Perils and Lace Page 5

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  Chapter Five

  “G

  ee,” Max said, after the customer left. “Wonder what that was all about?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Sandra seems perfectly nice to me.”

  “True. But, then, she wants something from you. You don’t usually show your true colors around someone when you want them to think you’re the elephant’s eyebrows.” She inclined her head. “At least, not until you get what you want from them.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open,” I promised. “But, like her or not, this is decent pay and excellent exposure for Designs on You.”

  Grandpa breezed in through the door to the atelier.

  “How did the meeting with Ford go?” Max asked. “Did he give you any helpful pointers?”

  “Even better.” He grinned. “He’s offered to help me build the library set.” Scooping up Jazzy, who’d come to wind around his ankles, he said, “If you’ll get her carrier, I’ll take her home with me.”

  “I wish you could take me home with you. I’d love to see where you live...and where Amanda lives.” She gave a dramatic sigh. “This place hasn’t changed much over the years.”

  “I promise when we get the live streaming figured out, you’ll see lots of places.” I got the carrier for Grandpa.

  She chuckled. “That’d be swell. But, nuts, you two have given me so much already. I’m ashamed of myself for wanting more.”

  “Never stop dreaming.” Grandpa put Jazzy into her carrier. “And don’t ever stop wanting more out of life. As soon as you do, you might as well be—”

  Neither Max nor I could hold back the laughter that bubbled up within us. And when we laughed, Grandpa got over his faux pas and let out a guffaw of his own.

  “I’m flattered you don’t think of me as dead, Dave,” Max said. “Thanks to you and Amanda, I’m more alive now than I have been in decades.”

  MAX HAD SLIPPED AWAY, and I had just finished cutting out Ruby Miller’s dress pattern when a customer came into Designs on You. I called into the reception area that I’d be right out, and then I folded up the pattern and set it aside.

  Walking out of the atelier, I could remember seeing the woman before, but I couldn’t quite place her. Had she browsed in the shop before, or did I know her from the grocery store or the bank? It was hard to say in a small town like Abingdon.

  “Hi.” The woman turned from looking at the Renaissance dress on the mannequin and gave me a bright smile. “This is gorgeous.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Are you looking for a costume?”

  “Goodness, no. I just wanted to stop in and get a proper look at your designs while my son is still at school.”

  Now I recognized her. “Do you have a little boy named Joey?”

  She laughed. “Yes. And he has two ferrets named Biscuit and Gravy that got out of his backpack and ran all over this place. Am I still welcome at Shops on Main?”

  “Of course, you are! And so is Joey. He really livened things up that day.”

  “He livens things up every day.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Sarah Conrad.”

  “Amanda Tucker.” I shook her hand. “It’s nice to actually meet you. What a coincidence you stopped in today. I’m helping out with the costumes for the Winter Garden High School play, and I learned that Joey is going to be Chip, the teacup.”

  “Yeah.” Her smile faded. “I’m more than a little nervous about Joey being in a high school production.”

  “I’m sure he’ll do a great job,” I said. “Ms. Kelly wouldn’t have cast him if she didn’t think so too.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened. “I hope she knows what she’s doing. Abingdon High did that play last year, and one of the seniors played Chip. He was on some sort of little rolling stool the whole time, so he’d be shorter than the rest of the cast.”

  “Do you know Ms. Kelly well?” I asked.

  “Not really, but all her students—my niece Stephanie included—seem to think the world of her.” She wandered over to the ready-to-wear clothes and picked out a royal blue sheath with a matching chiffon wrap. Holding the dress beneath her chin before the full-length mirror, she asked. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’d look gorgeous in that. It really brings out your eyes.” I indicated the Oriental screen that hid the fitting area. “Why don’t you try it on?”

  She bit her lip and then grinned. “Okay.”

  Moments later, she stood before the three-way mirror as I pinned up the hem. The dress had been a little too long for Sarah’s petite frame.

