A Dress to Die For

by Margaret Evans

  He shoved his plate a couple of inches to the side and flexed his right hand a bit before folding his hands together on the table.

  “I have a surprise for you!” she said, her eyes sparkling as she thought about the prom dress she had just bought yesterday. “But I’m not telling!”

  “Talk to me about this morning,” he repeated, refusing to let her go someplace else.

  “Oh, you’re just grumpy because your mother finally surprised you on your birthday, so now the whole world knows that Connor Michael Fitzpatrick can be surprised.”

  “She caught me off guard. I cannot be surprised.”

  “We know that’s not true because it happened in front of a score of witnesses. And doesn’t the definition of ‘surprised’ mean getting caught off guard? Anyway, I do have a surprise for you, but I’m not telling. I see you’re not wearing the glove. Didn’t like being called Mickey by everyone at the station, huh?”

  Fitzpatrick stared at her, his face tagged with a slight frown.

  She nodded with empathy.

  “How’s the hand, though? Better? Still wearing the glove at night?”

  He nodded to the questions relating to his hand.

  “What happened this morning?” he repeated.

  She dabbed her napkin at the corners of her mouth, tapped it against her lips.

  “Come on. Tell me what happened.”

  “You’re no fun. A crazy lady drove up in a van and dumped her roommate’s share of small furniture, clothing, and other belongings against the front of my shop. Said her roommate moved to Europe and told her to get rid of said roommate’s things any way she wanted. There was so much stuff—boxes and bags of all kinds and sizes—that it was piled up several feet high but still made it into the street.”

  “Did you inform her she couldn’t do that?”

  “Of course, and she told me to call the cops, so I did.”

  “Didn’t your mother tell us we couldn’t ever use the word ‘crazy?’”

  Laura nodded, recalling her psychologist mother’s guidelines.

  “But that didn’t stop her from telling me I did something crazy from time to time.”

  Connor threw a “well-you-did” look at her.

  “I’m glad you got the plate number,” he said.

  “Why? Was it stolen?”

  “Yes, but it was put back before the owner woke up. We surprised him. No fingerprints. Everything is wiped. I’m still having the forensics team go over the interior and exterior.”

  “She might have been wearing a wig,” Laura added. “I saw lighter hair along the edges of her face when she turned and the hair was jostled. I remember thinking, at the time, that it was just part of the highlighting, but now I think it wasn’t. That part of your hair grows out more quickly than anywhere else on your head, so the hair should have been dark. I think. Maybe.”

  “When are you meeting with the sketch artist?”

  “As soon as he calls me. Hey, the cops who were here today said they couldn’t find anything in the boxes and bags, not even fingerprints.”

  “That’s correct. The officers did a quick search and inventory, found nothing of any great value, and no items that matched any descriptions of stolen property that we have. Since there’s no evidence of a crime that we can see connected with these items, you’re cleared to go through them and do what you want.”

  “Even though the lady stole a truck to bring them here?”

  He nodded.

  “Are you concerned that fingerprints were wiped off junk and old things that someone is tossing? Doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “It’s being looked into.”

  He got up to rinse their dishes in the sink, wiped his hands on the towel and turned to pull her out of her chair and close against him.

  “You know I have to hit the gym a lot more since I’ve been eating at your restaurant.”

  “And you know I feed you only healthy food—except for the brownies.”

  “Blame it on the dessert,” he mumbled before they kissed.

  They walked hand-in-hand to the back door. Laura reached around him to punch in the new security code. On Connor’s instructions, she changed it every few weeks.

  As he grasped the doorknob to leave, he turned back.

  “I love your food.”

  “Is there anything else you love?” she asked, coming close to him, looping her arms around his free arm, and looked up at him with hopeful eyes.

  “I think you already know the answer to that one,” he said, leaned over to kiss her one more time and slowly, then left.

  four

  Bunny ears, you go here, and big, white, waxy, peppermint bunny teeth, you go here. Now where should you bunny tails go, I wonder?”

  Laura was arranging her shop to accommodate spring merchandise and the upcoming holiday. She was delighted when the front door bells jangled and she saw who her first visitor of the morning was.

  “Hi, Laura!” Jenna called out, hugging a bag filled with something.

  “You’re just in time, Jenna. I need to arrange three areas where I want to highlight children’s things and two separate grown-up breakables. And what’s that you have in your bag?”

  “Oh, nothing. What are your breakables?”

  “Some Faberge egg reproductions and some antique, etched glassware serving pieces.”

  Jenna’s eyes grew big.

  “Where did you get the etched glassware?”

  “I won an estate auction bid. They’re really old but so pretty; there are a few I’d love to keep for myself.”

  “And so you should,” Jenna agreed. “Those may not be terribly expensive, but they are from the Victorian era which makes them somewhere around a hundred fifty years old. That alone can bring up the value. Just having a part of a set on a buffet or side table is an awfully nice accent. Keep in mind, as well, that there aren’t very many of those original pieces around anymore. I can help you pick what you want to keep and price the ones you want to sell.”

