Larceny and Lace (13 page)

“"Maybe,”" Aunt Fiona said, “"she slipped her rings in the quilt pocket when she was wrapped in it, so somebody would find it and look for her.”" That made sense. “"Yes. Her quilt—--this quilt, I believe—--was entered into some kind of county fair-type competition. Did you get anything from touching it?”" Aunt Fiona shivered. “"A dark place. Tire tracks. I’'m not as good at this as you are.”" I hugged her. “"There has to be
something
you’'re not aces at,”" I said. “"Let’'s turn it over.”"

We did and stood back. “"Tire tracks,”" I said. “"Just there.”" I pointed. “"Very light. Barely visible.”"

Aunt Fiona had trouble finding them. “"Oh, now I see. It wasn’'t run over or they’'d be darker, so it must have pressed up against a tire.”"

“"A
spare
?”"

“"In a dark trunk.”" Aunt Fiona completed my unwanted thought.

“"On her one-way trip to the well?”" I suggested. “"I have to take the quilt and rings to the police. Too bad I can’'t pass along my visions.”"

“"I’'ll take you to get your dad’'s car, but give me your shop key, and I’'ll fill my car with some of your vintage stash and bring it over, help you start moving in. Meet me there, after. I have some ideas to run by you.”"

I hugged her. “"If Isobel had someone like you, she might have been missed, and found, before she died.”"

“"I love you, too, sweetie.”"

I called the station from Aunt Fiona’'s car and made sure Werner would be waiting. My father came out as we pulled into the drive. “"I need your car again, Dad. Aunt Fee will explain.”" She’'d know what
not
to say. Dad wasn’'t ready to know how many of my mother’'s gifts I inherited. If he ever was, we’'d tell him in small doses.

“"Madeira, my keys are in the ignition.”"

“"Harry Cutler!”" Aunt Fiona was still scolding him as I drove away. Bickering or not, they made me smile, a release valve considering my destination and why. Halfway there, it occurred to me that the wedding rings might be engraved and that I might be wise to try them on, in case. I parked on a side road facing the river and tried one, then the other, then both.

The rings gave me nothing. Probably what the marriage was worth.
Or
, I couldn’'t read vintage jewelry.

Whatever was engraved in the wedding ring was so small I stopped at a drugstore for a magnifying glass. I copied the initials into a small notebook I carried for design ideas. The initials were G. I. L. to E. E. M., 7-7-77. The information told me nothing and pretty much put period to the name Isobel.

When I stepped into Werner’'s office, he came around his desk and shut the door behind me. “"To what do I owe the honor? Is that the quilt from your storage room?”"

“"It is.”" I placed it on his desk. “"You said details were important. I wasn’'t there when your men searched my storage room, so it didn’'t occur to me to explain, but the foot bones were wrapped in it. I found a light tire mark on one side and these in a zip pocket on one of the squares.”" I showed him the rings.

“"Is that rock real?”" Werner took it between his fingers to hold up to the light.

“"It is. Jewelry is fashion, after all. It’'s vintage and flawless, so it might be thirty to fifty grand worth of real. Maybe more. Initials and dates are engraved in the wedding band. Might help you ID the bones. Or not.”"

I also had a leopard fingernail, but since it belonged to the outfit that gave me a psychic lead, I’'d follow up on it myself.

“"Thank you, Madeira. I appreciate the new evidence.”"

“"Happy to help.”" I was jumping-out-of-my-skin prickly with the memories of us in my storage room. His hands in my hair, heartbeat beneath my ear. Tenderness. Caring? I wanted to gnaw off my lipstick like in junior high when I faced a boy I had a crush on. Not that I had a crush on Werner. Far from it. But with our guards down, our connection
had
been intense.

Werner wasn’'t too comfortable, either. His erratic moves and inability to look me in the eye gave him away.

He opened his door but I shut it, both of us still on the inside. “"Listen, so we can get back to our old, deep dislike, and away from this nerve-wracking awareness, should I just call you Wiener, again?”"

Laughter erupted in the squad room.

I stepped back and followed Werner’'s gaze to the open transom above his door.

“"Well, guess I took care of that. Have a nice day, Detective.”" I left, wincing at the round of applause I got, which would help ice over our residual tension. Werner should pretty much hate me again. Good thing he couldn’'t fire every cop who applauded. He wouldn’'t have a force.

