"She said to come on by this afternoon so she can get you outfitted," said my friend with a mischievous smile. "And be sure to bring your highest pair of heels so she can make sure to get the length correct."
"Heels?" I all but screeched, placing one hand on my chest like a damsel in distress, which I actually was. In distress, I mean. "Merry, you know how I feel about those things. They're a modern torture device, and I can't walk in them without wobbling like a newborn foal."
Actually, I couldn't walk in them at all. I preferred flats. Or sandals. Or bare feet. The only pair I owned was one I'd been forced to purchase when I'd accepted the Agatha Award a few years back. I'd almost broken my ankle trying to walk in those things.
"You can handle it for one night," she replied firmly. "And you can take a pair of flats to wear when we're done."
"Fine," I said grumpily. "What'll I be wearing that requires heels?"
"Oh, you're gonna love this, Caro." She all but rubbed her hands together. "You're gonna be the femme fatale, the one no one really likes and whose corpse is discovered behind the apple-bobbing tank. In Sarah Lawson's newest book, the Amish are holding a barn-raising party and she arrives dressed to the nines, turning all the men's heads. Someone obviously doesn't appreciate her efforts, and voila! We have a dead body."
"I'm going to what?" I was back to screeching again. "Merry, you must be dreaming if you think I'm going to wear heels and sprawl out on the ground." I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head. "No how, no way, no deal. Absolutely not."
"But I need you to do this for me, Caro." She gave me her sweetest smile, all but batting her lashes at me. "There's no one else in Seneca Meadows who can carry off an old evening dress and mink stole and look as elegant doing it." This time she did bat her eyelashes, clasping her hands together. "Pretty please with sugar on top?"
"Hmm," I said, pretending to think. To be honest, hearing the words "mink stole" almost sold me. I'd not worn one, or had the occasion to do so, since I'd come to the States a few years back. And the added bonus of not actually walking around in the dreaded heels made me think a little more kindly toward the entire endeavor. "I told you no dead bodies, Merry. I can't help but feeling that we're tempting fate with this charade." I waited a few more beats just to stretch out the suspense. "Oh, all right, I'll do it."
Merry began squealing like a little girl who'd just been given her favorite doll for Christmas, throwing her arms around me. "You rock, Caro. You really rock."
"Yes, I do." I stood up, unfastening her hands from around my shoulders. "I'm going to head over to Viv's right now and get that part over with. And do not," I added with a warning finger lifted, "add anything else to my role in this fiasco."
"Such as what?" Merry's eyes opened to their widest and she looked as innocent as a wolf among sheep. "I can't imagine what you mean, Caro."
"Never mind," I said, heading toward the door. "Just make sure you don't do it or you'll have to find yourself another corpse."
* * *
Viv, the newbie on Seneca Meadows' commerce block, was busy sorting through a giant box of donated handbags and hats when I arrived. Without looking up, she called out, "I'll be with you in a sec, honey."
She called everyone by that appellation. Coming from her, it sounded endearing. From someone like me, it would have seemed sarcastic.
"I'm here on Merry's orders," I replied, walking back to where she sat on the floor, her petite frame dwarfed next to the rather dusty cardboard box. "What's all this, Viv?"
"Oh, just another donation I found outside this morning." She shook her head, patting the floor beside her. "Get yourself down here and help me look through this stuff. I swear, if I get one more load of junk like this, I'm gonna pull my hair out."
"It's usually because they can't bear to throw it away themselves so they leave it for someone else to do." I gingerly lowered myself to the floor, thankful for my built-in cushion. How people as scrawny as Viv sat on a hard floor was beyond me.
"Wanna help me look? I'm almost to the bottom." Viv nodded to the box, a streak of dirt on one cheek. "Maybe you'll be the one to find the Coach or Prada bag hiding in there."
I snorted, looking at the pile of dilapidated handbags that lay on the floor between us. "I sincerely doubt it."
