Page 18 of Murder By the Millions
“Let’s tag this stack. Here’s the list of preorders.” Tegan provided a printed copy.
“First, coffee.” I’d awakened a few minutes late and barely had enough time to feed Darcy, let alone eat a bite or make a pot of coffee. Fortunately, I’d convinced Tegan to buy a Keurig machine, so we would never need to rely on Chloe making the coffee. Chloe was a terrific salesperson, but she couldn’t boil water. “I brought some homemade protein bars.”
“I was hoping for an apple-cinnamon bun.”
“Those are midmorning-type treats. Always start the day with protein.”
“Yes, Mom,” she said snottily.
While we were tagging everything, Chloe arrived. At times, she moved as fast as the Energizer bunny. She swooped past us, deposited her sweater and purse in the stockroom, and whisked back out. “Can I help?”
Tegan nodded and asked her to stack the books, alphabetically by recipient, on the counter.
Around nine, Vanna ventured into the shop. When she’d come to pick up the baked goods for delivery, she’d worn jeans, flats, and a sweater. Now she was dressed for success in an aqua-blue sheath, a chunky necklace, and heels. I wondered if she’d thrown on the getup hoping she’d run into Jason. She looked like a million bucks.
“Can we discuss the menu for the party again? I have some thoughts.” She took a seat on one of the ladder-back chairs by the sales counter and pulled her iPad from her tote bag. Sheopened the Notes app and consulted it. “I did some research about what food was served during the Roaring Twenties. You’re right about the deviled eggs and the pineapple upside-down cake, but I’m spot-on about the Waldorf salad. Meatballs were all the rage, too.”
“You would serve meatballs, Sis? I mean …” Tegan exaggerated a gasp. “How plebeian.”
Vanna stuck her tongue out at her. “Not just any meatball. They’ll be gourmet, made with basil and garlic. Divine.” She kissed her fingertips like a chef. “Also, chicken à la king was popular. We could serve it as the filling in vol-au-vents.”
Under her breath, Tegan muttered, “Heaven forbid we serve it on regular bread.”
“I have the best recipe for puff pastry,” Vanna said. “It’s buttery and melt-in-your-mouth delish. Cross my heart. As for entertainment, we will have a band, won’t we?”
“In the shop?” Tegan asked.
“Big bands were all the rage.”
“Um, no room. I was thinking of piping music through the speakers.”
“Couldn’t we ask the town to allow us to move the party into the street? Wouldn’t that be fun?” Vanna clapped her hands. I’d never seen her so enthusiastic. “It doesn’t have to be a big band. An octet would do.”
“Too expensive,” Tegan countered.
“I know a group that will play for free,” Vanna said in singsong fashion. “The pianist has quite a thing for me. Have you heard ‘Jazz Baby’? It’s a great song. So much fun. Perfect to Charleston to.” She placed her iPad on the sales counter, hopped off the chair and, to my surprise, did a quick step with flair. “Oh, how I love to dance.”
Tegan regarded me, pleading with her eyes.
“I’ll see what we can do.” I wouldn’t, but the fib seemed to please Vanna.
“Yay! Perfect! Must run.” She retrieved her tote bag, adjusted the strap of her tote, and hurried toward the exit. “Ciao.”
As she left, Reika stepped inside, wheeling a large suitcase and carrying a torchiere lamp with a bronze base and body. Her bulldog, Amira, trailed her on a leash Reika had looped around her wrist to free up her hands. “Hello, ladies. You must use this forGatsbydécor.”
She asked Amira to be a good girl and sit by the sales counter. She released the dog’s leash, and the dog trotted to a safe spot. Reika set the lamp by the table in the far right corner of the shop, an empty area Tegan was still contemplating how to utilize. Coffee bar perhaps?
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She looked tired. Her skin was sallow. “Wipe that look off your face, Allie Catt. I had a bout of indigestion last night. I’m fine.” She gestured to the lamp. “This is perfect for the period, don’t you think? You won’t believe where I found it. In the museum’s attic. It was covered in dust, but I could tell it would be perfect.”
It was still dusty and would need a thorough cleaning.
“Honestly, how my predecessor could allow such a beautiful item to be doomed to the shadows is beyond me.” Amira barked in agreement. “Shh, Princess,” Reika said and laid the suitcase flat on the floor. “Look at these goodies, ladies.” She unzipped the case and opened the lid. From within, she withdrew dozens of plumed feathers, copious strands of pearls, gorgeous pillar candles, and more.
“Where on earth did you find all those items?” Tegan asked.
“I asked the employees and friends to pitch in. You know, back in the late seventeen hundreds, when Asheville was anoutpost, Bramblewood was a flicker in the minds of our forebears. Around 1820 is when the vision for the town came together. By the 1920s, we were quite hip and raring to dance the night away.”
