Skirting the Grave (6 page)

he said, taking notes, “that’s a far cry from slipping a hand into your purse while you were, say, in the two-headed giraffe pen at the zoo.”

“Very different,” she said. “And yes, someone had to have broken into my apartment—no other way for my bag to get into the hall—but the D.C. police said there were no signs of forced entry. They think I might have left my door open.”

“Where did you go without your purse?” Nick asked.

“To my neighbor’s with my apartment key in my pocket. I know I had it, because I used it to lock my door.”

“So,” Nick said, “your intruder could have had a key and he/she saw you go to your neighbor’s?”

Isobel tilted her head, considering the possibility.

I sat beside her. “Have you ever given anyone a spare key?”

“My sister used to live with me, but she moved to Los Angeles ages ago, and she lost her key. She certainly didn’t need it once she moved.”

“I’ll touch base with the D. C. police,” Werner said. “Can you describe your sister?”

“You’re looking at her. We’re twins. Identical, though my father always called her the wild one. I don’t know; I felt pretty wild today trying to get friends and friends of friends to tag-team me here.”

Werner cleared his throat, as if he had final say. “I’m going to ask you not to leave town tonight, Ms. York. Do you have a place to stay?”

“I thought I did, but . . . may I sleep in jail? I’ll get Grand-mère to wire me some money in the morning.”

My head came up. “I thought your grandmother was dead.”

“Grand-mère? You mean, because I gave you her trunk of vintage clothes? No, she gave the trunk to my twin, who gave it to me. She said it contained bad memories but great clothes. Things a fashion plate would appreciate. Aren’t they awesome?”

“I didn’t open the trunk. I . . . guess I was waiting for you.”

My father checked his watch and stood up. “Miss York, you’re welcome to move in as planned.”

“I don’t advise it, Mr. Cutler,” Werner said, “unless you have a room for me, too.”

“And me,” Nick said, a familiar twinkle in his eyes. “I’ll take Brandy’s room.”

“No, Isobel will have the room across from mine. This was a tavern,” I added. “We have room enough for the entire force.”

“Am I under arrest?” Isobel asked.

“No,” I assured her. “Call it protective custody. I think we might have seen your twin today, and let’s say for now that she’s in a bit of trouble.”

“Listen, her full name is Giselle Trouble York. She’ll worm her way out of whatever she got herself into, though. Trust me.”

“But can you trust her to keep you out of trouble?” I asked. “What if the wrong person thinks you’re her?”

Isobel’s shoulders sagged. “Great point!”

We all looked up when the doorbell rang.

My father opened it to Aunt Fiona, fresh off the plane, if her wheeled suitcase was any indication.

“Wow,” she said. “Welcome by committee, I didn’t expect. Although I should have known when I saw Nick’s and the detective’s cars out front.”

Aunt Fee had expected a committee of one, judging by her barely veiled disappointment. A lot like my dad’s badly hidden longing.

I turned to Werner, and my heart about stopped, because I saw the same look on his face, except he was looking at me. Ack! “Friends,” I said, nodding. “We’re all friends now. You and me, me and Nick, you and Nick. ’Kay?”

“You sure?” Werner asked. “I don’t like that he hurt you.”

“All’s forgiven. God knows you and I have forgiven each other enough times.”

Werner ran his hand through his hair. “Well, that’s true.”

“We have to talk!” Nick said, looking from Werner to me and back to the detective, narrowing his eyes. “I think that my case and your case have their tentacles around each other’s throats. Upstairs. Now!”

“You bet,” Werner said, setting me physically aside.

“Hey!” I called after them. “Wait. Nick, what you just said? Is that code for ‘I’m gonna whop your ascot’?”

“Why would he do that?” Werner asked me. “We’re all friends, right?”

“Are you kidding? Is this some show of testosterone for my benefit?”

“Don’t worry, ladybug,” Nick said, turning on the stairs. “It’s about the case.”

“Mad, I’ll take care of it,” Werner said, agreeing with Nick, which made me feel a bit better.

“But I want to be involved in the case, Nick. You said to get proactive.”

“Proactive in your own special way,” my former boy toy said, he who knew me better than I knew myself.

Werner nodded his agreement. “Nick’s right. This is preliminary stuff. Doesn’t concern you. Not yet.”

“The hell it doesn’t!” What the Hermès were they up to? Did they intend to discuss the case?

Or me?

Nick led the way upstairs, and Werner followed.

