All Hats on Deck

by Sandra Bretting

  Thank goodness he didn’t seem to mind when I steered the conversation onto safe ground again. “And can I have those beignets to go, please? I really shouldn’t hold up the line anymore.”

  “That’s okay. There are two of us working the counter today.” He slowly lifted a wax-paper sack from a stack in front of him. “I’ve got a great idea. I’m about to go on break. Why don’t I keep you company while you eat? We can catch up.”

  “They’re not all for me. I want to bring some back home to my fiancé. His name is Ambrose. Remember?”

  Grady winced as he pulled the first beignet from the case and dropped it in the sack. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re engaged. I forgot about that.”

  “Maybe some other time. I want to drop off the beignets at the house before I run some errands. Poor Ambrose got home really late last night.”

  Grady seemed distracted as he filled the sack. “Okay. But I may have some news for you too. About a certain store that’s going to open up.”

  “Are you talking about the new hat shop?” Not that I wanted to steal his thunder, but it sounded like he was trying to stall me by mentioning Antonella’s shop. “I drove by it yesterday with Beatrice.”

  “So you already know about it, huh? I met the owner yesterday.”

  “Did you know she’s not even a trained hatmaker?” I couldn’t keep the irritation from my voice. “Turns out she’s a fashion blogger from New Orleans. She’s just trying to make a quick buck off the brides who come here to get married. It’s really bothering me, to tell you the truth.”

  “I can tell,” he said. “She made it sound like she’s been making hats for years. Apparently, she’s got everyone fooled.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She told me the city’s throwing a huge blowout for her grand opening.” He shrugged as he passed the full sack across the counter.

  “A blowout?” While I knew some things about Good Hat-i-tudes, apparently I didn’t know everything. “I didn’t hear anything about it.”

  “The people down at the business development office promised her a big celebration. Marching band, barbecue dinner, the works. The mayor’s even gonna speak.”

  “I had no idea.” The news took a moment to register. Apparently, I’d been so busy between Ruby’s death and Hollis’s living arrangements, not to mention my own hat shop, I’d completely missed the announcement. “Why didn’t she advertise it?”

  “The flyers are going up this weekend. That’s why Antonella…I mean, Toni…came in here. She asked me to put some flyers in the bakery’s window.”

  “She did, huh? Toni. You don’t say…”

  He must’ve noticed my dismay. “I didn’t ask for them. She just gave them to me. But I won’t put them up if you don’t want me to.”

  Sure enough, I glanced over his shoulder and spied a stack of colorful flyers next to the Bunn coffee machine. The top one showed a cartoon wedding veil complete with scalloped edges and a curlicued headpiece.

  “Would you mind leaving them there for a little bit?” I asked. “I want to check out that hat store first. See what’s really going on.”

  “Sure. No problem. It’s no skin off my nose.”

  “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

  “To be honest, I think she just wanted to flirt with me. She kept asking about my football picture over there.” He jerked his chin toward a faded eight-by-ten photo he’d thumbtacked to the wall. The picture showed twelve teenage boys in steel-gray jerseys with scrawny arms and fuzzy chins.

  “Geesh,” he said. “Guess some people can’t get over their high-school days.”

  Given a better mood, I might’ve rolled my eyes, but I didn’t have it in me at the moment. Instead, I took the bag and turned to leave. “That’s something, all right. Thanks again for holding off on the flyers. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  “Hey…I almost forgot your coffees.” He motioned for me to wait while he grabbed two Styrofoam cups from a stack near the Bunn machine. “You could always talk to the people over at City Hall.” He spoke over his shoulder as he placed the cups under the nozzles. “Let ’em know what’s up.”

  “I was hoping I’d have a stronger case before I did that. So far, the only thing she’s done wrong is to convert a beauty shop into a hat store without getting any permits.”

  “Well, that’s enough.” He turned around again and placed the full cups in a cardboard carryall, which he slid across the counter. “I’ll keep my ears open for you too. I’ll let you know if I hear anything else. And by the way…this is on the house.”

