To Catch a Leaf (6 page)

Well, fine. I'd find someone else to love little Tabitha.

Oh, no! Had I just named her?

“Before I show you what I brought,” she said, “remember the trip your dad and I took to Florida last winter? Remember me telling you that collecting seashells was passé and the big thing was sea glass?”

“What's sea glass?” Lottie asked, bringing in an armful of red roses to restock the display case.

“They're shards of old colored bottles that were tossed out to sea and have been cooking in the ocean for decades,” Mom said. “When they wash ashore, they're smooth and beautiful, in colors like aqua, foam green, orange, yellow, and even some rare cobalt and red ones. Sea glass has become very valuable.”

“Valuable broken bottles,” Lottie mused. “Can you beat that?” Shaking her head, she shut the cooler and headed for the workroom.

“Anyway,” Mom said, “I brought back a big jar full of sea glass shards, but I didn't know what to do with them. Yesterday, as I reached for my reading glasses, I happened to spot the jar sitting on my bookshelf, and it came to me.”

She opened the box and removed a bald manikin's head onto which she'd painted a woman's face in full makeup—bright red lips, pink spots on her cheeks, purple eye shadow that coated black-rimmed eyelids, and shell-shaped ears, into which she had stuck knobby white pins. As a finishing touch, she'd borrowed a nose from an old Mr. Potato Head set and jabbed that in the middle of the face. The only thing missing were eyebrows, and because of that, the manikin had a weird, space alien appearance.

I stepped back for a better look. It wasn't as tall as her giant bowling-pin hatstand, but it was just as scary. And where was the sea glass?

“So you made a painted wig stand?” I asked.

“Not even close.” Mom rubbed her hands together. “Prepare yourself for the big reveal.”

Was that possible?

She pulled out a pair of sunglasses whose entire frame, including the bridge of the nose, was covered in small, smooth pieces of blue-and-green-colored glass.

“Sea glasses!” Mom sang out, mounting them on the head. “So you can see by the sea.”

“See by the sea,” I said, nodding approvingly. “Clever.”

She smiled. “Then you like them?”

“Yes! They're very pretty.”

“Thank you, Abigail. I think they're my best work so far. I'm considering making a line of reading glasses, too, but we'll see how these sell first. I'll have my hands full if they catch on.”

They had a better chance of catching on fire. “How much are you going to charge?”

“Considering that each pair is a one-of-a-kind fashion statement, I think fifty dollars is a fair price.”

Fair for whom? I glanced inside the box and saw a dozen more pairs.

“Now we have to figure out where to display them,” Mom said.

As she reached for the manikin, the Mr. Potato Head nose popped off, unable to withstand the pressure from the heavy frames. The sunglasses slid down over the face and lay against the chin, hanging on by the two white push pins. The orange plastic nose skittered across the floor, attracting Simon's attention. He leaped from the top of the armoire to the settee, startling Mom, and from there to the floor, where he batted the nose through the purple curtain into the workroom.

Mom shrugged. “My model isn't quite right yet.”

“Why don't you take the glasses and the manikin home with you so you can refine your design?”

“There's nothing wrong with the glasses' design, Abigail.” She handed me a pair. “Try them on and see for yourself.”

I donned them and checked my reflection in a brass pot.
Yeesh
. Thank goodness there were no customers in the shop. My temples started to pound so I handed them back and massaged the bridge of my nose.

“Well?” she asked hopefully.

“They're a little tight, Mom. And heavy. Maybe you should cut down on the glass pieces.”

“Really? Your sisters-in-law said the glasses fit fine. You must have inherited your father's wide head.”

I did not have a wide head, and my sisters-in-law were big fat liars.

The phone was ringing, so I excused myself and dashed to the front counter to answer it.

“Abby,” I heard Grace whisper, “something dreadful has happened. My friend Connie has met with an untimely death.”

I glanced around to see my mother disappear through the purple curtain, probably on a hunt for the missing nose. “I'm sorry, Grace,” I said quietly. “What happened to her?”

