Fading Starlight Part 7

Frances stood at the door smiling, a trio of dresses folded over her forearm. "Thank you so much for being willing to help me with these. The white dress in particular she wants to wear tomorrow night, and the blue-green tulle has pulled apart at the waist seam-which is a problem, as you can see, because of several layers of fabric. The gray chiffon has a rip and is ruined, so she actually sends it as a donation for the theater, if you think you'll be able to use it."

Lauren took the dresses. She held up the white one. "This one she just wants hemmed?"

"Yes. Three-quarters of an inch should suffice. She doesn't wear heels now like she used to."

"When do you need it back?"

"Tomorrow before dinnertime."

Lauren looked more closely. "I can definitely have it hemmed by then. I'll have it done by early afternoon in case it needs any further adjustments." There were some loose st.i.tches around the neckline, but otherwise the gown was in amazing shape considering its age. She knew before she saw the label that it was a vintage Balmain.

"Don't worry, Miss Montgomery will pay you a fair price for your work."

Lauren looked at her. "That's not necessary. For one, we are neighbors. For two, working on a garment like this is a privilege. I wouldn't charge anything."

"Miss Montgomery does not like to feel as though she owes anyone a debt. She will pay. She always pays the going rate, never more, never less."

Lauren set the white dress aside and picked up the aqua one. "I can fix this seam, as well, but it will take a little extra time, because I'd want to proceed with great care with these fabrics."

"She understands that will likely be the case. Just do it as soon as you can."

"All right." Lauren held up the gray chiffon for inspection. She felt that fluttering bittersweet ache she sometimes got when faced with an amazing work of art. The entire skirt was hand embroidered and hand beaded with a floral design. She saw the tear at the bottom of the skirt and pulled it closer. "Wow, this is an amazingly intricate design. This whole dress is gorgeous." She looked closely, noting the unusual pattern. She saw the label at the neck. Angelina Browning.

Angelina Browning had been the "it" designer of the late 1940s and early 1950s. Then she mostly stopped designing for the public, serving only a few select private accounts before ceasing altogether. Her pieces were considered works of art, and almost all were collector's items.

"She doesn't want to send this out for repair?"

"It's all done by hand. We made inquiries at some of the bigger fas.h.i.+on houses, because they do have a few in-house people who could do this, but none were interested in repairing someone else's design. We managed to get one quote, but it was outrageous."

Lauren nodded. "I'm sure that's true, but what a shame. This is incredible."

"Yes. She thought maybe you could do some sort of border on the bottom that would make this usable in the theater."

"I'm sure that would work, but I'd hate to see something so beautiful used in a school play. I could make a border and return it to her, as well."

Frances shook her head. "She doesn't want to feel as though she settled. Top quality or nothing is her motto."

"All right, then. Tell her thank you for the donation." She motioned toward the other two dresses. "I will bring these over as soon as I get them done."

"That would be nice. I will see you then."

And with that, Lauren watched Frances walk across the street toward the enigmatic woman who lived next door.

Charlotte watched until her housekeeper made her way back across the street empty-handed. In a world full of crooks and frauds, Frances was the exception. One of the few people she'd ever known who had proven to be just as good as her word. And while it was true that Charlotte Montgomery had once picked up Frances's mother from the sidewalk, that had been long ago. The memory of it still angered Charlotte, but as it had happened before Frances was born, that could not be her reason for staying. All these years later, the only thing that kept her here now was utter and complete loyalty. Something that was very rare indeed.

Charlotte hurried for the stairs and waited on the landing as she heard Frances climbing toward her. "Well, what did she say?"

"She said she would have the white dress hemmed by early afternoon tomorrow so that you will have plenty of time to make sure it meets your satisfaction before dinner."

"And the other ones?"

"You should have seen her face when she saw the Browning gown. That is a girl who knows quality work when she sees it. She just kept looking at the embroidered skirt, talking about what fine work it was. There were actual tears in her eyes."

"Those were tears of joy, thinking how much money she'll be able to get when she sells it on eBay."

"She asked a couple of times if you were certain you wanted to part with it, flaw or no. She said it seemed too beautiful to become a prop in a school play."

"Of course it is. Not too beautiful to sell for a profit, though, you just wait and see."

"I really don't think so. I think you're going to be surprised by this girl."

"Neil Winston has promised me he will be monitoring the situation very closely. As soon as that dress shows up for sale, he'll file the paper work with Ralph Edwards to get her evicted from that cottage. If you ask me, it can't come soon enough."

thirteen.

Lauren hemmed Miss Montgomery's white wool dress in no time. She hung it up and admired the beautiful simplicity of it. White wool, fitted waistline, V-neck, and long sleeves. It looked as though it belonged in Casablanca or some other such film, probably with a jeweled brooch glistening on one side. She looked again at the loose st.i.tching around the neckline. It would be simple enough to fix and would prevent problems later on. She pulled the dress down and went back to work.

