A Dress to Die For
Page 1
A Dress to Die For
Second Treasures Mysteries
Vol. 4
Margaret Evans
Moonlight Mystery PressMaryland U.S.A.
A Dress to Die For
Volume Four of the Second Treasures Mysteries
Print Edition, © June 2019, Margaret Evans
Moonlight Mystery Press
ISBN-13: 978-0-9789076-5-5
Cover artwork copyright ©2019 Duncan Reid
Production by Dennis Tuttle, 5editorial, Silver Spring, Md.
Composition by Jenine Zimmers
Kindle Edition, June 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
For more information about this book, contact:
Moonlight Mystery Press
www.moonlightmysterypress.com
Table of Contents
dedication
prologue
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
eleven
twelve
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
sixteen
seventeen
eighteen
nineteen
twenty
twenty-one
twenty-two
twenty-three
twenty-four
twenty-five
twenty-six
twenty-seven
twenty-eight
twenty-nine
thirty
thirty-one
thirty-two
thirty-three
thirty-four
thirty-five
thirty-six
thirty-seven
thirty-eight
thirty-nine
forty
forty-one
forty-two
forty-three
forty-four
forty-five
forty-six
dedication
I would like to dedicate this book to the memory of Mary Poos, a dear friend who loved mysteries as much as I do. We went from kindergarten through 8th grade together. During those years, Mary remained a sweet, gentle, very smart girl. If someone in the class was mean to either of us, she always told me, “Don’t worry about it. It’s not important.”
We shared and swapped Nancy Drew volumes to make sure we each had read all of them, and thoroughly enjoyed the rumor that the author, Carolyn Keene, was really a retired sea captain.
I recently found a memorial to Mary on Facebook advising that she had passed away in 2015. Mary was the Deputy Director, Office of Nutrition, Labeling and Dietary Supplements, at the Food and Drug Administration. What an accomplishment!
Mary has been with me throughout the writing of this story, in my thoughts and my heart, pushing me to finish it in spite of many challenges this past year. In her role as a high school vice principal and librarian assistant in this tale, Mary plays herself, and her nature and the wisdom that I knew all those years ago will be evident.
I miss you, Mary, but we will always share an abiding love of mysteries wherever we are.
Other Works by Margaret Evans
Fiction
Second Treasures Mysteries
Twice Sold Murder, Vol. 1
Priced to Kill, Vol. 2
Hanging By a Thread, Vol. 3
Maya Earth Trilogy
The Sixth World
Trial in Jade: The Mayan Return
Kingdom Come: The Mayan Answer
The Lethal Limit
Hostages to Murder
The Mandreill Dagger
Canvas of Deceit
The Tao of Murder
The Secret of Kenning Hall
Code of Treachery
The Harmony of Revenge (coming soon!)
Non-Fiction
Prairie Attack
Lingerie Ward
The Alphabet
Saying Goodbye to Matt
Lucky Day, Lucky Life
Making the Next Green Light
Poetry
Christmas Poems for My Grown-Up Children
(includes “Golden Snowflakes” and “The Forgotten Snow Girl”)
prologue
Mankato, Minnesota, had only one Greyhound bus station, and it was busy this time of day. Travelers filled the seats; others stood by their luggage. One lucky young man checked his ticket again. There was another hour before the bus would load and plenty of time to open the letter. When he noticed an older woman had to stand and wait, he gave up his seat for her.
The letter.
He had handled and touched it so often in the past nine years that the corners were dog-eared and the seal was beginning to come undone on its own. There was no power on this earth—or beyond, so he thought—that could force him to read the letter before he was ready.
He had not read it when his parents gave it to him just as he was entering college. He had not read it any time during college, where its mere ounce felt like a two-ton block hanging from his shoulders. Instead, he struggled to focus on his studies and was graduated with honors from the College of Science and Engineering at the University of Minnesota, having succeeded in both his academics and not opening the letter. He would read it during this current leave of absence from his first professional job. It was just not the right moment yet, but it would have to be soon because he could not put it off much longer.
The idea never to read it also whirled through his brain.
His reluctance to open and read it was born from wanting the life he had lived and known and loved until right before his eighteenth birthday not to change. Deep in his heart, he was confident its words would alter everything forever, and he wasn’t so sure it would be for good. How could it be, if his parents had kept the secret from him until he graduated from high school?
