This was going to be fun.
“What’s so funny?”
Sam’s voice jolted her out of her musings. She pushed the screen of her laptop down so he couldn’t see what was displayed there and turned toward him. He was pulling a can of soda out of the fridge.
She grinned wickedly. “You’ll find out—in two weeks.”
~~~
THREE
The costume store was downtown, on Melrose. Sandwiched between a Verizon store and a Subway shop, it was longer than it was wide.
And it was crammed with costumes.
She walked in and was almost immediately overwhelmed.
“Hi,” a perky voice called from somewhere near the back. “Can I help you?”
Lacey peered around racks of clothes, displays of costume jewelry and manikins sporting tuxedos and catsuits. Finally a petite woman emerged from the chaos.
“Yes, please,” Lacey said. “I need clothes for the 1920s.”
The woman joined her, one arm draped with dresses on hangers. “Let me put these down,” she said, and laid them over the counter that boxed in two register stations in the center of the store.
“Okay, ‘20s, huh?” she repeated. “Follow me.”
She was several inches shorter than Lacey with flying curly blonde hair. Lacey followed the cloud of hair down the narrow aisle, just past the registers.
“Here we go.” The girl indicated a rack of glittering, fringed dresses. “Sizes are at the top. Hats and stuff are on the shelf above; shoes down below. There’s a fitting room in the back. What size?” She looked Lacey up and down with an appraising eye.
“Uh, ten, I guess.” Lacey couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought a dress.
“Right here,” the girl said, shoving dresses aside on either side of the tens so Lacey could browse unhindered. “And we’ve got evening gowns in the back.”
Evening gowns, Lacey snorted to herself. She’d never worn an evening gown in her life. Did the bridesmaid’s gown she wore at her brother’s wedding count?
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll, uh, just look through these.”
“If you have any questions, just holler,” the girl said.
Lacey studied the first dress critically. It was a lilac sheath, sleeveless and low-cut, with oodles of purple beads, both sewn on and dangling in a cascading fringe. Touching the dress produced a dazzling display of color and movement.
The purple would clash horribly with her dark red hair. Pass.
The next was bright red, an even worse color for her pale skin. Pass.
The third was a deep emerald green. Oooohh…
She pulled the hanger off the rack and held the dress up to her. The skirt stopped just above her knees, although the fringe of beads fell just below. The material of the dress shimmered like satin, even without the bead and sequin adornment.
“Great color!” the girl said. She had put away her load of dresses and was walking back toward the front of the store, but stopped to admire Lacey’s choice. “Wanna try it on?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Lacey said. This whole thing seemed surreal. “You said there were hats and shoes?”
“Right here.” The girl stretched up on her tiptoes to reach the high shelf, and pulled down a matching cloche bucket hat of the same material. “Or you could do a headband,” she offered. She grabbed a couple, one green and one pink. The green one sported the multicolored eye of a peacock feather.
“And shoes—what size?”
“Seven,” Lacey said.
The girl rifled through boxes until she found the green ones. “Here you go. The fitting room is straight back.”
“Thanks.” Lacey took her bounty and headed for the back.
“You doing a murder mystery?” the girl asked, walking behind her.
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am,” Lacey said.
“Thought so. A lot of those do ‘20s themes. Very popular. Let me know if you need any help with that.”
“Will do.” Lacey closed herself into the small fitting room and pulled off her jeans and turtleneck. Goosebumps rose all along her bare arms; the early December air was moist and chill. And she was going sleeveless?
She had to shimmy into the dress, pulling the sheath up over her hips and thrusting her arms through the arm holes. She managed to zip the back up about halfway. It was enough to get an idea of the dress’s fit.
She posed in front of the mirror, first one way, then another. Hmm, not bad. Not bad at all.
“How’s it fit?” the girl called. Lacey unlocked the door and padded out in her bare feet. “Hey, looks great!”
Lacey turned her back to the woman. “Would you mind…?”
“Got it.” The girl pulled the zipper up to the top. “Fits perfect, doesn’t it?”
Lacey stared into a full-length mirror. It did look good. “I think so,” she said.
“Where’s the hat?” The girl grabbed the cloche out of the fitting room and plopped it on Lacey’s head. “Goes great with your hair,” she said.
Lacey surveyed her image. Cute, but… the sides of the hat just skimmed around her face, blocking her peripheral vision. “Let me try a headband,” she said.
The salesgirl got the green one, and took the hat so Lacey could pull the headband over her head. She settled it just above her eyes with the peacock feather at the front.
“Tres cute!” the girl said.
Lacey had to agree. If she pursed her lips, she could almost see herself as a flapper or a gun moll. She turned sideways to the mirror and peeked over her shoulder.
“There you go,” the girl said. “You got the attitude.”
Lacey nodded. “Yeah. I’ll take it. Okay, where are the evening gowns?”
~~~
By the time Lacey drove home, she had two complete outfits, the green for Friday night, the rose-colored evening gown for Saturday night. The salesgirl convinced her that slacks and a sweater would work for Saturday, the sleuthing part of the weekend. So she was set.
