A Veiled Deception (26 page)

“Is that necessary?” Cort asked.

The psychologist nodded. “She could harm herself, as well as anyone, right now.”

“It’s best,” Werner said. “We know what we heard. I’m guessing she wasn’t herself at the time of the murder, either.”

“I’m coming with her,” Cort said. “We’ll get you the best criminal lawyer money can buy.”

Deborah’s head came up. She, too, caught the irony. He hadn’t hired the best lawyer money could buy for her.

Justin kissed Sherry’s brow. “I’m going with them. I’ll be back as soon as I can. There’s a nursery upstairs; I’ll have a crib brought down. Keep her with you. She’ll want her mother. Use my room. I need to know you’ll be waiting for me when I get home.”

Sherry nodded.

Cort spared Deborah a glance. “It’s been over for a long time. I accept equal responsibility for the past. You won’t want for anything.”

Deborah came out of her fog. “What?”

Two officers escorted Amber from the drawing room in cuffs, followed by her father and brother.

“Renee,” Cort said to Deborah’s maid. “Pack your mistress’s bags, enough for tonight at least, and find her a hotel. She’ll let you know where. We’ll forward the rest of her things, later. She’s moving out.”

Deborah screamed, though she hadn’t reacted to her past sins or their deadly consequences. She hadn’t reacted to Amber’s hands on her throat or her part in Amber’s illness. Not even when her son put his life in danger to save hers did she say a word. Nothing scared that woman more than the thought of losing her lifestyle.
Thirty

The creative universe begins with its essentiality, and, whatever path the imagination takes, ends with its purity.

—GIORGIO ARMANI

On a bright Sunday morning in early September, Dolly Sweet attended my sister’s wedding at Cortland House wearing her Katharine Hepburn gown. Oy!

I raised my thoughts to the universe.
Please
don’t let Dolly leave to join Dante during Sherry’s wedding. Or her reception.

Sherry deserved a perfect wedding day, especially after the month that led up to it.

When the family adventurer walked in, my panic subsided. I ran and caught my sister Brandy in my arms. “I can’t believe you made it!”

“Me, either.” She squeezed me tight for a minute. “At one point, I offered to fly the plane to get here faster.”

“Did they let you?” Middle sister or not, Brandy Cutler could be pretty damned persuasive. Just ask anybody whose life she’d touched in the Peace Corps. And, yes, she could fly a plane.

“No, but the pilot was intrigued by my offer. We have a date tomorrow night.”

I laughed and stepped back so I could get a better look at her in Mom’s strapless jonquil-print sundress. “You look super.”

My eyes filled and so did Brandy’s for a minute. “I remember her wearing this outfit with platform wedges, sunny Bakelite jewelry, purse and all.” Thanks for leaving it on my bed. If I’d had to decide what to wear, I might have given in to jet lag and missed the whole thing.” Brandy fiddled with the clasp on her purse. “I owe you an apology, Mad. I thought you were crazy when you kept Mom’s clothes. I was wrong.”

“But you still think I’m crazy for pandering to moneyed fashion plates.”

She bit her lip for half a second. “True . . . but for Sherry’s sake,” Brandy whispered, “I won’t mention that I could feed a starving continent for a year on the cost of her wedding.” Her voice rose with every word. “And don’t get me started on this twenty-four-karat gold bordello.”

Cort coughed behind her. “You have a problem with my bordello, Miss Cutler?”

He winked.

Brandy colored but she raised her chin and accepted Cort’s offered arm. He led her toward the dressing room where Sherry waited to take center stage. They stopped on the way, however, and I knew by the body language, the way Brandy spoke and Cort listened, that she’d gone into fund-raising mode. Poor Cort. I respected my sister’s passion for her work, and maybe after she saw Sherry in her wedding gown, Brandy would respect mine. I was sorry she had missed the rehearsal dinner, but she’d made the wedding, and that was what counted. Last night, as a maid of honor gift, Sherry and Justin had given me the glass slipper inkwell I loved, the one on a filigreed brass stand. When Brandy emerged from Sherry’s dressing room a short while later, Cort met her, handed her a check, and escorted her to the Cutler family seating area. I guess Brandy had more than one reason to celebrate today.

