Gown with the Wind

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  Rachel blinked back in surprise and swiftly adopted a flippant tone. “It’s not like we’re asking for medical records. I just wanted to see for myself what he was considering.”

  “Young lady, an engagement is quite a serious affair. It symbolizes betrothal, and commitment, and a public declaration of fidelity and intent.” Mr. Fournier took a deep breath and gathered further steam. “And it is initially an agreement meant for two people to agree upon. A sacred contract, if you will. One Fournier’s has been a part of for over one hundred years, as my father and his father before him supplied most of the engagement rings in Port Quincy. So no, I will not be ruining the surprise of a beautiful symbol and start of a new journey for some couple. So stop snooping.”

  Rachel’s mouth dropped open, then closed again. “I just thought it would be neat to see what he was considering for Mallory.” Her voice was small and chastised. She appeared even more horrified when Mr. Fournier burst into tears.

  “This is a bad time. I’m burying my only child today. Forgive me. I think you’re asking about Garrett Davies. He was looking at this case.” Mr. Fournier gestured to a glass shelf holding a row of pretty gemstone rings, all with an antique cast about them. But I didn’t care about the rings, and neither did Rachel. She reached into her purse and handed Mr. Fournier a tissue, trailing the scent of her strawberry and musk perfume. He blew his nose and sniffed back another spate of tears.

  “We’re so sorry about Felicity.” A wave of pathos welled up inside me for the jeweler. “I can’t even imagine.”

  Mr. Fournier nodded. “You were there when she was found, were you not?”

  I swallowed and gave a brief nod.

  “I knew she and Becca were feuding over some silly Gone with the Wind wedding gown. But I never imagined it would lead to my daughter’s death.” He seemed to try to compose himself and closed his eyes. “But I didn’t realize all the secrets Felicity was keeping either.”

  My mind immediately went to the affair Eric claimed Felicity had been having, the evidence she’d been smuggling something that Tanner had witnessed, and the mystery ring on her finger when she’d been pulled from the pool.

  “She’d been getting letters.” Mr. Fournier’s eyes fluttered open. “I’ll never forgive myself for not going to the police first.”

  “What kind of letters?” The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. Would Truman consider an impromptu discussion with the distraught jeweler to be a form of questioning?

  “Threatening ones. I opened one that arrived in the store’s mail rather than her loft apartment upstairs. It read, ‘I know what you’re doing, and you won’t get away with it.’ ” He brushed a new tear from the corner of his eye and swallowed. “Felicity convinced me not to go to the police. And now she’s gone.”

  So someone else had known about whatever nefarious activities Felicity had been engaged in.

  “That still doesn’t explain the second ring,” I pondered aloud.

  “What ring?” Roger Fournier’s eyes clouded over as he seemed to realize he’d said too much.

  “It’s nothing,” I mumbled. I grabbed Rachel’s arm and made a move to leave. “I’m sorry we bothered you, Mr. Fournier.”

  Rachel and I spilled out of the jewelry store.

  “That was a dressing-down I never expected to receive.” Rachel straightened her black tank top and shimmied down her green leather mini. The exquisite rainbow that had ushered us into the store was gone in an ephemeral vapor. The sky was a strange composition of granite clouds in the west, with a clear blue canvas in the east.

  “Mourning will do that to you.” I was worried we’d further confused and perturbed Roger Fournier in this delicate time.

  A woman burst from the shop and gripped my arm. “Wait. I heard you ask about Felicity’s other ring.” The woman who stood before me was like the other piece of the puzzle to Felicity’s striking good looks. She vaguely resembled Vivien Leigh, as her daughter had. Her nose was petite, and her eyes were a delicately shaped almond. Her hair was raven black, whether from a bottle or naturally grown.

  “I’m Felicity’s mother, Polly Fournier.” The woman confirmed her identity and looked nervously back into the store. Her husband was nowhere to be seen.

  “Felicity was seeing someone else besides her fiancé, Tanner.” Her exquisite features, barely touched by middle age, seemed to cloud over. “I heard her arguing with a man in the loft one day when I came up during a break. He said he wouldn’t leave his family for my daughter. Not just yet, that is.”

