Perils and Lace

by Gayle Leeson

  I wrote Detective Cranston the following note:

  I found Sandra Kelly’s planner in the auditorium and thought you might want to take a look at it. I thumbed through it and found a notation that read ‘IBS-Karen’ for the day Sandra died. I did a little investigating and learned that IBS stands for Indulgences Beauty Salon. Karen, the stylist Sandra was scheduled to see, was sick that day but was unwilling to tell me who’d taken the appointment. Hopefully, she’ll be more forthcoming with you about Sandra’s frame of mind that afternoon. Please call me if you have any questions or concerns I may be able to address. – Amanda Tucker

  I took the planner from my tote, put it with the note, and left. I had a feeling Detective Cranston wasn’t going to be terribly pleased with my investigating.

  { }

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I

  dropped my granola bar wrapper into the trash can in the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. I was already thinking about dinner—and acknowledging the fact that I needed to start having a more substantial lunch if I wanted to avoid being ravenous every afternoon.

  Max was perched on the filing cabinet in the atelier. “I found him!”

  “Found who?” I asked.

  “Dwight. My nephew. I found him on social media. Isn’t that marvelous?”

  “It is!” It was, wasn’t it? I moved closer to her and lowered my voice. “You didn’t tell him who you were, did you?”

  “No, I thought about it, but I didn’t want the poor guy to think I was crackers.”

  “People would’ve thought he was the crazy one if he told anyone he was talking to his dead aunt on social media.” I widened my eyes. “Did you video chat?”

  “We were going to, but he couldn’t figure out how to do it, so we type-chatted.”

  I managed not to heave a sigh of relief. Who knew what repercussions there would be if an elderly man was talking with a flapper who was the ghost of his aunt? “Who did you say you were?”

  She grinned. “I told him my mother was a friend of his mother. Isn’t that clever? Plus, it’s the truth.”

  Nodding, I rolled a chair over so I could sit. “And?”

  “And we chatted for a long time. He’s lived here in Abingdon all his life. Isn’t that great? I wonder if he’s ever been in this house. Do you think I’ve ever seen him?” She didn’t wait for my response. “He has four grandchildren and one great-grandchild. I wish I could meet them too.” She frowned slightly. “But I believe he’s in a home for the aged and that he might have some dementia.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, at one point, he began calling me ‘Penny’ and finally said he had to get off the phone before he got into trouble with his mom.”

  “That’s sad,” I said. “Did he look like Dot?”

  “Are you asking me if my sister—who I remember as a beautiful sixteen-year-old bears any resemblance to an old man?” she asked, scrunching up her nose.

  “No. I’m asking if Dot’s son bore any resemblance to her. You saw his photo, didn’t you?”

  “Not well enough to tell whether or not he looked like Dot.”

  “You didn’t scroll through his photos?” I asked. “I’d have thought maybe he’d have one of him when he was younger—even perhaps one of him and Dot.”

  “Go get him.”

  Feeling certain I’d misunderstood her, I retrieved my laptop. As I was logging into my social media account, she said, “No, not that. I want you to go get Dwight and bring him here.”

  I gaped at her. “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Nursing homes frown on residents being kidnapped by strangers. The police don’t care for the practice either.” I could see myself trying to explain that one to Detective Cranston. Oh, hey, well, my friend the ghost wanted to meet her nephew in person, and since she’s tethered to Shops on Main...

  “Oh, pooh on the coppers.”

  “Easy for you to say—you wouldn’t be the one banging your tin cup on the bars of a jail cell,” I said.

  “Isn’t there anything you can do?” she wailed.

  I hated seeing her look so dejected. “How about this? We’ll find out which nursing home Dwight is staying in, and I’ll go talk with him. I’ll see if he has any photos there, and if he does, I’ll ask if I can take pictures of them with my phone so you can see them.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  I merely smiled and resolved to talk to Grandpa about this situation as soon as I could without Max hearing.

  The quick tap that I recognized as Connie’s knock sounded, and I was relieved she’d arrived to put an end to this conversation—at least, for now.

  “Come on in!” I called.

  “I’ve been thinking about your mask.” She pushed the door closed behind her and brought out some strips of Velcro®. “I think this will work. Don’t you?”

  “Let’s see.” I picked up the mask and placed one side of the strip to jut from under the mask at the tip of the nose. Taping it in place, I put the mask on my face to ensure that I could breathe and that my vision wouldn’t be obstructed. “If the hands will attach to this, I think it will work.”

  “If you put the grabby side at the nose and make the hands out of the other strip, do you think that would work?” Connie asked.

  “I do.”

  She and I worked on the mask until we had hands that would work and wouldn’t aggravate the actor’s face.

  I smiled in triumph. “I’ll get the superglue. And while the grabby Velcro® strip dries, I can finish the body of the costume.”

  “Glad I could help.” She jerked her head toward the hall. “I’d better get back.”

  By the time Connie left, Max had disappeared.

  I’D FINISHED UP THE clock costume and was cutting out the wardrobe when Detective Cranston strolled into Designs on You and leaned against the doorframe between the reception area and the atelier. “I got your note.”

