Larcency and Lace Part 27

"That's what I'm hoping. I'm thinking about serving fine teas, too. Or," I added, "if my shop turns out to be a yawn, I can take a nap on the couch."

Werner shook his head. "Not a chance. You think the pole-dancer celebrity will shop at your place?"

"I hope not. She scares me."

"I always knew you were a smart girl. Blunt, but smart." He turned to go. "Keep working. I'll see myself out."

Early the following evening, my crew-my dad, Tunney, Oscar from the hardware store, my brother-in-law, Justin, and his father, Cort-brought my sewing supplies and several of my old sewing machines-along with my new one-from my house and from above Aunt Fiona's garage, to set up my second-floor work area.

In the far corner, Dad put up about twenty feet of dry-wall, upon which he attached what I call my "bobbin walls" and the hardware to hang rows of any size spool or bobbin. With only five days to opening day, my nerves were shot, but the small accomplishment calmed me.

In the way Thomas Edison kept every chemical known to man in his workshop, I'd dreamed of having threads, ribbons, trims, laces, and fringes of every kind.

In New York, I'd bought galloon lace, Venetian lace, ruffled lace, novelty and eyelet lace, diamond braid, beaded trims, looped fringe, metallic trims, sequined trims, and more, in every exotic color imaginable. Maybe I'd gone overboard, but I couldn't wait to get them up.

After the men set up my corner, they carried the fainting couch, tables, lamps, and bric-a-brac downstairs in time for members of the White Star Circle of Spirit to decorate for the ball upstairs.

We left them rearranging caskets, spreading sparkly black draping, stars, and moons from their bags of tricks. Being witches, they had a p.r.i.c.kly effect on my father, but he took the men to our house for my mother's furniture and my decorated cabinet.

When they got back, the men polished off Aunt Fiona's red velvet cake, then arranged my sitting room. Often.

"I don't like the fainting couch there," Dante said. "Move it to the other wall."

Aunt Fiona and I glanced at each other. "The couch," I said. "Try it coming out of the right-hand corner."

Good thing Justin and Cort, who'd already moved it twice, didn't know a ghost was directing them. Cort shook his head. "You're just like your sister," he said, speaking of my sister Sherry, his daughter-in-law.

"Thank you for the compliment. Now, where should I put the cabinet?"

"Against the enclosed stairs," Dante said. "Facing the fainting couch in the opposite corner. I love what you did with that cabinet." My ghost bowed with his compliment. "Dolly will be impressed with your renovations and decorating."

I wished I could thank him. The jadeite lamps looked amazing on my mother's tables. I brought an old urn from upstairs to set on my mother's sideboard.

Dante chuckled. "That's-"

"Gorgeous!" I said. I did not want to know if it was meant for ashes.

"The whole sitting area is gorgeous," Aunt Fiona agreed. "But it's missing one special element, which I have in the car."

When she returned, she unrolled the folk art wall hanging that had hung on the wall above her fireplace for as long as I could remember. "Call it a shop-warming gift," she said.

A spiral of stars in bronze, silver, and gold, surrounded by a mating sun and quarter moon centered the multilayered, tapestry-like hanging.

"I remember when your mother made that," my father said. "Fiona, Kathleen would be so pleased."

I hugged it as if I were hugging my mother. "Aunt Fiona, it's the best gift ever and I can gaze at it every day. It'll be like Mom is looking out for me."

"I always knew the time would come for you to have it. It's time." We hugged.

Cort looked around. "You've made an enticing shop of this place, Madeira. Women will love it."

"Little girls, too," I said. "I can see your little Vanessa dragging you here for a new purse every other week."

"Is she a trip or what?" Cort asked, his pride in his granddaughter abundantly visible.

"I have to agree with him, Suzie Q," Tunney said. "Who knew you could make a cla.s.s act out of a shack?"

"It's not half ready for my opening, but it's beginning to look like a vintage dress shop to be proud of, isn't it?" Personally, I thought it looked splendid.

If only I had known how soon it would be ruined.

That night my new alarm system got put to the test.

At about four the next morning, the alarm company called, and we were off.

Werner was waiting for us in the parking lot when Dad, Fiona, and I got there. "The alarm scared your intruder away, Mad, but not before he or she did some damage. I can't tell you how sorry I am."

Four days to my opening, and I stood in the doorway of my beautiful shop, dumbstruck.

My enamel cabinet, the one I'd worked so hard painting, had been toppled and it lay facedown on the floor with a small ax embedded in its top.

"If not for the alarm," Werner said, "the ax might have been used for some serious chopping."

"You know how hard I worked on that."

"I do. But our crime scene team thinks your alarm worked great. Looks like the ax was tossed from the front door and the perp ran."

"Pure spite," I said.

"Who hates you this much?" Werner asked.

"Who stole Eve's car, then put her heel through the roof? Who wants her husband to be blamed for the playhouse fire? Who is royally ticked because Eve and I spied on her and her nefarious relatives?"

Werner was taking notes again. "Do you think McDowell's wife is capable of this?"

"This is chump change, Detective. I think she's out for blood. Lots of it."