  “Not until what?” I stared intently at Mrs. Fournier.

  “I couldn’t hear that part. And I told the police after she was murdered too.”

  So Truman doesn’t really tell me everything.

  “Whoever he was, he was bad for my daughter. She was slipping up at her job, her head no longer in her work. She accidentally worked on a large pendant and reset it with a lab-created stone rather than the customer’s original emerald.” She glanced back through the glass store display. “I’d never seen Roger more furious. I was honestly afraid for Felicity.” She seemed to have realized what she’d said, clapped a hand to her mouth, and hurried into the store.

  * * *

  “That was heavy.” Rachel and I had hightailed it back to the Butterscotch Monster.

  “Tell me about it.” My mind couldn’t make up whether Roger Fournier was a grieving father or had committed the murder of his own daughter.

  I gripped the steering wheel as I carefully pulled out of my parallel parking spot. It had taken me nearly a year of driving the 1970s’ boat of a station wagon to master parking between two cars end to end on the first try.

  “If you grip that wheel any harder, it’ll turn into a diamond itself.” Rachel laid her lacquered nails on my arm. “We need to relax. All of this mulling over murder is bad for the psyche.”

  “But we can’t escape it.” I cut the engine. “First someone tried to kill Alma, then succeeded with Felicity. Then death almost came to our doorstep when someone shot poor Eric.”

  “And don’t forget Glenn,” Rachel added Alma’s husband to the list. We sat in the car in contemplative silence.

  “I’m so keyed up, I’m about to explode.” I rubbed at the throbbing that had materialized at the back of my neck. “Thank goodness the only event we have left on deck is Eric and Piper’s wedding.”

  Rachel nodded. “Which will be low-key.” Eric and Piper had agreed to keep their big day, despite Eric still being on the mend. He’d attend his wedding while still using his wheelchair, and I’d moved the seating arrangements so the bride and groom could spend most of the wedding sitting at the center of the garden. Guests would have easy access to the couple to wish them well, but Eric could remain seated for the duration of the reception.

  “And everything is done,” Rachel added. “We just need to do our night-before prep work, wake up, and throw them a gorgeous wedding.”

  I nodded, a trickle of relief washing over me. “And Keith and Becca’s wedding is still one hundred percent canceled.” I felt the beginnings of a smile.

  “I think you should take a break this afternoon, Mall.” Rachel reached into the backseat and retrieved the large bag she’d been carrying around. “Go to the gym. I have an extra change of workout clothes in here. Take a yoga or spinning class or something. Sit in the sauna. Just work out all the stress and relax.”

  That’s not a bad idea.

  Half an hour later, I was ensconced on a bike at the sleekest gym in town, Bodies in Motion. The cavernous space had been repurposed from one of the vast warehouses that had been used to house glass from the town’s factory a hundred years ago. The gym featured chic, loft-style exposed ductwork beneath high ceilings, and banks upon banks and rows upon rows of the best machines and exercise equipment, all overlooking the wide expanse of the Monongahela River. It was the gym I sent choosy guests to, a place to see and be seen. Rachel loved to come to classes at the gym, but I could never seem
to find the time.

  It was something I’d have to rectify. I realized I’d been neglecting my sanity by taking on more events to fill each weekend. Rachel was right; we did need to expand, and to do that we needed to hire another assistant. I no longer resisted the proposition and pedaled harder, excited to begin the hiring process. I could spend more time with Garrett and Summer, with my sister, and with my thoughts.

  But my mind kept spiraling back to murder. I pedaled harder, and soon found myself dripping with sweat, my mind going numb. I quickly showered and dried off, happy to shed the clothes my sister had lent me, which didn’t quite fit. The punishing workout had done some good, getting my blood flowing; the dark circles the week had wrought under my eyes had largely disappeared.

