“It must be worth a small fortune.” I’d once found some very coveted paintings in this house and almost paid for them with my life. I wasn’t keen on having something so expensive lingering in my office.
“I had it appraised this week. It’s worth fifty thousand dollars.”
Rachel let out a low whistle and walked into the room, reaching out a hand to touch the spray of diamonds. “Not chump change.”
Ginger ruefully shook her head. “If it were up to me, this tiara would be transported to Christie’s auction house posthaste. The school could use the money. But,” she sighed, the stress of her altercation finally catching up to her, “Helene is actually right about this. The board will vote next week about whether we keep the tiara and use it as part of the Winter Ball tradition each year, or if we sell it or donate it to a museum. I’m surprised no one dug it out of the cornerstone years ago and raided the time capsule like King Tut’s tomb.”
A growing sound of chatter spilled into my office from the hall. The ball was beginning, and the students and their dates had arrived. Ginger hurried out of the room with her tablet firmly ensconced in her arms, the electronic device swathed in a case of rhinestones, almost transforming it into a fancy clutch.
I locked the door firmly behind me and didn’t give the tiara another thought.
* * *
The Winter Ball was in full swing. It was a blinged-out pageant, more in keeping with the razzle-dazzle Rachel craved for Dakota’s wedding. Adrienne, wearing a sleek gown in periwinkle silk, flitted around the ball interviewing girls for clips for I Do, and the camerawoman shot Dakota welcoming the girls to the ball as the alumna emcee. To my consternation, I saw Helene giving a lengthy speech on camera, and chatting up an amused Xavier.
The debutantes and their dates from the nearby boys’ private school spun and danced beneath a behemoth disco ball in the back hall, the spinning decoration reflecting the blue gel lights.
Ginger walked around and talked to her students, who appeared to adore her. She attempted to talk to Sterling Jennings, who seemed to be chaperoning the event, but he wouldn’t give her the time of day and sidestepped her every approach.
The evening culminated with the announcement of Belle of the Ball. Ellie clapped and whistled as her little sister, Leah, was announced the winner, and Dakota turned expectantly to receive the gorgeous snowflake tiara to place upon Leah’s glossy purple chignon. Leah’s angular and punky looks had been transformed, and she made a perfect Cinderella. Her tortoiseshell glasses were gone, and she’d perfectly dressed up her understated cream satin gown with a large rhinestone snowflake pin. I realized her orchid hair perfectly complemented her angular face. The crowd of young women and their dates began to buzz with anticipation when the crown didn’t materialize and the minutes stretched by.
Help me, Dakota mouthed from the stage, awaiting the appearance of the tiara.
“Where’s Ginger?” I searched the crowded back hall over my sister’s shoulder.
“I haven’t seen her in a while.” My sister scanned the room for the headmistress to no avail.
“It appears the headmistress has disappeared with the tiara.” Helene’s voice rang out through the back hall as a stunned Dakota stared at the microphone Helene had just ripped from her hands. Helene stood triumphant, her coral lipstick bleeding into the lines around her mouth, her eyes flashing.
“That’s not true!” a young woman called out uncertainly as the buzzing in the hall increased.
“This is getting out of control. We’ve got to find Ginger.”
Leah stood stunned in front of her classmates, a crownless Belle of the Ball. She eventually left the front of the room as her classmates made their way to the coat check.
The large man-in-the-moon clock had struck midnight, and it was time for the girls’ carriages, or limousines, to turn back into pumpkins. The long, sleek cars lined up in the front drive, their tailpipes giving off plumes of white smoke as the hot exhaust collided with the frigid, rainy night air. The debutantes were antsy to attend the usual post-ball breakfast at a local diner, then head back to their castle boarding school. As we called out for Ginger, the girls limped around, dangling high heels from their fingers, rubbing their throbbing feet, swollen from dancing. Their dates stifled cheek-splitting yawns and dug their hands in their pockets, taking them out again to check the time on their fancy watches.
* * *
Rachel and I finally made our way to our shared office.
“Uh-oh.” Rachel grabbed the antique door handle and gave it a sharp pull. “This is locked.”