  “Thanks, Grady.” Maybe I judged him a bit too harshly. Nah. “Guess I might see you there on Monday.”

  “You’re going to the grand opening?” he asked. “I thought you didn’t like her.”

  “Oh, I don’t like her. She used me to get information to open her store. But I can’t pass up the chance to look around a little.” I tucked the sack of beignets next to the coffees and backed away from the display case. “See you Monday.”

  “You too.” He reluctantly shifted his attention to the next customer in line.

  The coffee sloshed a bit as I made my way out of the bakery, so I took my time settling the carryall into the passenger seat of the Volkswagen. Then I slid behind the steering wheel and fired up the ignition.

  Grady’s words kept echoing through my mind, though. A big blowout. Marching band…barbecue…the works. What was that all about?

  The day I opened Crowning Glory, I’d stood by the front door with a cheesy smile on my face and a heavy tray of homemade cookies in my hands. I’d spent hours the night before rolling the dough into miniature hats, which I garnished with whisper-thin fondant headbands and sugar flowers made with gum paste.

  Some people looked askance when I offered them a cookie, since we both knew they’d never step foot in my store. But I didn’t care. I offered the treats to everyone, including a FedEx driver, some Catholic schoolkids who delivered flowers for extra cash, and even a plumber who came to repair my leaky faucet.

  To know the city had offered Antonella Goode a full-blown celebration boggled my mind. Not that I wanted to be petty, but where was my marching band, or barbecued brisket, or welcome speech from the mayor? Where was the city when Ambrose opened his wedding gown studio, or Bettina launched Pink Cake Boxes? Dozens of small business people around here had poured their hearts and souls into new businesses, yet no one from City Hall seemed to give a lick. It didn’t seem right, or fair.

  I steadied a coffee cup with my free hand as I drove out of the parking lot and turned left onto the highway. One sugarcane field after another passed by my window, but I barely noticed them. Finally, I arrived at a stop sign, which startled me awake. I’d somehow turned the wrong way on Highway 18 and was heading away from my cottage, instead of toward it.

  Unless I made an immediate U-turn, I’d arrive at the sherbet-colored bungalow that housed Goode Hat-i-tudes in only a few minutes.

  My subconscious must’ve known all along that was where I wanted to go, because I didn’t make the U-turn.

  Chapter 16

  The rest of the drive whizzed by, once I accepted the new plan. Odds were good Ambrose was still asleep anyway, and I could always warm his coffee in the microwave when I returned to the cottage.

  After driving a few more minutes, I spied the trio of bungalows, with their pastel paint, pitched roofs, and concrete stoops. They reminded me of the candy-colored houses on San Francisco’s Postcard Row, those “painted ladies” tourists loved to photograph with their cell phones.

  I turned the steering wheel right and pulled into the parking lot behind a white work van emblazoned with a logo for Al’s Heating & Air-Conditioning. The logo showed a smiling snowman with a giant pair of sunglasses perched on the end of a carrot nose.

  I followed the snowman onto the lot and parked next to the w
ork van. I couldn’t wait to see what was behind the plate-glass window covered in butcher paper at Goode Hat-i-tudes.

  Oh, shine! It wasn’t open. Only a sliver of window showed above the butcher paper, and the room behind it was dark and still. Now what? Before I could fret too much, a pudgy man in navy coveralls emerged from the van next to me with a toolbox in his hand and an enormous set of keys. He stopped in front of the hat store, where he inserted one of the keys into the lock, and miraculously, the door swung open.

  “Yoo-hoo.” I quickly scrambled from the VW and followed him onto the sidewalk. “Hello?”

  He didn’t turn, which meant he probably couldn’t hear me, but he seemed to notice me when he spied my reflection in the window.

  Then he couldn’t spin around fast enough. “Why, hello there.”

  I tried to ignore his flirty tone. “Hello. Are you working at the new hat shop today?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am. Are you the owner?”