“She took a fatal fall down the cellar steps. I was the one who found her.”

“Oh, Grace, that must have been terrible.”

“Tragic, Abby. Simply tragic. The police are here now. I'm afraid I won't be able to leave until they finish their investigation.”

“Don't worry about it, Grace. Do you want someone there with you?”

“Thank you, dear, but I'll be fine. Please don't let this get around—other than to Lottie, of course.”

“Not a problem. How far away are you, Grace?”

“I'm at the Newport mansion.”

“Really?” The Newport mansion was the biggest, costliest piece of real estate in the county. I'd heard the home had ten bedrooms and fourteen bathrooms, plus a ballroom and a ten-car garage. “Is your friend the housekeeper?”

“No, dear, and I forgive you for thinking that my friend would be merely the housekeeper. She's Constance Newport.”

For a full ten seconds my brain froze. Constance Newport, the wealthiest woman in New Chapel, was Grace's friend? Why hadn't Grace ever mentioned that?

“Grace, I didn't mean to imply—”

“Never mind that now.” She cupped her hand around the mouthpiece to whisper, “I'm alone for the moment, so listen carefully. Connie was murde—”

She stopped speaking.

“Grace? Are you there? Did you say your friend was murdered?”

“I can't talk now,” she whispered.

And I'd thought the day was on the upswing.

My mom came back into the room holding up the missing nose. “Found it.”

I said into the phone, “Grace, would you hold for two seconds?”

“Yes, but hurry, dear. My mobile isn't getting a signal here, so I'm using their house phone.”

The second line flashed to indicate an incoming call, but I ignored it, knowing Lottie would pick it up in the other room. I put Grace on hold, then turned to my mom. “I've got to get back to my desk to take down some information. I know you have to get to school, so just leave everything here with me and I'll take care of it.”

“Thank you, Abigail. And here's a thought: The manikin display would be smashing in your bay window.”

More likely the people walking
past
the manikin would be smashing in my bay window.

I blew her a kiss good-bye, then darted through the curtain to my desk and sat down. Lottie handed me a sticky note that said,
Marco—line 2
. I whispered to her, “Make sure my mom leaves. I don't want her to hear this conversation.”

Lottie nodded and headed out.

“Grace?” I said quietly. “Are you sure Constance Newport was murdered?”

“Absolutely, but I can't discuss it now,” she whispered. In a normal voice she said, “The crime scene chaps are downstairs taking photographs and collecting evidence, so perhaps I'll know more by the time I get back to the shop. I hope to be there within the hour.”

“Take as much time as you need, Grace. And I'm very sorry about your friend.”

“I have to go, love. One of the detectives would like to interview me again.”

“Again?”

“Well, dear, I
did
discover the body. And no one else was around at the time, so I imagine they consider me a suspect.”

She was unbelievably calm, as though reporting a flat tire. “I'm going to call Dave Hammond. Don't say anything more to the detectives until you get some direction from him. You probably shouldn't have talked to them the first time without Dave there.”

“It's all right, love. All I told them was how I happened to find Connie. The police could hardly proceed with their investigation otherwise.”

For a woman who'd once worked as Dave's legal secretary, Grace was startlingly naive. “Do you remember what happened when I found one of the law professors dead? I became the number one suspect. So please do not say anything more about anything.”

“Duly noted. Henceforth, my lips are sealed.”

“Okay. Sit tight until you hear from Dave.”

Before I could dial out, Lottie came through the curtain. “I found a place for the manikin head on the second shelf of the armoire, in the corner, so all that's left to do is to price the glasses. But first tell me what happened to Grace.”

“She found her friend dead at the bottom of the basement steps. Now the cops are there and they won't let anyone leave until they finish investigating.”

“Oh, Lordy,” Lottie said, holding her hand against her heart. “Poor Grace. How awful for her. Which friend was it?”

“Constance Newport.”

Lottie's eyes grew wide. “Constance Newport, the heiress?”

“That's her. Did you know she and Grace were friends?”

