by Gayle Leeson
“I can identify.” Jason went on to tell me about the first wedding he shot. “It’s nerve-wracking. You want to do a fantastic job so that your client will recommend you to others, but you also want your client’s special day to be as wonderful as he or she deserves it to be.”
AFTER DINNER, JASON presented his desserts: single servings of tiramisu, turtle cheesecake, and chocolate cake, and one maple brownie.
My eyes widened. “You can’t possibly mean for us to eat all of this?”
“Just a little taste of each.”
“A little taste” turned into our eating most of all four desserts and being so miserable we could barely move. We went into the living room and slumped onto the sofa.
“I suppose a dance marathon is out of the question?” Jason asked.
“For a little while at least. This is as bad as Thanksgiving.”
“No. This is as good as Thanksgiving.” He slipped his hand into mine. “What really kept you from sleeping well last night? Was it bridesmaid dresses, or was it something else?”
I tried to keep my tone light. “Like what?”
“Like Mark Tinsley’s murder.”
“That does cross my mind regularly.” I squeezed his hand. “How about you?”
“I wonder about it. It doesn’t help that I’m in the space he occupied when...when he was shot to death.”
“I know. That can’t be easy. I just wish it was over, that whoever killed Mark was caught, and that all of us at Shops on Main could put this entire thing behind us.”
“So do I...and with our being the new kids in town, we’re at a disadvantage when it comes to guessing who the suspects might be,” Jason said. “Don’t you think? Or maybe you have someone in mind...”
I hesitated a moment too long.
“You have.” He slowly grinned. “Who is it?”
How much should I tell him...if anything? Did I truly know Jason any better than I knew any of the other Shops on Main vendors?
“Come on,” he cajoled.
“I...I think Ford is a little...shady,” I said at last.
“Ford?” He scoffed. “Nah, he sells books. How sketchy could he be?”
“I don’t know. I simply get the feeling he’s hiding something. And Sabine did say that it was someone’s secrets that got Mark killed.”
“Aw, that was one of those vague things phony soothsayers spout to make you think they know what they’re doing.”
I didn’t volunteer the information that Sabine hadn’t seemed like a fake when she’d detected Max in my boutique. “All right then. Who do you think shot Mark?”
“In the detective shows, it’s always the person you least suspect, right?”
I nodded.
“What do you know about Frank and Ella?” he asked.
{ }
Chapter Twenty
“G
ood morning, Pup!”
I was barely awake enough to answer the phone, and I blinked rapidly as I tried to clear my head. “Hi.”
“Did I wake you?”
“No, Grandpa. What’s up?”
“I’m sitting here looking at the newspaper, and there’s an estate sale that starts at two o’clock. I thought we could grab a bite of lunch and then head over. What do you say?”
“I think that’s a great idea.” I stifled a yawn. “What caught your eye?”
“They have some interesting furniture I believe I can refinish and resell.”
I smiled. Grandpa Dave would never be content to sit still for a minute. “Then we’re taking your truck?”
“Yep. I’ll pick you up around noon?”
“Sounds good.”
After ending the call, I raised up on my elbows and looked for Jazzy. She was curled up at the foot of the bed. She wasn’t sleeping, but she was looking at me contentedly.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked the little furball. “You’d normally wake me up way before now.”
The cat raised her head, yawned, and nestled her face back between her paws.
“You have an excellent point.” Still, I managed to resist the temptation to follow Miz Jasmine’s lead and relax back under the covers. There were things I need to do, like update the lookbook on my website and pay some bills. So, with one last longing look at my pillow, I got out of bed.
Jazzy sighed and then stood and stretched. She, too, seemed resigned to the fact that if I was getting out of bed, she might as well get up, eat, and then find another comfy spot to nap.
I fed the cat and then had a cup of coffee while I sketched a new design. The sketch was of an everyday jumpsuit—they were in fashion again—in a 1940s style. The jumpsuit I was creating had wide legs, a high waist, and three-quarter length sleeves. I’d create this one in denim, but I could adapt it to a variety of fabrics and colors.
As I was working on the jumpsuit’s lines, the phone rang. I answered it without looking at the screen. I was guessing Grandpa thought of something else to tell me about the estate sale.
“Hello, Mandy.”
Mom. I managed to hold back a sigh, but I did grit my teeth, expecting round two of the “I can’t believe you did such an idiotic thing” battle.
“Good morning,” I said stiffly. Let’s get this over with.
“I’m sorry I was so quick to fly off the handle with you the other night,” she said.
My jaw dropped. This wasn’t like Mom. Was the woman dying? Did she think I was dying? Was I dying? Did she know something I didn’t?
“Dave tells your Dad and me that you’re doing well,” Mom continued.
I let out a sigh of relief. Good old Grandpa Dave. He was behind this change of heart.
“Thank you. I believe things are going wonderfully.” I told her about some of the commissions I’d gotten so far. I would have told her about Ruby and her frenemy—the groom’s aunt—coming in on the first day, but Dad would appreciate that story more than Mom would, so I saved it for him.
“Your dad and I will see for ourselves in a few weeks.”