Viv sighed. "That's true for about half the stuff I get. The other half is barely sellable." She looked around the room, and I followed her gaze. What I saw was actually not bad. She'd grouped children's clothes in the Hansel and Gretel area, women's in Cinderella, and all sleepwear in Sleeping Beauty. I had to laugh at the sign over the men's section: Frogs for everyday work gear and Prince Charming over the dressier clothes. Viv herself was a walking advertisement for Twice Upon a Time: today she was dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, red cape and all.
"It doesn't appear that bad to me," I said as I began to dig through the box. "How about this? Maybe I can use it with the costume Merry wants me to wear." I held up a small gold evening bag, most of its sequins rubbed off. I looped the chain over one wrist and posed. "How does this look, Viv?"
She laughed, jumping to her feet. "It's perfect, Caro. Wait here and I'll be right back." She paused at the back of the store where a red velvet curtain separated the office area from the main space. "Your hubby's gonna just die when he sees you in this."
"I sincerely hope not," I muttered to myself. Since I'd been pulled into several real-life murders myself, I tended to choose my words a bit more carefully.
"Ta-da!" She came through the curtain waving something gold at me as though trying to flag down a speeding car. And could have, too, with that dress. I'd never seen anything so, well, gold before.
"Are you sure?" I asked doubtfully as she held it up for my inspection. "It looks rather on the small side, Viv."
"No, check this out." Viv began tugging at the material, demonstrating its elasticity. "See? It's practically one size fits all."
I took a closer look at it, squinting my eyes as light flashed from the bedazzled dress. "Viv, is that—oh, my God." I gulped. "Please tell me that isn't spandex. I cannot, I repeat cannot, wear that material."
"Oh, sure you can, Caro." She held the dress up next to me as I scowled down at her. "See? With the mink stole I found and your high heels, you'll be the belle of the ball."
"No, I'll be the hooker on call. I won't wear this, Viv," I said firmly. "You'll need to find something else, or I'm just going to wear my own clothes."
"Fine, party pooper," she said with a pout, snatching the dress away from me as her red cape swirled about her. "I'm sure I've got a muumuu or two you can choose from."
"As long as I still get to wear the stole," I replied with a grin. Just wait until I got hold of Merry. She was in for one big spandex-less surprise. I looked from Viv to the offending dress, my eye narrowing as an idea began to stir.
"Viv, what are you doing the night of the festival?"
* * *
"Really, Caro?" Merry stood in my living room, hands on her hips as I twirled around for her. "That's what you're going to wear?"
"Yes," I said, nodding happily. "It's dressy, it's comfortable, and it's my size." I looked down at the brocaded evening gown that Viv had dug out of her back room. Sure, it was missing some of the tiny pearl buttons that marched down the back of the dress, but a few judiciously placed safety pens took care of any flesh-baring gaps. "And it reminds me of something that Queen Elizabeth would wear."
Merry snorted. "If you mean Queen Elizabeth the first, sure."
"Don't be nasty, Merry," I said placidly. "I've even got a handbag and gloves to go with this."
"You're supposed to be the woman that the men all lust after," she protested, "and not make them think of their Great-Aunt Thelma."
I continued strolling around the living room, pausing to wave at an imaginary crowd and causing Merry to laugh.
"Fine. You win," Merry said.
"We thank you." I gave her a regal nod. "Now may we have coffee?"
"You sound like you'r
e trying to channel the psycho killer in Sarah's book," she called over her shoulder as she headed for my kitchen. "Peppermint Bark or Pumpkin Swirl?"
"What do you mean, I sounded like the killer in her new book?" I was sitting across from Merry, cautiously sipping a steaming mug of Pumpkin Swirl coffee. "And how did you get a copy already?"
"The killer is an identical twin, trying to hide the murder behind her sister. And I run a bookstore, Caro. I get to see the books, remember?" She sipped her Peppermint Bark coffee. "This is so good. Aren't you sick to death of all the pumpkin spice things in the stores? I swear, I even saw pumpkin spice tortilla chips the other day."
I laughed, standing up. "And they'd go perfectly with my pumpkin salsa." I opened my food cabinet and showed her the jar. "I got this at a farmer's market last month."
Merry gave a theatrical shudder. "Yuck, Caro. Pumpkin belongs in pie, not dip."
"Why not?" I asked. "And speaking of dip, any plans with Scotty on the horizon?"