  I peered into a retro-looking trophy case housed in the locker room on the way out. A stained and yellowed photograph that looked like it had been clipped from a newspaper featured a smiling woman. She seemed vaguely familiar. The caption read, “Local girl makes Olympic team.” I puzzled at the woman’s face but was soon distracted.

  “I thought you cleaned Felicity’s locker out last week.” An attendee with a clipboard stood in the corner of the dressing room. Her hand rested on her hip, clad in the Bodies in Motion uniform of black leggings, tight magenta tank top complete with script logo, and an electric blue baseball cap. She also sported a decidedly annoyed look. The similarly clad woman she was castigating gave a weary shrug and continued to pull items out of the tiny metal locker.

  “Call me crazy, but I know I got around to it.”

  “Well, it’s not like a locker can just fill itself back up, can it?”

  I squinted to see what the employees were arguing about, and failed to stifle my gasp.

  There on the bench lay what appeared to be a vintage yet pristine copy of Gone with the Wind. The second woman poured out the contents of a tube sock, and a passel of large, vivid Kelly-green emeralds rained out onto the tile floor and ricocheted around like ping-pong balls. A heavy-looking ring, encircled with sparkling diamonds and more emeralds, lay next to the jewels. Next came a small, leather-bound book. The woman drew out a last item from the locker with shaking fingers. It was a conventional-looking key, tied to a red ribbon.

  Alma was right. Felicity strangled her and stole her collection.

  “I think you need to call the police.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “There’s just one problem.” Truman tented his hands together and peered at me over his fingers. “I was there the first time Felicity’s locker at the gym was emptied.” He gestured toward the small collection of riches that had been stolen from Alma, now unceremoniously stacked on a wooden dressing room bench. “And none of that was in there.”

  “So what in the heck is going on?”

  “Someone wanted us to think Felicity attacked Alma.” Faith Hendricks shook her head, her milkmaid countenance aglow with theories. “They didn’t figure we’d already gone through Felicity’s locker the very day she was found in Becca and Keith’s pool.”

  “So someone planted the items here after they strangled Alma, and also after Felicity died.” Truman couldn’t fault me for weighing in this time. I’d called him from the dressing room to alert him about Alma’s purloined, and now found, collection. I decided to press my luck by asking another question. “Who would want to implicate a dead woman?”

  Truman raised one bushy brow. “Unfortunately, your guess is as good as mine. Felicity led a double life of sorts. We’re still piecing together the puzzle.” He ran a hand over his weary, lined forehead. “Mrs. Fournier mentioned an incident when Felicity accidentally reset a large emerald pendant with a lab-created replica.” He motioned to the tidy pile of large emeralds resting on the bench. “It now appears it was no accident. Felicity may have been dealing in counterfeit gems.”

  I gulped and studied the pair of shoes I’d borrowed from my sister. They were two sizes too big, and I kept my head down to examine them.

  “What aren’t you telling me, Mallory?”

  “I happened to be at Fournier’s Jewelry Store today.” I tore my eyes from the running shoes and blinked up at Truman.

  “You happened to be there?” A glint of anger flashed in his eyes, but he kept it contained.

  I couldn’t very well tell him I’d been corralled into the jewelry store by my sister in order to find out what engagement ring his son may or may not have bought for me.

  “Mrs. Fournier told me her husband was so furious about the damage the incident would cause their store and reputation that she feared for Felicity.”

  A dawning look of understanding swept over Truman’s face. I braced myself for a dressing-down that never came.

  “Thank you, Mallory.”

  Faith caught his eye and gestured toward me. “Oh, very well.” Truman accepted the digital camera Faith proffered and scrolled through a list of photographs. “We found this item in Felicity’s Jaguar.”

  I peered at the digital photograph of a small wooden bead.

  “I’ve seen this before.” I closed my eyes and pictured the tiny item being rolled around and around as a worry stone. I opened my eyes to find Truman staring into them intently.

  “Where?”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t quite remember.”

  Truman seemed to deflate against the bank of small metal lockers. “It’s all right, Mallory. It’ll come back to you.”