  “Why do I get the impression you aren’t pleased about that?” I asked, laying aside my scissors.

  “You should’ve turned Sandra Kelly’s planner in to me as soon as you found it.”

  “It was late, and I wanted to go home, Detective. Besides, didn’t I help you out by deciphering that IBS notation?”

  He arched a brow. “You don’t believe I could’ve figured that out on my own?”

  “I’m positive you could have,” I said. “But since you didn’t have to, it saved you some time.” I inclined my head. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, thank you.” He came on into the atelier. “What in the world are you making?”

  “A wardrobe costume—for Beauty and the Beast.”

  Giving a rumble of amusement, he asked, “You don’t do anything halfway, do you?”

  “No, sir, not if I can help it. About the beauty salon, did it turn up any good leads?”

  “None of the other stylists would admit to doing Sandra Kelly’s hair that afternoon,” he said, “and there was nothing on the books that proved she was even there. Maybe she canceled since her regular stylist was busy.”

  “I guess that’s possible...”

  “But you don’t think so, do you?” he asked, rolling his eyes.

  I shrugged. “It’s awfully coincidental. I remember Connie saying Sandra’s scalp was bleeding and that clumps of her hair had fallen out.”

  “That doesn’t prove she went to the salon,” he said. “She could’ve gotten some product at the grocery store to touch up her hair until she could get in to see her regular gal.”

  “A product with nicotine in it?” I paused for effect. “But you’re right. I’m probably making too much of it. Did the medical examiner ever say how the poison was administered to Sandra Kelly?”

  “How about you let me worry about that, and you concentrate on making your wardrobe costume?”

  { }

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A

  s Grandpa d
rove us to Winter Garden High later that afternoon, I told him all about Max and Dwight.

  “Thank goodness he couldn’t figure out how to video chat,” I said. “Either he’d have thought she was hiding somewhere out of the frame, or he’d have seen her. I don’t know which would have been worse.”

  “If he’s in a nursing home, I’ll tell you which would be worse—Dwight sitting at the computer talking with someone only he could see and hear.” He gave a low whistle. “If he’s already showing signs of dementia like Max said, the nursing home staff would believe him to be completely off his rocker then.”

  “That’s not even the worst of it. She asked me to go get the man.”

  “What?’ He took his eyes off the road only long enough to glance at me in surprise.

  “Oh, yes. When I explained that kidnapping someone from a nursing home is a felony, she settled for me going to visit him and bringing back pictures of any photographs he might have.” I groaned. “What have I gotten myself into, Grandpa?”

  “A mess, it sounds like.” He drove in silence for a minute before saying, “I understand where Max is coming from. She’s in the unenviable position of having no immediate family members left and only a few distant relatives. Plus, we’re the only ones that we know of who can communicate with her.”

  “I know,” I said. “And I sympathize with her wanting to get to know the relatives she does have. But the fact remains, she’s dead.”

  He scratched his head. “I feel like she loses sight of that sometimes, especially since you’ve done so much to make her feel alive. Look at what all she’s able to do now: she reads, she watches movies and television programs, she listens to music, and now she can even reach out to other people through social media.”

  “And I’m glad of all those things.” I sighed. “And I know Max is smart enough to consider the repercussions of her actions.”

  “You’ll have to be patient with her, Pup. Want me to go with you to the nursing home?”

  “Please. Maybe we can go Sunday after lunch? That is, if I can find out which one Dwight lives at.”

  “You will,” he said. “I have no doubt about it.”

  WHEN I GOT TO THE AUDITORIUM, Kristen was standing outside the door. And she was already mid-tantrum. My stomach rolled over as I considered why she might be fuming. If her anger was directed at me, I thought it had to be the dress. Somehow, it had been destroyed, and I was going to have to remake it.

  “My life is ruined!” Kristen cried.

  Feeling sicker by the second, I asked, “What’s wrong? Did something happen to the dress?”

  “The dress? No. It’s my hair!”

  I gave her head a cursory examination. Beautiful. Not a hair out of place. I squinted in confusion.

  Exaggeratedly rolling her eyes at my obvious stupidity, Kristen said, “Mom won’t let me get caramel highlights for the play. She says it’s too close to the Miss Winter Garden High pageant and that the judges might not look favorably on color-treated hair.”

  “I—”

  Ignoring that I was about to speak, Kristen paced and ranted. “It probably wouldn’t even look color treated. Kim West gets her hair professionally colored, and you can’t even tell. It looks fantastic. And you know what else? Kim is even allergic to hair dye!” She stopped at looked at me to see what I thought of that amazing revelation.

  “Then how—?”

  “How does she get it colored then? Her hairdresser mixes artificial sweetener—that saccharin stuff—into the dye, and it changes the PH level so Kim can tolerate the color.” She made a growly sound. “Why does my mom have to be so freakin’ uptight about everything? Ugh! She’s ruining my life!”

  I pulled out my phone and did a quick online search for clip-in caramel hair extensions. Turning my screen toward Kristen, I asked, “What about something like this?”

  Grabbing my phone out of my hand, she frantically scrolled through the search results. As her scrolling slowed, she appeared to relax. “This would work. Could you help me put them in?”