The envelope went back into his inner jacket pocket unopened and unread, as it had so many times in the past since his loving parents had told him he was adopted. He pulled his smart phone from another pocket and tried to distract himself sending messages to friends, and laughing at their responses, telling them not to worry where he was on his “walkabout” as he called it, for he was on a silent mission and one he could not share with anyone, all a condition of his sealed adoption.
“Go to St. Paul,” his parents had told him. “Go find a woman named Edna Phelps, and she will tell you what you need to know. We can’t tell you, because we don’t know, but the adoption agency promised us that she does. First, you have to read the letter. We heard she wouldn’t even let you in the front door if you haven’t read it.”
A large, gray cat sauntered by, circling a couple of times near the young man, tickled one of his shoes with the tip of its tail, sniffed at his carry-on, pranced away, throwing a backward glance at him.
The young man didn’t notice; he was back on his phone again. Soon enough, he would meet a woman named Edna Phelps. For no good reason he could think of, he feared this journey and the meeting.
one
The sleek Lexus LX 570 shot down the freeway, its deep metallic blue shimmering as the nearly perfect aerodynamic design took no prisoners. Inside was a different story.
Today, no one was watching or listening to the entertainment system. But the noise level inside the vehicle belied its effortless rush through the air.
“You should wear purple; it’s your favorite color, Laura!”
“Dark green is perfect for your skin and hair.”
“Black is so dramatic! I say try it.”
“Maybe you should wear white.”
“Why should she wear white? It’s not a wedding dress—oh, wait. Let me think about that. She is dating Connor. Anything could happen.”
Laura Keene was tempted to put her hands over her ears on the ride to the Twin Cities’ best dress shops in the State of Minnesota but resisted the urge. She understood her friends meant well. The two-hundred-mile round trip would be well worth just having a responsibility-free day with her friends.
“It’s just a prom, guys,” she said but knew her words would not affect the sparkles of excitement dancing around her.
Her three closest friends, Jenna Buckley, Kelly Rogers, and Erica Rollins, had staged an intervention to help Laura pick out a dress for the upcoming prom at Raging Ford High School. Together with Laura, they had been known as the “Fab Four” during their formative years. The trio had decided Laura would need a prom dress that would so captivate her date Sergeant Connor Fitzpatrick that he would faint when he saw her. Nothing less was acceptable.
“This is not any old prom, Laura. It’s your first prom, and it’s with Connor. And it’s his first prom, too.”
“This is your big chance!”
“It’s more important than you realize!”
“But we’re just chaperones, not teenagers anymore—” Laura began.
“It makes no difference,” Kelly insisted. “It’s the prom you and Connor never got to go to. This is all about you and Connor. Who cares about the high school kids who will be there?”
“And don’t forget to practice up on your dancing with Connor!” Jenna called from the driver’s seat.
“Yeah,” Erica continued. “You want those kids to think you’re from Dancing with the Stars.”
Touched by their concerns for her, Laura gave up arguing. She spoke as Jenna parked and they all shuffled out of the SUV.
“I love having you all take me shopping, but I think I’ll know when the dress is right. Hopefully, I won’t have to try on too many.”
“Sabina Morello Flynn says she tried on over 120 dresses before she knew she had the right one.”
Laura’s eyes grew big.
“This is a prom, not a wedding—”
“Not just any old dress will do!”
And so it went, throughout the morning and into the afternoon after the briefest of lunches, and through more specialty and designer shops than Laura knew existed in the Minneapolis-St. Paul area. They screened every shop in the Mall of America and every other shopping center within a ten-mile radius. Four pairs of feet ached without complaint. No one could agree on colors or styles, and there were more beautiful gowns than anyone imagined, but Laura knew what she wanted. When she donned it around four o’clock in the afternoon, all chatter stopped. Her friends set aside dresses they held and stood motionless, watching her.
This one would do just fine.
Laura grinned at her reflection in the mirror as she twisted this way and that, kicking, twirling, and dancing in place, and thoroughly enjoyed the big eyes and dropped jaws on her friends’ faces. Erica was the first to recover. She reached over to gather and twist Laura’s hair up on top of her head.
“You look like a princess—that’s the one!”
• • •
Laura was mistaken if she thought the day was complete when she paid for the perfect gown. Next were the shoes, the jewelry and accessories, and anything she wore under the dress. When Erica talked about how she would do Laura’s hair, and Kelly talked about how she would do Laura’s makeup, and Jenna talked about how she would do Laura’s nails, Keene put up both hands.
