Designs On Murder Read online

  “Yes, I’d love one!”

  “Well, you can try Neiman Marcus, or I can design something in a similar style for you.”

  I would never say, “Of course, I made it. But I’m too backlogged to make you one.” Especially because making dresses is my business. Just like, I’d assumed, making jewelry was Janice’s business.

  As I washed down a bite of peanut butter sandwich with a drink of iced tea, I found myself wishing I could’ve gotten a look at the rest of the jewelry in that pouch. I wasn’t sure quite why I wanted to see it, but I desperately did. Maybe it was to see if the quality of that one piece was a fluke. Or maybe, I wanted to know if these were expensive pieces that Janice had bought at an estate sale or something and hoped to pass off as her own. Still, I couldn’t imagine Janice paying over eighty thousand dollars for a single bracelet. How would she ever make her money back on it?

  And what about Ford and his hollowed-out books? Could Max have been mistaken about what she’d seen? Somehow, I doubted it. Max didn’t appear to be mistaken about very much. Still, I couldn’t imagine what Ford could be hiding. Or what he was helping someone else hide.

  I sighed, took another drink of tea, and wondered if I should take Grandpa Dave up on his offer to relocate Designs on You.

  { }

  Chapter Fifteen

  I

  didn’t see Max when I went into Designs on You on Thursday morning. I let Jazzy out of her carrier before stowing it in the atelier near her litter box, and I walked around both rooms.

  “I’m sorry, Max,” I said softly.

  Still nothing.

  I watched Jazzy. She sniffed around the mantle before hopping onto the chair behind my desk. The cat didn’t seem to sense Max’s presence, as she had before.

  It wasn’t unusual for Max to be absent, of course, but this was the first time we’d had a disagreement.

  I wandered into the workroom, opened the filing cabinet, and thumbed through patterns until I found one I could use to make the muslin for Ruby Mills’ dress.

  I heard someone open the door to the reception area and stepped around the corner to see Melba and George Meacham.

  George smiled and spread his arms. “Hello!”

  “Good morning, Mr. Meacham. How are you?”

  “Fine, thank you. How are you?”

  “I’m well. Mrs. Meacham, how are you?”

  “Rushed,” she said. “George and I are on our way to his doctor’s appointment, but I forgot something upstairs yesterday evening. Would you mind keeping George company while I run up and get it? I hate to make him climb the stairs.”

  “I’d love having a chat with Mr. Meacham.” I took his arm and led him over to the wingback chairs sitting near the window. “Would you like some coffee or water or anything?”

  “He can’t have anything to eat or drink before his appointment,” Mrs. Meacham said. “Be right back.” With that, she hurried off to retrieve whatever it was she’d forgotten.

  I sat on the chair next to Mr. Meacham.

  He pointed to the mannequin wearing the ready-to-wear dress. “My mother had a dress like that. She wore it when she brought Roscoe and me to live here.” He glanced at me sideways and gave me an impish grin. “Roscoe has sticky fingers sometimes. I never rat him out, but she’s gonna catch him sooner or later, and then it’ll be on.”

  “I bet it will. Our bad decisions can have a way of catching up to us, can’t they?”

  He laughed as he nodded. “One time, Roscoe stole Aunt Sue’s prune Danishes. She didn’t even know it was him until he got sick. I told him he shouldn’t have eaten them all at once.”

  I joined in his laughter. “Did he even give you one?”

  “Not even a bite.”

  “Served him right to get sick then, didn’t it?”

  Mrs. Meacham returned in time to hear the end of George’s story. “That Roscoe was one incorrigible young man.”

  “Was he a bad influence on you, Mr. Meacham?” I asked.

  “Nope. I’m the big brother. I don’t let him sway me.”

  “We’d better go, dear.” Mrs. Meacham came over and took her husband gently by the arm. She mouthed a thank you to me, and I nodded.

  I made a mental note to ask her later if Roscoe was still living. If so, I hoped he was still in the area. I thought it might do Mr. Meacham good to visit with his brother. At their ages, Roscoe’s incorrigible days should be far behind him.

