I breathed my thanks as I pulled into the parking space. Once I threw Ringo’s door open, I gingerly stepped onto the asphalt. Heat radiated off the pavement in waves as I barreled across the lot and moved through the door of Crowning Glory.
Beatrice stood behind the cash register. While she should’ve looked rested after taking the morning off, she looked even more strained than usual.
“Hi, Bea.” I longed to blurt out the news of my discovery, but I didn’t want to work us both into a panic. Better to give her the news in little dibs and dabs. “It’s been a crazy morning, but I came back for our eleven o’clock appointment. Where is she?”
“Thank God you’re here!” Beatrice blew out a puff of air, which ruffled her brown bangs. “I was worried about you.”
I started toward the counter but became distracted by a feathered fascinator someone had knocked to the ground. I gingerly picked it up and fluffed the smashed hat before I returned it to its spot on a display table that looked surprisingly bare. “What happened to all the other stuff that normally goes here?”
“It’s a funny story.” Somehow, she did not look amused. “And I heard about what happened to you this morning. Everyone’s talking about it.”
No doubt. “Okay, but first things first. What’s been going on around here?”
I gingerly approached the cash register, wary of the changes in both my store and my assistant. While Beatrice normally wore wonderful costume jewelry made with enormous rhinestones, today her ears and neck were bare. The gemstones usually matched her apparel—a man’s dress shirt, which she tucked into a pencil skirt, for a fun, funky vibe—but now her shirt billowed over the skirt haphazardly.
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” I said. A mound of sparkly jewelry greeted me when I reached the counter. “Let me guess…you got stuck holding a baby this morning, and it didn’t go well.”
“Bingo.” She swept out from behind the counter and wearily plopped onto a bar stool. “We had a second-time bride come in. With her whole gang.” She began to rub her bare earlobe, the skin raw and red. “The little tyke yanked off my jewelry, but his mom didn’t even notice.”
“And he took the hat stands off the table, too?” While it sounded far-fetched, stranger things had happened in our store.
“Oh, no. His sister took those. Did you know those things make excellent weapons? She pretended one was a sword, and then the little angel wouldn’t give it back.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “She even got me in the legs…more than once. Look.” She pointed to a hole in her tights.
“Ouch. Don’t worry. I’ll pay for those. And what’s that spot on your skirt?”
“Jelly. Blackberry, of course. The darkest kind they make.”
I moved to a stool next to hers. “Take it to the dry cleaners and charge it to the studio. Now…what happened to our eleven o’clock appointment?”
“She called and said she had an emergency, so she had to reschedule. Something about a problem with her wedding chapel.”
“Oh, no.” My hand stalled. No doubt the bride had planned to use Dogwood Manor for her nuptials, and now she’d had to reschedule. There was no telling how many people Mr. Solomon’s death had affected. Or how many of our clients, although that seemed a bit selfish, given the circumstances.
“I’ll bet you dollars to donuts she booked the wedding chapel at Dogwood Manor,” I said, “and now she has to scramble to find a new place. So, did you hear that I was the one who found Mr. Solomon’s body this morning?”
“That’s right!” Her eyes widened. “And here I am babbling on and on about me and my morning. What happened?”
Although barely thirty minutes had passed, no doubt half of the population of Bleu Bayou knew by now, and the other half would find out by lunchtime. News traveled fast in Bleu Bayou, or, as we liked to say, it traveled at the speed of boredom.
“Mr. Solomon was lying in a back bedroom,” I said. “I thought it was a pile of dirty laundry at first.”
“Shut up!” Tired or not, Beatrice found the energy to slap her hand over her mouth the minute she said that. “I’m sorry…I’ve gotta stop using that expression.”
“It’s okay. I understand why you’d be surprised.”
“Stuff like this keeps happening to you. I mean…what are the odds you’d be the one to find another body?”
“Tell me about it. My friend, the detective, came over right away. He’s going to handle the investigation.”