  Laura had gotten a book from the library because she knew little about the history of glassware in this country except for the one trip to Williamsburg and Jamestown in Virginia her Aunt Rose had engineered. She remembered the road trip well, passing through the beautiful Virginia countryside with its rolling hills and forested knolls. They had gone in the springtime when the azaleas, lilacs, and forsythias were in bloom.

  The glass blowers there were amazing. What she learned from the book, however, was surprising. The etching of glassware began in Europe and was originally used to create barriers to seeing through windows while still allowing in sunlight. The craft was popular, continued for years, and was even transported to the Colonies in the New World.

  It was not an easy craft to do, and the intricate designs required a steady hand and artistic designs, as well as proper storage of the etching acids used. The etching continued to this day but on a much smaller scale and was limited to the original purposes of frosty panels with limited designs to protect privacy. Laura realized she had seen such panels in restaurants blocking the view between booths, and she felt lucky to have gotten such a large collection with the exact same patterns on every piece. Truth be told, she didn’t really want to part with any of them.

  She was not surprised, however, that her friend knew about the etched glassware. Jenna had grown up knowing a lot about many things that wealthier families know and take for granted. Laura and everybody else went to the Internet or the library if they didn’t have grandparents around to tell the family stories and share pieces such as these. Thank goodness the public libraries in Minnesota were so well stocked and run.

  “Okay, if you have a few minutes, will you help me stage everything?”

  Jenna stashed her bag behind the counter and tur
ned a bright face on her friend, wiped her hands together, spread them apart and asked, “Where do I start?”

  In less than thirty minutes, Jenna had worked her magic. The place would have drawn anyone to the merchandise, whether they were interested or not. The lady had a gift and could have sold skimpy swimsuits to research scientists in Antarctica.

  “What about this bare spot you left here?” Laura asked.

  That’s when Jenna reached for her bag behind the counter and pulled out a house banner that read, “Raging Ford Loves Bunnies!” The word “Loves” was a big red heart.

  Laura’s eyes grew big.

  “I made three different versions,” Jenna added and spread them out on the counter. “‘Show Us Your Bunnies’ and ‘Raging Ford Bunnies Hop Hop Hop.’ ”

  “These are adorable!” Laura cried. “How did you make them?”

  “Iron-on transfers. I got the blank banners with light green borders cheap. Yes, I’ll give you the invoice for everything.”

  “You better. And for the transfer paper, too. And an estimate of the ink or toner cartridges you used. One of these days, Jenna…”

  “My fun, Laura. I told you. Next you’ll be telling me to check my electricity meter for how much power I used designing them on the computer, printing them, and ironing on the transfers!”

  Laura shook her head but turned to the banners with delight.

  “Do they go in the empty spot?”

  “Yes—right near the bunny ears and tails. We’ll hang one of each in your front window so people can see them as bait. Your big bin of peppermint waxy bunny teeth should go right by the register. I love how you covered the bin with white, fuzzy material. Are the bunny teeth the fund-raiser for the brass rail at the police station?”

  Laura nodded.

  “And the orange jelly beans in carrot-shaped bags in the big, orange basket right in front of the register so they can’t miss ’em. The carrot bags should arrive any day now. I have the jelly beans.”

  “We’ll have every little kid in town dressed as a bunny and eating orange jelly beans with big peppermint teeth.”

  “And walking around with orange tongues,” Laura added, grinning. “But I wish we could find something for the middle school kids.”

  “Tees, maybe?” Jenna offered.

  “No, I think they’re too sensitive to peer-pressure at that age.”

  “Another contest?”

  “I was thinking about that. What about a Faberge egg look-alike contest? Would that work?” Laura asked, having whirled that about in her brain a few times already.

  Jenna’s eyes brightened.

  “You would draw all the artsy-craftsy kids. It might be worth a shot. What about the cost of materials, the logistics, and the prizes?”

  “I found a supplier for the Dylite eggs, which are better than Styrofoam for a project like this, and egg stands which are pretty cheap. What about movie tickets for prizes? Does anybody go to theaters anymore?”

  “I don’t think so,” Jenna responded. “They stream everything they want to watch.”

  “You’re right. Should we talk to one of the middle school teachers? Or a parent? Do you know anybody with a middle school kid?”

  Jenna thought a moment.

  “If you have a contest, there have to be judges, and there have to be prizes for different age groups. This might get a little complicated, as judging artwork and skills can be tricky.”

  “You mean subjective, not objective like the gold coin counting contest,” Laura pointed out.

  “Exactly. Let’s think about this a little longer before you do anything. We don’t want anyone in the town to feel left out.”

  “I have to order the eggs and stands pretty quickly. Maybe we just have a ‘make your own faux Faberge egg’ kit and leave it at that? Maybe gifts for moms or grandparents?”

  “I like it. Figure out your costs, what you have to recoup, and what you want your return on investment to be. Also, if it’s a fund-raiser, you may have to add a dollar or two to the overall kit price.”