"Oh, hilarious," she said, sticking out her tongue. "And for your information, yes, we're going for a quick bite to eat before the festival starts." She closed her eyes, affecting a dreamy expression, "This might just be it, Caro."
"That's great," I exclaimed. "And I've already got the bridesmaid's dress, gloves and all." I gestured to my secondhand find.
"I'll say one thing for that dress. At least you won't be flashing anything at the crowd. There's something to be said for an 'up to here, down to there' type of dress, that's for sure." She shook her head, giving me a critical look.
"Trust me, Merry. There isn't anything that needs to be flashed anywhere, as you so eloquently stated." I gave the brocaded dress a tug. "Besides, I wouldn't want to be responsible for a mass Amish heart failure, right?"
"Too funny. Speaking of Amish, that reminds me." She finished her coffee and waggled the empty mug at me. "That was my caffeine for the day. You want any more?"
I nodded. "Peppermint Bark this time. That smelled really good." I handed her my coffee cup. "What's this about Amish?"
"We're going to have not one but two authors with us at the festival." Merry waited for the blue lights to begin flashing on my single-serve coffee machine and pressed the button.
"As in another book signing, or as in yours truly?" I placed my hand on my chest. "Or have you forgotten that your best friend is a writer as well?"
"No, I haven't, and yes, another." She handed me the mug. "Careful. It's really hot."
"Thank you, mum," I said, taking a sip. It scalded my mouth but I kept my face straight. "So, who's the other author?"
"Believe it or not, it's Lisa Caldwell," Merry said, a huge grin on her face. "I have no idea how she ended up on the local tour, especially since this is the first I'd heard about a new book, but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth."
"Hmm," I said, taking another sip of the flavored coffee. "And both Amish mystery writers at that."
"What do you mean by 'hmm'?" Merry sat back in her chair, arms folded. "Sounds like you know something I don't know."
I shrugged. "Possibly."
"Come on, Caro, give. You can't leave me hanging."
"Well, I've heard," I began, "a few things about a feud."
"Really? Do tell." Merry leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. "Maybe I should schedule their signings at the same time."
"From what I heard at the last writers' conference, that's not a good idea." I took an exploratory sip of coffee. It was now tepid, and I wrinkled my nose. Unless it's an absolute emergency, as in "I-need-caffeine-now," I refuse to drink warmed-up coffee. I scooted the mug to the side.
"Come on, girlfriend. This is like pulling teeth," said Merry. "What did you hear?"
"Well, it's more of what I saw," I said. "There's always a bookstore at the conferences where readers can go and pick up their favorite writers' books, and I saw Lisa Caldwell moving Sarah Lawson's books to the floor behind the counter. The last thing I heard was that Sarah found her books and began throwing Lisa's books into the trash." I held up my hand. "I swear on a stack of all that's holy."
"Yikes." Merry stared at me, lips pursed, a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows. "So maybe I need to make sure that they're not sabotaging each other's book displays."
"My suggestion? See if you can schedule them on separate days."
"I can try," began my neighbor in a doubtful tone. "If not, I might have to get Scotty to play security guard."
"He'd be too busy making goo-goo eyes at the bookstore owner, I think." I grinned at Merry's blushing face. "Maybe I can get Greg to do it."
"That's not a bad idea, Caro." Merry stood to her feet. "I'd better get going. I've still got to get the apples and pumpkins ordered."
"You need to learn how to delegate, Merry." I took another sip of coffee, forgetting it was cold. "You're the head of the Chamber of Commerce, not the do-all."
"Great minds think alike, my friend." Quick as a flash she reached into her pocket and threw a piece of paper down on the table. "Here're the numbers for the suppliers. Just make sure they know where to deliver all the stuff."
If my mug had been empty, I might have been tempted to toss it at her as she went out the front door, laughing like a loon.
* * *
I was looking forward to two things: Greg's homecoming and meeting the two battling authors. Funnily enough, it was somewhat the same reason for both. Greg and I had always had a relationship best described as "iron sharpening iron;" both of our personalities were strong, and we lived for showing one another just how right we were. An odd relationship, sure, but it suited us to a tee.