After she finished the first she studied the aqua dress more carefully. She could fix it, but it was going to be tedious. She decided to save it for another day. Then she picked up the gray chiffon again. She spun around in a circle, with it flying by her side, imagining how this gown must have looked in a ballroom. It was so beautiful she just couldn't find the words for it. She looked again at the tear and the pulled embroidery and beading on the bottom. The gash was a good six inches long, making it impossible to just hem the skirt a little shorter and make it work. In her wildest thoughts, she could not feel right about tossing this piece of art into the bin with the pirate hats and boas of the theater department. She shook her head, sad but also thankful that Miss Montgomery had given her this fine garment. Surely she could make something useful of it.

She turned on the black-and-white movie currently running on the cla.s.sic movie station. This one was set back in the days of Henry VIII. She found the style of these costumes close enough to Camelot that they inspired her as she sketched out a couple new design ideas. At one point Deborah Kerr walked onto the screen wearing a gorgeous gown with huge bell sleeves made entirely of fur. While Lauren studied the garment, she finally realized what to do about the blue crushed-velvet dress from the school. What if she cut the ruined sleeves off at the elbow and made bell sleeves out of faux fur? Since another dress already in the theater had fur trim, it would be cohesive with one of the other costumes.

But that still left the problem of the skirt. The bottom twelve inches of it were ruined, and twelve inches of fur on the hemline would be difficult to pull off without it looking like what is was-a patch job. But if she shortened the fur and added some heavy lace cutouts above to cover parts of the damage, sort of Imperial Russian Court style, it just might work. In fact, if she found the right lace design, it would actually help the gown look all the more regal.

She glanced again at Miss Montgomery's beautiful gray chiffon dress. There had to be some sort of solution for it, too. She pulled out one of her books on couture sewing techniques and began to thumb through it. Perhaps a silk charmeuse edging around the bottom? That would definitely work for the purposes of the theater. Still, for the dress itself, it seemed like such a loss.

Just for the fun of it, she pulled out a needle, found a spool of gray thread, and took a stab at redoing the work herself. Professor Navarro had taught her some of the finer points of couture embroidery and hand beading, but it was mostly a lost art. The women who did it in the high-fas.h.i.+on houses had fingers that were incredibly strong after years and years of it, and few people were willing to spend the money or wait the time required for this type of work anymore.

Her cell phone vibrated from the kitchen counter. Reluctantly, she got up and followed the sound. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Hi, it's Kendall. How are things going?"

"Pretty well."

"They are about to get even better. I've got some good news for you."

"Oh really? What is it?"

"It's better if I show it to you. Meet me tomorrow at the same coffee shop as last time. Ten o'clock."

"How about a little later in the afternoon? I'm planning on going to church tomorrow morning." Easy as it would be to forgo church in a new place, and this far out of town, she had concluded in her morning digging-deep times that these were the exact reasons she needed to make the effort to go. It would be too easy to isolate herself out here. She needed to push herself a little, even if it would be more comfortable to stay inside and safe.

"All right, then. How about one o'clock?"

"I'll be there." Lauren hung up the phone. That small feeling of hope began to grown a bit larger and then a bit larger still. Was it possible that she would be vindicated soon? "Thank You, G.o.d, for sending me justice."

She turned her attention to repairing the embroidery on the gray gown. The work was coming together more seamlessly than she would have guessed given her lack of experience. Yes, this just might be repairable. In fact, maybe everything was going to work out all right, starting with this beautiful gown.

fourteen.

Lauren had stayed up late last night, hand embroidering Miss Montgomery's dress, st.i.tch by st.i.tch. Once she'd started the process, she had trouble making herself stop. She seriously doubted she would be able to repair it to a professional standard in the end, and it would certainly take many hours even if she could, but it gave her a thrill to have the chance to try. If she had to give up all hope, then she would figure out a lesser repair method for the theater.

As a result of her late night, she woke later than she'd intended to on Sunday morning and had to rush to get to church. The closest one she'd found was still almost a half hour drive from the cottage. She managed to slide into a back row just as the service got started. Still groggy from lack of sleep, it took her a while to get plugged in, but after she did, she was thankful she'd made the effort to come. The sermon was on seeking the approval of G.o.d rather than man's approval, which dovetailed exactly with what Rhonda had been telling her lately. There seemed to be a theme in her life right now.

When the service was over, she drove to Goleta Beach and watched families picnicking and paddle boarders and kayakers enjoying the warm weather. It made her grateful for Chloe and Rhonda and Jim and Aunt Nell-and it made her miss them just a little bit more. Finally, she started her car and drove toward her meeting with Kendall.

She was still twenty minutes early when she arrived at Starbucks, so she was surprised to see Kendall already there waiting for her. She had procured a little round table in the corner, and she waved Lauren over. "Check this out." She pa.s.sed a 5x7 photo across the table.

The picture showed Marisa Remington in the VMAs dress pus.h.i.+ng open a door marked Ladies Room. Another woman was following close behind, although her back was to the camera. Lauren looked up. "I don't understand."

"Not yet." Kendall handed over another picture, this one taken as Marisa was leaving, alone this time.

Lauren looked back at her. "I still don't understand."

