by Josie Belle
“Aw,” Joanne sighed. “That was lovely.”
“It was,” Maggie said. “Thank you, Blue.”
He gave her a small nod.
“But that is not,” Lizzie said. She waved at Maggie’s dress as if she could make it vanish. “Go try on the last one.”
The final dress, an A-line lavender number, did not win any votes for best dress either but at least it didn’t warrant the endless food comparisons and fits of giggles.
By the time Maggie changed back into her clothes for the day, the crowd had dispersed as Joanne had to go put the baby down, Claire had to get back to work and Summer had to mind her own shop.
“Don’t you fret,” Ginger said as she gave Maggie a hug. “We’ll find your dress.”
“I don’t see why you won’t wear a white gown,” Maggie’s mother chided her. “This would all be so much easier if you’d just go traditional.”
“Yeah, and you’d look like a corpse,” Sissy said. “White’s not your color. Stick to your guns, Sis.”
Maggie hugged her mother and sister and shooed them out the door but not before her mother gave Blue one last flirtatious glance that he returned much to Maggie’s horror.
“Do not romance my mother,” she said to Blue. “You have enough ladies on your dance card.”
“Yes, but I’ve always been partial to strawberry blondes,” he said.
“It’s a dye job,” Maggie snapped.
Blue’s smile deepened. “I like a woman who is invested in her appearance.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure you did not come by the shop to hit on my mother. So what can I do for you?”
“Actually, I’m looking to do a little business with you,” he said. “You consign items, correct?”
“Yes,” Maggie said. “Why?”
“After they passed away, Ida and Imogene’s things were sorted and what didn’t go to charity was put in a storage unit. There is a lot of furniture and dishes, some artwork and a few boxes of letters and photographs. I thought since you consign things, you might sell them for me.”
“Are you sure?” Maggie asked. “Those are your family’s belongings.”
“I have everything that I want to keep, which are mostly memories now,” he said. His tone sounded wistful. “When you get to be my age, you realize that things don’t have as much value as moments in time. Memories can be savored forever but things, well, they just take up space and need to be dusted.”
Maggie laughed. “I suspect you’re right. I’d be happy to consign anything you’d like.”
“Excellent,” he said. “Tyler Fawkes is filling up the back of his truck as we speak and he’ll be dropping the items off later today.”
“You were pretty sure I’d take everything,” Maggie said.
“You’re a woman of business,” he said. “Besides you like me.”
Maggie smiled. “I do at that.”
“Put in a good word for me with your mother then,” he said. He put on the straw hat that rested on the counter beside him. “I’d be happy to escort her to your nuptials.”
“I . . .” Maggie stuttered but Blue didn’t wait to hear what she had to say. With a tip of his brim, he left her standing in the center of her shop, completely flummoxed.
* * *
“I’m just not sure he’s exactly dateable,” Maggie said into her phone while Tyler Fawkes unloaded box after box into her storeroom.
“Maggie, I am old enough to know my own mind,” her mother said. “Besides I live in Florida. It’s not like we could start up anything, you know, unless he moved.”
“He’s not going to move,” Maggie said. “He has it too good in Spring Gardens.”
“Hmm,” her mother hummed and then executed a swift subject change. “Will you be home for dinner?”
“No, I’m going to stop by the library after I close up the shop.”
“All right, we’ll leave a plate for you. I think Sissy is roasting a chicken.”
“Great, thanks,” Maggie said. She made a mental note to pick up a sandwich from the deli on her way to the library. She’d had Sissy’s chicken before. It was generally as parched as a desert in want of rain.
Tyler passed her as she switched off her phone. He was using a handcart to wheel in a vanity table and matching stool. He set them in the corner of the shop next to the tri-fold mirror that fastened to the top of the vanity.
“That is a beautiful piece,” Maggie said.
“A classic white Louis XVI–style vanity,” Tyler said.
Maggie gave him a surprised look and he gave his unshaven chin a rueful scratch as he explained, “Summer has one just like it.”
“I thought for a minute there you were getting into antiques,” Maggie said.
“No, I invest straight up in high tech,” he said. “I do love the gadgets.” He pointed back to the vanity. “You’re going to need a locksmith to look at that. One of the drawers is locked but I didn’t see a key to go with it, unless it’s in one of those boxes.”
Maggie nodded. She knew just who to call. “Thanks, Tyler. How much do I owe you?”
“No worries, Blue already paid me,” he said. “Good thing, too, because Summer says I’m not allowed to charge friends for services rendered.”
Maggie blinked at him. He scratched his beard again as an awkward silence fell between them.
“About Summer.” He paused to clear his throat. “Thanks for letting her join you gals in your bargain hunting thing. It means the world to her.”
Maggie shrugged. “We’re still in the probationary period.”
“I know,” he said with a nod. “But she’s changed. You’ll see.”
He looked so eager that Maggie didn’t have the heart to tell him that she still found the whole thing weird. Did she see Tyler and Summer joining them for backyard barbecues? No, but then she’d never thought she’d live in the Dixon house, either, so life clearly had some surprises in store for her.
