Cloche and Dagger (14 page)

I braced myself for impact, squinching up tight with my eyes shut and my arms drawn in, because he certainly didn’t appear to be slowing down, and being wedged between Harrison and Inspector Franks didn’t give me anywhere to go.

The impact never came. I opened one eye and noted that both inspectors were examining the ceiling as if looking for termites and Harrison was walking back into the shop, clapping his hands together as if he’d just taken out the trash.

I glanced over his shoulder and saw the reporter sitting on the curb with a look of shock on his face, as if uncertain of how he’d gotten there. The cameraman behind him was looking equally stunned.

I glanced back at Franks and Simms. Both were still looking up.

“There is some really excellent brushwork on the paint job on your ceiling,” Simms said. Then he looked back down and grinned at me.

I grinned back, realizing that they had been studiously examining the ceiling so as not to see Harrison manhandling the reporter.

“I’ll see you out, Inspectors,” Harrison said. He walked them to the door where they exchanged a low conversation.

As soon as the two men left, Harrison locked the door behind them and drew all of the blinds down.

“You’re going to have to be ‘appointment-only’ for a few days, I’m afraid,” he said. He studied my face. “All right, Scarlett?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “Just startled.”

“I’d say so,” Fee chimed in. “That reporter was going to run you down.”

I blew out a breath.

“And, Harrison, you picked him up like he was a loaf of bread. Bagged him good, you did,” Fee said with approval.

Harrison shrugged. “I play rugby. That idiot would be toast on the pitch.”

Fee burst out laughing and only then did I get it. Loaf. Bagged. Toast. They were a witty bunch. I giggled but I think it was more a mini nervous fit than actual amusement.

“All right,” Harrison said. “I suppose it was too much to hope that they wouldn’t make the connection between you and Viv and your recent—”

“Exploits?” I supplied. My voice was dry, and he grinned at me as if relieved that I hadn’t lost my sense of humor.

“They’ll get tired of being camped out here,” Harrison said. “But if you need anything, call me. I can fetch and carry for you if need be.”

“Me, too,” Fee offered.

It was awfully nice of them, but I had no intention of being held hostage in the shop. I’d had more than enough of that when I was in Florida.

“Thanks, but don’t worry about me,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

Harrison watched me for a moment. He seemed to be studying me as if trying to get my measure. Whatever he saw reassured him, because he gave me a slow nod.

“I’ll call and check on you later,” he said. He strode out the front door, which Fee shut and locked behind him.

We spent the next hour and a half ignoring the phone, which we eventually had to unplug. We used our cell phones to call our customers who had special orders so that they knew pickup would be by appointment only. I gave my cell number as the number to call, hoping I was not destroying our business by closing our doors.

Fee wandered over to the windows every half hour to check on the reporters.

“Still there,” she said. “Must be a slow news day in the city, yeah?”

We finished our calls and hunkered down in the back room with the shades drawn. It was depressing, but then I thought about Lady Ellis and I found it hard to complain.

There was a knock on the back door. Fee’s head snapped up from where she was working on five matching fuchsia-and-black hats for the bridesmaids of an upcoming wedding.

They were pointy-brimmed and short-crowned and Fee was attaching a spray of black and fuchsia feathers to the right side of each. A cluster of jet beads nestled in the center of the feathers, and I had to admit I was very curious to see the dresses that went with the hats. I figured it would go one of two ways, gorgeous or ghastly, but at least the hats were smart.

“Could they really have come ’round the building?” I asked in a whisper. Fee shrugged, giving me a wide-eyed look.

“Bloody hell, Scarlett, let us in,” a voice shouted from outside.

I gasped and looked at the door. Did the reporters know my name? I thought I was just “the party crasher.”

“Don’t make me start singing,” another voice bellowed.

“Oh, it’s Nick and Andre,” I cried.

I hurried to the door and yanked it open. Nick and Andre scuttled in, and I slammed the door behind them.

Nick, bless his heart, had a bottle of wine in each hand, and Andre was holding a box from the Hummingbird Bakery just a ways up on Portobello Road. He frowned at it.

