Death By Diamonds Part 4

When my mother pa.s.sed away, Dad and Aunt Fee had nothing more to say to each other that didn't involve us kids, especially me. Aunt Fiona had taught me the love of sewing, fashions, and all things handmade. Still, she and my dad barely spoke for nineteen years.

Then I came home to Mystick Falls to help my sister Sherry prepare for her wedding, never expecting her to become the prime suspect in a murder. I'd stayed to help and reconnected with Aunt Fiona, which fanned her and Dad's a.s.sociation and my love of vintage clothing.

Dad resisted, but last fall, when Aunt Fiona got locked in a casket-story for another day-Dad became her knight in shining armor, mostly because he mocked her, until he realized that the experience had scarred her.

Oh, Dad wouldn't acknowledge his knightly role, but he's there for her, even if it means that he sleeps on her sofa when she's freaked, or she sleeps in one of my siblings' old bedrooms, all empty except mine.

My sister Brandy's in the peace corps. Sherry lives nearby with her husband, Justin, which reminds me that I have a baby shower to plan for her. My brother, Alex, his wife Tricia, and toddler Kelsey, live near FBI headquarters in New Haven.

So if it wasn't for me living at Dad's, he and Aunt Fiona might get to be alone once in a while: my thought; probably not theirs. While this new "arrangement" between them has caused a great deal of over-the-fence chatter in Mystick Falls, the subjects of said gossip are oblivious.

Nevertheless, my father is laughing again, Fee's eyes are brighter, and, yes, they argue all the time, but with the enthusiasm of a debate club going for the gold.

When my dad isn't teaching English Lit at UConn, Aunt Fiona listens to him quote the literary greats.

A lawyer, Aunt Fee recently caused a gossip-ripe incident of her own when she went into semiretirement. Oddly, she works the same days dad teaches.

I'm telling you right now, if they say they're taking a trip to the Finger Lakes wine country, I'm putting my foot down. I do not need a baby sibling named Merlot.

They didn't hear me pull up behind them. They didn't hear me call their names. I ran to catch up, surprised them, fell into step beside them, and gave them a peek into "The Day That Weird Stood Still."

Less than an hour later, packed and ready to go, Nick was waiting for me at the shop, talking to Werner, while Dad and Aunt Fiona weren't far behind me.

"Nick," I said. "New aftershave? Yum."

"Emporio Armani Diamonds for men."

"Wow," I said. "Diamonds everywhere today."

"What does that mean?" Werner asked.

"Dominique collapsed performing Diamond Sands and singing 'Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend,' now her diamonds are missing, and here's Nick wearing the scent of diamonds. That's all I'm saying."

"Oh." Werner grabbed his coat.

I leaned into Nick's neck, closed my eyes, and inhaled. "Mmm, Bergamot, vetiver, and . . . cedar, I think." I opened my eyes, but my body was still on high alert. "A lethal combination."

"The better to please you with, my dear."

Eve made a gagging sound and Werner nodded as if he agreed. "Your dubious posers are gone," he said, speaking of the Lady in Red and ski boy, and snapping me back to my surroundings. "So I'll be on my way as well," Werner added. "Have a good trip."

"Thanks for staying," I said.

The frown lines on Werner's brow cleared. "Anytime."

The shop looked busy with normal tourists and locals. Yesterday, I had advertised my upcoming Valentine's Day intimate apparel sale and a special Men's Night, starting with hors d'oeuvres and manly thirst quenchers, previous to the arrival of several shapely friends who would model and describe the undies and peignoir sets, hopefully encouraging the men to purchase them as Valentine's Day gifts. This kind of event was big in New York, but here, I didn't know. I'd sent invites to upscale sports and country clubs to bring in the right buyers.

The sale is why most shoppers were cl.u.s.tered in the fashion nook called Corsets and Less, men and women alike checking out majorly s.e.xy chemises and shirts in cotton from the Loire River valley, designer labels in silk crepe and Charmeuse, items by Coc.o.o.n, silk trimmed with hand-painted blossoms, and vintage P.J. Flannigan.

I mentally rubbed my hands together at the upswing in business. Things had been quiet since Christmas, and I hated like h.e.l.l to leave after a successful ad, though today was only the first of the month.

"Don't worry," Aunt Fiona said, accurately reading me. "I can handle this."

"We can handle this," my dad said. "You'll only be gone a few days."

