by Gayle Leeson
“Pause...that’s good...now slowly walk toward me please.”
“And that young man,” Connie’s customer said. “Wonder what he’d charge to do photographs?”
“He’ll have an office upstairs starting on Monday, so I’m sure you could stop by,” Connie said. “I imagine there will be high school seniors from all over the region hitting him up pretty soon, so I’d try to schedule with him early.”
Janice came in through the back door, strode through the hall, and gazed around at the scene. “What’s going on here?”
“Jason is photographing some of my designs,” I said, as she neared the bottom of the staircase.
“Humph. Too bad so much of my jewelry got destroyed. I could’ve sold you some nice accessories.”
I let that comment pass. Janice had been through a lot these past few days. Jason and I went back into Designs on You.
“I need to send Connie some chocolates or something,” he said. “She was really talking us up out there.”
“I heard and was thinking the same thing.”
“Great minds...” He winked.
He was so handsome...those tropical ocean eyes...that full mouth...
Max snapped her fingers causing me to blink. “Snap out of it, darling. We don’t want him to think you’re desperate.”
“So...what’s next?” I asked.
“You tell me. I’m at your service.”
Max sighed. “I see why you’re looking all dopey now. You need to give it right back to him.”
“I don’t know how...”
At Jason’s questioning look, I added, “—to choose. I don’t know how to choose.”
He nodded toward the dress form wearing the prête a porter dress. “What about that one?”
“All right. That one it is.” I took the dress off the form and went behind the screen to change.
“I need help with these buttons,” Max said.
“I need help with these buttons?” I echoed.
“Sure, no problem.” Jason stepped around the screen and began unfastening the pearl buttons.
My eyes flew to Max, who was laughing and clapping her hands.
“How did you manage to get this on earlier?” Jason asked. “Was somebody here to help you?”
“No...and it wasn’t easy,” I said. “I can be quite the contortionist when I need to be.”
Max gave me two thumbs up, and my eyes widened when I realized how that must have sounded.
“Good to know.” Jason finished unbuttoning the gown. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“Oooh...loaded question,” Max said. “So many good things you can say to that. How about ‘not at the moment’?”
“Um...not at the moment.”
“All right. I’m just in the other room if you need me.”
“Thank you.”
Max fanned her face with both hands. “That man was looking at the small of your back the way a child looks at a chocolate cake.”
“Max!”
“What’s that?” Jason called from the front room.
“I...I was just saying that...Max...Mara...has been an influence on some of my designs.”
“Good save,” said Max.
“Cool,” said Jason.
I quickly changed into the ready-to-wear dress, changed the pearl earrings for jet buttons, and put on black and white pumps. I pulled my hair back in a clip and placed a wide-brimmed white hat with a black grosgrain ribbon onto my head.
“Fantastic!” Jason said, raising the camera to his eye. “Give me a three-sixty.”
I did a full turn.
“Great.” He lowered the camera. “Let’s take this one outside. Some street scenes will be fun.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said. The farther I could get away from Max right now the better. Who knew what my ghostly gal pal would have me saying next?
WHEN WE RETURNED TO Shops on Main, Grandpa Dave was there with the finished shelf. Frank and Ford were helping him lug it inside the building. I rushed to unlock the door to Designs on You, while Jason hurried to help the men.
The shelf was a masterpiece. All the vendors came to look at it, and upon hearing the noise from out in the hall, Mrs. Meacham did too.
“Why, this is beautiful,” Mrs. Meacham said, running her hand along the smooth walnut wood. “How long have you been doing carpentry work?”
“Nearly all my life,” said Grandpa Dave. “It’s just a hobby, but I enjoy it. Before I retired, it got me through the stresses of my day. Now it’s merely a relaxing but productive way to pass the time.”
“You call that passing the time?” Connie asked as she came into the room. “That scrollwork across the top is magnificent.”
Grandpa beamed. “I appreciate it, but I just wanted to make Amanda something she could be proud of.”
I kissed his cheek. “I am proud of it. I love it. It’s wonderful.”
“I don’t want to hold you up,” he began.
“Nonsense,” I interrupted, introducing him to Jason. “We have one more outfit to do, and then I thought we could all go to lunch—well, anyone who wants to go, that is.”
Connie, Frank, and Ford all said they needed to get back to work. Mrs. Meacham said she needed to get home—some of the grandchildren were coming by later. But Grandpa Dave and Jason said they’d love to go to lunch.
I changed into a sort of steampunk-inspired black and gold brocade jacket that was short in the front and calf-length in the back. I paired the jacket with black silk pants and strappy black heels and was grateful the air conditioning was working well in the shop.
Jason decided that the outfit inspired some moodier shots. Using only one light source, he shot images of me standing both in front of the Oriental screen and by the shelf Grandpa Dave had made. He then pulled one of the navy chairs away from the window and put it near the fireplace for some seated shots.
“These will be beautiful,” he said, looking at the digital images on his camera’s screen. “I believe you’re going to be really happy with them.”
“Thank you so much for doing this. Let me get changed, and I’ll buy you guys lunch.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Jason said.