“Oh...good.” Was it good? I hoped it would be good. It could go either way. I mean, there was the question of the murder and the stolen jewelry and the fact that my business could all dry up in a few weeks... Or everything could be, well, good.
Also, there was Max. Would Mom and Dad be able to see Max like Grandpa could? Mom was saying something, so I tuned out my thoughts in order to concentrate on her voice.
“...fashion thing fails, you still have an excellent education to fall back on. And I suppose it’s best you do this thing while you’re young, so you have time to recover from a financial and career standpoint.”
I gripped my pencil so tightly I was afraid it might break. Nothing like praise and encouragement from one’s mommy. Still, at this stage of the game, it was as close to encouragement as I was likely to get from her. I thanked her and asked about Toffee, the Yorkshire terrier puppy she and Dad had adopted when they moved to Florida. I was happy to hear that Toffee was doing fine and that Mom had enough anecdotes about him to last for the rest of our conversation.
ON THE WAY TO THE RESTAURANT, I told Grandpa about Mom’s call.
“I owe you big time for telling them I was doing well,” I said.
“You are doing well.”
“Yeah, but...well, you know.” I lolled my head against the back of the seat. “She’s threatening to come for a visit in a few weeks.”
“Don’t borrow trouble, Pup. Cross that bridge when you get to it. All we’re going to concern ourselves with today is what we can find at this estate sale.”
“Right. And, by the way, I didn’t mention anything about the stolen jewelry or the murder or Max or any of the really juicy stuff going on at Shops on Main.”
“Neither did I.”
“Oh, I could tell. Had you mentioned it, she and Dad would’ve been on their way up here to get me and drag me to Florida with them.”
He chuckled. “Well, I’m not about to let that happen...at least, not if I can help it. I say we never
say anything about any of the mysterious happenings unless we’re either directly asked or wind up being celebrated heroes with our names in the news.”
“Um, let’s definitely keep our names out of the news. If they find out all of this was going on and we didn’t tell them, they’re going to be furious with both of us.”
AFTER A LUNCH OF PARMESAN chicken, wild rice, and green beans, Grandpa and I headed to the estate sale.
“I’m particularly interested in an Americana dining room set that was listed. If I can buy it and refinish it, I can probably make a nice profit from it.”
Grandpa Dave pulled into a subdivision where a large ESTATE SALE sign let us know we were headed in the right direction. We drove past the immaculate two-story home where someone was obviously still caring for the lawn and exterior. I could only imagine the interior was as well-maintained. Since there were a number of vehicles already lining the street—and it was still about five minutes until two—we had to park two houses down and walk back.
The sellers hadn’t let people in early, but they were opening the door just as we started up the walk. Ahead of us, I spotted Ford.
He turned, saw us, and fell back. “Hey, there.”
“Hi,” I said.
“How are you doing, Ford?”
“Doing well, Mr. Tucker. And yourself?”
“Myself is doing fine. And I’ve asked you to call me Dave. That Mr. Tucker business makes me feel like an old man.”
Ford chuckled. “Sorry. What brings you to the sale?”
Grandpa told him about the dining room furniture he was there to see. “What about you?”
“Estate sales are often excellent sources of rare and vintage books.”
When we got inside, I glimpsed a sewing room. I turned to Grandpa.
“Go,” he said, with a grin. “I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes.”
I wove through the crowd to the room where the piece de resistance was a 1939 Singer 201 sewing machine. I was tempted to buy it, just to display it in Designs on You, but I couldn’t justify the extravagance when I was just starting out and owed Grandpa for my start-up costs.
I moved on to a tin filled with beautiful buttons, many of which I was sure were antiques. This, I could afford, and I snapped it up before another buyer could beat me to it.
I stepped back into the living room to look for Grandpa. I didn’t see him, but I did find myself standing beside George Meacham.
“Mr. Meacham! What a nice surprise!”
He smiled broadly. “Hello, pretty dressmaker!”
“Is Mrs. Meacham here?” I asked.
Looking like a mischievous child, he shook his head. “I’m here with Roscoe. We’re looking for something nice to get for Mother.”
“How sweet of you.”
Grandpa joined us then, and I introduced them.
“Your daughter is very pretty and very kind,” George said. “She made a dress for my mother.”
“Amanda does make some beautiful clothes. I imagine your mother looks lovely in the dress,” Grandpa said.
“She does. She truly does.” George’s face abruptly clouded. “I miss Mother. I want to go home and see her.”
I was glad that Brett showed up then because I didn’t know how to respond to Mr. Meacham’s last statement. I didn’t want to say anything that would upset him.
“Hey, buddy! I wondered where you’d wandered off to,” Brett said, with a nod at me. “Amanda...Mr. Tucker, hi. Good to see you again.”
“Nice to see you too,” I said.
Grandpa and Brett exchanged pleasantries, and then Grandpa said he needed to go get the truck to load the dining room set he’d bought. “I also bought a chifforobe that I’m confident I can restore into a beautiful piece.”
“We need to run too,” Brett said to George. “We’ll be in big trouble with Melba if we’re late.”
George tsked. “Melba worries too much.”
