by Gayle Leeson
I turned my laptop screen around to face him.
His frown deepened. “You want me to make you a butt cage?”
Max hooted with laughter, and I couldn’t hide a grin.
“Actually, I want this at the knees.” I showed him the sketch I’d made of the footstool costume.
“Oh, I see what it is,” he said. “Do you have a pencil and piece of paper I can use?”
I flipped over to the next sheet of the sketch pad and provided him all my colored and graphite pencils. “Be my guest.”
Frank quickly and expertly created the design for a bustle that would tie around the waist but would create the large, square cage at the knees. “See what I’m doing here? You’ll need a wide belt with black ribbon to secure the contraption to the waist, so the cage hangs down here where it’s supposed to be.”
“That’s fantastic,” I said. “Can you make it? I’ll pay you.”
“I’d be happy to. Give me the dimensions and tell me how soon you need it,” he said.
I told him I’d have the dimensions to him as soon as I found out the height of the actor playing the footstool.
“Great.” He grinned. “Let me know.”
“Impressive,” Max said, as Frank strode out of the room. “When he isn’t being treated as a ninny, he’s talented and capable.”
“I don’t think she treats him like a ninny all the time,” I said.
She arched her brows.
My phone buzzed. Detective Cranston was here.
{ }
Chapter Eleven
R
eese Cranston had been promoted to detective for his involvement in solving the murder of Mark Tinsley. I didn’t know about Connie, but I was glad to see a familiar face rather than the stern visage of an officer we didn’t know.
His blue eyes deepening his crow’s feet when he smiled, Detective Cranston greeted us warmly. “Ladies, nice to see you again. Sorry it’s under similar circumstances to the last time I saw you.”
“Told you.” Max gave me a smug nod. “I knew Sandra Kelly had been murdered.”
“We don’t know that for certain.” I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Max had a way of making me discombobulated.
Cranston inclined his head. “Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”
Looking from Cranston to me and back again, Connie asked, “Could Amanda be there too? I’m still shaken up from finding Sandy last night.”
“That’s fine. This is an interview, not an interrogation.”
I could see that Cranston was using what I’d describe as famed negotiator Chris Voss’s “late-night FM DJ voice.” Was he merely trying to reassure Connie? Or did he think she might be guilty of something?
“Let me put a note on my door telling customers I’ll be back in—” She spread her hands. “—fifteen minutes?”
He nodded. “That should work.”
“I’ll do the same,” I said. “We can meet in my atelier. Detective Cranston, would you like some coffee or tea?”
“No, thanks.”
The three of us went into the atelier and sat at the workroom table. Connie and I sat on one side, and Cranston sat on the other. He removed a notebook and pen from his jacket pocket.
Max sprawled out in the center of the table, and Jazzy jumped up to lie beside her, rolling over first one way and then the other.
“What’s up with the cat?” Cranston asked.
“She doesn’t want to miss anything.” I picked up Jazzy but glared at Max. “She needs to find a more appropriate place from which to eavesdrop.”
“Oh, pooh,” Max said. “You’re no fun.” But she moved onto one of the chairs near the table.
After I placed Jazzy on the floor, the princess joined Max on the chair. When I returned to my seat, Cranston was addressing Connie.
“Tell me what led to your being at Sandra Kelly’s home last night.”
“Amanda called to let me know that Sandy hadn’t shown up for play rehearsal, and she didn’t know what to do,” Connie said. “Amanda has only been involved with the play for the past few days—she didn’t know who else was in charge or any of the particulars. Since my daughter Marielle is in the play, she called to ask my advice.”
“Amanda called you to see what she should do?” He scribbled as he asked her to clarify.
“Connie is more familiar with Winter Garden High than I am,” I said. “And other people there were getting concerned about why Sandra wasn’t at the rehearsal.”
“Is he raking us over the coals?” Max demanded. “Because I feel like we’re being raked.”
I managed to both avoid looking at Max and answering her question. I felt proud of myself. But I did also feel a little heat from those coals myself. What was Cranston getting at?
“When Amanda called, I was getting ready to leave here and head toward the school, so I offered to go by Sandy’s house and check on her,” Connie said. “When I got there, I saw Sandy’s car in the driveway. I went to the door and knocked, but she didn’t answer. Concerned, I turned the doorknob. It was unlocked.”
“And did you go inside then?” Cranston asked.
“Not right away.” Connie glanced at me, and I tried to look reassuring. I’m not sure whether I did or not, but she went on. “My intention was to peep inside and call out to Sandy, but when I opened the door, I saw her lying on the living room floor.”
“What did you do at that point?” he asked.
“I called her name. She didn’t respond, so I ran inside.” Connie placed a hand on her chest. “I bent down and checked to see if Sandy had a pulse. I couldn’t find one—I hoped so much that it was merely my inexperience and that Sandy would be fine—so I called 911.”
“Do you recall the instructions you were given during the 911 call?”
“I don’t know. It’s pretty much a blur. The operator asked me to stay on the line, and she asked me questions. She wanted to know if Sandy was breathing, and I said I didn’t know.” Shaking her head, Connie said, “I don’t know what all she said. It’s recorded, isn’t it?”
