Friday, night
Monty was in the bar with the last of Kurt’s drunken bachelor friends and a few of his mother’s when the bartender carried over the phone—the first sign of trouble.
Thanking the heavens that Kurt had taken his advice to leave early, Monty took the call. He’d decided having an ambulance pull up before anyone got sick would be a bad move, but he regretted it now while the receptionist babbled in his ear.
“Yes, Warwick is a physician. Buzz his room,” he told the clerk. “Call an ambulance as well. We don’t have facilities here if it’s really a heart attack. Let’s not take any chances. I’ll be right there.”
He swallowed hard and forced himself to be calm as Fee had told him to do. He had trusted her this far—was he insane? Well, if he was, he’d probably fit in better around here.
Choosing pragmatism, assuring himself that his indomitable mother would be fine, he slapped a few backs, made light of the emergency call, and excused himself. He didn’t want any panicked guests.
Victor Portelli, the portly investment broker the lodge manager had introduced to him, rose at the same time. For an older man, he held his whiskey well. “A moment of your time, Mr. Mayor, if I may?”
Monty had learned from this father’s sad fate not to trust money men, so he didn’t pretend to be polite. “My mother is ill. Perhaps after the wedding? Call Roper, set up a time.”
“She is ill? Not seriously, I hope.” The older man loped alongside Monty as he hurried down the corridor to his mother’s suite. “This is not about money. Of course, we will discuss that when your brother returns. This is a small matter. My wife, she is upset. She saw a dog today that resembles one that was stolen from her. If we could just have an introduction to the lady. . .”
Frigging hell, why now? Monty clenched his teeth as he continued hurrying down the hall. Cass and her damned parade through town. . .
Surely a wealthy, connected old man like Portelli had nothing to do with fishy dogs. Neurotic wife was a more likely explanation. “Of course. In the morning, perhaps. Or at the reception after. We’ll discuss it then.”
With relief, he saw the physician rushing from the other direction. His mother’s screams penetrated the thick log walls of the old lodge and the new addition that was her suite. At least, she was alive.
He needed to warn Walker about Portelli, but not at midnight.
Maybe he ought to look for a job that didn’t require this level of decision making. Praying that he’d made the right ones, Monty entered the tornadic chaos that was his mother’s rooms and shut the door on Portelli. The screams emanating from the bedroom sounded so much like his mother’s familiar fury, that they washed right over him. Only knowing what he’d done to cause them pierced his conscience.
The wail of the store’s security alarm woke Fee after midnight. Prepared, she rolled out of her sleeping bag, butcher knife in hand. At this hour, most of the wedding guests should be passed out from merry-making. She didn’t know if the police chief ever slept, but she doubted he could hear the alarm all the way up the lane where he lived. And if the system alerted the county sheriff’s office, it would be well over half an hour before anyone showed up, at best.
The clang of the rear door hitting a metal desk told her the intruder was a creature of habit. If she had the strength to push the desk around, she knew it wouldn’t stop a thief. Preferring not to be trapped upstairs, she’d taken up residence downstairs, making herself as invisible as possible.
But now that she knew his location, she crawled out from under the Victorian couch and checked the front window overlooking the boardwalk. If he’d brought friends, she couldn’t see them. The parking lot under the street lamp was empty except for one or two cars of residents.
Which meant she could simply mosey out the front door and escape. But if whoever was fiddling with the backdoor had anything to do with Peggy’s death, Fee wanted his head on a platter. Besides, she’d found her home and refused to leave it out of fear—and she wanted her dog back, all fine reasons for taking the creep down.
She unlocked the front door in case she needed a hasty exit, then eased back through the obstacle course of the crowded interior.
That the jerkwad chose the night before the wedding was mean but not unexpected. The desk scraped across the wooden floor in the storage room, and moments later, she heard him stumbling through her carefully arranged hindrances. That he was alone made her decision to stay easier. She smiled grimly as he walked into the armor and the sack of metal clanged.