“Wow. Do they know what happened?”
“No, not yet. Everyone thinks it might be a heart attack. But the guy also had a real talent for making enemies.”
“I know all about that, remember? He and my uncle weren’t exactly friends. In fact, they bickered like an old married couple. I never could tell whether they really hated each other or they just loved to fight.”
I shrugged. “Guess your uncle doesn’t have to worry about him anymore.”
“That’s true. But what was it like to find the body?”
“Well, like I said, I didn’t know it was a body at first.” Truth be told, the glass finial had captured my attention, not the person lying under it. All that changed when I realized the bauble was resting on someone’s back. “But I saw Mr. Solomon earlier today, and he didn’t look well.”
“What do you mean?”
“He had a skin rash and he’d gone completely bald.” I suddenly realized why Beatrice would want to know. “Wait a minute. Didn’t you want to become a pharmacist when you went to LSU?”
While she’d planned to enroll in the pharmacy program at the University of Louisiana at Monroe after her undergraduate studies, Beatrice changed her mind when she realized how much memorization it’d involve. She made the right choice to give up on the pharmacy program, given her quirky personality, but she still was a whiz at medicines and such.
“Let me tell you about his symptoms,” I said. “The rash was purple with red bumps. And he didn’t have one strand of hair left. He was completely bald.”
I could almost hear her mind working. After a moment, she leaned back. “Sounds like a metalloid poisoning.”
She must’ve noticed my blank expression, because she spoke again. “You have your heavy metals, like mercury or lead, and radioactive ones, like radium. Sometimes they build up in the immune system until your body begins to shut down.”
“But would that cause a skin rash? It even showed up on the back of his hand.” I’d noticed it when he took the pen from Erika Daniels in the library.
“It could cause the rash to spread. We’d call it a sign of the poisoning. A symptom would be something only he could feel…like sleepiness or confusion.”
“I noticed the rash right away.” His scalp had seemed bruised when I’d spied him under the ladder. And, although he’d always been skinny, the shoulders of his dress shirt sagged midway to his elbow.
“Well, you’ll have to see what the coroner says, but it sounds like he had signs of acute metalloid poisoning.” Her diagnosis complete, Beatrice squinted. “Now, the real question is…who would do something like that?”
“I don’t know.” Although, to be honest, the image of Cole Truitt immediately came to mind. “One construction worker told me the crew members had been taking bets on when the old man would have a heart attack.”
“Ouch. That seems a little cold.”
“Exactly. And Mr. Solomon barked at everyone this morning. There’s no telling how many people he’s ticked off along the way.”
People like Shep Truitt, as a matter of fact, who had nothing good to say about the man. And if the foreman would confide in me, a total stranger, who knew how much he really hated his boss? Ditto for Erika Daniels. While she didn’t complain about him, she’d seemed ready to clobber him when he’d criticized her in the library.
“Bottom line is, half the people in Bleu Bayou probably wanted him gone
,” I said. “And the other half would help them do it.”
CHAPTER 5
“Which brings us back to our eleven o’clock appointment.” Beatrice glanced at a Timex on her wrist, the only accessory she still wore. “I could always call the bride back and find out whether she can come in later today.”
“That’d be great. It’ll give me some time to visit Lance at the police station. Do you mind cleaning up the studio a little while I’m gone?”
“Not at all.” Beatrice winced. “But I forgot to tell you something else. The little darling from this morning broke our coffee table.”
Sweet mother-of-pearl. “And our budget is so tight right now.” Even though August normally brought in tons of customers and lots of new orders, it also meant tons of expenses. I normally reconciled the two in September, when I tallied the profits.
“Maybe there’s a bright side.” Beatrice was doing her best to sound perky. “Didn’t you say it was time we redecorated the studio anyway?”