Cort took the mike up front and suggested people take their seats. When Sherry emerged, cameras went off from every corner. I’d gotten my friends from New York to do a cover spread in a bridal magazine. The Vancortland gown would be the launch design for Vintage Magic. The article would announce my grand opening on Halloween.

Fast, I know, like all my decisions. But with luck and more fast thinking, I could pull it off.

After all, I could fix anything.

Right now, my carriage house—Dante waiting inside—still looked like a shack, but the architectural design rocked, and I’d pick a construction crew within the week. I had a lot of work to do, but I was ready to jump in, proud in my Pradas. Most important, Sherry was happy. Justin, too. His parents had been miserable; their split was a relief, even to their son.

Justin and Sherry had moved into the mansion to help Cort raise Vanessa until Amber came home, which she would . . . in time. Her new family visited her regularly at the high-security psychiatric wing of the hospital.

We’d been assured that Amber’s plea of insanity should stick. Not only were her psychiatric records available, but the loss of her fiancé in Iraq—a surprise to us all—had put her sanity on a very slippery slope. She’d found herself suddenly an unwed mother raising a daughter alone . . . like her own mother had done. The Vancortland engagement announcement had been the last straw. While Sherry posed for some pre-wedding photos on the grand staircase, Eve and I watched Deborah come around the side of the house on the arm of a mature, buff member of the country-club set.

Dripping diamonds, she forced her way into the first row on the groom’s side. Yes, she came through the yard, instead of the house, but she couldn’t be self-effacing if her life depended on it.

Cort might have been shocked when she asked him to move down, but he didn’t show it. He stood, ever the gentleman, but he stubbornly retained his aisle seat
and
the one next to it for his granddaughter.

These days, he looked . . . content . . . driving around Mystick Falls with an occupied toddler seat in the back of his Mercedes. DNA tests had proved that, yes, Amber was his daughter and Vanessa his granddaughter, so he got custody. I’d never seen a man beam as much as he did when he got the word.

He often took Vanessa to the hospital to have lunch with her mother, so the little girl who spent most of her time with her aunt Sherry wouldn’t forget which was which. The groom’s side might be sparse, but the bride’s side overflowed with Cutlers and friends. First row: Brandy, Alex, his wife, Tricia, with baby Kelsey, being passed from relative to relative. The aisle seat remained empty, waiting for my dad. Eve and her parents sat behind them with Fiona and the Sweets. The rest of our Mystick Falls neighbors and our downtown Mystic friends filled the bride’s side. Nick, the best man—Justin’s and mine—escorted Justin to his spot at the gazebo. I waved, and Nick raised his chin, his piercing dark eyes filled with promise. I shivered and turned my attention to Sherry as the orchestra began to play the wedding march. I smoothed my sister’s train, and remembered how she’d swirled with the flare of the first dress I’d made her. She might have been three at the time. Our stubborn little blonde with the infectious laugh had turned into a swan. Oh, how I wished my mother could see this bride in whom I held so much pride. I turned to my handsome father and dusted the lapels of his tux, before I took my place in front of them.

When it was time to begin, I patted Vanessa’s tiny peau-de-soie bottom. The twoand-a-half-year-old began her trek down the silk carpet, across the flowing back lawn toward the gazebo near the river, scattering red rose petals, slowly, carefully, making sure to drop no more than one petal at a time.

When she dropped two, she picked one of them up.

A chuckle ran through the guests, and I’m sure a hundred more people fell in love with her.

I’d made her a mini bridal gown and pouch purse with the fabric from the train of the Vancortland gown. Vanessa adored purses and who was I to argue?

A crown of white rosebuds nested in her dark curls. Her tiny pair of kitten-heeled shoes were a bit too big, but she’d mastered the walk. During fittings she’d kept stepping into our spikes and walking away, so we found her a pair of her own, sort of. The little girl playing dress up simply added to the imperfectly perfect . . . the wedding of Sherry and Justin’s dreams.