During this part of the trip, I thought. I hadn't told them about the fashion show to raise money for Dom's charities or the fact that I was executor of her will. I'd save those bombsh.e.l.ls until I read her instructions.

"Your dad and I will work on the details for Men's Night," Aunt Fiona said. "Give you a head start."

"I'm coming to Men's Night," Nick said.

Eve rolled her eyes. "Perv. Let's go. I miss New York."

"You're not coming on this trip," Nick snapped.

"Maybe neither of us is." Eve laughed.

I elbowed her. "You don't even have a change of clothes."

"Sure I do." She indicated a rack of outfits. "I shopped for dial-down-the-ruffles steampunk. You made one huge sale while you were gone-to me. Fee, did you bring the travel bag?"

Aunt Fiona gave Nick a shrug and went out to her trunk for an empty suitcase.

"Let's get your bags in my trunk," my father told us while Eve finished packing her new wardrobe. "I'll take the three of you to the train station."

"Why are you coming with us, again?" Nick asked Eve.

"Mostly to be the burr beneath your saddle, boy toy. And I like New York."

Eleven.

I love New York. But the energy is so intense.

-JOHN GALLIANO The train rolled into Penn Station around two o'clock, and as we walked toward the curb, Kyle DeLong stepped out of a metallic gold stretch Lamborghini limo. "Mad, I'm so grateful that you could come," he said, giving me an intense hug.

"This is some car," I said, trying to stop welling up at the thought of my reason for being here. "Was it your mother's?"

"No, this one belongs to Pierpont Diamond Mines. It's a loaner. Mom had a 1953 Bentley limo in two-tone silver. Not a stretch. I didn't have the heart to use it, not yet, anyway."

I was grateful as I introduced him to Eve, and though I started to introduce Nick, Eve and Kyle were as be-dazzled as cartoon characters seeing each other for the first time. I half expected their eyes to pop out of their heads and meet in the middle. I could even hear a little cosmic "Boing!"

Finally, they awoke to the world around them and I was able to introduce Nick, who seemed amused by what we'd just witnessed.

For a young man grieving over the unexpected and suspicious loss of his mother, Kyle became the mature embodiment of a charming host, his instant clutch crush on Eve notwithstanding.

"Where were we?" Kyle asked. "Oh, Mom's vintage Bentley. That belongs to DeLong Limited, the parent company for her music, perfume, and accessories holdings."

Mega holdings. "Which you run, and well, your mother told me."

Kyle looked away for a minute, his throat muscles working, before he turned back to me. "I needed to know she believed that, Mad."

We got comfortable in facing seats as the silence began to stretch, for almost as long as the limo.

Nick cleared his throat. "I called FBI's New York field office," he told Kyle. "I have an appointment there in a few minutes to see what I can do to help with your mother's case. Do you mind dropping me off?"

"No problem. I appreciate your help," Kyle said. "But isn't it unusual for the police and the FBI to join forces in an investigation?" Kyle asked.

"Not at all, and it's happening more and more often, these days," Nick said. "Believe me. Especially in these high-profile cases."

"Higgins," Kyle told his driver. "First stop: Federal Plaza."

Remembering our phone call, I believed Higgins was also his butler.

"Nick, feel free to call Higgins when you're ready to be picked up. He'll give you his card with the number on it for when your meeting is over."

"Great. Thanks."

A half hour later, the Big Apple at its busiest, we watched Nick cross a bustling sidewalk and disappear into a skysc.r.a.per. Then Kyle asked Higgins to raise the privacy window.

"Okay," Kyle said leaning forward. "Pierpont Theater is closed to the public right now, but it won't be to us. I bought some insurance. Before I picked you up, I stopped by with a thank-you bottle of Scotch for the security guard. He was good to my mother. He should be out cold by now. A bit sneaky, but if it helps us find Mom's murderer, she won't mind."

"Do you know the cause of death yet?" I asked.

"n.o.body is telling me anything," he said. "Neither the police nor the FBI are talking, at least not to me."

"Well, let's hope Nick brings some information back with him."

"Hey," Eve said. "What are you two up to? Are we actually breaking into the theater where Dom worked?"

"No," Kyle said. "We don't need to break in. The stage door will be open but the security guard will be asleep."

"And if somebody catches us?"

