by Gayle Leeson
“The porch looks nice,” I said, as I strode up the steps and gave Grandpa a hug.
“Yeah, I didn’t put the decorations out as early as Jodie would’ve, but I finally got around to it.”
We went into the house, and I inhaled the mouth-watering aromas of cooking turkey, onion, and—
“Potatoes?” I asked.
He grinned. “Yep. All we need is the dressing. Will you do the honors while I feed Ms. Jasmine?”
“Gladly.” I put my purse on a chair in the living room and went to the kitchen sink to wash my hands. I’d worn a fifties-style dress with a bolero jacket today, so I took the jacket off and put it with my purse.
“You’ll get cold with those bare arms,” Grandpa warned.
“Not if I stay busy.”
I took a loaf of bread from the breadbox and retrieved a cookie sheet from beneath the oven. It was harder to make turkey dressing for just the two of us. After Grandma Jodie had died, I’d taken over making the dressing for family dinners. I had to be mindful of how much toast I was making when it was only the two of us. I buttered the bread and put it under the broiler.
“Did you have a good day today?” Grandpa asked.
“I did. Max made a spectacle of herself.” I explained about her making herself appear to be a big game trophy, and he laughed.
“She is a sight,” he said.
I then told him about Kristen and her wanting me to speak with her teacher about making costumes for the Winter Garden High School production of Beauty and the Beast.
“Are you going to do it?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “I’m concerned about taking on a project of that size.”
“Eh, at least speak with the teacher and see what she says. By now, she might’ve recruited one of the moms or something.”
“That’s true.” I put on potholders and took the toast out of the oven. “I’ll call her after dinner.”
“Funny you should mention Winter Garden,” Grandpa said. “I’m taking part in the farmers’ market there this weekend.”
“Winter Garden has a farmers’ market now?”
He nodded. “For one more week anyway. The Down South Café is hosting it in their parking lot.”
“And you’re taking some of your woodworking?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I doubt I’ll sell anything, but it’ll give me a chance to meet new people.”
I shook my head. “You’ll sell everything you take and come home with orders for more.”
Grandpa just grinned. He knew I was right.
GRANDPA AND I TIDIED the kitchen, and then he looked at the clock. “You’d better call that teacher if you and I are going to watch something on television before you leave.”
“All right.” I went into the living room, retrieved my phone and the card Kristen had given me, and sank onto the black leather armchair near the fireplace. I slipped off my shoes and tucked my legs beneath me. I keyed in the number and half-hoped the call would go to voice mail. It didn’t.
“Hello, this is Sandra Kelly.”
“Hi, Ms. Kelly. I’m Amanda Tucker. Kristen Holbrook gave me your number.”
“Ms. Tucker, I’m so glad you called. We’re in a bit of a bind.”
“Please call me Amanda,” I said.
“Great. And call me Sandy. As I’m sure Kristen told you, we’re putting on a production of Beauty and the Beast.”
I laughed softly. “I’d imagine Kristen has told that to anyone who’ll listen. She’s very excited to be playing the role of Belle.”
“Yes, she is. There’s usually little to no budget for wardrobe and set design for a high school musical, but this is Kristen’s senior year, and her parents want to ensure the child goes out with a bang,” Sandy said. “So, while the amount is still modest, there is a budget in place.”
“How much time do you think would be involved in an undertaking like this?” I asked. “I’ve never done costuming for a play before, and I do have a business to run.”
“Of course, you do. And you certainly wouldn’t be expected to do everything yourself. The Winter Garden parents are great about pitching in. We have a production meeting scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. If you’d be able to join us, we could discuss all the particulars and you could make your decision then.”
“Sounds good.”
“By the way, you don’t happen to know anyone who could oversee the set design, do you?” Sandy asked.
I looked into the dining room where Grandpa Dave sat with Jazzy on his lap. He had his reading glasses perched on his nose and was staring down at a half-worked jigsaw puzzle.
“As a matter of fact,” I told Sandy, “I just might know someone who’d be perfect for the job.”
