Part 15 (2/2)

”Harry Cutler!” Aunt Fiona was still scolding him as I drove away. Bickering or not, they made me smile, a release valve considering my destination and why.

Halfway there, it occurred to me that the wedding rings might be engraved and that I might be wise to try them on, in case. I parked on a side road facing the river and tried one, then the other, then both.

The rings gave me nothing. Probably what the marriage was worth. Or, I couldn't read vintage jewelry.

Whatever was engraved in the wedding ring was so small I stopped at a drugstore for a magnifying gla.s.s. I copied the initials into a small notebook I carried for design ideas. The initials were G. I. L. to E. E. M., 7-7-77. The information told me nothing and pretty much put period to the name Isobel.

When I stepped into Werner's office, he came around his desk and shut the door behind me. ”To what do I owe the honor? Is that the quilt from your storage room?”

”It is.” I placed it on his desk. ”You said details were important. I wasn't there when your men searched my storage room, so it didn't occur to me to explain, but the foot bones were wrapped in it. I found a light tire mark on one side and these in a zip pocket on one of the squares.” I showed him the rings.

”Is that rock real?” Werner took it between his fingers to hold up to the light.

”It is. Jewelry is fas.h.i.+on, after all. It's vintage and flawless, so it might be thirty to fifty grand worth of real. Maybe more. Initials and dates are engraved in the wedding band. Might help you ID the bones. Or not.”

I also had a leopard fingernail, but since it belonged to the outfit that gave me a psychic lead, I'd follow up on it myself.

”Thank you, Madeira. I appreciate the new evidence.”

”Happy to help.” I was jumping-out-of-my-skin p.r.i.c.kly with the memories of us in my storage room. His hands in my hair, heartbeat beneath my ear. Tenderness. Caring? I wanted to gnaw off my lipstick like in junior high when I faced a boy I had a crush on. Not that I had a crush on Werner. Far from it. But with our guards down, our connection had been intense.

Werner wasn't too comfortable, either. His erratic moves and inability to look me in the eye gave him away.

He opened his door but I shut it, both of us still on the inside. ”Listen, so we can get back to our old, deep dislike, and away from this nerve-wracking awareness, should I just call you Wiener, again?”

Laughter erupted in the squad room.

I stepped back and followed Werner's gaze to the open transom above his door. ”Well, guess I took care of that. Have a nice day, Detective.”

I left, wincing at the round of applause I got, which would help ice over our residual tension. Werner should pretty much hate me again. Good thing he couldn't fire every cop who applauded. He wouldn't have a force.

On my way to Vintage Magic, I stopped at Yolanda's, Mystic's most trendy nail salon. I used to babysit her kids.

”Maddie, so glad to have you home to stay,” Yolanda said. ”Come to get your nails done, I hope?”

”I had them done in New York a few days ago. I'll be due soon. Can I make an appointment?”

After I did, I took out the leopard fingernail. ”Do any of your customers have their nails done this way?”

”I have a couple. Leopard and Lace, closer to the highway, probably does more. Why are you carrying a gaudy old fingernail?”

”Somebody left me some primo vintage clothes. One of the outfits had this in the pocket. Can you mention to your leopard nail customers that if they left me the pricey clothes to come by so I can thank them in person? Unless they'd rather remain anonymous, of course.”

She shrugged. ”Sure. See you next week.”

I stopped by Leopard and Lace as well, made the same request, and though I didn't know the owner, she gave me customer names and directed me to their houses. Bad business, that, with all this right of privacy stuff. I could grind the Mystick Falls gossip mill with this one, but I'd already given it a great big grind at the station.

I stopped at my favorite gift shop and bought a silk wreath and had the owner add some sprigs of dried heather and myrtle, which would afford my shop some protection, according to Aunt Fiona. Something about myrtle at your front door and heather at your garden gate. Or was that lavender at the gate? Anyway, the trim with the aubergine roses, dark green leaves, and a pale sage bow would look amazing on my lavender door.

Then I stopped to see Tunney, who seemed to be getting ready to leave his meat market. ”Can I help you, Suzy Q?”

”Maybe. What's the name of the company that Sampson was trying to sell his property to?”

He took a folder from a file drawer behind the meat counter and handed it to me. ”This is all I have on the company, my research as a council member. Eventually, they'll damage the economy, though they promised to make it better. The environment and our ecological structure could suffer as well. Main Street, our historic provenance, would eventually disappear-it's happened in other small towns the company 'took over'-but they always flourish. You can have it, but why?”

”Part of my plan to get you off the suspect list.”

”Maddie girl, you're the best.”

”Well, I haven't done anything yet. I'm just nosing around. And don't you tell anybody.”

Afterward, I sat in Tunney's parking lot for nearly an hour reading all the information Tunney had gathered, calling company phone numbers and leaving mine, then I turned Dad's car toward Vintage Magic.

Traffic slowed near Bank Street because my parking lot overflowed with cars. My father directed traffic outside, while Fiona stood at the door as if directing people inside.

Gee, was I having a sale?

Twenty-four.

What do I think about the way most people dress? Most people are not something one thinks about.

-DIANA VREELAND.

I had to park behind Mystic Pizza, rarely easy, and crossed the street. My father saw me and shouted, ”Surprise!” the word suddenly echoed by everyone. I got hugged, kissed, and congratulated to within an inch of my life. ”What's going on?” I asked Fiona. ”I mean, I love the attention, but why?”

”It's a big day. You moved into your shop.”

”I did? Holy Harrods, they brought my stock?”

”They're not unpacking boxes,” Fiona said, which allowed me to breathe. ”They've just moved them from above my garage. Preservation boxes are in the last stall, the way you left them. Anything in a garment bag is on a rack. Tunney is a.s.sembling racks. The mannequins you had s.h.i.+pped to my place are in the second-to-the-last stall.”

”The second to the last nook,” I said. ”I'm trying to say nooks instead of stalls.”

Fiona chuckled. ”Best to remove hea.r.s.e images as soon as possible.”

I went to thank Tunney, feeling bad about finding Suzanne kissing someone else. I guess what really bothered me about her was how she enjoyed herself so easily days after her brother's murder.

”Did I hold you up, Tunney, by stopping in to see you a while ago?”

He laughed. ”You surely did, Maddie girl.”

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