  HEATHER AND HER BRIDAL party arrived at just before ten o’clock. Heather’s sister Hailey was tall and willowy, like the bride. Heather’s friend Laura was also tall, but she was curvy. Her cousin Simone was short with an athletic build. Heather’s fiancé’s sister Emily was average height and her pregnancy was showing...early-to-midway into the second trimester was my guess. I’d need to take her growing tummy into account with the dress design.

  “We simply can’t find dresses that flatter each of them, and I don’t want to be one of those brides who makes her best friends wear unattractive bridesmaids’ gowns,” Heather said. “My grandmother thinks you’re some kind of miracle worker, so...what can you do for us?”

  “Well, let’s see.” I brought some chairs from the workroom and placed them around the desk in the reception room. I then pulled the navy wingback chairs over to desk so that the women could sit in a semicircle around my workspace. Then I gently removed Jazzy from her resting place on my desk chair. With a small meow of protest, she sashayed into the atelier.

  I opened my sketchbook to a blank page and grabbed a pencil. “I believe that an empire waist with a deep vee neck and back with a full skirt is going to be the most universally complimentary.” I roughed out the design as I spoke so they could see my idea as it was forming. “The dress should be crafted in tulle with a floor-length skirt. That way, no one will notice shoes.” I glanced at Emily. “You could even wear sneakers if you want.”

  She laughed. “I might really do that!”

  “To give the dress added elegance, I’d add silver beading at the waist to form something like an elongated medallion. It wouldn’t go all the way around the waist.” I drew it onto the dress. “It would merely be an accent piece...like this.”

  My gaze encompassed them all. “Of course, if you aren’t happy with this design, I can try again.”

  “No,” Heather said. “I think this is what we’ve been looking for.” She looked at her friends for confirmation. “Right?”

  They each assented.

  “What do we need to do next?” Heather asked.

  “Choose a color. I think Mrs. Mills indicated you wanted blue?”

  She nodded.

  “Then let’s choose a blue.” I took out a color swatch with the shade in several hues. They settled on Egyptian blue, a deep royal. “Shall we get everyone measured?”

  JASON ARRIVED TO PICK me up for lunch just after I’d finished measuring the last of the bridesmaids. I introduced him.

  “This is Jason Logan,” I said. “He’s a wonderful photographer...and I speak from experience.”

  Heather followed my eyes to the portrait over the mantle. “You did that?”

  He nodded.

  “Could I have one of your business cards please?” she asked.

  “Me too?” Emily stepped forward with one hand on her stomach. “I’m going to be needing some photographs before too much longer.”

  Jason handed cards out to all the women as they filed out the door.

  “You know, you should leave some there on the mantle,” I said. “You might not always make such a timely appearance.”

  “Good thinking. Are you ready to go?”

  “I am. All that measuring has given me an appetite.”

  We went to lunch at Jack’s 128 Pecan. It was a rustic place with lots of dark wood and where the fries were served in small terra cotta flower pots. How could you not love a place where the fries are served in flower pots? Jason had the fried green tomato and pimiento cheese sandwich, and I had the fried egg sandwich. />
  At first, we discussed the wedding party and how Heather’s visit to Designs on You seemed to work out well for both of us.

  “It seems like that woman who came in on your first day has brought a lot of business your way,” he said.

  “I know. That’s great, isn’t it? I’m really pleased with the way everything has been going.” I shrugged slightly. “I know this is a feast or famine kind of business, but I’ll enjoy the feast while I have it. What about you? Are you settling in well at Shops on Main?”

  “I am. I was afraid there would be people wanting to come into my studio...you know...” He lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “Because someone died there. But I haven’t had too many looky-loos.”

  “I never even thought of that. It’s just so morbid. I’ll be glad when the case is solved. It seems as if everyone is on edge—Connie, Janice...”

  Jason shook his head. “You don’t know how relieved I am that Janice finally stopped coming over to my studio every few minutes to ask with my help with this or that or to ask if I needed anything.” He ate one of the Parmesan fries. “I’m all for being neighborly, but that was ridiculous.”

