Designs On Murder

by Gayle Leeson

  My phone rang. I ignored it and said, “I’m sorry, but why are you ranting to me about it?”

  “Because I want to know if you gave the police a false report against me.”

  “I most certainly did not.” I backed my chair enough away from Janice that I could stand. “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to leave so I can return to my work.”

  My phone continued to ring. I picked it up off the worktable and answered it, not daring to turn my back to Janice, who was still holding my shears and looking a bit deranged.

  “Hello,” I said, thinking it odd that there wasn’t a number on my screen identifying the caller.

  “Don’t let that pillowcase make off with your scissors.”

  “Max?” My eyes darted around the room, but I didn’t see her.

  “Yes. I’m providing a distraction. Now, get those scissors and tell her to ankle on out of here.”

  I looked at Janice. “I need to take this call. I’d appreciate it if you’d put my shears back where you got them and ankle back upstairs.”

  Janice slammed the shears back onto the table and stormed out through the workshop door.

  “It’s bad luck not to leave through the same door you entered,” Max said. “But that’s fine. Maybe she needs some bad luck.”

  “And we need some good luck.” I sank back onto my chair and rolled to the sewing machine. “She believes I ratted her out.”

  “But you didn’t. Dave did.”

  “That doesn’t matter. And, frankly, I’d rather she think it was me.”

  In an instant, Max’s voice was coming from beside me rather than through the phone. “It’ll be all right. I’m not about to let anything happen to you or to Dave.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, but how are you going to prevent it?”

  Before Max could answer, the atelier door opened. Thinking Janice was back, I whirled around. I breathed a sigh of relief when Connie walked in. She was carrying a mug and held it aloft as she strolled over to the sewing machine.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you, but I’m having some chamomile and thought I’d pop in to see if you’d like some.”

  “Thank you,” I said with a smile, “but I’ve had my coffee so I should be in good shape for a while.”

  Connie gazed at the muslins hanging on the clothes rack behind me. “I’m looking forward to seeing the actual gowns. What color are they going to be?”

  “Egyptian blue.”

  She drew her brows together. “Is that dark or light blue?”

  “Somewhere between royal and navy. It’s a gorgeous color.”

  “I can imagine.” She took a sip of her tea before asking if I had a good weekend.

  “I did. Grandpa and I went to an estate sale, and I bought a tin filled with buttons.”

  “I absolutely adore buttons,” Connie said. “Do you have them here?”

  “I do. If you can come back sometime this afternoon, we’ll pour them all out and go through them.”

  “I’ll be looking forward to it.” She grinned. “By the way, please tell Dave I’m still trying to persuade my husband to let me have those new kitchen cabinets and that I believe I’m wearing him down.”

  I laughed. “I’ll tell him.”

  AN ELEGANT WOMAN WHO appeared to be in her late-fifties to early-sixties and had her light brown hair in an updo came into the reception area at about four o’clock that afternoon. She wore a black pantsuit and low-heeled pumps.

  I’d heard the door open and came out of the atelier to greet her. “Hello, and welcome to Designs on You.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled. “I saw that there was a new shop here and was curious. What do you do exactly?”

  “I create custom clothing, mostly from vintage patterns. I really love styles from the 30s, 40s, and 50s especially.”

  “I see.” She gave the reception area a dismissive glance. “Is this all you have?”

  “At the moment. Most of the work I do is done on commission. For example, I’m currently making dresses for a wedding party.”

  She gave a not-so-elegant grunt and wandered over to look at the emerald gown that was on the mannequin.

  “If you need help with anything, please let me know,” I said.

  As Ms. Updo browsed, a young mom—I guessed her to be in her early thirties—came in with a boy in tow. The boy appeared to be nine or ten years old and was wearing a denim backpack. At first glance, the backpack seemed to be trying to come alive, but I dismissed it as my eyes playing tricks on me. It was good I was taking a break from the sewing machine for a few minutes.