Chapter Two
M
ax wasn’t in the shop when Jazzy and I got there the next morning. I imagined it had taken a lot of energy for her to be here long enough to watch the movie last night if she had, indeed, watched it all. She sometimes preferred to watch movies a section at a time. But, more often, she’d rather read.
I made sure both the entrance door from the foyer and the door leading to the kitchen were closed before I let Jasmine out of her carrier. I didn’t want her to get out of Designs on You and disturb the other vendors, but I especially didn’t want her to somehow get out the main door and onto the busy road.
I went into the kitchen to fill Jazzy’s water bowl. Frank Peterman was there getting a cup of coffee. Frank was a jovial man of average height. He had a slight paunch, a bulbous nose, and brown hair that seemed to go in every direction at once. He and his wife Ella owned Everything Paper, a stationery shop.
“Good morning, Frank,” I said.
“Hey, there. How’s Dave doing?”
Frank and my grandfather had become friends since I’d moved into Shops on Main. Being one of only three male residents here, Frank was always happy when Grandpa Dave dropped by.
“He’s doing great. I’m sure he’ll be around before long.”
I took the water back into the shop to find that Jazzy had already curled up on her bed in the atelier. She apparently found work boring without Max here to liven things up. I put some kibble in her food bowl and then got a sketchpad, some pencils, and my laptop before sitting down at the worktable.
Even though I still wasn’t positive I’d be working on the play, I thought I’d like to have some idea about what I’d be committing to if I did sign on. For instance, I had no qualms about making Belle’s or any of the other characters’ wardrobes, and I guessed the school would either rent or buy a Beast costume. But how on earth would I go about creating a wardrobe, a feather duster, or a clock?
As I sat pondering this dilemma instead of doing my actual work, Trish Oakes strode into Designs on You after giving a brisk, perfunctory knock. Ms. Oakes had taken over the day-to-day management of Shops on Main after Mrs. Meacham left to stay home and provide full-time care for her husband.
Ms. Oakes was a tall, severe-looking lady. Today, she was accompanied by a woman who reminded me of Elizabeth Taylor in her Father of the Bride days. I closed my laptop and joined the women in the reception area of my shop.
“Good morning, Amanda,” Ms. Oakes said. “This is Carla Glenn. Ms. Glenn is considering our vacant space upstairs.”
“That’s great,” I said. “What do you do, Carla?”
“I’m a massage therapist.” Carla’s voice was soft and throaty.
“Welcome to Shops on Main.” I held out my hand, and Carla gave it a firm shake. “I’m Amanda Tucker, and as you can see, I’m a designer.” I spread my arms slightly. “I create both ready-to-wear and one-of-a-kind pieces based on vintage patterns and styles.”
“Interesting.” Her gaze went to the canvas over my mantle.
The canvas displayed a photo Jason had taken of me in an emerald 1930s-style bias cut evening gown with a plunging halter neckline and a back panel with pearl buttons to the waist on each side. For this shot, Jason had asked me
to turn and look at him over my shoulder.
Carla gave me an enigmatic smile. “Jason Logan, right?”
“Yes. Do you know Jason?”
“I used to,” she said. “Too bad he isn’t here right now. I’ll have to try to catch him later.”
“That Dumb Dora better not try to steal your man,” Max said from somewhere in the vicinity of my right shoulder. “If she does, she’ll have me to reckon with.”
“You’ll have plenty of opportunities to see Jason if you lease the space,” Ms. Oakes told Carla.
“Maybe so, but he’ll give you the icy mitt and tell you to go chase yourself!” Max was awfully wound up about this situation, and I couldn’t quite follow her terminology.
Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “Icy mitt?”
Both Carla and Ms. Oakes looked at me as if I’d sprouted horns.
I gave an uncomfortable chuckle. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m completely absorbed in my work this morning.”
“You’re making icy mitts?” Ms. Oakes asked.
“Mittens.” I waved my hand. “For a costume. Anyway, nice to meet you, Carla.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you too.” Carla turned toward the door.
