We both thought that was the end of that. But, miracle of miracles, the blogger called me the next Monday. She was vague at first, as if she was only calling to score points with Ambrose, but the more we chatted, the more animated she became.
We ended up doing the interview right then and there. Antonella’s curiosity was insatiable. How’d I get my start? Where’d I learn to make hats? How did I get new clients? I thought she wanted background information for her story. And while I didn’t give her any trade secrets, I probably said more than I should’ve, since I’d never been interviewed before and I reveled in the attention.
The interview appeared as a blog post the following Saturday on Southern Comforts, and it resulted in a half-dozen new clients and a follow-up story with a reporter from Southern Living.
“Why, that little she-devil,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. “She only picked my brain because she wanted to open up her own hat store.”
“So, you know the owner? Who is it?”
I turned to face Beatrice, my thoughts racing. “I think it’s a woman named Antonella Goode. She’s a fashion blogger, and she interviewed me for her website last August. Remember? It’s called Southern Comforts. Guess I made my career sound too good to pass up.”
“That’s an understatement. But are you sure it’s the same person?”
“Who else could it be? Look at the new store’s name. It’s not that common for a last name.”
“I don’t know.” Beatrice didn’t sound convinced. “But if it is her…what an underhanded thing to do. Are you going to call her?”
“I don’t know yet.” I brought my gaze back to the windshield. “But I think she ruined my appetite. There’s no way I could enjoy a leisurely lunch at Miss Odilia’s place now. Do you mind if we grab something to go and take it back to the store?”
“Of course not. I understand.”
I pulled the car away from the bungalow and drove back to Highway 18. Thank goodness I’d traveled to Miss Odilia’s place a million times before, since my brain switched to autopilot the moment we pulled onto the highway.
I couldn’t even remember the last time I spoke with Antonella Goode. It must have happened right after the article appeared on Southern Comforts. I vaguely remembered thanking her for the story and telling her to stop by Crowning Glory so I could give her a hat.
Come to think of it…she never took me up on the offer. I’d given away several hats to fashion journalists over the last few years, including one to a reporter for Today’s Bride, and they always appreciated the gesture. Always. But once I hung up the phone with Antonella, we never spoke again.
I pulled up to the entrance of Miss Odilia’s Southern Eatery with memories still ping-ponging through my brain.
“Uh, Missy?”
The memories faded to black when I glanced at Beatrice. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
“I asked what you wanted to eat. I can run in and get it.”
“That’d be great. I’ll take the number two with a chicken breast and drumstick.” Today was not the day for self-restraint. No amount of lettuce was going to provide the energy I needed to tackle my newest problem. “Pick out whatever you want too, and I’ll pay for it.”
I guided the car to a curb near the entrance, and then I shoved the gear in Park. I also pulled an Amex card from the pocket of my slacks. “Here. Take this. I’m going to sit out here and think while you get the food. Don’t rush back to the car on my account. You can take your time inside with Miss Odilia.”
“Will do.” Beatrice hopped out of the car, taking the credit card with her. Once she slammed the passenger door shut, she bounded up the steps to the restaurant, where a paunchy, middle-aged man held open the front door for her.
What a strange morning. First, I had to suffer through another visit from Sabine d’Aulnay, and then I discovered a new hat shop planned to open down the road from mine. Worst of all was the niggling suspicion I might have helped Antonella by giving her so much information. Darn me and my loose lips!
I slowly retrieved the cell from my other pocket and dialed the number for Ambrose’s Allure Couture. Maybe Bo could calm the panic that welled in my chest.
Luckily, he answered the call on the second ring. “Hi, Mitthy.” His voice sounded garbled, as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of cotton.
“Hi, Bo. You won’t believe what happened to me today.”
“Wat’s dat?”
“First of all, are you eating a sandwich? I can barely understand you.”
He chuckled and dropped the receiver on something hard. A moment later, he came back on the line. “Sorry about that. Had to get some dress pins out of my mouth. Now, what’s going on over there?”
I proceeded to tell him all about the demise of the Kut N’ Kurl and the new hat shop that would take its place. I held my breath until I finished, and then I loudly exhaled. “So, that’s what happened. She went behind my back, Ambrose.”
“Okay. First of all, you don’t even know it was her.”
“Pppfffttt.”
“Don’t make that noise with me. I know it’s a stretch, but what if there’s another milliner named Goode?”
“I haven’t heard of one. And don’t you think that would be a huge coincidence? I do. There’s really only one way to find out.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Could you please log on to your computer and search her website for me?” While I could just as easily access Southern Comforts on my cell, I wanted to hear the news from Bo. Especially if it was bad. He could calm me down, and he might even be able to convince me none of this was my fault.
“Of course. Give me a sec.”
Already, my panic level had begun to wane. I waited for him to return to the line a moment later.
“Okay,” he said. “My computer’s up and running. What’s the name of the blog, again?”
“Southern Comforts.”
“That’s right. I remember the girl now. She tried to ambush me at Commander’s Palace. Couldn’t be more than five foot two, with a tiny face, like Tinkerbell.”
