Larcency and Lace Part 31

"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."

"Thank you for going along with it. I owe you. We'll do lunch the next time you come to New York?"

"Fas.h.i.+on week?"

"I'll get us tickets. First row, beside me?" Faline purred.

I danced a mental jig. "Absolutely." I needed to keep my finger on the pulse of the fas.h.i.+on industry, and she'd just offered me a rare and impressive "in."

The media blitz they brought alerted the locals who loved to rub elbows with the stars. My shop rocked, literally.

Councilman McDowell held an impromptu press conference out front-surprise!-but he talked about me. Go figure.

Now the last of my customers, the ones who were coming to the Circle of Spirit ball in an hour, dressed as film stars, were getting ready in my dressing rooms.

The media went ballistic when Scarlett O'Hara came out wearing a gown made from Tara's drapes. "Fiddle-dee dee," Aunt Fiona said. "I'm so glad that I came to Vintage Magic."

Under the eye of those cameras, my grand opening reminded me of a fas.h.i.+on week extravaganza where each gown shone more spectacular than the last and everyone looked like a celebrity.

Even some of my old friends from New York attended the grand opening and the ball sponsored by the White Star Circle of Spirit, Southeast Connecticut Chapter. Mock movie stars mingled with the real thing on my crowded second floor before the doors officially opened.

I'd chosen to wear Isobel's Lucien Lelong gown, the one she wore for her portrait, as my way of setting her free, especially here, where positive energy could envelop her spirit. Of course, it had the advantage of covering the cast on my leg, though nothing could hide my crutches, nor my inept use of them. Nevertheless the Schiaparelli pansy evening bag from the thirties hanging from my wrist helped to pretty up the crutches a bit.

When Councilman McDowell arrived, minus his killer wife-awaiting trial in jail, because he'd refused to post bail-I doubted the brilliance of my costume choice. He came toward me as if I were wearing a homing device.

"I'll change," I said when he reached me.

"No, don't." He took my hand. "You look beautiful. I didn't think anyone else could do it justice. I was wrong. Isobel would want you to have and wear it. In a way, you helped me find her. She's at rest now. I am, too. Seeing you in her gown helps. Thank you."

"No press tonight?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I'm not running anymore, not from my past and not for office. Enjoy," he said, kissed my hand and disappeared into the crowd.

Dante appeared. "Did you have to sell my extra tuxes? Six other men are dressed like me. Don't I feel special?"

"It's not like anybody can look down their noses at you," I said as I hobbled on my crutches toward the window. "Look. You're about to feel very special. My father and Aunt Fiona are bringing Dolly inside."

"Are you sure that's Dolly? Her earth body looks pretty worn out."

"I'm sure she'd agree."

Cleopatra, high priestess of a local coven, stopped beside me. "Madeira, this is wonderful," she said.

"I'm so happy that you're enjoying yourself."

Dante watched her go. "I don't ever remember reading that Cleopatra carried a broom."

I turned to enjoy the colorful display of costumes and decorations. Open wooden caskets on pedestals had pots of bittersweet and Chinese Lanterns, gifts from McDowell, inside. They protected my sewing corner from the dancers, and my walls of colorful trims looked like part of the decorations.

I'd used many of those trims as I improvised on some costumes, like Scarlett's and Cleo's. Others fit the chosen "actresses" beautifully, like Harlow in draped white silk as a fallen angel. Loretta Young draped in forties blue as the bishop's wife.

Audrey Hepburn wore a little black dress, long black gloves, and used a cigarette holder, a la Breakfast at Tiffany's . Another Audrey hailed from My Fair Lady at Ascot in black and white.

Madonna looked cool in her corset top and pointy b.o.o.bs. Cher wore a scanty white gown with plenty of cleavage and an elaborate headdress that I made with an old turban covered in rows of new beaded overlong fringe that covered the wearer's brow and touched her shoulders.

Many of the "stars" wore striped stockings, but they weren't the only ones carrying brooms. One called herself Sandra Bullock from Practical Magic. Another, Elizabeth Montgomery from Bewitched. Glinda the good witch from The Wizard of Oz waved.

I'd sold two of the outfits that I'd bought in New York at some point, and one each from Vivienne Westwood's Witches and Pirate collections, but the movies the owners claimed they belonged to escaped me at the moment.

Of course not everyone wore my clothes. Some had created their own costumes. And not everyone carried a broom; mostly the members of the Circle of Spirit did, except for Aunt Fiona.

She and my dad finally got to the top of the stairs with Dolly Sweet in her Katharine Hepburn gown from the wedding in The Philadelphia Story.

When Dolly got to me, she put her hand to her heart. "Isn't he beautiful in that tux and top hat?"

"Which one?" my father asked.

Only Fiona and I knew that Dolly was talking about Dante, coming her way.

"She's not too steady tonight," Aunt Fiona said. "I think we should bring the fainting couch back up for her."

I snapped my fingers. "What a great idea."

I signaled for our small band to stop playing, and I took the mike. "Can I ask for a few gentlemen volunteers to bring up the fainting couch from my sitting room downstairs?"

Enough men went down so my father didn't have to let go of Dolly, and just as well.

"Thank you, cupcake," Dolly said. "What an incredible evening. I can't believe that Ethel thinks she's too old to enjoy this. Well, her loss. You've done wonders with this place. How did you get that delicious detective to let his officers guard everything downstairs?"

"The officers are off duty. I'm paying them tonight. And that delicious detective is dancing with Eve. They came together." Eve had warned me that Werner asked her. She wanted to make sure I didn't mind. Why would I?

Dolly giggled. "I think he has a crush on you."

"Dolly Sweet, don't you go starting any of your old ru mors," Nick said.

I squealed as he leaned in and kissed me, his hand sliding down my back. "Hi, gorgeous. Nice crutches."

"G.o.d bless us, every one!" I quipped, before his lips met mine once more.

I loved the way Nick could eat me up with his gaze and make me promises at the same time. s.h.i.+ver.

He kissed me a third quick time. "Thank G.o.d you're safe. I don't know every detail yet, but I'm shaking in my wingtips."

"Who are you?" I asked. "The Clyde half of Bonnie and-?"

"No, silly. I'm a Fed. Same movie."