Murder by Design Trilogy

by Mary Jane Forbes

  “Are you two awake,” Anne whispered, poking her head in the door.

  “If it means we can have a mug of that caffeine-laced concoction you just brewed, you bet we are. Come on in, Mom.”

  “Hang on. I’m serving.”

  Maria, fearful of bumping her head on the bunk above, leaned on her elbow as a pair of feet suddenly dangled down in front of her. Anne carried in a tray with three steaming mugs, warm cranberry muffins, and a small container of cream. She set the tray on the floor, handed a mug to each girl, then sat on the only chair in the room after moving jeans and tank tops from the seat.

  “You girls got in very late last night. It was after one. I tell you, Maria, I’m glad you’re here so Gilly isn’t driving home alone. What’s on your docket this morning?”

  “Get cracking on our assignment for Miss Crotchet.” Gilly said, biting into her muffin. “Oh, Mom, this muffin is to die for.”

  “Who?”

  “Miss Blackstone. She can be really harsh so I call her Miss Crochet. Only to Maria mind you.”

  “How did it go with Mrs. Churchill yesterday? I hoped you would stop in the Tea Room before heading to work.”

  “Oh, Anne,” Maria blurted. “You should have seen Gilly. She had Helen eating out of her hand.”

  “Not so fast,” Gilly interrupted. “At first, when I showed her the sketch and the fabric, she didn’t say a word. Just stared. I thought for sure she hated everything. I was holding my breath. Then she started to cry, said she loved it, and not to change a thing.”

  “Actually, I knew she loved your design,” Anne said. “Helen stopped at the Tea Room after you left. Some of her friends were still hanging around. She showed them the fabric sample, the sketch, on and on she raved. I think she’ll have a heart attack when she gets to slip on the dress.” Anne laughed.

  Silence fell over the girl-talk.

  “Mom, something happened yesterday when I met with Mrs. Churchill.”

  “Sounds serious. Tell me.”

  Gilly climbed down the ladder and sat next to Maria on the bottom bunk. “Everything was going great and then Mrs. Churchill brought up her grandson Edward. You met him just before he left that Sunday when you returned from church. Anyway, Mrs. Churchill said what a wonderful designer he is, and then she said he had emailed her a draft of his company’s spring catalog with a two-page display of Edward’s contribution to the catalog—his designs.”

  “Sounds like a proud grandmother. More coffee, Maria?”

  “I’ll get the pot. Let Gilly tell you what she saw.” Maria scooted out the door.

  “Go ahead, dear.”

  “I was looking at my designs!” Gilly said.

  “I don’t understand.” Anne held her mug up. “Thanks, Maria.”

  “The designs. Edward stole my designs.”

  “But … how … when?”

  “Must have been that he—his surprise visit. My sketches, which were very explicit with color even, were lying out on the worktable here in the guesthouse.”

  “Still, Gilly … were the pages Helen showed you that close to your sketches … maybe he took a feature or two … how could he remember?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve been going over and over that visit. I left him alone when I went down to the kitchen to fix a snack and loaded the tray up—probably ten to twelve minutes. He could have taken pictures of the designs with his cell phone.”

  “Oh, Gilly, I don’t know.” Anne put her mug on the floor, leaned back in the chair and looked up at the ceiling.”If he did, that’s terrible. But how would you ever be able to prove it?”

  “She’s going to talk to Hawk today,” Maria said, taking a bite of muffin.

  “Who’s Hawk?” Anne asked.

  “He’s the man Skip told you about when he came to lunch that day with Agatha. You remember, he told us about the Stanley house being ransacked, and Hawk Jackson’s car?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Hawk works at the casino and I’ve met him a couple of times on the ferry going to Seattle. He’s finishing his law degree and plans to take the bar next year. I asked him yesterday if he could give me some legal advice. I want to show him Mrs. Churchill’s printout of Edward’s so-called designs alongside mine.”

  Gilly grabbed her pillow from the top bunk, fluffed it up against the footboard and leaned back. Maria followed suit, leaning against the headboard.

  “Let’s change the subject, something a little lighter,” Anne said. “I had an idea the other day. Gilly, when is The Working Girl show?”

