Murder Borrowed, Murder Blue

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  “You never told me Dunlap was having problems.” Dakota peeked her head around the corner, and Ginger rose and crossed the room to give her a hug.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Ginger batted away her concerns with a flick of her hand and sent Beau a shy, inclusive smile. “We’ve faced closure before and have always been able to head it off.”

  “I was so happy here,” Dakota mused. She crossed the wide office to peer out the window at the girls playing in the snow. “I’d hate to see it close. Do you need money for the school?”

  I admired Dakota’s straightforward offer, but Ginger shook her head. “It’s time you stopped bailing me out.” She smiled and turned to me. “Dakota footed the bill for me and for Ellie when we were in high school. She used her earnings from Silverlake High to pay our tuition, and I’ve always meant to pay her back.”

  Dakota had made her fame in the early 2000s on a teen soap opera, Silverlake High. Rachel and I had eagerly watched the show each day after school, and I still had a hard time separating Dakota from her character on the show. It had gone off the air after her costar died on set in a horrible accident, but I couldn’t quite remember the details.

  “You still have it!” Dakota squealed and picked up a silver picture frame from Ginger’s desk and turned to show us the picture. A teenage Dakota stood flanked by Ellie and Ginger, all dressed in the Dunlap uniform. A young man stood behind them, and the four teens laughed with apparent joy.

  “What is that?” Rachel had stopped looking at the picture and stared in shock at a gorgeous tiara laid out on an impossibly faded bed of red velvet.

  “This is the famed Winter Ball tiara.” Ginger set the picture of her teenaged self on her desk with a fond pat and picked up the gleaming crown with precise movements. “The workers renovating the ballroom found a time capsule in the cornerstone. There was a rumor about a tiara, but everyone thought it was rhinestone. It turns out it belonged to a robber baron’s daughter who attended a hundred years ago. She was crowned the first Belle of the Winter Ball and donated her tiara to be used for each subsequent Belle.”

  Rachel licked her lips, itching to don the diadem. It sparkled in the low light, a lattice of hundreds of tiny stones throwing off mini prisms across Ginger’s desk.

  “They’re mine-cut diamonds,” Ginger explained, reverently placing the crown back on its velvet perch. “There’s no way we’re putting this puppy back into service. There’s a reason it was whisked away and secretly placed in the time capsule almost a hundred years ago. You can’t have something like this lying around all year. Helene will just have to use the cut-glass crown we’ve been using for the Belle of the Ball.” And with that, Ginger entombed the crown in a safe behind her desk.

  Rachel and I smoothed out some last-minute details regarding the Winter Ball. Soon my sister and I left with Dakota, Beau, and Ellie, as we made our way downtown to pick up bridesmaids dresses.

  Sterling Jennings climbed into an Alfa Romeo with his daughter in tow and gave us a dark look as he pulled out in front of us, cutting us off.

  Ginger is a lovely person, but she sure has a lot of enemies.

  * * *

  The tension rolled off my shoulders as the gates to Dunlap Academy closed behind me.

  “Tomorrow is the ball,” Rachel reminded me, taking in my furrowed brows, “and then this mess will be over and we can focus on Dakota’s wedding.”

  We were thankfully alone, since Ellie was driving the engaged couple.

  “There’s no way I’ll ever agree to host two events so close together again.”

  Not like I have a choice.

  Dakota had insisted on a Valentine’s Day wedding, and Helene wouldn’t budge on the Winter Ball date either, so we would make the most of the two events and just deal. The amount of money Dakota and Beau were paying me for their wedding made my head spin, and easily covered the cost of the Winter Ball I’d been tricked into hosting.

  “We just need to get through the next day, and then we can breathe a sigh of relief.”

  Rachel and I parked and made our way on the slippery sidewalk to Silver Bells, the bridal store owned by my dear friend Bev Mitchell. It was decked to the nines in February splendor, a canvas of pink, red, and silver. A dress form clad in a voluminous cream tulle gown took up most of the front window. A frilly red parasol hovered overhead, protecting the dress from the rain of red and silver hearts suspended from the ceiling. A male mannequin hovered nearby, down on one knee, a sparkling ring at the ready in his hand for a proposal.

