Christmas Cloches and Corpses Read online

  CHRISTMAS CLOCHES AND CORPSES

  A Ghostly Fashionista Mystery

  Gayle Leeson

  Grace Abraham Publishing

  Copyright © 2020 by Gayle Leeson.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Gayle Leeson

  Grace Abraham Publishing

  A Division of Washington Cooper, Inc.

  13335 Holbrook St.

  Bristol, Virginia 24202

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout ©2017 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the “Special Sales Department” at the address above.

  Christmas Cloches and Corpses/ Gayle Leeson -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-1-7320195-5-3

  Also by Gayle Leeson

  A Ghostly Fashionista Mystery Series

  Designs on Murder

  Perils and Lace

  Christmas Cloches and Corpses

  Down South Café Mystery Series

  The Calamity Café

  Silence of the Jams

  Honey-Baked Homicide

  Apples and Alibis

  Fruit Baskets and Holiday Caskets

  Kinsey Falls Chick-Lit Series

  Hightail It to Kinsey Falls

  Putting Down Roots in Kinsey Falls

  Sleighing It in Kinsey Falls

  Victoria Square Series (With Lorraine Bartlett)

  Yule Be Dead

  Murder Ink

  A Murderous Misconception

  Dead Man’s Hand

  Writing as Amanda Lee

  Embroidery Mystery Series

  The Quick and the Thread

  Stitch Me Deadly

  Thread Reckoning

  The Long Stitch Goodnight

  Thread on Arrival

  Cross-Stitch Before Dying

  Thread End

  Wicked Stitch

  The Stitching Hour

  Better Off Thread

  Writing as Gayle Trent

  Cake Decorating Mystery Series

  Murder Takes the Cake

  Dead Pan

  Killer Sweet Tooth

  Battered to Death

  Killer Wedding Cake

  Myrtle Crumb Mystery Series

  Between A Clutch and A Hard Place

  When Good Bras Go Bad

  Claus of Death

  Soup…Er…Myrtle!

  Perp and Circumstance

  Stand Alone Books

  In Her Blood

  The Flame

  The Perfect Woman

  For Tim, Lianna, and Nicholas

  Fashion is the armor to survive the reality of everyday life.

  ―BILL CUNNINGHAM

  Chapter One

  I couldn’t have been in a more embarrassing predicament if I’d planned it out. There I stood in my workroom—atelier, if you prefer—with my arms up over my head and a black lace dress hanging from my nose to mid-thigh. The dress was stuck.

  Jasmine, my cat, apparently found the situation amusing. She stood on her hind legs and tried to swipe at the hem.

  “Jazzy, no! Stop it!” If she got her claws into the lace and tore this dress, I’d never get it fixed in time for my client to pick it up this afternoon.

  At that moment, my best friend, Max, popped in to see what was going on. “Good thing you’ve got great gams since you’re showing them off like that.”

  “It’s not my intention to show off anything,” I said. “I’m trying to get this dress back off.”

  “Let me see if I can help.” Max got closer to me and began to flutter her arms like a giant bird in a mauve flapper dress.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I thought I’d see if I could create a breeze.” She continued fluttering.

  Since Max was a ghost, she couldn’t physically help me remove the dress. At least, she was providing an interesting distraction for Jazzy.

  “Could you please use my phone to text Connie and ask her to come in here?” While Max couldn’t touch things, she was a whiz with electronics.

  Connie’s shop, Delightful Home, was across the hall from mine. Shops on Main also housed Everything Paper, Antiquated Editions, and Jason Logan’s photography studio. There was another space, but it was currently vacant.

  “Yes. I’ll text Connie.” She giggled. “You kinda look like Mata Hari. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have me text Jason instead?”

  Jason was my boyfriend. He was the last person I’d want to see me looking this stupid, and Max knew it.

  “Please hurry,” I said.

  “He’s on his way.”

  “Good try. He’s taking holiday portraits of a family at their home in Bristol today.”

  I’d barely gotten the words out of my mouth when Connie came into the workroom. “Oh, my goodness! You are in a fix! How did you even manage to text me?”

  “It wasn’t easy,” I said.

  “We’re taking the dress off, right?” she asked.

  “Yes. The material is so delicate, I can’t get the dress back over my head without risking a tear.”

  Jazzy’s interest in the dress had been rekindled upon Connie’s arrival. I turned a pleading gaze on Max.

  “Oh, right, darling. Sorry.” She moved over to where Jazzy could see her and then walked over to the other side of the room. Jazzy followed on her heels, as Max spoke to her affectionately.

  Although Connie couldn’t see or hear Max, Jazzy could; and she adored the ghostly fashionista.

  Connie helped me ease the dress over my head. I was glad I’d worn a decent bra and panties today, even though it didn’t help alleviate my embarrassment much. Still, Connie was terrific—she turned away and waited for me to slip back into my fifties-style A-line blue dress.