“I think your cupcakes may have gotten smashed when we scaled the wall,” he said. “You’ve got reporters camped out front, you know.”

“You brought me cupcakes?” I asked. I felt my eyes get watery.

“Isn’t that what you Americans do when times are tough, eat cupcakes?” Andre asked.

I launched myself at him, giving him just enough time to move the box before it got crushed in my hug. Andre patted my back with his one free hand.

“MoonPies,” I sobbed. “Usually, I eat MoonPies, but cupcakes are an excellent substitute.”

“There, there, love, it’s all right,” he said.

I stepped back and turned to Nick. He was ready, however, having taken the opportunity to put the wine down while I was hugging Andre, and opened his arms wide.

“Come here, pet,” he said. “You’ve had a hell of a day.”

Nick knew how to give a hug. Just enough pressure, a solid squeeze and then he stood back with his hands on my shoulders so he could examine my face.

“You look knackered; let’s get this wine open,” he said.

I nodded and turned to find Fee watching us with a bemused stare.

“Oh, boys, this is Fiona Felton,” I said. “She’s Viv’s assistant.”

“Call me Fee,” she said.

“Well, Fee, would you care for some wine and some black-bottomed cupcakes?” Andre asked.

“Sure,” she said.

He turned and wagged his backside at us and we laughed, causing Nick to chime in saying, “Well, bottoms up then.”

I went to the cupboard to get plates. I joined them at the table and said, “Now let’s get to the bottom of this.”

All three of them stared at me. Not even a chirp of amusement.

“Aw, come on, that was a good one,” I protested.

“Bottom of the barrel,” Fee said with a sad shake of her head. Andre and Nick broke out laughing, and I had to give it to her. It did trump my quip, but still.

“So, tell me,” Nick said as he poured four glasses of wine. “Was it as bad as Andre said?”

I glanced at Andre and watched him pale from the memory of finding Lady Ellis’s body. It came back in a horrific, Technicolor flash. The sight of the gash in her side, her flesh looking like a ripped plum exposing muscle and bone, her cold pale form lying on the sodden carpet.

“Yeah, it was that bad,” I said.

Nick handed me a glass and I downed it and immediately held it out for a refill. I noted that Andre did the same.

“Have the police said anything?” Nick asked.

“Not to me,” I said. “They just left here a little bit ago. They searched the house.”

“Whatever for?” Andre asked. “They haven’t contacted me at all.”

“The hat Lady Ellis was wearing,” I said. “It was Viv’s.”

“I don’t see the connection.” Nick frowned.

I hesitated. Did I trust Nick and Andre not to gossip? Did it matter? If the reporters were out front, obviously, they’d made some sort of connection, even if it was just that I was on the scene when she was discovered. If they were worth their salt as reporters, it wouldn’t be long until they uncovered the history between Viv and the Ellises.

“Apparently, Lady Ellis was not overly fond of Viv,” I said.

“Then why hire her as a milliner?” Andre asked.

“Because she’s the best,” Fee said. “She’s in the elite class with Philip Treacy.”

“Is he still that big, even after that wedding hat of Princess Beatrice’s?” Nick asked.

“That was the stuff of legends,” I said. “You can’t buy publicity like that. Besides, I actually liked that hat.”

“It looked like an octopus stuck on her forehead,” Nick said.

“The color was unfortunate,” Fee conceded. “Maybe it would have been better in a happy shade of purple or a brilliant red.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Nick said emphatically. “Now as I mentioned before, Lady Ellis was a client of mine.” He looked at Fee and tapped his teeth with his forefinger. “I’m skilled in the dental arts, and quite frankly, I don’t think I’d be understating it to say she hated everyone, especially if they were younger and prettier than her.”

“But she was gorgeous,” I said.

“With a lot of help,” Nick said.

“Really?” I asked. “Huh, I could have sworn she was a natural beauty.”

“Oh, ducks, I don’t think there was a part of her that hadn’t been worked over by Harley Street. She and all of her gal pals are in a never-ending quest to be the totty of their group. You should hear some of the things they do to themselves all in the name of beauty. As I understand it, she and Marianne Richards have quite the rivalry going.”