  “I like that. I’ll order some eggs and stands. What else should I get?”

  “Small tubes of glue, sequins, some pretty beads and gilt rope pieces, plastic bags for the kits—you’ll have to order the right size—maybe the quart-sized bags from the grocery store? I bet you can get them cheaper online. Let me think about the paint.”

  “Great. At least I have a beginning. So, am I ready to take down the ‘Easter surprises coming soon’ sign?”

  “Not quite yet. At least, not until you have the jelly beans loaded into those carrot bags you’re waiting for and the Faberge egg kits ready to go. By the way, the town is holding a silent auction. A big one. That’s what I really came over to tell you. I’m managing it.”

  Laura looked interested.

  “Cool. What’s it benefiting?”

  “The nurses’ quarters at the medical center. They need major plumbing fixes in both the kitchen and the bathrooms. They’ve tried car washes and bake sales, but they need a lot more money. Mother suggested a silent auction, and the response from some of her friends has been wonderful. They’ve donated some pretty expensive things. We have them locked up tight in the vault room at our house. You should come over to see them.”

  “I will! Would you also want some big dream baskets in your silent auction? Maybe a few, new exotic places?”

  Jenna beamed.

  “I was hoping you’d offer. A capital YES! I also want to ask Erica’s dad if he can donate a few silk flower arrangements. They do such an artistic job at his shop.”

  “I know, right? Oh! What about Kelly? Does she have some framed prints or paintings she can donate? It’s so great to have her working in town now and nearby.”

  “I’ll ask,” Jenna said, finishing up the arrangement of the house banners. Now there were no empty spots in the shop except for the two places waiting for the jelly bean bags and the egg kits. She picked up her tote bag and headed toward the door, pointing at the empty spaces.

  “Put a sign in each empty spot saying ‘Another Surprise Coming Soon.’”

  She turned back and tossed over her shoulder at Laura, “By the way, how many times have you tried on your prom dress? And be sure you put it where Connor can’t see it.”

  Laura laughed.

  “Twice…once yesterday at the store and once early this morning. I twirled in front my mirror more than I should have. But hey, do I need to sell poles and brackets for these banners?”

  “Maybe a few, but the hardware store at the end of town sells them pretty cheap. I wouldn’t buy more than three or four. I’m sure lots of people already have them. Easy to add them to the display. Don’t forget to put one of each banner up in your window!”

  “You’ve left me with a lot to think about and organize. I’m so glad tax season is over! Well, at least until September and October when I have a couple of customers who filed extensions.”

  Jenna laughed.

  “I knew you would be looking for a new project. My Laura is never idle. Bye! I’ll be back later!”

  five

  At the end of both their regular work days, half of the Fab Four found energy to continue doing more work. Erica picked up the required rubber gloves from the bag she had left. Regardless of the fact that the police had cleared the junk, she added a mask in case she found sharp or unsanitary objects or the dreaded dead body they might have overlooked in the heap. Before returning to the unfinished bag, she rummaged through the boxes and bags and sorted clothes from non-clothing objects. Everything she touched, with her thick, rubber gloves, was handled gingerly as if she were expecting a rat to jump out or a dead animal of some kind to be lying underneath. So far, everything looked okay.

  She was sorting from the “objects” box when Laur
a joined her in the covered carport behind the shop that evening.

  “Sorry, I had some bookkeeping to do for the store and some ordering. On Jenna’s direction.”

  “No problem,” Erica said and pointed to the hood of Laura’s car. “Your gloves and mask are over there.” Then she returned to the abandoned bag from the previous day and her attention was drawn to something bright red in a rumpled black, plastic trash bag. She pulled the edge of a corner of red cloth from deep inside the bag and kept pulling until a very fancy, red ball gown appeared. Her mouth fell open.

  “Why on earth would anyone give a dress this gorgeous away or even throw it into a giveaway bag? That chick could have gotten money for it on eBay or Craigslist or another bidding site online.”

  Laura looked it over. Beautiful, lacy, red, silky organza with slipped down shoulders stared at her. Truly an exquisite dress: a Cinderella gown. Its billowing layers and flounces made the formal gown she had just bought look almost plain by comparison. She pulled at the label.

  “I don’t know this brand, do you?”

  Before Erica could answer, Jenna pulled up behind the shop and parked in the alley.

  “I thought I’d find you two out here. I have some news.”

  “Jenna, come look at this,” Erica interrupted. “Tell me why someone would jam a dress like this into a garbage bag and dump it in a heap?”

  “That looks familiar,” Jenna responded, frowning a little. She checked the label. “This is a design from Marjeanne, an exclusive boutique in New York City. I think I’ve seen a smaller version of the shop in Minneapolis. Maybe an outlet or branch.”

  Laura was not surprised she had not heard of Marjeanne after being locked up in her Great-aunt Rose’s tower for eleven years in Maryland following her parents’ deaths. But something Jenna said caught her attention.

  “Why is it familiar?”

  “Hmmm…”