Murder of a Wedding Belle (12 page)

An elegant lady in her early sixties stepped forward and offered Skye her hand. “I am Madam Olga. You must be the missing maid of honor.”

“Yes. Skye Denison.” The older woman’s skin was smooth and soft, but her grip was firm. “Sorry for the delay. Did Riley explain that I’ve taken over for Belle?”

“Yes,” Madam Olga said after a moment. “Such a shame when someone so young passes away.”

“Isn’t it?” Skye wondered whether the salon owner knew that Belle had been murdered or had been told she died some other way. “We’re all saddened by her untimely death.”

After a moment’s silence, Madam Olga clapped her hands together and a young woman appeared. “Patricia, please show these ladies to their fitting rooms.” She gestured toward the row of doors lining a hallway behind her. “Your gowns are waiting for you. Patricia will help you into them.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Skye sent up a silent prayer of thanks. At least they each had their own rooms. She’d been afraid she would have to strip in front of the other bridesmaids.

Madam Olga indicated Anita and Dora. “I’ll take care of these ladies personally.”

“What about me?” Riley screwed up her face. “Who’s going to help me?”

“My dear, after you’ve approved your wedding party’s attire, we’ll turn our full attention to you,” Madam Olga responded in a regal tone. “Everyone assists the bride. Meanwhile, one of my staff will bring you some refreshments.”

“Lovely.” Riley sank down on one of the vacated chairs. “That’s more like it.”

Skye was shown into a ten-by-ten space containing a raised dais in front of a three-way mirror. The bridesmaid’s dress hung from an elaborate gold hook on the wall, and she cringed as she examined it. It was very, very pink, the bodice consisted of two swathes of shirred silk that formed an X between the breasts, and the dress was completely backless.

Shit! Shit! Shit!
How in the world was she going to wear it? Skye was amply endowed. There was no way she could go without a bra, and even a strapless one would show underneath this dress.

“You know”—Patricia stood in the doorway watching Skye’s reaction—“it has built-in support.”

Skye nearly sank to her knees in relief. “Really?” Now, if the dress just fit, she’d be a happy camper. She’d even be willing to overlook the fact that the enormous skirt’s ruch-ing resembled the inside of a casket lid.

“Yes.” Patricia tilted her head. “We can also use double-sided tape to make sure you don’t pop out at an awkward moment.”

“Like there would ever be a good time to pop out,” Skye muttered as she sat on the bench to take off her shoes.

Patricia snickered, then said, “This dress makes a real fashion statement.”

“If I wanted to make a statement, I’d wear a sandwich board.”

Hiding a smile with her hand, the sales assistant closed the door after saying, “I’ll be back in a moment to assist you.”

Surprisingly, when the woman returned and zipped up the dress, it was actually a little too big. She tsked. “Did you add a couple of inches to your measurements when you phoned them in?”

“No.” Skye’s cheeks reddened. “Well, maybe a smidge. Just to be on the safe side.”

“You girls never tell us the truth.” Patricia tsked again. “Either you tell us the size you wish you were or add a little so it won’t be tight.”

“Sorry.” Skye turned her head to see the back of the dress. “But it’s fine.”

“Fine is not good enough at Madam Olga’s. We will take it in. Wait here while I send the seamstress to you.”

“No, really.” Skye tried to stop the departing saleswoman. “What if I gain weight?”

Patricia shot her a stern look. “Don’t.”

Once Skye was pinned and her appearance approved by Riley, she changed back into her regular clothes and sat in the waiting area with her cousin. A couple of minutes later, Tabitha and Paige joined them, followed by Hallie, who immediately pointed to her cell phone, mouthed the words
Excuse me
, and disappeared.

As they waited for Dora and Anita to finish, Riley popped a finger sandwich into her mouth and chewed reflectively. “I’m not sure I like the bridesmaid’s dresses.” She furrowed her brow, then took a sip of Perrier. “I suppose it’s too late to change my mind.”

“Yes,” Skye squeaked, alarmed at the thought of trying to get four new gowns by Saturday.

“I guess you’re right.” Riley paused and turned to look at Tabitha and Paige. “Do either of you not like the dresses?”

Paige’s lips parted, but Skye frantically shook her head, and the redhead closed her mouth.