We waved goodbye to George and Brett and then hurried to Grandpa’s truck. I was relieved that the sellers had plenty of help to load the furniture. I just wondered what we’d do when we got it home.
When we got to Grandpa’s house, I realized that this wasn’t Grandpa’s first estate sale. The man was a pro. He had a truck ramp, a dolly, and furniture sliders on hand to get the furniture out of the truck and into his workshop.
LATE THAT AFTERNOON when we returned to my house, I invited Grandpa to play rummy. I put some pretzels in a bowl and moved the lilies from the center of the table to the island. I’d placed a sheet of aluminum foil underneath the vase so Jazzy wouldn’t knock it over, and I made sure to move that to the island too.
Grandpa lifted a brow when he saw the flowers, but he didn’t say anything...yet. I knew him too well to believe for an instant that he wasn’t going to comment on them sooner or later.
I poured us some lemonade and then handed Grandpa the deck of cards.
As he shuffled and dealt the cards, I told him about Max not having enough energy to be present at Shops on Main all the time.
“I felt like a louse yesterday after I demanded to know where she’d been when I called to her after I first arrived. She said she thought she was a friend, not a servant and that she didn’t know she was required to come when I summoned her.”
“Did you apologize?”
“Of course.” I sorted the seven cards in my hand. I had a pair of queens, an ace, a three and four in the same suit, and a two. I drew a five in the suit I needed and discarded the two.
“Then I’m confident that Max understood you were merely anxious over everything that had happened.” Grandpa drew a card and then discarded a four. “Are you sure you want to remain at Shops on Main? I know you enjoy Max’s company, but you can’t risk your physical well-being or peace of mind being somewhere you don’t feel safe.”
“I know...but I want to give the situation more time. Now that the police are on to Janice, it’s only a matter of time before they learn who her partners are and whether or not they had anything to do with Mark’s death. Right?” I drew a six and discarded it.
“I hope so, Pup.”
“Max said she left right after we did on Friday night, so she didn’t see who gave the police entrance into the building and Janice’s boutique.”
Grandpa studied his cards before discarding a ten. “Unless the police have a key to the business, it was most likely Mrs. Meacham.”
I frowned at him. “Why would the police have a key to Shops on Main?”
“That’s how they did things in the olden days...back when I rode a dinosaur to school. The police had a key to every building in town.”
“Oh, they did not.”
He laughed. “I’m trying to throw you off your game. I have a feeling you’re going to beat me this hand. But seriously, unless Mrs. Meacham has another person on whom she can rely in an emergency—Frank or one of the other vendors maybe—then she’d have to be the one to grant the police entry.”
“Janice wasn’t there yesterday.” I drew another queen. “Do you suppose the police arrested her?”
“I don’t know. Without finding the jewelry, I imagine they could question her but do little else. The search warrant for her shop wouldn’t extend to her home. And, anyway, she’d be sure to hide it somewhere else before any other warrants could be obtained for her house and her car.”
“So, you think she’ll be back tomorrow?”
“I couldn’t say.” He nodded his head toward the flowers on the island. “Now why don’t you tell me about your date?”
“It went well.” I couldn’t discard and displayed my cards to show Grandpa that I’d won.
He shook his head. “And me sitting here holding two aces. I’m glad I didn’t have any money on this game.”
We never gambled, but every time Grandpa lost, he said he was glad he didn’t have any money on the game. And every time he won, he’d tell me I owed him a Coke.
I reveled in the game, the company, the peaceful camaraderi
e. I refused to think about tomorrow when who knew what would happen next at Shops on Main.
{ }
Chapter Twenty-One
O
n Monday morning, I was working on the final bridesmaid muslin when Janice came in. Max had been sitting at the desk in the reception area reading A Tale of Two Cities when Janice walked through the reception room door. The ghostly fashionista had just enough time to get to me and shout “Incoming” before the jewelry shop owner strode into the workshop.
“Good morning.” Her tone was icy, and her eyes darted around the atelier rather than focusing on me.
I remained seated at the sewing machine. “Hi, Janice.” I started to ask how she was doing or to make some other small talk, but it was apparent that she was here for a reason. I held my tongue, so she’d go ahead and get to the point of her visit.
“Mrs. Meacham said you and your grandfather were quick to help out on Friday night when my smoke detector went haywire.”
I shrugged slightly. “I hope you’d do the same for me if you thought my shop was in jeopardy.”
Max scoffed. “I highly doubt she would.”
“The smoke alarm turned out to be the least of my worries on Friday.” Janice finally pierced me with a hard stare. “Do you know what else happened?”
“What?”
“The police received an anonymous tip that there was stolen jewelry in my boutique.”
“You’re kidding!” I tried to force just enough incredulity into my tone and prayed my expression wouldn’t betray me.
“Nope.” She picked up the shears from the corner of the sewing machine table and ran her index finger along the edge.
Max gasped. “Don’t you dare threaten us, you pillowcase!”
“Of course, when Brett let the police into the shop, they didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.”
“That’s a relief,” I said.
“A relief?” She slowly blinked.
“Well...sure. Everything was all right.”
Janice leaned down closer to my face. “It wasn’t all right. The police thought I was in possession of stolen property!”
