that moment.

  It took her a moment to find her voice again, but when she did, she took full advantage of it. “What else did you learn? When did Dot die? What did Joseph do for a living? What happened to Maxine and Dwight?”

  “I don’t know. I’d only found out what I did when Jason arrived.”

  “But you’ll find out, right?” she asked.

  “Of course, I will.”

  “Thank you.” She gave me a shaky smile. “I need a few minutes.” With that, she was gone.

  ABOUT AN HOUR LATER, Trish Oakes brought another possible new vendor by for me to meet. This woman had reddish gold hair, appeared to be in her mid-forties, and had a ready smile.

  “Amanda Tucker, I’d like you to meet Barbara Shipley,” Ms. Oakes said.

  “Please call me Barb.” The newcomer held out her hand for me to shake. She had a warm, firm grip.

  “Barb, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said. “What do you do?”

  “I’m an artist. I paint pet portraits.” She glanced around the atelier and caught sight of Jazzy in her bed. “Oh, wow. What a beauty!” She went closer, and Jazzy looked up at her warily. “What’s her name?”

  “It’s Jasmine, but I call her Jazzy most of the time,” I said.

  Barb tsked. “Oh, Jazzy isn’t dignified enough for you, is it, princess?” She turned back to me. “May I paint her?”

  “No, thanks,” Max piped up.

  I stiffened, trying to ready myself for whatever the ghostly fashionista might say next.

  “We like her the color she is.”

  Barely able to suppress a giggle, I said, “Thank you, Barb. I’ll consider it.”

  “But you must let me paint her.” Barb left Jazzy long enough to return to me and plead her case. “She’s absolutely magical. Watch her—it’s as if she’s looking at something right now that no one else can see.”

  Max patted her hair and winked.

  “I’ll give it some thought.” Actually, if Barb could somehow paint Jazzy looking up at Max—and include Max in the portrait—that’s something I wouldn’t mind paying a pretty penny for.

  “Come, Ms. Shipley,” Ms. Oakes said. “Let me introduce you to the Petermans. They’re a lovely couple.”

  Hands on her hips, Max said, “She said that as if she were implying that we aren’t a lovely couple. And I, for one, think we’re the elephant’s eyebrows.”

  “So do I.” I smiled. “Wonder what Barb Shipley and Teddy Bare would make of each other—particularly, each other’s work?”

  “I don’t know.” She rested her chin on her index finger. “Somehow, I don’t think she’d find his happy taxidermy critters all that magical.”

  After I called Ruby Mills and scheduled her fitting for that afternoon, Max said, “I haven’t noticed anyone coming in yet about homecoming dresses. It’s still early in the day, of course, but I’m wondering if the school canceled it because of Ms. Kelly’s death.”

  “I seriously doubt that. Only snow can cancel a high school football game, and I imagine it would take a blizzard to stand between a homecoming queen and her crown.”

  “Especially if our very own Princess Kristen is vying for the crown.” Max mimed putting on a crown, framing her face with her hands, and giving a smug shrug.

  Following a quick rap on the atelier door, Jason popped his head into the room. “Hey, th
ere. I stopped by to pick up some proofs, but I wanted to say hi and see if you’re going to be here at lunchtime.”

  “I will.” I got up from the sewing machine and went over to kiss him hello.

  “I spoke with Carla this morning. She was upset to hear about Sandra Kelly and said she might stop by here at lunchtime,” he said. “Since you’re going to be here, I thought I’d bring back some lunch, and we could all eat in the kitchen. How does that sound?”

  “Like a nightmare!” Max yelled. “Do you truly think Amanda and I want to take our midday refreshment with some floozy that’s trying to horn in on your relationship?”

  “That sounds great,” I said.

  After another peck on the lips, Jason left. Once I’d heard his footsteps echoing down the hall, I turned to Max. “Our midday refreshment?”

  Pursing her lips, Max said, “Just because I can’t eat, doesn’t mean I’m not refreshed by our midday break.”

  “You don’t have to be there, you know.”

  She flattened her palm against her chest. “Ha! I wouldn’t miss it for all the gold in King Tut’s tomb.”

  Great. I didn’t know if I could handle Max and Carla at the same time. Lunch wouldn’t be boring—that was for sure.

  THERE WAS A BUSY SPELL around ten-thirty that morning. A couple of women came by for last-minute dresses for their daughters for the homecoming dance, and then a younger woman came in and bought the Renaissance dress right off the mannequin for an upcoming cosplay event.

  I was redressing the mannequin when I got a phone call. Using the cheery, professional tone I used for unknown numbers, I answered, “Good morning! Thank you for calling Designs on You. This is Amanda—how may I help you?”

  “Ms. Tucker, this is Sylvia Berry. I’m calling to inform you that Beauty and the Beast will go forward.”

  Mrs. Berry’s voice was as clipped and dry as I’d remembered. I wasn’t surprised she didn’t engage in any small talk but got straight to the point.