Veiled in Death Read online

  “I taught her well.” June beamed.

  “Your personal website is lovely, too. You made all of this?” I gestured to the tablet.

  Pia blushed prettily again and rightfully claimed the praise. “Yes. And I do adore event planning. Weddings are my favorite,” she added. “But Mom needs my help.”

  June shook her head. The mama bird seemed to be gently pushing her daughter out of the nest, whether she liked it or not. “While business is doing well, Pia, you know I can’t take you on as a permanent employee. Even with Claudia retiring.” June sighed and took in her large store overflowing with wares. “Cataloguing and making each item here available online has stemmed some of the slowdown in antique sales. But it hasn’t cured everything.”

  I sympathized with June’s sharing of her business woes. With nearly every physical good also available to shoppers online, one had to be nimble.

  “And while I love helping out, I’m not sure I’d want to join the family business full-time.” Pia laughed at her mother’s mock shock at her pronouncement. The young woman was very pretty, even with a streak of dust marring her rosy cheeks.

  “I don’t want to force you to apply, but we are holding interviews tomorrow to fill the full-time wedding assistant position,” I tentatively offered. “I know it’s quite last-minute.”

  Pia cocked her head and seemed to ponder the invitation. Then she nodded with a serene smile. “I’d love to interview. Thank you for the invitation.”

  I scheduled Pia’s interview for the next day to occur just after the other three candidates my sister and I would be meeting. As far as I was concerned, Pia was all but hired. This impromptu process was a little rushed, but sometimes the universe presented you with an opportunity. I just hoped my sister would be okay with my on-the-spot interview invitation. I gave an inward shrug. I knew Pia would be excellent, and I bet Rachel would think so, too.

  June gently clapped her hands, causing baby Miri to squeal with delight. I gave the shop owner an appraising look. It seemed as if June had artfully nudged her daughter into working for me. June was a slick one. I’d let her know earlier this week that Bev and I would be stopping by. Maybe Pia just happened to be in the store, or perhaps June had arranged our chance encounter. I decided I didn’t care. Good employees were hard to find, and I had a feeling Pia would be a perfect fit.

  “Now that that’s settled, let’s ring up this veil.” Pia would be a good businesswoman. She crisply changed the subject back to the sale at hand. “What do you think, Mom? Twenty dollars?”

  June was contemplative as she considered the long swath of lace laid out on the table.

  “Mom? Are you sure you’re okay selling it?” Pia seemed to call her mother back from somewhere far away.

  “Of course! It certainly is a pretty lace veil.” June looked up and graced Bev and me with a warm smile. “I’m glad it’s found a good home. Twenty is a fine price, Pia. After all, this lace will need a bit of repairing, even though it’s mainly intact.” June observed her daughter carefully folding up the veil. “Ladies, you’ll spend a pretty penny with a fabric restorer if you choose to go that route.”

  Bev and I produced ten dollars each and solemnly handed the bills over to Pia. She rang us up and handed me the receipt and the veil ensconced in a clear plastic bag, the brick red curlicue script logo of the Port Quincy Antique Emporium printed on the front. It was a done deal.

  “You know what this veil is?” Bev pointed to the bag with a jab of excitement. “A sign!”

  Uh-oh.

  Bev was beginning to sound like Delilah, her fiancé’s tarot-card-reading mother.

  “We should have a double wedding! Look at this fabric, it screams summertime, with the flowers and the trim of embroidered stars. It’ll be a perfect tie-in for my wedding a few days before the Fourth of July. And if you’re going to wear this veil, too, and divide it up, you may as well coordinate your look!”

  “I love the idea of getting hitched this summer, and there’s no one I’d want to share a wedding with more than you.” I beamed at my close friend. “But I’m enjoying my engagement to Garrett, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned as a wedding planner, it’s not to rush things.”

  I watched Bev deflate before me. I did wonder if today’s events were some kind of sign. First, I recalled the enchanting sundress at the back of the store, which I’d just pledged to buy. It was really suited to a casual summer wedding, just the kind Bev was having. I could almost see it. A double wedding with one of my best friends would be both silly and wonderful. I had promised in a weak moment, after I’d gotten engaged, to have my own wedding featured in a glossy bridal magazine. This would be a good hook. But more importantly, it would be good fun.