“Of course.” Again, with the late-night FM DJ voice. “I just wanted to see what you could remember. Did you see anyone who might’ve been leaving the area? Any cars speeding away?”
“No. But I was focused on Sandy at the time. I only wanted to get her some help. I told all of this to the officers last night, Detective Cranston. That’s all I know.” She squeezed my hand. “I could tell when I saw Sandy up close that she was dead—I mean, I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew. Her eyes were...” She bowed her head, and her shoulders shook as she sobbed.
I hopped up to get Connie a tissue, and Max moved over behind Connie’s chair. She couldn’t physically comfort the woman, but she was offering her emotional support. I came back to the table with a box of tissues, placed the tissues in front of Connie, and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. My look at Detective Cranston implored him to go and leave Connie in peace. He didn’t heed it.
“I’m sorry for making you go over these minute details again, but I really need to know everything. Anything you can offer might help,” he said. “Were there signs of a struggle inside the house?”
“N-no.” Connie dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “At least, there weren’t in the living room—that’s the only room I went into.”
“Signs of a struggle?” I asked. “Are you saying Sandra Kelly was murdered?”
“That appears to be the case.” He spread his hands. “The medical examiner notified us that the body showed indications of having been poisoned. He’s running the tox screens today.” He leaned forward. “I’m asking you both to keep this in the strictest of confidences, at least, until we make an arrest. Can you imagine how panicked the Winter Garden community would be if they believed their children were attending school with a murderer in their midst?”
Gasping, Connie asked, “You believe Sandy was murdered by someone at the school?”
“Most murder victims are ki
lled by someone they know,” Cranston said. “We can’t rule out the fact that Ms. Kelly’s killer is affiliated with the school where she taught.”
BEFORE CRANSTON LEFT Shops on Main, he went to Antiquated Editions to see Ford, his brother-in-law.
Connie and I were silent as we listened to his footsteps ascending the stairs. After a moment, she asked, “Do you really think there’s a murderer at Winter Garden High School?”
“You bet your bottom dollar there is!” Max exclaimed.
“I’m sure the students are safe,” I said.
“Yeah...me too.” Connie retrieved another tissue from the box on the table and daintily blew her nose. “Besides, Detective Cranston said the medical examiner only reported there were indications Sandy was poisoned. The test results aren’t back yet, so maybe she wasn’t.”
“Right.” I was quick to throw out my own theory of how—besides having been murdered—Sandra Kelly might’ve died. “Even if the reports reveal poison in her system, Sandra might’ve accidentally ingested something toxic.”
Max pantomimed pulling things out of the air.
“I hadn’t even thought of that.” Connie stood and took her tissue to the trash can. “Sandy was most likely not murdered.” She took a deep breath. “But from now on, whenever Marielle is at that school, I will be too.”
{ }
Chapter Twelve
J
ason called a couple of hours after Detective Cranston left Shops on Main.
“Kristen’s parents hired me to take photos of her at homecoming tonight—the game and the dance,” he said. “Would you like to join me?”
“Sure,” I replied. “Did she win? Is she going to be crowned queen?”
“Yep. They just found out, which is why I’m going to the game.”
I chuckled. “Good for Kristen. She’s having a stellar year so far.”
“She is. And her parents are chronicling every second of it for her. No pressure, kid!” He laughed.
“You know, I hadn’t thought about it, but that is a lot of pressure.”
“I think she can handle it,” he said. “I’ve got to run, but I’ll pick you up around six-thirty this evening if that’s all right.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“What’s going on?” Max asked, after I’d spoken with Jason. “What’s Kristen going to be queen of?”
“She’s the homecoming queen. Her parents hired Jason to come take photos of the event, so he’s invited me to tag along to the game and the dance.”
“Oh, there’s a dance?” Her smile struck me as a bit sad. “That sounds fun.”
Remembering she’d died while running down the stairs here to meet her date for a dance, I kinda wished I hadn’t said anything. But I knew Max well enough to believe that she wouldn’t want me walking on eggshells around her and not talking about what was going on in my life to spare her feelings.
“You’ll take pictures, won’t you?” she asked.
“Of course!”
She shrugged. “I mean, I’ll look at Jason’s too, but he’s being paid to be all about Kristen—you’ll see everything.”
“I’ll tell you what—I’ll do a social media live stream while the homecoming court is being introduced during the halftime show.” At least, I hoped I would. I hadn’t tried it before, but I figured it couldn’t be that hard.
“Really?” Clasping her hands together, she laughed. “Won’t that be wonderful? It’ll be almost like I’m right there with you! What do I need to do?”
“Let’s see,” I said. “Kick-off is at seven, so halftime would probably by around eight or eight-thirty. All you’ll have to do is go onto my social media page at that time.”
“Great! This will be fantastic! I’ll get to see Kristen and all her ladies in waiting!”
Her excitement was contagious, and I laughed with her. “It will be fun. Most of them will be wearing dresses from Designs on You.”
“And you need to wear something to make yourself stand out as well.” She headed over to the pret a porter racks.
