Larceny and Lace (21 page)

An officer returned Eve’'s personal possessions, and I used her cell phone to call my father, since my phone had gone the way of my Pucci bag, credit cards, and license. Aunt Fiona came with Dad, wearing his sour expression.

“"We weren’'t charged,”" I said, before he could say anything.

“"But you spent the night in jail,”" Fiona said. “"Why didn’'t you call me?”"

“"Us.”" My father corrected her. “"Why didn’'t you call us?”" Whoa, scary statement there. Were they an “"us”"? Dad hadn’'t tripped over the words at all, which didn’'t mean he wouldn’'t tomorrow.

“"I didn’'t call because we only had to stay until our story could be verified.”" Eve nodded. “"A couple of hours, a few beers, some Mexican food, and good company. The detective didn’'t pick us up until well after midnight.”"

“"Picked up by the police,”" my father said.

“"I like to live on the edge.”" I laid my head on his shoulder. “"Can we go home now, Daddy? I’'m tired.”"

Aunt Fiona winked at my “"Daddy’'s little girl”" ploy.

“"Thank you both for an excellent chat,”" Werner said as we headed for the car, and that was the last I remembered until Aunt Fiona woke me when we got home.

“"I’'ll tell you about it in the morning,”" I said, going inside. “"I mean, when I wake up.”"

“"Which has to be around eleven,”" she reminded me. “"You’'re giving away scarecrow clothes today.”"

I whimpered. “"I’'ll set my alarm.”"

Not nearly enough sleep later, I got to the shop, where people lined up around the building. Parked cars slowed traffic. Potential contest entrants and a few unknowns, who, I think, needed free clothes, swarmed the tables.

That’'s when I heard the news from Eve. Her car had been found beside the river with a hole in the convertible top. A hole the size of a spiked heel. Later, Werner told me that my Pucci bag was neither inside nor out of the car, and I hoped it hadn’'t ended up in the river. Baste it, I hoped
I
didn’'t end up in the river. Vinney’'s, I mean the councilman’'s sweater had gone missing, as well. I couldn’'t drive my car until I got a new license. A few days ago, I thought that once I had my car and my stock had been moved in, I’'d be home free. So not. I watched my back that day, but uniformed officers came for scarecrow clothes, so Werner watched it, too.

McDowell wasn’'t the first enemy I’'d ever made. He wouldn’'t be the last. But he might be the deadliest.

Thirty-six
Choose your corner, pick away at it carefully, intensely and to the best of your ability and that way you might change the world.

—--CHARLES EAMES

I had plenty of reason to fear McDowell, I thought as I closed up shop, my father waiting in the parking lot, but what about the self-effacing man who wanted a dealership so badly he went there every day, hoping a portrait might fall?

I knew anyone who got in Lolique’'s greedy, spiteful way should fear her. She’'d implicate her husband to get her hands on his money.

Vinney I had reason to fear, his eyes so filled with bloodlust when he tried to choke me they haunted me.

The following morning, Eve called as I got ready for Halloween Ball fittings. “"I got the news from Tunney—--he who knows everything,”" she said. “"Vinney skipped town.”" I grabbed my throat. “"Must have happened during the night, but skipped or not, I don’'t like Vinney on the loose now that he tried to kill me.”"

“"I don’'t like it now that
I
tried to kill him.”"

“"We’'ll both take care. Eve, can you surf the net and find out what Zachary Goodwin, Isobel’'s father, died of?”"

“"I’'ll try,”" she said before she hung up.

I was so jumpy after Eve’'s call I decided that the best way to watch my back was to keep my enemies close, the ones I could find. I called Natalie at the car dealership, ostensibly to thank her for saving my life the other day, but I knew she kept McDowell’'s schedule. A bit of chitchat netted me the time and location of his lunch date with his wife. Natalie admitted, however, that McDowell liked to have his schedule leaked for publicity purposes. Big surprise.

That noon, at a local restaurant, I pretended to run into Lolique and the councilman, where I asked them to judge the scarecrow competition.

The councilman seemed delighted by the prospect, and I knew he’'d bring television coverage, because he never left home without it.

Lolique’'s reaction to my invitation was tepid, at best, until I mentioned giving her an exclusive on the Vintage Magic article. Not that she’'d really wanted to write that story. She’'d just wanted to dupe us dopes, which was beside the point.

