Larceny and Lace (26 page)

“"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 boobs. 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.”"

“"God 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. Shiver.

He kissed me a third quick time. “"Thank God 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.”"

Dolly laughed harder than any of us. The fainting couch arrived just in time, because the old girl couldn’'t breathe and laugh at the same time.

“"Do you think she’'s all right?”" my father asked as we walked away. “"She’'s talking to herself.”"

She was talking to Dante, of course, her debonair suitor, sitting at her side, kissing her hand.

“"You’'ll talk to yourself, too,”" Aunt Fiona said, “"when you’'re a hundred and three.”"

I urged them toward the dance floor. “"Go ahead, you two. Take advantage.”" I turned away so my father could put his arm around Aunt Fiona without feeling guilty. I wasn’'t entirely sure how I felt about them as a couple, I just knew that Harry Cutler had seemed more alive lately than he had in years. Mom would surely approve of that. Nick got an old stuffed chair in good condition from the storage room for me to sit on, while he sat on the arm and knuckled my nape, shivering me to my toes. Dante stood in the middle of the dance floor and made a sweeping motion with one hand that sent the band’'s music fluttering as if in a cool breeze. The bandleader raised his baton, and they played “"Hawaiian Wedding Song.”" I sat forward. “"
That
wasn’'t on my playlist.”" Dante took the hand of a beautiful young woman wearing the wedding gown from
The Philadelphia Story
.

My throat closed, my vision blurred. “"Nick, Dolly’'s not breathing.”" He ran. I called 911, my hands shaking, my emotions mixed. I didn’'t want to lose her, but how could I take her away from her love?

The way she and Dante waltzed and looked into each other’'s eyes, you’'d think this was their wedding day.

Members of the Circle of Spirit moved to the side. Many saw Dante and Dolly as I did. Those who did cheered and raised their broomsticks to stir the air. As they did, my trimmings and laces flew from their bobbins like colorful streamers rushing forth to circle and curl above and around the young lovers.

Dolly laughed up at Dante. Utterly romantic.

He kissed her and kissed her.

And she disappeared from his arms.

I glanced over at the fainting couch. Nick was cradling Dolly, talking to her, and I could see her nodding absently as she turned toward Dante on the opposite side of her. Fiona and my father came to me. Fiona had, of course, seen what happened.

“"Walk me over there, will you?”" I asked them.

“"How are you, Dolly?”" I asked when I got there.

“"Full of anticipation,”" she said, and she winked.

A Tip for the Vintage Handbag Lover

PETIT POINT SCARLET FLORAL ON LUSH BLACK

Purchased at the Cottage in Amesbury, Massachusetts, a bag that came from a former handbag museum in Maine, this structured handbag is startlingly beautiful in full black with a gorgeous red floral centered front and back.

At nine inches high, it’'s eleven inches wide at the top and twelve inches wide at the bottom, covered by a black trellis-like background, front and back. The trellis is either petit point or applied with a fine, thin band of petit point-like trim. I can’'t tell which. As far as the petit point, front and back, the center is a top-to-bottom oblong trellis that takes up one-third of the bag, the trellis itself centered by a Jacobean bouquet of three red flowers, each with a black center. Either side of the trellis is plain black. This handbag closes with a swirling, floral clasp that is one and one half inches wide and three quarters of an inch tall, as beautiful and ornate as a gold floral broach. Inside, the bag is lined in black satin with a zipper pocket and an open pocket. The zipper pocket is lined in pink tricot. There is no maker’'s name in the handbag. The straps and bottom are likely a quality mock leather. The flat bottom is twelve inches wide and four inches deep. It has four gold feet.

I haven’'t been able to find this specific bag in either Anna Johnson’'s
Handbags:The Power of the Purse
, Judith Miller’'s book
Handbags
, or anywhere on the web. However, judging by the embroidered purses of this style, with a costume jeweled clasp, and taking the tricot into consideration, I’'m dating it as coming from the sixties or seventies.

This handbag can be seen at

www.annetteblair.com.

Make Your Own Clutch

AN ENVELOPE PURSE FOR THE NON-SEWERS AMONG YOU

Pick out an envelope, either a number ten, business-sized envelope, or an envelope that came with a greeting card. Try to pick one with a wide overlap. This will be your pattern, so it should be a size that you’'d like to carry as a purse. Take the envelope gently apart and lay it out on a piece of self-binding fabric or leather—--black, natural, colored, your choice—--just make sure it can be cut cleanly without the need for hemming.