  “Thank you,” I told her. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  “No problem.” She smiled. “I might need you to get me out of an odd predicament one of these days.”

  “I doubt anything this weird would happen to you.”

  “You never know,” she said. “You didn’t put that dress on thinking you’d get stuck in it, did you?”

  “Not in my wildest dreams,” I said. “My client and I are very close in size, and I wanted to make sure the hem was hanging properly. She’s picking the dress up this afternoon, and I need to finish it up. I figured I’d slip it on, see whether I needed to fix the hem, and then take it right back off.”

  Chuckling, Connie said, “Well, I’m glad I could help. I’d better get back to work. By the way, I have a sale on essential oils going on.”

  “I’ll come over and check them out before I leave today,” I said.

  Connie left, and Max sidled up to me to sing, A Pretty Girl is Like a Melody.

  As she sang, Zoe Flannagan came into Designs on You. Zoe, a high school student who was related to Max, could see and hear her. She began to dance with me to the song.

/>   “What are you doing here in the middle of the day on a Friday?” I asked.

  “We had early dismissal. Mom dropped me off. Can you take me home after work?”

  “Sure.”

  “Cool.” Zoe texted her mother to tell her she had a ride home. “What’s been going on here today?”

  “Our little Amanda got a dress stuck between her eyeballs and her thighs and had to run around like a flibberty jibbet until I texted Connie to come get her out of it,” Max said.

  Zoe laughed. “Are you serious?” She looked at me. “Is she serious?”

  I nodded.

  “A flibberty jibbet. That’s a new one. Still, Aunt Max, you shouldn’t use so many of your old flapper terms,” Zoe said. “When I slip up and use one of them at school, everybody looks at me like I’m a total freak.”

  “Oh, ho, ho! Don’t hang that hat on my coatrack, darling. I’ll wager they thought you were screwy long before you met me.” Max winked. “How’s my precious nephew?”

  Her smile fading, Zoe asked, “Could the three of us video chat with him later? He’s bummed because one of his friends died.”

  “Aw, I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Of course,” Max said.

  Max’s nephew, Dwight, was Zoe’s grandfather. We found Zoe and Dwight several weeks ago when I was doing costuming for Winter Garden High School’s production of Beauty and the Beast. Zoe was the stage manager. At the same time I was working on the play, Max asked me to try to discover what had become of her sister, Dorothy. I learned that Dot had given birth to two children—one of whom was a girl she named Maxine, after her sister. The other was a boy named Dwight.

  Maxine had died young, but Dwight was living in a nursing home in Winter Garden. Like Zoe, he could see and hear Max. Other than me and Grandpa Dave—who also have a connection to Max—they’re the only people we know of who can. So far, at least.

  Zoe worked at the shop on Saturdays. I picked her up in the morning on my way to work, took her for food afterward—unless she and I decided to eat here and hang out with Max for a while first—and then drove her home. She often came by at other times during the week when she could get her mother to drive her. Her mom was a widower and worked two jobs. When Zoe couldn’t be here, we often did video chats.

  At the moment, she and Max were scrolling through Max’s tablet to find something good to read. I’d opened up a whole new world to Max when I’d introduced her to electronic books, streaming shows, and social media.

  After a perfunctory knock at the door, Ruby Mills entered the shop. Ruby had been one of my first clients—I’d made a dress for her granddaughter’s wedding—and she’d quickly become one of my favorites.

  I rose and gave her a brief hug. “Ruby, hi! How are you?”

  “I’m well, but I need a knockout coat and hat. I thought I’d drop by here and see what you can fashion for me.”

  “Well, come on in and have a seat.” After pulling one of the navy wingback chairs over for Ruby, I sat at the desk facing the door in the reception area. “Zoe, would you like to give us a hand?”

  “Sure.”

  I introduced the two of them and explained to Ruby that Zoe helped out in the shop on occasion.

  “I’d like to learn to make clothes like Amanda does,” Zoe said.

  “Well, you’ll be learning from the best.” Ruby smiled. “Are you two ready to design me something gorgeous?”

  “Absolutely.” I got my sketchbook and pencils. “What have you got in mind?”

  “I want a white wool coat with a faux fur collar—also white. And a hat too. One of those like the gals in the 1920s wore.”

  “A cloche?” Max asked.

  “A cloche?” I echoed.

  “Probably. You’d know better than I would.”

  I searched for cloche hats on my laptop and then turned the screen around so Ruby could see the image results. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

  “Yes!” She clapped her hands together. “I want to look stunning when our church goes caroling.”

  “It’s going to take a few days to make,” I warned her. “When will you need it?”

  “We’re not going caroling until the night before Christmas Eve,” Ruby said. “I have all the faith in the world in you.”

  When Ruby left, I blew out a breath. “I wish I had as much faith in my abilities as Ruby does.”