On my way to Vintage Magic, I stopped at Yolanda’'s, Mystic’'s most trendy nail salon. I used to babysit her kids.

“"Maddie, so glad to have you home to stay,”" Yolanda said. “"Come to get your nails done, I hope?”"

“"I had them done in New York a few days ago. I’'ll be due soon. Can I make an appointment?”"

After I did, I took out the leopard fingernail. “"Do any of your customers have their nails done this way?”"

“"I have a couple. Leopard and Lace, closer to the highway, probably does more. Why are you carrying a gaudy old fingernail?”"

“"Somebody left me some primo vintage clothes. One of the outfits had this in the pocket. Can you mention to your leopard nail customers that if they left me the pricey clothes to come by so I can thank them in person? Unless they’'d rather remain anonymous, of course.”"

She shrugged. “"Sure. See you next week.”"

I stopped by Leopard and Lace as well, made the same request, and though I didn’'t know the owner, she gave me customer names and directed me to their houses. Bad business, that, with all this right of privacy stuff. I could grind the Mystick Falls gossip mill with this one, but I’'d already given it a great big grind at the station. I stopped at my favorite gift shop and bought a silk wreath and had the owner add some sprigs of dried heather and myrtle, which would afford my shop some protection, according to Aunt Fiona. Something about myrtle at your front door and heather at your garden gate. Or was that lavender at the gate? Anyway, the trim with the aubergine roses, dark green leaves, and a pale sage bow would look amazing on my lavender door. Then I stopped to see Tunney, who seemed to be getting ready to leave his meat market. “"Can I help you, Suzy Q?”"

“"Maybe. What’'s the name of the company that Sampson was trying to sell his property to?”"

He took a folder from a file drawer behind the meat counter and handed it to me.

“"This is all I have on the company, my research as a council member. Eventually, they’'ll damage the economy, though they promised to make it better. The environment and our ecological structure could suffer as well. Main Street, our historic provenance, would eventually disappear—--it’'s happened in other small towns the company ‘'took over’'—--but they always flourish. You can have it, but why?”"

“"Part of my plan to get you off the suspect list.”"

“"Maddie girl, you’'re the best.”"

“"Well, I haven’'t done anything yet. I’'m just nosing around. And don’'t you tell anybody.”"

Afterward, I sat in Tunney’'s parking lot for nearly an hour reading all the information Tunney had gathered, calling company phone numbers and leaving mine, then I turned Dad’'s car toward Vintage Magic.

Traffic slowed near Bank Street because my parking lot overflowed with cars. My

father directed traffic outside, while Fiona stood at the door as if directing people inside. Gee, was I having a sale?

Twenty-four
What do I think about the way most people dress? Most people are not something one thinks about.

-DIANA VREELAND

I had to park behind Mystic Pizza, rarely easy, and crossed the street. My father saw me and shouted, “"Surprise!”" the word suddenly echoed by everyone. I got hugged, kissed, and congratulated to within an inch of my life. “"What’'s going on?”" I asked Fiona. “"I mean, I love the attention, but why?”"

“"It’'s a big day. You moved into your shop.”"

“"I did? Holy Harrods, they brought my stock?”"

“"They’'re
not
unpacking boxes,”" Fiona said, which allowed me to breathe.

“"They’'ve just moved them from above my garage. Preservation boxes are in the last stall, the way you left them. Anything in a garment bag is on a rack. Tunney is assembling racks. The mannequins you had shipped to my place are in the second-to-the-last stall.”"

“"The second to the last
nook
,”" I said. “"I’'m trying to say nooks instead of stalls.”" Fiona chuckled. “"Best to remove hearse images as soon as possible.”" I went to thank Tunney, feeling bad about finding Suzanne kissing someone else. I guess what really bothered me about her was how she enjoyed herself so easily days after her brother’'s murder.

“"Did I hold you up, Tunney, by stopping in to see you a while ago?”" He laughed. “"You surely did, Maddie girl.”"

“"Thanks for the folder. I made a good start on my project.”" He kissed my cheek. “"I’'m indebted.”"

“"Looks like it’'s a wash. There are thirty racks to be built.”" He groaned to amuse me and got back to it.

I tried to talk to everyone and couldn’'t believe how much I’'d missed my neighbors. None of them cared about fashion like I did. Some always thought I was a bit nuts. Others considered this a thrift shop and expected me to go broke the first week. Many had left clothes best suited to a scarecrow. One old dear even left me a box of socks to darn. I intended to replace them with new ones.

