Part 26 (2/2)
”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 sc.r.a.p 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 bas.e.m.e.nt, to painstakingly hand-decorate the white cabinet from my storage room with the gla.s.s-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 fas.h.i.+on. 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.”
”I'm in a mess,” I said. ”Can you stand the smell of paint?” I opened another window.
”Sure. No problem.” He whistled when he saw the cabinet. ”Is there anything you can't do?”
”Yes. I can't keep my opinions to myself.”
He smiled with his eyes. ”I noticed.”
”Do you mind if I paint while we talk?”
”Go ahead. I know you're in a time crunch.” He looked around. ”What are these?” he asked, hefting a bright red marble egg in one hand, a yellow one in the other.
”Aren't they gorgeous? They were my grandmother's. I forgot they existed until I found that box of them in my mother's art deco sideboard. I just cleaned it, because we're taking it to my shop when this is done.”
He tossed an egg in the air. ”What are you painting on the bottom, there?”
”This is a picture my mother cut from a magazine.” I indicated the framed flower garden shoe propped against a chair. ”I'm putting one facing shoe on each door.” They were squash-heeled pumps of loosely woven tulip leaves. I'd let the occasional vibrant pink to pale yellow tulip nod from their woven stems.
”The picture is of a daffodil shoe.”
”I'm making it my own.” On mine, the flowers grew in different directions from each other, which I thought added to the overall character of the piece.
I stood back to examine my work. ”As a vintage fas.h.i.+on-plate piece, it fits the bill, and it'll accent the colors in my tapestried couch. What did you want to talk about?”
”I have a source that says Sampson probably died because he got in the way of the arsonist.”
I didn't dare tell him that I knew, because I didn't want to screw Nick. Well, I did, actually, but-”You want to bounce some ideas off me?”
His hands in his pockets, Werner rocked on his heels and jiggled his loose change. ”Let's call it speculation, part deux.” He stopped, reached into his inside jacket pocket, and pulled out a bottle of Mexican beer.
I chuckled as I accepted it and popped the top.
”Why would Suzanne pretend to be Sampson's sister when she was his ex? A blood relative is a more likely suspect.”
”You said you believe she didn't bother to deny the gossip. Maybe because, as his ex, she could get the house, so she was playing it cool so people wouldn't delve too deeply into her background . . . or into the background of somebody she cares about?”
”Lolique?” he asked.
”According to Lolique herself, she was a pole dancer, which could merely be a part of the colorful persona she gave herself. Frankly, I can't see a politician marrying a pole dancer, myself, especially McDowell. He's too careful of his image. Then again, I think he killed his first wife, so what do I know?” I sighed.
”And another thing. If Vinney took the bones out of your building, who put them there? Couldn't have been him. He's too young.”
A man afraid of a ghost, I thought. ”A hired killer? Or even someone hired simply to move her from her cave, quarry, or well. It didn't have to be her killer.”
”True. We've started a search for caves, quarries, and wells, but it's not all up to us. McDowell lived in Groton when his wife went missing. Besides, we have to get an ID on the bones before we jump to conclusions anyway.”
”Sampson was a victim of circ.u.mstance, wasn't he?” I asked. ”He died because of the bones. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
”Seems like.” He indicated my cabinet. ”Are you going to put that in your shop? It's a brilliant piece of artwork.”
”Thank you. The door opens on the aisle formed at the left by my checkout counter and at the right by my stock nooks. I'm planning a sitting area for the back, between the end of my checkout counter and the behind-the-stairs entry to my fitting rooms where the horse stalls were. People will cut though the area to get to the fitting rooms and friends can relax while they wait for someone being fitted.”
”Sounds like a place where women would like to disappear for an afternoon.”
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