Larcency and Lace Part 15

"I borrowed it. Care to drive it home so the neighbors don't call the men in white to come pick up the hobo impersonating the fanatically tidy Professor Cutler?"

He sighed, turned, held out a hand, ears red as Ru dolph's nose, and caught his keys midair. Then he slammed the front door behind him without saying good-bye.

Fiona and I fell into a puddle of hilarity on her sofa. We'd no sooner catch our breaths than we'd start again. Reliving my dad's look and reactions took us right through breakfast, a break I needed from the death, bones, and fiery chaos of the past two days.

We talked only about my father until the last dish had been put away. Then Fiona went into the living room and took out the cape, dress, and quilt.

She examined them, touched each one, then she lit candles. "This for harmony, for courage," she said, continuing with positivity, vision, and protection.

I'd always experienced peace here in her earth-toned Celtic-decorated home, which I knew nowhere else. Right now, even my psychic firecrackers fizzled as I calmed.

Aunt Fiona sat on the edge of her b.u.t.terscotch leather recliner. "I know you came to talk," she said, "but I have a proposition. Can I go first?"

"Anything to put off vision chasing."

"I'd like to do a sweeping ritual at your shop before you start moving in, get rid of the negative vibes. And I'm not just talking about the bones, but the residual energy from so many people over the years who might, or might not, have moved on from there."

"Right, those who were embalmed or cremated. I hadn't thought. My shop could be riddled with negative energy."

"I'm sure it has positive energy, too, but that isn't the problem. Negative is. If you'd like, you can join me in the ritual sweeping?"

The invitation threw me. I'd hardly gotten used to being psychometric. I wasn't ready to wear my mother's magic cloak. "Maybe I'll just watch this time."

Aunt Fiona patted my knee. "That's fine, sweetie. Whatever makes you comfortable. How's your schedule?"

"With eleven days to prepare for my grand opening without having started?" I took a calming breath. "Eve's taking me to buy a car after she gets home from school today. Can we sweep negative energy tomorrow?"

"Oh, the electrician is coming tomorrow. I nearly forgot to tell you."

"After the electricians are finished, then," I said. "We can sweep away their negative energy, too."

Aunt Fiona smiled. "You said we."

"Did I? Slip of the tongue?"

"Now, what did you want to talk to me about?"

I told her about my visions and tried on the cape's matching dress, walked around in it, but-"Nothing."

She nodded. "Change and we can spread the quilt on the rug to see if we can learn anything more."

After I did, the quilt was ready. "It's beautiful with that huge heart at its center formed by the way the fabric is pieced. I'd never have known, if you hadn't spread it out."

"I'm anxious to get my hands on it," Aunt Fiona said. "But I wanted to wait for you. Are you ready?"

I got on my knees across from her, beside the quilt. "Let's do it."

Palms down, I got a picture of skillful hands wearing a big diamond embroidering one of the quilt squares and sensed the quilter's love and sadness.

Moving my hands, I saw through her eyes the memory of her husband dancing with someone else and felt her hurt, but still didn't see his face.

I found a b.u.mp in the quilt near a zipper. "I found another pocket." I opened my eyes, unzipped it, and slid my hand inside.

Aunt Fiona watched as I pulled my clutched fist from the pocket and opened it.

In my palm sat a platinum wedding ring and an emerald-cut diamond the size of Texas.

Twenty-three.

Fashion, even anti-fashion, is forever. It's the only way we can become the characters we wish to be.

-CHRISTIAN LACROIX I wanted to cry, but I firmed my lips against the emotion overwhelming me at the sight of that ring.

Aunt Fiona rubbed my arm. "Tell me."

I had to swallow before I could. "They belong to the woman who wore the cape. I'm afraid the bones the police found must be hers, too. They were wrapped in the quilt. No, wait. I only saw the well when I touched the quilt. Oh! The diamond is what connects the woman who wore the cape to the quilt and to my visions of the well."

