Christmas Cloches and Corpses Page 7

  “Absolutely!”

  Sienna came through from the workroom then. “Hi. Why is your grandpa and some girl talking to each other on your computer?”

  “Um…I need to take care of that.” I hurried into the workroom. “Sorry, guys, I’ll have to give you a call back, all right?”

  “Sure, Pup,” Grandpa said. “Talk to you soon.”

  By the time I returned to the reception area to reclaim my client, Sienna was explaining to her that she was a detective who’d been hired to learn about some of the people who work here.

  I told Sienna I’d check with her later and that I needed to take some measurements from my client. She said okay but handed me a folder before she left. I was guessing her report and invoice were inside it. Having her around was going to make it an interesting week.

  My client—who I’d discovered was Marsha Billings—came through to the workroom. “She’s a little firecracker, isn’t she?”

  “You wouldn’t believe.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  A fter Marsha Billings left, I clipped together the patterns I’d use to make her dress, and then I ordered the materials I’d need. Having done all I could do for my new client at that point, I picked up the file Sienna had marked Top Secret. Grinning, I opened the folder to find a neatly printed report and some illustrations.

  The report reiterated what Sienna had already told me about Ms. Oakes’ skinny Christmas tree and her beach books. She’d added that Ms. Oakes’ favorite color was pink. She’d loved the soft shade all her life but even more so when her daughter was born.

  That sentence stopped me in my tracks. I hadn’t known Ms. Oakes had a daughter. The woman kept to herself and didn’t discuss her personal life—at least, not with me. I went back to reading.

  Sienna said Ms. Oakes’ daughter lives in Washington, and “it makes her sad that she doesn’t get to see her often.”

  I wondered if Ms. Oakes and her daughter had quarreled and were estranged, or if they wanted to see each other more often but either time or money presented a roadblock. Thinking Sienna might have the answer, I put some money in an envelope and went upstairs to Antiquated Editions.

  I found Ford sitting behind the counter looking down at his phone and Sienna perched primly on a chair in front of one of the shelves drawing in her notebook. I briefly wondered if she was making illustrations for Ella and Frank.

  “Are you looking for an enthralling read?” Ford asked me.

  “Maybe, but I’m mainly here to pay my brilliant detective.” I handed Sienna the envelope, which contained double the amount we’d agreed upon. I was both surprised and impressed that she didn’t immediately tear open the envelope.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Were you satisfied with the quality of my work?”

  “Very much so. I do, however, have a follow-up question.” I lowered my voice in case Ms. Oakes should happen to come out of her office. “Did you get the feeling Ms. Oakes and her daughter got along, or do you think maybe they don’t want to see each other?”

  “I’m not sure about the daughter, but I believe Ms. Oakes wants to see her,” Sienna said. “But Ms. Oakes’ mom is in a nursing home, and that’s expensive.”

  “Wait—Ms. Oakes’ mom is in a nursing home?” I asked.

  “Yes.” Furrowing her brow, she said, “I thought I put that in the report.”

  “You probably did, and I missed it. I’ll read through it again.” I nodded. “What else did she say that gave you the impression she wants to see her daughter?”

  “Only that managing this building isn’t easy either. It’s a worry for her because one of the spaces has been vacant for months.”

  That I knew, but I didn’t want to interrupt Sienna again.

  “She thinks that if she doesn’t get somebody in that space soon, she’s afraid the building owners might feel like she’s not doing a good job and fire her.” Sienna poked out her bottom lip slightly. “Then who knows when she’d get to visit her daughter.”

  “Huh.” I leaned against a display case that housed—among other things—a first edition of C. S. Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. “I never dreamed Ms. Oakes had so much on her mind.”

  “Me, either,” Ford said. “I just thought she was an old grump.”

  Actually, so did I; but I didn’t want to admit that in front of Sienna. She obviously had someone setting a good example for her as far as manners went, and I didn’t want to do anything to discourage her. I thanked Sienna again for doing such a terrific job and said I’d see them both later.