“Soooo.” Riley drew out the single syllable, indicating her annoyance. “Do you love them?”

“They’re perfect for your Pink Fantasy Fairy Tale theme,” Skye offered.

“Yes.” Riley nodded, satisfied. “They are.” She bit into a petit four. “Did you know that Belle tried to change them behind my back?”

“No. How did you find out?” Tabitha asked.

“‘Cause I overheard her on the phone.” Riley licked frosting off her fingers. “She was telling Madam Olga to say they were unavailable when she talked to me.”

“Did you confront her?” Skye questioned. When Riley nodded, Skye asked, “What did she say?”

“At first she tried to deny it, but when I wouldn’t back down, she claimed she just thought the other dresses I had been considering were better and wanted to make sure my wedding was perfect.”

Paige had been silent while Riley talked, but suddenly she said, “She really was a conniving witch.”

“I think that’s because when she was running around being the Canfield heiress she always got her own way,” Tabitha offered. “These past couple of years, actually working for a living and having to cater to rich brides, must have been tough for her.”

“Maybe.” Riley shrugged, clearly losing interest in the conversation.

Skye frowned. Why
had
Belle been working for a living? She and Wally had come up with some theories, but if Belle really didn’t like her job, why didn’t she go back to being a socialite? Skye would be interested to see what Wally found out when he checked on that. In the meantime, she needed to catch Madam Olga alone and see what the shop owner had to say about Belle’s attempt to switch the bridesmaids’ dresses. What was the real story behind that?

A voice interrupted Skye’s thoughts. “Riley, Madam Olga is ready for you now.”

Riley glared at the doorway. “Mom, why don’t you have your dress on?” Anita was wearing her street clothes and wiping her forehead with a tissue. “You know I wanted to see you in it.”

“Sorry, honey.” She sank into a chair. “Don’t worry, it looked fine, but I had a terrible hot flash and I didn’t want to stain it with sweat, so I took it off.”

“Poor Mom.” Riley handed her mother a tumbler of ice water. “Anything I can do?”

“I’ll be fine in a minute.” Anita held the glass to her forehead.

“Where’s Grandma?” Riley asked. “She didn’t show me her outfit either.”

Anita took a gulp of water, then answered, “Mom’s not feeling too well. This outing was too much for her. She’s resting in Madam Olga’s private parlor and will be out a little later.”

“Should I go check on her?” Riley wrinkled her brow. “Should she be alone?”

Skye marveled at the sudden appearance of the “nice Riley.” Her cousin switched personalities faster than most women changed clothes. “I’ll check on Dora,” she offered.

“What a good idea, dear.” Anita fanned herself. “That way Riley can try on her dress.”

“Great.” Skye was glad for an excuse to be alone for a moment. And maybe she’d be able to nab Madam Olga for a little chat.

“Don’t take long,” Riley ordered. “I want you all here for my grand entrance.”

“I won’t.” Skye kept her face expressionless. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Skye and Riley went opposite ways in the hallway. Skye wasn’t sure where Madam Olga’s parlor was but figured it was away from the fitting areas. The first room she tried was obviously a work space. Racks of garment bags, a couple of sewing machines, and a large table took up most of the area.

She was about to close the door when a container of bright silk rectangles caught her attention. Why would the dress shop have a box of loose labels? The dresses should come with labels already sewn inside.

Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was around, Skye slipped inside. Next to the carton of labels, which all bore famous designer names, was a dress with its original label neatly removed and new one pinned in its place, ready to be sewn. Was Madam Olga selling counterfeit designer clothing? And if so, had Belle somehow been involved?

As Skye stepped out of the workroom, Madam Olga appeared at the end of the hallway. She quickly closed the space between her and Skye and said, “What were you doing in there? That room is off-limits to clients.”

“Sorry.” Skye struggled to maintain an innocent expression. “I was looking for Mrs. Erikson.”

“I don’t believe you. You didn’t have to go inside the room to see she wasn’t there.” The older woman’s mouth tightened. “You’re a troublemaker, just like your predecessor.”

“Belle was a problem?” Skye quickly regrouped, recognizing this as a chance to question the dress-shop owner. “Speaking of her, why did she try to make Riley switch her choice of bridesmaids’ dresses?”