“I don’t want to be too obvious about making a marketing statement,” I told her. “Which is what it would be if I dressed according to the 1950s theme. My initial thought was to wear jeans, a sweater, and boots.”
She scoffed. “Um—hello? Making a marketing statement is exactly what you need to do. But don’t dress in the ‘50s theme. The audience will be seeing plenty of that. Choose something from another era.”
“Okay, sure. Too bad the RenFaire dress was sold.” I grinned. “That would’ve gotten me some attention.”
“Work with me here, would you?” She nodded toward a ‘40s-style suit.
I took the suit from the rack. It was a navy tweed travel suit with light blue ribbon lacing down the left side of the jacket. The jacket was low cut, but I could wear a light blue sweater shell with it. I’d designed the suit hoping it would appeal to area businesswomen, but so far, dresses—in particular, A-line dresses—had been the most popular items in my pret a porter line.
Stepping behind the screen, I put on the suit and looked at myself in the three-way mirror. Was it too fancy for a high-school football game? Probably, but it was beautiful. And it would be warm. And it would certainly showcase my talent.
“That is absolutely the elephant’s eyebrows,” Max said, as I turned my head to see how the suit looked in the back. “You’ll be causing eyes to pop all over the place.”
“Well, I certainly hope not.”
Max flicked her wrist. “Yeah, well, just don’t slip on any of those eyeballs when you’re making my live video thing—I want to be looking at something other than pavement and sky.”
After putting the dress I’d been wearing into a garment bag to take home, I reminded Max about the time and site of the live feed. “Don’t forget.”
“Oh, don’t you worry. I’ll be right here with my nose pressed to the screen,” she promised.
I put Jazzy into her carrier, told Max I’d see her tomorrow, and locked the atelier door. I left through the reception door so I could step across the hall and check on Connie before I left.
“You look fantastic,” Connie said when I walked into Delightful Home. “I’ve never seen you in that suit before. It’s gorgeous.”
“Thank you. Max encouraged me—” Oops. “I mean, I’m trying to maximize encouragement at the homecoming game this evening to get some new customers.” I shook my head. “You know what I mean. It has been a long day.” My life would be so much easier if Connie knew about Max.
“It sure has,” she said.
“Are you and your family going to the game?”
Shaking her head, she said, “No. I’m picking up food on the way home, and we’re going to enjoy a relaxing movie night.”
“That sounds great.” It really did. I wondered if maybe I could talk Jason or Granda Dave into a movie marathon soon.
“I think so.” She twirled her long hair around her finger. “I need to decompress—and, to be honest, hide—so badly.”
I gave her a quick hug. “Call me if you need me or if there’s anything I can do to help.”
AT HOME, I FED JAZZY and then sat at my vanity to touch up my makeup. While I fussed with my appearance, I called Grandpa Dave.
“Hi, Pup. This is a nice surprise.”
“I’m glad,” I said. “Have you had a good day?”
“Yep. Been finishing up a few things I’m planning to take to the Farmers’ Market tomorrow. I’m looking forward to seeing how that goes. What about you?” he asked.
“Detective Cranston came to talk with Connie today. She asked if I could be with her for moral support, and he led us to believe Sandra Kelly was murdered.”
“That’s terrible. Do you need me to come over and bring a pizza or something? I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I actually have a date with Jason,” I said. “We’re going to the football game. I’ve promised Max that during the homecoming ceremony at halftime, I’ll stream li
ve to social media so she can watch it.”
“I imagine she’s beside herself over that.” He laughed. “I’d love to be there with her when she sees it.”
“Why don’t you? You have a key, and she’d adore it if you were there.”
“You know, Pup, I believe I’ll take you up on that offer.”
I HURRIED OUTSIDE WHEN Jason drove up because I didn’t want to hold him up. “I haven’t been to a high school football game in years,” I said as I got into the car.
“They’re still the same as you remember.”
“How’s Carla doing?” I was really proud of myself for asking that and for not acting snotty about her. Of course, acting and feeling were two different things entirely.
“I’d hoped her lunch with us at Shops on Main would cheer her up, but she seemed even more agitated when she left.”
I debated whether or not to tell Jason that the police think Sandra Kelly might’ve been murdered. I finally decided to keep mum because the cause of death was merely speculation at this point, and no one knew anything. My conscience pricked at me and told me it was more about my not wanting Jason to feel the need to console Carla again.
Fair enough. But I’m still not telling him.
{ }
Chapter Thirteen
U
pon arriving at the stadium, I was once again transported back to my high school days. Seeing the parents and grandparents carrying their bleacher seats and cushions toward the bleachers, the teen girls spotting their friends and squealing with delight as if they hadn’t seen each other only hours earlier, and the politicians shaking hands and giving out pens and buttons made me realize Jason was right—very little about the experience had changed.
The band members marched along the edge of the field to a beat hammered out by the percussionists to the fifty-yard-line where they stepped through the fence opening and rose into the bleachers to take their reserved seats. I felt a chill of excitement and squeezed Jason’s arm. He smiled down at me and winked.