  “No. Not exactly. But I know her. She’s…um…a friend of mine.” Hopefully, God would forgive me for the fib, even if Antonella might not.

  “I see.” He scanned me from head to toe, and he seemed to like what he saw, because he smiled again. “She’s a lucky friend.”

  “Uh, yeah. Do you think you could let me inside her store? I promised to pick something up for her, but she forgot to give me a key.” By now, I’d dug a hole so deep with my lies, it wouldn’t matter if I layered on another fib or two. Would it?

  “You’re a friend of hers, huh? Well, okay. I never could say no to a pretty lady. My name’s Dan.” He thrust out his hand, which was streaked with compressor fluid. Since I worked around pale fabrics so much, I’d developed an aversion to oily lubricants, but this time it was worth the risk, and I put my hand in his.

  “Nice to meet you.” I carefully shook his hand. “I’m so glad you came along when you did.”

  “You and me both. C’mon. Follow me.”

  He motioned for me to follow him into the dark shop. I hesitated until I remembered it was Saturday morning, after all, and plenty of folks would be trucking cargo to and from the storage units next door or eating breakfast at Odilia’s restaurant nearby. I could always holler for help if I needed it.

  Just as I stepped over the threshold, the overheads clicked on and yellow light washed across the room.

  I was surrounded by a bunch of antique tables, some draped in old bedsheets, and others bare. Large ones, small ones, and all of them decorated with turned legs and ball-and-claw feet. The tables looked suspiciously like the antiques I’d placed in my own hat shop, but that was probably just a coincidence.

  “What did you say your name was again?” The repairman had moved to a wall to check on a thermostat that hung there.

  “I didn’t say. But it’s Melissa DuBois. I own a hat studio at the place they call the Factory.”

  “A hat studio, huh? Just like your friend. Come to think of it…I did some work over at the Factory once. Replaced a grill cover for a fellow that makes wedding dresses. Do you know him?”

  I nodded, my eyes still adjusting to the brash overheads. “Yes, that’s my fiancé. My shop is next door to his.”

  “You don’t say.” The mention of a fiancé seemed to take the wind out of Dan’s sails, and he quickly returned his attention to the temperature gauge. “Anyway, your friend called me out of the blue yesterday. Caught me by surprise. I didn’t think she’d want me to come back here.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  He shrugged. “She didn’t like what I had to say last time.”

  Interesting. Sometimes, the key to getting more information from someone was to repeat the very last thing he’d said. Especially when you had no idea what he was talking about. “She didn’t like it, huh?”

  “Nope. Not one bit.” He fiddled with the gauge as he spoke. “I checked out the unit a few mornings ago, and I told her she needs a whole new AC system. It’ll cost her fifteen grand.”

  “Fifteen grand?” If my trick to get more information worked once, maybe it’d work again.

  “At least. That’s just to bring the system up to code. Should’ve been done by the last owner, but it wasn’t.”

  I pondered that for a moment. If Antonella was unwilling to replace the air-conditioning unit in her store, she must be running the business on a shoestring. A very thin shoestring, which she would come to regret once summertime rolled around.

  “I thought the city made everyone get those energy-efficient units,” I said. “At least, that’s what I remember. Everyone told me I was lucky when I opened my store, because the Factory provides central air with our leases.”

  “They were right. Your friend should’ve rented a place out there too, but she probably got suckered into buying this old house. Everyone thinks these bungalows are such a steal, but they don’t consider how much it costs to upgrade them. Take a look around. See all those wires?”

  I glanced sideways. Instead of neatly hiding electrical wires behind drywall, someone had run paint-caked cords straight up the wall.

  “Now that you mention it…it’s not very pretty,” I said.

  “They were supposed to run the wire near the ground, so the furniture would hide it.” He tsked a few times. “Can’t believe this place ever passed code, to tell you the truth. Even back then.”

  “How old do you think this bungalow is? Twenty years?”

  “Try almost forty,” he said. “My guess is they built it in the eighties and no one ever thought to replace the electricity or air.”

