Bodice of Evidence (9 page)

Felicity might have had reservations about buying a dress from Vidalia, but once she found “The Dress” it was all done but the haggling, and Mom was a champion haggler. Vidalia helped Felicity out of the gown and returned with paperwork on pricing and details.

Mom was resolute about the price she was willing to pay. I think both Felicity and Vidalia were in tears by the time Mom finally said, “It's a deal.” She had indeed negotiated a deep discount for the dress if we promised to tell everyone where Felicity bought her gown and how wonderful the experience was. It didn't hurt that I also promised that I would include one of Vidalia's business cards in my marketing packet for Perfect Proposals.

“My husband, Anton, is going to think I have lost my
mind,” Vidalia stated as she watched Mom sign the agreement and then write the check. “You have the gown at cost plus alterations.”

“Warren Evans, Felicity's fiancé, has connections with all of Chicago's high society, doesn't he, dear?” Mom said, and continued without waiting for Felicity to answer. “He's practically the entire reason Pepper's Perfect Proposals business is so successful.”

“Well, I'd like to think I had something to do with that,” I muttered, and pulled the strap of my purse over my shoulder.

“Plus, you will get free advertising to all of Pepper's clients for the next six months. She deals only in exclusive high-end proposals. Isn't that right, dear? You truly have made the deal of a lifetime.” Mom stood up and handed over the check. “We'll see you soon.”

“Yes, for fittings and to buy the bridesmaid dresses and mother-of-the-bride dress—if I can afford to sell them to you, of course,” she said with a cool smile.

“Of course,” Mom trilled, and slung her arms through mine and Felicity's and practically skipped out of the shop.

“Oh, my goodness,” Felicity said as we left the shop. “I had no idea it was going to be the one. I'd never felt like a bride before and then . . .” She got choked up again.

I smiled and hugged her shoulder. “You are going to knock Warren's socks off.”

“The dress was simply perfect,” Mom said with a big grin on her face.

“I thought Vidalia was going to tear her hair out over
your haggling,” I teased my mom. “I thought we were trying to save her business not lowball her out of it.”

“Please, a lowball sale is a sale and that is what will save her business. She can tell everyone who asks that her business is still strong. After all, she sold a gown today.”

“Nice,” I said.

“Yes, it is. Remember this when you go dress shopping. Your mother is more than a pretty face.” She waggled her eyebrows and tapped her temple with her index finger.

“Of course you are,” I said. “We didn't get all our smarts from Dad.”

“Shall we go grab some dinner?” Felicity asked.

I glanced at my cell phone. It was nearly six thirty already and my message light blinked. “You two go on without me. I've got to check a few phone messages and I want to write down what I learned today before I forget.”

Felicity and Mom exchanged a look that did not go unnoticed.

“What? I'm running a business.”

“And your sister liked that plaid bridesmaid dress, didn't you, Felicity?” Mom looked smug.

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Fine. Where are you going? I'll try to meet you there.”

Mom looked at Felicity.

“Lou Malnati's,” Felicity said. “I feel like pizza.”

“I'll call your father,” Mom said.

“The one on Higgins Road?” I asked

“Yes,” Felicity said. “Warren is in Schaumburg today working at the satellite office.”

“Perfect,” I said. “See you there in a few.” I strolled to my car, unlocked it, and got inside. Locking the doors, I hit the message button on my smartphone.

“Hello, my name is Toby. I was at the country club and overheard Warren and Felicity talking about their proposal. I'd like to hire Perfect Proposals. Please call me at this number.”

Well, that sounded like a nice lead. Especially since I had Mary's proposal nearly all planned and had gotten Alexander's family to agree to hold up the cards for his proposal at the landing zone of his Big Leap event. I dialed the number.

“Hello?”

“Yes, is this Toby? I'm Pepper Pomeroy, the owner of Perfect Proposals. You called and left me a message?”

“Oh, right,” he said. “Yes, I understand you've done a couple of unusual romantic proposals.”

“Yes, you can go to the Perfect Proposals website and you'll see pictures, testimonials, references, and a link to some of the video clips.”

“Oh, I don't need to go to your website. I trust Warren Evans. I want to hire you. Money is no object. Can we meet?”

“Certainly.” My heart skipped a beat at the idea that money was no object. I made my fee off a direct percentage of the costs of the proposal, so the bigger the event, the more money I made. Most of which went right back into the business, but it would be nice to have a little extra cash when I went looking for a new apartment.

And I was planning on finding a new apartment soon.

“Please name a date, time, and place and I'll be there so we can get started on the details,” I said.

“Great, can you meet me tomorrow, say ten
A.M.
Does that work?”

“It works,” I said. “Where?”

“Meet me at Centre City Books in Forest Park. Do you know where that is?”

