Dear Abby Cozy Mystery Collection 2 Page 15

  Abby took a step back.

  What had come over her?

  She’d missed her prom night because her favorite author had been scheduled to do a reading in a nearby town. When she’d needed to attend an event for work, she’d sent one of the junior reporters out to get her a simple yet stylish black dress because she’d been too busy meeting a deadline.

  “This isn’t me,” she murmured. Drawing in a breath, her shoulders eased down. She could live with not attending a major event. As a newcomer in town, she couldn’t expect to always be included.

  At last, Abby thought, common sense prevails.

  The front door opened just as she’d been about to beat a hasty retreat.

  “Yes?” A woman in her late fifties answered the door. Tall, svelte and oozing elegance, she wore a two-piece tweed suit with her sleeves pushed up to her elbows and her hair swept up and gathered into a loose bun on top of her head. In one hand she held an elegant cigarette holder and in the other a whisky tumbler. Abby couldn’t help thinking of the silver screen goddess, Joan Crawford.

  “Miffi Howsen?”

  “You’re that reporter,” she said in a husky tone. Drawing on her cigarette, she blew out the smoke from the corner of her mouth. “The one accused of killing Dermot Cavendish.” She gave her a brisk smile. “Come on in.”

  Abby had to fight the urge to release her hold on her little black dress and kick it out of sight. Instinct told her Miffi Howsen would take one look at it and smirk at its poor quality.

  With a wave of her whisky glass, Miffi showed her through to a front parlor.

  “I’ve seen you around town, but never up close. Where’s your dog?”

  “He’s having a spa day.”

  Pointing to her dress with her cigarette holder, she said, “Show me that bundle of joy you’re clutching against your chest.”

  “Oh, this?” Abby looked around the parlor. The walls were covered with photographs. Miffi appeared in all of them flanked by stunning looking models.

  Miffi followed her gaze. “My hall of fame.”

  “Impressive.”

  “I’ve worked in the top European fashion houses,” Miffi went on to explain.

  So, what had brought her to the small town of Eden? Abby wondered. “You’re a long way from the limelight.”

  Miffi lifted her shoulder into an elegant shrug. “The way I saw it, I had two choices. I could either work myself to an early grave or land a husband to fund my early retirement.” Miffi drew on her cigarette. “When a new designer took over the fashion house I’d been working in, I chose door number two. I’d had enough of working eighteen-hour days so they could strut on the catwalk and claim all the glory. I know, it sounds like a bad case of sour grapes, and maybe it is. Somewhere along the line, I forgot I wanted to scale the heights. Anyhow, the husband came through. He even did me the favor of kicking the bucket. Don’t get me wrong, we enjoyed the brief time we had together, but old habits being what they are, I’ve always enjoyed living alone.”

  “You look really happy in those photos. Don’t you miss it?”

  Miffi lifted her glass. “I enjoy reminiscing, but there’s a lot to be said for kicking back and relaxing.” She again pointed at Abby’s dress. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard about the ball.” The one she had only seconds before decided she didn’t mind missing out on…

  Miffi nodded. “The Venetian Ball.”

  “Yes, that one.”

  Miffi Howsen tipped her head back and laughed. “I had to take my phone off the hook. I work on the occasional design to keep myself entertained. Suddenly, everyone wanted an exclusive gown to wear on the night.”

  And those took longer than forty-eight hours to stitch up, Abby guessed. What had she been thinking?

  “Come on through to my workroom.” Miffi swung on her heels and strode off, cigarette smoke trailing behind her.

  A large table stood in the middle of the room with shelving spaces taking up all the available walls, housing stacks of fabric swatches. Abby expected Miffi to put her cigarette out, but she didn’t…

  Miffi tapped the table. “Hand it over.”

  Abby stepped forward. As she spread the dress out on the table, her gaze lifted and she noticed a mannequin with a black evening gown draped on it. A column of sheer elegance, Abby thought as she admired the cascade of fabric. “That’s gorgeous.”

  Miffi laughed under her breath. “You noticed.”