  Faith accepted the camera back and slipped it into her uniform pocket. She glanced at the gray plastic running watch on her wrist. “We’d better hurry. Felicity’s funeral is beginning soon.”

  * * *

  “You can’t stop me.” Becca glared at me in the gilt front hall mirror as she adjusted a rope of tiny pearls. She was dressed in appropriate garb for a funeral, at least, in a tailored Escada pinstriped black suit, the skirt hemmed in a pretty ruffle.

  “But you weren’t even friends with Felicity!”

  “Frenemies is more like it, but that’s an actual category of friend.” Becca fluffed her hair, her black part more visible than ever. She’d been neglecting her meticulous touch-ups in the wake of her split from Keith. She still managed to pull the look off well, making the extra wide contrast in tones look daring and purposeful.

  “And as I have no ride, I was hoping you would take me.” Becca whirled around from the mirror and stared expectantly.

  “No way, Jose.” There was no chance I would aid and abet Becca in causing a scene at Felicity’s funeral. Felicity had been found in Becca’s pool, and there were many in town who thought Becca had murdered the woman. “It’s not all about you, Becca.”

  “Fine. I’ll call a cab.” She retrieved her cell phone from her tiny striped clutch and pulled up a screen.

  “Oh, just give me a second to change.” If I went with Becca to Felicity’s funeral, maybe I could keep her in check.

  Five minutes later, I appeared back in the front hall in a black suit left over from my days as an attorney. It wasn’t as jauntily cut as Becca’s, but it had a pretty, feminine flared skirt, and it would be appropriate for a funeral.

  “C’mon.” We left the three kitties ensconced in my third-floor apartment, lest we trigger Piper’s allergies. It probably didn’t matter too much, though, as Piper spent her days either holed up in the honeymoon suite, tending to Eric so that he would be well enough for their upcoming wedding, or driving him to his doctor’s appointments. Becca finally seemed resigned to her fate of being divorced from Eric and no longer engaged to Keith. She listlessly wandered around Thistle Park, sneaking Pickles from the third floor and taking him on long walks around the grounds, a leash attached to his collar. I wanted to suggest she consider moving back in with Jacqueline and Rhett but could also understand why a twenty-five-year-old woman wouldn’t want to return to her parents’ house. With each day Becca remained at the B and B, I had less heart to evict her.

  We pulled away from Thistle Park side by side in the Butterscotch Monster and headed to the Methodist
Church on the west side of town. I nodded my approval as Becca tied a subdued gray scarf over her hair and its trademark part, and donned a pair of large sunglasses, which occluded most of her face. At least she wasn’t trying to outwardly steal the show at her rival’s funeral.

  The sad event was already underway when we slipped into the back of the church. Roger Fournier and his wife, Polly, leaned on each other in the front pew. Mr. Fournier wept openly, but his wife was a pillar of silent strength. I couldn’t imagine burying a child, and my heart contracted in pain for them.

  Unless Roger Fournier is Felicity’s murderer, and his tears are tinged with guilt.

  I recalled Polly’s admission in front of her jewelry store about Roger Fournier’s anger at his daughter, and Truman’s reaction to that tidbit of information. But before I could truly ponder the information anew, Becca’s nails dug into the flesh on my forearm.

  “Ouch!” I extracted her fingers from my arm and sheepishly looked down. My outburst had caused several people to look our way at the back of the pews. But my exclamation had nothing on Becca’s. She stared transfixed at a figure standing at the back of the church. The man in question wore a fedora that didn’t quite cover his longish, iron-gray hair. He worked a small wooden bead between his fingers and looked up with tears coursing down his face.

  “Dad? What are you doing here?”

  I realized in a flash of cognition that the woman I’d seen Rhett embrace in the hospital parking lot had been none other than Felicity. I hadn’t recognized her from the back. And Rhett had been handling the wooden worry stone the day Alma came home from the hospital.

  Rhett was Felicity’s lover.

  “How could you?” Becca screeched her accusation toward the back of the church just as the minister took his place at the pulpit. I grabbed Becca by the elbow and hauled her outside, Truman and Faith hot on our heels.