Murder by Design Trilogy

by Mary Jane Forbes

  Helen Churchill had shown the catalog to Ms. Wilder one day. Of course she recognized her designs and immediately talked to her friend Hawk Jackson—an Indian studying to be a lawyer for his tribe operating a casino a few miles south of Hansville.

  Hawk had sent him a letter warning him to never steal Ms. Wilder’s designs again. The jerk-lawyer mailed a copy to Edward’s boss who fired him on the spot saying he hadn’t had an original idea for years. Good riddance.

  Edward did admit to himself that he had made one mistake. He shouldn’t have visited the bitch in Hansville threatening to kill her for getting him fired. He should have waited until he was sober, but he had to see her. He was always drinking anyway. He yelled at her. She yelled back. He lunged at her, placing his hands around her throat. Then the bitch’s grandfather came storming out of the patio door with a shotgun aimed right him. He yelled at Edward, too. He fired the gun while Edward was trying to escape on his motorcycle, hitting him in the foot. Edward didn’t see a doctor until the pain got so bad he had to seek help.

  No, Edward was not about to let Gillianne Wilder rise in the fashion world. Trouble was he couldn’t find her.

  Well, it was time he did something and he knew just how to go about it. His grandmother, Helen Churchill, believed Gillianne walked on water. And, his grandmother lived in Port Gamble, a mere twenty minutes away from Hansville, where the Wilder family seemed to be staying with Gillianne’s grandfather, the wretched old man who shot him.

  It was time to seek revenge for the pain they had caused him.

  “Hello, Grandmother.”

  “Edward, is that really you?”

  “Yes, it is. Your favorite grandson.”

  “My only grandson. Where are you?”

  “Doesn’t matter where I am. I’m trying to find Gillianne Wilder.”

  “Edward, you stay away from that girl. You’re lucky the police didn’t put you in jail after what you did. My gracious, stealing Gilly’s designs. They told me all about it.”

  “Lies, Grandmother. Did you know that her grandfather shot me? Nearly killed me.”

  “I’ve asked your father if he knew where you were. He didn’t know or didn’t want to tell me. And, of course I wouldn’t ask your mother. We don’t exactly see eye-to-eye. Are you all right?”

  Good old dad, he thought. He never offered to help me. If it wasn’t for mom, I’d be out on the street but as long as she feeds money into my account I can get by. No more having to meet those silly seasonal fashion deadlines with more, always more, and more designs for the next collection. That old man really did me a favor. I didn’t like the fashion business anyway. They were always hounding me for another sketch. Stupid people.

  “No. I told you the old geezer shot me. I’m always in pain but I thought I’d tell Gillianne that I forgive her. Don’t want bad blood between us.” Bad blood? He mused. I’d like to see her feel the pain I live with every day. Nothing fatal just a little fear of what might happen next time and the next.

  “She’s in Paris working at some of the fashion houses. Saw her mother just the other day. Anne hoped her daughter would come home in another month, but she wasn’t sure.”

  “Thanks, Grandmother. You wouldn’t happen to have her address would you?”

  “Wait, I just might have it. Got it from her mother a couple of months ago. Wrote to ask her if she had been to the Louvre. Your grandfather and I went there once—one of the world’s largest museums you know. Yes, here it is. Are you ready?”

  “Oh, yes, I’m ready.” Edward wrote down the address, thanked his grandmother for her help and hung up.

  Edward hopped around the thread-bare carpet. Oh, this was going to be fun. He had already prepared a watch-sized jewelry box for his first message to her after the long hiatus—a red heart with a steel spike piercing the satin.

  Since leaving her in front of her grandfather’s guesthouse, wiping blood from her lip where he hit her, he changed his hair. Shaved it off. He used to gel the thick black locks into spikes on the top of his head—fashionable for young men in New York City. In fact, Gilly nicknamed him Spiky. He didn’t like it at first, then thought better of it. Rather fit his personality—ill tempered, aggressive, violent—his attitude toward Ms. Wilder.

