Treasure Borrowed and Blue
Palmyrton Estate Sale Mystery Series
S.W. Hubbard
Published by S.W. Hubbard, 2018.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
TREASURE BORROWED AND BLUE
First edition. June 25, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 S.W. Hubbard.
Written by S.W. Hubbard.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
About the Author
Chapter 1
My stomach churns and my head throbs as I ride shotgun in my best friend’s Audi. Maura weaves between towering 18-wheelers and moseying minivans on the Jersey Turnpike dragging me to Manhattan to visit the world’s biggest wedding dress emporium, Kleinfeld’s Bridal.
Or, more precisely, Kleinfeld’s Studio, the bargain rack across the street from the main store, where every dress is nine-ninety-nine or less.
Nine hundred ninety-nine, that is.
In the backseat, my soon-to-be- sister-in-law, Deirdre, and my former office assistant Jill, chat in high decibel superlatives.
“I’m s-o-o excited to be going to Kleinfeld’s,” Jill squeals. “I’ve seen that store a million times on Say Yes to the Dress.”
“They have a h-u-uge selection.” I keep my eyes on Maura’s daredevil driving, but I can picture Deirdre’s face exploded in bliss. “I want to tell them that I’m getting married just so I can try on dresses too. If I had it to do over again, I never would buy the dress I bought twelve years ago.”
I massage my temples. Of all my fiancé’s four siblings, Deirdre is my favorite. She’s kind and sensible and down-to-earth. But something about my upcoming wedding to her brother is causing her to lose her mind. Imagine saying that you want to shop for a wedding dress twice in one lifetime. Once is once too much for me.
Maura is my maid-of-honor, and she’s leading this expedition. We already had a trial run of wedding dress shopping at the small bridal shop in Palmyrton. Maura was unimpressed with the conventional selection. I was sticker-shocked by the exorbitant price tags. The statement, “you can’t get anything wearable for under four thousand dollars” did not sit well with me. Sean and I just bought a house, and I’d much rather spend the money on a new kitchen than on some elaborate dress that I’ll only wear for a few hours. Maura came up with this solution: a trip to the Kleinfeld sample studio, where wedding dresses are sold at bargain prices because they’re samples, not custom-made.
“Remember, Jill,” Maura glances in the rearview mirror to chide her backseat passenger. “We’re not having the full Kleinfeld experience where you get ninety minutes for the bridal consultant to fuss over you and bring you a million dresses. We’re going to have to search the racks ourselves. That’s why I brought you ladies along. I know Audrey wouldn’t last ten minutes in there with just me riding herd on her.”
I grab the armrest as we careen onto the exit for the Lincoln Tunnel. “I still don’t see why I couldn’t just order that dress from J. Crew online and be done with it.”
“No-o-o-o!” All three of them wail: soprano, mezzo, alto.
“Too plain.”
“Boring!”
“You’re way too pretty for that dress, Audrey. We want you to be go-o-o-rgeous on your wedding day.”
Jill is so sweet. How can I deny her an experience that she’s clearly so primed to enjoy? I already feel guilty that I can’t ask her to be a bridesmaid. The size of our wedding party has been the source of weeks of turmoil, and Sean and I finally resolved it in the only way that won’t ignite World War III. Sean and I will have only a best man and maid-of-honor—each our oldest friend. To add Jill would mean all four of Sean’s siblings will have to be included, which would require only-child, introvert me to scrounge among classmates I haven’t seen for years to come up with three additional bridesmaids to even the numbers. I think it’s ridiculous for two people in their mid-thirties, one of whom has done all this before, to have a wedding party that rivals Kim and Kanye’s.
“I can’t believe the wedding is only six weeks away and you still don’t have a dress,” Deirdre scolds from the back seat.
“But we have the food and the band and the booze—that’s the most important stuff,” I say.
