Designs On Murder Page 6

  My bite of coffee cake stuck in my throat as I wondered if I had what it took to be a successful business owner.

  { }

  Chapter Six

  A

  fter leaving Connie’s house, I went to visit Grandpa Dave. When I pulled into the driveway, I could see that the door to his workshop was open. I parked, got out, and strode toward the workshop.

  Grandpa’s workshop was ultra-neat. It was more organized than any room in my house. Shelves and cabinets lined three walls, and a pegboard held all of his hand tools. He had two mobile tool carts and a wet/dry vacuum in one corner. A table saw occupied a large portion of the center of the room, and a miter saw station was set up against the back wall. A scroll saw, a circular saw, and a jigsaw were usually kept in a cabinet near the miter saw station. Today, Grandpa was using the scroll saw at his workbench on the left side of the shop.

  “Hi!” I called when he’d stopped the ratcheting of the saw for a moment.

  “Hi, Pup! Be with you in just a minute!”

  I stepped closer to see what he was carving out and was pleased to see that it was an elegant capital letter A.

  “Can’t let a body surprise you, can you, Pup?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, but I was sure he could tell I wasn’t.

  He backed away from the saw at last and held up the A.

  “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s going on your shelf.” He nodded toward the right of the shop where a beautiful walnut shelf sat.

  With a quick intake of breath, I hurried over to examine it. The bottom shelves were wide and deep to accommodate bolts of fabric. The top shelves were tall and narrow for my books. Between the two top shelves was a cabinet with double doors.

  Grandpa Dave had come up behind me, and I turned and gave him a bear hug.

  He chuckled. “I’m glad you like it. But it’s not finished yet. I still need to get the scrollwork—and this A—across the top. It’ll be done by tonight, though, and I can bring it to your shop tomorrow morning.”

  “I had you a key made.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the shop key. “I figure it’s always good to have an extra, and I’d rather you have it than put it somewhere at home and forget where it is.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He took the key and placed a smudge of the varnish he was using for my shelf on it. “When that dries, I’ll put it on my keyring.”

  I smiled. Grandpa Dave had always taught me to differentiate my keys in some way so I’d know which one was which. I used nail polish.

  “So, how’d the séance go?” he asked.

  “Not very well. Mark didn’t show up.” I frowned. “When his mother arrived, she thought I’d been dating Mark. I told her no, that I’d only met him once. And then after the séance, Connie told me it was Janice who Mark had been seeing.”

  “Janice...have I met her yet?”

  “No. She’s old enough to have been Mark’s mother, though. I guess that’s why Mark was keeping her identity a secret from his mom.”

  “You think this Janice might’ve killed Mark in a lovers’ quarrel?”

  “I doubt it,” I said. “Janice doesn’t strike me as the type of person who’d want to get her well-manicured hands dirty.”

  “Could the murderer be someone from her past then—an ex, maybe, who was jealous of Mark? Or it could’ve been someone Mark had been involved with. You always have to consider the lovers—or so they say on the crime shows.”

  “Anything’s possible, I guess. I’m confident the police will figure it all out soon.” I kissed his cheek. “Thanks for all your hard work. You’ve been such a tremendous help.”

  “Are you off then?”

  I nodded. “I need to run home and then I’m going back by the shop...you know, to see how things are going there.”

  “I know. You’re going to talk with Max.” He grinned. “Tell her I said hi.”

  WHEN I STOPPED AT THE house, I was pleased to see that my shop door sign had been delivered. I tore into the box to see how it looked and was delighted both that it had turned out just as I’d expected and that I’d paid to have it delivered by express mail. I was eager to get the sign onto my door, so I took it, Jazzy in her carrier, and the materials for the dress I’d been working on to the shop.

  Connie’s door was open, but she was busy with a customer when I entered the building. I went on into my shop, closed the door, and let Jazzy out of her carrier. The cat immediately ran to the writing desk where Max sat reading.

  “Oh, hello.” Max looked up at me and smiled. “You two are just in time. I’ve finished my book.”

  Jazzy hopped up onto the desk and stared at Max.

  “I like you too,” she said. “You’re very pretty. What’s your name?”

  “Jasmine,” I supplied. “But I call her Jazzy.”

  “Jazzy. That suits her.” Max left the desk and followed me into the atelier. “That crazy old lady in the book I read solved the murder. The police didn’t even have a clue until she told them who did it. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “I seriously doubt it.”

  Jazzy had followed us and was now staring up at Max.

  “She likes me. I’d love to be able to pick her up and give her a cuddle.”

  “That’s what you were thinking?” I asked.

  “No. I was thinking that you and I are every bit as clever as that old lady in the book and that we should solve Mark’s murder.”

  “The big difference between you, me, and the old lady in the book is that fictional characters don’t get killed for sticking their noses into other peoples’ business.”

  “I must disagree with you there. Being killed because you were nosy is probably the most likely cause of fictional murder.”

  “Okay...which further shores up my argument that we need to leave the solving of Mark’s murder to the police.” Hoping to change the subject, I asked Max if she was aware that Mark had been involved with Janice.