  “Next week. Wednesday. Thank heaven I put those pieces together before school started. I’d never have been able to participate.”

  “I was thinking, just a suggestion mind you, about your hair.”

  “What about my hair?” Gilly asked trying to push the unruly curls down.

  “Well, what if you cut it in a bob, flatten it, and shape to curve along your chin line … a little. The red is so pretty, but maybe a more sophisticated look. What do you think?”

  Gilly looked in the mirror over the pine dresser. Laying her hands over the mop of curls on her head, she drew one side down to her chin.

  “I don’t know. What do you think, Maria?”

  “Personally, I think your mom is on to something. Not flat, a little lift, and some shiny hair spray. Hey, how about the stylist at the spa. Maybe you’d get a discount.”

  “Oh, she’s too expensive. I’d have to hit the jackpot—lots of cherries. But I’ll see. Thanks, Mom. Love you,” Gilly said giving her mother a hug and a peck on the cheek.

  Chapter 30

  ───

  THE FOG BURNED OFF leaving a delightful October day over western Washington. However, Gilly and Maria were stuck inside the guesthouse, sitting cross-legged on the floor, notebooks open, discussing the best way to present their assignment to the crotchety one—Miss Blackstone.

  At exactly 11:05 Agatha let out a howl and immediately stood on her hind legs nose pressed to the guesthouse window.

  “Nobody’s going to creep up on this house,” Maria laughed. She opened the door to see Hawk emerging from his car. “Hi,” she called out. “We’re in here.”

  Hawk stepped into the guesthouse and Agatha immediately checked him out sniffing around his feet. Then she sat in front of him, tongue hanging out waiting for a pat. “Good morning lovely ladies. You too, pooch.”

  “Meet Agatha. She’s Skip Hunter’s dog,” Gilly said.

  “The reporter?”

  “The one and only. He thought we needed a watch dog for a while.”

  “Oh, I see.” Hawk laid a folder on the table beside Gilly’s design sketches.

  “Cup of coffee, Hawk? Mrs. Wilder just brought up a fresh carafe.”

  “Yes, please. Are these the designs you called about, Gilly? They’re really nice. I can see what you mean by detailed.”

  “Yes, and this is exactly where they were when I left Mr. Spiky Hair to go down to fix us something to eat.”

  “Spiky hair?”

  “That’s what I call him. New York scalp full of gel so tufts of hair stand up.”

  “Oh. Thanks, Maria. Umm, good coffee.”

  Gilly pulled up another chair and sat beside Hawk. Maria stood at the end of the table sipping her coffee, gazing at Hawk from under her long eyelashes.

  “Well, I did some digging after you called yesterday. I presume you know this is a tough industry you girls are planning to enter?”

  “We’re finding that out—a crotchety teacher and now a thief.”

  “I can see if he took a picture with his cell he’d be able to replicate your designs—the detail is extraordinary.”

  “Here’s the draft of the spring catalog Spiky sent to his grandmother—my client. She had no idea what she was showing me. You can see his collection is exactly like my five sketches—only the color is different.”

  “From what I read it is not unusual for a big fashion house to copy a new designer’s work. Of course, a new designer
doesn’t generally have the funds to fight back. Gilly, I’m afraid you have no recourse.”

  “I thought as much. So you’re telling me to be careful when and where I leave my sketches.”

  “From here on that’s your first line of defense. You obviously have talent, word will get out, and before you know it you will be targeted—design theft. But, there are a couple of things you can do right now to protect yourself.”

  “Give it to me, counselor. How do you like that word, Maria? Our friend, the counselor?”

  “Impressive!” Maria smiled at Hawk.

  He stared at her a second, eyes warm, smiling back into hers. He quickly looked away—Gilly had asked him a question.

  “Copyright notice. You should put the notice at the bottom of everything you plan to show, plus scan a copy and email it to yourself.”

  “Why email to myself?”

  “It establishes ownership at a specific date and time. The notice helps in a court of law but might not stand up alone unless you register the copyright. For now, I think adding the notice to your work and emailing a copy to yourself will suffice.”