“Sure, it's a favorite of my father's,” I said. A bookstore was an unusual place for a meeting, but I was game, especially when he reiterated that money was no option. Forest Park wasn't all that far from my parents' home. “How will I know you?”

“I'll be sitting in the right corner reading nook and I'll wear a red carnation in my buttonhole.”

“Great, I'll see you tomorrow at ten.” I hung up. What an odd character. Who meets in a bookstore and wears a carnation? Most people I dealt with had a LinkedIn profile and posted pictures and their entire background. Come to think of it, he hadn't given me his last name.

I frowned. I suspected it was going to be an interesting meeting.

The next three messages were from my vendors—the baker with the final directions for the black-and-white cake for Mary's engagement party with the
Casablanca
motif, the permits for the jump site for Alexander's Big Leap, and the pilot of the jump plane clearing his flight plan.

Happy to have a thriving business, I glanced over at the dress shop. Vidalia stepped outside and waited to lock
up. She looked satisfied with the sale. She really did have a flair for finding the right dress—at least Felicity's dress. It would not be hard to recommend her to my clients.

I chewed on my bottom lip as I noted that Theresa walked out after her. The girl headed in the opposite direction. There was something going on with that girl, or her boyfriend at the very least. It was a good thing Felicity bought her dress there. It meant a couple of fitting appointments, and of course, the opportunity to go back and buy bridesmaid dresses and mom's mother-of-the-bride gown.

It also meant that I would have more opportunities to ask Vidalia and Theresa questions that Detective Murphy would never think to ask.

Ten
A.M.
the next morning, I opened the door to the bookstore. It had a classic glass front, a red awning with white type that said Centre City Books, and brick on the rest of the old-fashioned building. I entered to the warm aroma of books and coffee—two of my favorite scents. A smile came to my face at the realization that it had been a while since I'd visited a bookstore and experienced firsthand that wonderful smell.

I found Toby in the right-hand corner as he had promised. He looked to be in his mid to late forties and of average height and build. He had a full head of dark, wavy hair and a five-o'clock shadow, which was a bit odd for ten in the morning.

I tilted my head and squinted my eyes. If he were
spiffed up, he could be good-looking in an older George Clooney kind of way. Unfortunately he was as rumpled as that funny old television detective, the one I used to watch reruns of with my father. What was his name? Hmmm—Columbus? Colom . . . Oh, right, Columbo. Anyway, even though he had pinned a red carnation to his shirt—with a safety pin, mind you—he was not at all sophisticated. He wore a T-shirt with Wile E. Coyote on it, droopy jeans with completely frayed hems, and ripped white skateboarder shoes.

“Hi, Toby?”

He looked up and I stuck out my hand.

“Pepper Pomeroy of Perfect Proposals.”

“Right,” he said and stood, taking my hand and giving it a quick shake. “So, you're a redhead.”

“Yes,” I said with a nod. It was usually the first thing people noticed about me. The next was my long, thin Olive Oyl frame. “Shall we get some coffee and talk?”

“No need for coffee,” he said. “If you don't mind, I'm interested in the movies.” He took me to the back where the wall of movie racks sat. Strangely he went right to the B-movie action-adventure DVDs and started stacking them up on his arm.

“Um, okay.” I watch as he pulled at least five out at random, but flipped past others. Then I noticed one I'd actually seen. “Hey, that one was pretty good,” I said in an effort to be helpful.

“Got it,” Toby said. “I own most of these. I'm looking to fill the gaps with the ones I don't have.”

“Right, okay, so about the proposal,” I pulled my pen and notepad out of my purse and wrote his name across the top. “Wait, I'm sorry, what is your last name?”

“Mallard, Toby Mallard, with two
l
's.” He pointed at my notebook.

“Thanks, Toby Mallard with two
l
's. Now, what kind of proposal are you thinking of?”

“Oh, something out of this world, you know, romantic and magical and certain to make my love say
yes, yes, yes
.” He didn't even look at me as he continued to peruse the movies.

“Okay, well, what kinds of things does your, er, love think are romantic?”

“Oh, you know, the usual stuff.”

I winced and wrote down usual stuff. “Well, see, that's a problem. I deal in the unusual stuff. For instance, Warren Evans proposed to his bride-to-be in a private plane filled with memorabilia from their dating life.”

“I know. I heard them tell Amy Hanson all about it.”

“Then there's the guy who did this scuba proposal because he and his fiancée loved to travel and scuba together. I have a client right now with a parachuting proposal. Do you see how it's the unusual and grand gesture that makes it a Perfect Proposal? It's something that you and your love do together that binds you to one another and reflects the type of couple you are.”

“Right.”

This wasn't working. “How long have you been going out?”

“The usual amount of time,” he said.

“Okay, how old is she?”

“The right age for me.”

I was really getting frustrated. “Can you at least tell me her name?”

“Her name is Laura.”