  “Would you like to wait while I hem this?” I asked. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  “I can’t. I have to get to that interminable car rider line. Will it be all right if I drop in and pick it up tomorrow?”

  “Sure.” I glanced up at her before taking another pin from the pin cushion on my wrist. “Or I could bring it to the practice tonight.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. Joey won’t be there. They want to get the middle schoolers in and go through their stuff tonight. They’re not bringing Joey in until Monday.” She gave a short laugh. “That should give Ms. Kelly one last weekend of sanity.”

  GRANDPA AND I STROLLED down the hallway toward the high school’s auditorium. Homecoming posters and streamers in blue and gold decorated both sides above the lockers.

  Zoe was standing at the stage door waiting for us. “There’s a big dude with bushy hair waiting for you guys. I think he said his name was Ford.”

  Nodding, Grandpa confirmed that the imposing man was indeed Ford, a bookshop owner, who would be helping with the library set.

  “Cool,” Zoe said. “He freaked some of the kids out a little, but when he spouted off some Shakespeare, I figured he was all right.”

  As we walked backstage, I overheard some girls talking. Their voices were, appropriately enough, in stage whispers.

  “She’s probably somewhere playing kissy-face with Mr. Talbot,” one said.

  Two of the girls giggled, but another screwed up her face. “I think it’s disgusting,” she said. “My parents broke up over an affair, and it’s horrible. I still haven’t hundred percent forgiven my mom.”

  The third girl in the group rolled her eyes and tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “Don’t be so freakin’ dramatic, Alyssa. There’s scientific proof that monogamy is a fallacy anyway.”

  The “disgusted” girl scoffed. “You’re only saying that because you don’t have a boyfriend right now.”

  “Knock it off,” Zoe told them. “We’re not here to gossip about Ms. Kelly. We’re here to work on our senior play.”

  Two of the girls lowered their eyes and nodded, but the hair-tosser merely flipped her hair again and walked away.

  Waiting until the girls were out of earshot, I asked Zoe, “Ms. Kelly isn’t here yet?”

  She shook her head and avoided my eyes. “I know what we’re supposed to be doing, though. We can handle it.”

  Grandpa spotted Ford, and the two of them—along with the other set volunteers—took their supplies out into the hallway to work without disturbing the actors. Zoe enlisted the help of the middle school teacher—a man who appeared to be in his early- to mid-thirties named Mr. Clark—to help corral the extras from the middle school drama club so she could give them some instructions. Kristen decided to practice her opening song with the pianist. And I gathered up the volunteer seamstresses to sit with me in the back of the auditorium with a list of the performers and the costumes we’d need.

  An hour later, Sandra Kelly still hadn’t made an appearance, and no one had heard from her either. Zoe pulled me aside and said she’d tried to call Ms. Kelly but hadn’t got an answer.

  “I’m getting worried. Do you think she could be sick or something?” she asked.

  “Let’s hope not.” I assured Zoe I’d call around and see if I could track Ms. Kelly down. My first thought was to call Connie.

  “Hello.” Connie’s soft voice s
ounded as peaceful and content as ever.

  “Connie, hi, this is Amanda. I’m calling from Winter Garden High. Sandra Kelly hasn’t shown up for play practice, and she isn’t answering her phone. Do you know how I might reach her?”

  “I just closed up shop and was heading for the school myself. I’ll go by her house and see if she’s there.”

  “Thank you.” I ended the call and told Zoe that someone was driving by Ms. Kelly’s house to make sure everything was all right.

  I went back to my group and handed out assignments for some of the easier costumes.

  “Anytime you’d like to call me stop or by Designs on You, I’ll be happy to help you.” That’s what I was cheerily saying when my phone rang. I looked at the screen and saw that the caller was Connie. “Excuse me please. This is Connie—she offered to go by Ms. Kelly’s house and check on her.”

  The women nodded and went back to talking among themselves about the costumes. I stepped out into the hallway and answered Connie’s call.

  “Hi, Connie.”