  June seemed to pick up on my wordless considerations. “If you marry this summer, the sundress would work, Mallory. I could remove it from the dress form and have it sent over.”

  Bev frowned at the idea of me wearing a dress that didn’t come from her shop, but seemed to like her double-wedding idea more. “I’d be happy to do alterations on the sundress.” She sighed. “Though I thought we all agreed it would be better as a rehearsal dress.”

  But I couldn’t get the vision of myself standing in the garden at Thistle Park, my inherited mansion-turned-B-and-B, out of my head. I could picture my sandy curls peeking out from half of the swath of that gorgeous lace, a champagne-colored chiffon wrap adorning my shoulders to tie the aged lace and retro sundress look together. And I’d be married to the love of my life sooner, in the summertime, no less.

  Darn it. I knew I’d end up marrying at my house. Maybe I’m destined for no separation of life and work after all.

  A nagging voice in the back of my head cautioned me from following the whims driven by serendipitous finds at the Antique Emporium. I loved working as a wedding planner, marrying the analytical with the creative. I always encouraged brides and grooms to find inspiration around them and from their personal histories and to build new memories and celebrations around those experiences. But I also advised them to be practical with the funds and the logistics of planning a wedding and reception. This practicality part seemed to be missing for me, as I was changing up plans fast and furious based on the things I’d found in this very antique store one random June morning.

  “I need to run this all by Garrett.” I felt a rueful smile tick up the corners of my mouth. “Contrary to popular opinion, the other half actually does have a say.” Some brides and families assumed it was their show, with no input needed from their partners.

  June sagged, perhaps seeing the sale of the sundress slip away. But Bev was triumphant, no doubt thinking she could dazzle me with some dress in her store’s stock. I guess she wasn’t as invested in her momentary plan for a double wedding as she initially appeared. It was probably better this way. It had still been a productive day shoring up the details of Bev’s wedding theme, and we’d found the lovely veil to boot.

  “Ready, friend?” I gave Bev a warm smile. There was still time to sort out all the details.

  Bev nodded, and we bade the Battles women goodbye. And were nearly taken out by a human cannonball barreling through the storefront door.

  “Out of my way!”

  In rushed Claudia Battles, dressed head-to-toe in colonial-era soldier’s garb. June’s mother, the matriarch of the Battles family, sported a tricorn hat knocked askew and a brown homespun outfit. She flew through the door as if being pursued by the British. She carried what looked like some kind of ancient gun, perhaps a rifle. Claudia’s wispy bun was disheveled and about to unravel, with strands of snow-white hair peeking out, probably once the same red as the other women in her family. She must have just come from the practice battlefield. My event-planning duties for this summer included a new gala celebrating Port Quincy’s founding as a town. We’d christened the event Cordials and Cannonballs. The big day would feature a reenactment of a Revolutionary War battle waged over two hundred years ago right here in Port Quincy. It appeared tha
t Claudia had been practicing in earnest.

  Before we could ooh and aah, the look of consternation on Claudia’s face was suddenly understandable. She slammed the glass door behind her, and it snapped shut on the silhouette of my nemesis and once-upon-a-time almost mother-in-law. Hurricane Helene Pierce pushed the heavy glass door open with her bony hands dripping in rubies and pearls and made a nimble beeline after Claudia with her kitten heels striking hard on the wooden floor.

  June quickly unsnapped the baby carrier and handed baby Miri to me. The little infant seemed to instinctively cling to my front and I shielded her from the wrath of Helene. I drank in her baby smell and gently bounced her up and down as I planned a quick exit if necessary.

  Bev leaned over with a conspiratorial smile. “You’re a natural, Mallory.”

  Good grief. Not with the baby talk again.

  And in that moment, I realized why all of the seemingly good-natured comments about hurrying up and finally getting hitched and growing a family were getting to me. I confronted the issue that Garrett and I hadn’t discussed the possibility of kids. I hadn’t had the heart to bring it up, partly because I was so busy and partly because it would change the dynamic between Garrett, his daughter Summer, and myself. And mainly because I was scared of what his answer would be, either way. I gulped and held baby Miri closer.

