Chapter 14
They were careless people, Tom and Daisy—they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made.
—Nick Carraway in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby
I told Tegan where I was going, and followed Lillian.
Puttin’ on the Glitz was one of my favorite shops.
Despite its modest size, with its gold-and-glass décor, plush velvet curtains, and ornate chandelier casting a warm, inviting glow on the racks holding high-end clothing, it exuded luxury and taste and drew customers from as far away as Charlotte and Raleigh.
Soft classical music was playing through speakers as we entered.
A hint of Shalimar, Lillian’s favorite fragrance, lingered in the air.
“Allie,” she said upon entering, acting as if we were in the middle of a conversation, “I do hope you can manage a dinner party for twenty women. Stella wants to join in the fun. We’re all volunteers somewhere, and we’d like to honor each other with a special evening.”
“Of course I can. At your place?”
“Where else?” Lillian lived in a modest house her family had given her. It had high ceilings, gorgeous hardwood floors, and lots of windows, through which she could view her carefully cultivated gardens.
We moseyed to the sales counter, where Finette was waiting to pay a clerk struggling to insert two jackets into a garment bag.
“May I attend?” Finette asked. She appeared forlorn and in need of a boost. “I love women get-togethers, and I volunteer. I’m in charge of Friends of the Bramblewood Fire Department.”
“May I come?” Candace Canfield peeked from behind a dressing room curtain to our left.
“I donate time at the animal shelter.” She was a soft-spoken woman in her forties with huge, round eyes.
She played guitar and sang folk songs for a living.
When I’d first heard her perform at a coffeehouse, I’d thought she had to be related to the owner, because she was so shy and reserved.
Recently, I’d learned she booked lots of gigs around town, because unobtrusive, unflashy music was in demand.
“Of course.” Lillian laid the spangled dresses on the sales counter. “You may both attend. I’ll send you the deets.”
Giddily, Candace whisked her blond curls over her shoulders and ducked back into the dressing room, but she reemerged immediately. “I almost forgot. Will you all come to a sing-along Thursday night at Blessed Bean? Lots of folks are going to attend. We’re raising money for the library.”
“Sure, I’ll come,” I said. “Wouldn’t miss it. Anything for a worthy cause.”
“Yay,” Candace chimed and disappeared.
“Nice choices, Finette,” Lillian said as she offered to help the clerk fit the jackets into the dress bag.
“Thank you. Both were on sale. You know how much I love a good bargain.”
Lillian said, “Iggie, I’m back.”
Iggie, who was standing atop a riser by a trifold mirror, was admiring the pin-striped suit he’d slipped on. He swiveled toward us and frowned. At me, I feared.
Finette muttered, “Iggie. What a slug.”
Apparently, they hadn’t resolved their differences.
“Iggie,” Lillian continued in full voice, “Allie’s throwing a dinner party for me. I want your wife to come. She will, won’t she? After all, she’s such a do-gooder.”
“She’d be delighted.”
Lillian said in a hushed tone, “Shayna helms a number of art society events, plus she reads to the children at the library. She hasn’t any of her own. It’s a sad story but not mine to tell.” Returning to full voice, she said, “Iggie, come on over here. Let me see what you’ve got on.”
He stepped off the riser and sauntered toward us. His rotund belly pressed at the seams of the suit’s vest. He took off the wool fedora and patted his thinning hair into place. “Shayna can’t eat gluten,” he said to me.
“Not a problem,” I replied.
“Or nuts or sesame, and she doesn’t do well with legumes and shade plants.”
“I’ve got many clients who have rigid diets. I’ll make sure I mark all the items we’ll be serving with the ingredients.” I offered a reassuring smile.
“But that’s not the real reason you’re here, is it?” Iggie’s eyes narrowed.
“It isn’t?” Finette asked.
“Actually”—Lillian gently clasped my elbow—“Allie had a few moments, so I cajoled her into peeking at some of the Gatsby costumes. She wants to be the party hostess with the mostest. Don’t you, Allie?” She gave me a push.
Quick thinking, I thought, seeing as I’d already selected a costume.
“Mind you, most are copies,” Lillian went on, “but there are a few vintage ones.”
Taking her cue, I moved toward a nearby freestanding rack that held a variety of 1920s-style clothing—everything from flapper dresses to gorgeous ball gowns. Where had Lillian procured them all? She must have raided more costume departments than merely the community theater’s.