“"You know, Lolique, I lost the Pucci bag I carried when we had drinks the other night. I wondered if I’'d dropped it in your front hall when we went in with you.”"
When youwere hammered,
I wanted to say but didn’'t. Yes, I was giving her an opportunity to return my bag with dignity.

She raised her chin. “"I’'ll ask Maid if she found an old handbag.”"

“"I’'d appreciate it. Have you seen Vinney lately?”"

McDowell stiffened. “"I don’'t care if he is half related to her, if he comes near either of us, again, I’'ll have him arrested for trespassing.”"

Was the old goat clueless or what? Vinney was a burglar suspected of arson and murder. He wouldn’'t stop at trespassing.

“"We haven’'t seen him,”" Lolique said, eyeing her husband with such disdain I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

After I left the restaurant, I went to see Werner.

“"You’'re gonna think I’'m crazy,”" I said as I sat down across from him. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, looking almost comfortable in my presence. “"Madeira, I already do.”"

I rather enjoyed sparring with him but shocking him was more fun. “"I asked Councilman and Mrs. McDowell to judge the scarecrow competition.”" Werner sat forward so fast, it was a wonder he didn’'t snap his spine. “"He’'s nobody to mess with, Madeira.”"

“"I know. That’'s why I want you to judge, too. And I won’'t accept ‘'not if you stick a fork in my eye’' as an answer.”"

He nearly smiled. “"At least we’'ll know where they are.”"

“"Exactly. Is that a yes?”"

“"Under the circumstances, I’'d consider it my civic duty.”"

“"You believe me about them, now, don’'t you?”"

“"Let’'s say that the quilt, the rings, and the Mexican beer chat helped.”" He had to know that I’'d done some primo sleuthing while we were at it, but if he wasn’'t saying, then neither was I.

For the next couple of days, along with everything else I did, I catered to Fiona’'s fellow witches looking for outfits for the Halloween Ball and to our neighbors still hunting for scarecrow clothes.

Fiona put out plenty of stock for both events.

I named my nooks—--
not
hearse stalls—--which Eve printed on her laser printer. I slipped each “"address”" into street name-type frames and hung them at the entry to each nook: Shoe Heaven, Bag Lady, Vive la Paris—--for haute couture—--Eternals, Little Black Dress Lane, Very Vintage, Unique Street, Around the World, and Mad as a Hatter. For a while I’'d toyed with naming the nooks after designers, but there were too many, and this way, I could mix it up and seduce my customers into looking through everything.

One of Aunt Fiona’'s witch friends, Rebecca Engle, asked to try on the buff suede wraparound fringed skirt that belonged to McDowell’'s first wife.

“"I’'ll turn it into a Native American costume for the ball,”" she said, “"and I can wear it as it is afterward.”"

I’'d avoided touching it up until now, so I waited with dread for her to exit the dressing room.

“"It fits like a dream,”" she said, still wearing it.

I released a breath, glad I didn’'t have to touch it.

“"Can you sew another button on it while I’'m wearing it?”" she asked.

“"Of course.”" I looked around for Aunt Fiona, thinking maybe she could sew it on, but she’'d gone to bring some sewing upstairs. A minute; I would only have to touch it for a minute.

I found a small clear button and thread and stood Rebecca on the riser facing the triple mirrors. “"I need the skirt tighter,”" she said, “"but I’'d like to keep the original button, in the event of too much dessert.”"

I tried hard to concentrate on nothing but my sewing; nevertheless, carnival sounds filled my ears, while into my dizzy view came a man’'s hand, wearing a big tigereye ring, offering a glass of what looked like lemonade.

The woman who accepted the glass wore the suede fringed skirt and sported an emerald-cut diamond. Isobel’'s diamond.

“"I hope it wins,”" he said—--not the voice of the man she’'d argued with over the ledgers.

“"Mom would be so proud, if it won,”" Isobel replied. She knew him well enough to say “"Mom”"?

“"You did a great job on it.”"

A merry-go-round whirled beyond them. I heard a public announcement for a pie contest as a half-empty glass of lemonade hit the dirt, then so did the woman. Unconscious. The man reached for her. “"Let’'s go,”" he said.

“"She’'ll be fine,”" Aunt Fiona said. “"She didn’'t get a lot of sleep last night.”" I focused on Aunt Fiona and Rebecca looking down at me. Did I wig out? I found myself still kneeling on the floor, sitting back against my legs, a needle in my hand, Rebecca’'s new button in place. “"Did I take a catnap?”" I asked. “"I’'ve got to stop reading all night.”"