“It should be locked.” I bent down to examine the door.
Crap.
The ancient copper key, brittle and thin, was buried in the keyhole, the stem snapped off.
“It’s almost as if—”
“Someone wanted to keep someone in,” Rachel finished for me. We shared a wordless glance and raced to the heavy mahogany front doors. I grabbed Rachel before we left the front hall and motioned to the big roll-top desk that served as a check-in kiosk for guests. The lock had been jimmied and broken.
“Someone took the key and broke it in our office door.”
The carefully labeled key rack was missing the copper key now jammed in the keyhole.
We were down the porch in a flash in our heels, the shoes sinking into the now muddy and puddled front grounds. Icy sheets of rain coursed down on our heads, obliterating the last bits of snow. We finally made it around to where our office stood and peered into the room, our hands flanking our eyes against the bright office lights.
Ginger sat at my desk, her willowy frame slumped over and face down. A massive arrangement of blue hydrangeas, lupines, lady slippers, and irises stood at attention next to her.
“Get a rock, something, anything!” My shrill voice cut into the night air as we rushed to get to Ginger.
Rachel handed me a copper frog decoration nestled at the foot of the bushes. I broke the window, gasping as the glass cut into my flesh. I unlocked the sash and Rachel boosted me into the room.
“I can’t breathe. . . .”
A heavy chemical smell, bleach and something else, eddied in my nostrils, searing the delicate skin. I gasped and made my way to Ginger. I flipped up her palm, feeling for a pulse. I felt my vision flicker, my lungs screaming for air. Tears streaked down my face, and I gagged over and over again.
My last thought before everything went black was about the woman whose hand I held.
She was gone.
Chapter Four
I awoke to pandemonium, a sea of raccoon-streaked teenage faces peering down at me.
“All right everyone, give her some air.”
Truman.
I closed my eyes again, thankful the chief of police and my boyfriend’s father, Truman Davies, was here. To handle whatever the hell had just happened.
“Thank God.” Rachel leaned close to my face, her green eyes misty and bright. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”
“Ginger—”
I sat up and was gently pushed down by Rachel, who tucked a velvet pillow under my head.
“Don’t worry about her,” she said hastily. Her eyes strayed to the right, where I could see my office. A white cloth draped over a still form.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” My voice was at once hoarse and flat. I closed my eyes and welcomed the hot tears, which soothed the searing pain making my eyeballs itch and burn.
Rachel nodded, not meeting my gaze. I sat up, and this time she didn’t force me down, but helped me to my feet. Girls gathered around the doorway to the office, still clad in their Winter Ball gowns. Other students stood in the rain, waiting for their limousines like bell-skirted apparitions rising out of the mist. They wept, holding each other up, and their dates from the neighboring boys’ school stood stunned and subdued. The attendees had gone from young men and women at a coming-out party to celebrate their youth to veritable adults forced to contemplate death in a single tragic night. Th
ey were stony faced and shocked, bleary-eyed and infinitely tired.
And above the wail of the ambulance and the muffled sniffles of the students was a more disturbing caterwaul.
“Where is my tiara?” Helene screeched, frantically pulling at the sleeves of Truman’s partner, policewoman Faith Hendricks.
“Mrs. Pierce, we’ll get to the bottom of this, but not with you hanging on me.” Faith crisply removed Helene’s talons from her uniformed arm and deftly sidestepped her, her blond ponytail swishing in apparent annoyance.
“I can’t believe you’re worried about that stupid tiara at a time like this!” Ellie shot Helene a murderous glance with her near-black eyes as she supported a sobbing Dakota.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Helene’s voice rose an octave higher than usual. “Someone killed the headmistress to get the tiara. And while you all stand around here, they’re getting away!” Her eyes darted toward the open front door, where flashlights could be seen through the raindrops, men and women combing the soupy lawn for evidence.
“We’ve called in reinforcements from neighboring towns, and they’re searching the grounds,” Faith announced. “Just calm down, Mrs. Pierce, and let us do our job.”