“That’s her.” I quickly nodded, since we were finally getting somewhere. “But I didn’t even tell you the worst part.”
“Worst part? Now I’m curious.”
“I think I may have helped her out.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re probably just being hard on yourself. The interview was more than a year ago. Don’t you think she would’ve opened a store before now, if that was her plan?”
“Maybe she didn’t have the funding. Or maybe she couldn’t find the right property. There could be a million reasons why she waited so long.”
“Calm down, Missy. We don’t even know it’s her at this point.”
A few more seconds passed, and a few more clicks sounded in the background while Bo perused the Internet.
“Okay, I’m on her landing page,” he finally said. “There are a lot of blog entries, going back about five years.”
“Great. Could you please check the most recent ones and see if she mentions anything about opening a hat shop?”
Time stalled while Ambrose read the girl’s blog in his studio. Just when I thought he might’ve gotten distracted by a stray link or two, he returned to the line.
“Uh-oh. You’re not gonna like this, Missy.”
That was all I needed to know. “Oh, shine.” Just like that, the panic began to well again. “It’s her, isn’t it?”
“Yep. It’s all here. She spent the last six months blogging about an old house she wanted to buy in Bleu Bayou. Said she took an online class in hat-making and she just needed to find a good property.” A few more clicks sounded on the other end of the line. “She even talked about how there’s another hat shop in Bleu Bayou, but it’s really expensive.”
“Expensive? Excuse me. How dare she—”
<
br /> “Uh, Missy? Let’s focus here. That’s not the most important part. She can say anything she wants to say. But it looks like she’s planning to open the store the third week of October.”
My mind reeled. “But…but that’s next week. How can she possibly get the shop up and running by then? She still has butcher paper over the windows, for heaven’s sake.”
“I don’t know. But there’s more. You’re not gonna like this—”
“Stop saying that!” While none of this was Bo’s fault, I had to take to out my frustration on someone, and he happened to be handy. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to know. I can’t handle any more bad news right now.”
“But you have to hear this.” He spoke gently, but firmly. “This really sucks, but nothing she’s done is illegal. Underhanded, maybe, and sneaky as hell. But not illegal.”
Darn him and his voice of reason. Of course, Bo was right. Anyone could hang out a shingle and call herself a milliner. That didn’t mean she—or he—was any good at it or could make a hat or veil a bride would be proud to wear.
Unfortunately, first-time clients, and that included about 90 percent of all brides, often couldn’t tell the difference between a quality hat and one with slipshod construction, until it was too late.
My job as a milliner was to show them what to look for: beautifully turned hems, soft as whispers but sturdy as steel; intricate patterns, layered and folded just so; and the artistic use of color that made even beige seem daring.
Like any milliner worth her salt, I’d spent years perfecting my skills. It took me a decade to master the different materials, play with shapes and forms, and work subtle fabric dyes into the mix. None of those things could be learned overnight.
“I feel sorry for her customers,” I finally said. “They probably don’t realize she’s a phony. When they do, it’ll be too late.”
At that moment, something blurred on the other side of me, and I turned to see the door to the restaurant swing open. I expected to see Beatrice, but it was Zephirin Turcott, the new mayor of Bleu Bayou.
Today he wore a crisp navy suit with a paisley pocket square, and he squinted at the sun the moment he stepped on the landing. He was followed by a younger man, who carried a black leather portfolio under his arm.
“Hey, Ambrose?” I watched the two men regally descend the steps, one after the other. “I think I’d better hang up now. There’s someone I want to talk to.”
“Okay. I’ll let you go. But don’t do anything rash. We can talk about this when you get home tonight. Maybe we can figure something out.”
“Gotcha. See you tonight. Love you.”
“Luff youth too.” Ambrose had apparently shoved a dress pin back in his mouth.
I hung up from the call and set the cell on the passenger seat. There had to be a way to stop Antonella Goode. And maybe—just maybe—it involved one of the two men who were headed my way.
Chapter 12
I hopped from the VW and scrambled onto the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Luckily, most of the lunch crowd had moved inside, so I didn’t have to worry about jumping into the path of an oncoming car.
“Excuse me,” I called out. “Mayor Turcott?”
He stopped midstride. As I rushed to meet him, I extended my hand. Before he could return the gesture, though, his companion wedged in between us.
“Pardon me.” The younger man obviously fancied himself the mayor’s bodyguard. “Can I help you?”
“I, uh, have a quick question I’d like to ask the mayor. It’ll just take a second.”
“Sorry, but he’s running late for a meeting. You’ll have to call the office.”
I peeked over the stranger’s shoulder at the mayor, who looked puzzled.
“Is there a problem, Harrison?” the older man said.
“I really don’t want to bother you, sir,” I called out. “I’m your biggest fan.” Which was true. I liked Zephirin Turcott’s ideas about business a whole lot more than I liked his opponent’s.
“Is that so?” The mayor’s expression softened, once he realized I was more friend than foe. “Step aside, Harrison. Let the young lady through.”