  “Women are absolutely not allowed to participate in the Revolutionary War reenactment.” Helene punctuated her decree with a little stamp of her kitten-heeled foot. Her vicious tap made her ubiquitous nude pantyhose pool a bit around her bony ankles.

  “Fiddle-faddle.” Claudia righted her tricorn hat and dismissed Helene’s statement with a wave of her hand. Her nonchalance only made Helene even more furious. “I will be participating as a soldier this weekend, and nothing you can do will stop me.”

  “I took a vote!” Helene sputtered, her usual command of the situation faltering.

  Interesting.

  “A vote that the town council agreed did not count.” Claudia’s lined face took on a particularly sour cast. She rolled her eyes in consternation. “Did you really think you could pull off making up some tale about a fire alarm and canceling the meeting, then holding it at your house with the only other two misogynists left on the historical planning commission board? It doesn’t count if you jury-rig the vote. You violated the sunshine law!” Claudia jabbed the air with this claim and succeeded in making Helene flinch. “Thankfully, the other members are more forward thinking and voted the correct way. Four to three, women can participate in the reenactment battle.” Claudia drew herself up to the impressive full height that June and my friend Tabitha had inherited, but Pia had not. “Now get the heck out of my store. You’re not wanted at our establishment.”

  Helene was ever ready with a stinging volley, the kind I’d been on the receiving end of quite frequently several years ago when I’d almost married her son. “This old collection of junk? I haven’t set foot in this abomination of a business since the 1990s.”

  I snickered. Coincidentally, the early 1990s is when Helene’s fashion awareness seemed to stop, as well. Helene favored pantyhose, shoulder pads, Chanel bouclé jackets, and Bill Blass and Halston suits. Being in her proximity was as much a time-capsule experience as being in the Antique Emporium or planning Cordials and Cannonballs.

  Claudia said not a word but let her actions do the talking for her. She took one step toward Helene. She coolly rested her hand on her waist-high replica rifle.

  That had better not be a working gun. Of course not, she wouldn’t.

  Claudia put that idea to rest and simultaneously skyrocketed my hackles into the stratosphere. “This baby is full of fresh gunpowder. And I know how to use it.”

  I took an involuntary step back with the infant in my arms, and Helene flinched, but held her own. The resident dowager-empress of Port Quincy, Pennsylvania, turned her steely powder-blue eyes on me at last.

  “Hello, Mallory.”

  I should have been cheered that it had taken all of this time for Helene to acknowledge my presence. Miri whimpered as I held her ever closer.

  Claudia seemed to come to her senses seeing her daughter’s foster child. She leaned her rifle against a puffy ottoman and squared off against Helene with folded arms. “I mean it, Helene. Out. Now.”

  It was Helene’s turn to dismiss Claudia with a flick of her heavily jeweled hand. “Not until you listen to reason, Claudia.” And she couldn’t resist a dig at yours truly. “I’m not surprised you’re consorting with this riffraff, Mallory dear.” Her term of affection slapped on at the end was as cozy and sweet as a cup of battery acid.

  “Why, you . . .” Bev made a step toward Helene, bouncing on her heels like a pugilist. It was no easy feat holding back Bev while cradling Miri.

  But June rescued us. “You’re free to go, ladies.” It was a compassionate command to leave, not really a request. She seemed to want to rescue Bev and me from Helene’s shenanigans. I reluctantly handed over the baby, but not before taking one more whiff of her sweet smell. I was rewarded with an adorable coo.

  “I can’t believe we left them in there.” Bev nearly collapsed as she leaned against the maroon brick front of the Antique Emporium.

  “We needed to get the heck out of there as soon as we could.”

  It was night and day, breathing in deep gulps of fresh summer air on the sidewalk. We were a safe distance from Helene and her irrational demands. Outside the store, Bev and I exclaimed over the veil. It felt good to examine our find in the clear, bright June sunlight.

  “Ooh, it’s more gorgeous than ever.” I traced the outline of delicate stars smattered around the edge of the floral pattern. The veil’s lace was even more intricate and lovely in the bright summer sunlight. “I’ll call the fabric restorer,” I promised Bev. “I suppose she can give good advice about whether we can divvy up the veil or if it’s better to keep it intact.”

