Larceny and Lace (5 page)

“"Tunney,”" I said. “"You know town gossip. It’'s ruthless and useless. Besides, the case isn’'t mine. It’'s a police matter. I can’'t help you.”" I had fallen into my first sleuthing experience when my sister Sherry, a bride-to-be, became the prime suspect in the murder of the woman trying to steal her fiancée. In my determination to set Sherry free, ghosts and skeletons fell, literally, out of closets everywhere and I didn’'t much like it.

Frankly, if I started digging in the dirt, again, I was afraid of what I’'d discover about the deceased, the suspects, about the murderer, and most especially about myself. A uniformed officer escorted Tunney to a squad car, while my dear friend looked back at me, still silently begging for my help.

I shook my head in denial. “"Get a good lawyer,”" I called after him. Poor Tunney.
Poor Sampson!

“"Speaking of lawyers,”" Eve said, “"Fiona must be wondering what’'s taking us so long.”"

“"Tunney didn’'t do it,”" I told Eve as she followed me to the bank. “"Are you all right?”" I asked her.

“"I’'m shaking in my Docs,”" she said. “"Queasy, too.”"

“"I can imagine. I was a wreck after I found
my
first dead body.”"

“"Your
first
? Are you planning to find more?”"

“"We should both bite our tongues.”" I shoved a cart her way. She caught it and tilted her head. “"You saved the
costumes
?”" I was pleased to have put a hint of amusement in her eyes.

“"Thanks,”" she said. “"I needed a reason to smile.”" Except that she wasn’'t smiling, quite.

Together, we pushed the carts across the street toward my shop. “"I figure that I saved a slice of history. I also thought that Mr. Sampson would appreciate having the costumes, even if he lost the building.”"

“"He’'ll never know,”" Eve said.

“"Whoever inherits the playhouse might. His sister, I guess.”"

“"He has a child somewhere,”" my father said as he came up behind us. “"His wife gave birth after she left him. I’'m not sure Sampson ever knew whether it was a boy or a girl. If he kept in touch, he wasn’'t saying.”"

“"Of course he wasn’'t saying; he didn’'t say much, did he, unless he was arguing. He was
so
closemouthed that I thought he was a widower.”"

“"The Sweets tried to set him up with a date once,”" my father said, “"and Sampson confessed that once divorced was enough.”"

“"I’'m surprised the Sweets got that close.”"

“"Please,”" Eve said. “"Dolly and Ethel Sweet could sweet-talk a stump. Pun intended.”"

“"Whoever is Sampson’'s heir,”" my father added, “"if he or she doesn’'t want the costumes, they might sell them to
you
.”"

“"Flirty draped silk! I didn’'t save them for myself. I respect vintage clothing. So sue me. If they come up for sale, I’'ll offer a fair price.”"

“"Hey,”" Eve said. “"Maybe Sampson’'s heir won’'t sell the playhouse to the chain store conglomerate and spoil the flavor of the historic district.”"

“"I dearly hope that wasn’'t the point,”" my father said soberly. That
would
be a good motive, I thought, though there could be others. The heir could have done it for the inheritance. Nah, too clichée. Who’'d be so obvious?

Back at Vintage Magic, I wondered about Fiona when the second floor appeared so eerily quiet.

“"Here,”" Dante said. “"I’'ve been talking to her to calm her down and keep her from jumping from her skin.”"

Neither my father nor Eve saw or heard our resident ghost, of course, but the minute he spoke, a casket in the darkest corner of the room erupted with sound and movement. Eve screamed and backed up until she hit the stair wall.

I headed Dante’'s way and found Aunt Fiona a bit tied up, literally, inside that noisy casket, her arms and legs bound with clothesline, duct tape over her mouth, a dingy T-shirt blindfold, and Chakra licking her cheek.

I put Chakra on the floor and removed the blindfold. “"Aunt Fiona,”" I said, looking into her panicky eyes and stroking her brow. “"I think we should get your hands free first so that you can take the duct tape off your mouth yourself. I’'m afraid to tear the skin.”" Aunt Fiona nodded, sought Dante with her gaze, and gave him a grateful look. He tipped his hat. “"You’'re welcome.”"

My father bent over the casket. “"What did you do, Fee, piss off a ghost?”"
Nine
You know, one had as good be out of the world, as out of fashion.

—--COLLEY CIBBER

If my father hadn’'t jumped out of Fiona’'s way so fast, she would have kicked him in the gut for that remark, or lower, with both feet.