"Maybe," Aunt Fiona said, "she slipped her rings in the quilt pocket when she was wrapped in it, so somebody would find it and look for her."

That made sense. "Yes. Her quilt-this quilt, I believe-was entered into some kind of county fair-type compet.i.tion. Did you get anything from touching it?"

Aunt Fiona shivered. "A dark place. Tire tracks. I'm not as good at this as you are."

I hugged her. "There has to be something you're not aces at," I said. "Let's turn it over."

We did and stood back. "Tire tracks," I said. "Just there." I pointed. "Very light. Barely visible."

Aunt Fiona had trouble finding them. "Oh, now I see. It wasn't run over or they'd be darker, so it must have pressed up against a tire."

"A spare?"

"In a dark trunk." Aunt Fiona completed my unwanted thought.

"On her one-way trip to the well?" I suggested. "I have to take the quilt and rings to the police. Too bad I can't pa.s.s along my visions."

"I'll take you to get your dad's car, but give me your shop key, and I'll fill my car with some of your vintage stash and bring it over, help you start moving in. Meet me there, after. I have some ideas to run by you."

I hugged her. "If Isobel had someone like you, she might have been missed, and found, before she died."

"I love you, too, sweetie."

I called the station from Aunt Fiona's car and made sure Werner would be waiting. My father came out as we pulled into the drive. "I need your car again, Dad. Aunt Fee will explain." She'd know what not to say. Dad wasn't ready to know how many of my mother's gifts I inherited. If he ever was, we'd tell him in small doses.

"Madeira, my keys are in the ignition."

"Harry Cutler!" Aunt Fiona was still scolding him as I drove away. Bickering or not, they made me smile, a release valve considering my destination and why.

Halfway there, it occurred to me that the wedding rings might be engraved and that I might be wise to try them on, in case. I parked on a side road facing the river and tried one, then the other, then both.

The rings gave me nothing. Probably what the marriage was worth. Or, I couldn't read vintage jewelry.

Whatever was engraved in the wedding ring was so small I stopped at a drugstore for a magnifying gla.s.s. I copied the initials into a small notebook I carried for design ideas. The initials were G. I. L. to E. E. M., 7-7-77. The information told me nothing and pretty much put period to the name Isobel.

When I stepped into Werner's office, he came around his desk and shut the door behind me. "To what do I owe the honor? Is that the quilt from your storage room?"

"It is." I placed it on his desk. "You said details were important. I wasn't there when your men searched my storage room, so it didn't occur to me to explain, but the foot bones were wrapped in it. I found a light tire mark on one side and these in a zip pocket on one of the squares." I showed him the rings.

"Is that rock real?" Werner took it between his fingers to hold up to the light.

"It is. Jewelry is fashion, after all. It's vintage and flawless, so it might be thirty to fifty grand worth of real. Maybe more. Initials and dates are engraved in the wedding band. Might help you ID the bones. Or not."

I also had a leopard fingernail, but since it belonged to the outfit that gave me a psychic lead, I'd follow up on it myself.

"Thank you, Madeira. I appreciate the new evidence."

"Happy to help." I was jumping-out-of-my-skin p.r.i.c.kly with the memories of us in my storage room. His hands in my hair, heartbeat beneath my ear. Tenderness. Caring? I wanted to gnaw off my lipstick like in junior high when I faced a boy I had a crush on. Not that I had a crush on Werner. Far from it. But with our guards down, our connection had been intense.

Werner wasn't too comfortable, either. His erratic moves and inability to look me in the eye gave him away.

He opened his door but I shut it, both of us still on the inside. "Listen, so we can get back to our old, deep dislike, and away from this nerve-wracking awareness, should I just call you Wiener, again?"

Laughter erupted in the squad room.

I stepped back and followed Werner's gaze to the open transom above his door. "Well, guess I took care of that. Have a nice day, Detective."