“This is enough for now. We have time to figure out everything else. You have all done something wonderful today just by taking me here, but remember I have to get some recovery sleep tonight and open the shop on time tomorrow morning.”
“Did your shipment of bunny ears and cotton tails show up yet?” Erica asked. “I can’t wait to see little kids in bunny gear hopping up and down the sidewalks.”
“Yup, everything came. All I have to do is arrange the stuff so people want to buy it.”
“Speaking of bunny ears, what are you planning to do for treats and fund-raisers for this holiday? Is there going to be another contest?” Kelly asked, hope shining from her eyes. The last contest included counting gold, foil-covered chocolate coins in a huge glass bowl. All three of her friends had offered to gobble up the leftovers.
Laura shrugged but winked.
“You’ll see.”
By the time they had eaten dinner on the road and Laura was back at the Second Treasures thrift shop, it was getting late. After locking up and heading up the stairs to her apartment, all she could do was stare at the dress on its hanger looped over the door to her bedroom. The teal was a perfect shade for her hair and skin tone. It was off the shoulders, snug in its draping around her body—but not too snug—and the flairs at the knee would allow her to fly over the dance floor. With Connor, of course.
Did I pick the right one? Will Connor like it?
Having never been to a prom, she didn’t know. Was the dress grown up enough without looking middle-aged? Was it too kicky and young? Would the teenage girls at the prom think she was trying to be one of them? Did it even matter if they did? She guessed not because the dress made her happy. At least she hadn’t picked one with cut-out sides, or a bodice split to her waist. Connor had warned her they needed to be an excellent example to the teens, even if the teens were out of control.
As she turned out the lights, she reflected how her day had begun with an almost pre-dawn, excited knocking rat-a-tat-tatted on her front door and three familiar and very dear friends ready to take her shopping for her prom dress.
So many other mornings in recent weeks began with the frustration of not remembering a recent, semi-dream. Picture #245 from nearly a hundred years ago and its clone of someone in Raging Ford continued to elude her. The face she had remembered as she fell asleep that night a few weeks ago had disappeared in the next moment when she re-shut her eyes. She knew the name would come back to her, but it was frustrating all the same. Perhaps, if she ran into the person in town...
The picture was printed out – the infamous #245 of the shots she had copied to a thumb drive from the Pickens studio of historic town photographs of the three town founders and their families – and taped to the cabinet above her kitchen sink. Actually, it was re-taped, because she’d had to take it down so many times to hide from everyone who came up to her apartment, except Connor, that the tape had gotten very un-sticky. No one else could know about the research she was conducting into her parents’ deaths. At least once every day she looked at that picture. Maybe, together, she and Connor could work on it next time he came over for dinner.
Today’s good times won out, however, and, as she fell asleep with a smile on her face, her eyes fluttered from time to time toward the door on which hung the princess dress.
two
Laura awoke very early the next morning when the cat jumped on her belly.
“Go away, Isabella,” she murmured, but the cat stuck it
s tail straight up, merrowed loudly, and gave Laura a piercing gaze. It even touched a paw to Laura’s chin.
She slowly opened her eyes in the dark room and caught sight of the outline of the dress. It brought such a smile that she stretched and sat up, switching on the lamp next to her bed. Laura saw its vibrant, teal color in the light’s glow, and thought about the fact she had never owned such a dress nor felt as pretty in anything. The cat then promptly disappeared as quickly as it had shown up.
Laura was now fully awake. She sat at the kitchen table in her upstairs apartment, sipping coffee, still in her robe, with warm, fuzzy slippers on her tapping feet as she mentally went through all that she needed to do today before the shop opened, and then during lunch, and after the shop closed for the day. She felt annoyed with the cat for waking her up earlier than she wanted, especially after yesterday’s trek through what seemed like a quarter of the acreage of Minnesota’s largest city plus its twin, St. Paul. Her feet, if nothing else, wanted more rest than they had gotten. There would be no stilettos on these feet in the store today. “Shop shoes” or “sensible shoes,” as they were sometimes called, would have to do. Laura was leaning toward wearing the thick, spongy, fuzzy slippers currently on her feet and hoped she wouldn’t forget to change them before her first customer arrived.
But she heard sounds downstairs, along with thumps against the shop’s front door and window. What was going on? A fight? Coffee in hand, she rose and padded through the kitchen to the front window that overlooked the street. Leaning a knee on the window seat cushion, she peeked through the blinds with her free hand.