  I’d have said hello to Jason, but I heard someone in his studio and thought it likely he had a client with him.

  When I went back downstairs, Max was sitting on the floor beside Jazzy, who was rolling over onto her back and stretching all four paws.

  “Zoe asked that you call her when you get time,” Max said.

  “All right. Did you know Trish Oakes has a daughter?”

  “There are photos in her office of a young woman I assumed was her daughter, but that’s about the extent of my knowledge.” Max stood.

  “Sienna also told me Ms. Oakes’ mother is in a nursing home.”

  Arching a brow, Max asked, “Winter Garden?”

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” I took out my phone. “Let’s call Zoe.”

  As it turned out, Zoe wanted to come work on hats this afternoon.

  “My friend, Stacy, can drop me off, if you don’t mind taking me back home,” she said.

  “I can do that, provided you’ve cleared everything with your mom.”

  “I have. Do you want to call her?” I could hear the exasperation in her voice.

  “No. I trust you,” I said.

  “And Mom trusts Stacy. She’s a year older than I am, and she’s the only one of my friends Mom will let me ride with.”

  “All right. Max and I will see you soon.”

  I stashed my phone in my dress pocket and spread the lining material for Ruby’s coat out on the worktable so I could pin the pattern pieces to it.

  Max looked wistfully at the royal blue silk. “This coat is going to be magnificent.”

  “I’ll let you try it on when it’s finished.”

  When I put a garment on the dress form, Max was able to superimpose herself onto the mannequin, thus “trying on” the piece. It was fun.

  “Maybe you can let Zoe try it too,” she said. “She and Ruby Mills are the same size, and I think Zoe would get a kick out of it.”

  “Me, too.” I smoothed out the fabric and pinned a pattern piece in place. “You seem a little down.”

  “I have Dwight on my mind…and Dot. As a girl, Dot adored this time of year. I can only imagine how special she’d try to make the holidays for her children.”

  “Have you spoken with Dwight about his traditions growing up?” I asked, thinking maybe Dot kept some of the same ones Max and she had loved when they were little girls.

  “Some. I’ll talk with him more when I have a chance.” Sighing, she added, “I miss my baby sister.”

  “I know.”

  “I’d hate myself if I let something horrible happen to her son.”

  “You won’t,” I said. “We won’t.” I prayed I could keep that promise.

  Zoe got to the shop as I was finishing cutting out the lining for the coat. I gathered all the pattern pieces and set them aside.

  “Ready to work on the hat?” I asked.

  “I am,” Zoe said.

  She sat at one sewing machine, and I sat at the other—working together on our two separate hats. When we finished, I held her hat up for inspection. It looked good.

  “I’m proud of the work you’ve done,” I told her, with a broad smile. “And you should be too.”

  “I don’t know.” Zoe slowly shook her head. “Is my stitching off? I felt like I might have missed a stitch or something somewhere.”

  “If you did, I can’t find it.”

  “Neither can I,” Max said.


  “What about my choice of embellishments?” Zoe asked.

  “That rosette is the elephant’s eyebrows!” Max put her hand on her chest. “I’d look marvelous in that hat. Come to think of it, so would you.”

  “You would,” I agreed. “In fact, you should keep it and wear it. It’s the first piece you created—you have to keep it and show it off.”

  “Plus, it’s excellent advertising,” Max said. “Once people see you in it, they’re going to want their own.”

  “Yeah, right.” Zoe rolled her eyes.

  “Are you ready to get started on another one?” I asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Then let’s pick out your fabric.” Together, we walked over to the shelf.

  “I like both of these,” Zoe said. “Help me choose.”

  “Why don’t we cut out both? I have an older sewing machine at home—it’s the one I learned to sew on, as a matter of fact—that I’ll be happy to let you borrow,” I said. “That way, you’ll be able to work on the hats when you get home from school and finish your homework.”