She stooped down behind Aaron’s counter. The apparently paranoid antique dealer had a silent security alarm under the shelf. She had no idea if it rang in Walker’s house or outer space, but she pushed it, just to see what happened.
When the persistent intruder’s muttered curses indicated that he’d navigated the storage room hazards and was now inside the shop, Fee tugged the rope she’d tied to a chair leg and a ceiling fixture.
A mannequin in flowing, colorful silk robes flew up from the floor, silhouetted by the dusky street light through the front window.
Fee gave the man credit for not screaming his lungs out. He yipped and stumbled over the shin-high brass trunk she’d left in his path. She’d hoped he would go down so she could reach him easier, but he managed to stay upright. She thought he might be fighting the mannequin. His fish smell was so strong that she suspected he was hopped on drugs.
Gritting her molars, she picked up the long-handled wooden oar she’d removed from above the bookshelves. She had no idea why Aaron kept an oar, but it was longer than her walking stick and gave her short arms better reach. While the intruder danced with a swinging mannequin, she gauged her distance, placed her feet as she’d been taught, and swung at his back. Hard.
This time, he toppled, taking the mannequin with him. Without an ounce of remorse, she whacked him again while he was down, and he passed out cold.
She was tying his wrists in sailor’s knots when Aaron and Harvey the musician plowed in through the front door and flipped light switches—obviously not trained cops since they instantly became targets.
They were Lucys, weird like her. Why couldn’t she be attracted to them instead of the mayor? “Well, now I know where the buzzer rings,” she said as she tightened the rope. “Why would you buzz yourself?”
“Harvey sleeps in my place while I’m at work.” Aaron dropped to one knee to run his fine-boned hand over the unconscious thief. “Same vibes as the Lincoln driver,” he reported. “I think we have your dognapper.”
Too shaken to feel relief, Fee sat back on her heels and watched Harvey poke the intruder with his walking stick.
“Really bad vibes. We need a good jail with thick bars.” The lean musician studied Fee in the light from the fluorescents. “Good job, New Cook.”
About the same age as Monty, Harvey’s ascetic facial structure worked well with his thick black hair and lashes. Fee might have been charmed if she’d had any room left in her churning emotions. She collapsed in Aaron’s rolling desk chair and reached for his landline. “Sheriff?”
“In the directory.” Aaron glanced around at his rearranged inventory. “Creative.”
While Fee punched the button for the sheriff, Aaron rummaged through the fallen man’s pockets, producing a well-worn wallet. She was starting to shake badly enough that she handed the receiver to Harvey when a voice answered.
“I have tea and cups in the storeroom,” Aaron said, holding the contents of the wallet under a counter lamp. “Looks like this is the Ramirez that Walker has been hunting.”
“Your doorknob smelled like the Lincoln,” Fee said, before wobbling off to find the tea. She hoped he had chamomile.
Finding a reassuring collection of assorted leaves and herbal teabags, Fee filled the electric kettle from the bathroom faucet and set the water to boil.
“You could have called someone and asked for help.” Harvey took the rattling teacups away from her when she emerged from the storeroom.
>
“How would I know who or how to call? Smoke signals?” she suggested.
A siren screamed down the highway. She peered through the front window, catching the flashing lights of an ambulance—Monty’s mother was down for the count. Shit, now she had one more crime haunting her conscience.
At least the ambulance distracted Harvey and Aaron. She let them speculate on what might be happening at the lodge while she poured tea from a gilded china pot.
She’d hoped Hillvale would be a safe haven.
Instead, she’d poisoned a woman and knocked out a possibly murderous thief in one night. She couldn’t run from herself, apparently.
Listening to the men in the other room discuss what to do with Ramirez—without once questioning her ability to nab him—Fee thought maybe Hillvale wasn’t safe. But it felt right. And now she could have Sukey back.
“No, don’t do a thing,” Monty told his brother over the phone on Saturday morning. “Dr. Warwick is running tests. It’s probably just Mom’s way of calling attention to herself. Tell Teddy it’s all under control, and all she has to do is show up, look beautiful, and say I do.”