"I'm going back for my BlackBerry. One of the cops told me I could go in and get it, earlier today, but I didn't have time then, so I'm back for it now. I did that on purpose, too, so I could use it as an excuse when you got here. n.o.body's due there for hours. Besides, I'm Dominique DeLong's son. I'm grieving for my mother. Maybe I just needed to sit in her dressing room for a while with my friends." His voice cracked on that one.

Eve's expression looked falsely stern and failed to hide the interest in her eyes over the prospect of breaking rules. "When did you two arrange this?" she asked us, suspicious.

"On the train, as soon as Nick made that appointment with the bureau, I called Kyle."

"You mean when you went to the ladies' room?"

"Yep." Pride laced my smile.

"I can't believe you're willingly stepping into another mystery. Not to mention the fact that Nick's not gonna like you sleuthing again."

"As I said, I can deal with Nick."

"Snort," Eve said to Kyle. "They've been apart for weeks. He'll be putty-No, no he won't. Yuckaflux! Not going there."

"Nick won't be a pushover if I get arrested," I added, "h.o.r.n.y or not."

Higgins pulled the limo deep into the alley beside the Pierpont Theater and parked behind it. Kyle led us into the building from the side door as if he belonged there, which went a long way toward keeping me calm, as did the echoing snores of the security guard.

In the dark, where we entered the very old building, seating to the right, stage and dressing rooms to the left, it was easy to catch the scent of old theater, the sea of seats carrying a hint of must, musk, and cigar smoke, years' worth.

The closer we got to the stage, the stronger the scent of paint, makeup powder, nervous sweat. Dust and the scent of wood oil seemed to rise in waves from the stage floor.

Walking ahead of me, Eve hooked her arm through Kyle's, and he patted her hand as if he appreciated her support. Or he'd take care of her. Big surprise. All men wanted to take care of Eve, though my friend could sure take care of herself. Even younger men were attracted to her, it seemed. But hadn't I just told Kyle that the age difference between us had vanished. Little did I know that meant he'd fall for my best friend.

We walked as if through dark tunnels and mazelike hallways, and through open s.p.a.ces riddled with ladders, ropes, and gears, all of which had their own scents, decay, sawdust, mold, and grease, though the smell of fresh paint nearly overrode the rest.

In the darkness, I tripped over a folding chair, then a card table whose leg folded under it. Dark objects hanging above us, unrecognizable in the darkness, seemed to move, which made me think of ghosts, zombies, or bats. Armies of each. When I heard a squeak, I bit my lip, so as not to scream. I'd been scaring myself.

My eyes began adjusting to the darkness as we started climbing the steps toward the dressing rooms at the half level.

We didn't dare flip on a switch, but Kyle unerringly opened the door to his mother's private dressing room. That's when Dom's perfume hit me and filled me with a grief that I feared would spill forth in sobs, but I overcame the convulsing in my throat and controlled myself for Kyle's sake.

I concentrated on my senses, the click-drip of a leaky air conditioner. Giveaway scents: old shoes, deodorant, stage makeup, and hairspray. Lots and lots of hairspray.

Once we were all in, and the door closed, Kyle flipped on the lights.

A bit blinded by them, after the darkness of the theater proper, we shaded our eyes for a minute.

Kyle leaned against the wall when the sight of the empty room finally hit him-the place where his mother belonged. Like, if he couldn't find her anywhere else, she would surely be here.

But she wasn't.

He ma.s.saged a brow for a minute, a man trying to get a grip on emotion. "Mom's essence still fills the place," he said, his voice soft and not quite steady.

Eve rubbed his arm.

He pulled her into a hug and buried his face in her hair.

I wanted to say, "h.e.l.lo! You don't know each other." But I needed to be gentle and try to snap him out of his funk. "Eve, I hope your hair spikes don't have too much product on them. Wouldn't want Kyle to lose an eye."

Kyle raised his head with as near to a smile as I'd seen, and he hooked an arm around my neck and kissed my brow. "I'm okay. Thanks."

The first thing I saw was a shelf lined with wigs. Red wigs, from pale to bright. And what do you know, one head form was bald. One missing red wig did not mean that the strange woman in my shop had been wearing the very same.

Amazing coincidence, though.

Just looking at the rack of costumes, radiating dry-cleaning fluid and detergent, raced my heart, my fingers itching to touch, my sanity shying away from the physical and mental anguish that would come with the visions I expected to endure as I learned the truth about my friend's death.