  “Yes, I knew about that. I don’t believe it was anything serious, at least, not for Janice. She was always rushing off to the far corner of her office where she could stand and look out the window as she spoke with someone in hushed tones. I’m sure it was another man.” She raised her brows. “You can always tell when a woman is talking with a man she’s involved with—or wants to be involved with.”

  “What about Mark? Do you think he was seeing anyone else?”

  “I’m not aware of any secret phone calls or anything of that nature as far as he was concerned.”

  “Did he have a lot of clients coming in?”

  “As in pretty women or in general?” Max asked.

  “In general. I know his business must have been failing because he was losing his lease.”

  “From what I could tell, Mark’s business came in fits and starts. He also did a lot of work using his phone and his computer, so I don’t know if foot traffic is an accurate judge of the amount of business he was doing.”

  “True.”

  “Still, Janice and Ford get a lot of foot traffic...and so do Connie and the Petermans. And none of them are losing their lease, so...”

  “Connie and I were talking about Mark earlier today and saying that it was a shame his business was going under.”

  “What’s a real shame is that he got murdered before he got the chance to turn things around.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I heard him on the phone a day or two before he was killed telling someone that he was about to get an influx of cash.”

  “I wonder if maybe Mark was going to propose to Janice—if he thought of her as his meal ticket or something.”

  She shook her head. “While I’m not discounting your idea, I’m not sold on it. Is Janice really as well-to-do as she wants everyone to believe? I’m thinking no.” She inclined her head. “Oh, it completely slipped my mind—how’d the séance go?”

  “Not well. There was no sign of Mark.”


  “I’m not surprised. I think he’s gone on. But, let’s talk about something more exciting. What are you wearing for your photo shoot with Mr. Handsome tomorrow?”

  “I’m planning to wear as many of my custom outfits as I have, including the two on the mannequins and one of the prête-a-porter dresses I’m making.”

  “The way he caught you yesterday was so romantic. Didn’t you find him breathtakingly fabulous?”

  My first instinct was to say yes, but I answered carefully. “Jason is gorgeous, but there’s no point in thinking there’s any romance brewing between the two of us. I mean, most likely, he’s already taken.”

  “I didn’t see a wedding ring on his finger. Don’t be such a wet blanket. The man’s the elephant’s eyebrows—let’s enjoy having him around.”

  There came a knock at the door that led from the atelier into the kitchen. I opened it to find Connie standing there looking bemused.

  “I thought I heard you talking—” She broke off when she noticed Jazzy. “Oh! That’s who you were talking to. Isn’t she a pretty little thing? Hey, kitty. Hey, there.”

  I explained that her name was Jazzy, short for Jasmine.

  “Lovely,” said Connie. “What’s she so enchanted with?”

  I noticed that Jazzy was staring at Max.

  “Who knows? Cats are nothing if not enigmatic.”

  “Isn’t that the truth? I was just getting ready to make a pot of chamomile tea. Would you like some?”

  “I’d love a cup. Thank you.”

  When Connie returned with two cups of tea, we sat on the navy chairs by the window.

  “You’ve done a delightful job with the shop. It looks beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  She nodded toward one of the mannequins. “Those dresses are stunning. Have you done any others?”

  “I have.” I took out my phone and showed her some of my completed projects as well as some of my sketched designs. “My lookbook is online, but I need to update it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a collection of my work.” I smiled. “Most designers have a new lookbook every season, but I don’t have enough designs to do that yet.”

  “You will have.” Connie raised her teacup in salute.

  I raised mine back and then took a sip. The tea really was good...and calming.

  “Did you always want to be a fashion designer?” Connie asked.

  “Kind of...” I gave her a sheepish grin. “I did always want to be, but my parents thoroughly discouraged it. They wanted me to have a paying job. So, I went to college and got a degree in business management with a minor in entrepreneurship.”

  “That worked out wonderfully then, didn’t it? Now you have all the business tools—as well as the creative ability—to run your own business.”

  “How about you?” I asked. “Did you always want to have your own home goods shop?”

  “No, not really. I was content being a stay-at-home mom until my children went to middle school and didn’t need me as much anymore. Then I decided that if I didn’t get out of the house, I’d go bonkers.”

  “And that led you to start your own business?”

  “Not at first. At first, I tried to work for other people, but that did not go well. Whenever my children would call from school sick and need to come home, I’d leave. Whenever there was a snow day, I had to take a snow day too. That sort of thing does not go over well with most employers.”

  “I guess not.”

  She shrugged. “C’est la vie. I thought about it, decided to lease my own shop so I could come and go as I needed, and the rest is history. I’ve been here for five years.”

  “That’s great. I’m glad you found such a successful niche.”

  “Me, too. I—”

  A scream reverberated throughout the house.

  Connie and I stared at each other for only a second before putting our teacups down on the round table and hurrying into the hallway.

  Frank and Ella had come out of their shop too.

  “It came from upstairs,” Frank supplied, pointing up at the ceiling but showing no desire to investigate further.