“I'd heard her mention her friend Connie, but I hadn't made the connection. The woman had to be about ninety years old. I'm not surprised she kicked the bucket.”

“According to Grace, Connie didn't kick the bucket. Someone pushed her. Grace believes she was murdered.”

I didn't think Lottie's eyes could have opened any wider, but she proved me wrong. “Not another murder! I don't know what's happening to our town, Abby.”

“It's becoming a city, Lottie,” I said, “with all the bad stuff that goes along with it.”

Hearing the bell over the door, Lottie headed up front, muttering, “Lordy, Lordy, Lordy. Save us from ourselves.”

I connected with line two. “Marco?”

“Abby, I just got a call from Reilly that Constance Newport is dead.”

“I know. Grace just phoned, too. She found the body.”

“Is she all right?”

“She sounds fine, but, Marco, she said no one else was around when she made the discovery and she thinks Constance was murdered. You know what that means. The cops will treat her as a suspect.”

I could hear the shift in Marco's voice as he went into PI mode. “Why does Grace suspect murder?”

“She wouldn't say over the phone. I've got to call Dave and have him talk to Grace before she says something that might incriminate her, if she hasn't already.”

“Got it. Call if you need me. Otherwise, I'll see you down here for dinner.”

 

I connected with Dave ten minutes later, and after explaining Grace's predicament, ended the conversation knowing she was in good hands. With that worry off my plate, I returned to the workroom and immersed myself in floribunda, which always soothes my frazzled nerves. My state of oblivion lasted until three thirty, when the bell over the door jingled, and my mother called jauntily, “Yoo-hoo! I'm here.” This was followed by a terse, “Lottie, why did Abigail put my manikin in the armoire?”

Because the alternative was stashing it in the basement.

I hurried through the purple curtain to find Mom pushing aside the arrangements in the bay window to make room for the head. Lottie stood off to the side, watching with a pained expression as the display she'd worked on for two hours ceased to exist, while Simon occupied himself with throwing up undigested greens in the corner.

“I'm not surprised you haven't sold a single pair of glasses,” Mom said to me, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “No one could see them tucked back in that shelf.”

Lottie muttered something and left the room.

As I tore off a paper towel from the roll under the cashier's counter to clean up Simon's mess, Mom sighed contentedly. “Isn't that much better?”

“Well,” I said, drawing out the word while I thought of a response that wouldn't be a lie. I ran out of breath before anything came to mind.

She turned toward me, a worried look on her face. “Well what? I thought you liked my sea glasses.”

“I
do
like them.” In the same way I liked a paper cut on the second day. “I thought they displayed better in the armoire, that's all. Tell you what. Let's just leave the manikin there and see what happens.” Which would be nothing if I didn't find some way to make that bald head more appealing.

“I don't see any price tags,” Mom said. “I have some time before I have to take your dad to the dentist if you want me to—”

“We'll take care of it, Mom,” I said, ushering her to the door. “You go get Dad—you know how he hates to wait—and give him a big hug from me. Bye!”

I closed the door and glanced over at her display. Maybe the sun would melt the head and solve one problem.

 

At fifteen minutes before five, Grace returned to Bloomers looking shaken and exhausted. We had no customers, so we closed the shop early and sat her in the parlor with a cup of tea so she could tell us about her tragic discovery. Not wanting to be left out, Simon jumped onto my knees and sniffed the table to see if there was anything to eat. Finding nothing, he curled up in my lap.

“Gracie,” Lottie said, “take your time. Tell us whatever you feel like talking about.”

“I suppose I should start from the beginning,” Grace said, wiping her eyes with her lace handkerchief. She took a deep breath, then straightened her shoulders. “I sensed something was up when I couldn't get anyone to answer the front door. As I'd phoned Connie earlier to tell her what time I'd be there, I knew she wouldn't have left the house, so after ringing the bell several times, I decided to go 'round to the back entrance. Let me tell you, that was quite a hike. There are some fifteen thousand square feet under that roof.”