  ───

  Paris

  IT WAS LATE WHEN Gilly returned to the apartment—a full day listening to the marketing staff explaining the upcoming campaign to the designer on how they were going to position next spring’s collection. She threw her bag on the floor and headed to the bathroom to take a shower. Her roommates would be home any minute and she wanted a shower while the water was still steamy hot.

  Padding on wet feet, a white bathrobe and towel wrapped around freshly washed hair, she headed to the refrigerator and a cold drink. Nicole and Sheridan bolted in the door chattering about their hard day and handed a small box wrapped in brown paper to Gilly.

  “Thanks, I was too tired to check …”

  “What’s the matter, Gilly. Did you see a ghost?” Nicole giggled.

  There was no return address. Postmarked Seattle.

  Gilly’s fingers trembled as she tore away the brown paper.

  “Hey, come on. Maybe there’s a piece of jewelry inside,” Sheridan said looking at Gilly’s white face.

  Gilly lifted the top of the box and there it was—a red heart with a steel spike through it. She slowly lifted her right hand, feeling the tiny scar on her lip.

  Nicole picked up the box from Gilly’s hand and pulled out the card.

  “Hi, bet you thought I’d forgotten you. Wrong. I’ll never forget you, BITCH! Spiky.”

  “Who’s Spiky?” Nicole asked handing the box and card to Sheridan.

  “A man from New York. He stole my designs and when I accused him he lunged at me. My grandfather heard us yelling, charged out of the house with a gun and shot at him. We found blood after he stormed away on his motorcycle so Gramps is pretty sure he hit him.”

  “You recognized the package. Knew what was inside,” Sheridan said. “It’s not a very nice note. I take it you’ve seen something like this before.”

  “Yes. Gramps threw a celebration dinner for me at the Space Needle when I won the State design competition. Midway through the party a waiter handed me a box just like this. Said a man asked him to give it to me.”

  “Was there a card like this one?” Nicole asked.

  “Almost word for word. It’s been over nine months. I thought that night at the Space Needle was him letting out his frustration. That he was over it. I guess not.”

  “Why the name Spiky? Sounds rather silly.” Sheridan returned the card to the box.

  “His hair. He used a lot of gel, pulling his hair into spikes. I called him Spiky.”

  “Postmarked Seattle. Are you afraid of him?” Sheridan asked.

  Gilly again touched the scar on her lip. “He tried to strangle me.”

  Chapter 18

  ───

  THE STEEL SPIKE PENETRATING the satin heart unnerved Gilly more than she let on. She felt off balance, vulnerable, tears springing up suddenly, and a feeling of nausea from the tension. Was he now in Paris?

  Hurrying down the street to a last minute modeling assignment, her eyes scanned the faces of every man passing by. Spiky?

  She pulled up short at the window of a bakery watching the reflections of the people as they hurried to the corner. Was that man following her? No. She continued down the street at a slower pace, ruminating over the package wrapped in brown paper. Maybe she should call Skip. He knows about Spiky.

  She entered the fitting room, smiled faintly at the seamstress, and undressed. Bending forward, her arms outstretched, the seamstress floated the gown of black silk and sequins over Gilly’s head allowing it to fall into place over her bare skin and began nipping and tucking to fit her curves.

  “I saw you talking with that Maxime Beaumont the other day,” the seamstress said fidgeting with the bodice of the gown. “He’s handsome that one. Stuck
in a nasty marriage.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Sorry, mademoiselle. I swear your bust line has changed or the measurements I was given are wrong. There, that should do it. Off with you, they’re waiting in the main salon.”

  Gilly stared at her reflection in the mirror, “your bust line has changed” ringing in her ears.

  “Mademoiselle, go, go.”

  Gilly glided down the hall to the salon, apprehension suddenly gripping her body. Your bust line has changed. Your bust line has changed. Seven weeks had passed since she returned from Milan. Lately she had skipped her morning coffee—she had no taste for it. Nerves, she thought. Nothing to worry about. Her period was only a little late.

  “Ms. Wilder, please walk around once more, then turn slowly so madame can see the gown from all angles,” the saleslady said.

  Slowly performing the moves, Gilly made a half turn and smiled, her mind spinning.