Dakota bawled, hysterical in Ellie’s arms. Her fiancé seemed too subdued to tend to her. Beau was nearly catatonic, stone faced and pale, all the folksy mirth drained from his countenance. He ineffectually patted Dakota’s back and she wailed, her breath coming in wracking jags.
All the gaiety from a successful Winter Ball was gone. The jaunty party atmosphere was gone in a cloud of noxious gas.
“Chloramine vapor, to be exact.”
“Excuse me?” I sat weakly in a chair in the parlor and Truman stood before me, eagle-eyed and attentive even at this late hour. His presence soothed me, but not as much as Garrett’s. My boyfriend rushed into the room and gathered me in his arms, murmuring into my hair.
“I came as soon as I could. Dad called and let me know what happened.” He drew back and scanned my face. His gaze caught on my eyes, which, I could see in the gilt mirror above the sideboard, were a brilliant, unsettling red. I nestled into him, breathing in his familiar scent of spearmint and oranges. He wore his black wool coat over a pajama top, half tucked into jeans. I steadied my cheek against his chest and felt my tears dampen his coat.
“That vase was filled with what I’m betting is a mixture of bleach and ammonia,” Truman explained as Garrett settled me onto the appropriately named fainting couch. “Which produces chloramine vapor.”
“That’s why you’re told never to mix cleaning products.” I shook my head as if trying to clear a fog. “But who would have done this to Ginger? Why now, and why here?”
Truman let out a gust of air and began pacing the parlor. He’d hastily donned his official uniform, and his black shoes squeaked on the hardwood floor.
“Ginger called me this afternoon,” he admitted in a low voice. “She wanted to keep me apprised about a situation with a student.”
We were all silent for a moment, the buzz of the young women growing louder and louder.
“So she knew of a crime committed by a Dunlap student?” I pinched the bridge of my nose, a massive headache coming on.
“Or she knew of someone doing something to a student,” Truman mused, shaking his head. “I was testifying in court this afternoon and didn’t get her message until late. If only I’d called her back earlier.”
We all turned to see the paramedics leading Ginger’s body out the front door, her form shrouded in white.
“I have to do something.” I stood, a wave of dizziness overtaking me.
“Just rest,” Garrett soothed, handing me a cup of tea Rachel proffered.
“But the girls, we’ve got to get them home.” The debutantes milled about the first floor in a daze, exhausted and spent. Their white gowns, crisp and festive hours ago, seemed wilted and mussed.
“No one’s going anywhere,” Truman growled. “Not until I’ve questioned everyone.” He turned to leave the room when the odious man who’d refused to meet with Ginger yesterday appeared in the doorway.
“You can’t be serious.” Sterling Jennings stood with his daughter, a quivering Nora, and donned his coat. “We’re leaving at once.” His words were filled with bluster, but he ran a hand over his slick hair with a nervous, trembling movement.
“Sir, this is a crime scene investigation. These girls may have seen something of interest. A detail that appears insignificant to them, but may have bearing on the murder of Ginger Crevecoeur. No one leaves until I say so.”
Truman placed his hands on his hips, his hazel eyes dark and stony.
“Do you know who I am?” Sterling advanced into the room, his voice dangerously quiet. He was willing to throw his weight around as a premier heart surgeon, but I doubted Truman would care.
“Mr. Jennings, I’m not requesting that you stay. It’s an order.” Truman stepped closer to Sterling’s face, the moisture beads from the rain in his salt-and-pepper hair quivering. “Now get out of my way.”
Truman brushed past Sterling and Nora and began issuing directions for the limousines to depart, since the girls would be spending more time than they’d bargained for at Thistle Park. The young women anxiously called their parents on their cell phones. I had no doubt a small army of attorneys would descend upon my B and B come sun up.
But the most strident objector to being held at my mansion was Helene. “The perpetrator absconded with the tiara. You should be out looking for it!” She jabbed her bony finger in Truman’s face.
He snarled with barely controlled ire, “Don’t tell me how to do my job, Mrs. Pierce.” Helene harrumphed down the hall, muttering about how the Winter Ball fiasco was entirely my fault.
The sun eventually rose, turning the black sky to murky gray as the rain continued to pelt down.
