Tulle Death Do Us Part (17 page)

“Okay. We can eat before we open the garment bags. Wanna pick up the food? You get to pick what we eat.” I rifled through my purse and hung a fifty dollar bill out the window.

He took it, focused on it, growled, and dropped it back inside my window.

“Great, now I’m gonna have to crawl around on the floor to find it.”

Werner’s grin grew. “That I’d like to see. Lunch is on me. I could hear your stomach growling in the country club. First, though, I need to stop at the courthouse to pick up some paperwork. Please wait to go fishing for that bill until I get back.”

“Lunch for at least four, maybe five. And, Lytton?”

“Yes, Madeira?”

“Why do you think McDowell wanted a lawyer?” I hesitated about giving away my thoughts, but only for a minute. “His kids would have been the right age to participate in that scavenger hunt.”

“I’ve noticed that men in expensive suits like his have a special way of squirming,” Werner said. “I caught the tick in his cheek. If I hadn’t thought there was a crime before speaking to him, I would think so now. And you’re right. It’s worse than we thought. Robin O’Dowd was a murder victim whose death was pronounced accidental. Her case needs reopening, and about time.”

Satisfaction rushed through my veins, and my eyes widened involuntarily.

“We hit pay dirt, Mad. Now all we have to do is be careful not to damage the landscape or alert the natives while we dig.”

Eve, Dolly, and Ethel were waiting for me when I got back to the shop. Fee had left to bring Mrs. Meyers home.

My three friends looked pretty guilty.

“What did you do? Did you open the garment bags?”

“Of course not,” Eve said. “You said not to.”

“Then what are you all hiding?”

“It’s about a blog,” Eve said.

“A blog?” That was the last thing I’d expected to hear. “Who cares about a silly blog?”

“This one’s not silly,” Dolly said. “I’ve been reading it the past few days. It’s called Vintage Dirt by someone who calls himself the Mystick Falls Masque. Seems to be a rabble rouser who outs local secrets. I believe it’s relatively new. I can’t identify the two people with their heads together in that grainy picture at the top, but I once wore clothes like theirs.”

“Dolly, will you print out the page with the grainy picture for me?” I asked.

“Oh, I did, dear.” She fished it out of her bright orange Jaclyn-ette purse—square, stand-up, very seventies—and handed it to me.

“Yep, grainy.” Without one identifiable face, so I’d have to study it for clues. I slipped it into my pocket. “Thanks.”

“I’m lucky the Internet wasn’t around when I had my fiery fling with Dante,” Dolly proclaimed or bragged.

And somewhere nearby, I heard him chuckle.

“Mama!” Ethel snapped, foolishly shocked. “You didn’t
really
do all that?”

“I did everything everybody ever said and more.” Dolly’s pride was as genuine as the rose in her cheeks and the gleam in her eyes.

“Let’s get back to this blog, shall we?” I asked. “Eve? I assume you’re the one who found it.”

“No, dear,” Dolly said. “It was an anonymous tip we got on your shop phone about fifteen minutes ago. Someone told me to ‘write this down,’ so I did.”

“A web address?” I asked, and gave it to Eve. She looked it up on my computer.

“Was the anonymous caller a man or a woman?” I asked Dolly.

“Yes. Well, I couldn’t tell, not at all. It sounded more like a robot.”

“Gotta love the technological age,” I said.

Eve turned the monitor to face us, so we could read it. “The headline is ‘Just Dug Up.’”

“That sounds grisly.” I read it to myself, and then I read it out
loud. “‘Just between us and the roof rafters,’” it says, “‘the long-lost cash box belonging to a certain country club known for keeping its members squeaky clean—even if they reek—turned up again like a bad penny. Like nine hundred thousand bad pennies come back to bite the greedy, soulless rich brats who done a whole lot of somebodies wrong.’”

I shook my head. “It’s both cryptic and damn near incriminating.”

“Makes no sense to me,” Ethel said.

“It sort of does to me,” I admitted, and continued. “‘In this phantom reporter’s opinion, somebody should fry.’”

Dolly
tsk
ed. “That’s harsh.”

But I thought that whoever had written this knew the whole story, including Robin O’Dowd and why she ended in the ocean in a storm. “Okay,” I said. “Here’s more of the blog: ‘This rover is here to reveal what will soon come out anyway. Said country club confidentially reported to their insurance company that the amount they lost in the robbery was precisely double the actual loss.’”

I whooped. “A good case of insurance fraud will make the country club, aka Mr. Holier Than Thou McDowell Sr., accountable,” I said. “That’s my opinion, not the blog’s.” I paused, then continued reading. “‘But don’t focus on the larceny, find Robin’s O’Dowd’s murderer.’” Now if, as a result of dredging all this up, we
could
find Robin’s murderer, or murderers, and make them pay…Not that we knew for sure that it was murder. Except that the Masque said so.