I sipped my wine. Andre had plated the cupcakes and was handing them out. Fee had obligingly grabbed forks for us all, and I had to resist the urge to slam my cupcake back like a nice shot of hard alcohol. Instead, I strove to be dainty and mannerly and tucked into my cupcake with my fork.

“Any idea what the police were looking for when they were here?” Andre asked.

“They didn’t say, but I imagine it would be something to tie Viv to the murder scene, something other than the hat.”

“Have you heard from your cousin?” Andre asked. His voice was gentle, as if he suspected the answer but was hopeful that I might have better news for him.

“No,” I said.

The worry in my voice must have been evident because Fee gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder and said, “Don’t worry. She’ll turn up. She always does.”

As if by silent agreement, the topic was changed.

“All right, Fee,” Nick said. “Let’s hear your story.”

“I’m only twenty-one,” she said with a laugh. “I don’t have a story.”

“Sure you do,” Andre said. “It’s just a short one.”

Fee blew the long pink curl that liked to hang over her right eye out of her face.

“Well, I was born and raised in Notting Hill,” she said. “My grandparents on both sides of the family came here back in the sixties from the West Indies. Mom and Dad met at university, got married and had five children.”

“Five!” Nick squeaked. “God bless them.”

“I’m the fifth,” Fee said.

“Is your family still in the area?” I asked. I had already learned that Fee had grown up here, but it had been such a crazy week, I hadn’t really gotten a chance to ask about the rest of her family.

“My two sisters live in the States, but both of my brothers are here.” She made an annoyed face, and I took it to mean that her older brothers were a bit too much in her business. “But they all come home for carnival in August, during the bank holiday weekend, yeah?”

“I love carnival,” Nick gushed.

“This year I am staking out my spot and taking even more pictures,” Andre said. His eyes were alight with eagerness.

“Which means you will be absolutely no fun,” Nick said. “Scarlett and Fee, you have to be my dates for carnival. Promise?”

I hadn’t been to carnival in years. It’s the biggest street party in Europe, with colorful costumes, jerk chicken and plantains, and steel-band music. It is impossible not to have a great time during carnival. Now that I was living here, I couldn’t wait.

“Absolutely,” I agreed.

“Me, too,” Fee said and clapped her hands together. “And my brothers can’t give me a hard time if I’m with a dentist and my boss.”

“Excellent, it’s a date,” Nick announced and raised his glass. We shared a toast and I tried to convince myself that at least by carnival, which was four months away, Viv would surely have returned.

• • •

It was late when everyone left. A peek out of the front door showed that the coast was clear. The reporters had decided not to rough-sleep it on my doorstep for which I was grateful.

I locked up the shop and climbed the stairs to our flat above. I crashed on the couch and tried to watch
Snog, Marry, Avoid?
, a British makeover show where they seek out bimbos and give them class, but I couldn’t concentrate and the people on the show annoyed me with how ridiculous they were, and honestly they reminded me a bit too much of the rat bastard’s big-boobed wife.

Images of Lady Ellis’s naked body kept sneaking up on me, taunting me with her gruesome pose. I couldn’t help wondering why she had been wearing only the hat. If her killer had surprised her while getting dressed, surely the first thing she’d have put on would not have been her hat, lovely as it was.

And now the police wanted to know if there was a connection between Lady Ellis and Viv. This filled me with anxiety. Ridiculous, I know, but with Viv being gone, it all just felt so wrong.

Where was Viv? Why hadn’t she been in contact? And I really didn’t want to hear that she was out of range or didn’t have access to e-mail. Unless she was on a camel in the middle of the Sahara, there really was no excuse.

I switched off the TV and wandered into Viv’s room. I had stood aside while the inspectors checked through her things. I had felt awkward about it, especially when they went through her underwear drawer. How mortifying.

Franks, the veteran, had been stoic, but Simms, the younger of the two, had turned the bright red of a traffic light, making me think his internal system was giving him the signal to stop and only sheer force of will was making him override it.