I slammed my hand on the newel post. “Stubborn idiots!”

My father chuckled. “ ‘ Daughters are like flowers; they fill the world with beauty, and sometimes attract pests.’ Author unknown. Smart, but unknown.”

Isobel stood. “Do you give fathering lessons? My dad never said anything half as sweet or clever. If he did, he would have said it at the most inappropriate time.”

“My father’s an English professor at UConn,” I said. “A quote for every occasion, hey, Dad?

Aunt Fee, may I have the key to your house? I don’t want to see either of those traitors when they come down. We’re all friends, now, so they cut me out of the conversation? I don’t think so.”

“I don’t blame you,” Isobel said.

“You’re coming with me,” I told her.

My father cleared his throat. “Half an hour ago, you didn’t want to let her into the house, Mad.”

“Well, call me Groucho Marx, but she said the secret word: Mary Quant. Only a fashionista could have made such an easy statement. Plus she knew the return address on the trunk was this address.”

“I guess we’ve sort of bonded,” Isobel said. “And I’m glad, because I want to hear more about those two upstairs. They’re both in love with you, boss. You know that, right?”

My father chuckled. “She knows it.”

I rolled my eyes. Maybe I did know it, but I wasn’t ready to “hear” it. “Dad, may Aunt Fee sleep here, tonight?” I asked, trying not to grin. “And can you tell my friends, Detective Dickaroo and the Bumburglar, that I expect a full report of their discussion tomorrow?”

“Sure,” my father said. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

Watching him and Fee, I chuckled. I couldn’t help myself. “I may be your daughter, but I’m neither dumb nor two years old. You want us out, and fast.”

Aunt Fee made so bold as to hook her arm through my father’s.

He blustered, but when she covered his hand with hers, he didn’t protest or remove it. He laced their fingers together.

I winked at him. “Tell Werner that Isobel and I will see him at the station at some point tomorrow morning.”

The escalating discussion upstairs made me drag Isobel and her overnight bag out the door. Ten

Fashion contains the potential for renewal and transformation. The more costumes one has, the more fantasy personas one can adopt.

—EDITH GOULD

“I’ll take Aunt Fiona’s room,” I told Isobel on arrival. Because I felt responsible for Aunt Fiona’s things. “And you can have the guest room.” Since guest rooms by nature held nothing of personal worth.

“Ms. Cutler, what should I call you?”

“Not Madeira. Mostly people call me that if they’re angry with me or they’re my father. How about Maddie?”

“How about boss?” she suggested. “I’d be more comfortable.”

I’d feel weird. “Sure, go for it. It’s a new one, but at least it doesn’t make me feel like a bottle of wine.”

“Okay, boss.”

“You’re not gonna believe it,” Isobel said, coming out of the guest room a short while later.

“I packed so much makeup, I forgot my nightshirt.”

“We have a lot in common. No problem. Aunt Fiona has some fun sleepwear we can raid.”

Isobel sat on Aunt Fee’s bed. “Why didn’t your aunt come home with us?”

“Her and my dad have a non-relationship she’s trying to turn around.”

“Your dad’s nuts about her. Seriously, he got all choked up when she got there. I thought they were lovers.”

“My father is so thick. Even you, a stranger, can see what he can’t.”

“Your aunt doesn’t deny her feelings,” Isobel remarked as I laid out some of my favorite witch-humor nightwear.

“Fee’s not actually related to us. She was my mom’s best friend in college, and she’s been there for us always, and especially since we lost Mom twenty years ago. Here,” I said with a flourish. “Take your pick.”

“Um, is your non-aunt a witch, by any chance?”

“What gave her away?” I asked on a chuckle. My shorty red sleep shirt said, Save a Broom, Ride a Witch.

Isobel checked hers in the mirror. In turquoise her sleep tee warned: Beware the Naughty Witch Inside. “Too bad we’ll only get to wear them a couple of hours.” Isobel chuckled.

“When do we need to be at the police station?”

“Since tomorrow is Sunday, and I don’t open the shop until ten, let’s get a whole four hours’

sleep.” She’d need her rest, I thought, because she very well might discover tomorrow that her twin had been murdered. The least I could do was give her a blissfully ignorant good night’s slumber. “Maybe I’ll call Werner in the morning and tell him if he wants to fingerprint you, he can come to the shop. He’ll love that.”

“I’ve only known him for an hour, and already, I know he’ll hate it.”