“I suppose.” My gaze flew around the room. When I first came to Bleu Bayou, some two and a half years ago, the “shabby chic” look was popular, complete with distressed furniture, flower-print linens, and old-fashioned chandeliers. Now, however, people wanted more classic lines, with clean edges, bold colors, and even a little midcentury-modern furniture thrown in.
“There’s no time like the present,” Beatrice said.
“Maybe you’re right.” I tried to ignore the dollar signs floating in front of my eyes. “I didn’t plan to do it right now, but this place really could use a face-lift.”
Beatrice and I spent a few moments discussing how we’d change the studio if we found any extra money in the budget. After chitchatting for a moment, we were interrupted by the ringing of the studio’s telephone, and Beatrice leaned across the counter to answer it.
“Crowning Glory. May I help you?” After listening for a moment, she covered the mouthpiece with her palm. “It’s an editor from one of the brides’ magazines,” she whispered. “He wants to talk to the owner.”
I motioned for the phone, which she gladly gave me. Magazine writers usually called our shop to get quotes for their stories, but not their editors. I only hoped it wasn’t an advertising salesperson in disguise, trying to get me to spend more money I didn’t have.
“Hello, this is Melissa DuBois. May I help you?”
“Yes. I’m Peter Kleinfeld, from Today’s Bride. Are you the owner?”
I quickly flipped through my mental Rolodex. Glossy cover…oversized pages…readership in the thousands. Today’s Bride was definitely one of the better brides’ magazines. “Yes. Yes, I am. How can I help you?”
“We’re doing a feature on bridal trends. Everything from food to flowers and wedding clothes. Thought I’d give you a call.”
“I see.” My shoulders relaxed, since he probably just wanted a quote. “There’s a lot going on in our industry right now. Do you mind if I ask how you heard about us?”
He chuckled. “Not at all. I found you on the Internet. Either you have a damn good search engine optimization person, or everyone’s clicking on your website.”
I smiled at Beatrice, although she had no idea what was going on. “That’s good to hear. It’s not our SEO person, because that’s me. So, what can I do for you, Mr. Kleinfeld?”
“Like I said, we’re doing a feature on bridal trends. That’s where you come in. We’d like to do a sidebar on your shop. Your design background, the hats, the whole shebang. Would you be game for that?”
I almost shrieked “shut up,” like Beatrice had done, but stopped myself in the nick of time. “Of course we’d be game for that! We’d be honored. Flattered, even. You can use the photos on our website, and I’d be happy to give you a telephone interview.”
He chuckled again. “That’s not quite what I had in mind. I’d like to send a writer down to Louisiana, along with one of my best photographers.”
“A photographer?” My gaze circled the room again, only this time noticing every crack and scratch and flaw. The broken coffee table, the missing hat stands, even a large scuff mark on the far wall. “To take pictures?”
“Yes, that’s what they usually do. How does Wednesday sound?”
“You mean this Wednesday? That’s two days from now.”
“I know what day it is. Is there a problem?”
I shook my head vigorously, even though he couldn’t see me. “No, of course not. Heaven forbid! Wednesday will be fine. Perfect, as a matter of fact.”
“Good. That’s good.” He sounded satisfied. “I’ll have my crew there first thing Wednesday morning. Bright and early. Give me a call if anything comes up between now and then.”
With that, he hung up. I silently passed the receiver to Beatrice, too astounded to speak.
“What did he want?” Her eyes blazed with curiosity as she returned the phone to its cradle. “What’s happening Wednesday?”
“Looks like we’re going to have some visitors.” I spoke cautiously, since it was better to give her this news in tiny tidbits, too, or I’d work us both into a panic. “That was Peter Kleinfeld. From Today’s Bride.”
“Shut up!” This time, she didn’t bother to cover her mouth or to apologize, for that matter. “I love that magazine!”
“So do I.” First things first. “But you’ve got to stop telling me to ‘shut up.’ You’re not supposed to say that to your boss. Consider this your final warning.”
She gulped. “Sorry ’bout that. What did the magazine guy want?”