  Connie and I hurried up the steps to find Janice standing in the middle of the hallway, her face streaked with tears. Ford and Mrs. Meacham were trying to comfort her, but they weren’t having much luck.

  She kept saying over and over, “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it. Why would someone break into my shop?”

  { }

  Chapter Seven

  A

  s I got ready for my photo shoot with Jason the next morning, my mind drifted back to the mess the intruder had left of Janice’s shop. Jewelry—much of it broken—had been flung onto the floor. None of it had been taken, so it appeared that throwing it onto the floor had been merely an act of spite. The police surmised the intruder was frustrated at not finding any cash in the ransacked desk. Janice said she didn’t have a cash box and that she kept her money on her at all times.

  Max hadn’t seen anything because she’d been too absorbed in a new book—this one an Agatha Christie. However, she and I had discussed the possibility that it could have been Mark’s killer who broke into Janice’s office. After all, they had been involved with each other. It made sense that if Mark was murdered because of something he knew, his killer might feel the need to determine if Mark had confided the information to his lover.

  “Did anyone point that fact out to the police?” Max had asked.

  “No. I don’t think Janice wants the detectives to know the two were dating.”

  Max tsked. “Makes you wonder what else she could be hiding, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s none of my business.”

  She lifted and dropped one shoulder. “Well, if the police don’t have all the information...”

  I didn’t take the bait, so Max continued.

  “Someone who does have all the information needs to investigate.”

  “Let’s hope someone either has or will tell the police about Janice’s affair with Mark, and then they’ll have all the information.”

  She wagged an index finger between her herself and me. “You and I are going to be the ones to figure this thing out.” With a wink and a nod, she disappeared.

  I rolled my eyes, realizing that it would be nearly impossible to get the last word in an argument with a ghost.

  Now I looked in the mirror and assessed my makeup. It was heavier than what I usually wore, but I knew it had to be so I wouldn’t appear washed out in the photos. I added the final touch—a rich, berry lipstick—and added some curl to my hair.

  It’s important I look my best for Jason—for the photos! I mean, for the photos! Of course, that’s the important thing...but it wouldn’t hurt it Jason thought I looked nice too. Better than nice...pretty...pretty enough to ask out on a date.

  I scowled at myself in the mirror. He undoubtedly has a girlfriend...and would probably not be interested in me even if he doesn’t.

  I wore a jean skirt, white t-shirt, and red flats to the shop. I carried my other outfits in a dress bag, shoes in a rolling backpack, and jewelry and makeup (in case touch-ups were necessary) in a train case. I hung my bag on the clothes rack and placed the train case on the worktable. I took the green evening gown off the mannequin and stepped behind the Oriental screen to put it on.

  “Amanda, it’s Jason!” came a voice from the front room.

  “Be there in just a second,” I replied. “I hope it’s okay if we start with the evening gown.”

  “Perfect. I’ll get set up.”

  When I stepped into the front room wearing the emerald gown, gold strappy sandals, and dangling pearl earrings, Jason gave a low whistle.

  “You look stunning.”

  I smiled, feeling my face flush at the compliment. “Thank you.” I glanced around at all his light stands with umbrellas and boxes attached. “This is impressive.”

  He chuckled. “I try.” He tilted his head and studied me fo
r a moment.

  His scrutiny made me uncomfortable, and I looked around the room to see if Max was there. It would be just like her to pop up and get me even more flustered.

  “Let’s start you out there by the fireplace,” Jason said.

  I crossed the room, and he instructed me to stand with my back to him and look over my shoulder.

  “We want to show off the back of that gown. And the back of that woman,” he added with a grin.

  I blushed again and hoped my cheeks wouldn’t appear too pink in the photos. Of course, I supposed Jason could doctor that up. That was the great thing about photography these days—just about anything could be fixed.

  He took several more shots in different positions by the fireplace and then asked me to move to the window. I posed sitting on one of the wingback chairs as well as standing by the window.

  Finally, Jason announced that we shouldn’t let that fabulous staircase go to waste. “Let’s go out and take some photos there.”

  “But people will be coming in,” I said.

  “That’s all right. They don’t bother me.”

  They’ll bother me...maybe even more than Max would. I didn’t voice my opinion. I merely smiled and moved out into the hallway.

  “Go up the steps—all the way to the first landing,” Jason instructed. “Then turn and come back down.”

  I climbed the stairs, carefully ignoring Connie and her customer who’d come out to watch.

  “Amanda!” Jason called.

  I turned to look back at him.

  “Perfect.” He snapped the photo. “Now give me a smile.” Snap. “Great. Proceed please.”

  “That gown is breathtaking,” Connie’s customer said. “My granddaughter is going to prom this year, and she’d look gorgeous in that.”

  “Have her drop in,” Connie said. “Amanda just opened Designs on You, and I’m sure she’d love to make your granddaughter a dress like that.”

  I smiled, pleased that Connie was helping with PR. I’d have to remember to thank her later. I turned on the landing and could hear the camera clicking as Jason moved around near the bottom of the staircase taking shot after shot.