Part 27 (1/2)

”That's what I'm hoping. I'm thinking about serving fine teas, too. Or,” I added, ”if my shop turns out to be a yawn, I can take a nap on the couch.”

Werner shook his head. ”Not a chance. You think the pole-dancer celebrity will shop at your place?”

”I hope not. She scares me.”

”I always knew you were a smart girl. Blunt, but smart.” He turned to go. ”Keep working. I'll see myself out.”

Early the following evening, my crew-my dad, Tunney, Oscar from the hardware store, my brother-in-law, Justin, and his father, Cort-brought my sewing supplies and several of my old sewing machines-along with my new one-from my house and from above Aunt Fiona's garage, to set up my second-floor work area.

In the far corner, Dad put up about twenty feet of dry-wall, upon which he attached what I call my ”bobbin walls” and the hardware to hang rows of any size spool or bobbin. With only five days to opening day, my nerves were shot, but the small accomplishment calmed me.

In the way Thomas Edison kept every chemical known to man in his workshop, I'd dreamed of having threads, ribbons, trims, laces, and fringes of every kind.

In New York, I'd bought galloon lace, Venetian lace, ruffled lace, novelty and eyelet lace, diamond braid, beaded trims, looped fringe, metallic trims, sequined trims, and more, in every exotic color imaginable. Maybe I'd gone overboard, but I couldn't wait to get them up.

After the men set up my corner, they carried the fainting couch, tables, lamps, and bric-a-brac downstairs in time for members of the White Star Circle of Spirit to decorate for the ball upstairs.

We left them rearranging caskets, spreading sparkly black draping, stars, and moons from their bags of tricks. Being witches, they had a p.r.i.c.kly effect on my father, but he took the men to our house for my mother's furniture and my decorated cabinet.

When they got back, the men polished off Aunt Fiona's red velvet cake, then arranged my sitting room. Often.

”I don't like the fainting couch there,” Dante said. ”Move it to the other wall.”

Aunt Fiona and I glanced at each other. ”The couch,” I said. ”Try it coming out of the right-hand corner.”

Good thing Justin and Cort, who'd already moved it twice, didn't know a ghost was directing them. Cort shook his head. ”You're just like your sister,” he said, speaking of my sister Sherry, his daughter-in-law.

”Thank you for the compliment. Now, where should I put the cabinet?”

”Against the enclosed stairs,” Dante said. ”Facing the fainting couch in the opposite corner. I love what you did with that cabinet.” My ghost bowed with his compliment. ”Dolly will be impressed with your renovations and decorating.”

I wished I could thank him. The jadeite lamps looked amazing on my mother's tables. I brought an old urn from upstairs to set on my mother's sideboard.

Dante chuckled. ”That's-”

”Gorgeous!” I said. I did not want to know if it was meant for ashes.

”The whole sitting area is gorgeous,” Aunt Fiona agreed. ”But it's missing one special element, which I have in the car.”

When she returned, she unrolled the folk art wall hanging that had hung on the wall above her fireplace for as long as I could remember. ”Call it a shop-warming gift,” she said.

A spiral of stars in bronze, silver, and gold, surrounded by a mating sun and quarter moon centered the multilayered, tapestry-like hanging.

”I remember when your mother made that,” my father said. ”Fiona, Kathleen would be so pleased.”

I hugged it as if I were hugging my mother. ”Aunt Fiona, it's the best gift ever and I can gaze at it every day. It'll be like Mom is looking out for me.”

”I always knew the time would come for you to have it. It's time.” We hugged.

Cort looked around. ”You've made an enticing shop of this place, Madeira. Women will love it.”

”Little girls, too,” I said. ”I can see your little Vanessa dragging you here for a new purse every other week.”

”Is she a trip or what?” Cort asked, his pride in his granddaughter abundantly visible.

”I have to agree with him, Suzie Q,” Tunney said. ”Who knew you could make a cla.s.s act out of a shack?”

”It's not half ready for my opening, but it's beginning to look like a vintage dress shop to be proud of, isn't it?” Personally, I thought it looked splendid.

If only I had known how soon it would be ruined.

That night my new alarm system got put to the test.

At about four the next morning, the alarm company called, and we were off.

Werner was waiting for us in the parking lot when Dad, Fiona, and I got there. ”The alarm scared your intruder away, Mad, but not before he or she did some damage. I can't tell you how sorry I am.”

Four days to my opening, and I stood in the doorway of my beautiful shop, dumbstruck.

My enamel cabinet, the one I'd worked so hard painting, had been toppled and it lay facedown on the floor with a small ax embedded in its top.

”If not for the alarm,” Werner said, ”the ax might have been used for some serious chopping.”

”You know how hard I worked on that.”

”I do. But our crime scene team thinks your alarm worked great. Looks like the ax was tossed from the front door and the perp ran.”

”Pure spite,” I said.

”Who hates you this much?” Werner asked.

”Who stole Eve's car, then put her heel through the roof? Who wants her husband to be blamed for the playhouse fire? Who is royally ticked because Eve and I spied on her and her nefarious relatives?”

Werner was taking notes again. ”Do you think McDowell's wife is capable of this?”

”This is chump change, Detective. I think she's out for blood. Lots of it.”

”Yours?”

”I may not top her list, but I'm up there.”

”Why would you be?” my father asked, his brows deeply furrowed.

”I made a calculated error where she was concerned. I underestimated her. I didn't adore her. I didn't become her dupe. I started by challenging her and ended up mocking her . . . though I did think she was in a drunken stupor at the time. Turns out, she was faking.”

”In other words,” Werner said, ”Lolique hates your guts and she'd stop at nothing-”