  We pushed open the door to the store, the eponymous bells chiming pleasantly to announce our arrival. The store was overrun with girls from Dunlap Academy getting their final fittings in before tomorrow’s ball. It smelled like teen spirit, the air redolent with sweet adolescent perfume and fruity bubble gum. The melee of girls nearly filled the space with their poufy gowns. The store was alive with high-pitched chatter, and the students’ energy was infectious.

  “This is a lot fancier than our prom.” Rachel took in the young women in their pale gowns, and I had to agree. The Winter Ball’s dress code demanded white dresses, and most of the debutantes had purchased wedding gowns to fulfill that edict. The twenty girls laughed and gamboled around the store, which was decimated as if a horde of locusts had torn through a wheat field. Scraps of cream and ivory ribbon littered the floor like the aftermath of a battle waged in silk and taffeta.

  I spotted Nora Jennings in the back of the store, glancing around rather furtively. A slight young woman with platinum waves grabbed Nora’s hand and slipped something inside. Nora quickly traded her a small parcel and disappeared into her dressing room. I blinked, not sure what I’d just witnessed.

  “Girls, girls, settle down now. Let’s get this wrapped up.” Bev, the store purveyor, bustled about, rolling up tape measures and putting pins back into cushions. She’d swathed her apple-shaped frame in a poppy blossom tunic, black pedal pushers, and cherry red flats. She nestled her rhinestone cat’s-eye glasses in her tall blond beehive and gave Rachel and me fleeting air kisses as she rushed by.

  Dakota had beaten us to the store and was trying on one of her wedding dresses, which she’d brought from Los Angeles, for a final fitting. She stepped from the dressing room and the store went silent.

  “Oh, honey, you’re perfect.” Roxanne gazed in rapture at her daughter as Dakota turned a slow circle in front of the mirror.

  “Arf!” Pixie gave an appreciative bark and sniffed Dakota’s hem, her curly little tail motoring in a helicopter blade-like frenzy.

  Dakota’s gown was for the reception, a daring stark white sheath slit up to the thigh, covered in tiny silver beads. The teens oohed and ahhed, and began taking pictures. Some furtively snapped Dakota with their phones, while others were not so clandestine. Dakota didn’t seem to mind, and she paused for a few selfies with the students from her alma mater.

  “Leah!” Dakota turned from the mirror and rushed forward to embrace one of the teens, a tall girl wearing tortoiseshell glasses and a simple cream satin gown. The girl’s most arresting feature was a near yard of vivid purple hair streaming over her shoulders and down her back.

  “Mallory, this is Ellie’s little sister, Leah, my final bridesmaid.” Dakota introduced me to the girl, who bore a strong resemblance to Ellie with her angular face and deep-set, near-black eyes. But it was hard to focus on the similarities between the sisters without getting caught up in Leah’s orchid-colored tresses. I could now take in the left side of her head, which was shaved, the better to expose a large gauged earring and a tiny flower tattoo on her neck.

  “I can’t wait for your wedding! Welcome back.” Leah’s voice was surprisingly girlish and high despite her punky looks.

  Bev bustled over with the bridesmaids’ dresses as the girls from Dunlap slowly changed and headed out the door, most of them dawdling to get a closer look at Dakota.

  Ellie and Leah emerged from their dressing rooms and executed careful shimmies, as the mermaid-style dr
esses didn’t afford them room to take full strides.

  “They’re fantastic.” Roxanne sipped from the flute of champagne Bev had given her and beamed at the women as she stroked Pixie’s long coat. “Chic and stark and bold.”

  Dakota nodded, impassively taking in the off-the-shoulder black silk mermaid gowns. “It’ll be so elegant.” Her words were the right thing to say, but there was no heart behind them.

  “She hates it,” Rachel hissed into my ear, thankfully barely audible.

  I nodded, agreeing with my sister. Dakota wasn’t happy, and it was becoming apparent that not all of the choices she’d agreed to, as her mother ran roughshod over her wishes, were sitting well with her. I wanted Dakota to be happy, and began scheming for a way to incorporate some of her real wishes for her wedding.

  Whatever those are.