“Check out all the green-toned beauties in the mix,” Lillian said. “Have fun.” She faced Iggie, clutched the lapels of his jacket, and gave a firm tug. “I like it, but I want to check the inseam and hem, handsome.”
Handsome? I had to hand it to my friend. She was acting up a storm.
“Fits pretty good,” Iggie said, “as far as I’m concerned.”
“Yes, well, we might want to loosen it a tad,” she said judiciously. “We don’t want any of those buttons to pop off and hit someone in the eye. It could cause a lawsuit.” She thwacked him playfully on the arm and steered him toward the riser.
“Lillian.” Candace emerged from the dressing room and held up two frocks.
“May I take both of these home and see which one Quinby likes?” In her monotone clothing, Candace looked nerdy and in need of a makeover.
Perhaps Lillian would take her under her wing.
In addition to knowing which styles customers should wear, Lillian had an eye for which makeup to apply to render even the ugliest swan prettier.
Candace wasn’t ugly. She simply lacked confidence.
“Yes, of course.”
A month ago Lillian might have questioned her decision to let Candace walk out with not one but two dresses.
After all, the Canfields had been struggling financially, but recently, Stella Burberry had given them strategic financial advice, and Quinby, like his wife with her career, was turning his flagging landscaping business around.
Candace beamed and strode to the sales counter to wait while the clerk finished up with Finette.
“Iggie, you sing, don’t you?” Lillian said, loudly enough for all to hear.
“I was a choirboy,” he admitted.
“In his dreams,” Finette said under her breath.
I bit back a laugh.
“I started out as a tenor,” he said. “Now I’m a baritone.”
Lillian crouched to insert straight pins into the hem of the trousers. “I wish you had auditioned for the upcoming musical at the theater. You have such a melodic voice.”
“Which show are you doing?” he asked.
“Miss Saigon.”
Iggie grunted. “I saw it. There isn’t a part for me.”
“The engineer,” Lillian cooed. “He’s the owner of Dreamland.”
“He’s half Vietnamese and half French.”
Lillian trilled out a fake laugh. “Silly man. You don’t think we can cast perfectly in a town the size of Bramblewood, do you?
No, it’s all about the costumes and makeup.
” She rose and, using a stick of tailor’s chalk, marked the vest near the buttonholes.
“I think we’ll let it out this much. Okay? ”
“Yeah, might be comfier.”
“Auditions were held Monday night. Would you have been able to make it?”
“No. I was at a poker game with my buddies.”
Did his lack of hesitation mean it was the truth?
“Which buddies are those?” Lillian asked.
“My golfing guys.”
“Are any of them single?” she said in a flirtatious manner. “I might be interested.”
He guffawed. “Not a one. All happily married. And way too old for you.”
Finette signed for her purchase and said sotto voce to me, “She’s incorrigible.”
“How’d you do in the game?” Lillian asked Iggie.
“I lost my shirt.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place, then. I’ll sell you a new one. Go change, and I’ll show you a few that will look really good with your complexion.”
When he disappeared into a dressing room, Lillian gave me a thumbs-up.
I mirrored the gesture, because honestly she’d done a superb job, but I left the shop frustrated. I’d really wanted Iggie to be the killer. Given his alibi, I had to cross him off my suspect list.
Feast for the Eyes was bustling with even more teenagers when I returned. I spotted Darcy in the office window, peering at everyone. He wasn’t anxious. He was curious, as if wishing he could join the fun.
I went to the office and cuddled him. “Yes, sir, I know. You’re like the shy kid who thinks he wants to dance, but when the chance arrives, he runs to the bathroom to hide. Lest you forget, teenagers are not your favorite people.”
Tegan rushed into the office and left the door ajar. “How did it go with Iggie?”
I filled her in.
“He could have lied about his alibi,” she suggested.
“He didn’t falter. Didn’t even grope for words.” I supposed he could have practiced a pat response, should the police question him. On the other hand, the police could corroborate his whereabouts.
“You should follow up. A few of his cronies are customers. One might know if he’s lying. I’ll give you a list. But right now, I need a break.”
“We can’t leave Chloe with a jumble of people.” I motioned to the main room of the shop.
“When they clear out, I’ll close for a couple of hours, and you and I will go on a hike and have a picnic.”
“You hate exercise, not to mention, you’re wearing a skirt.”
“Culottes. And I do like to eat.” She pointed at a picnic basket sitting on the desk. “Vanna brought us lunch. Turkey, bacon, and avocado subs.”
“Yum. She is really going overboard at making nice.”