Page 2 of Murder By the Millions
“Which would not have happened if my aunt hadn’t died.”
“Yes, it would have. She was seventy and ready to retire. If fate hadn’t intervened, I’m positive she would have brought you in as her partner. You are the best salesperson I know.” At one time, Tegan had wanted to become a librarian, but when she fell in love with selling books and interacting with customers, she abandoned the dream. “Now let’s talk décor for the party.” I perched on one of the ladder-back chairs by the sales counter. “I’ve discussed it with Reika and Lillian.”
Reika Moore was the president of the Bramblewood Historical Preservation Society and the curator at Bramblewood History Museum. Lillian Bellingham was a contemporary of Tegan’s and mine and the owner of Puttin’ on the Glitz, the high-end clothing boutique next door. In addition to running a top-of-the-line retail business, Lillian donated her time as the costume designer for the community theater. Both Reika and Lillian were regulars at Feast for the Eyes.
“Reika thinks we need to focus on the art nouveau aspect of the era,” I said. “She’s trying to lay her hands on a few items, like gold lamé drapes and tablecloths. She says black and white feathers would be apropos. She’s already rounded up gold candlesticks and Prohibition beverage glasses.”
“Cool.”
“Lillian has acquired strands of pearls and a bunch of flapper costumes and men’s suits, because the theater didAnything Goestwo years ago. I picked out one of the dresses already, and I saw another that will be perfect for you. Navy blue and silver, with exquisite floral beading.” I fluttered my fingers in front of my chest.
“Ooh.I love beading.” Like me, Tegan wasn’t a fashion junky, although she did have a tendency to impulse shop when she was in a funk.
“It’s sleeveless, of course.”
“That will be perfect in this heat. Man, has June been hot! It wouldn’t surprise me if we started to see tempers flaring. Bramblewoodians don’t do well with the heat.”
I snickered.Bramblewoodians.What a mouthful, but over the years, all other demonyms had faded away. Bramblewoodite sounded like a bug. Bramblewoodese sounded fussy. Bramblewooders was plain silly.
“Hot, hot, hot,” she repeated.
She was right. The temperatures in the Asheville area were typically moderate. In March the low might be in the mid-thirties. In June we rarely inched above eighty-two degrees. But this week, we were close to ninety. Whew!
“I saw a couple of guys going at it down the street on my way in this morning,” Tegan went on.
“Fistfighting?”
“Finger-pointing.”
“Finger-pointing can be sooo dangerous.” Laughing, I aimed my index finger at her.
She playfully batted it away.
The door to the shop opened, and Vanna Harding, Tegan’s half sister, sashayed in. “Allie!” Vanna didn’t enter a room without making a statement. In her pencil skirt, silk blouse, andstiletto heels, her blond hair swooped into a chignon, she looked ready to go to court. And win. “There you are.”
Six years older than Tegan and me, Vanna had been the premier caterer when I’d moved back to town. As my business ticked up, she got ticked off. However, because she was actually the one who came up with the idea of hosting future literary dining parties, we mended fences. A month ago, when I asked her to help out at Dream Cuisine so I could expand the business, she said yes. Color me surprised!
“I’ve been searching everywhere for you.” Her voice was abrasive and sounded something akin to the bugle call of a whooping crane.
A voice coach could help, I was certain, but far be it from me to suggest it. I’d mentioned the idea to Tegan, but she’d said, “No way will I stick my nose into my sister’s business,” after which she’d clucked like a chicken.
“You look nice,” I said.
Vanna had dusted her eyelids with a sparkly shadow, and her lips were ruby red. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d put on lipstick. I was a lip-gloss kind of girl.
“Thank you.” After her aunt died, Vanna softened a tad. I think she began to realize life was short and she needed friends, in particular her half sister and me. Also, though she had inherited a tidy sum from her aunt and didn’t need money, she had a healthy ego. Partnering with me by providing baked goods to Bramblewood and nearby towns meant she would have a wider reach and could grow her clientele. “Now let’s talk about the email you sent me regarding the menu for theGatsbyparty.” She wrinkled her nose and waggled her cell phone.
Uh-oh.
“Why are you so gussied up?” I asked as a diversion.
“I had a meeting.”
Though Vanna and I worked together, she still had her own clients, as did I.
“Ahem.” Vanna cleared her throat. “Anybody home, Allie? The menu?”
Her attitude occasionally rankled me. I fought the urge to hurl a sassy one-liner at her, a defensive tactic I’d acquired while growing up. “Yes.” I smiled. “What about the menu?”