  “Hi,” said the mom to me, with a weary smile. She released the boy’s hand and asked if he’d have a seat on one of the navy chairs by the window. “Mommy won’t be long.”

  “I don’t want to,” the boy grumbled.

  “Joey, please.”

  Her voice was firm now, and I imagined Joey understood that it meant business because he sat on one of the chairs.

  “Grumpy little Gus, isn’t he?” Max asked. “Although I’ll take him over Ms. Snooty Britches any day.”

  I fought back a giggle and focused on the mom. “How can I help you?”

  “My husband’s company has a picnic every Labor Day, and most of the other wives look really cute and put-together. I always feel as if I look dowdy in comparison.”

  From the corner of my eye, I spotted a small, brown, furry head poking out of the top of Joey’s backpack. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped.

  What is that?

  And then the animal was completely out of the backpack and running down Joey’s arm. It was a ferret.

  Joey laughed as an albino ferret joined its friend in escaping the backpack.

  First, they were on Joey. Then they were on the floor. They were hopping forward, backward, and sideways.

  “Weasels!” Max screeched.

  “Joey Conrad, gather up Biscuits and Gravy right this instant!” Joey’s mom demanded.

  Apparently, like Jazzy, the ferrets could see Max. In an effort to get to her, one of them climbed Ms. Updo’s back and snatched her hair off her head. Turns out, the updo was a wig. Ms. Updo screamed.

  “They’re coming after me! Why are they after me?” Max yelled.

  Awakened by the commotion, Jazzy prowled into the reception area from the atelier and crouched with her butt twitching in the air. Meanwhile, one of the ferrets—I briefly wondered if Biscuits or Gravy was the albino—made off with its prize while the other ferret tried to steal the wig from its pal. I didn’t think the wig suited the coloring of either one, and I had no idea how to take control of this entire situation.

  I watched helplessly as Ms. Updo tried to reclaim her hair, Joey and his mother tried to catch the ferrets, Max swatted at the “weasels,” and Jazzy tried to decide whether she wanted to try and catch one of the ferrets or nab the wig. She must’ve decided the wig was the prize since the ferrets were engaging in a tug-or-war over it. She pounced and landed right in the middle of it.

  Both ferrets hopped backwards and sideways as they weighed their odds against wrestling the wig away from the cat. But Ms. Updo was an opponent none of the three furballs had considered, and she reached down and grabbed the wig.

  “I’ll not be back in this circus of a shop again,” Ms. Updo said with a huff as she stomped out, leaving the door open in her wake.

  “No!” I cried.

  Too little, too late. Both ferrets and Jazzy had taken off into the hall. Joey, his mom, and I ran after them.

  The albino ferret skittered into Connie’s shop as Jazzy chased the other one down toward Everthing Paper.

  “Oh, hello!” Connie cooed, sweeping the animal into her arms. “Aren’t you precious?”

  Behind me, I heard Joey’s mother thanking Connie for coming to the rescue. I followed Jazzy and Biscuit—or was it Gravy?—into Everything Paper.

  “Frank, it’s a wharf rat!” Ella’s hand flew to her heart.

  “No, it’s just a ferret,” I sa
id.

  The long, skinny creature shimmied up the counter and knocked over a jar of pencils. The noise caught its attention, and it grabbed a pencil between its teeth and ran over the register. Ella and Frank had an old-fashioned cash register to enhance the bygone atmosphere of their shop. The ferret hit just the right key or keys to make the drawer come sliding open. Pleased with this new development, the ferret took its front paws and flung coins out onto the floor as quickly as it could.

  Jazzy hopped onto the counter.

  “Frank, do something!”

  “Like what, Ella?”

  I reached for Jazzy. “One down.”

  Max was peering around from behind Frank.

  “Hopefully, two down.” It was Joey’s mother. She reached for the ferret, missed, and it jumped to the floor and ran toward the back of the store.

  “Darn it, Gravy! Get back here!”

  So, that one was Gravy. There was one burning question answered. And, yet, there were so many more.