She was surprised to see Sam’s truck parked in front of the apartment. Luckily the garment bags were opaque, so he wouldn’t get even a glimpse of her outfits. She pulled them up on her shoulder, one finger hooked in the hangers, and let herself in.
“Hello?” she called. “Anybody home?”
Sam stuck his head out the bedroom door. “Don’t come in. Wait just a minute.”
She laid the garment bags down across a chair. “What are you doing?”
She checked her watch. Only two-thirty. He rarely left his ceramics studio this early. She got no reply to her question, though.
Finally he came out of the bedroom, his expressionless face giving nothing away. “Hi,” he said. He crossed to her and kissed her. “Whatcha got?”
She pulled the garment bags into her arms possessively. “None of your beeswax,” she said. “What were you doing in there?”
“None of your beeswax,” he said. “Oh, and don’t go in my closet. That’s off limits until the party.”
“Humph,” she said, striding toward the bedroom. “And don’t you look in mine.” She’d show him she could be as secretive as he could. Two could play that game.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t play it nearly as well as he could. The days stretched out interminably, she cooped up in the apartment with her brain in overdrive while he went to work at his studio. Who would Sam be? Who would Christine and Ed be? She read and re-read her character’s information, plotting her process for gathering clues, even practicing her part in front of a mirror. She’d never had any interest in acting; could she do this credibly?
There would be a prize for the best costume and best actor. Also one for the person who accumulated the most money, and of course for the person or persons who solved the murder. Lacey wondered if she had a shot at best costume. She thought her green dress was fabulous. But the real prize, the one she wanted, was best sleuth.
Sam, it seemed, never even thought about any of this. He went to his studio every day, c
ame home every night, with no evidence of curiosity or anxiety. Lacey studiously avoided any mention of it, unwilling to display her impatience to his calm disregard.
It was killing her, though.
Just a few days before the big weekend, she let her guard down.
“Have you printed out your packet yet?” she asked him over dinner.
He nodded soundlessly, more interested in the cooked carrots on his plate than a verbal response.
“And the info on the other characters?”
He raised his eyes to her, the dark depths gleaming. “Yup.”
She huffed a breath. She’d seen no evidence of either near the printer. When had he done that?
“Have you talked to Christine and Ed?”
His attention was back on his dinner. “About…?”
She stifled an impatient sigh. “Are we going together? In the same car?”
He shook his head. “They’ll meet us there.”
She wanted to ask if he had any ideas about their characters, but knew the answer was no. The packet information had listed the other characters’ names, but not who was who. She remembered that one was a Hungarian noblewoman, another a judge, someone else an actress. Lacey wondered if Christine could do a Hungarian accent.
She glanced up to see Sam’s eyes on her, the smile lines at the corners belying the straight set of his mouth.
“What?” she asked in exasperation.
Now he did smile, and let out a low, quick laugh. “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack, Lacey. Just relax. Go with the flow.”
“Relax,” she grumbled. “Easy for you to say.” She stabbed at her carrots with her fork.
“Next time we do this,” he said, “I’m not going to tell you until the day before. Then you won’t have time to tie yourself in knots.”
Lacey’s head jerked up. “Next time?”
Sam just laughed.
~~~
FOUR
Friday evening they packed the car carefully, laying in the garment bags with the rented clothes. Try as Lacey had to catch a glimpse of something revealing as Sam packed his suitcase, all she had seen were socks, skivs and t-shirts. Well, she’d find out soon enough.
They drove the twisting roads of the Hollywood Hills up to Mulholland. The lights of the city twinkled below them, a carpet of neon jewels. This time of year, early December, the Christmas lights more than doubled the usual number, so the valley below was alive with color and movement.
“What’s the address?” Sam asked.
Lacey checked the Google map he’d printed out. “Fifteen-nine-oh-one,” she said.
“That must be it.” He pointed up ahead to a stately two-story with yellow solar lights dotting both sides of a circle driveway. A modest sign within the circle, lit by low-light spots, proclaimed Starwood Bed and Breakfast.
“Where’s the parking lot?” Lacey asked. Peering past the lights into the darkness on either side, she saw no place for cars.
“Don’t know,” Sam said. He pulled into the circle drive and as they rounded the curve, a man in a suit and tie stepped out from the colonnaded entry and waited for them.
Sam parked there. The man met them at the back end and as soon as Lacey popped the hatchback, he leaned in to grab luggage.
“I’ll take the keys, sir, and park your car,” the valet said.
Sam tossed him the keys. He and Lacey each took garment bags and followed the man inside.
Looks like we’re staying for a week, Lacey thought.
They were met by a smiling woman in black palazzo pants and a deep maroon blouse. She looked close to fifty, with short curly brown hair corralled by a multicolored headband.
“Hello. I’m Irene Dunhill. Welcome to Starland.” She shook hands warmly, then reached behind a wooden counter for a registry book. “And you are…?”
“Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud,” Lacey supplied.
“Ah, yes. Well, so glad to have you here for our weekend of mayhem.” She pulled two envelopes from her book. “You’re in room five, upstairs. David will show you the way.”