  “So, what did my…um…friend ask you to do?”

  Another shrug. “She wanted me to piecemeal it back together. We call it Southern engineering. A little duct tape, some bailing wire, you get the idea.” He tsked yet again. “But on second thought, I don’t think I can do it. It’s too far gone. It’s not worth the risk, and it’ll never pass inspection. You tell your friend I’ll be happy to install a brand-new system, and I’ll even throw in a discount. But I can’t patch this one back together again.”

  “I’ll tell her. Thanks for being so honest.”

  “No problem.” He moved over to where I stood to shake my hand once more, and I delicately placed my palm in his.

  “And thanks for letting me tag along on your service call. I think I’m going to stay here for a bit and look for that…um…thing my friend needed.”

  “As long as your friend wouldn’t mind, I guess it’s okay with me. I have to head out to my next appointment, though.” He finally released my hand, which somehow managed to stay clean. “Don’t forget to pull the door shut behind you when you leave, so the lower lock catches in the latch. Tell your friend she’ll need to engage the dead bolt with her key, though. And you tell that fiancé of yours he’s one lucky guy.”

  “Will do.”

  The repairman retreated through the shop and disappeared into the parking lot. A sliver of sunshine splashed onto the linoleum floor as the door slowly closed behind him, and it stopped just shy of the threshold.

  Now that I was alone, I could finally take my time and look around. While I didn’t plan to touch anything, it couldn’t hurt to scope out the competition, now, could it?

  I started with the ceiling, where an antique chandelier, dripping with crystals, hung from a velvet cord. The fixture reminded me of a similar one I’d hung near the front door of Crowning Glory, but maybe that was just another coincidence.

  Meanwhile, the walls around me held mirrored squares glued in a checkerboard pattern, which made the room seem bigger than it was. As a finishing touch, Antonella had flipped an old door on its side to create a front counter, where she placed a rusty cash register from the eighteen hundreds.

  I moved over to the register and dusted off the nameplate, despite my best intentions not to touch anything. The plate read National Cash Register Co. in curlicue letters.
My glance next fell on the counter underneath, where someone had shoved a piece of paper under the register’s right side.

  Only an inch of the page was visible under the machine, but the baby blue color seemed oddly familiar.

  I pinched it between my thumb and forefinger and gently extracted it. The moment I spied the TIFFANY & CO logo at the top, I let out a tiny gasp.

  It was the same ad Sabine d’Aulnay had brought to my studio Thursday. The one that showed an exquisite diamond tiara, which she wanted me to use as a headpiece for a one-of-a-kind bridal veil.

  Not only that, but someone had x-ed through the phone number I’d scribbled on the ad. Now a new phone number appeared, along with a note: She went to DuBois first. Give her 50 percent off.

  No wonder Sabine came back to my store yesterday and wanted her ad back! She must’ve found out about Antonella’s shop and thought she could save money by hiring a less-experienced designer. Good luck with that. I could’ve told her. Why spend thousands of dollars on an intricate diamond tiara, only to have it paired with a basic veil?

  There was no way Antonella had time to master the intricacies of French Chantilly lace, which was the finest lace available. A crown of diamonds deserved no less, and it deserved someone who knew how to work with it.

  I could picture the look on Sabine’s face when she lied to me yesterday. She’d gazed at me straight-faced and explained she needed to show the ad to her father. I’d doubted the explanation at the time, because I couldn’t imagine why Christophe d’Aulnay would want to see a prototype for a wedding veil when he had so many other worries on his mind, but I’d let the comment pass.

  Then again, what if Antonella had contacted Sabine, and not the other way around? Maybe she’d heard about Sabine’s wedding through the grapevine and she’d urged the girl to switch shops.

  No matter how it happened, neither of them had had the decency to give me a heads-up, which was downright underhanded.

  I slowly returned the ad to its hiding place under the cash register. If that’s how they want to do business, they’ll probably alienate half of Bleu Bayou. And the other half won’t let them forget about it.