  “I think you know it was more than Janice trying to be neighborly.”

  “I do know.” He laughed. “I think I finally got my point across when I told her how much she reminded me of my mom.”

  My jaw dropped. “You didn’t!”

  “I did.”

  We shared a laugh.

  “Just be glad you stayed out of her drawers,” I said.

  He raised his eyebrows, and I realized how far I’d put my foot into my mouth. I could feel my face burning.

  “Um...you see...I...yesterday, I opened a drawer in her shop and found a beautiful bracelet, and Janice had a fit.” I explained how she came down later and said it was a special piece for a particular client. “But, still, I shouldn’t have been...you know...messing where I had no business.”

  “You had no idea that a piece of jewelry in a jewelry shop was off limits. If the piece had been set aside for some reason, it should have been at least behind the counter.”

  “I agree.” I was eager to get the subject off Janice’s drawers. “So, what do you think of Ford?”

  “I like him all right. He pretty much keeps to himself, so I don’t know him all that well.”

  “That’s been my experience too. Has Ella given you a ten percent coupon off at Everything Paper?”

  “She has!” He grinned. “I’m saving it for something big.”

  “Me too.”

  WHEN WE RETURNED TO Shops on Main, I took the sign off the door telling potential customers I’d gone to lunch and inviting them to either come inside to wait or to call for an appointment. Jason went up to his studio and brought back a stack of his business cards in a Lucite holder.

  “You’re certainly prepared,” I told him, as I placed the cards on the mantle beneath the portrait.

  “I try. Do you have some cards to share with me?”

  “Yes, but I don’t have a holder for them.”

  “That’s all right,” he said. “I’ll find a prominent place for them.”

  I gave him a stack of business cards and thanked him for lunch. “I really enjoyed it.”

  “I did too. Better run, though. I have a client coming in.”

  I smiled slightly as I heard his feet tromping up the stairs. I wandered into the atelier where Jazzy was lying on her bed looking up at Max, who was perched atop the filing cabinet.

  “Did Mr. Wonderful buy you lunch?” she asked.

  “He did.”

  “You should make dinner for him to return the favor. Men love that sort of homey thing. It assures them that if they wind up shackled to you for life, they won’t starve to death.”

  “I’m glad you’re back,” I said.

  “I never left.”

  “I’m sorry about yesterday.” I spread my hands. “I was frustrated.”

  “I know. I spent the morning in Janice’s shop. I got to see another piece from that pouch you found, and it’s a Buccellati brooch.”

  “Buccellati?” I wasn’t familiar with the name.

  “Yeah.” She winked. “Look it up.”

  We went into the reception area, and I did an Internet search for Buccellati. When I found a Buccellati brooch selling for over forty-five thousand dollars, I turned to Max slack-jawed.

  “Are you sure the brooch upstairs is a Buccellati?”

  “Positive. This time I saw the name on the back.”

  “We’ve got to find out the truth about that jewelry!”

  Max gave an exaggerated nod. “And find out why the pillowcase is trying to convince us she made it.”

  “But how?”

  “We’ll both think on it,” she said. “Hopefully, one of us will come up with something.”

  I WAS IN THE ATELIER cutting out Ruby Mills’ muslin when Mrs. Meacham came into the reception area.

  “Amanda, dear, are you here?” she called.

  “In the workroom,” I responded.

  She briskly stepped into the atelier and surveyed the room before nodding with what I presumed was approval. “Thank you for entertaining George earlier. He likes you...calls you that pretty dressmaker.”

  “I was glad to do it. How did his appointment go?” I asked. “I hope he got a good report.”

  “He did...” She lowered her eyes. “For the most part.”

  “Is there anything that can be done for his dementia?”

  “Not really. It’s a cruel thief.”

  “He speaks often about Roscoe. Does his brother live around here?”

  “No. He died in a factory accident when he was in his late twenties.” Her words were clipped, and I got the impression she didn’t relish talking about her brother-in-law.

