Tulle Death Do Us Part (28 page)

The next morning, after Eve left with the first batch of unchosen formal returns, I called Werner. “I have a confession to make,” I said. “I forgot to tell you last night with everything else, but I still have scavenged items at my Dad’s. Forgot about them between Wayne’s death, the new us, fitting formals, and our plan to net a whale this weekend.”

Werner cleared his throat. “Madeira? Where did you get the newest scavenged items?”

“Some were in that drainpipe you uncapped. Jammed into the end you were holding. Found them by accident. The others I found at the warehouse before the fishing boat incident. We went there specifically to retrieve them. I’d seen them get hidden in a vision.”

“If you’re going to keep sleuthing, Mad—”

“Last night, you said I was good at it. Talking with a different brain today, are you?”

He chuckled.

“I am a sleuth. There’ll be no talking me out of it.”

“Then let me in on the visions. Beforehand, maybe?”

“As your significant other, I understand the request. But sometimes I have to base my decisions on the fact that you’re a detective and may not want me to go where I need to. And sometimes, as you saw, they just happen.”

Werner growled low in his throat, like when he wanted to ravish me.

“When I plan a vision, I’ll try to inform you, so you can be with me, ’kay?”

“Let’s sort that out later. I maybe went too far,” he admitted. “I can see there’d be exceptions, but for my invested part, your safety as well as justice have to be served.”

“Justice is always my primary goal.”

“Your safety is mine,” he grumbled. “You’re starting to feel like a full-time job.”

“That’s bad?”

“No, it’s good. When I’m here, I want to be there.”

“And vice versa,” I admitted. “Except that we live in the real world.”

“Shame, that. But on the other hand, I might want to leave the force to be with you.”

I chuckled at the tongue-in-cheek comment. “We’d kill each other if we spent too much time together. You love the force, plus we can partner-sleuth best with you on the inside.”

“It’s a tricky business, though, unless—”

“What?” I asked.

“Mystick Falls is about to need a new mayor,” he said. “I
was thinking of running, but you should run, and I’ll stay on as detective.”

I chuckled. “Which would make me your immediate boss.”

“Go ahead, Mad, tell me what to do. Like you don’t already try.”

“Like there aren’t times you like it. But be serious.”

“Oh, I am. Sleuthing would take on the sheen of your position, the mayor getting nosy for the greater good. I could be your trusty knight in shining armor.”

I shivered. “This is starting to sound kinky.”

“Yeah, I like that aspect of it, too. Think about it.”

“Could I be mayor and keep the shop?”
Like I’d actually consider it…

“Sure, but I’d suggest a full-time assistant.”

“The universe is speaking to me again,” I said. “Isobel York, my former intern, sent me a job application last week.”

“She was excellent, too, wasn’t she?” Werner asked. “It’s a sign. With her working for you, we might actually be able to get away for the occasional weekend.”

“Are we moving too fast?” I asked.

“Are you getting cold feet, Mad? I’ll warm them. Or I’ll back off. Your call. I’ve been waiting since you came home to set up your shop. I’ve been dreaming of you since we shared a bed that lovely night at Kyle DeLong’s in New York.”

“You think getting Tasered is lovely?”

“The result being our first—indelibly stamped on
my
libido—thermonuclear kiss.
Shockingly
lovely. I’ve heard
that you bragged about it on occasion, even when we weren’t a couple.”

I’d wring Eve’s neck later. “
I
haven’t been able to forget our rock and roll fling,” I admitted. “I guess I’ve been really dense, haven’t I?”

“It didn’t help that your sister Sherry played matchmaker by making you and Nick her twins’ godparents. Even I saw through that.”

“So you stepped back…to wait for me to figure it out?”

“We wouldn’t have made a very good couple if I was the only one who knew that. Sure, I bided my time. You’re a girl who appreciates home. I knew you’d find home in my arms.”

“And in your bed?”

“You can’t be seducing me over the phone, Mad. You’re killing me, here.”