  “She’s d-dead. Sandy’s...dead.”

  “What?” Maybe I hadn’t heard her correctly. But, then, she’d spoken pretty clearly, even though her voice was no longer soft and peaceful but shaky and terrified. “Connie, where are you? I’ll come get you.”

  “I-I called the police, and they’re here now. And they...they had me call Will.” She sniffled. “He’s c-coming to g-get me.”

  “How can I help?” I asked. “What can I do?”

  “C-can you bring Marielle home? Please?”

  “Of course.” I saw Zoe poke her head out into the hallway, and I turned away. I didn’t want to burden her with this yet. She was a kid. And, yet, I instinctively knew that she’d handle the matter with more discretion than many of the adults. Plus, I didn’t want her to be blindsided by rumors tomorrow at school. I turned back and motioned for her to join me. “We’ll be there soon, Connie.”

  “What’s up?” Zoe asked. “Is Ms. Kelly sick or something?”

  I took a deep breath. “She’s dead.”

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  Chapter Six

  A

  fter I’d rounded up the staff and explained the situation, Mrs. Berry—another English teacher helping out with the production—made the announcement that play rehearsal was ending early due to unforeseen circumstances. There were a lot of whispers, and a couple of the students asked why, but Mrs. Berry remained firm and kept everything under control. The older woman looked like she had a backbone made of steel, and I imagined she’d seen a lot in her time at Winter Garden High. She was no pushover, and she certainly wasn’t going to say or do anything that would add fuel to the fiery gossip in which the students were already engaging.

  A few of the mutterings I heard were: Has Ms. Kelly ran off and deserted us too? Would the play still happen? Had Ms. Kelly been caught with Mr. Talbot, and had both of them been fired? It would serve them right. But it wouldn’t be fair to the students. No one seemed to suspect the truth. I admired Zoe’s self-restraint, but I knew she had to be worried.

  Unable to find Marielle in the crowd, I took the microphone and announced that I’d be taking her home. She quickly and quietly made her way to the front of the auditorium. She was a sweet kid—shy, smart, and soft spoken. I thought she and Zoe would be good foils for each other and wondered if they were friends.

  Grandpa Dave and Ford were reluctant to quit working on their balcony, but I reminded them that they were about to get locked in the school overnight. Neither man wanted to be stuck for hours with nothing more than a hard floor and cafeteria food, so they agreed to come back tomorrow.

  “So, what’s up?” Ford asked. “We’d barely gotten started.”

  I gave the crowd a pointed stare. “I’ll explain later.”

  Ford nodded, scowled, and scanned the students leaving the auditorium. “Wasn’t a bomb threat, was it?”

  “No,” I said. “It definitely wasn’t that.”

  I spoke with Mrs. Berry and explained that Connie had asked me to take Marielle home. “Is there anything you need me to help you with before I go?”

  Mrs. Berry shook her head. “I just can’t quite get my head around this terrible business. I’m not sure what the school will want to do about the play now, but I’ll let you know.”

  “All right. Thank you.” As I went to collect Marielle and Grandpa Dave, I wondered about the fact that Mrs. Berry seemed to be more upset about the play than she did the fact that Ms. Kelly was dead. Of course, she was probably in shock. I knew I was. The other staff members appeared to be as well.

  Upon telling Ford I’d see him tomorrow at work—and trusting him to understand that meant I’d explain the situation to him then—Grandpa Dave, Marielle, and I left the school. I looked for Zoe but didn’t see her.

  At least, I didn’t see her inside the school. I saw her walking along the shoulder a few hundred yards down the road. I slowed the car and put down my window.

  “Zoe, get in here!” I called.

  The girl stopped. “I’m all right.”

  “Please. I need to know you’re going to get home safely.”

  “I will. I do this all the time,” Zoe said.

  “Will you humor me—just this once?” I asked.

  She blew out a breath, looked to make sure no cars were coming in the other direction, and then crossed the road and got into the backseat with Marielle. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” Marielle said.