“He’s going to send a writer out here. And a photographer.”
“Aaaiiieee!” She paused, mid-shriek. “Wait a minute…why aren’t you happy? You should be smiling.”
She was right, of course. This was one of the best things to have happened to Crowning Glory in ages. A New York brides’ magazine—one of the very best—didn’t travel fourteen hundred miles for nothing. It would bring national exposure to our studio…whether we were ready for it or not.
“Hey, there.” Bo’s voice sounded in the doorway, and I immediately turned. “What’s all the excitement about?”
He loped through the door to our studio, no doubt summoned by Beatrice’s high-pitched squeal. I fully expected to see a pack of yapping hound dogs behind him, lured by the shriek.
“Hi, Bo. Sorry if we’re being loud,” I said. “We just got some news, and Beatrice is a little excited.”
“You’ll get excited, too,” she said, “when you find out who called.”
Bo sidled up to the counter and casually draped his arm around my waist. “I’m already excited. So, who called?”
“Today’s Bride!” She squealed again, just in case some hounds didn’t hear her the first time around.
“That’s great!” Bo quickly planted a kiss on my cheek, but he pulled back when I didn’t respond. “Whoa. What’s wrong? You should be doing a happy dance. Why aren’t you?”
“Because,” I said, “he wants the crew to come Wednesday. This Wednesday. Two days from now. Forty-eight hours—”
“Okay, okay.” He turned to Beatrice. “What have you done with your boss? The stranger here obviously doesn’t know a good opportunity when she sees one.”
“Haha.” I swatted his arm away, even though I knew he was teasing. “I do want them to come. Just not now.”
“Why not?”
“Look at this place!” I gestured wildly around the room. “We’re not ready for a photo shoot. The camera will pick up every little flaw.”
“It’s not that bad.” Unfortunately, he didn’t sound convinced. “Sure, you could use some paint. Maybe replace a floorboard here and there. And the mirror…is that blackberry jelly in the corner?”
I groaned. “You’re not being helpful. I know it needs a lot of work. Maybe I should’ve told him no.”
“You couldn’t do
that.” Thankfully, Beatrice had the good sense to lower her voice. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You had to say yes.”
“She’s right,” Bo added. “And we’re both going to help you through it. Starting right now. I only came here to invite you to lunch. I heard about Mr. Solomon’s death this morning, and I thought you’d want to talk about it.”
“My gosh. I completely forgot about that.”
Bo hadn’t heard my side of the story, what with all the hullabaloo.
“But I couldn’t possibly leave the shop right now.”
“Yes, you could.” Beatrice nodded earnestly. “I can watch things while you’re gone. Nothing is gonna change in the next half hour.”
“See. It’s unanimous.” Ambrose gently pulled me up from the stool. “And I won’t take no for an answer, so you might as well give in now.”
I sighed as I rose. “Fine. I can’t fight both of you. But let’s get it to go so I don’t spend too much time away.”
“Deal,” he said. “We’ll visit Miss Odilia’s and order some of her fried chicken.” Little by little, he’d inched us closer to the door. “Like the lady said…what can happen in the next half hour?”
CHAPTER 6
I reluctantly followed Ambrose out the door of the studio and into the parking lot, which blazed under the summer sun. A few cars passed us as people left the office building in search of lunch.
“Do I at least get to order for myself?” I asked when we finally arrived at his Audi.
“Of course. I’m not a tyrant, you know.”
We didn’t say much once we pulled onto LA-18 for the drive to Miss Odilia’s Southern Eatery. By the time we arrived, cars filled the first two rows in the parking lot, so Ambrose headed for the third aisle, where he found a spot near the end and parked.
The temperature on the dashboard hovered near 90 degrees. I bounded from the car the minute he opened my door, then I walked straightaway to a forest-green awning that shaded the entrance from the sun.
Death Comes to Dogwood Manor Page 4