  Joey’s mom finally cornered Gravy, scooped it up, and returned it to Joey’s backpack. She puffed out her cheeks and turned to Ella and Frank. “Did he destroy anything?”

  Frank shook his head. “Livened up the morning, if you want the truth. He can even keep the pencil.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ella simply shook her head and began picking the coins up off the floor.

  I walked with Joey’s mom back into the hallway.

  “I’m sorry about your other customer,” she said.

  “I don’t think she was ever going to be my customer. And I have to agree with Frank—Biscuit and Gravy certainly did liven up the place.”

  She smiled. “I’ll be back one day when Joey is at school.”

  I RETURNED TO DESIGNS on You and closed the door behind me. I sat Jazzy onto floor and sank onto one of the navy chairs by the window.

  Max appeared on the other one. “Frank and Ella are still having it out because she thought he should’ve captured the ferret. He’s telling her he didn’t want to get bit.” She tried to mimic Frank’s gravelly voice. “What if the thing had rabies, Ella? You ever think of that?”

  I laughed. “That was wild.”

  “It was. I’m glad they gave Ms. Snooty Britches what for.”

  “I was calling her Ms. Updo in my mind.”

  “Not after the weasels got through with her.” She threw back her head and chortled along with me.

  Connie opened the door and eased inside. “I thought I heard you laughing.”

  I wiped tears from the corners of my eyes. “Is that terrible?”

  “No.” She smiled. “Ferrets are notorious thieves. They didn’t make off with any of your buttons, did they?”

  I shook my head. “The only treasures they discovered here was the wig of someone who I highly doubt was going to be a customer anyway and a pencil at Everything Paper.”

  “I saw the lady leave with her wig clenched in her fist. It was a nice wig. I didn’t realize it was a wig while she was here.”

  “Neither did I.” I rose and went over to the mantle where I’d placed the tin containing the buttons. I took the tin back, opened the lid, and poured some of the buttons onto the table between the two chairs.

  Connie picked up one. “Oh, wow, Amanda. This one is enamel. Look how delicate it is.”

  It was delicate. It was a small white button with a pink rose surrounded by smaller blue flowers.

  “It looks Victorian,” I said, picking through the buttons to see if I could find another. I did and held it up for Connie to see.

  In all, we found four of those. Since the buttons were small, I thought they would look best on a silk blouse or shirt dress.

  We found some large, oval mother-of-pearl buttons as well as some silver buttons with dogwood blooms carved in the centers that I thought would look great on my denim jumpsuit.

  As we pawed through the buttons discovering all the treasures the tin yielded, Connie said, “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Someone was in my shop earlier and said she heard on the radio that the police are asking for the public’s help locating a stolen necklace. It disappeared from an estate sale yesterday.”

  My hands stilled. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. You didn’t steal a necklace while you were at the sale yesterday, did you?”

  I shook my head. “Not me.”

  But who? A chill snaked down my spine as I wondered if someone else from Shops on Main had. And if that necklace was now upstairs at Janice’s Jewelry.

  { }

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  C

  onnie noticed my hands were trembling as she helped me get the buttons back into the tin. “Are you all right?”

  “D-did Janice tell you what happened...here...on Friday night?”

  “No.”

  “Janice’s smoke alarm went off. Grandpa was here, and we went up to help Mrs. Meacham investigate.”

  “Was everything okay? I mean, I’m guessing it was...” Connie trailed off.

  “It was a false alarm. Mrs. Meacham determined that the smoke detector needed a new battery. But, then, this morning, Janice came down here and accused me of falsely reporting to the police that she had stolen jewelry in her shop.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous. Why would Janice even think that?”

  “She thinks it because the police did come to Shops on Main on Friday night, and they searched her boutique,” I said.

  Connie gaped at me. “That’s the first I’ve heard of it. But why does she think you had anything to do with the police investigating her?”