With one last look of puzzlement flung in my direction, Ms. Oakes followed her. Thankfully, she remembered to close the door behind her because now that Max was in the shop, Jazzy was sitting on the floor looking up at her adoringly.
“Hello, my darling,” Max said to the cat.
When I heard the women’s voices across the hall at Delightful Home, I put my hands on my hips and glared at Max. “What have I told you about sneaking up on me?”
“You told me not to do it, but I can’t help it. I’m a ghost. Stealth is kinda my thing.”
“Not when I’m having a conversation with someone else, it isn’t.”
She gave me a shrug/head-tilt combo. “Sorry, but I simply couldn’t help myself. That old sourpuss Oakes telling that dame—who made it clear that she knows your Jason—that she could see him anytime if she leases the shop? Why, that flew all over me! It’s as if Sourpuss is using your fella as bait to get that Dorothy Gish wannabe to rent the shop.”
I remembered that Dorothy Gish was a silent film star, but I still had no idea what “give you the icy mitt and tell you to go chase yourself” meant. Although, given that Max was pacing and flailing her arms as she ranted, I could make an educated guess. She thought that if Carla tried to lure Jason away from me, he’d give her the cold shoulder and tell her to get lost. I wasn’t as confident about Jason’s loyalty as Max either was or wanted me to believe she was. After all, he and I had only been dating for a short time, and Carla had made it obvious that she and Jason shared a past.
MAX HAD GONE TO SEE what Sourpuss and Dorothy Gish were up to, and I was back in front of the laptop trying to figure out how to make costumes for furniture and home accessories that kids could move around in...preferably in relative comfort and with the ability to see and breathe freely.
I was lost in thought and started when there was a sharp rap on the door between the atelier and the kitchen. I looked up as Ella Peterman barreled into the workroom.
The petite woman was livid. “I absolutely do not want that floozy coming here and opening up her massage parlor.”
I stood and went around the side of the table. “I don’t think Carla would be doing anything inappropriate. Surely, Ms. Oakes wouldn’t allow that.”
“Not illegal, but I wouldn’t put inappropriate past either one of them.” She smoothed her short salt-and-pepper hair. “If she moves in, Frank and I are moving out. He doesn’t know that yet, but I’m sticking to my guns.”
Patting Ella’s shoulder, I said, “Everything will be okay.”
“No, it won’t. I’ve had run-ins with her kind before. A woman like that broke up my mother and father’s marriage.”
What in the world could Carla have done to give Ella the impression that she was on the verge of wrecking the poor woman’s marriage? I decided maybe some logic would help to diffuse Ella’s anxiety.
“Ella, she can’t put a massage therapy office on the second floor of a building that has no elevator. How would someone in pain navigate those stairs?”
She brightened. “That’s an excellent point. I wonder if she’s thought of it?”
“I’m sure she has.” I smiled. “I’m guessing she’s only allowing Ms. Oakes to show her around the place to humor her.”
Ella nodded. “You know, I bet you’re right. You’re a clever girl.” She squeezed my arm. “I’d better get back to Frank.”
Max popped in a few minutes later, and I told her about Ella’s visit.
“I have no idea what Carla did to her, but if—and I quote—‘that floozy’ sets up shop upstairs, Ella and Frank are leaving.”
“I know what Carla did,” Max said. “I saw the whole thing. Carla went sashaying into Everything Paper with that boom-chicka-boom walk of hers.” She treated me to an exaggerated demonstration. “Frank’s mouth dropped open, and his chewing gum fell out. It landed in the open cash drawer and got stuck to a dollar bill. Mr. Smooth was trying to look nonchalant and get the gum off the dollar, and he tore the thing in half.”
I laughed. “Poor Frank.”
“When I left, he was trying to tape that dollar back together while sneaking a peek at old Boom-Chicka-Boom flouncing back out.”
I had a feeling that Frank Peterman was going to be in the doghouse for quite a while.