  “Sure.” I steadied myself as Kristen threw her arms around me and gave me such a fierce hug that she nearly knocked me down.

  After texting a link to herself, she returned my phone. “Thanks, Amanda.” She hurried off to join the rest of the cast.

  I WAS IRONING THE CANDLESTICK costume when I heard someone clear his throat. Glancing up, I saw Fergus Kramer striding toward me.

  “Hello. We haven’t met yet. I’m Fergus Kramer.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kramer. I’m—”

  “I know who you are, Ms. Tucker.” He chuckled. “In fact, I had to come back here and meet the enchantress for myself.”

  Frowning slightly, I lifted the candlestick costume off the ironing board and hung it on a rack. “I’m hardly that.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short.” He wagged a finger at me. “Earlier this afternoon, Kristen Holbrook was in full-blown dramatic diva mode. I saw her speaking with you, and the next thing I knew, she was laughing and singing.”

  “I’m glad I could help.” Here I was finally face to face with the man Blake Talbot was accusing of embezzlement to anyone who’d listen, and I had no idea what to say to him.

  “Not only that, you’ve turned my wife into a movie star with the suit she bought from your boutique.”

  I laughed, feeling even more awkward that the man had sought me out to heap praise on me. What did he want? “I can’t take credit for that, Mr. Kramer. Your wife is a lovely woman.”

  He beamed. “That she is. Well, you’re obviously busy, so I won’t keep you. But please let me know if there’s anything you need while you’re here at the school.”

  I couldn’t let him go without trying to get him to talk about Sandra Kelly and Blake Talbot. “Wait.” Once I’d made sure no one else was listening to our conversation, I said, “Actually, there is one thing.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Diana told me that you’d caught Sandra Kelly and Blake Talbot in the hall together when they were supposed to be teaching their respective classes.” I spread my hands. “I heard the students gossiping about them the first evening I was here as well. What I’m wondering is why they weren’t disciplined for their actions. I mean, there were two classrooms filled with neglected students who could attest to the fact that they were left unsupervised during class periods.”

  “It’s my observation that students typically don’t mind having their teachers out of the room,” he said. “Also, Mr. Talbot hasn’t liked me since I refused to approve a field trip for his golf team. His animosity toward me is well known here, and that’s why I didn’t report seeing him and Ms. Kelly together during their scheduled class time. I was afraid my accusation would be summarily dismissed.”

  “Still, you couldn’t have been the only staff member to have noticed their behavior,” I said. “I’ve only met Mr. Talbot once, and I didn’t speak with Ms. Kelly but a couple of times, so I’m not acquainted with either of them. But if they’d had something that required that much discussion, they should have been conversing after school hours. Isn’t there something Dr. Holbrook could’ve done?”

  “I’m not sure if Maria was even aware of the situation.”

  I didn’t contradict him, but I knew that wasn’t true. Dr. Holbrook had told me herself last night that she absolutely knew and had been about to see if she could get both teachers fired.

  “I’m sorry.” I shook my head slightly. “She mentioned to me yesterday evening that you and she have been friends for years. I thought you might’ve brought the matter to her attention.”

  “It wasn’t my place.” He tapped his fingertips together. “As I’m sure you’re well aware, being branded a troublemaker is always bad for business.”

  “Right.” Had he just threatened me? Or was he warning me to mind my own business?

  “Again, give me a holler if you should need anything,” he said, as he left the auditorium.

  { }

&nb
sp; Chapter Twenty-Eight

  W

  hen Zoe came backstage a short while later, she found me staring off into space. “Hey. You all right?”

  I nodded. “It’s been a rather aggravating day. Nothing a good night’s sleep can’t fix. I hope.”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  If I ever wanted to gain Zoe’s trust, I should probably confide in her first. “Well, I have a good friend who’s flaking out on me. She...” How could I explain that Max can’t go anywhere? “She has mobility issues but wanted to meet a guy she met online.”

  “And you’re afraid he’s a creep?” she asked.

  “No, he’s more than likely a nice man, but I can’t simply go get him like she wants me to—he’s in a nursing home.”

  She laughed. “Your friend sounds like a riot.”

  “She is. But I’m not willing to kidnap a guy from a nursing home for her.”

  Zoe gave into another fit of giggles, and this time I joined in.

  “My Papaw is in a nursing home, and we have to get all kinds of special permission if we want to take him home for Thanksgiving or something,” she said.

  “See? But Max couldn’t care less. Go get him, she says.”

  “Max? She’s the friend you live-streamed the halftime show for, right?”

  “Yep. Good memory.” I blew out a breath. “That wasn’t my only weird experience of the day though. Do you know Mr. Kramer?”

  “I know who he is. Why? What did he do?”

  I told her about him coming to meet me. “He was very complimentary, and I wondered why. I guess I’m a cynic. But, does he do that a lot? Flatter people, I mean.”

  She shrugged. “I haven’t heard anyone talking about it if he does. But I’ve found that, typically, anybody blowing smoke up your butt either wants something from you or is getting ready to stab you in the back. I’d be careful if I were you.”