“"Dad!”" I snapped. “"I know you and Aunt Fee like to bait each other, but that was a rotten thing to say.”"

“"Bound or not,”" he said, “"Fiona Sullivan packs a wallop.”" Had I caught a touch of respect in his tone?

Dad tried to help us untie her but Aunt Fiona wouldn’'t let him near her.

“"My deepest apologies, Fiona,”" he said, standing back. “"That was unforgivable of me.”"

She growled beneath the duct tape and indicated, with snapping, angry eyes, that he would be better off if she stayed tied up.

“"Are you all right, Eve?”" I asked as she paced beside the casket. She shook her head, looking a bit green. I’'d never known Eve to be out of words.

“"You’'re sick over finding Sampson, aren’'t you?”"

She gave a half nod, her eyes bright.

I hugged her. “"Stick around and we’'ll talk, ’'kay? Been there. Done that. Hated it.”" She blotted her eyes with the back of a hand, pulled herself together, and tried to help us.

“"Poor Aunt Fiona,”" I said, tugging on the tightly knotted clothesline. Judging by the scuff marks on the casket lid, it looked like she might have been closed inside for a while, but she fought a good fight.

Eve gasped, shook her head, and whipped out a pocket-knife. “"Sorry, I was distracted.”" Having the rope cut helped move things along. Fiona sat up as quickly as possible, even before her legs were free. I winced when she began to remove the tape, though she removed it slowly and only ended up with a split lip. I’'d feared it would be much worse. “"Dad, you have to lift her out.”"

“"First, she has to promise not to knee me.”"

Fiona touched her jaw, exercised it, and raised her brow. “"No promises.”" Dad shook his head and bent over to lift her out anyway, brave man. From the corner of my eye, I caught a stealthy movement in the storage room.

“"Stop!”" I shouted and ran, in time to find an intruder straddling a window with a sack in his hand.

He threw the sack out the window.

“"Vinney!”" Eve yelled from behind me. “"Don’'t. You’'ll hurt yourself,”" but he dropped from sight.

Eve and I ran to the window and looked down, but that fast, he’'d disappeared. “"Are you sure that was Vinney?”" I asked. “"Your Vinney?”"

“"Yes. No. I don’'t know.”"

“"Vinney or not, I wonder if he could have been the same guy who broke in earlier?”"

“"It’'s possible,”" Eve said.

Probable, I thought, feeling personally bruised. My building and the vision I had of its future had been violated. I turned to take in the room, looking for answers, for a reason that Vinney, or anyone, would do such a thing.

What had he put in the sack? Had he taken something valuable? Whatever it was, it would have shattered on impact, unless it was soft and pliable. If you wanted something badly enough to steal it, I couldn’'t imagine that you’'d want to break it.

“"Damn,”" I said. “"The guy wouldn’'t have gotten in, if not for the fire. Eve shook her head. “"Vinney might steal something, but I don’'t think he’'d shut someone in a casket.”" She rubbed her arms and raised her chin. “"Besides, I’'m not sure it
was
Vinney.”"

Was she protesting too much? I wanted to share my theory with my father, but he and Fiona were arguing, years of animosity stiffening their stances, though they kept their voices low. This was the longest conversation they’'d had since my mother died. And as long as Aunt Fiona was in fighting mode, she wasn’'t freaking over being shut in a casket. Who knew, they just might clear the air between them.

“"I’'m probably just overthinking the situation,”" I told Eve. “"Call it panic.”" Bottom lip between her teeth, she gave me an imperceptible nod.

I picked up my cat, sighed, and rubbed my chin against her fur. “"I’'d like to know what the guy took, though.”" I looked around the storage room and noticed for the first time the glass-fronted top of a cabinet with stainless-steel instruments lined up on its glass shelves. Embalming instruments? I shuddered. Oy.

Dante appeared beside me, and Chakra howled my name, though perhaps not as loud as she had the first time she saw him. I opened the single cabinet drawer, between the top and base of the cabinet, and shuffled through the papers inside.

“"Good,”" Dante said. “"You need to go through them. There’'s an important packet

in there for Dolly.”"

I sorted through until he pointed to Dolly’'s. I took the large envelope and put it in my purse. Then I rummaged through a closet full of vintage clothes, dresses, suits, tuxedos, and big black ostrich feathers. “"Huh?”"

“"To dress the dead and outfit the undertakers,”" Dante said. “"The black plumes were for the horses pulling the hearse.”"

