by Maggie Pill
Round Two went okay, but again there were problems I couldn’t camouflage or fix with pins and tape. “She’ll be up all night,” I told Cecily as we watched the others make their second pass around the room. They were getting the idea, though the twins’ heavy footsteps echoed on the flimsy dais and Pixi’s pink hair was jarring atop the sophisticated evening gown she wore.
“What is Dina going to do about the hair?” I asked.
“Honny will buy rinses when we get back to Traverse City. We'll end up with a lot of brunettes, but Dina thinks the audience will react better to that than to the rainbow we’ve got now.”
“And the tattoos?”
“Stage makeup. There’s good stuff out there now, because lots of people need to hide body art, like actors, job-seekers, and workers whose bosses frown on them.”
Dina approached, her note cards in one hand and a pen in the other. “Cecily, when we’re done here, would you take my car and make a trip to Traverse City for me?”
“And why am I going there?”
“I need a sewing machine, but Honny has no clue what to buy.”
“And I do because I’m female?” Cecily arched a brow then chuckled to show she wasn’t offended. “My grandma used to sew. I think I can handle it.”
“Great. You can stay in my room tonight. I’ll be sewing my little heart out anyway.”
Cecily looked regretful. “I’d help with the alterations, but I can’t do much beyond threading a needle.”
Dina raised a hand. “Just get me that sewing machine then get a good night’s sleep. You’ll have plenty to do come morning.”
The third round went well, with only a few pieces that needed significant resizing. When the parading was done, Dina had the models line up across the dais as a finale. Cecily’s instruction had resulted in a more professional, less—I guess commercial was the word—group. Though the tension in Dina’s shoulders remained, Honny’s stopwatch revealed the show took just under thirty-nine minutes, almost exactly the time allotted.
Chapter Twenty-five
Barb
Lars had promised to email information on Roger Engel, so I got my tablet from the car and went upstairs to my sister’s room. Using the inn’s wi-fi, I found he’d come through for us.
Barb,
I talked to the people in Detroit. Agent Tonya Holden wants you to meet her at six p.m. at an ice cream shop called Cherry Delite about a mile south of your location.
I checked my watch. It was almost two. I had time to do some searching on my own before I met the agent.
Don’t take these guys on yourself. Wait for Holden’s arrival and do exactly as she says.
Lars
Attached to the email were documents he probably shouldn’t have shared with me, reports of the Bureau’s attempts to tie Roger Engel to drug importation. In several cases the disappearance or death of someone who could have testified against him stopped forward movement, and the case was left hanging. As a result, the Bureau had a mountain of suspicion but no proof they could use in court.
Could Dina Engel be using her fashion business to help her father move drugs into northern Michigan? There was a rumor reported that they were barely civil to each other. If she wasn’t actively assisting Engel, might she be an innocent dupe? He seemed the type who might use his daughter’s dream of success in fashion to further his own ends.
How did Auburn’s death fit in? Had he become too eager and approached Dina himself? If so, he might have been murdered because of it. Whatever the reason for his death, the odds my sisters would live through the weekend weren’t good, since they’d happened along at precisely the wrong moment.
Faye was trying to figure out Dina Engel’s motives in coming to St. Millicent’s. I hoped she could do that soon, before Retta suffered the same fate as Chet Auburn.
There was one more concern in my mind. The FBI badly wanted to arrest Roger Engel. I wanted my sisters to be safe. I wasn’t sure that the two goals melded well. While the safety of private citizens is taken seriously by law enforcement, I’d seen lust for a big arrest mar the judgment of officers before. It would be best if I could locate Retta before six o’clock. Then the question of priorities would be resolved. Once she was safe, Agent Holden could do whatever was necessary to deal with Engel, his daughter, and his men.
They had to be holding Retta somewhere they could lock her in. An outbuilding seemed likely, one far enough away from the inn that she wouldn’t be heard if she called for help. While I waited for the FBI to arrive, I could search the grounds for a likely spot. Since I was persona non grata to the Love-Able Ladies, it was best if I left their territory anyway.
Chapter Twenty-six
Retta
I wasn’t wearing my watch when we left the hotel room, so I had no idea what time it was when Bill showed up again. Hearing the chain rattle, I stood as he entered with Faye’s black bag slung over his shoulder. “Here.”
Opening the bag I found a hairbrush, a bottle of water, and a dampened hotel towel. “No clean clothes?”
He shuffled his feet. “It didn’t feel right, going through your stuff.”
Actually, that was kind of sweet. I drank some water then started with the towel, wiping my face and hands. “That feels better.” Reaching into the bag again, I took out the brush. “Oh, dear.”
“What?”
“That’s Faye’s hairbrush.”
“So?” He seemed genuinely curious.
“Faye has thick, curly hair,” I explained. “Mine is finer, with body but no curl.”
“Oh.” Clearly, the explanation hadn’t helped.
“Faye’s brush is too harsh for me.” His frown deepened. “It’s okay. I’ll use it just this once.” I went to work, brushing away grit and cobwebs.
Bill watched, looking pleased with himself. “There’s a home-made cookie in the outside pocket.”