  “Zoe and I do,” Max said. “And we’ll help.” She shrugged one slim shoulder. “Well, Zoe will. I’ll supervise.”

  “That hat doesn’t look like it would be all that hard to do.” Zoe looked from the laptop screen to me. “Do you think I could make one?”

  “I think you could.” I leaned back in the chair. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll teach you how using Ruby’s hat. Then, if you’d like to make some to sell in the shop, I’ll give you the proceeds from them.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “That’d be awesome! When can we start?” she asked.

  “As soon as I figure out how to make a cloche hat.”

  “It’s almost closing time,” Max said. “Do you think it would be all right if we call Dwight now?”

  “Let’s do it.” I nodded at Zoe, and she opened a new tab on the laptop.

  After logging into her social media, she called Dwight. “Hi, Papaw. Is this a good time for you to talk?”

  Dwight shook his head. “No, honey, not right now. I’m about to lie down.”

  “What’s wrong?” She sat up straighter. “Are you sick?”

  “No. Not yet anyway.” He sighed. “Another one of my friends died, Zo. I think these people are killing them. And I’m afraid I’ll be next.”

  Chapter Two

  Z oe said, “Papaw, we’ll be there in a few minutes.” She looked at me. “I mean, if Amanda can bring me.”

  Being tethered to Shops on Main, Max was unable to leave the building. Technically, she could go out onto the porches, but that was it. When I said her world really opened up thanks to social media, I meant it.

  “I wish I could go too,” Max said. “But this is good. Dwight and I can chat—just the two of us.”

  “If any of the nurses come in your room, Papaw, pretend you’re not talking on your laptop, all right?” Zoe asked. She didn’t want anyone to think he’d gone insane, since it would look as if he were sitting there talking to an empty room.

  I put Jazzy in her carrier. It usually cheered Dwight to see the feisty feline.

  On the drive to the Winter Garden nursing home, I asked Zoe, “Wonder why he’s being so paranoid?” I’d only known Dwight for a few weeks and didn’t know if paranoia was a part of his personality or if something had happened at the facility to make him afraid.

  “I don’t know,” Zoe said. “He’s had friends from there die before. It makes him sad, but he’s never gone the I might be next route. That’s pretty intense, in my opinion.”

  “Mine too.”

  Outside the entryway of the nursing home, I set down Jazzy’s carrier. I was pretending to readjust my grip, but really, I was steeling myself for the smell. I’d recently heard on a podcast that the odor underlying the antiseptic smell in long-term care facilities wasn’t urine, as was the common perception, but something called nonenal. Nonenal was produced when the skin generates more fatty acids and natural antioxidants deteriorate, thus leading to “old people” smell.

  Picking up the carrier, I nodded at Zoe, and we went inside. We turned left and hurried down the hall to Dwight’s room. He was sitting at the desk in front of his laptop and started when Zoe opened the door.

  “It’s all right, Papaw. It’s just us.”

  “Dwight, I hope it’s okay that Jazzy came to see you,” I said.

  “Oh, yes. I love Jazzy.”

  I pushed the door closed before letting Jazzy out of her carrier. She promptly crossed the room and hopped onto Dwight’s lap.

  “She adores you,” Max said from the laptop on Dwight’s desk.
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br />   “Did you ask if it’s okay?” Dwight asked. “I’m trying to be really good.”

  “It’s all right for Jazzy to be here.” I had asked prior to bringing Jazzy on her first visit and was told it was fine as long as the cat didn’t leave Dwight’s room.

  “Besides, you’re always good,” Zoe said. “You’re better than good. Right, Aunt Max?”

  “Absolutely!” She beamed. “Look what good stock he comes from!”

  Apparently, Dwight didn’t realize Max was a ghost. He had never questioned why she always wore the same clothes, and he’d never bothered to ask how she was Zoe’s aunt. Given the fact that he was in his eighties and Max looked as if she were in her early thirties, it had probably never crossed his mind that Max was his aunt. All he seemed to care about was that Max looked like his mother and that they could talk through the computer. I guessed that was all he needed to know.

  Grinning at Max, he said, “Still got all my hair and all my teeth.”

  “Me, too,” she said.

  “We’re worried about you.” Zoe sat on a nearby chair so she could look her grandfather in the eye.

  “No need to worry about me, Dimples. As long as I don’t step out of line, I’ll be fine.”

  “What do you mean ‘step out of line’?” I asked. “You aren’t planning on robbing a bank or anything, are you?”

  He chuckled. “No. I’d never do that. Can’t run fast enough to get away anymore.” His expression became grave, and he lowered his voice. “My friends were both known to raise a ruckus, and now they’re dead.”

  Zoe stood. “I’m going to find out from the nurse what happened to them.”

  “You can’t.” His eyes widened. “You’ll get me in trouble if you do.”

  “I agree,” Max said. “If these palookas are knocking off troublemakers, the last thing we want to do is make healDwight out to be one.”