I nodded. Of course; I’'d seen pictures. Elsewhere in the room, I found trunks, urns, vases, spittoons, junk, beautiful and ugly, and some valuable antiques, too many things to identify. But I kept turning back to the body drawers. At fifth, or tenth, glance, I noticed a
new
imperfection in their alignment.

“"Eve, the bottom right body drawer is crooked, and there’'s something bright sticking out the side that wasn’'t there before the fire.”"

“"You’'re right,”" she said. “"The drawers were even before. Should we call the police now?”"

“"The Wiener didn’'t exactly welcome our presence across the street a little while ago. And if we call, we’'ll have to spill about the earlier break-in.”"

“"Right.”"

Besides, I wanted to talk to Dante first. He must have seen what happened in here while we were gone, and he might know who did it. But I couldn’'t talk to him until he and I were alone.

I held Chakra closer and began to tremble against a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. “"Why would someone rob a
body
drawer?”"
Ten
The beggar wears all colors fearing none.

—--CHARLES LAMB

Clear as day, or should I say, clear as night, I saw my recurring dream. Me as a toddler, in my mother’'s arms, with Aunt Fiona by the river, dancing beneath the light of a full moon. Something, and I didn’'t know what, was about to turn my life in another direction.

As if tonight hadn’'t already been lively enough.

When my mother shivered for no reason, she used to say that someone had just walked over her grave, and for the first time, I understood what she meant. Eve went to the body drawer, tugged on the silver handle, and broke it right off.

“"Drawer’'s jammed.”"

I scoffed. “"No kidding.”"

She pulled on the front panel and I tried to help, but the drawer wouldn’'t budge. I straightened, stepped away, and searched the room. “"We need something to pry it open.”"

When nothing seemed appropriate, I knelt to see what was sticking out the side.

“"It’'s fabric, two kinds sewn together that I can see. Looks like it’'s jammed in the track on this side. Our only hope is to pull the drawer toward the opposite side to knock the drawer off its tracks, which I’'d like to do without tearing the fabric.”"

“"Easier said than done,”" my father griped, Aunt Fiona beside him. Either they’'d fought it out or stopped trying. Their poker faces revealed nothing. Nevertheless, they poised themselves beside Eve and grabbed the drawer to pull to the right.

“"On three,”" I said. “"I’'ve got the fabric, and as soon as you give me room on this side, I’'m going to try and slide it from the track and into the drawer.”"

“"We understand,”" my father said.

I nodded. “"One, two . . . three!”"

I freed a bit of the fabric and shoved it in the drawer before the left side bounced back.

I yelped when the drawer caught my hand and took a chunk of skin with it. Fiona checked my wound. “"Mad. Are you okay?”"

“"Nothing an antibiotic cream won’'t fix. Warn me next time.”"

“"That was my fault,”" my father said.

Fiona wrapped her scarf around my hand. “"It was both of us.”" Dad looked dumbfounded. He didn’'t know how to share blame, or anything else, with Fiona.

“"Ready to try again?”" I asked. “"I think one more tug will clear the track so we can pull the drawer out.”"

Eve lay on her stomach on the faded old linoleum on my side, beneath my crouch, and when Dad and Fiona pulled, she helped by pushing.

I reached over her to slide the rest of the thick fabric from the track and shove it into the drawer. “"Done!”"

Everybody let go and Fiona and Dad fell to the floor, they’'d been pulling on the drawer with so much effort.

As we watched, the drawer rolled open like a fine piece of machinery. “"A quilt,”" I said. “"That’'s what I suspected from the look of the fabric in the tracks.”" Eve frowned. “"I can’'t imagine why a guy would try to steal a quilt.”"

“"I’'m guessing he had what he came for in the sack,”" I said. “"Notice that he left the quilt behind. What could you put in a sack that had been wrapped in a quilt?”" Aunt Fiona shrugged. “"A million things.”"

The quilt was made of flannel, cotton sateen, gingham, duck, linen, some squares printed in chintz and calico, some in plain but faded primary colors. One of the squares had a button in a buttonhole. One, a pocket. Another, a piece of a collar. Some of the solid squares had been embroidered. Others were needleworked with nursery rhymes.

“"I suspect that this was made from women’'s clothes, because of the colors and designs. The clothes belonged to a woman who didn’'t have wealth but joy of spirit. I can tell because the colors are so vibrant.”" The quilt gave up some of its secrets and I hadn’'t unfolded it yet. “"Someone with time on her hands made it with love.”"