"Yours?"

"I may not top her list, but I'm up there."

"Why would you be?" my father asked, his brows deeply furrowed.

"I made a calculated error where she was concerned. I underestimated her. I didn't adore her. I didn't become her dupe. I started by challenging her and ended up mocking her . . . though I did think she was in a drunken stupor at the time. Turns out, she was faking."

"In other words," Werner said, "Lolique hates your guts and she'd stop at nothing-"

"That about sums it up."

Thirty-eight.

It's always the badly dressed people who are the most interesting.

-JEAN PAUL GAULTIER.

Scarecrows, scarecrows everywhere.

On contest day, three days before my grand opening, I dressed like a cliche: baggy black jeans with a few bright, temporary patches. A white, pirate-type blouse, and a long voluminous, silk scarf in bright Pucci colors. With them, I wore my Jack de La Rose patchwork spikes and, close to my shoulder, the matching bag.

Once people started arriving, I got so busy I had to lock the bag beneath my checkout counter, wrap the scarf around my neck twice, and let the ends riff in the autumn breeze.

For several hours, I couldn't keep track of anyone, while my parking lot bustled with people, not cars, and scarecrows kept multiplying.

"You look like you're freezing," Eve said, as she handed me a hot caramel latte.

"A little bit." I shivered and warmed my hands on the cup. "Your hair is black," I said, "but so is your lipstick. You rarely wear lipstick. And what's with the eye makeup? I like."

"You're dressed as a scarecrow," Eve said. "I'm dressed as a Goth. Costume seemed appropriate."

"You didn't have far to go."

She gave me a hand-on-her-hip pose. "Neither did you."

I chuckled and shivered.

Eve wrapped the scarf around my neck one more time. "Would it kill the outfit for you to get warm?"

"I'm going in to see if I can find a jacket."

"You will," she called after me. "You have hundreds."

"A coordinating jacket," I admitted.

Eve's laughter followed me inside.

"How are you doing, Aunt Fiona?" I asked as I searched the racks and she put more of my vintage collection on hangers.

"Trying to do my bit while guarding the place," she said. "The cabinet looks as good as new. You can't even see the ax slash in the top."

"Dante protected it," I whispered. "He said when the blow from the ax knocked it over, he used his energy to lower it slowly to the floor. That's why not even the gla.s.s in the doors or shelves cracked."

"Did he see who threw the ax?"

"Yes, somebody wearing a baggy black leather jumpsuit with a skeleton painted on it, mask, toque, and all, except that he saw red curls sticking out the bottom of the hat as she turned and ran."

"She?"

"Since it's a skeleton, I thought for sure it was Vinney, until Dante mentioned the red curls. It was Lolique."

"Did you tell Werner?"

"Sure. I told him my ghost saw her."

"Oh, right."

"Be careful around her," Aunt Fiona said. "I'm glad Dante saved your cabinet."

I put on a red suede peplum jacket, pulled my blouse ruffles out at the sleeves, and checked the look in my three-way mirror. All I need, I thought, is an eye patch.

"Not bad," Aunt Fiona said. "Say 'argh.' "

I grabbed a pair of red leather gloves. "I do look rather piratical, don't I? Though I don't think, strictly speaking, that pirates wore red or colorful patches."

"You look adorable, as always," she said, smoothing the back of my jacket.

Sherry came in and kissed my cheek. "Sorry we're late."

"Only a little. Everyone waited till the last minute to set up, though they should be done by now." I checked my watch. "The judges should be arriving shortly. Dad put two tables outside. All you and Justin have to do is keep them stocked with punch and treats."

Sherry made a face. "I haven't opened the boxes, yet, and the smell of the treats is getting to me."

"Why? Are you sick?"

Justin kissed my sister's cheek. "Only in the mornings." He grinned.

I screamed with delight as Lolique and McDowell walked in trailing a cameraman from the local cable channel, who started filming the hug fest.

I waved my hand in front of the cameras. "No, no, no. You're filming the flower before it blooms. Come back for my grand opening, all of you, on Halloween."

McDowell leaned close, which the cameras caught. "Guess I'm not the only publicity hound in the area," he whispered, while it looked like he kissed my cheek.

I had to fake a smile to keep from shuddering.

"We got you a local news spot, and I'm your ace reporter for the day," Lolique said. "You can thank us later." Then she threw some probing questions my way. But I had no intention of going live with an interview. "Let's go see the scarecrows," I suggested for the cameras, feeling stupid, like a reality show host with something amazing in store.

Outside, we'd set up a riser with a podium. There, I gave McDowell a microphone, fool that I am, so he could talk about his favorite subject: McDowell.

While my family set up refreshments, Eve and I took a walk through scarecrow heaven. Local shops had entered to advertise. Smart marketing for them. Good publicity for me. We admired angel scarecrows, a pizza man, witches, devils, punk, Goth, and a rock star with a guitar, every kind of scarecrow I never imagined.

"Mr. and Mrs. Councilman are going to have a hard time choosing," I said.

"What the heck is the councilman's first name?" Eve asked. "Besides Schlub and Old Goat?"