The two authors, on the other hand, seemed to be focused on showing one another up. I could hardly wait to see the fireworks at the fall festival, to be quite honest. Merry, in spite of her trepidation at having the two in close proximity to one another, had not canceled with either writer, and as the festival grew closer, the more nervous she became.
"I just don't know, Caro," she said late one afternoon as we sat in Candy's Sweets and Treats enjoying a well-deserved break. "I keep having nightmares about those two scratching each other's eyes out or tearing up books." She shuddered. "Ever since you told me about their feud or whatever it is, I can't feel good about having them both here at the same time."
I sipped my latte—a "skinny" version since I was having a cinnamon roll to balance things out—and eyed my friend thoughtfully. I didn't want to discourage the event, but I didn't want her stressed out either. As the chamber of commerce president, she carried a lot of civic weight on her shoulders without the added issue of an out-and-out cat fight.
"Maybe you should get hold of Lisa and suggest the following weekend," I said finally. "We could do something along the lines of a craft demonstration since she's into the Amish lifestyle as well."
Slowly she nodded her head. "That will work. I can absolutely see that happening. Who's gonna call her and make that suggestion?"
My first instinct was to say, it's your bookstore, not mine, but the expression on her face made me relent.
"I'll do it." When she jumped up to hug me, I had to grin. "That's what friends do, Merry. They face down the dragons for each other. Remember what happened to Lucia Scarantelli?" Now that woman had been a terror. Compared to her, Lisa Caldwell was a sweetheart.
"Don't remind me, please." Poor Merry and several other business owners had suffered under the Dragon Lady's rule as the head of the Seneca Meadows Chamber of Commerce. "That's exactly what I'm talking about, Caro. I have no desire for another murder around here."
"Oh, just think of the publicity," I said with a wink. "Your sales will go through the roof with all the ghouls beating a path to your door."
"Hopefully our pretend murder will suffice." She took another sip of her caramel mocha. "I love the new coffee drinks that Candy has on the menu now."
"And just in time for the cooler weather." I loved every season we had in upstate New York. Living on a big island, which is what England really
is, can be difficult for a sun-worshipper. I grew up thinking the sun shone only sporadically, and when it did, everyone headed outdoors. The climate in our part of the United States has something for everyone: sun, snow, rain, and sometimes a combination of weather. The country is verdant, the flowers are gorgeous, and life is good in Seneca Meadows.
"I'm having a hard time getting Viv on board with this whole Pumpkin Caper thing." Merry broke off a corner of her apple turnover and chewed it, a small frown puckering her eyebrows.
I amended my last thought.
Life was good in Seneca Meadows when everyone was on the same page.
"Any idea why that might be? I didn't pick up on anything like that when I was getting my costume from her. Speaking of which," I added as I scooped up the last of the cinnamon roll, "any news from Sarah Lawson?"
"I am so excited about having her at the festival. I absolutely love her new book, Caro." She shot me a mischievous grin. "And you'll make such a good corpse."
"I can hardly wait to hear what my dear hubby says about this," I said with a rueful smile. "He tends to think that I collect dead bodies as it is."
"Well, he'll just have to handle this, right? Besides, it's your civic duty to play dead." Merry laughed and I joined in, picturing Greg's face when I told him about my role in the Pumpkin Caper. Somehow I didn't think that he'd see the humor in it, which is why I hadn't mentioned it in our brief phone calls and texts.
My dear hubby, bless his heart, was under the impression that I preferred being in the midst of a murder investigation instead of writing about them. He had a point, I'd be the first to admit. In the past few years I'd managed to trip over, uncover, discover, and find more than my share of dead bodies. This was the first time, though, that I'd be playing one myself.
"So," I said as I began brushing pastry crumbs off the table and into my hands, "what have you got left to do, festival-wise?"
"As I said, I still need the banners for Main Street, and the pumpkins for the booths. And the apples," she added, staring at me with narrowed eyes. "I take it you called the suppliers? Please tell me you got that done, Caro."
You Can Lead a Horse to Water (Proverbial Crime Mysteries Book 3) Page 2