“Alright. If you say so.” The self-appointed bodyguard reluctantly let me pass.
“That’s better,” the mayor said. “Now, what’s your name, dear?”
“It’s Melissa. Melissa DuBois.” I extended my hand again. I wasn’t offended by the endearment he used, although I could’ve been. After spending years in the deep South, I knew men and women of a certain age liked to use expressions like “dear,” “honey,” and “sweetheart” whenever they talked to someone younger. It happened all the time, and the speakers never meant any harm that I could tell.
He returned my handshake with a firm grasp. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss DuBois. And thank you kindly for your support. It means a lot to know the community is on my side.”
“Well, I certainly am. I especially like your plan to slash red tape at City Hall. My friends and I can’t wait to see all the changes you’re going to make.”
“Now, I’ve got to warn you”—his hand fell away—“change won’t happen overnight. We have to be patient.”
At this point, the mayor’s assistant seemed to realize he couldn’t stop our conversation, because he backed away from us.
“That’s true,” I said. “Change doesn’t happen overnight. But I do have a question for you.”
“Fire away.” When he smiled, the man’s eyes twinkled like a friendly grandfather’s.
“Well, I own a hat shop here in town for brides and their wedding parties.” Better to start off slow and gradually build my case. It wouldn’t do to accuse Antonella Goode of being underhanded right off the bat.
“I see. This town relies on business owners, like you. Good, hardworking Americans who provide much-needed services. You’re the backbone of our community, you know.”
I patiently waited for him to finish, since Mayor Turcott seemed to have mastered the art of the thirty-second sound bite. “Thank you, sir. My studio’s in a building called the Factory, not too far from here.”
“That is a coincidence. I ran my campaign from that building. Still have an office there, as a matter of fact. It’s right next door to another wonderful American enterprise.”
“Really? And what would that be?”
“A bakery.” He playfully patted his midriff. “Quite a dangerous spot for my waistline.”
“You must mean Pink Cake Boxes.” We’d gotten sidetracked, but I didn’t mind, since I wanted to get him on my good side. Maybe then he’d pay attention to what I had to say next. “Speaking of businesses…I’m a little concerned about a new one.”
“Do tell.”
“It’s a new hat shop. It’s going in right over there.” I pointed in the general direction of Antonella’s store. Although the restaurant blocked most of it, a sliver of lime-green stucco peeked around the far corner.
“I see.” He followed my gaze. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Well, there’s some question as to whether the owner—her name is Antonella Goode—bothered to get the proper building permits.”
It’d occurred to me when I spoke with Ambrose over the telephone. He’d mentioned Antonella planned to open her store Monday, which was only two days away. How in the world could she convert a beauty salon, with its very specific electrical requirements, into a hat store so quickly? Even if an electrician converted the wiring recently, that wouldn’t give him or her enough time to have the work inspected. It normally took several weeks to get an inspector out to a property, given the backlog at the planning department. Antonella must’ve decided she’d rather take her chances with the city and hope no one found out.
I spoke from experience. When I first opened Crowning Glory two years ago, I followed the permit process to a T. Although I couldn’t prove Anto
nella had done anything differently, I’d bet good money on it.
“Now, that’s interesting.” The mayor thought for a moment. “Goode, you say? Why, I think I know that family. If it’s the same one, they’re a fine family from up in New Orleans. Very involved in politics. Generous too.”
My smile faltered. “You know them?” What were the odds the mayor knew Antonella Goode and her family? Slim to none, although apparently slim was enough in this case.
“Indeed. Why, they helped me get elected here. Some of my biggest supporters don’t even live around here, you know.”
“How interesting.” It was time to backpedal if I wanted to save the conversation. “I’m sure she comes from a very fine family.” Which was a lie, since I didn’t know anything of the sort. “I just want to make sure all the business owners around here play by the same rules. You know, when it comes to getting building permits.”
“How noble of you.” By now, the mayor’s smile had faded too. “But you just said one of the reasons you supported me was because of my stance on red tape. I’m trying to make it easier for the good people of Bleu Bayou to conduct business. Everything else will improve when that happens.”
“I, uh, agree.” My mind reeled as I struggled to refocus. I needed to change tack if I wanted to make my point without alienating the man standing in front of me. “But it’s just as important for our shops to be safe for our customers. Don’t you think so? That’s why I appreciate all the things our city does to make sure a business is ready before it opens. You know, like checking the wiring, or, uh, the building’s capacity.” I limped to the end of my little speech, hoping it’d be enough.
“That’s mighty noble of you, Miss DuBois. And I’ll take it under advisement. By the way…do you volunteer in local politics?”
“Well, um.” My smile shriveled even more. “Not really. I’d like to, but the shop keeps me pretty busy.” Truth be told, my involvement in politics began and ended at the ballot box. It wasn’t that I didn’t care; I just didn’t have enough time. “Someday I hope to get involved. Especially when my business slows down a little.”
All Hats on Deck Page 10