  Abby had to force herself to look away. “Someone is going to be very pleased.”

  Miffi spread her hand over Abby’s dress. “Maybe. Maybe not. Marigold Winthrop is a tough customer.”

  Abby hadn’t thought about it at the time, but Miffi looked somewhat overdressed. Then again, her mom had often told her she’d grown up at a time when the lady of the house wouldn’t set foot outside without first putting on their lipstick and dressing for the occasion. Also, behavioral traits were difficult to shake off. Miffi must have dressed elegantly throughout her career. “Is she a local?”

  “Marigold is married to a local but she spends most of her time in the city.” Miffi straightened Abby’s gown and stepped back. “What would you like me to do with this?”

  “Wave your magic wand and turn it from a pumpkin into something that won’t make me the laughing stock in Eden. Is that too much to hope for?”

  “As my mother often said, shoot for the stars you might get the moon. It’s a good quality fabric and that’s the reason why it’s lasted the distance.”

  “You can actually tell I’ve had it for a while?”

  Miffi gave her a knowing smile. “I’m guessing you’re not really into fashion.”

  Abby slipped her hands inside her pockets. “I tend to prefer comfort over fashion statements. Neat and tidy suits me.”

  Holding the glass of whisky in one hand and the cigarette in the other, Miffi studied the dress. “For starters, the knee length is out of the question. Long is de rigueur for this event.”

  Abby looked around the workroom. There were other dresses on hangers, but they were not black.

  “Oh, don’t look so glum,” Miffi chortled.

  Did she look glum? What had happened to coming to terms with not attending? Abby swallowed. “I haven’t told anyone…”

  Miffi stepped back. She took a sip of her whisky and followed it with a puff of her cigarette. “Go on.”

  Abby looked around and lowered her voice. “I haven’t actually received an invitation. So, I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to…” she floundered.

  The edge of Miffi’s lip lifted slightly. “You must be desperate to attend.”

  Abby bit the edge of her lip. “Everyone will be there. Not getting an invitation must be an oversight. I’m sure it is. Charles and I get along well.”

  Miffi patted her on the arm. “Feeling better now?”

  Abby scooped in a breath. “Actually, yes.” She only then realized keeping the truth to herself had been a cumbersome burden.

  “Right. Let’s see what we can do.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, honey. I’ve played the role of fairy godmother too many times to doubt my abilities. I can work miracles and I would like nothing better than to be part of your escapade.”

  “My… my what?”

  “Well, if you don’t have an invitation, you will have to gate-crash the event.”

  “And… you don’t find that unusual?” Or desperate, Abby thought.

  Miffi laughed. “I’ve worked in the fashion industry too long to find anything unusual. But this is Eden, and… I’m sure you’ve heard people say we sometimes provide our own entertainment.” She pointed her cigarette holder at Abby. “It will be interesting to see you pull it off.”

  A seal of approval! “Can I hug you?” Abby didn’t wait for a response.

  “Okay,” Miffi patted her on the back. “Let’s start taking some measurements.”

  Abby strode into the vet’s, a light
spring to her step, a huge grin on her face. Katherine, the vet’s assistant did a double-take.

  “You look happy and you haven’t even seen Doyle yet. I’ll go get him for you.”

  While she waited, Abby had a look at the shelves stocking pet paraphernalia. Miffi’s remark about seeing her in town with Doyle had made her wonder if she should perhaps take him along with her. It would look odd. She would most likely be the only guest-slash-gate-crasher accompanied by her dog. But she had a feeling people would expect it.

  “Here’s Doyle,” Katherine announced.

  Doyle bounced on the spot, his tail wagging like a propeller, then he lunged toward Abby and leaped up into her arms.

  “Oh, you smell wonderful.” Abby exchanged a look with Katherine who had once made the mistake of using a sweet fragrant shampoo on Doyle. “Very manly.” She swung toward the display shelves.

  “See anything you like?” Katherine asked.

  Abby saw quite a few little coats she liked and could easily imagine Doyle in one of them. However, from experience, she knew Doyle might not share her enthusiasm. “Is that a little tuxedo?”