“Believe me, Deirdre—I’ve been nagging her since the day she got that ring, and yet here we are.” Maura swerves into the left lane, cutting off a black Mercedes. “Today is do or die. We’re coming back from New York with a dress, or we’re not coming back at all.”
The Mercedes lays on his horn. Option Two is looking more and more likely.
LONG AISLES BARELY wide enough to walk down. Dresses on racks packed so tight they could stand up without need of a hanger. Yards and yards of tulle and lace, each smashed inside a plastic garment bag. They all look exactly the same to me. I don’t even know what I’m searching for.
Not so Maura. She sees details that escape me. My friend pulls out dresses, appraises them, and quickly accepts or rejects.
Jill, on the other hand, loves everything she sees. “Oooo—look at the fit and flare. Or what about a Cinderella profile? Or this mermaid—so hip.”
Mermaid? Seriously? Does she really see me going anywhere other than a Halloween party in a mermaid dress?
“I think something more classic.” Deirdre flips through the hangers. “I love an illusion neckline. So much classier than strapless.”
It’s like my personality doesn’t even factor into the equation. The three of them are dressing a Barbie doll.
“This is paradise.” Jill pulls out her phone and starts snapping pictures of the hellacious showroom as if it were a beach in Bali. “I’ve got to tell my friend Rachel about this. She’s getting married in October.”
I plop into a chair that’s intended for fathers who are along to write the check. “Call me when you find the ones you want me to try on.” I pull out my phone to check my email.
I click on a promising subject line: Parents downsizing.
Hi, You were recommended to me by Isabelle Trent. She’s handing the sale of my parents’ house. They’re downsizing into a condo at the Edgemere Over 55 Community. My mother wants to take everything with her. My father wants to sell everything for top dollar. I’d be happy to haul it all out to the curb. Isabelle said you deal with this all the time. Can you help?
Call me: 973-555-8687
Rebecca Carnahan
Great! A new customer for Another Man’s Treasure Estate Sales. Even a small sale will yield enough profit to pay for this wedding gown. My finger is poised to dial when Maura snatches the phone and tosses it into my tote bag. “C’mon toots—you’ve got some modeling to do.”
Maura, Deirdre and Jill jam into a fitting room whose walls are covered in white gowns. Obediently, I strip down. At least I had enough foresight to wear my best underwear.
Maura helps me into the first dress, a bead and tulle extravaganza as heavy as a suit of armor. My arms and neck stick out of a billowing mound of fabric like toothpicks in a marshmallow.
&nb
sp; “It’s too, too....”
Maura grabs a hunk of fabric in the back and scrunches. “It’s a size too big. Any dress you get here will have to be altered.”
“Oooo,” Jill squeals. “You’re magnificent! How do you feel? Do you love it?”
Maura’s maneuver makes my waist visible, but does nothing to endear me to the dress. “It’s so...so...bridal.”
Deirdre rolls her eyes. “We’re not here to buy a Patagonia sun dress, Audrey.”
I make a face at my image in the mirror. Glinda, Good Witch of the North grimaces back at me. “It’s too frou-frou. Too heavy. Just too...much.”
“But it’s supposed to—”
Maura silences Jill with a sharp look. “You’re right, Audrey. This is too much dress for you. Let’s try something with simpler lines.”
She slides a silk-satin sheath over my head. It certainly feels better than the first one, but it’s a little tight.
“Wow!”
“A knock-out!”
The reflection in the mirror shows a woman—I don’t believe we’ve ever met—with an hourglass figure and...cleavage. Holy crap, where did that come from?
I pivot and look at the back in the three-way mirror. The dress plunges so deep the top of my panties is showing.
“Obviously, you’d wear different underwear,” Maura says.
Deirdre is noticeably silent.
“Don’t you think this is a little too sexy for a wedding dress?” I ask. “I mean, my wedding picture is something I want to be able to show my kids someday. It shouldn’t be x-rated.”
I see Deirdre’s face relax. I can only imagine what she’d have to do to manage her and Sean’s mother if I came home with this dress!
