Part 31 (1/2)
”Me? Solve a crime? Don't let Tunney hear you say that.”
”Don't worry, I won't. We're in a well, Mad. Weren't you dreaming and talking in your sleep about a well the night of the fire?” Werner asked. ”You remember, before I took you home?”
”I can never seem to remember my dreams,” I said to evade the question.
Werner looked as if he didn't quite believe me.
”What about Natalie?” I asked to change the subject. ”She worked for Goodwin and had a thing for Isobel's father, but I don't think she was an accessory to murder.”
”We'll talk to her if she survives. She's already on her way to the hospital, which is where you're going.” Werner fingered my bag. ”What did you put in here?”
”Madeira?” my father called from the top of the well.
”I'm okay, Dad,” I called, grabbing my head. ”Ouch. I have a really bad headache, though.”
I heard sirens. ”What'd you do, Lytton, call the cops on me?”
”That's your ride. I'm going to go up now to make room for the rescue team down here.”
”Oh good. I don't think I can climb that rickety ladder.”
I must have pa.s.sed out, because the next thing I knew, I was strapped to a kind of cradle while being pulled up the well shaft. I wished that Isobel might have had the same chance.
As I was placed in the ambulance, my father and Aunt Fiona stood beside me. They both had tears in their eyes.
”Don't cry,” I said. ”We caught Isobel's killer.”
That's the last I remembered until I woke in the hospital with Werner standing at the foot of my bed and McDowell standing beside it.
”What day is it?” I asked.
”One day before your opening. And you'll be there,” Werner said, ”on crutches.”
”Figures. A ball, and I won't be able to dance.”
”Be positive. You're going to your grand opening, not your funeral.”
”I'm positive that you're right.”
”I usually am,” Werner said with a wink.
McDowell cleared his throat. ”Thank you for allowing Isobel to rest, Madeira. I've needed closure for a long time.”
”No wonder you got angry every time I mentioned her. But why did you run that night Eve and I took Lolique home, then lie about working?”
”I wasn't calling the police on you. I told you to get out.”
I touched my head. ”You what?”
”I yelled, 'Get out, Mad!' ”
”From our vantage point in the underbrush, Eve and I could hear crickets, crackling leaves, an owl hooting, and you telling your unwanted guests to get out.”
”But I said your name.”
”Yeah, and I thought you were 'mad' as in furious, but thank you for telling us to get out. Nicest thing you ever said to me.”
”I called the police on the people you saw in my guesthouse. I couldn't pin anything on them, but I knew they were crooked. Even my so-called wife.” He scoffed. ”I should never have married her, but she was so full of life, such a great actress-as in she pretended to care for me-h.e.l.l, I thought someone young and fun would cheer me up. Help me recover from my grief over losing Isobel. I'm a foolish old man.”
I touched his hand. ”You loved Isobel. 'Nuff said.”
”Sell her clothes, Madeira. It's time for me to let her go.”
For the first time ever, I felt sorry for Councilman McDowell.
”What about her quilt?” Werner asked. ”It's evidence, but you'll get it back, eventually, or Madeira will, since she gave it to us.”
McDowell paled. ”I saw Gary in prison last night for the first and last time. He told me more than I wanted to know until I walked. Destroy the quilt.”
”But it's a masterpiece that Isobel created,” I said. ”Let me donate it in her memory, naming her as the artist, to a quilt or textile museum.”
”I never want to look at it, again. I don't want to know where it ends up. And its history stays buried.”
”Done.” I looked at Werner. ”I'm thinking that the Pucci bag is going the same route.”
When Eve came in, Werner and McDowell left.
”Hey, peg leg,” she said. ”They're letting you go. Your father and Fiona are in the hall. I've got your clothes.” She held up a paper grocery bag. ”Don't scream, and I'll help you get dressed.”
Everything she'd brought me was black, no purse in sight.
Forty-four.
G.o.ddesses live in the heavens. They do not stand, they do not walk, they glide and sway. The G.o.ddesses are laughing and balance on heels as slender as the tip of a little finger.
-LOLA PAGOLA.
Opening day arrived in a flurry of activity, but I was amazingly ready for it, thanks to my family and friends.
Though I had sent an invitation to my former employer Faline, a world-cla.s.s designer, I did not expect her to take any part in my grand opening. So, talk about a shock. Not only did she show, she was the first one in the door that morning, and she brought fas.h.i.+on, television, and movie icons, vintage collectors, and with them, the kind of press money could not buy.
Vintage Magic was about to buzz the New York fas.h.i.+on world. Oh, she had an ulterior motive, countering the ”feral cat” stories that proliferated about her after I resigned. I'd heard them. But hey, if she wanted to prove we were still friends, fine, as long as she wasn't my boss.
Moneyed vintage clothes hounds and glittering personalities who brought fame wherever they went were literally shopping in my shop because of her.
”Faline, I can't thank you enough for this.”