  “We don’t have homework this week—only tests.”

  Max placed an index finger at the corner of her mouth. “My favorite subjects in school were fashion and gossip, and I excelled in both.”

  Our laughter was interrupted by my cell phone.

  I took it from my pocket and looked at the screen. It was Sally Jane.

  “Hello, this is Amanda Tucker,” I said.

  “Amanda, it’s Sally Jane.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to help.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  A s Zoe and I headed to her house after picking up the sewing machine and dropping off Jazzy, I urged her to tell her mom about our concerns over the nursing home.

  “I know you believe she’ll think you and Dwight are overreacting, but I’ll tell her I’m concerned too—and so is a deputy with the Winter Garden Sheriff’s Department.”

  Zoe was silent, so I glanced over at her. She nodded.

  “I’ll follow your lead,” I said. “If you don’t think she’s in the mood to hear about it, I won’t say a word.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  When we arrived at Zoe’s small clapboard house, she held the door while I carried the sewing machine inside.

  “What’s that?” Maggie asked.

  Maggie Flannagan looked perpetually tired. She was tall and thin, had dishwater blonde hair, and brown eyes that almost always held a hint of suspicion. Not that I could blame her—she’d had a hard life. Her husband had died in an accident when Zoe was so small that she could barely remember him now. Since then, she’d been the sole financial and parental support for Zoe. I imagined I’d be skeptical of anyone else in my daughter’s life too if I were in Maggie’s position.

  “This is the machine I learned to sew on,” I said. “I’m loaning it to Zoe so she can have more time to make the hats she wants to sell in the shop.”

  “I appreciate your doing that for Zoe—teaching her how to sew and all—but Zoe is going to pay you for the materials she uses before she takes one dime of profits from those hats.”

  Zoe huffed. “Mom! Of course, I’m going to pay Amanda for the stuff she gave me. You treat me like I’m a baby!”

  “I’m only making sure you aren’t taking advantage of Amanda’s kindness,” Maggie said.

  “I’m not.” She glared at her mother.

  I thought maybe this was a good time to change the subject and ask Maggie about her dad. “I saw Dwight today.”

  To me, that was a good opening—if Zoe didn’t want to raise our concerns to her mom, I could simply say I stopped by to say hello during lunch. Either way, it kept Maggie and Zoe from entering into a screaming match.

  “Really?” Maggie squinted. “Why were you at the nursing home today? Is one of your family members there?”

  “She went for me, Mom,” Zoe said.

  I had to hand it to her—the girl had pluck.

  “I talked to Papaw before school, and he was upset because another one of his friends died,” she continued. “I called Amanda and asked her to check on him.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Maggie asked.

  “Because you were at work!”

  “So was she!” Maggie jerked her thumb in my direction.

  Maggie had a fair point. Should I say something or keep my mouth shut?

  “And he’s my father!” Maggie added.

  Definitely keep my mouth shut. At this point, I was sort of wishing I was somewhere else.

  “But you act like he’s crazy for being upset about his friends,” Zoe said.

  “I understand why he’s sad his friends died. What I don’t believe is that the nurses are killing them off.” Maggie rubbed her forehead.

  Zoe looked at me, her eyes imploring me to say something.

  “I’m not sure anyone is killing off the nursing home residents,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “but some concerns have been raised. My grandpa told me about a nurse who was anxious that her dad’s medication wasn’t being properly administered.”

  “What did they say when she spoke with them about it?” Maggie asked.

  “Well, she didn’t find out until her dad died. And he’s the man who died last night, so I don’t know what course of action she’s pursuing,” I said.

  “We thought maybe I could leave my phone in Papaw’s room to record what happens while no family or other visitors are there,” Zoe said.

  “No.” Maggie shook her head. “Phones are too expensive to risk like that.”