“Yeah, well, that’ll be my perk.”

She chuckled. “Do you think your aunt will mind if I shower? It’s been a hot and sweaty day. You know, for a while there, we thought somebody was following us.”

“That’s disturbing,” I said. “The thought of somebody following, I mean, not the shower. Go for it. You’ll sleep better.”

I’d turned down both our beds and was making chamomile tea, not a little worried about the possibility that Isobel had been followed, when I thought I heard someone outside in the bushes near the front door, so I went toward the living room and stopped, stunned, when I saw the doorknob turn.

I turned off the lights, grabbed a hefty rose quartz owl from a nearby shelf, and leaned against the wall beside the door, owl raised, heart pumping about thirty beats over the speed limit.

When the door opened, I owled the intruder upside the head. Crack. He went down like a California sequoia, and though his partner caught me around the waist, I swung my arm up and owled him beneath the chin, the louder crack making me a little sick. The room flooded with light. Isobel stood with her hand on the switch. “Remind me never to cross you. I mean, I know they excluded you from their discussion at your dad’s, but—”

“What?” I looked down at my assailants. “Nick? Werner? Oh my God, they’re gonna bleed all over Aunt Fee’s white rug.”

I sat Nick up. “How’s your jaw, sweetie?” I tried to cup it.

He eyed me. “Schweww. Schwell,” he pronounced more carefully the second time. “Ow.”

Scrap. “You might have a little jaw damage, there.”

Isobel got Werner sitting up. “Maddie, the detective has a knot and a half on his head.”

“Ice packs!” I ordered, and she ran. “Hmm. She might make a good intern after all.”

The men in my life eyed me, like, well, maybe I should put the owl back where it belonged. I did so. “Guys, you could have called my name, introduced yourselves, something, before walking in. Frankly, when I saw that doorknob turn, all I could think of was Isobel’s threatening caller and her fear of being followed today. I did what I had to, to protect her.”

They nodded like I made a certain sense.

I put my fists on my hips. “Now what the hell are you doing here?”

I looked from one of them to the other. “You beat the scrap out of each other, didn’t you?

Who won?”

They each pointed to themselves.

“I thought you were discussing the case,” I said.

Werner cleared his throat. “We got, er, sidetracked.”

Nick pointed at Werner, like the detective got it right, and Werner wagged his finger and nodded enthusiastically, like I should pay attention.

“Yeah, that,” I muttered.

“The upshot was that Nick and I both vowed not to hurt you.”

“Fancy that,” I said, touched, and my need to annihilate them became a shot of the warm fuzzies. Pity, I’d already beat the scrap out of them.

Werner took the ice packs from Isobel, held one to his head and one to his purple eye. “I’m here to protect Isobel,” he said.

“Why?” Isobel asked.

Nick leaned on an elbow and held his jaw, looking at me like a hungry puppy. “Iiisssth?”

“Oh, ice. Isobel, two more ice packs.”

“Think you broke something?” I asked Nick, horrified.

He pointed at me.

“I broke something?”

Nick shrugged, got off the floor, sat on a sofa, and gratefully accepted the ice packs. Werner sat beside him.

“Matching black eyes. Man, I wish I had a camera. Oh, wait.” I used my camera phone. Click! “For posterity . . . and blackmail.” I showed it to Isobel. She nodded. “That’d make a fine Christmas card.”

I shoved her arm. “We’re gonna get along great!”

Nick moved to the sofa opposite.

“Too late,” I said. “So, Nick, if Werner’s here to protect Isobel, who are you here to protect?”

Again, he pointed to me.

“From who?”

Nick glared at Werner.

Isobel giggled. “They were fighting over you? Go, boss.”

“We’re friends. Just friends. I think we should take them to the hospital.”

The ice pack club denied the need with mutinous looks.

“Isobel, go get some sleep. I’ll stay up and keep Werner busy so he doesn’t fall asleep, in the event he has a concussion.”

Nick’s head came up, and he gave Werner the evil eye. “No sweep. No anysing.” He was, of course, referring to the night of Werner’s concussion when we shared that thermonuclear kiss.

I sat beside Werner, and Nick growled. “Oh, for pity’s sake. I need to make sure Werner’s pupils aren’t dilated.”

“I think they are,” Werner said.

Nick narrowed his eyes at the two of us, and if black looks were darts . . . Eleven

Clothing should be used as a tool and as a weapon.