GRANDPA DAVE CAME INTO Designs on You at around three-thirty that afternoon.
“Hi, Pup!” he called, as he closed the door behind him.
Jazzy languidly stood, stretched, and strolled over to him. He picked her up, and she rubbed the top of her head against his chin.
I smiled. “Have you had a good day so far, Grandpa?”
“So far, so good. How about you?”
“I’m fine. I think your buddy Frank has had a fairly rough day though,” I said.
“Why’s that?” he asked.
Before I could answer, Max popped in to do the honors. “He let a showy dame turn his head, and Ella didn’t appreciate it one iota.” She winked. “Hey, there, Silver Fox.”
Silver fox was a term Max had heard from a woman who used to work upstairs, and she’d decided the moment she met Grandpa Dave that the term suited him.
“Hello, Max.” He placed Jazzy back onto the floor. “Who was this showy dame?”
“A massage therapist who was talking with Ms. Oakes about leasing the vacant space.” I began to tidy my desk as I spoke. “She reminded me of a young Liz Taylor.”
“I hate I missed her then,” he said.
I looked up in time to see Max swatting at Grandpa Dave. Of course, she couldn’t touch him, but she managed to get her point across.
“What?” he asked, looking from Max to me and back again. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No. It’s just that—” I cleared my throat. “The...um...dame...made it clear that she knew Jason.”
“Your Jason?”
“Yes, her Jason!” Max exclaimed.
I huffed. “He’s not really mine, you know. I don’t own the man.”
Neither of them paid attention to me.
“And she wasn’t even all that pretty.” Max tossed her head. “She was no Olive Thomas, believe you me. But, oh, she thought she was. The way she sashayed into Everything Paper, you’d have thought she was being played onto the stage by a trombone and a drummer.” She told Grandpa how Carla had made Frank drop his gum.
Grandpa laughed. “I’ll have to go check on him before Amanda and I leave. Tell me more about this Olive Thomas. She must’ve been something special if she could outshine Elizabeth Taylor.”
“I don’t know that Elizabeth bird—you two will have to introduce me later—but Olive was a shooting star who died tragically and far too young.”
The irony of Max’s words was apparently lost on her. She’d died before she was thirty
years old herself.
“How Dot and I wept when we heard about it,” Max continued. “Poor Olive was on her honeymoon in Paris, and even though the authorities ruled her death an accident, the public speculated that it might’ve been suicide...or murder.” She wandered over to the mantle. “I can remember sitting with Dot in this very room talking about Olive.”
She seemed to be a million miles away then, and Grandpa and I exchanged glances.
“I believe I’ll check on Frank,” Grandpa said quietly, “and see if he has time to have a cup of coffee with me in the kitchen.”
I nodded. “While you’re doing that, I’ll straighten up the atelier.”
A few minutes later, I noticed that Max had moved from the reception area into the workroom and was sitting atop the filing cabinet.
“I certainly brought down the room, didn’t I?” she asked.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded. “I still miss my baby sister. How I wish I could know what became of her.”
“Would you like me to try to find out?”
Max’s eyes widened. “You could do that?”
“Yes. With enough information, I believe I can.” I held up a hand. “I have to warn you, though. We have no idea what direction Dorothy’s life might’ve taken.”
“I don’t care,” Max said. “I still want to know...no matter what. What do you need to know before you can find her?”
I picked up my phone so I could text myself the information. “What’s your sister’s full name and date of birth?”
“Dorothy Ann Englebright, born October 16, 1914.” Her eyes sparkled. “You’re going to find Dot. I know you are.”
I doubted I’d find Dot exactly. After all, the woman would be well over a century old at this point if she was still living. So, unless Max’s sister was haunting some other house in Abingdon, I felt sure I wouldn’t discover Dot herself. But, hopefully, I could learn what had happened to her and report back to Max that her sister had lived a long and happy life.
By the time Grandpa Dave returned, Max was gone. I wondered if these past couple of days had taxed her energy or if she’d left us to be alone with her thoughts.