Garrett helped me and Rachel cobble together a breakfast for the hundred guests who were trapped at the B and B for questioning. We dug into the deep freezers in the basement and made a banquet of sausage, bacon, pancakes, and scrambled eggs. It was in direct contrast to the delicate and varied menu I’d put together for the Winter Ball, but I figured the girls would need something fortifying, plus it was all we had. I put in a call to the Greasy Spoon Diner to bring some extra meals to round out our provisions. The diner usually hosted the debutantes after the Winter Ball and would be wondering why none of the teens and their dates had showed up.
The Winter Ball attendees reluctantly picked at their food, some too upset to eat. Others dug in as if starved, thankful for the meal we’d made to feed an army of confused, sad, and gossiping girls. Gallons of tea and coffee were consumed, as the students and chaperones struggled to stay awake.
“I’ve got to go,” Garrett apologized, dropping a kiss atop my head. My fancy bun had long unraveled, and my heels had been left in the muddy ground beneath my office window. “Be careful.” He pressed two more kisses into my now-bandaged hands and left me in Rachel’s care to see Summer off to school and get to work. I felt eyes boring into the back of my head and turned, startled, to see Adrienne watching me through narrowed eyes.
* * *
The day dragged on, and Rachel gleaned snippets of updates from Truman and Faith. Ginger’s ever-present tablet was missing, in addition to the diamond tiara. The pouring rain had erased any footprints from the grounds. And the fine dusting of black fingerprint powder had yielded nothing so far, as most of the attendees had worn elbow-length gloves.
The girls’ tears had given way to jagged bouts of sleep and naps snatched on the many chaises and couches scattered around Thistle Park. It was 4 PM before the last of the girls, chaperones, and their lawyers drove away, and I felt like I’d spent the longest night of my life coming to grips with the Winter Ball Disaster, as Rachel and I had started calling it.
“Well, this is a colossal nightmare.” Truman sat on the couch next to me with an unsuppressed oof. Faith sat down too, a study in contrasts. Truman was in
his fifties, a vision of what Garrett would look like in twenty years. His six-foot-four frame sagged into the cushions, and his ample belly strained the buttons of his police uniform. Faith was in her mid-twenties, her face fresh and dewy, her ponytail ever perky. They made a great team, and if anyone could get to the bottom of what had happened to Ginger, it would be them.
“Who are your suspects?”
Truman usually didn’t like to share details of his investigation with civilians, but seeing as my B and B was the scene of the crime, I hoped he’d relent this time.
He dragged a heavy hand across his brow and sighed. “Who isn’t?”
“Oh, c’mon, we all know who did it.” Rachel took a swig of coffee and made a face, her pretty green eyes baggy and puffy from lack of sleep.
“You know something I don’t?” Truman leaned forward with interest.
“She means Helene. Isn’t it obvious?” I put my feet up on an ottoman, willing myself to stay awake. I carefully unwrapped the bandages on my hands and examined the cuts from breaking the glass to get to Ginger. Thankfully, they were pretty superficial. “Helene has it out for Ginger. Yesterday afternoon, before the ball began, she threatened to kill her.”
That got Truman and Faith’s attention. Rachel and I detailed Helene’s threat to Ginger regarding Dunlap turning coed.
“There’s a big vote next week,” Ellie said as she came up behind us and sat down.
Truman opened his mouth, perhaps to tell her to scram, then thought better of it. “Go on,” he implored.
“I’m Ginger’s best friend, and I teach at Dunlap too. Attendance is way down. The economy is hurting everyone, even the types of people who can afford to send their daughters to boarding school. Ginger said if we don’t consider a merger with the boys’ private school down the road, there may not be a Dunlap Academy in a few years.”
Ellie caught a glimpse of herself in the gilt mirror and gasped, grabbing at a passel of tissues to wipe at her mascara trails.
“She also wanted that tiara,” Rachel added.
“She got Ginger’s secretary to get it out of the safe at school and brought it to the ball, even though Ginger had forbidden it.” I leaned back in the deep cushions of the couch, warming to the idea of Helene behind bars. “She had it out for Ginger—you have to see that.”
Murder Borrowed, Murder Blue Page 5