  “Yes, it is,” Katherine said as she picked it up. “Doyle would look gorgeous in it.”

  “Yes. Yes, he would. Let’s try it on.”

  Doyle buried his little head in the crook of her arm but sighed with resignation.

  “It’s here. The day has finally arrived.” Faith pirouetted around the office.

  Abby looked up from her computer. “You mean, the day before the day.”

  “Yes, this is better than counting down to Christmas. I doubt I’ll get any work done. I found the perfect pair of heels. Thank you for offering me yours. It was a lovely gesture.”

  Great, Abby thought. Now she wouldn’t have to go barefooted.

  “I’ve checked everything off my to-do list.” Looking up, Faith asked, “Are you driving yourself?”

  “Yes, I… I think that would be easiest for me. How are you getting there?” Abby bit the edge of her lip. Faith had probably mentioned it several times but since Abby had assumed she wouldn’t be going, she hadn’t paid much attention…

  “I’m getting a lift from my neighbor.” Faith grinned. “She doesn’t drink and she’s a night owl so I won’t feel pressured into leaving early.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Oh, I bumped into Sebastian at the café,” Faith continued. “He said he’d dropped in on Charles and the house looked resplendent. There are Chinese lanterns strung up all around the park. Fancy having a park instead of a backyard. Oh, and there are gondolas on the lake. I can throw parties at my place any day, but the best I could hope to offer is an inflatable pool and rubber duckies.”

  Abby cupped her chin in her hand. As the local reporter, she had the perfect excuse to drop in on Mr. Charles Granger. She could suggest doing a behind the scenes story.

  “I’m booked in to get a facial tomorrow morning and a friend offered to do my make-up and nails. What are you getting up to tomorrow?”

  “The usual. Get up. Eat breakfast. Go for a walk with Doyle.” Abby checked the time and wondered if she could swing by Willoughby Park for a sneak peek. Before she gave up on the idea, Abby dug around her drawer for her camera.

  “Where are you off to?” Faith asked. “You can’t leave me alone. I’m bursting with excitement. I need you to anchor me.”

  “Sorry, I need to go out and hunt down a story.” She didn’t want to mention going for a dress fitting, so she held up her camera. “I thought I’d take some behind the scenes photos and do a spread. Actually, Charles Granger does a great deal for the community. We should run a double spread.”

  Faith frowned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I just had an unnerving thought.” Faith clasped her hands together and held them up as if in prayer. “With everyone attending the Venetian Ball, the town will be deserted. I hope nothing happens while we’re all having the time of our lives.”

  Abby drove the few blocks to Miffi Howsen’s house for her dress fitting. As she unbuckled her seat belt, she took in the pretty view of the mountain ranges.

  She’d lived in Eden for a few months now and had as yet to make time to visit the ski slopes. From what she’d been told, the area could be enjoyed all year round; skiing in winter and hiking or horse riding the rest of the time. Since she’d signed a one-year contract with Sebastian Cavendish, she didn’t have any immediate plans to return to Seattle or back home to Iowa any time soon, so she added the activities to her to-do list.

  She strode up to the front door just as a woman came out. If Abby had seen her around town, she didn’t recognize her. She wore dark sunglasses and a hat lowered over her face. The woman swept past her, her head lowered, and her steps hurried.

  Miffi waited by the front door.

  She wore a pale blue knit sweater and a tartan fitted skirt.

  “Right on time,” Miffi said. “Come in.”

  “Was that another customer?” Abby asked.

  Miffi nodded. “Kelly Pierce. She wanted me to do some adjustments. Apparently, she’s been so run off her feet organizing the ball she’s lost weight.”

  “Is she Charles Granger’s assistant?”

  “The one and only.”

  Abby had planned on swinging by Willoughby Park to snoop around. If she bumped into Kelly Pierce, she could fish around for information about the guest list…

  Miffi led her straight through to the back room and pointed toward the mannequin.

  Abby came to an abrupt halt. “Is that… Is that my dress?” Abby felt and sounded awestruck.