“It’s awfully easy.”

He growled in that “gotta have you now” way of his, the one that shivered me to my core. “Gotta get back to work,” he said. “Wear something fifties for dancing.”

“What color underwear?”

“Make it match, of course.” And he hung up.

I smiled through the dozen formals that ended up back at my shop with their owners that afternoon to be fitted for the event. Once they knew they hadn’t been chosen, many of the entrants decided to attend our Very Vintage Valentine ball anyway, and wear the outfit they’d entered in the competition.

All the while I worked, I thought about Werner and his final interviews with the suspects.

The returning windfall of tulle turned Chakra into a ballet cat, tiptoeing through the tullelips and sniffing every one, not forgetting the occasional purring roll or kitty joust.

Through the afternoon, several
This Is Your Life
rejects, not going to the ball after all, offered me the formals they didn’t want anymore. I bought eight, and put aside one in mocha for me, and one in black-and-white for Eve, because they fit our personalities so much better than our original choices.

Not quite steampunk goth, Eve’s was a full-length vintage seventies gown in black-and-ivory organdy. But the fitted bodice with velvet trim and a single halter strap that crossed at the top’s point and made its way around her neck in one piece represented Eve the seductress quite well. Its full flared skirt with diamond-shaped panels graduating from black at the waist to ivory at the hem came with two tulle crinolines. What I liked best for Eve was the boned bodice that gave her dress a shape reminiscent of a bustier, boned at the sides and wired at the top.

I adored the gown I picked for myself, an Emma Domb mocha tulle and lace that gave my curls the sheen of cinnamon at my shoulders. The strapless, heart-shaped, lace bodice had a ruffled inset of fine mocha net and coarse tulle. I felt like a confection when I tried it on. The lace formed a double layer overtop that accented my breasts, trimmed in chocolate sequins, also like a bustier, to a deep, almost Elizabethan V ending well below the waist. Then it defied convention and flowed like a double overskirt in an inverted V away from the waist. The topmost overskirt ended about six inches higher than the one below it,
eighteen inches from the hem. My bodice was also boned. I’d think rose gold and copper jewelry, though if I wasn’t careful, I’d hit the steampunk mark, which I wouldn’t do to my BFF on purpose.

Suddenly I couldn’t wait for Werner to see me in it.

After Dad had told me his secret, he’d called later that night to tell me he’d like to add one last portion to our evening. He wanted to give a party after the ball at my shop for a small number of family and friends, but he didn’t want Fiona to know. He even asked what caterer I’d trust setting up while we were at the ball, and we got that settled.

Since I knew he had an engagement ring that Fiona was not yet wearing, I hoped he planned to propose and throw Fee an engagement party. But, nah, Dad would never do anything so prosaic. Never something so intimate in public.

Not
in a million years.

Otherwise, I knew the stage was set.

I was so excited that the clocked ticked slower. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday morning, I filled with altering and being there so people could collect their formals.

When Sunday, the night of the ball, finally arrived, Dad and Fee looked great as a couple. Dad in his gray tux with tails, no less, and a lavender tie. Fiona, in her mother’s wedding gown, though she’d worn it with lavender shoes, a lavender pillbox hat, and a lavender velvet bow around her waist.

Though we were nervous, we joined the dancing for a requested round of “Running Bear,” and a lot of people rocked and rolled. The night was turning out to be everything I had imagined.

After dinner, I gave out small prizes to the people who’d worn the best vintage outfits, just as Aunt Fee had originally planned. Once dessert came, Werner and I got up on stage to began the
This Is Your Life
segment of the program. We revealed the lives of the innocents first, sort of as practice, and that part of the program held just the right amount of surprises and reasons to applaud. There were even a couple of standing ovations and plenty of hankies being used to dab at wet eyes. Big success. So far.

“Deborah is a no-show,” I told Werner.