“Pff. She was greedy.” Madam Olga shook her head in disgust. “There was a higher profit margin on the ones Riley decided against and thus Belle’s commission would be bigger.”

“Oh, so she was getting a cut from you?” Skye asked. “Is that usual?”

“It is not uncommon.”

Skye decided to press her luck and ask about what she had seen in the workroom. “How about sewing designer labels into dresses. Is that a common practice, too?”

“Ah.” Madam Olga smiled thinly. “You thought you saw something, but you saw nothing.” She took Skye’s elbow and steered her down the hall. “Mrs. Erikson is in here.” As Madam Olga opened the door, she hissed, “Silly little girls should mind their own business.” She released Skye, turned, and marched away.

After checking on Dora—the older woman insisted she’d be fine and adamantly refused to be taken home—Skye returned to the waiting area. Hallie was back, pacing in a tight circle. The others sat silently munching on refreshments.

“Has Riley come out yet?” Skye eyed the group thoughtfully. Did any of them know more about Belle than they were admitting?

“No. You’re safe.” Paige smiled reassuringly.

“Good.” Skye plopped down on the sofa and reached for a cookie. “I didn’t have time for lunch, and I’m starved.”

“Hardly.”

Hallie’s voice surprised Skye. The girl hadn’t said two words since she’d arrived. “Excuse me?” Was Hallie commenting on Skye’s weight?

“You are not starved. You may be hungry, but no one here is starving. Not like those poor children in Haiti.” Hallie’s tone was accusatory. “You all disgust me. The money being spent on this stupid wedding could support a whole village over there for ten years.”

“The money isn’t yours to say how it should be spent,” Paige snapped.

Hallie’s shoulders sagged and Skye asked, “Have you spoken to your father about this?”

“He won’t listen,” Hallie sobbed. “He just says that he’s worked hard and the poor people should too.”

“That’s his privilege.” Skye got up and handed the girl a tissue from her purse. At this rate she should invest in Kleenex stock. “Everyone has to make their own decisions in life. If you want to give your money to the poor or volunteer your time in third world countries, that’s your right. If your father doesn’t see it your way, that’s his. Maybe he supports a cause you don’t know about.”

Hallie features were pinched. “None of you understand.” She was clearly not convinced.

“No. I’m sure we don’t.” Skye remembered her own view of the world when she was Hallie’s age. She’d joined the Peace Corps, sure she could make a difference. And even though she was disillusioned by her failure to see much progress, she’d become a school psychologist for the same reason—because she was sure she could save the world. That hadn’t worked out exactly as planned either, and now she worked on helping one person at a time. “Maybe you can explain it to Riley, and she could help you persuade your father to make a significant donation.”

“I’d like that.” Hallie’s expression was odd. “But I doubt Riley would care.”

“Hasn’t she been nice to you?” Skye asked, wondering if Riley was the stereotypical evil stepmother.

“It’s not that.” Hallie shook her head. “Hale and I are nearly nonexistent to her, which is how she wants it. Either we’re at college or Dad sends us on some trip to get us out of the way. It’s just that she’s a user, you know, just like that wedding planner of hers.”

“Did you know Belle?”

Hallie twitched her shoulders, but before Skye could press her for an answer, Riley swept into the room, and everyone’s attention focused on her.

The wedding dress she wore were breathtaking. The A-line gown was made of pearl-colored silk with jewel-encrusted straps whose beading extended downward and joined to form a vee under the bustline.

As if the wedding march were playing, Riley walked the length of the room, revealing the intricate organza flowers twining around the Swarovski-crystal monogram on her train. She slowly turned and struck a pose before saying, “Isn’t it fabulous? It’s a Badgley Mischka.”

Skye wondered whether it was really made by the designer whose tag was sewn into it but decided not to open that can of worms. Better Riley was happy with a beautiful fake than demanding that Skye find her the genuine article less than a week before the wedding.

Anita, apparently recovered from her hot flash, piped up, “It cost twelve thousand dollars.” She rose from her chair, walked over to Riley, and fingered the veil. “This is one of a kind. It’s embroidered with real gold thread and cost two thousand all by itself.”

Skye cringed, afraid of Hallie’s reaction, but the girl only moaned softly and bit her lip.