I looked from him to Grandpa and back again. “It’s my pleasure.”
“It isn’t every day you get to take two handsome men to lunch,” Max said.
Starting slightly because I hadn’t been aware Max was there, I echoed my friend’s sentiment before going behind the screen to change.
Max clasped her hands together. “I can hardly wait to see the final photographs. They’re all going to be wonderful.”
“How can you be so sure?” I whispered. “I might look like a troll in all of them.”
“Nonsense. You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re quite lovely.”
“Thanks.”
“You’ll look like a queen. And you can make an enlargement of the one you like best and put it over the fireplace.”
“Wouldn’t that seem a little much?”
“Amanda, you need help with anything?” Grandpa called.
“Nope. Fine. Be right there.”
Max laughed. “No, it wouldn’t be a little much. It would be great for business—yours and Jason’s. And that is his excuse for doing this.”
“Excuse?” I remembered to whisper this time.
“Oh, darling, he wants to get to know you. Embrace it.”
I finished dressing and stepped back into the sitting area. Max threw Grandpa Dave a kiss, and he winked at her. I managed to avoid rolling my eyes at the two of them. Jason probably thought I was nutty already for “mumbling to myself” while changing clothes.
ONCE WE’D PLACED OUR orders at the café, I broached the subject of the photographs.
“Jason, I do wish you’d let me pay you for your work this morning.”
“Nothing doing. It was my idea, and I’m sure it will help promote my business.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a cl
ient base yet. It might be a while before you get any work from your photographs being featured in Designs on You.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Grandpa said. “I brought my work into your shop first thing this morning, and Connie has already asked me to come by and quote her a price on redoing her kitchen cabinets. So, see? The potential for getting work through your shop is greater than you think.”
“Besides, your client list will likely grow faster than you think it will. My friend Garic Stephens owns a fashion design business called Lavelle in Glade Spring, Virginia. Garic is originally from Chicago, and I believe he had some reservations when he first opened, but his business is booming.”
“That’s fantastic,” I said. “I’d love to talk with him sometime.”
“I do a lot of work with him. I’ll ask him to stop by the next time he’s in Abingdon, and I’ll bring him downstairs to your shop.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you always been a photographer?” Grandpa Dave asked Jason.
“Yes, sir, as a hobby anyway. I went to college and got a photography degree, and I worked in department store photo labs and freelanced until I could save enough to open my own business. My previous location wasn’t that great, so I jumped at the chance to lease a space at Shops on Main.”
“You had a better plan than I did,” I said. “I saw the space and decided—overnight—that I wanted to open my own business.”
Jason raised his glass of soda. “To your courage.”
“Here, here.” Grandpa Dave raised his glass as well.
I joined in the fun, and we clinked our glasses together. I just hoped my courage didn’t turn out to be a case of foolhardy temerity.
I RETURNED TO SHOPS on Main after lunch. Grandpa and Jason got into their vehicles and went their separate ways. I told Grandpa I’d see him tomorrow at his house. Jazzy and I often went over on Sundays to spend the afternoon with him.
I didn’t see Max, but I prepared my tablet to stream The Thin Man. I left a sticky note instructing Max to hit the play button to enjoy the movie.
Gathering up my things to leave, I heard a noise upstairs and realized that either Janice or Ford must be in the building. I took my garment bag and train case to my car and saw that a pickup truck was the only other vehicle in the parking lot. I couldn’t in a million years imagine Janice driving a truck and guessed it must be Ford who was still there. I decided to go check out his shop and thank him again for his help.
I went back inside the building and up the stairs to Antiquated Editions. The door was closed, so I tapped lightly. When he didn’t answer right away, I thought I must be mistaken about Ford’s still being there; but then he called for me to come in.
I walked inside and smiled at the beefy man standing behind the counter. “I just wanted to thank you again for helping Grandpa Dave with the furniture both yesterday and today.”
“No problem. It was my pleasure.”
“If there’s ever anything I can do for you, please let me know.”
He chuckled. “If I ever need a pretty dress, I’ll know who to come to.”
I smiled. “Well, I don’t make men’s clothing, but I can hem pants or tailor a shirt if you ever need it.”
“Good to know.”
“Mind if I look around a bit?”
“Help yourself.”
As I wandered around the shop, I continued to talk with Ford. “Is it weird working here now...you know, after what happened to Mark?”
“A little.”
“I can tell Grandpa is worried about my being here. He told me to never work too late and find myself here alone.”
“Aw, honey, I don’t think you’ve got anything to fear here. I mean, it’s always a good idea to be aware of your surroundings and not to work too late by yourself no matter where you are, but I don’t think Mark’s death was a random killing.”
“You don’t?”
He shook his shaggy head. “I believe Mark had a lot of personal problems and that one of those came back to bite him.”
“Really? You think Mark was involved in something shady?”
Ford raised his hands. “I’m not one to speak out of turn or poorly of the dead—and Mark seemed like a nice enough kid, given the little I knew about him—but the boy’s money had to be going somewhere, and it wasn’t being put toward his rent or growing his business.”