  Bev gave an excited nod, her eyes sparkling behind the cat’s-eye frames. “This will somewhat change the look I decided on for my big day, but it’s worth it. This is meant to be.”

  Or perhaps not.

  A whoosh of cold air bathed us as the door to the Antique Emporium hurtled open.

  Uh-oh.

  Helene wasn’t done with us. Claudia and June must have finally kicked her out of the store. Helene flounced onto the sidewalk in her red Bill Blass suit, her pageboy teased out over her ears so she resembled a king cobra. Her shoulder pads were as tall as ever, padded enough to land her a guest role as a linebacker for the Pittsburgh Steelers. The metal spikes of her suede kitten heels struck the mica-studded concrete sidewalk with considerable force. Her still-sharp, eagle-eyed gaze landed on the delicate length of fabric held in my hands. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head.

  I rolled my eyes. Helene didn’t faze me. Now, if I hadn’t serendipitously jettisoned my engagement to her son a few years ago, I’d be in a heap of trouble. But my better senses had saved me from that debacle. That and my ex, Keith’s, wandering eye.

  “Where did you get this?” Helene’s voice was so enraged, it was nearly an inaudible hiss.

  I instinctively swiveled around to protect the veil as if I were still holding baby Miri.

  “I don’t need to talk to you, Helene.” There. Boundaries. I wouldn’t consort with this maniac, not today.

  “That veil is a long-lost family heirloom! It belongs to me. And I will take it back.” Helene’s bony talons gripped my shoulder and spun me around with surprising force. A small group of walkers at the nearby corner paused to sip their coffee and take in the show.

  “Take your hands off of me, you loon!” I barely had time to extricate myself from her clutches. But Helene was just getting started. The audience at the corner grew by three more people, and Helene didn’t disappoint. She lunged forward and grabbed the lace from my hand. I held tight to my end.

  In a single, sickening second of time, the veil ripped in two.

  I didn’t even hear the
primal gasp that slipped from my lips. Instead I heard the collective inhalation of the small crowd now watching it all go down.

  “You idiot! Look what you did!” Helene was incandescent with rage. The septuagenarian leapt like a cat and lunged for the remaining, now jagged, piece of veil in my hands.

  “Catch!” I sidestepped Helene and flung the fabric at Bev, who, in her finest hour, caught the piece of lace as it pirouetted through the air like a delicate, oversized snowflake.

  “Not so fast.” Like a ninja, Helene plucked the other piece from a surprised Bev and hightailed it down the street. I was too stunned to follow the purloined veil.

  “What the heck just happened?” Bev buried her distraught face in her plump hands.

  “Beats the heck out of me.”

  The melee only grew in intensity, as we were treated to a show of flashing lights and wailing sirens. I’d never welcomed the squeal of tires from a Port Quincy police vehicle more than in this moment. The crowd on the corner, and the steady thrum of traffic sliding down Main Street, blocked Helene’s exit. The police car could barely drown out Helene’s indignant caterwaul.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Not one, but two police cars executed screeching stops in front of the Antique Emporium. Port Quincy’s chief of police, Truman Davies, who happened to also be my fiancé’s father, exited his car and surveyed the scene. His partner Faith Hendricks, several decades his junior, got out of her own police car. Her blond ponytail swung back and forth as she hurried over. Her aviator glasses were in full effect.

  Great. Helene really knows how to bring out the whole cavalry.

  I was used to Helene’s shenanigans, which up until now had not included grand theft veil on Main Street, Port Quincy, Pennsylvania.

  Truman finished observing the mess before him. At first, he seemed concerned, then irritated, and finally his crinkled eyes rested at mildly amused. I watched him cycle through those emotions as he took in the lay of the land and made his own decisions about what was probably happening. He gave a rueful chuckle and a barely perceptible shake of his head. I watched Helene lock her icy-blue eyes with Truman’s, and her heavily padded shoulders seemed to sag in defeat. It wasn’t a sight I’d had the pleasure to witness before. Soon we’d have this sorted out and Bev and I would have our pieces of the lovely veil. I inwardly cringed as I replayed the sickening shred of the delicate fabric when Helene viciously ripped the lace from my grip. Helene still had the veil clutched to her chest, a strange and rare air of defeat cloaking her more closely than her ancient designer duds.