  It is possible, she thought. No, no. I’ll check. That’s what I’ll do. Check. No need to worry for nothing. Check.”

  Dismissed from the salon, Gilly hurriedly dressed leaving the sequined gown in the seamstress’s hands. Quickly walking down the street, she entered the first pharmacie she came to. Snatching a bottle of shampoo, a package of tissues and a pregnancy test kit, she paid the cashier. It was mid-afternoon. Sheridan was modeling for a different designer but she wasn’t sure about Nicole.

  Entering the apartment Nicole was sitting in her shorts and T-shirt at the little table reading a magazine.

  “You’re home early,” Nicole said glancing up and back to the magazine.

  Gilly didn’t reply. Dropping her large leather tote on the couch she hurried into the bathroom clutching the bag from the drugstore. Removing the test kit from the box, she quickly read the instructions: 3 minutes … results in words … pregnant … not pregnant, 99% accurate.

  Within minutes she left the bathroom and slumped down on the couch.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?” Nicole rushed to her friend. She knelt down in front of Gilly, looked into her pasty-white face. Anxiety filled eyes.

  Gilly handed her the blue and white tester.

  “Pregnant.”

  Nicole looked at the meter and then back to Gilly and the tears streaming down her face.

  “Now, you listen to me, Gillianne Wilder. Maxime’s marriage is said to be all but over. You love him, and he obviously loves you. The way he’s been meeting you—courting really. Tomorrow’s Friday and you’re meeting him for dinner? Right?”

  Gilly nodded she was. Taking the tissue Nicole handed her she blotted at the tears on her cheeks.

  Nicole grasped Gilly’s arms and shook her gently. “You pull yourself together, put on your prettiest dress and be prepared to be wrapped in his arms. He’s going to tell you he’ll get the divorce as quickly as possible. It’s going to work out. And, Gilly, what a little miracle you’re holding. You’re going to have a baby. Now, let me see a smile. Come on now.” Nicole looked at her dear friend as Gilly’s lips slowly drew into a tentative smile.

  Blinking back the remaining tears, she rested her hand on her belly. Nicole covered Gilly’s hand with her own then pulled Gilly to her feet wrapping her in her arms, rocking slowly from side to side.

  Gilly nestled into Nicole’s arms, laying her head on her shoulder.

  “It’s going to be all right, you’ll see,” Nicole whispered.

  Chapter 19

  ───

  THE WATER BEATING DOWN was warm and soothing as it sluiced over her body. Gilly held her face up to the showerhead massaging the shampoo thru her hair, enjoying the beat of the water washing the soap away, filling the air with a strawberry scent. Turning the water off she grabbed the white fluffy towel, tucking it around her body.

  She smiled at her reflection as the steam receded from the mirror. Another two hours and she’d be with Maxime telling him of their baby in the soft glow of candlelight.

  She pumped several dabs of the new body lotion Nicole had given her for this special evening. Letting the towel drop she stroked the lotion on her legs and arms, looking in the mirror gently adding some to her belly. It was hard to believe there was a tiny, tiny person in there. The thought thrilled her—her mother was younger when she’d given birth to Gilly. I’ll call mom tomorrow. Oh, she’s going to be so excited.

  Gilly finished dressing and shot a spritz of her favorite perfume in the air, leaned into the mist leaving a light scent around her bare shoulders. Her strapless black dress, nipped under her breasts, fell softly down over her hips to just above her knees, her feet in backless heels held by small straps crisscrossing over her red painted toes.

  Gilly stood in front of the mirror, smoothed her dress, turned sideways—nothing showed … yet. Her breasts were fuller but other than that her dress still fit. With a deep breath she left the bathroom and stood in front of Nicole and Sheridan. “How do I look?”

  “Like a million bucks,” Sheridan said. “The guy would be crazy to let you go. Champagne tonight?”

  “Just a little.”

  “Here, would you like to wear my diamond earrings?” Nicole asked holding the sparkling gems out to Gilly.

  “Oh, yes, they’re beautiful, Nicole,” she said replacing her gold hoops with the diamonds.