He didn’t feel in the least bit guilty about lying. His mother would have found some way of making the wedding all about her, if only by having a heart attack in the middle of the ceremony. This way, she’d been pre-empted by reality and was in good hands.
Walker’s call saying Fee had caught the dognapper put new bounce in Monty’s steps. Fee could have her dog back.
Remembering Portelli mentioning Sukey, Monty lost some of his good humor. The Yorkie was a mutt, not a pedigreed anything that a wealthy investment broker might own. Monty decided to dismiss the man’s request.
He let himself into his brother’s restaurant, where half the town was setting up for the wedding reception. Dinah had closed the café since they were using the counter for the reception’s bar. Men in white shirts and thin black ties were already covering the Formica with fancy rubber mats and setting up bottles and glasses under the noses of the hippy mural.
Samantha had even added bouquets next to the ancient cash register and swags of flowering tree branches over the vinyl-bench booths.
Back in the formal restaurant, he found Walker’s better half whistling while she worked with roses on the table where the bride and groom would sit. “How’s Fee?” he asked.
“Scary amazing,” Samantha reported. “I’d be shivering in my shoes and a puddle of nerves. She’s in there icing cakes, ordering Dinah to sit still, and asking when she can have her dog back.”
Fiona had said she could take care of herself. But she’d also let him hold her last night when they’d both needed reassurance. Monty was beginning to think she was one of those crusty pastries with cream inside, the ones that were bad for him, and he needed to stay far away.
He dared stick his head in the back of Delphines, which was more butler’s pantry than kitchen. Strangers hired for the occasion were hauling linens and dinnerware out of cabinets and rushing past him to adorn the tables in front. He could hear Dinah shouting in the kitchen. Through the chaos, he could see Fee serenely piping decorations on a four-layer cake with buttery-looking frosting he would have to avoid.
As if sensing his presence, she glanced up and smiled in a way that had him melting like butter. She’d single-handedly brought down a known gang member last night, and she still wore the cream and roses complexion of an Irish angel this morning. The shadows had left her eyes.
“Sam has real baby’s breath we can use for the cakes,” she said in delight. “It will be absolutely amazing!” Then the smile flitted away. “How’s your mother?”
He tried to shrug off his worry. “She’s in excellent hands. I talked to her this morning, and she’s ripping off heads, trying to escape. This is not the first time we’ve had to remove her from an important occasion. You have set no precedent. She’s our mother, but we know she’s not entirely rational.”
A tentative smile returned. “The cakes were created for maximum happiness, but I’m afraid they won’t help what’s wrong with your mother or I’d arrange to send slices to her.”
Created for maximum happiness? Eyeing the splendid creation, knowing what he did about her food abilities, he tried not to read too much into that declaration or he’d worry the cake was stuffed with pot.
“I’ll take her some later, although you’re right, she’ll probably throw it at me.” He eyed the icing knife she offered for licking but shook his head. “Teddy’s brought in her company photographers, so I’ll have to suit up soon. I don’t know when Cass will arrive, but you can probably pick up Sukey at the amphitheater. I can arrange a seat for you so Cass knows where to find you.”
Her dark-lashed eyes widened. “Me? I don’t crash weddings. I planned on helping arrange the buffets.”
Of course she did—because that’s how she’d spent her whole damned life—hiding in the kitchen instead of out in the world, living.
Rather than bash his dense head against a wall, Monty snatched the knife and licked it. Once he had his words firmly in hand, he threw the knife in the dirty utensil tray. “Everyone in town is invited. That’s why we hired outside help. You’ve worked as hard as anyone and you deserve a break. I’ll mark your seat and Harvey can tell you where it is. He’ll be at the piano at the entrance.”
“I don’t own any dress but the one I wore last night,” she whispered in what might have been dismay.
Damn. Of course. Women wanted to dress pretty. “I’ll tell Tullah. You get yourself over there at noon, and she’ll have something.”