Our neighbors were used to helping. Since my mother died when I was ten, my siblings all younger, they had been there for the Cutler kids, to fix a skinned knee, attend a hockey game or a school play, or help one of us go into business.

“"This is unbelievable,”" I shouted above the hum of voices. “"You’'re wonderful. Friends and neighbors working together like bees building a hive. My hive. I love you all!”" I sent them a double-handed kiss.

Twice I’'d gotten applauded today, but this time, I felt a rush of pride and gratitude, in counterpoint to my embarrassment at the police station.

“"You can thank them individually tonight,”" my father said. “"Welcome-home party at our place, six o’'clock. Don’'t be late. You’'re the guest of honor.”"

“"Dad!”" I was welling up big time, here. In a minute, I’'d be blubbering. Eve walked in, hands on hips. “"Cutler, you started without me, again. You know how I like to be first on the scene. And after I got color for your coming-home party.”" I looked her up and down. “"What color?”"

She held up a pinkie. She might still have nine black fingernails but one bore a tiny little ladybug.

“"Red! You got red? For me? Now I
am
going to cry.”"

“"It gets better,”" she whispered. “"I found leopard nails. We’'re having drinks with her tomorrow night.”"

Werner walked in, boxes stacked to cover his face.

“"Thank you, Detective,”" I said, though he grunted and kept walking. I followed, and after he put down the boxes, he wasn’'t happy to find me behind him.

“"You didn’'t fire anybody because of me, did you?”"

He pulled me into the deep end of the nook. “"No, but if you worked for me, I’'d fire
you
.”"

“"That would be fair.”"

“"You’'re the hero of the entire squad room.”"

“"Your men lack taste in who they look up to. I’'m surprised you helped me move in, considering.”"

“"I keep my promises, Madeira.”"

“"I admire your integrity.”"

“"Don’'t do nice; it doesn’'t suit.”" He stepped around me. “"Continue to be a brat. Makes life easier.”"

How cryptic of him.

He hesitated and turned back to me. “"And stop trying to solve crimes that are none of your business.”"

“"Big leap from ‘'thanks for the evidence.’' ”"

“"So was your public offer to brand me again.”"

“"Wait,”" I said, stopping him by catching
his
sleeve. “"Which murder isn’'t my business? The one that took me from my shop so it could get burglarized, or the one where the body was found in my storage room?”"

“"What makes you think the bones from your storage room were the result of a murder?”" Werner asked before walking away.

Twenty-five
It’'s all about proportion, shape, line, finish, fabric, balance.

-TOM FORD

Among the movers, I spotted my sister, Sherry, and her new husband, Justin Vancortland V.

Aunt Fiona saw them, too. “"That’'s it,”" she said. “"They’'re carrying the last of your stock. You’'re all moved in.”"

Sherry put her boxes on my counter and threw herself into my arms. I hadn’'t yet seen my favorite baby sister, between her job as a kindergarten teacher and all the excitement since I got home. “"I missed you, Cherry Pie. Isn’'t this great? The whole town pitched in.”"

“"We’'d do anything for you, Sis,”" Justin said, giving my shoulders a squeeze. I honestly liked my new brother-in-law and I was grateful Sherry hadn’'t gone to jail for murder instead of marrying him. “"Who’'s idea was this barn raising?”"

“"Dad’'s,”" Sherry said. “"He’'s out there bragging about ‘'his’' construction work.”"

“"Well, he should.”" She and I walked arm in arm to the front of the shop. “"He did a brilliant job. Aunt Fee, did you put this idea into Dad’'s head?”"

“"I’'d like to say yes, but Harry Cutler showed me up is what he did, and he’'s going to pay.”"

Sherry winked at me.

It didn’'t take long for the place to clear. I waved from the door as cars left. I’'d get a chance to thank everyone personally in a couple of hours, anyway. After Justin and Sherry left, I turned to Eve. “"Do we have time to go car shopping between now and six?”"

“"Sure. You know what you want. Let’'s go. Goodwin’'s, here we come.”"

“"Give me a minute to lock up.”"

“"I’'ll do it,”" Aunt Fiona said. “"Go. Enjoy.”"

“"I can’'t believe the whole of Mystick Falls moved me in,”" I said, as we drove away.

“"You spent too much time in New York where you don’'t talk to your neighbors without a weapon in your purse.”"