  “The copyright—like the small ‘c’ inside a circle?”

  “That’s it, but the notice is set up in a precise way. To be correct it must be in a specific format. Here, I typed one up for you. You would include the date.” Hawk pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to Gilly. Both girls looked at the document:

  Copyright Notice Format

  Copyright Gillianne Wilder,

  or

  © Gillianne Wilder. All rights reserved.

  “The United States changed its law in 1989 making the use of a copyright notice optional, but there are still advantages for using the notice.” Hawk tapped one of Gilly’s sketches. “One good reason to use a copyright notice would be to defeat a defense of innocent infringement. Like Spiky saying he didn’t know—‘I’m innocent.’ Another couple of great reasons are, one, using the notice can only help you, and two, it doesn’t cost a penny!”

  “Gramps is going to laugh.”

  “Why is that?” Maria asked.

  “Because … I’m going to dig out Grandmother Betty’s old manual typewriter. If for any reason I don’t have time to scan the sketches, I’ll just whip it into her old Royal and type away. It doesn’t matter how the notice gets there as long as it gets there. Is that right, counselor?”

  “You got it. You can also have a stamp made,” he said chuckling. “Now, there is one more legal thing you should think about. Your trademark symbol, or words. You don’t have to do it yet, but I’m sure one of your instructor’s will bring it up before too long. I’ll email you a couple of websites that will give you some good information. Now, about Spiky. How about I email him on your behalf with words to the effect that you saw his catalog and wanted him to know that his designs look like the designs you showed him that day. Yada yada.”

  “Beautiful. Put him on notice. Next time, if there is a next time, he sees one of my designs the copyright notice will be there—no innocent infringement plea.”

  Hawk smiled at Gilly. “I’ll have to create another email account because the message will come from Gillianne Wilder’s counselor. You’ll be my first client—outside of the tribe. Next thing you know I’ll have to have a website.”

  They chuckled—his visit was escalating from a telephone call to a website.

  “I can build one for you,” Maria said. “Clothes aren’t the only thing I design.”

  “Now, look what you’ve done, Miss Wilder. I have yet to pass the bar and I have a client and a website.”

  They were interrupted when Gramp’s voice boomed out over the intercom notifying them that Deputy Kracker was on his way to update the family on John Doe.

  “Sounds like you have a busy day,” Hawk said taking his mug to the sink. “I’ll see you tonight. Both of you.”

  ───

  WITHIN THE HOUR A Kitsap County squad car rolled into the driveway and Deputy Kracker and Officer Troxell strolled to the patio and knocked on the doorframe.

  Gramps and Will answered the door and escorted the officers into the kitchen. Gramps had the teakettle whistling and Anne had the third pot of coffee for the morning percolating.

  “I bet you never get tired of this view,” Officer Troxell said gazing out the window at the sound sparkling in the sunshine.

  “No, I don’t,” Gramps said. “Once the fog burns off that is. Tea anyone?”

  “Or coffee,” Anne chimed in as she entered the kitchen from the hallway. “Gilly and her friend are on their way down. You passed them in the guesthouse.”

  Kracker went for the coffee and Troxell said she’d join Mr. Wilder. There was a commotion as Gilly, Maria, and Agatha walked into the kitchen. Agatha lumbered up to Troxell, sat in front of her waiting to be petted.

  “Well, aren’t you just the cutest thing. Look at those feet—all four pointing in different directions. I don’t recall your having a dog, Mr. Wilder,” Troxell said continuing to coo at the lovely Agatha.

  “She’s Skip Hunter’s dog,” Gilly cut in. She introduced Maria to the officers and pulled up more chairs to the kitchen table. “After Skip learned about the vandalism to Hawk’s car and the Stanley house he brought Agatha over to protect us.”

  “And, she saved my life attacking that would-be robber. You didn’t come with Deputy Kracker that time. Gramps said, to Troxell. “Another officer dusted for prints. Very official.”

  “Next time, wait for me, Jim. Look what I missed. Agatha, a perfect name for you. Yes it is,” Claire gave the Bassett a good scratch behind her velvety ears at which point Agatha flopped down, rolled on her back, four paws in the air waiting for the nice lady to give her a belly rub.