“Not surprised,” Werner said. “She did not like my line of questioning on Friday. I think she’s afraid of what we’ve learned during the investigation.”

“What if you need her to testify?”

“We’ll find her,” my hunky detective promised with an impromptu kiss to my brow that melted me just a bit.

Eve and Jay had come to dinner at Werner’s Friday night—a fun double date—and after having received the gift of his dad’s Purple Heart from his grandmother, Jay had happily given up his
This Is Your Life
spot for our surprise guest.

The ballroom had been decorated to an understated elegance. Large gold rings hooked together in strategic places, especially around the architectural model for the new wing of the country club. They’d be lucky if it didn’t close down after what we were about to reveal.

Werner called for an intermission and a last bar call before the final segment. Everybody groaned, but the bar was soon packed. I knew that plainclothes policemen ringed the room, fake drinks in hand so as not to look
conspicuous. Werner and I quickly had a last meeting with our surprise guests—the “Remember Me?” type—and made sure the unsuspecting subject of our last
This Is Your Life
segment still sat at his reserved table. He was too important to walk out.

As my father had requested, I asked Aunt Fiona to help backstage while he slipped out the door early. He took Dolly Sweet, wearing her Katharine Hepburn gown, with him. Yes, the gown she planned to die in. Always a heart-attack event for me when she wore it, but as her laughter followed her out the door, I sighed with relief. She’d made it through another big event unscathed. Whew. At 106, one never knew.

Eve and Jay, looking dapper in his dad’s uniform, left our deserted table, and switched to a table where another man in an airman’s dress uniform sat alone.

The first thing the stranger did was check out Jay’s Purple Heart, and as I passed the table, Jay explained that it wasn’t his; it was his dad’s, which got them to chatting.

At the break, there’d been a bit of a mass exodus and the place was still slowly emptying to a very comfortable degree. The plainclothes policemen knew who to encourage to go and those who needed to stay. Sometimes I saw a badge being discreetly revealed. We did not want to play the sting to an audience of hundreds, just to a few friends who might later testify.

With a Shirley Temple in hand, I went back over to say hello to Eve and Jay and thank both him and their new table partner for serving our country.

Frankly, we were trying to stall. We had wanted Wynona
to be one of our guests, but she was unable to make it. I guessed that Werner injected fear into our suspects at his Friday interrogation. She’d just been arrested in Montauk and they were now sending her back on the New London Ferry. Werner sent a Mystick Falls black-and-white to pick her up and bring her here.

“They’ve got Wynona,” he updated me as I returned backstage.

“What will happen to her?”

“She’s been arrested for the murder of her husband,” he said, “though I don’t know if I can make it stick, but she’s been told we’ll go easier on her if she helps us get to the truth here. She took the bait. They’re bringing her here. I mean, she implicated herself by running, so she gave us a stronger case against her.”

“Let’s hope she cooperates when it comes right down to it,” I said. “But why did she flee Mystick Falls today and not right after the interrogation?” I asked.

Werner gave me a double take. “One, she knew we’d be busy tonight, and it would be easier for her to run. And two, a wife disappearing immediately after her husband’s murder is just too suspicious. She tried to play it cool.”

“Now that she’ll be here after all, do we need her to get started?”

“No, we’ll use her when they get her here.”

I rubbed my hands together. “Good. Let’s go.”

I had no sooner said it and the lights dimmed as everyone began to return to their seats. Meanwhile, our mark continued celebrating and having a fine time.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Werner said, “our final contestant suggested we honor someone who has been a touchstone for all of us here at the Mystick by the Sea Country Club, Mr. Thatcher McDowell. Let’s stand and put our hands together so he’ll know how
much
we want him up here.”

And, holy slip stitch, did we want Thatcher in the hot seat.

Thatcher beamed as a waiter brought his favorite, most expensive choice of beverage up on stage with a fine Cuban cigar to set on the table beside the big, overstuffed burgundy leather easy chair, with a matching ottoman, that we’d placed on stage for the segment.