  In our phone conferences over the last few months, Dakota had acquiesced to Roxanne’s suggestions, and now she was stuck with a wedding not entirely of her choice.

  But I had a ball to throw in the next twenty-four hours. I vowed to make Dakota’s day right. Just as soon as I put the Winter Ball in the rearview mirror.

  Chapter Three

  It was the day of the Winter Ball. A warm front was due to move through, threatening to turn the dazzling snowy display outside into a soupy mess of rain and mud. But inside my B and B it would be winter splendor, and I hoped the students and the Winter Ball Committee would love it.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing all this work for a glorified prom,” Rachel grumbled as she put the finishing touches on the hundreds of petit fours she’d whipped up. “These girls better appreciate it!”

  “Tell me why again you consented to handle this event the same fortnight as Dakota and Beau’s wedding?” Adrienne appeared at my shoulder, already dressed in eveningwear for the festivities that would begin within the hour. Xavier thought it would be fun to feature the Winter Ball as a small segment of Dakota’s wedding episode, since Dakota once attended Dunlap Academy. Adrienne had been happy to comply.

  I plastered a serene smile on my face and answered Adrienne as calmly as possible. I’d since talked to my boyfriend Garrett about Adrienne, and as his initial shock in seeing her had worn off, he’d given me some pointers in dealing with her.

  “Don’t let her know she’s getting under your skin,” he’d admonished last night over the phone.

  “Who said she’s getting under my skin?” I’d replied, a little hurt.

  “Oh, I know Adrienne, and she definitely will,” he’d warned before we’d hung up.

  I blinked back at Adrienne. “I owed a favor to someone at the school. It couldn’t be helped.”

  Adrienne raised her eyebrows, waiting for me to go on.

  “Don’t you worry—this event will go off without a hitch. Then Rachel and I can turn to Dakota and Beau’s wedding full throttle.”

  I wheeled around and left Adrienne before she could offer me another piece of dubiously well-meaning advice. I surveyed with satisfaction the front and back halls, where the bulk of the ball would take place.

  The front hall held twenty tables, the discreet place cards glittering on each setting of china. I’d enacted the Winter Ball Committee’s seating chart to a T, and while most of the debutantes were from out of town, I did recognize some of the names of families that passed for high society here in Port Quincy. They were the names of people who had once been invited to my wedding to Keith Pierce, Helene’s son, that thankfully had not gone off.

  The color palette for the Winter Ball was right up Adrienne’s alley. It was a wash of pale blue, frosty gray, and vivid periwinkle. Fish lines ran across the high ceilings and suspended hundreds of shimmery silver snowflakes. Pale blue linens dressed the tables, and antique snow globes depicting miniature scenes from Port Quincy graced each table. The globes were fashioned from McGavitt Glass, the company once headed by the former owner of this house, a captain of industry. Cream and silver candles marched down each table, and waiters lit them carefully in preparation for the beginning of the ball. Hundreds of blue flowers spilled from vases all around the cavernous room. There were snowball-like clusters of periwinkle hydrangea and stately irises quivering in tall gray vases. Deep lupine stalks rose out of bases of dusty miller, and a sea of phlox covered the side tables. All of the flowers had been flown in from South America by way of our florist, Lucy, at the Bloomery, and I turned in a slow circle to admire the Winter Ball Committee’s plans come to life, executed by yours truly.

  I’d ignored every whim decreed by Helene from her stay in Boca Raton. She’d wanted a coral canvas with gold accents to play up the one hundred and twenty-fifth anniversary of the school. She’d intoned that the girls would dine on watercress sandwiches and beef Wellington. We’d be having spicy tapas and sushi instead, as well as a DJ rather than a swing band.

  “I hate blue flowers.” Dakota appeared at my side, shuddering, her thin arms wrapped around her stomach. She wore a simple dark green velvet cocktail dress for the event, which she’d agreed to emcee as the school’s most famous alumna.

  “I’m sorry,” I sputtered, caught off guard by the vehemence of her pronouncement. “We’ll be sure not to have any blue for your wedding.”

  Dakota shook her head in apology. “It’s okay. I just didn’t know this event would have a blue theme.”

  Why does she hate blue flowers?