The fashion show continues. Each dress is worse than the last. Too poofy. Too stiff. Too frumpy. Too trendy.
I’m tired. And hungry. And crabby. “We passed a really interesting looking Italian deli on the way here. Let’s just—”
“No!” There’s a load of desperation packed into Maura’s one syllable protest. “We’re not leaving without a dress. There are thousands here. We’ll find the right one.”
Just then, Deirdre slips back into the dressing room with a garment bag. I hadn’t even noticed that she’d left. “How about this one? I found it in the empty dressing room next to ours.”
Great. Someone else’s reject.
But when Deirdre pulls it out of the bag, I’m kind of drawn to it. It’s got the same simple lines of the J. Crew dress I liked, but the fabric is nicer and there’s some pretty lace edging.
Obligingly, I lift my hands over my head and squeeze my eyes shut; Maura slips the dress on and zips it.
Unlike all the other gowns, this one fits right off the hanger. The fabric feels rich against my skin. I open my eyes and look in the mirror.
A smile spreads across my face. Amazingly, the woman in the slim white dress with sheer lace cap sleeves smiles right back.
“Oh, wow...amazing,” Jill whispers.
“Stunning,” Maura agrees.
Deirdre has begun to weep. “Oh, Audrey, just wait ‘til my brother sees you walking down the aisle in that dress. You’re a vision, you are. A vision.”
Chapter 2
The ride back home is considerably more festive than the ride out. After toasting our success with Chianti and strombolis in one of Little Italy’s finest Italian eateries, we sing and laugh on Route 78, oblivious to rush hour danger.
Back in Palmyrton, I say farewell to my crew in front of the Another Man’s Treasure office where I left my car. “Thank you ladies. Your dedication goes far above and beyond the call of duty. I’d like to be able to say I’d do the same for you, but honestly, I never want to set foot in a bridal shop again.”
Jill makes a pouty face. “I’m definitely going there for my wedding dress one day. Won’t you go with me?”
Deirdre laughs. “That’s like asking a woman who’s just gone through twenty hours of labor without an epidural when she’s planning on having her next baby. Give Audrey a chance to recover.”
Jill’s pout deepens. “Don’t worry. Given that I haven’t ever been able to meet a guy who’s not a douchebag, you won’t have to go back to Kleinfeld’s any time soon.”
I hug her tight. “You’ll meet someone soon who appreciates how terrific you are.”
Just then a junker car drives by with its horn blaring. A man leans out the window and wolf-whistles.
“Jerk!” Jill scowls at him, but Deirdre and I laugh.
“Terry! What are you doing here?” Deirdre goes to kiss her brother as he double-parks next to my car.
“I have a client near here,” Terry waves his hand vaguely. “Went to see him about a job.”
He’s wearing a Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt and a backwards Mets cap, but I guess digital designers, or whatever it is Terry does, don’t have to wear a jacket and tie.
Terry peers out the car window as Maura hauls the dress out of her trunk. “Looks like you ladies have been shopping.”
“I finally bought my wedding dress.” Saying the words feels good. I hadn’t realized how much my endless procrastination had stressed me out.
“Where are you going to keep it?” Deirdre speaks with her hands on her hips. “You can’t let Sean see it. That’s bad luck.”
The Coughlin family subscribes to a million different superstitions, from black cats to spilled salt. Nothing like my ultra-rational mathematician father. But I’ve learned there’s no point in arguing.
I take the dress in my arms. “I’ll keep it at the office. Sean never comes here.”
“And have you got your ‘something old, something, new, something borrowed, and something blue’ “? Deirdre continues. “You can’t walk down the aisle without it.”
“Her groom is recycled. Does that count as old?”
Terry grins at his own wisecrack, but no one laughs. I think the reference to this being Sean’s second marriage is kind of nasty. I let it slide though. No sarcasm can deflate my high spirits.