After your leather envelope has been cut out, fold it the way the envelope was folded. Purchase fasteners at your local leather or fabric store that you think will add to the charm of the design. Make sure they’'re small enough to fit the width of the overlap. Rather than gluing your leather envelope clutch together, use fasteners, about a half inch apart, or closer, to attach the front.

To fasten the envelope point to close your leather bag, choose snap fasteners, Velcro, or magnetic fasteners. If you use Velcro, make sure the sticky side will adhere to leather. Floral pieces of leather can be added with the fasteners as centers for decoration. The fasteners alone could also be applied in other locations and designs to give your clutch character.

An alternative to the design is, of course, to sew the leather envelope together for a clean look. Try sewing it with contrasting thread.

A sample can be seen at

www.annetteblair.com.

Turn the page for a preview of the next Vintage Magic Mystery by Annette Blair
Death byDiamonds
Coming soon from Berkley Prime Crime!

One
Women dress alike all over the world: they dress to be annoying to other women.

—--ELSA SCHIAPARELLI

Vintage Magic is my shop for designer vintage fashions and designer originals. When I arrive every morning, I can’'t believe I’'m looking at my dream come true. I faithfully believe every customer who tells me that my restoration of the funeral chapel carriage house added a certain cachet to the charm of historic downtown Mystic. I believe it and I wallow in it.

The designer originals I sell are my own, under the Mad Magic label. You see, I’'m an escapee from the highest levels of the New York fashion industry. You can call me Mad, or Maddie, unless you’'re my father, Professor Harry Cutler, in which case you will call me Madeira whether I want you to or not.

As for the Magic, I’'m also my mother’'s daughter, not a witch, precisely, but I have a whole psychic thing going on that feels like magic, which I evidently inherited from her. I can’'t ask for confirmation. She died when I was ten.

So, vintage clothes occasionally speak to me, often about dead people. I see snippets of greed, jealousy, hate, revenge . . . motive. But since it’'s been quiet on the vision front for a couple of months, I’'m hoping that was only a phase.

As I parked in my lot, my best friend Eve’'s Mini Cooper sat beside a
Wings
overnight delivery truck. Eve, aka, the Man Magnet, had already taken to charming the driver’'s socks off.

“"Hey,”" I said, when I joined them. “"Am I late?”"

“"No, I’'m early,”" Eve said. She handed me a caramel latte and the morning paper, signed for, and accepted, the box from the driver, then slipped her business card into his pocket. “"Later,”" she said with a wink.

I don’'t know if he winked back. His billed cap was tilted forward to shade his face, his jacket collar stood high and zipped tight, and his dark glasses protected him from . . . snow glare?

We watched his truck turn onto Main Street and disappear. “"You’'re my idol,”" I said. “"Did he join your stud of the month club?”"

“"He will.”"

In the shop, Dante Underhill, former undertaker and hunky house-bound ghost, waited for our morning chat. Nothing like catching up on seventy years worth of gossip. Today, however, he saluted and disappeared. Eve couldn’'t see him, and since she could get a bit edgy where ghosts and magic were concerned, I’'d never told her about him. None the wiser, she relaxed in the chair Dante vacated to read the morning paper while I opened the box. Leery about touching a potential vintage item, because of my visions and the murders they’'d dragged me into, I carefully parted the layered tissue. I recognized the dress immediately but could hardly believe my eyes. Some years ago, in fashion school, I won the opportunity to design this awesome gown, trimmed in pricey cubic zirconias, for an actress, now a dear friend. But since
she
collected designer

clothes, I couldn’'t imagine why she sent it to me.

Dominique was a note writer, so I fished through the tissue, careful not to touch the dress, and finally opened the parchment envelope that had slipped to the bottom of the box.

“"Mad, Sweetie, I always wanted you to have this. I hoped someday to give it to you myself. If you have it, I’'m dead. Use your talents wisely. Love, Dom.”"

“"Oh my stars,”" I said. “"Dominique DeLong died.”"

“"No kidding. It’'s all over the front page of the Times,”" Eve said. “"She collapsed during an Off-Broadway performance.”"

“"She would rather have died
on
Broadway,”" I muttered, aware that I was in shock.

“"At least there were witnesses,”" Eve said. “"Hundreds of them.”" My stomach flipped while Dominique’'s note trembled in my hand. “"Witnesses?”"

“"You know the infamous diamonds she wore around her eyes during each performance? They disappeared sometime between her death and her arrival at the hospital. She was D.O.A.”"

I removed myself from the vicinity of the dress, my stomach lurching. “"When did she die?”"

“"Evening performance. Last night.”"

I lost my breath, looked back at the dress, re-read the note, and considered the feasibility of a legit ten-hour delivery.