I knew for a fact there had been a half-dozen. He’d helped himself to Faye’s snickerdoodles and left me one. “That’s nice for a snack,” I said. “When are you bringing dinner?”
“Dinner? Lady—”
“My metabolism runs high,” I told him, tilting my head a little to one side. “If I don’t eat regular meals, I get light-headed.”
“Tr-Ted says I can’t be heading down here too often. Somebody’s going to wonder why.”
“Come after dark, so no one sees you. Ted doesn’t need to know.”
Bill wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, and he’d run out of excuses. He wasn’t mean enough to look me in the eye and say I’d get no supper. His head drooped. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Anything but lamb or veal,” I told him. “I can’t stand the thought of a baby on my plate.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Barb
Leaving the inn by the back entrance, I turned to the south, skirting the vineyard and taking to the trees along its edge. I guessed St. Millicent’s had several outbuildings, but in the way of touristy places, they’d be tucked out of sight when possible. My theory was borne out as I passed two pole buildings, wooden frames covered with sheet metal, set into the trees along the edge of the rows. The doors of both were open, and it was evident there were no prisoners concealed inside. In the second one, a man stood with his back to me, putting tools into a knapsack. He looked the right age to be Bill, but I couldn’t tell if he had the silver streak Faye had mentioned.
Tracing the rows of grapevines, I climbed to the top of the rise, which was farther from the inn than it appeared. The day had grown hot, and I soon wished I’d brought along a bottle of cold water and the baseball cap I keep in my car. The trellised vines, lined row on row with strips of grass in between, made it difficult to see across the sprawling property, and the forest on my right might have hidden a dozen buildings from view. I should have asked the man in the pole barn where the outbuildings were on the property.
I turned to look behind me. It was a long trek back to the pole barns, and I weighed the value of better
information against covering the distance a second time. As I vacillated, I heard voices. The plants screened the speakers from view, but after only a few words, I guessed I was listening to Ted and Bill.
“—coming and going,” one man was saying. “She needed a hairbrush, but I brought the wrong one. And you should hear what she wants for dinner—”
He had to be talking about Retta.
“Why in hell do you care what she wants?” I guessed that was Ted.
As they passed between the rows, I caught glimpses of them. One was the man I’d seen in the pole building, and now that he faced me, I saw the silver streak. A strap slung over his shoulder secured a gas-powered pruner to his back like an arrow quiver, and atop it was the knapsack he’d been filling. In the pockets of his cargo pants were two water bottles, and he carried a stepladder on the opposite shoulder. He looked like the peddlers of old, carrying with them everything they might need.
Bill gestured widely with his free hand as he tried to explain my sister to his companion. “She makes you think you gotta do what she asks you to. You feel mean if you don’t.”
Now I knew Retta was the topic of conversation.
“You feel like that, because you’re an idiot.” Ted’s voice got louder, and I ducked into the trees for fear he’d look my way. “I told you—no more trips back there to wait on that old bag.”
“We could let her go,” Bill said. “She said she wouldn’t tell, and then I wouldn’t feel like I had to—”
“Shut up!” Ted gestured angrily toward the opposite side of the vineyard. “I should just take care of her right now, so you can stop being a wuss and do what you’re supposed to.”
“No!” Bill seemed panicked to realize he’d put Retta in danger. “I’ll ignore her from now on, honest.”
I sensed Ted’s disbelief. Apparently Bill did too, because he added, “She’ll be okay out there until tomorrow, and then we’ll let them go like you said, right?”
The pause that followed the question went on a hair too long. “Yeah,” Ted finally said. “We let them go.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Retta
The chain on my prison door rattled, and I looked up to see Bill, who’d apparently been pruning. Twigs and leaves stuck to his shirt like decorations, and his face was damp with sweat. “Hot out there,” he said. “How you doing?”
“Okay, I guess.”
He took a bottle from his pants-leg pocket. “I brought you some more water.”
I stood, dusting the rear of khaki pants that would never be the same again. “That’s really nice of you.”
Setting the water on the hood of the tractor, he backed away. “I came to tell you I can’t come around anymore.”
“Because of Ted?”
“Yeah. I got to look like I’m doing my inn job, and I got to be close in case he needs me for something.”
“Like hauling away a dead body?”
His eyes rattled around in his head like dice. “I told you about that. The guy recognized Ted and came after him.”
“Bill, do you really believe he’s going to let me go? For that matter, do you think they’re going to let you live after what you witnessed?”
“I can’t tell on ’em, ’cause now I’m as guilty as Ted, according to the law.” After a second or two of mental struggle, he repeated what he’d been told like a mantra. “They got no reason to hurt you. We’ll be gone by noon tomorrow, so you can tell what you want to who you want. It won’t matter.”
I imagined Ted saying those very words to allay his fears. Bill had to know Ted was a liar, but believing him was easier than opposing him. We all choose the wrong path sometimes, and we often stick to our choice long after it stops making sense.
I had to think fast. “Could you do one thing before you go?”
“What’s that?”
“That back corner is shady, so it’s the coolest spot in this place, but there’s a huge spider living there. I can’t make myself go near it.”
