Part 26 (1/2)
”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 compet.i.tion.”
Werner sat forward so fast, it was a wonder he didn't snap his spine. ”He's n.o.body 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 circ.u.mstances, 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 hea.r.s.e 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 b.u.t.ton 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 b.u.t.ton 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 b.u.t.ton, 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 gla.s.s of what looked like lemonade.
The woman who accepted the gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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 b.u.t.ton 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 pus.h.i.+ng 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 gla.s.s 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 G.o.ddess, 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.