Part 5 (1/2)

I took a step away from the emotions bursting like fireworks inside me, hot pinp.r.i.c.ks that invaded my head and solar plexus. Where was Chakra when I needed her?

But thinking about her helped. I embraced the calm and looked more closely around me.

Cheap antique white paneling made up the walls of the room.

Against the back wall stood a rose-colored Queen Anne dressing table with Cabriole legs, three big round lightbulbs affixed to each side of the mirror, with a matching boudoir chair in front of it, its seat tufted in pink fabric.

You could hardly see the top of the dressing table because of the pots and jars of perfumes, creams, powders, oils crowded on top of it, anything and everything to make a woman look younger and more beautiful.

Dominique had stuck a picture of Kyle in one corner of the mirror, and stars that were her idols in others. I bit my lip when I saw the picture of us that she'd had the waiter take at lunch the last time we were together.

I still couldn't believe it had been the last time.

In her own whimsical way, Dom made fun of her profession by almost crowning her mirror with a pink boa, so it slithered along the top and hung down both sides.

In the mirror itself: I saw the love seat reflected against the opposite wall, upholstered in the same allover pink fabric as the chair. ”It's a nice dressing room,” I said. ”They treated her like the star she was.”

”Pierpont sent her flowers before every performance,” Kyle muttered absently.

”Eve,” I said, ”would you take an inventory of every item on her dressing table, no matter how small, without touching any of it? Don't roll so much as an eyeliner.”

Kyle offered us a box of rubber gloves.

”Perfect! Wow, you came prepared to snoop. Good for you. You've got a lot more of your mother in you than I thought.”

He nodded, accepting the compliment with a raised brow and a mix of pride and sadness.

”If we touch anything,” I reiterated, ”we do it wearing a pair of these. Devious boy.” I shook my head. ”Seriously, what would your mother say? You thinking like a sneak thief makes me worry about your wicked side.”

With a bit of actor in him, he gave me a nefarious look. ”What would you like this wicked boy to do now?”

”Oh!” Eve's eyes widened. ”Ask me. Ask me.”

Twelve.

About half my designs are controlled fantasy, fifteen percent are total madness and the rest are bread-and-b.u.t.ter designs.

-MANOLO BLAHNIK ”Eve,” I snapped, ”keep your suggestions to yourself until the two of you are alone. Kyle, keep an ear peeled for unusual noises, so we don't get caught, and while you're doing that, check the plumbing beneath every sink. A place this old probably has bra.s.s barrel traps, perfect for holding a pill bottle of diamonds with no interruption to water flow.”

Eve responded to his double take. ”She lives in a very old house, and her father, the professor, believed in teaching her and her sibs, and sometimes her lucky friends-like moi-how to fix what needed fixing.”

”I see. Well. How typically unglamorous.” Kyle sighed theatrically. ”I get to play plumber.”

I chuckled at his ploy for sympathy, but despite that, I couldn't take my eyes off the costumes, all on hangers, but some on racks and others on scattered wall hooks along with headdresses.

On the floor, along one wall, stood a neat row of dancing shoes, high heels, low heels, flats, boots, all in colors and fabrics to match the outfits.

Kyle watched me eye the clothes with a mix of longing and dread. ”Can you read them, Aunt, I mean, Mad? Help me find out what happened to my mother?”

His words took me by surprise; Eve too, because his comment made her catch her breath.

He looked from one of us to the other. ”Mad, my mother was a witch. If I can accept that, I can accept anything. I know what you told her about yourself and your gifts. Theater people are for the most part superst.i.tious and have faith in the otherworldly. Mom was no exception, and neither am I. She, as you know, embraced the occult. So, yes, we both believe in you.”

He'd spoken in the present tense, as if his mother was still here. After I got over my surprise at his faith, and his belief system, I nodded. ”Eve, come try on the costumes.”

Eve paled. ”I hate it when you get visions.”

”Do it for me?” Kyle asked.

Eve sighed. ”For you, maybe, but not in front of you.”

”No, of course not,” I said. ”We don't want to scare him.”

”Gee, thanks,” Eve said. ”What am I, Lady MacBleh?”

”I see, you're worried about getting naked, and I'm worried he'll freak when I zone out.”

”Oh, no,” Kyle said. ”I'll be fine. I'm used to witnessing all kinds of crazy behavior. I'm in show biz, remember? As I said, my mother told me about your gift and what you can do. I hope you don't mind. I was the only one she felt safe confiding in, and I didn't tell a soul.”

”Thanks for that,” I said, squeezing his arm. ”Now tell me what we've got here.”

”These costumes were made for Diamond Sands,” he said. ”Only Mom has worn them for the past five years, except for Ursula the few times she went on if Mom was sick, so they might have a story to tell.”

”Who's Ursula?”

”Mom's understudy. Ursula Uxbridge.”

”Of course, the understudy. She's someone who'll profit from your mother's death. Is Ursula capable of murder?”

”Capable but probably not smart enough.”

”And who's capable of stealing the diamonds?” Eve asked.

”I don't give a flying firecracker about the diamonds,” Kyle said. ”I want to know who killed my mother, and I want them punished.”

Kyle won Eve's eternal lapdog devotion for that. People had always meant more to her than money. To me, too, for that matter, but Eve took it to extremes.

”Kyle,” I said, ”face the wall while Eve puts on a costume.”

Hands on hips, Eve tried to stare me down. ”Madeira Cutler, why can't you wear the costumes?” She'd whined the question, a plaintive sound I'd never quite heard from her before.

This phobia of hers about my psychic ability was the first obvious fear I'd ever seen in my fearless friend.

I sighed. ”I don't mean to torture you, Eve, but when I wear a readable outfit, I find myself in the wearer's point of view, and I can only see what the wearer saw. If I touch an outfit that someone else is wearing, I can look around the room. You know, play sleuth?”