  “I’ll hide it, Mom. That’s the point. I’ll plug it in so the battery doesn’t drain and—”

  “I said no,” Maggie said. “I don’t care how well the phone is hidden, it could still fall and break. Or it could be discovered by one of the nurses. What if they realize we’re spying on the nursing home and kicks Daddy out? Then what would we do? We’d have to uproot him and find another nursing home with an available bed—and this nursing home might not even be doing anything wrong.”

  “But what if they are doing something wrong? How are we going to know?” Zoe anchored her hands to her hips. “Are we just supposed to stand by and let them kill Papaw?”

  “Stop being so melodramatic,” Maggie said.

  “There’s a nursing home volunteer who expressed concern today about the residents’ treatment,” I said. “She works there three days a week and is going to see what she can uncover. Also, I don’t mind going to see Dwight on my lunch break.” I didn’t normally take a lunch break, but I would if it would help ease Zoe’s mind about her papaw.

  Maggie stiffened. “I visit my dad every chance I get.”

  “I know you do,” I said. “I’m also aware of how much you have going on and—”

  “I don’t need you to patronize me,” she interrupted. “I appreciate everything you do for Zoe, but she’s my daughter and Dwight is my dad. I’m capable of taking care of both of them.” She walked over to the door. “Thank you for bringing the nursing home concerns to my attention. I’ll take it from here.”

  “Mom, you can’t talk to the nursing home people,” Zoe said. “Papaw doesn’t want you to.”

  “I’ll talk everything over with Daddy tomorrow.” She opened the door. “Thanks again for loaning Zoe the sewing machine, Amanda. Have a good evening.”

  I drove to Grandpa Dave’s house before going home. One of the casserole crusaders was there. She was a bright-eyed woman with a headful of tight gray curls, and she was obviously disappointed when I crashed her party.

  “Well, I’d better get going, Dave,” she said. “I didn’t realize you were expecting your granddaughter over. If you need any reheating instructions for the casserole, call me.”

  “All right, Willa. Thank you!” He smiled and waved goodbye to her from the porch. After she’d backed her car out of the driveway, he put an arm around me and steered me into the house. “The Lord directed your path tonight, Pup.”

  I laughed. “Don
’t you like Willa’s cooking?”

  “Oh, I love Willa’s cooking—it’s Willa I’m not that keen on.” He motioned for me to follow him into the kitchen. “Have you had dinner?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Good.” He grinned. “We’ll have some chicken casserole. We won’t even have to reheat it because it’s still hot.”

  I got out the plates while Grandpa got us some silverware and glasses.

  “Where’s Jazzy?” he asked.

  “She’s at home. I dropped her off and fed her before taking Zoe home.” I explained about Zoe’s friend dropping her off at the shop and how I’d loaned her a sewing machine so she could work on hats from home. “Um, by the way, we might want to reconsider inviting Maggie to spend Christmas Eve with us.”

  “What happened?” He held up a pitcher. “Tea all right with you?”

  I nodded before launching into the play-by-play of the skirmish between Zoe and Maggie.

  “It sounds like you’re lucky you escaped unscathed,” he said.

  “Well, I feel like I was a little scathed,” I said. “Maggie all but threw me out of the house.”

  “Ah, she’ll get over it. And we still have plenty of time before Christmas Eve. We’ll play that one by ear.”

  After taking a drink of the tea he’d poured me, I said, “I wish I hadn’t caused tension between Zoe and her mom.”

  Grandpa spooned casserole onto his plate. “I’d imagine it doesn’t take much to cause tension between those two—kinda like you and your mother.”

  “The sad thing is those two don’t have a wonderful guy like Dad to balance the scales and play mediator.”

  “No, but Zoe has a great relationship with her grandfather.” He raised his glass. “Like someone else I know.”

  “I have the best grandpa ever,” I said. “Everybody knows that.”

  “Agreed.”

  I tasted the casserole. “This is good. Maggie shut down the planted phone idea and basically told me to mind my own business.”