Dolly elbowed me. “Keep reading.”

“Oh. Sorry. ‘Said high-and-mighty club also reported
confidentially to the charity due to get the proceeds of the event that the amount stolen was precisely half the actual loss, and they gave the charity half of that, after deducting expenses…of course.’”

Fiona whistled, surprising me with her presence. “Sounds like trouble,” she said.

“It is…for the country club. You can read the whole blog after I finish.”

Dolly hooted. “I like a good scandal to keep the juices flowing. Read, Mad, read.”

“’Kay. ‘Who took possession of the money the insurance company paid out? This roving reporter would like to know. Because it is not accounted for on a certain country club’s books. Detective Werner and Ms. Cutler’”—that took my breath away—“‘you were in the right place today. Keep digging. Why not start in the basement?’”

I rubbed my arms against the goose pimples and shivers the last sentence brought.

“Mad, they named you,” Ethel said, excited for me.

I felt nauseous. “I don’t like that ‘this roving reporter’ knows what I’m doing.”

Dolly wagged her finger at me. “Take it from somebody with experience. Don’t do anything you don’t want talked about. See, I mostly worked at making the gossips happy,” Dolly bragged. “And if you don’t want that, then sneak around real good. Want some tips?”

“Not right now, Dolly,” Fiona said. “Mad has to finish reading that blog.”

“Oh, right.” I touched my brow. “I think I was blocking it. Brace yourself. Here goes. It says, ‘Detective, lining the pockets of the rich with hundred dollar bills has always
been big in some circles. Ask whoever’s in charge you-know-where. Maybe you’ll get answers, but don’t count on the truth. Tell us this: Who takes part in these scavenger hunts, and who dies? This is Mystick Falls’ phantom blogger, signing off.’”

“Whoa!” I said, sitting down hard in front of the computer. “This is big. Who would know that Werner and I went to the country club this morning? Or even that Isaac found a cash box in my rafters two days ago? I just turned it in to the police yesterday.” Or that someone, namely Robin, had died.

“Everybody in town saw Isaac find the box,” Aunt Fee said.

“That’s a grudge blog,” Dolly added.

Ethel harrumphed. “Like you know what a blog is.”

“Unlike you, who lives in the dark ages, I turn on the computer every morning and surf the net. You may not move with the times, but I do. I follow several interesting blogs. I even have friends on the social sites.”

Ethel raised her nose in the air and went for her coat and purse.

I sighed. “Okay, I have to think.”

I paced while Eve scanned the blog. “Looks like we have some sleuthing to do,” she said. “Seems more fun now that there’s a phantom blogger roving around watching you.”

I elbowed her and glanced back at the Sweets, who were both packing up.

Fiona held her car keys, ready to take them home. “There are a few more garment bags than we expected,” Fee said. “Your father helped bring them earlier, and he said to remind you that this wasn’t his idea.” She opened
the door for the Sweets. “Be back in a jiff. Anything you want?”

“Lunch?” Eve asked.

“Never mind, Werner’s bringing Chinese food.” I primped the holly, ivy, and white mums set in a sculptured red Lucite box bag with a cracked top. Since I couldn’t bring myself to throw away damaged purses, I used them to hold flower arrangements.

In this case, I truly mourned the bag. According to Judith Miller’s book
Handbags
, this particular bag would be worth a grand in perfect condition. I kept hoping I’d find one with a cracked body and could operate to turn the two good halves into one awesome purse.

I checked my messages, made a couple of notes to call people back, then continued around the counter, which was backed by the wall that separated my shopping area to the right of the front door from the lounge area and dressing room to the left.

The garment bags were behind the wall, in an open space between the beverage cart and the art deco sitting area, through which my customers passed to get to the fitting room. It’s so wide open, I had once roller-skated around back there with my fashion intern, but that’s a story for another day.

I stopped dead at the sight. “How many racks of garment bags is that?”

“Eleven racks,” Eve said. “Fiona was nervous that there were so many, so I’m glad she wasn’t here to see your reaction.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, she’s really upset about the sheer volume.”

Fiona cleared her throat behind us.

One look at her and I knew I couldn’t change my mind, so I had to find a way to make it easier on myself. I reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’ll be okay. I’ll figure it out.”

I tapped my lips with a finger. “First step, remove the garment bags and drop them in that corner across from the stairs for now.”

Vainglory’s gown was in about the fifth bag to get unzipped and removed.

“Hey,” Eve said in surprise. “That backasswards-type apron thingy looks like it might match the design on the fabric wrapped around the—
pfft!
” She lost her breath, with my help.

I’d shoved an armful of garment bags in Eve’s face to shut her up. I didn’t want anyone else to connect the cash box wrapping to the dress I planned to pick in my official capacity as judge, for my own personal sleuthing reasons. Though I fervently hoped that justice would be served by the choice. “Eve, help me bring these into the dressing rooms, will you?”