  “I’m guessing she’d already spoken with Mrs. Meacham about it, and Mrs. Meacham said it wasn’t her.” I didn’t trust Connie enough to give her the entire story. “And I did see that jewelry Janice said she’d made for one of her clients. You remember—she had such a conniption about it.”

  “She did, didn’t she? And you think that jewelry is stolen?”

  “I didn’t say that.” I chose my words carefully. “But it could be why Janice believes I’m the one who filed the false report.”

  “That could be.” She snorted. “You didn’t see her at the estate sale stuffing a necklace into her pocket, did you?”

  “No...but Ford was there, and so were George and Brett Meacham.”

  Connie shook her head. “You don’t think Ford or Brett would steal anything, do you? Ford is a good guy, and so is Brett. Brett handles everything after hours here at Shops on Main for Melba because she can’t leave George at night.” She patted my shoulder. “You’ll get to know everybody in time. I think you’re letting your imagination get the best of you because of...you know...Mark. And Janice might be doing the same thing.”

  I nodded. “You’re probably right.”

  “It’s quitting time, and I need to be getting home. Have a good night.”

  “You too.”

  Connie left but instead of hearing her footsteps recede to Delightful Home, I heard them going up the stairs. I looked up at the ceiling before closing my eyes to see if I could determine what direction she’d taken at the top of the staircase. Had she gone to see Janice, Mrs. Meacham, or Ford?

  “I’ll see what’s going on,” Max said softly.

  I’d forgotten she was there. “Thank you.”

  I sat at the reception desk, took my calendar from the drawer, and called Heather. She answered right away.

  “Hi, Heather. I’ve finished all the bridesmaids’ muslins, and I wanted to see if you want to be here for their fittings. If so, I’ll schedule the women to come in all at once.”

  “No,” Heather said. “I don’t need to see the muslins, but I do want to be there for the fitting when you have the finished gowns.”

  “All right. I’ll have each of the women come in at their earliest convenience so that when the fabric gets here, I can make the dresses.”

  “Sounds terrific. I’m so glad you’re doing this. And my grandma is thrilled about her dress too.”

  I just ho
ped I lived long enough to make Heather’s bridesmaids’ gowns and Ruby’s dress. Janice—and now Connie—weren’t making me feel very confident about that at the moment. Of course, I merely thanked Heather and ended the call.

  Then I waited for Max to return with a report. She didn’t. I couldn’t just sit there, so I called one of the bridesmaids.

  I scheduled Heather’s sister to come in tomorrow around lunchtime, and then I waited again for Max. Nothing.

  I was dialing another number when Max appeared.

  I put down the phone. “Which one?”

  “Ford. She told him everything you told her.”

  I gasped. “That rotten...” An appropriate word escaped me. “Person!”

  “Dirty, back-stabbing bird is what she is,” Max said. “That dame could take a mouthful of sugar and spit vinegar back in your face, that’s what she could do.”

  “What does that even mean?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” She paced and waved her arms. “I’m so mad I could scream. But that wouldn’t help matters. I’ve got to figure out what to do.”

  “You mean, we have to figure out what to do. What did Ford say to Connie?”

  “He said he was afraid this was going to be a problem and that he’ll take care of it.”

  “But—” I stopped, hearing footsteps on the stairs.

  Max hurried over and stuck her head through the wall.

  Ford flung open the door, and it would have hit Max if she’d had any substance.

  “We need to talk,” he said, closing the door behind him. He looked over into the atelier as if making sure there was no one there.

  Max flew at him trying to hit him or scratch his face.

  He rubbed his arms. “You keep it cold in here.”

  I merely stared at him. Max screamed in frustration.

  “Okay.” Ford put his hands on his hips to indicate he was ready to get down to business.

  Before he could say anything further, the workshop door flew open, and Jason walked through the room and into the reception area. The man wore a smile as big as Texas, and I’d never felt so happy to see anyone in all my life.

  “Hey, folks,” Jason said.

  “Save her!” Max yelled. “Punch him! Give him the ol’ one-two!” She had her fists up now and was bobbing and weaving like a boxer.