  “It is.”

  Miffi had certainly lived up to her reputation. “It looks so different.”

  “Go on. Try it on.” Miffi reached for her pack of cigarettes. Finding it empty, she excused herself and went in search for a new pack.

  Abby ran her fingertips along the sheer fabric covering the little black dress. The gown she’d admired the day before hang on a rack next to it. Comparing the two dresses, Abby smiled. Miffi had given her dress a complete overhaul, turning it into a work of art.

  She heard Miffi talking to herself. Drawers opening and closing…

  A few minutes later, Miffi returned and found Abby still standing in front of her dress. She turned and saw Miffi adjusting the cigarette in place. When she lit it, she tipped her head back and blew out the smoke.

  While excited about trying on the gown, Abby couldn’t help wondering about smoking in a room full of delicate fabrics. Without asking, she knew Miffi smoked a French brand; quite strong and pungent. “Don’t you worry about smoke getting into the fabric?”

  “Old habits die hard,” Miffi said as Abby went behind a screen and scrambled out of her clothes. “Everyone smokes in Europe. I’m too set in my ways to change now.”

  Abby scooped in a breath and hoped the pancakes she’d indulged in hadn’t added any extra weight. The moment she slipped into the dress, she felt her eyes brighten. Standing on her toes, she strode out.

  “How on earth did you get it to cascade like this.” When Abby swayed from side to side, the fabric moved right along with her.

  “It’s a silk tulle.”

  Abby turned toward a mirror. Her old cocktail dress had been completely revamped and revitalized with a new see-through sheath cascading over it. “It’s… It’s like a Grecian column. I love it.”

  “It’s my take on an Empire style. It was the height of fashion in the 1800s.” Humming, Miffi added, “You should wear your hair up.”

  “I wish I could. My hair is too straight to stay in place. I end up with spikes poking out.”

  At Miffi’s signal, Abby turned and Miffi made a few adjustments making sure the dress sat perfectly.

  “Stretch your arms out. How does that feel? Does it pull anywhere?”

  “No. It’s perfect.”

  Stepping back, Miffi tilted her head from side to side. “Well, you’re all set for the ball, Cinderella.”

&
nbsp; Chapter Three

  So far, so good, Abby thought. Everything had fallen into place. She’d had the foresight to call Sebastian Cavendish and ask for advice. Since she’d never before attended such a swanky event, she wanted to avoid putting a foot wrong, so in his opinion, would it be better to arrive early or fashionably late?

  After he’d told her he planned on leaving in ten minutes, Abby had scurried out of her apartment and driven straight to Willoughby Park so she could arrive at the same time as Sebastian and contrive a way to bump into him without being too obvious about it.

  She’d sat in her car, keeping an eye out for his black SUV. When she’d spotted it, she’d gathered Doyle in her arms and had made her way toward him. He took his time coming out of his car, so Abby set Doyle down and adjusted his little tuxedo. Peering up, she saw Sebastian finally making a move, so she straightened and strode the rest of the way, stopping at the last minute as if surprised.

  Doyle’s tail thumped against her leg and she imagined him congratulating her on her good timing.

  “That worked out well,” Sebastian said as he emerged from his shiny car. “I should have offered you a lift.”

  “Oh, that’s fine. I have Doyle with me. Not everyone is comfortable having a dog in their car.”

  “I would have been fine with it.”

  A head taller than the average man, he looked quite imposing in his tuxedo, and handsome, Abby thought. In his mid-thirties, the man sat at the helm of a large corporation and owned a major newspaper but would have been right at home on a billboard in Times Square advertising an exclusive brand and selling it with nothing more than the slight lift of his lips and his magnetic chiseled features.

  “You look splendid,” he drawled.

  “Thank you.” They had a working relationship and she took the compliment as nothing more than a social nicety.

  “Shall we?” he gave her his arm.

  Oh, yes. She could not have scripted it better. Doyle put his nose in the air and trotted beside her. His initial grumbling had been expected but he now appeared to be enjoying his new tuxedo jacket.