David, the valet, regripped his bags and headed for the stairs. The rather narrow entry opened up on a larger circular room of parquet floors and mirrored walls. The stairs curved up and around to the upper landing. As Lacey climbed the stairs, keeping one hand on the railing, she noted the huge crystal chandelier overhead and the large oil paintings of famous faces on the walls above the stairs.
“It’s good that you arrived early,” Irene said as she followed them up the stairs. “You’ll have time to unpack and get your bearings. Cocktails are at six, and dinner is at eight. You won’t want to miss a minute.”
At the top of the stairs, David headed off to the left and stopped at the first door. He opened the door and stepped back, allowing Lacey and Sam to precede him inside.
“Oh,” Lacey said in a soft voice.
The room was lovely. Cream-colored walls embraced furnishings in a combination of baby blue and navy. The large four-poster bed was draped with a light blue satin coverlet and banks of pillows leaned against the headboard. The wood was all golden oak and warm, soft light emanated from the chandelier overhead.
“The bath is here,” Irene said, crossing to a door and opening it. Lacey could see blue- and beige-veined tile and a light blue sink in an oak vanity.
“And you’ve got a mini fridge and a microwave on the sideboard.” She waved to the kitchen area along the side wall. A coffee-maker sat next to a large blooming orchid.
She offered each of them an envelope with a name written on the front. “Now, here are your name tags, your play money and confidential information. Do you have your character packets?”
“Got ‘em,” Lacey said, patting her pack.
“Wonderful.” Irene beamed at them. “Please come down in full character, wearing your name tags. Review the confidentials, but don’t share.” She winked at them. “If you have any questions, just ask. We’ll do everything in our power to make this a fun, memorable weekend for you.”
David had set the bags on the bed and now both he and Irene turned for the door.
“Don’t forget,” she said. “Cocktails at six.” She rubbed her hands together wickedly. “Then the fun begins!”
“We’ll be there,” Lacey said.
Irene’s laughter followed her out the door.
Lacey glanced at Sam. “She certainly seems to enjoy this,” she said.
“Why not?” Sam shrugged. “That’s what we’re here for—fun.” He angled a look at her. “You remember fun, right?”
“Ha,” Lacey scoffed. “You wait and see how much fun I can have.”
~~~
They unpacked purposefully, hanging garment bags carefully, avoiding looking at each other’s items. Lacey pushed all her clothes to the right side of the closet, while Sam took the left. She surreptitiously hid her small items—her headbands, beaded bags and elbow-length gloves—in a dresser drawer.
“How are we going to do this?” she asked. “We can’t hardly hide who we are when we’re in the same room.”
“True,” Sam said, filling a drawer with socks and underwear. “We’re going to find out at six, anyway; I don’t think we need to go overboard. Why don’t you take the bathroom first? I think I’ll call the kids and see what they’re doing.”
“Good plan,” she admitted grudgingly. She really thought he was going to take this secrecy thing to the limit. She was glad to see him soften up a little.
She took one garment bag and all her accessories into the bathroom. And her confidential information. This, she thought, was where it was really going to get interesting.
As soon as she closed and locked the door, she ripped open the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper. It was divided into Notes, Secrets, and Actions.
The Notes were simple. “Do not read anyone else’s confidential information. Anyone caught doing so will forfeit all their money.”
Okay, easy enough.
The Secrets were juicier.
Fifteen years ago, Maggie Phelps had been a beautiful but naïve young woman, and Mason Dunhill had fascinated her with his wit, charm and money. She’d ignored the red flags that flew around him—his past indiscretions, his marriage to Irene, his trail of broken hearts—and had thrown herself into the affair. When she’d come up pregnant, he’d forced her into a home for unwed mothers, forced her to give up the child in return for a token of hush money, and had passed her off to his friend, Leighton Unrue. Leighton, in turn, had fallen for Maggie and vowed to make an honest woman of her, offering marriage and respectability. Still smarting from Mason’s offhand dismissal, she had accepted and been marginally happy—until the brain tumor.
Lacey leaned against the vanity and stared out the hammered glass window. So… she’d had a love child with Mason and been forced to give it up. How would she—Lacey—feel about that? Anger at having the situation taken out of her hands, at losing control of her life. Humiliation at being shunted aside. Passed around like a prostitute. Oh, yes, she could imagine that.
And she could play that.
Finally, the Actions. “Don’t take anything personally. Snubs, insults and secretive conversations are all part of the game. Have fun with it.”
Then, halfway through dinner, Mason would be called away. Every one of the guests needed, at some point after that, to excuse themselves from the dinner table. Each would spend a few moments out of sight of the others, and each would have the opportunity to commit murder.
Lacey grinned. What a hoot. She stuffed the paper back in the envelope and started her preparations.
~~~
Showered and dressed, she stared into the mirror to check her appearance. The green dress looked fabulous and the peacock eye at the front of her headband drew attention to her wan face. She’d put on glittery pink eye shadow and extra mascara, so her green eyes looked huge. She’d wrapped the long string of pale green beads once around her neck, then left the rest to hang loosely down to her waist. She clutched her green beaded bag, straightened her name tag, and left the bathroom.
Mystery Walk Page 2
