The Last Dance Read online

  However, with only two days remaining until the special night, she might have to make do. “Any suggestions, Doyle? I have already exhausted all the reasonable avenues.” She’d had to wait until Faith had stepped out for a late lunch to start making a few phone calls to clothing stores within easy driving distance, but that had yielded disappointing results with one store owner saying she should have called earlier. Another had informed her the last dress had just sold and it had been divine. One store owner had even laughed and, without being told, had known Abby had been calling from Eden.

  “I am not driving two hundred miles to the city.” Would she have a choice? It would be a six hour round trip. Add to that the time it would take her to find a suitable dress…

  She’d have to set aside an entire day.

  There had to be an alternative. She didn’t have to buy a new dress. Surely, she didn’t.

  “How about a coffee?” And a chat with Joyce Breeland. The local café owner had an extensive wardrobe and they were both the same size. More or less. With any luck, Joyce might have something suitable for Abby to wear.

  ***

  “I WISH YOU’D MENTIONED it earlier.” Joyce drew out a chair and sat down. “As soon as we received our invitations, a bunch of us organized ourselves and drove into the city. We made a day of it. If I’d known you were in need of a dress, I would have invited you to come along.”

  Just her luck, Joyce’s one and only black gown had a rip in it.

  “Have you been to Mannequin?” Joyce tapped her chin. “Yes, of course, you have. Let me think.” Her eyes sparkled and she straightened. “I know. You could try Miffi Howsen. She’s a local dressmaker and quite talented.” Joyce gave her a reassuring nod. “She studied her craft in Milan and honed her skills in Paris. We’re very lucky she chose to retire here.” Joyce leaned in and whispered, “If you ask nicely, I’m sure she’ll help you out.”

  A waitress approached Abby’s table and set down her order of light as air blueberry pancakes along with a Meandering Type of Day coffee. Abby had selected it because, while she needed to remain engaged on the task at hand, she also needed to remain calm. And hopeful, she added. So, she’d avoided the type of caffeine boost that would see her ricocheting around the place.

  “Oh dear. You might want to forego the pancakes,” Joyce suggested. “Black is a slimming shade but you want to look your best. I’ve been on a cleansing diet for two days and plan on having a small salad before the event.”

  Abby gave her a brisk smile. “I think I can handle a few pancakes.”

  “If you say so.”

  “So, where do I find Miffi Howsen?”

  “I’ll write down the address for you. You could try calling her, but she rarely answers the phone.” Joyce reached for Abby’s glass of water. “Do you mind?”

  “Go for it.” Taking a bite of her pancake, Abby said, “I hope your diet consists of more than just water.”

  “Of course, it does. There’s lots of cucumber water and a few carrots and celery sticks.” Joyce patted her cheeks. “Am I glowing?”

  “You are.”

  “Then it’s working.”

  A waitress strode by carrying a large serving of bacon and eggs. The aroma wafted around Abby. As she took another bite of her pancakes, she noticed Joyce swaying slightly.

  “Are you okay?” Abby asked.

  “Yes. Of course.” Joyce took another sip of water. “I have to say, I’m surprised you’re attending the ball. It’s been a month and I haven’t heard you mention it. Not even once.”

  Abby arranged another mouthful on her fork. “With everyone talking about it, I could barely get a word in edgewise. The entire town is attending. I wouldn’t dream of missing it.” Even if she had to climb over a wall and sneak in the back door.

  ***

  ABBY CHECKED THE ADDRESS JOYCE had written down for her, saying under her breath, “I can book Doyle in for an impromptu grooming session but I can’t even have my bangs trimmed. At least, not until two days after the ball because, of course, the hairdresser will need a day to recover from the event.”

  Slowing down, she looked at the house numbers. On any other day, she might have walked here, but time remained very much of the essence.

  The picturesque cottage had a typical corrugated iron roof used predominantly in the Victorian era and a garden more suited to a house in an English village than an Australian alpine town.

  Abby pushed the gate open and strode up the paved path. She had stopped by her apartment and had retrieved her little black cocktail dress. With only two days remaining, she couldn’t hope for a new gown but, with any luck, perhaps Miffi Howsen could work her magic and spiff the little dress up.

  When she reached the front door, Abby gave her sleeve a tug. She could do this. If push came to shove, she would have to engage her negotiation skills and, if that didn’t work, she could get down on her knees and beg.

  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 stich 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’S 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.