  I pushed the thought out of my head as Helene waltzed in the front door. She soon shucked her mink coat and tossed it with a flick of her wrist at the coat check. The heavy jacket landed on the poor attendant, who yelped and hurried to hang it up.

  Helene was in rare form. She wore a silky floor-length salmon dress, which I recognized as her Bill Blass. Sequins and seed pearls liberally encrusted the matching brocade jacket. Helene would be right at home on an episode of Dallas, circa 1985. She was outfitted in prodigious shoulder pads befitting a Pittsburgh Steeler.

  Rachel leaned down in my ear. “Nancy Reagan called. She’d like her wardrobe back.” My sister was wearing a daring fire-engine-red halter dress for the event, with a smattering of glitter fashioned as starbursts. I was in a simple black sheath, so I could buzz around all evening and unobtrusively make sure things were running smoothly.

  I stifled a smile at my sister’s comment. But it was soon wiped off my face as Helene spun in a slow circle, taking in the blue splendor. Her face contorted into a mask of rage, her coral lips pursing and unpursing as she sputtered and quaked.

  “What have you done!” She minced over with surprising speed, her kitten heels striking the marble floor so hard I feared they’d spark. “I gave you very specific instructions on how to execute this ball, and instead, you created this abomination!”

  A waiter cringed as he passed, readying a large tray of tapas and sushi for the debutantes who would be arriving at any moment. Helene plucked a piece of spider roll from the platter and dropped it back in disgust.

  “Raw fish? Have you lost your mind?”

  I feared she’d have an aneurysm, but stood my ground.

  “You weren’t on the Winter Ball Committee, Helene. I had to follow their decrees, not yours.”

  Helene stood still for a moment. The room went eerily still as the waitstaff paused to see what she’d do.

  “You’re fired!” She pointed at me with a knobby finger, dripping in carnelians, her hand quivering with anger.

  “You can’t fire her,” a calm voice sighed from across the room. Ginger, clad in a gorgeous black velvet suit, materialized at my side. She put a steadying and protective arm around my shoulders. “Mallory, you’ve done a magnificent job. The Winter Ball Committee will be so pleased.”

  Helene’s mouth hung agape, at a loss for words for once in her life. But I knew it wouldn’t last.

  “It appears it’s too late to reverse this travesty of a ball,” Helene breathed, a gleam glittering in her eyes. “But at least some traditions will be resurrected as they were meant to be.” She reached into her ra
ther large beaded evening bag and pulled out the Winter Ball tiara. The hundreds of tiny old mine-cut diamonds winked and blinked in the light of the chandelier.

  “You didn’t dare.” Ginger’s voice was low and murderous as she lunged for the crown. “How did you get it?” She stopped herself from wrestling the delicate snowflake headpiece from Helene’s hands and buried her fists in her suit pockets.

  “I had your secretary open the safe.” Helene’s smile was wide, wolfish, and triumphant. “It appears you don’t run everything at Dunlap Academy.”

  Ginger finally seemed rattled by Helene. She was a vision of restrained anger. She opened her palm.

  “Give. Me. That. Crown.”

  Helene shrugged and deposited the crown in Ginger’s outstretched hand. “Provided the Belle of the Ball gets to wear it tonight. Then we can add it to the vote next week in front of the board whether the tiara is worn each year. And don’t think I don’t have the votes to make it happen.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Ginger took a step toward Helene, towering a foot over her, her willowy frame like a twanging live wire.

  “I’m just stating the facts. I will do everything going forward to depose you as headmistress. Your ideas for my alma mater are downright dangerous.” Helene drew herself up to full height and took a single step closer. “If you attempt to make the school coed, it will be over your dead body.”

  She swished away, the sharp fizz of Calèche stinging my nose, leaving Ginger holding the tiara. We both deflated.

  “She shouldn’t make threats like that.” My voice was small.

  “Believe it or not, I’m used to it.” Ginger regarded the tiara as if it were a live snake. “Do you have somewhere safe to put this for the duration of the ball?”

  We retired to my office and locked the tiara in the small room. The headpiece reposed in the middle of my desk, the delicate snowflake lace lattice of platinum and diamonds twinkling in the low light.