  “That’s a shame.”

  “It is. But these things happen.”

  Despite getting the distinct impression Mrs. Meacham didn’t care to discuss her husband’s late brother, my curiosity got the better of me. “Does Brett resemble Roscoe? I only ask because Mr. Meacham called Brett by his brother’s name when they were here the other day.”

  She pursed her lips. “That’s how it is with George now. Sometimes Brett is Brett, and other times he’s either our son Jack or George’s brother Roscoe. I’m either Melba or Mother. We act as if we’re whomever we’re supposed to be at the time.”

  “I imagine that’s the best course of action.”

  “I suppose. It’s less confusing for George that way, and there’s no point in arguing with him. Whatever he has in his mind is his truth at that moment. The rest of the family is forced to wait for—and treasure—those glimpses of lucidity.” She presented a tight smile—obviously her version of a stiff upper lip. “Thanks again. I won’t keep you.”

  “Anytime.”

  After Mrs. Meacham left, I started thinking about Grandpa Dave. I’d be heartbroken if he didn’t recognize me and couldn’t remember the times we’ve shared. I took out my cell phone and gave him a call.

  “What’s up, Pup?”

  “I wanted to invite you over for dinner tonight. I thought maybe I’d get a pizza from Mamma Mia’s.”

  “That sounds great. What time do you want me there?”

  Max appeared on the workroom table right atop Ruby Mills’ muslin pattern and let out a sigh that would’ve done any melodramatic actress proud. “I wish I could be there.”

  “Max says she wishes she could be there,” I said. “Grandpa, would you care to have dinner here?”

  “I’d love to! Tell Max I’m thrilled to have two gorgeous dates.”

  “Would you mind bringing a can of food for Jazzy?” I asked.

  “Not at all. I can even go by and pick up the pizza.”

  “No way.” I was emphatic. “Tonight’s dinner is on me. But do bring the cards. Maybe we can play some rummy.”

  Max clasped her hands together. “I can hardly wait!”

  { }

  Chapter
Sixteen

  G

  randpa Dave was at Designs on You when I returned with the pizza. He’d already fed Jazzy, and he and Max were in a spirited discussion about The Thin Man movie. Everyone else had left Shops on Main, so after handing Grandpa the pizza, I went back to lock the front door and made sure the back door was locked as well.

  When I walked back into the shop, Grandpa Dave had brought a couple of paper plates and napkins from the kitchen and had placed the pizza box on the round table between the wingback chairs.

  “Is the coast clear?” Max asked. She was sitting on the desk and Jazzy was gazing up at her.

  “I believe it is.” I put a slice of pizza on a paper plate and handed it to Grandpa. “Oh, shucks. I forgot drinks.”

  “I didn’t.” He grinned. “Be right back.”

  “The Silver Fox thinks of everything.” Max winked.

  Grandpa came back from the kitchen with two cold bottles of diet soda.

  “And what if I hadn’t forgotten drinks?” I asked.

  “Then you’d have had these here whenever you needed them.”

  I smiled. “You really do think of everything, don’t you?”

  “Don’t give her credit for that,” Max said. “I said it first.”

  As we ate, I told Grandpa all about the wedding party who’d come in today. “It’s a terrific start for my business—a wedding right off the bat.”

  Max had patiently listened to my telling Grandpa about the bridesmaids’ gowns I’d designed and that the women had been so happy with, but now she was champing at the bit to talk about Mark Tinsley.

  “Dave, how can Amanda and I find out who killed the web designer?” she asked. “Our main suspects are Connie, Janice, and Ford.”

  “I don’t know that—”

  “Frank and Ella could have done it,” Max interrupted my protest, “because Mark did such a lousy job on their website, or Mrs. Mecham could’ve whacked him for not paying his rent, but we don’t think those are strong enough motives. Frank and Ella could’ve simply refused to pay until Mark did a more satisfactory job, and Mrs. Meacham had already found someone to take over Mark’s space.”