She picked up her phone and sent a text to the one person she knew would likely be able to get the stuck vanity drawer open. Then she found her box cutter and started unloading the haul from the Dixon house.
She had hoped that the boxes containing letters and photos would give her a clue as to the identity of the skeleton in the root cellar. There was nothing. Mostly, it was just clippings and photos of events that Ida and Imogene had been involved with over the years, such as the ladies’ league, the local gardening club, etc . . .
The dishes were vintage as were many of the tchotchkes, like old glass ashtrays and a collection of porcelain dolls that Maggie knew would sell to the collectors who loved retro. She had recently begun selling items online, which was where most of her specialty items were sold.
She was just sorting a trunk full of old clothes when the door opened and her favorite boy genius walked in. Maxwell Button, in his early twenties with advanced degrees in art, physics and law, was one of Maggie’s favorite people and in many ways the son she’d never had.
“So, what is this I hear that you and Sam are going to get hitched at my old place of employment, the Frosty Freeze, with free dipped cones for everyone?” he asked.
“What?” Maggie squawked and smacked her head on the lid of the trunk as she rose out of it. “Ouch!”
“Oh, sorry,” Max said. “I was just kidding.”
“Very funny,” Maggie said. She rubbed the back of her head and frowned at him. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to talk Bianca into tying the knot like that?”
“No, we’ll have it at the house,” he said. “She’s pretty much had the whole thing planned out since she was five. All I have to do is show up in a tux.”
“Oh.” Maggie frowned, feeling a sudden spurt of envy at Bianca’s decisiveness. “Still planning it for December?”
“She always wanted to be a winter bride,” Max said. “It works for me. I want to take her to Paris as a wedding gift and this gives me time to save.”
“Oh, she’ll love that,” Maggie said. She cros
sed the room and gave him a tight hug. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks,” he said.
He grabbed at his short black hair as if he could pull it down over his face and hide. It seemed to Maggie it was just yesterday that he was the lanky, long-haired boy handing out cones at the Frosty Freeze while he studied quantum physics and Botticelli in his endless life quest for information.
“So, what did you need my help with?” he asked.
“I have a vanity table with a locked drawer and no key and since you’re the best lock picker I know, I thought you could have a go at it,” she said.
She gestured to the table and Max crossed the room to examine the vanity.
“Is it true that you found a skeleton in your new house?” he asked.
“Yes,” Maggie said. “Don’t tell me you didn’t believe the gossip.”
“Well, it seemed pretty far-fetched,” he said.
“Like getting married at the Frosty Freeze? Gee, I wonder how these rumors get started.”
“Touché,” Max said with a laugh as he knelt before the stuck drawer. “Do you have a flashlight and a hairpin?”
“Of course,” Maggie said and she went to retrieve the items.
She handed them to Max and then moved back to give him room to work. He stared into the keyhole with the flashlight. Then he inserted the hairpin. He turned it this way and that but it didn’t budge.
“I think there might be some sort of glue in there,” he said. “How about some nail polish remover and a cotton swab?”
“Let me check my supply kit,” she said. Maggie hurried back into the break room and checked her tool box. Score! She had both. She took the items back out to Max.
“Just out of curiosity if I had asked for rat poison and a shovel . . . ?” he asked.
“You’d be out of luck on the poison, but I do have a shovel.”
“That’s not as reassuring as you might think,” he said.
“I use the nail polish remover to get the stickers and other ick off of dishes, picture frames, that sort of thing,” Maggie said. “The shovel is a consignment item from Quentin Parsall, he seems to think it’s valuable. And you never know when you’re going to need a cotton swab.”
“Clearly.” Max dipped the swab in the nail polish remover and then put the whole swab into the lock and jiggled it. “This will take a minute to soak.”
“Can I get you anything while you wait?” Maggie asked. “Pop, lemonade, coffee?”
“A cola would be great, thanks,” Max said.
Maggie retrieved a cola for Max from the back room and grabbed a water for herself. She sat beside him on the floor while they waited. Max popped the top on his can and then gave her a sideways glance.
“What?” Maggie asked. “Do I have dirt on my face?”
“No,” he said. “It’s just that I heard another rumor that is truly too preposterous for words, but . . .”
“Fire away,” Maggie said. “It can’t be any crazier than some of the other things I’ve heard lately.”
“Don’t punch me in the mouth, okay?” he asked.
Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Because I’m known for punching people?”
“You might when you hear this one,” he said.
“I promise no punching,” she said.
“Cool. Okay, so I heard that Summer is now one of your Good Buy Girls, and I know that can’t possibly be true.”
“Well . . .” Maggie drew out the lone syllable until it was a five second whine.
“No. Just no,” Max said. He looked appalled.
“It’s on a purely trial basis,” Maggie said.
“Because you hit your head and forgot that she tried to steal Sam and in fact ruined your first relationship with him?” he asked.
“Hey, when did you get so judgy?” Maggie asked. “You’re the one who defended her when she was in jail for murder.”
“Only because her mother paid me really, really well,” Max said. “I’ve never forgotten how she befriended Bianca’s crazy step sister when she tried to take away Bianca’s inheritance.”
“So she had poor taste in friends,” Maggie said. “She’s trading up now.”