"You will. Here's a blowup of the first photo. Notice the waistline of the gown." Lauren studied it, and it looked just as she expected it to.

"Okay."

"Now look at a blowup of the second one. Check out the waistline in particular." Lauren leaned forward for a closer inspection. In this very large blowup, it became clear that an entire row of thread, one that held the dress together, was gone. "The st.i.tching is gone."

"Exactly. Unfortunately, this picture alone is not enough evidence to run a story like this. We need to find out who the other woman is, and we need to find some witnesses."

"So . . . is this the end, then?"

"Not by a long shot. A couple of other people went into the bathroom while the two of them were in there. Including one who supposedly saw Marisa Remington 'making a last-minute repair' on her gown. The woman helping her had a small pair of scissors in her hand."

"So your next goal is to find this woman?"

"Yep. That's the plan."

"I can't tell you what a relief this is. Your work is making it possible for me to get my life back."

Kendall nodded and smiled slightly. "That's my job." She put the pictures back in an envelope. "Speaking of my job, how are things going with Charlotte Montgomery? Any recent sightings?"

"I've spoken with her housekeeper a couple of times." Lauren's answer was true, if not complete. She was growing increasingly uneasy about sharing information with Kendall. If she was truly where she was now in order to help Miss Montgomery, then reporting back to Kendall about her neighbor hardly seemed like the right thing to do. She did know that Kendall would be very interested in the gowns currently in Lauren's cottage, but should she tell her about them? What could beautiful old gowns possibly have to do with a sixty-year-old murder?

"Her housekeeper? What did you speak to her about?"

"Um . . . she had a dress she asked me to hem." Lauren didn't mention the other two, feeling especially protective about the Browning original.

"Really? One of Charlotte Montgomery's gowns? Do tell." Her eyes gleamed as she lifted pen to paper, ready to take down every word.

"It's just a plain white wool number. Nothing special."

"Who is the designer?"

"I . . . didn't notice."

"You know, Lauren"-Kendall looked up, clearly annoyed-"I'm going out of my way to help you here. No one else would spend the time and expense that I have in order to show what really happened to Marisa's dress. Don't you think that, in return, you should be going out of your way a little bit to help me?"

"I know, and I appreciate what you are doing. It's just that she values her privacy."

"Of course she does. So did Al Capone. When she ends up in court some day, you'll find out exactly why she valued her privacy so much. Here, I brought you an article that you might find interesting." She handed Lauren several printed pages. The top one had a headline that read Who Killed Randall Edgar Blake? There were several black-and-white photos on the front page, one of a distinguished-looking man and one of a mansion set on a pristine lawn. "Read the article. Of course, Charlotte Montgomery's name is barely mentioned, because the person who wrote this article did not have the kind of information I have. Very few people see the smaller clues in things that I do-like those missing st.i.tches at Marisa's waist, for instance."

Lauren nodded. "I can't fault your attention to detail."

"Do you really want to protect a murderer?" She stood. "I'll call next week for another meeting. At that time, I expect that you will have some sort of information for me. Like I said, particularly concerning gowns or jewels. If you don't, it may be that I find out I have less time for further research into the Marisa Remington debacle." She walked out of the Starbucks without looking back.

After arriving back at the cottage, Lauren double-checked her work on the white dress and then carried it across the street. She was surprised to see a red Mercedes parked in Miss Montgomery's driveway. Somehow she had a.s.sumed that Miss Montgomery did not receive visitors. She tried to be glad for the woman, that there were indeed other people involved in her life, but Lauren's own wounds were still so fresh that she found it difficult.

The wrought-iron gates opened with a squeak. The lawn was well maintained and green, but she couldn't help but feel again it was missing the TLC of someone who really enjoyed working in the garden. Considering what had happened to her pansies, she considered the blame for this lack to rest squarely on Charlotte Montgomery.

She climbed the four steps up to the wraparound front porch and pressed the b.u.t.ton in the bra.s.s encas.e.m.e.nt. A deep, melodious sound, like bells in a church steeple, came from somewhere inside. The thumping of footsteps caused Lauren to prepare to greet Frances as the door began to open. Instead she was met by a young woman. She appeared to be about Lauren's age, a stunning brunette with short, stylish hair, tall and lithe, and wearing very little makeup, though certainly none was needed.

"Can I help you?" the girl asked.

"Yes, I'm bringing back Miss Montgomery's gown."

"And you are?"

"The neighbor next door." Lauren pointed back over her shoulder toward the cottage.

"I see." The woman reached out to take the dress from Lauren's hand. Something about returning the dress to someone other than Frances or Miss Montgomery made her uncomfortable, but this woman was apparently welcome in Miss Montgomery's home. There shouldn't be any harm here, in spite of her gut feeling.

Just then, much to Lauren's relief, Frances walked up from somewhere behind the younger woman. "Oh, Lauren, you finished with the hem. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. I was happy to do it."

Frances gestured toward the younger woman. "May I present Miss Montgomery's niece, Willow Montgomery. Meet Lauren Summers."

"Nice to meet you." Lauren extended her right hand.