“"If you go and change, Rebecca,”" Aunt Fiona said, “"I’'ll ring that up.”"

“"Have I priced it?”"

“"Yes, two hundred dollars.”"

“"It’'s a steal. How bad
did
I zone?”" I whispered.

“"Not bad, though it was the first time you had a vision in front of me and a customer. It’'s a good thing you don’'t twitch and drool when you do.”"

“"Gee, thanks, something else to worry about.”"

We got Rebecca square and out the door.

“"What did you see?”" Aunt Fiona asked pushing a folding chair against the back of my legs.

“"That maybe Isobel was drugged or poisoned at the fair? There must have been something in that glass of lemonade. The man didn’'t seem at all surprised that she lost consciousness.”"

Another customer approached us, and several more costumes went out, all from my original stock, thank the Goddess, because that vision had drained me. I couldn’'t touch any more of Isobel’'s clothes today.

While I was prepping for another afternoon of giving away scarecrow clothes, my cell phone rang.

“"Nick, are you okay?”"

“"I am, and I’'ve got a couple of minutes to talk for a change. First, I was able to access the local forensics report on Sampson. He was struck in the gut, fell, and cracked his skull on the corner of a cabinet.
That’'s
what ultimately killed him. Time of death was shortly before the fire. The only fingerprints on the scene considered suspicious belonged to a Vincent Carnevale.”"

Who was on the loose. I sighed. “"Looks like Sampson might have gotten in the way of Vinney starting the first fire, which seems more and more like a ruse to empty my building, so he could grab the bones. Maybe that’'s why I’'m not getting visions about Sampson, though I am getting them about the bones. Any ID on the bones? The FBI lab got those, right?”"

“"We got them, but identifying a set of charred bones will take a while. They also have to wait their turn.”" Nick sighed. “"Whoever you’'re dealing with, on either case, doesn’'t play nice. Watch your back, ladybug.”"

“"Believe me, I am.”" He didn’'t know the half of it.

“"Enough about murder,”" Nick said. “"How are
you
doing? What are you doing?”"

“"What am I not doing? With only a week left to get ready, I’'m setting up shop and filling nooks with vintage clothes, when I’'m not fitting witches for movie costumes or chasing murder suspects.”"

“"I’'m proud of you.”"

“"Say that after you see the place.”"

“"I might be too busy getting my hands on you then.”"

“"Mmm. Looking forward to it, but since you’'re there and I’'m here—--”" I cleared my voice. “"Let me tell you what else I’'ve done.”"

“"What else?”" he asked, and I could sense his smile and his hunger. I ignored my physical reaction to the timbre of his voice and started to pace. “"I got an alarm system. It’'ll take about two days to install, but it should be ready in time for the opening. An
upscale
system, extra protective and very noisy.”"

“"You should have had that done right away.”"

“"Never mind the ‘'I told you so.’' I
should
have, but break-ins, fire, and murder got the best of me.”"

“"Which is why you should have—--”"

“"Enough with the jabs, already. Trust me, this system will scare the scrap out of anybody who dares to try and break into Vintage Magic.”"

Thirty-seven
When I put my signature on a dress, I regard myself as the creator of a work of art.

—--PAUL POIRET

My shop wasn’'t open in the evening yet, and I decided to keep it that way, until the murders were solved and the killer or killers were put behind bars, or until my alarm system was finished, whichever came first.

With time running out—--six days and counting—--until the grand opening, I took an evening and the better part of a night in my father’'s basement, to painstakingly handdecorate the white cabinet from my storage room with the glass-front top. Now a black enamel cabinet, thanks to my dad.

To marry the boxy utilitarian design to Mom’'s art deco pieces and Dante’'s fainting couch, I chose nature and fashion. On each side of the cabinet, the first angle people would see, I traced a side profile of my own design—--inspired by a sixties, Yves Saint Laurent wool jersey Pop Art dress—--a naked woman standing on her toes at the bottom back, her head leaning toward the top front, as if peeking at the contents of the cabinet. Except for the curvaceous profile’'s blonde locks, black lashes, and red lips, I painted her an all-over flesh pink.

Before I got to the drawers, my father called from upstairs. “"Madeira, you have a visitor.”"

“"Who is it?”" I wiped my hands with a rag.

“"It’'s me, Mad,”" Werner said. “"I’'ll come down.”"