When she reached Cort, Vanessa raised her arms. “Pa-pop. All done.”

I preceded my sister down the aisle wearing another of my mother’s dresses, a full-length Grecian halter gown of flowered red chiffon, though you could barely see the flowers, they were so muted. I wore the red Louboutin pumps with the heels that left a rosette imprint and carried white roses.

With her Vintage Magic gown, Sherry wore embroidered satin shoes by Philippe Model and carried red roses.

Paces ahead, I still heard Deborah’s gasp as Sherry walked by. As I approached the gazebo, alive with roses of every color, I saw . . . a vision . . . that raced my heart.

My mother stood beside the minister. Young, beautiful, and alive, if only for a minute, her heavenly blue chiffon gown and cinnamon hair flowing in the breeze off the water.

A quick glance toward Aunt Fiona, smiling through her tears, confirmed it. Wanting Mom to get the full view of Sherry, her baby, as a bride, I turned to the side of the gazebo a bit sooner than I’d planned and gave my sister center stage. Mom smiled wide, nodded in approval, blew each of her loved ones a kiss, and then she was gone.

A Tip for the Vintage Handbag Lover

THREE BAGS FOR THE PRICE OF ONE

Look for this vintage find at yard sales, antique stores, thrift shops, or at a secondhand shop like the Cottage in Amesbury, Massachusetts—which is where my daughter found hers.

It’s described in a book called
Handbags
, by Judith Miller, as “A three-way convertible bag with detachable black cover from the fifties.”

The outside is a high-quality brown simulated crocodile, which is reversible to black velvet, an outer layer whose rings slip off the magnetized knobs at the top sides. Beneath that, you’ll find a high-quality black fine-corded satin-covered bag. We’ve found it without the outer layer, as well, so hold out for the full package. It’s shaped like a large clasp purse, has a gilt metal frame, and a Lucite handle. The bottom is square and curves slightly to the top. It’s 9 inches wide, 7ݙinches tall, and 2ݣinches deep.

The label is on the inside pocket. Ours is faded. We can only make out the word

“Paris.” At least we think it says Paris. Happy hunting!

To see pictures of Annette’s purses, go to
www.annetteblair.com.

Make Your Own Evening Clutch

A FOLD-OVER PURSE

Instructions for a fold-over purse:

Draw a rectangle about a foot long and about nine inches wide on paper, to use as a pattern. Choose a heavy stiff or quilted fabric for the body, or add interfacing to give the fabric body. Follow the directions on the interfacing package if you choose to face it. Using your paper pattern, cut two pieces of outside fabric, right sides together/face-toface. Using the same pattern, cut out two pieces of lining fabric right sides together. Pin a piece of outside fabric to the liner fabric right sides together along the nineinch straight edge. Sew only that edge together, using the standard five-eighths setting on your sewing machine.

Open the two pieces of fabric and iron the seams open—in a butterfly effect, one wing of lining, one of outside fabric.

Repeat the procedure for the second side.

Now match the lining fabric together and the outside fabric together. Pin.

Starting about four inches down from the straight-edge seam on the liner fabric side, sew all the way around using the standard five-eighths setting on your sewing machine. Be sure to stop sewing about two inches before you started so there is an opening to turn the fabric right side out.

Trim the corners but leave the long edge of the seam to help give form to the purse.

Turn the entire thing right side out and slip stitch closed the opening in the lining. Now push the lining fabric inside the outside fabric to form the inside of the purse. It makes a long pocket with a finished straight opening at the top. Fold the pocket about one-third of the way down to create a self-flap. Iron the crease once you have it where you want it. This will give you a fold-over clutch purse. Embellish it however you want. Our sample piece is black with an acrylic rosette painted to the left of the flap. Possibilities are beads, ribbon rosettes, sequins, or fringe. You can also get creative with the shape of the bottom and top to vary the design. Enjoy!

To see pictures of Annette’s purses, go to
www.annetteblair.com.

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