  I put the window up and resumed driving. Glancing into the rearview mirror, I asked Zoe, “Where do you live?”

  “Go to the end of this road and take a right.”

  “Okay.” Both Marielle and Zoe looked uncomfortable. I decided to try to break the ice. “Zoe, Marielle, do you guys know each other?”

  “We had French together last year,” Marielle said.

  “Yeah.” Zoe gave a bark of laughter. “Marielle speaks it like she was born there. I can barely say parlez vous.”

  “That’s not true. You did...fine.” Marielle had her mother’s gentle, encouraging nature.

  “Fine. Right.” Zoe laughed again. “Eh, I passed. That’s all I cared about.”

  I’d turned right at the end of the road as Zoe had instructed. We were on a street with beautiful houses with manicured lawns. While it wasn’t my intention to be judgmental, Zoe didn’t look as if she fit in with the neighborhood.

  “You can just let me out here, Amanda,” she said. “I’ll walk the rest of the way. The dog freaks out whenever a strange car pulls into our driveway.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Yep. See you later.” She opened the car door. “Hopefully.” She got out and walked up the street.

  I turned around in the cul-de-sac, and Zoe waved to us from in front of a brick home with white columns on the porch. I waved back and drove on down the street. In my rearview mirror, I saw her jog across the street and through the backyards of the homes.

  Where was she going? And why hadn’t she been honest with me about where she lived?

  I considered going back, but I felt as if I’d already made things worse by offering her a ride home in the first place. Had I left her alone, would she have been safer than she would have been prowling around in people’s backyards in the evening?

  WILL AND CONNIE SAT on the sofa. Will had a blanket and both arms around his wife, and she had her head resting on his shoulder.

  “Mom, what happened?” Marielle hurried over and sank to the floor in front of her parents. “Where’s Charlie?”

  “He’s upstairs playing video games.” Will looked at me. “What does she know?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I thought it best for you and Connie to talk with her.”

  He nodded. “Right. Thanks.”

  “What’s going on?” Marielle asked.

  “Ms. Kelly is dead,” Connie said quietly. “I went to her house to check on her since she hadn’t shown up at play practice. And I...I found her.”

&
nbsp; “Wow. That’s awful.” Marielle took her mother’s hand. “Do you know what happened?”

  Connie slowly shook her head. “I don’t. I don’t know.”

  Thinking it best if we left, I said goodbye and asked Connie to let me know if she needed anything.

  In the car, Grandpa Dave asked, “What do you think did happen? Heart attack, maybe? Ms. Kelly appeared to be in good health, but she definitely had one of those Type A personalities.”

  “True. But she seemed fine earlier today.” I shuddered. “That’s so scary—someone can be laughing and fine at lunch and then dead by dinner.”

  “What about the play? Do you think the show will still go on?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” I frowned slightly. “Some of the staff members—and, particularly the parents—seemed more concerned about the status of the play than they did the fact that Sandra Kelly was dead.”

  “Well, it’s the senior play—the last time many of the students will get to participate in something like that.” He shrugged. “And I do believe participation in school productions looks good on college applications.”

  “True. I also got the impression that Sandra had a polarizing personality,” I said. “People seemed to have loved her or hated her.”

  “I got that feeling too. No one was wishy-washy when it came to describing how they felt about the woman,” Grandpa Dave said. “And what about Zoe?”

  I glanced at him. “You mean the way she lied to us about where she lived?”

  “Exactly. I thought you’d caught that too, but I wasn’t certain.”

  “I started to go back.” I blew out a breath. “But I was afraid that might make things even worse. Do you think she did it because she’s ashamed of where she lives?”

  “More than likely.” He paused. “Especially since she probably thinks Marielle has a nice house—which, of course, she does.”

  “Yeah, but still... I think there’s more to it than that. Sandra told me at lunch today that she thinks Zoe is sad—that she sometimes volunteers for projects so she doesn’t have to go home after school.”