“The dress counts as the new thing. And your mother’s ring is the old.” Jill points to the pearl ring on my right hand.
“I have a strand of pearls you can borrow,” Maura offers. “And didn’t you get a pair of blue lace panties at your bridal shower?”
“There you go. All the luck you could ever need.” Terry waves his cap in a farewell salute and drives off. My shopping companions also disperse, leaving me to struggle with unlocking the office door without letting the dress drag on the sidewalk. As I jiggle the key, the door opens and I practically fall inside.
“Ty! What are you doing here after five?”
“I have to write a short essay for my English class. Figured I could get it done easier here where it’s quiet.”
“Oh, don’t let me disturb you. I bought my wedding dress, and I’m just dropping it off. Deirdre says it’s bad luck for me to keep it at home where Sean can see it.”
“Is it bad luck for me to see it?” Ty crowds close to me, peering at the garment bag that I’m carrying like a dead body.
“I didn’t think twenty-three year old guys were interested in wedding dresses.”
Ty throws back his broad shoulders, “Audge, you know I’m into stylin’ “
I laugh and unzip the bag, spreading the gown out over the empty desk once occupied by Jill, and then my recently departed other sister-in-law, Adrienne.
Ty studies the dress with great seriousness, finally extending one long, dark finger to caress the lace. “You gonna look fresh in this, Audge. It’s just right for you. Classy. Not too tricked out.”
“You should have been along on this shopping expedition. I was having a hard time describing what I wanted. ‘Not too tricked out’ describes it perfectly.”
“Where we gonna put it so it doesn’t get trashed?” Ty looks around the office, which has become increasingly cluttered with the departure of the anal-retentive Adrienne. He moves some stuff that didn’t sell at our last sale. “H
ey, we could use this coat rack that we were going to donate to Sister Alice. Doesn’t matter if it gets donated a few months late, right?”
Ty situates the heavy oak coat stand in a corner and I hang the garment bag from it. We step back and look at our handiwork. “You gonna be a married lady soon, Audge.”
“It won’t be so different from living together like we are now. Will it?” The dress has brought the reality of my upcoming marriage closer than any of the other wedding preparations. Suddenly I need a little reassurance.
Ty lifts one eyebrow and grins. “I don’t know nuthin’ about marriage, and I plan to keep it that way for some time.” He returns to his computer, taps a few keys, and the printer starts to spit out paper.
“You’re done with your essay?” I’m dying to read it, but Ty keeps his business as a student at Palmer Community College to himself.
“Yep.” He collects his papers and glances at me. “Aren’t you going home now to tell Sean about the dress?”
“He’s working late, and I got a lead on a new job. I’m going to drive over to Hillside Park and meet the people now. They’re elderly downsizers, and their daughter seems very eager to get the sale underway.”
Ty slings his backpack over his shoulder. “I’ll come with you. I got nuthin’ to do ‘til I pick up Kyle and Jamal from basketball practice at eight.”
Chapter 3
So Ty and I drive across Palmyrton to the Hillside Park neighborhood, a development of colonials and ranches built in the sixties and seventies. As we wind through the quiet streets, we see swing sets in every backyard and bright red and yellow Cozy Coupes in every driveway. Hillside was built for young families fifty years ago, and now it’s welcoming its third generation of toddlers.
I give wide berth to a young father trotting beside a little boy wobbling on training wheels, and we turn onto Alpine Way. Ty squints and points. “I think that must be Number 54.”
It’s impossible to see the house number as the rhododendrons planted when the house was new have now overgrown the small front porch. The basketball hoop in the driveway is rusty and netless. Unlike Number 52 and Number 56, the yard here has no toys, no cheery flags. “The Carnahans must be the original owners,” I say as I park behind a red SUV with “I heart Boxers” and “Palmyrton LAX” car magnets on the back door.
Treasure Borrowed and Blue (Palmyrton Estate Sale Mystery Series) Page 1