I left, wincing at the round of applause I got, which would help ice over our residual tension. Werner should pretty much hate me again. Good thing he couldn't fire every cop who applauded. He wouldn't have a force.

On my way to Vintage Magic, I stopped at Yolanda's, Mystic's most trendy nail salon. I used to babysit her kids.

"Maddie, so glad to have you home to stay," Yolanda said. "Come to get your nails done, I hope?"

"I had them done in New York a few days ago. I'll be due soon. Can I make an appointment?"

After I did, I took out the leopard fingernail. "Do any of your customers have their nails done this way?"

"I have a couple. Leopard and Lace, closer to the highway, probably does more. Why are you carrying a gaudy old fingernail?"

"Somebody left me some primo vintage clothes. One of the outfits had this in the pocket. Can you mention to your leopard nail customers that if they left me the pricey clothes to come by so I can thank them in person? Unless they'd rather remain anonymous, of course."

She shrugged. "Sure. See you next week."

I stopped by Leopard and Lace as well, made the same request, and though I didn't know the owner, she gave me customer names and directed me to their houses. Bad business, that, with all this right of privacy stuff. I could grind the Mystick Falls gossip mill with this one, but I'd already given it a great big grind at the station.

I stopped at my favorite gift shop and bought a silk wreath and had the owner add some sprigs of dried heather and myrtle, which would afford my shop some protection, according to Aunt Fiona. Something about myrtle at your front door and heather at your garden gate. Or was that lavender at the gate? Anyway, the trim with the aubergine roses, dark green leaves, and a pale sage bow would look amazing on my lavender door.

Then I stopped to see Tunney, who seemed to be getting ready to leave his meat market. "Can I help you, Suzy Q?"

"Maybe. What's the name of the company that Sampson was trying to sell his property to?"

He took a folder from a file drawer behind the meat counter and handed it to me. "This is all I have on the company, my research as a council member. Eventually, they'll damage the economy, though they promised to make it better. The environment and our ecological structure could suffer as well. Main Street, our historic provenance, would eventually disappear-it's happened in other small towns the company 'took over'-but they always flourish. You can have it, but why?"

"Part of my plan to get you off the suspect list."

"Maddie girl, you're the best."

"Well, I haven't done anything yet. I'm just nosing around. And don't you tell anybody."

Afterward, I sat in Tunney's parking lot for nearly an hour reading all the information Tunney had gathered, calling company phone numbers and leaving mine, then I turned Dad's car toward Vintage Magic.

Traffic slowed near Bank Street because my parking lot overflowed with cars. My father directed traffic outside, while Fiona stood at the door as if directing people inside.

Gee, was I having a sale?

Twenty-four.

What do I think about the way most people dress? Most people are not something one thinks about.

-DIANA VREELAND.

I had to park behind Mystic Pizza, rarely easy, and crossed the street. My father saw me and shouted, "Surprise!" the word suddenly echoed by everyone. I got hugged, kissed, and congratulated to within an inch of my life. "What's going on?" I asked Fiona. "I mean, I love the attention, but why?"

"It's a big day. You moved into your shop."

"I did? Holy Harrods, they brought my stock?"

"They're not unpacking boxes," Fiona said, which allowed me to breathe. "They've just moved them from above my garage. Preservation boxes are in the last stall, the way you left them. Anything in a garment bag is on a rack. Tunney is a.s.sembling racks. The mannequins you had shipped to my place are in the second-to-the-last stall."

"The second to the last nook," I said. "I'm trying to say nooks instead of stalls."

Fiona chuckled. "Best to remove hea.r.s.e images as soon as possible."

I went to thank Tunney, feeling bad about finding Suzanne kissing someone else. I guess what really bothered me about her was how she enjoyed herself so easily days after her brother's murder.

"Did I hold you up, Tunney, by stopping in to see you a while ago?"

He laughed. "You surely did, Maddie girl."