Monty knew then that he was as deranged as the Lucys. He actually believed Tullah could make magic happen.
Eighteen
Saturday, noon
“We made enough money this week to resupply the whole pantry,” Dinah said in satisfaction, removing cash from the register. “And you’re half the reason. You need a little folding money in your pocket.”
Fee eyed the register dubiously. “Shouldn’t you be putting that in the bank?”
Dinah waved a dismissive hand. “It comes and goes fast. You take some time to make yourself pretty. The caterers are here. They can do anything else.”
With trepidation, Fiona walked down to Tullah’s thrift store. She didn’t know why she was nervous. Tullah’s height was intimidating, perhaps. Tullah was younger than Cass by several decades, but she carried herself with the same dignity and grace, as if she were royalty.
Maybe she was just nervous because the mayor had ordered her to attend the kind of socialite wedding that she’d never been invited to and never expected to be. She’d hoped someday to cater fancy weddings, but arriving as a guest? No freaking way. Did he want her to make an idiot of herself in her second-hand clothing? She owned no jewelry or make-up to speak of, and her roommate had cut her hair. She looked the part of cheap help.
As promised, Tullah was waiting. “I got in a selection of size zeroes just the other day,” the shop owner said, as if saying of course she had inventory.
Gaping at the amazing rack of clothes Tullah rolled out, Fee was speechless, and not for the usual reasons. Thrift shops almost never carried her size except in teen jeans—and Tullah had a whole rack of dresses?
“You can come in anytime you need one,” Tullah said, pulling out a crystal blue knee-length confection that swirled in light layers. “I’d recommend this for today. You’ll need a shawl outdoors, but it should be good for dancing.”
Dancing. She was dancing? Fee fingered the delicate fabric longingly. She’d seldom worn anything more than jeans or black slacks. Her prom dress had been a stiff fabric that she’d hated, but it had been the only gown that fit her in the charity shop. “It’s gorgeous,” she finally managed to murmur.
“It’s from a dealer who covers Beverly Hills,” Tullah explained. “I was told Ariana Grande wore it, but I don’t keep up with pop stars. It has matching heels, and I have a wrap that should work perfectly.”
Later, after
trying on the gown and falling in love, Fee handed over some of her hard-earned cash. “You’re magic,” Fee said gratefully. She cast a longing look at the rest of the attire on the rack, everything from business dresses to colorful peasant shirts and embroidered jeans. “I’ve never found a thrift store with this many things in my size!”
“I know my customers, just the way you do yours,” Tullah said. “Well, maybe I don’t smell them.”
Fee didn’t think she could stop smiling. She hugged the gown against her. “I don’t recognize your scent, but I think I’ll call it magic. Do you drink tea?”
“I do.” Tullah narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “But I don’t like being potioned.”
“No potion, promise. Just a combination of herbs and teas just for you, like mixing up a perfume all your own. Healthy and tastes good too. You’ll see.” Fiona practically danced out of the store and back to her room. She was going dancing! Hillvale truly was magical.
Like most of the businesses in town on this special day, Aaron had closed up his shop at noon. Fee had helped him rearrange the mess she’d made last night, although he hadn’t seemed to expect her help. Now that she hoped she might stay in Hillvale, she’d have to talk to him about a permanent rental. And she’d have to ask Dinah about formal wages. She was willing to accept some forms of barter—Dinah was feeding her, after all—but if she wanted to pay rent, and her credit card, and buy any more of Tullah’s lovely clothes, she needed regular cash.
Debating how she could take care of Sukey now that the dognappers were gone, she showered and pulled on her best underwear and donned her beautiful new dress. She felt like a movie star in the layers of silky material. She probably needed a fancy push-up bra, but she didn’t think anyone would be noticing her anyway.
She only had to look good for herself. She’d never spent much time on her looks, so this dress triumphed well over all her low standards. She added the glittery ribbons she’d saved from Christmas to hold back her hair, found her best lipstick sample, and called herself done.
Azure Secrets Page 14