He peered in the direction I pointed. “A spider, huh? You know they don’t hurt nothing.”
“I can’t help it—I’m terrified of them.” I allowed a little tremor in my voice. My reward was the look a man gets when he can help some little ol’ gal in a way that makes him feel manly but doesn’t require much effort.
Squaring his shoulders like Jason facing Medusa, Bill started for the back of the shed. “Where’s this scary critter?”
I led him to the spot and pointed out a web studded with long-dead insects. “It was in there. Watch out, because it’s huge!”
“The bigger they are, the easier they squash.” He bent down to peer at the mess.
“I can’t watch.” I backed away. “I hate it when they squish.”
Intent on finding his quarry, Bill hardly noticed. I took a few more steps backward then broke into a run for the exit. I heard his surprised grunt of realization behind me, but I was almost there. Should I close the doors and try to lock him inside, or should I run into the woods and find a hiding place?
That question was never answered, because Ted stood just outside the shed. His presence barely registered before he clubbed me with a fist that sent me staggering backward. Luckily Bill had come up behind me, and he caught me before I fell onto the concrete floor.
“Saw you coming this way and figured you wasn’t doing what I said,” Ted said. “How many kinds of an idiot are you, anyway?”
“I brought her some water, and then she said there was a spider—” Bill stopped, aware now how thin my story had been.
“I ought to snap your neck right now.” Ted leaned toward me with menace in his eyes.
“You said we’d let them go,” Bill protested. “Remember?”
“Yeah,” Ted replied, but his eyes revealed the lie. “Now do like I told you. Keep an eye on that woman I showed you with the black and purple hair. We need to make sure she doesn’t leave the inn tonight.” He pointed at me. “This one gets to live if you stop bringing her stuff and doing errands because she asks so nice. Got it?”
“Sure.” Bill looked relieved. His eyes avoided mine, but he didn’t meet Ted’s gaze either. Things were going from bad to worse, but he didn’t know what to do about it. Bill’s quick exit told me I wouldn’t see him again today. I was going to have to get out of this shed by myself.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Faye
When the rehearsal was done, the paraphernalia for the show had to be stored until morning. Dina had been given a small meeting room on the main floor, and she intended to remain there all night, making the alterations, ironing the pieces, and then putting the costumes together so it was easy to locate them during the show.
Honny had a bit of a tantrum when she announced her intention. Putting a hand on his heart like a silent movie star he said, “You have to get some rest, Dina. Promise me you’ll go to bed at least by two.”
She dismissed his concern with a wave. “I can always lay my head on the table for a few minutes if I get tired.”
Clicking his tongue at her stubbornness, Honny gave up. Promising to be back by eight, he herded eight of the models out through the kitchen. Two stayed behind, Cecily, who’d soon be on a quest for a sewing machine, and Gwen, who’d agreed to help Dina with the alterations.
I’d picked up details of their arrangements from conversations overheard as I worked. Gail and Dail had come north in the property van, a vehicle stuffed with clothing, accessories, and supplies for the show. Honny had brought the rest of the girls in a party limo borrowed from Roger Engel’s fleet. In yet another cost-saving measure, he’d booked rooms for the girls at a small motel outside Traverse City, quite a distance away but cheaper than rooms on the peninsula. In the bathrooms at that motel, certain hair color adjustments would be made before he brought them back to St. Millicent’s in the morning.
“Make sure they sleep,” Dina warned as the girls gathered their belongings and prepared to depart. “No partying all night.”
Honny gave her a casual grin, as if any fears she entertained on that score were groundless. Still, I saw Cecily take Bibi aside and speak earnestly to her. They both glanced at Candace as they spoke, and Bibi nodded. I guessed she’d promised to watch over her for the night and try to assure she didn’t take any of her “medicine” before the show.
When they were gone, Dina and I loaded a canvas crate full of clothing she’d be adjusting onto a hotel luggage cart, and the valet who’d been helping us took it to her little workroom somewhere down a hallway. She thanked me repeatedly for my help, and when I said I was sorry I couldn’t stay longer, she waved away my apology. “Gwen seems to know what she’s doing.” She took up her phone, which she’d silenced for the duration of the rehearsal. “I’ve got a ton of messages and voicemails to answer. Thanks again, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I was again tempted to warn Dina about Bill and Ted. If their plan was to kidnap her to extort money from her father, she should know she was in danger. Bending to retrieve my purse from where I’d stashed it behind a chair, I lingered, fiddling with the strap as I tried to make a decision.
Dina had begun listening to her phone, deleting a message, and listening again. The hotel wait-staff had invaded the space as soon as it was clear the rehearsal was finished, making her task difficult. Carts piled with rattling dishes rolled by, and sharp snaps sounded as waiters shook out clean tablecloths. Dina’s forehead creased as she tried to hear what was being said on the phone.
Still I hesitated. Was my confidence in Dina’s innocence strong enough to put my sister’s life at risk? I liked the designer, but being likable isn’t the same as being honest. I might be wrong to think Dina was the target of the plot. Whatever was supposed to happen was slated for Sunday morning. In the end I decided to wait a bit and see what Barb found out.