“I do not believe this,” Max said.
“I know, it’s weird,” Maggie agreed. “But Tyler said she’s changed.”
“He’s her husband, of course he said that,” Max argued. “Besides he’s been in love with her for years. He’s never had clear vision when it comes to his wife.”
“Agreed,” Maggie said. “But I promised I’d give her a chance.”
“You must be crazy in love with Sam,” he said.
“What makes you say that?” Maggie asked. “You know, other than us getting married.”
“Because only a person in love could forgive all of the crap that Summer has dumped on you all these years.”
“I like to think I gave as good as I got,” Maggie said.
Max laughed. “Yeah, you did at that. Just be careful, Maggie. You’re one of my favorite people, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I will be, I promise,” she said.
Max seemed satisfied and he put aside his soda and returned his attention to the drawer. He removed the swab and then resumed his work with the flashlight and the hairpin.
Maggie felt herself tense. What could be in the drawer that had required the lock being glued shut? The dreamer in her couldn’t help but wonder if it was something precious like a rare strand of pearls, or an emerald ring as big as a walnut. Or maybe it was some old stocks and bonds that would be worth a fortune now. Of course, she’d have to give it all to Blue, but still the idea of discovering a treasure made her all fluttery inside.
Max jiggled the hairpin back and forth and then he nudged it in deeper. Suddenly, there was a click and the drawer popped just a smidge.
“Got it!” Max cried in triumph.
Together they rose up on their knees as Max slid the drawer open. No diamond necklace or wad of cash glittered out at them and Maggie sighed.
“Seems like a lot of work to keep people from finding a dried up flower and a glove,” Max said ruefully.
“Agreed,” Maggie sighed.
She reached into the small drawer and removed what looked like it had once been a wrist corsage but was now a shriveled up bunch of weeds tied with a lilac ribbon. Below that rested a delicate kid glove. It was yellowed with age but still buttery soft to the touch. The small pearl buttons shone against the dullness of the leather.
“I think this must have been where Ida Dixon kept her treasures,” she said. “The sentimental ones.”
“How do you know it’s Ida’s vanity and not Imogene’s?” Max asked.
“From what I’ve read, Imogene was not the vanity type,” she said.
She reached farther into the drawer and pulled out a packet of cards. As she sifted through the yellowed papers, she noted they were addressed to Ida and were from birthdays and graduations, as well as other events in the young woman’s life.
“Do you need me for anything else?” Max asked, bringing Maggie back to the present.
“No, but thank you so much,” she said. As she stood a small card fluttered from the pile in her hands.
“Here,” Max said. He stooped down to get it and handed not a card but an old sepia photograph to Maggie.
She glanced at it and caught her breath.
“Maggie, are you all right?” Max asked as he gripped her elbow as if afraid she was going to keel over.
“Huh?” Maggie stared at the photo and then at Max. “What?”
“Are you all right?” he asked again. He looked worried. “You went so pale. Do I need to call Sam?”
“I’m fine, better than fine,” Maggie said. She looked at him and held up the picture. “I think we just found our skeleton in the basement.”
Chapter 18
Maggie called Sam but she got his voice mail. It picked up on one ring so he was clearly talking to someone else. She didn’t want to ex
plain over the phone so she left a message asking him to call her.
She kept studying the photograph of the young couple—a woman in a flared-skirt day dress and a man in uniform—as if they would tell her who they were. It was killing her to not be able to ask anyone about the photo. There were no clues on it other than the notation of the year 1944 which had been written in blue ink on the back in the lower right-hand corner.
Max watched her study the photograph while she paced. Finally, he sighed and said, “Maggie, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor. Do you want me to watch the shop while you go give the photo to Sam?”
“Would you?” Maggie cried. “That would be so great!”
“No problem,” he said. “I figure I still owe you a favor or two from the old days.”
Maggie kissed his cheek, grabbed her purse and hustled to the door. “I’ll be back in an hour at the latest.”
She hurried to her Volvo station wagon that was parked at the corner. Since she had one stop to make before she went to see Sam she figured it would be faster if she drove.
It was less than five minutes to get across town and pull in at Spring Gardens. She signed in at the main desk and then hurried through the lobby to the pool. She had been hoping to find Blue with his bevy of gray-haired beauties in his usual spot but no luck. She turned and hurried back to the main desk.
“I’m sorry, can you tell me where I might find Blue Dixon?” she asked.
“He’s not poolside?” the pretty brunette with a name tag that read ANNE asked.
Maggie shook her head.
“Oh, I see why.” The girl looked at her clipboard.
Maggie had a sudden heart-pounding fear that Blue might have up and died. Is that what the clipboard was, a clipboard of death?
“He’s in the pool tournament in the rec room,” Anne said. “I heard he and Dennis Applebaum are trying to work out their differences through a friendly pool match.”
“Which way?” Maggie asked.
“Down the hall and to your right.” Anne pointed.
Maggie jogged toward the room. Dennis and Blue had already been to Doc Franklin for one round of injuries. Who was the knucklehead who thought it was a good idea to give them long wooden sticks to play with? Maggie had visions of finding one or the other of them impaled on his pool cue.