“Maybe he just wasn’t making that much. I mean, is web design still a lucrative business for an entrepreneur when it’s so easy for people to make websites on their own?”
“I couldn’t say. You would think a designer would do better working for a corporation or something, wouldn’t you?”
I stopped at a locked case where there was an obviously old copy of A Tale of Two Cities. I caught my breath as I turned back toward Ford. “Is this a first edition?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He beamed. “One of my pride and joy books. It’s been professionally re-backed, but as much of the original back strip as possible was left in place.”
“It must be worth a fortune.”
“To me, it’s priceless. In that same case there, I have a first edition of The Old Man and The Sea, a first edition Edgar Allan Poe Tales of Mystery and Imagination illustrated by Arthur Rackham, and a first edition of Louisa May Alcott’s Little Men.”
“That’s fantastic!”
“Thank you. That’s my treasure chest.” He got a dreamy look in his dark eyes. “Did you know that a first edition of Poe’s first book Tamerlane and Other Poems was sold at auction in 2009 for $662,500? It set a new record for a work of American literature.”
“Tamerlane...I’ve never even heard of it.”
“You’ll have to look it up. It’s said that Poe wrote the work before he was fourteen years old and it was published when he was eighteen.”
“Do you have a copy of it here?”
“No. I’m sure you can find a cheap copy of it in paperback online, if you’re interested. The original book was so rare that a Christie’s auction house expert called it the ‘black tulip of U.S. literature.’ Only fifty copies were printed in 1857.”
“Weren’t you worried about your ‘treasure chest’ when Janice’s shop was robbed?” I asked.
“At first, I was a bit concerned, but the fact that nothing valuable was taken from Janice’s shop made me feel that we didn’t have a thief running around.”
“Do you think the break-in was connected to Mark’s murder? They were dating, you know.”
Ford guffawed. “Who are you? Nancy Drew?”
“Just a concerned new shop owner,” I said, feeling a blush creeping up my face.
“Well, you might be right that whoever broke into Janice’s shop was looking for something other than jewelry or money. But either way, don’t worry so much. Everything is going to be fine. I’ve been here for four years, and I’ve never had the first hint of a problem.”
“Thanks.” After buying a beautiful leather-bound copy of A Tale of Two Cities—nothing rare, just one of my favorite books—I told Ford again how much I appreciated his help with the furniture, wished him a good weekend, and left.
I hoped he was right and that the nightmare of Mark’s death was behind us. But I had a feeling that it wasn’t.
{ }
Chapter Eight
I
went home and worked on a ready-to-wear dress for the rest of the afternoon. I wanted to be able to showcase a range of sizes I was able to work with, rather than have my customers come in, see the one size—mine—on display and believe that was all I could or would do. I was proud of the fact that I could design a piece to flatter each woman, no matter what her size or shape.
I took a dinner break at about six o’clock. I went into the kitchen, opened my laptop, and did a search for quick and easy recipes. While cooking wasn’t my passion, I did enjoy it, and I liked trying new dishes. I found a tuna casserole that baked in a pie crust. Fortunately, I already had a frozen pie crust, and I always kept tuna on hand. The
recipe called for shredded cheese, which I didn’t have, but I did have some single serving sizes of Colby jack in the fridge that I could cut up. I quickly prepared the casserole and placed it in the preheated oven.
While the casserole baked, I decided to see if I could find any information on my great-grandfather—the one Max had dated. I recalled that his name was George Channing. I searched for George Channing and 1929. Nothing. But, of course, my great-grandpa wouldn’t be found through a random search engine inquiry—he wasn’t a celebrity or anything. I went back to the Abingdon Virginian archives, and there I hit pay dirt.
There was a photo of George—nice looking, I could see a resemblance to Grandpa Dave—returning from a tour of duty in Nicaragua. He’d been a marine, and he looked dapper and brave in his uniform. No wonder Max had taken such a shine to him. I saved the photo to my phone.
I continued looking through the search results for George Channing and saw that in December of 1930, George had attended a party with Dorothy Englebright. Surely, this woman was Max’s sister. But why would George be with her? I had the brief, perverse thought: You don’t think Dorothy pushed Max down the stairs so she could have George, do you?
I immediately felt guilty for having such a thought. But it wouldn’t quit nagging at me either.
AFTER DINNER, I FINISHED the dress before taking my new book and going to bed. I put on my pajamas and propped my pillows against the headboard. Before leaning back, I gently ran my fingers across the embossed title—A Tale of Two Cities. My mind drifted back to being in Ford’s shop. I imagined much of Ford’s business would be conducted online. How many people were walking in off the street and plunking down hundreds—or even thousands—of dollars for some of the rarest editions? Of course, until today, I’d never considered I’d be walking into Antiquated Editions and paying sixty dollars for this leather-bound copy of A Tale of Two Cities. But the book was one of my favorites...and it was more of a way to pay Ford back for his help than anything...although I did love the book. I hugged it to my chest. Maybe Ford got more foot traffic than I had initially imagined.