Viv’s room was done in restful shades of pale blue with white trim and neat, sheer curtains over the windows. Everything was neatly put away and tidied up, not at all like Viv had been when she was younger. She used to walk into a room and explode, jacket one way and shoes another, and she never picked up.

No, this was a grown-up’s room, and I longed for the days when her room was across the hall from mine and we spent all evening running back and forth until Mim finally yelled at us to settle in.

Although the good inspectors had spent quite a bit of time in here, they didn’t know Viv as well as I did. She was flighty, but she was also sentimental. I went over to her bookcase and began to search through the books crammed onto the shelves. Many of them were Mim’s from when this room was hers, but Viv had added her own.

I found what I was looking for on the bottom shelf: Viv’s scrapbook from her years at the university. I flipped through the pages of the handmade album. Viv had been an art major with an emphasis in fashion. She had hoped to go right into hat-making with Mim, but Aunt Grace wanted her to have a full education just in case she ever decided to do anything else with her life.

Reluctantly, Viv had agreed. The pages were full of fashion shows held at the university. Viv, now twenty-nine, looked so much younger in the photos. I couldn’t help smiling at a shot of her surrounded by her models at one of her shows. I didn’t see anyone resembling Lord Ellis or Lady Ellis in the photos.

Viv and I had the same blue eyes, large and round, but where I had gotten the stick-straight red hair of my father’s side of the family, Viv had gotten the blond curls that both of our mothers had inherited from Mim. I used to be insanely jealous of that hair, which hung halfway down her back and seemed to lure the boys in like a creeper vine twining about them and imprisoning them in her aura, but then one day, Viv confessed that she wished she had my hair. I told her I’d gladly trade.

It was a revelation that this girl, whom I looked up to and admired, might prefer something that was inherently me. I never felt jealous again, and I was forever grateful that Viv had made me see myself through her eyes.

A yawn snuck up and punched me in the kisser, making me open my mouth so wide I heard my jaw crack. I put the scrapbook away. I saw nothing in there that answered any of my questions, and I was so tired, I didn’t think I could concentrate much longer anyway.

Maybe it was seeing the body today that had me spooked, but I left a light on in the kitchen as I went up the stairs to my intensely pink room. I didn’t want to wake up in complete darkness and be freaked out.

Crawling into bed, I missed the sound of the rain on the window glass from a few nights before. It would have been nice to have it drum me to sleep. I was sure I would toss and turn all night, but just like the yawn that had sucker punched me, sleep took me down for the count before I even made one toss and no turns.

I’m not a dreamer, generally, and when I do dream I never remember them in the morning. But this dream was different. It was so vivid. The pain I felt in my chest was so intense. I was wearing the aqua cloche, I was naked, and the searing ache in my lungs made me glance down and see that I had a knife sticking out from my rib cage. I looked at my hands in horror. They were covered in blood.

A panicked part of my brain kept signaling that this was a dream and that I needed to wake up—now! I felt weak, so weak, I was falling to the floor. I could feel myself slipping deeper into the blackness, but again a tiny part of me insisted that I wake up.

I put my hands up and that’s when I realized there was a pillow on my face. I hadn’t been stabbed and I wasn’t dreaming. Someone was trying to suffocate me and my lungs were in agony from lack of oxygen! With the last of my strength, I got one foot out from under my covers and kicked as hard as I could. My knee connected with the solid weight of a person, knocking them off balance.

The pillow’s grip on my face lessened and I smacked it off, taking whoever had been holding it down on me with it. I sat up and sucked in sweet, beautiful air in great gulping gasps as if there would never be enough to inflate my lungs, which had surely been on the verge of being flattened forever.

Before I could register in my oxygen-deprived brain what had just happened, there was a scuttling noise and I saw a person, dressed all in black, disappear from my room. I tried to give chase, really, I did, but my legs were like jelly and I was still sucking in air. My chest burned.

I fumbled for my cell phone on the nightstand and scrolled through my contacts, choosing the name I had typed in most recently. Despite the early morning hour, Harrison answered on the second ring.

He didn’t even get a chance to speak before I blurted out, “Help! Someone just tried to kill me.”