  “Just remember, no matter what happens, Nicole and I will be waiting for you.” Sheridan gave Gilly a quick hug. Nicole did the same whispering we love you in her ear.

  “Wish me luck,” Gilly said as she disappeared out the door.

  Almost the end of August and the evening air was heavy with moisture. The summer heat seemed to overwhelm everyone on the streets, their steps lethargic. The disgruntled cab driver, sweat soaking the neckband of his T-shirt, grumbled about the heat.

  Within minutes Gilly was entering the restaurant. She relaxed a little seeing Maxime sitting at their table. He stood and smiled at her his arm outstretched, grasping her hand, kissing each cheek in greeting.

  The waiter instantly appeared at the table, popped the champagne cork, and filled their crystal flutes, the bubbles sparkling in the candlelight. Nestling the bottle in a bed of ice in the silver bucket he looked at Maxime, ready to take his dinner order. Maxime asked him to come back—they would wait to order. He turned to Gilly.

  “Gillianne my sweet, you are more beautiful, more radiant tonight than ever. You must have had a good week since I saw you last.”

  “I missed you, Maxime.”

  “I missed you, too. Tell me what brings such sparkle to your eyes, and then I have something to tell you.”

  Oh, my God, maybe he’s going to tell me he’s getting his divorce sooner than he had believed possible. Nicole and Sheridan are right. Everything is going to be okay—her hand lying in her lap, the palm turned against her body. He’s so handsome, so kind, so caring. So loving.

  “You go first,” Gilly said, running her fingers playfully over the tops of his knuckles holding his glass. She reached for her champagne, took a sip, her green eyes warm and bright as rare emeralds.

  “All right.” Maxime took several swallows of champagne waving off the waiter for a second time.

  “I’m going to run for the Senate.”

  Gilly felt her heart seize. What did this mean?

  “My wife and I are reconciling for the campaign. If I win she will remain by my side. If I lose we will separate again.”

  Gilly pulled her hand away. Burned. Panic raced through her veins, clutched at every pore of her body, her breasts rising and falling with each gulp of air.

  “I’m afraid we won’t be able to see each other very often. Of course, I will try to arrange seeing you the best I can. I hope you—

  Gilly, her legs feeling like tall grass bending in the wind, managed to stand, held the back of her chair for support, and looked down at her lover. “You hope I’ll what? Understand?” she whispered.

  Maxime reached for her hand. “Wait.”

  “Yes, I understand exactly what you’re saying. Goo
dbye, Maxime.”

  Chapter 20

  ───

  THE ROOMMATES WERE WATCHING their favorite television show when they heard the sound of a key being inserted into the front-door lock. Nicole and Sheridan looked at each other, the clock, back to each other. It was only ten o’clock. Was Gilly home so soon?

  The door swung open. The girl who left the apartment two hours ago was not the girl who walked into the apartment. The person who stood before them, a take-out coffee in her hand, was a stone-faced woman—no girly smile, no twinkling eyes, no bounce in her step.

  Sheridan reached for the remote, snapped off the TV. Gilly dropped her clutch on the small table beside a padded chair, then slowly lowered herself onto the chair, crossed her legs, and sipped her coffee—all without moving her eyes from her roommates. Nicole and Sheridan ready to rush to her stopped in their tracks and returned to the couch, staring back at the woman. The eerie double blare of an ambulance passed the building. The sound faded and silence again filled the void.

  Gilly’s face remained expressionless.

  “Maxime Beaumont is putting together his campaign to run for the Senate. He and his wife have reconciled their differences.”

  Taking off the diamond earrings, Gilly leaned forward, handed them to Nicole.

  “What are you going to do?” Nicole whispered.

  “I just spent the last hour at our café asking myself that very question.”

  “And?” Nicole asked, the diamond earrings clenched in her fist.

  “I’m going to finish my two-week assignment with the fashion house buyer. The designer and her team are making the final choices from the fabric swatches the buyer picked out in Milan. I want to be in on the decision-making process.”

  Gilly kicked off her heels, drew her legs up underneath her. “Then … I’m going home, rent a small studio in downtown Seattle and design my first collection under my label. And … seven and a half months from now I’ll have this baby.”