That was something. I wrote it down. “Good, Laura, that's good.”

Toby continued to shop, not making eye contact. I tried to remain professional. I had a bad feeling that he might be wasting my time.

“What kind of hobbies does Laura have?”

He shrugged. “Girl hobbies, you know, shopping and such.”

“Does she like to shop for anything in particular? For example, you have an action/adventure movie collection—”

“How did you know that?” He frowned.

I pointed to the stack in his hands. “You told me.”

“Huh.” He glanced down at his hands then moved on to looking through the vinyl album section. I presumed he was a vinyl record album fan. Some people collected old records because they swore the sound was better than the new digital recordings. I was happy not to have stacks of records in my house collecting dust. All my music was stored online.

The vinyl album section was thankfully smaller than the movie section. There was a long silence while he quickly went through the records. Clearly he wasn't going to answer the last question. Time to be more direct.

“Does she collect anything? Anything at all? Dolls, elephants, cookie jars?”

“I doubt it.” He frowned as he pulled out an old Guns N' Roses album, flipped it over, read the songs, and put it back.

Time to quit being nice and get down to brass tacks. “What is it that you want to hire me for?”

“I need a girl's point of view,” he said as he dug through the old covers. “You know, I want a fancy restaurant, but I'm not really into that, so I need someone to pick one out.”

“You want me to pick out a fancy restaurant?”

“Yes, and I want the place decorated with Laura's favorite flowers . . . whatever those are.”

“You need me to find out and book her favorite restaurant and order her favorite flowers?”

“Oh, and I want the place all to ourselves.”

“Buying out an entire restaurant will be quite costly.”

“I told you money was not a problem. It's the details and such.”

“What if it cost, oh, I don't know, fifty thousand dollars?” I threw a big number out there to test him.

He didn't even flinch. “Okay,” he said, and moved on to the books. “Oh, and I need you to pick out a ring.”

“Pick out an engagement ring,” I stated and wrote
nuts
in my notebook. “Do you know her ring size? What kind of stone she wants? What cut she prefers?”

“That's what I'm paying you for,” he said.

“How am I supposed to do any of that if I don't know
anything about Laura?” Seriously, was I supposed to become a private detective?

He stopped shopping and looked at me. “I'm rich. Like very rich. Make it happen for me, okay?”

I was so frustrated I'd decided to quote him triple my current rate. Let's see how rich he really is. “Fine, can I see a picture of Laura?”

“What's that going to do?”

“It will allow me to see her style, her coloring, so I can help with the ring.” I half wondered if he was making the whole thing up.

“Okay.” He pulled out a top-of-the-line iPhone and scrolled through it. “Here. This is Laura.”

He showed me a picture of a gorgeous young woman who looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She was slim, dark haired, and the photo looked like it had been taken when she was crossing a marathon finish line. Sweaty and all, she was still beautiful.

“Where does she work?” I asked. She looked like a model or a television personality. If that were the case, I might be able to find out more about her online.

“She's a partner at Marley and Thomas, LLC. It's a law firm.”

“Yes, I know the firm.” They handled all the big political cases in Chicago. “I thought I recognized her.” Most likely I had seen her on television after all.

“You can't visit her at work. No one gets in there without an appointment.”

“I bet,” I said, and frowned. “Wait, you can. How about
you bring me in to meet her and I'll pretend that I'm just a friend.”

He shook his head. “Won't work.”

“Lunch then, you can tell her you went to college with me and I'm in town for a day and you want her to meet me.”

“No.”

“How am I supposed to meet her?”

“I'm sure you'll come up with something.” He went to the cashier to pay for his stack of purchases.

“That's going to take time and I get paid by the hour,” I said. “In fact, I'll need a retainer up front.”

“I figured,” he said, and fished his wallet out of his back pocket. “I got you a cashier's check.” He pulled out a folded check and handed it to me.

I opened the check and blinked at the amount. I confirmed that it was a cashier's check made out to Perfect Proposals.

“I assume that will cover your down payment,” he said, and pushed his movies and books toward the bored-looking kid behind the counter.

“Yes,” I said as I stared at the check. “This will cover it.”

“Good. I look forward to hearing your ideas.” He paid the bill, and when he put his credit card back in his wallet, he pulled out a card and handed it to me. “You can reach me here.” He gathered up his bags. “Talk to you soon.”

I watched him leave the bookstore and looked back down at the check. It was for ten thousand dollars. He hadn't even asked me to sign a contract or a quote or put in a bid.

“You okay, honey?” The manager came up to the counter. She was a middle-aged woman who studied me through her cat-eyed reading glasses.

“Yes, I am, thanks.” I carefully put the check in my purse along with my notebook and pen, and pushed through the bookstore door. Toby might turn out to be a difficult client, but every business owner had their price, and right now mine was going straight to the bank.