  “Oh, oh, what happened to your tail?”

  “She took a shot from that would be robber,” Gramps said.

  “What a ham,” Gilly said. She didn’t bring up her grandfather’s fainting spell leading to his seeing the doctor, preferring not to think about that day or the night he was shot.

  “Speaking of that reporter fella,” Kracker said. “He’s the main reason Claire and I thought we’d take a run out here to see you folks.”

  “What do you mean, Skip is the main reason?” Gilly asked.

  “Someone called Mr. Hunter with a tip.” Kracker added a small spoonful of sugar to his coffee, stirred, and took another sip.

  “What did he say, the tipster?” Anne asked leaning forward, elbows on the kitchen table.

  “Asked if Hunter was the reporter who was looking for anyone who knew John Doe. He always included a picture of Doe above his articles. Then the caller said that John Doe’s name was Jack Carlson and he lived in Edmonds. It didn’t take that hot-shot reporter long to locate Carlson’s condo and talk the maintenance company into letting him inside.”

  “So, this Carlson wasn’t home I take it?” Gilly asked.

  “That’s right,” Claire said, leaning over to scratch Agatha’s tummy. “No one there but the place was ransacked. Drawers and cabinets emptied onto the floor—no slashing like Hawk Jackson’s car. As Hunter put it, somebody was looking for something and he didn’t think they found it. Hunter found a picture of Carlson and ID’d him as John Doe.”

  “Anything else?” Gramps asked. “Who is this Carlson and why was he out in a rainstorm knocking on my door?”

  “Now that’s the big question isn’t it, Mr. Wilder,” Kracker said looking out the window.

  ───

  “NOT HERE TO TAKE your call. Leave a message at the beep.”

  “Hi, Skip. Gilly here. Deputy Kracker just stopped by. He said you ID’d John Doe as Jack Carlson. Who was he? My friend from school, Maria, is staying with us for awhile. Catch you later. Oh, and Agatha misses you.”

  Chapter 31

  ───

  THE SCENT OF JASMINE permeated the air while strains of Vivaldi’s summer concerto danced around the women luxuriating in the resort spa. Gilly sipped a cappuccino as she
watched her curly red locks piling up on the floor.

  Maria stood a moment beside her friend leaning her elbow on the raised chair. Both girls smiled at their reflections in the mirror. Maria gave Gilly’s shoulder a pat and left to help a guest at the counter.

  Francy, the lead hair stylist, chattered and snipped away. Then scrutinizing her work spun Gilly around in one-quarter turns. “I’ll be back in a minute, Gilly. I’m going to mix one of my special concoctions—bring out your natural color but one-tone deeper and add some highlights. How does that sound to you?”

  “You’re the boss, Francy, but so far so good. The length looks nice—not too short.”

  Francy snipped a fly-away strand. “With your hair’s body this style will be so easy for you to manage—smooth and sleek. Just run your fingers through to put it in place. Your hint of natural curl is a bonus. I’d die to have it. Back in a sec … here comes Maria with a coffee refill.”

  Maria handed Gilly a fresh cappuccino then walked around her chair. “I think you’re going to be a new woman—very sophisticated. Here, take this mirror and look as I turn your chair. What do you think? You like?” Maria asked.

  “Yes, I like. I think I’d better make a million bucks fast because this spa thing is beyond belief. You didn’t tell me you made an appointment for the hot tub, then a massage. How did you swing it?”

  “I coaxed Maribell, my manager, into letting me treat an employee to a complete spa experience. When I told her it was you, she said it was on the house. Seems you were especially nice to her and her husband at their anniversary party in one of our restaurants.”

  “I’ll give her one of my totes tomorrow as a thank you. Maria, have you ever had a facial with those cucumber rounds on your eyes?”

  “No. Do your eyes feel soothed? Your skin is glowing.”

  “Girlfriend, you haven’t lived until you have a day in your spa. How about I hand out gift cards for one of those little fragrances you have in the basket on your appointment desk? I could slip it to the women when they order their first drink at the slot machines.”