Death of a Mad Hatter (A Hat Shop Mystery) (2 page)

“They want a tea party à la
Alice in Wonderland
,” Viv said. “It’ll be tight, but I think I can get it done.”

Harrison made a face.

“What? I think it will be great fun,” I said.

“You would,” he retorted. I was pretty sure this was an insult, but I didn’t press it.

“What about you, Viv?” Harrison asked. “How do you feel about it?”

She was quiet for a moment, staring out the window as if contemplating something. When she turned around, she gave us a wicked smile.

“If it’s a mad hatter that they want, then it’s a mad hatter that they’ll get,” she declared.

I exchanged an alarmed glance with Harrison. Between Mrs. Grisby’s dottiness and Viv’s Cheshire cat grin, I was beginning to feel as nonplussed as Alice when she fell down the rabbit hole. Oh dear.

“No, no, no, oh goodness, no!” Marilyn Tofts, the posh event planner that the Grisby family had hired to pull off their
Alice in Wonderland
tea, was flipping through Viv’s sketches. So far, there was a whole lot of “no”s happening and not much else.

Viv was hand stitching several white silk roses and a cluster of berries onto the outside of a sweatband on a periwinkle-blue wide-brimmed sinamay hat. I watched her fingers nimbly move over the fabric. She didn’t even seem to notice or care that Marilyn Tofts was rejecting every one of her sketches.

I glanced at the Grisby ladies. Today Dotty had returned with Tina, as well as two of her daughters, Daphne and Rose. Daphne was pacing across the front of the shop. So far she had spent all of her time on her phone haggling with her son over attending the tea party in a way that reminded me of a carnival hustler trying to get suckers to come knock over the bottles at his booth.

“I’m afraid these are not up to my standards,” Marilyn announced with a sniff. She waved her hand dismissively at the sketches.

I narrowed my eyes at her. When I’d heard the Grisbys had hired Ms. Tofts, I had done some research. She was a very ambitious event planner and was making a name for herself in London as one of the go-to party planners for the elite.

She certainly looked the part. She wore a flirty little floral skirt under a tailored jacket with the very latest in shoes by Stella McCartney. Her long honey-colored hair was done in an old-Hollywood-starlet style that swooped over one of her eyes and I imagined was supposed to be sexy but made me wonder if she was just hiding an advanced case of pinkeye. Not nice of me, I know.

Her makeup consisted of a heavy hand on the mascara and eyeliner and a bold red lipstick that matched her finger- and toenails.

I didn’t like her. Maybe it was the fact that she was dissing my cousin’s work, maybe it was the dimple in her cheek when she smiled—a smile without humor—or maybe it was just the overall feeling of poseur that I got off of her. She struck me as one of those people who, lacking their own creative gifts, liked to diminish the genius of others while pretending to hold some high ideal that could not be met.

Petty. That’s the word I was looking for to describe her. She struck me as someone who kept score, and the score always had to be in her favor. Mercifully, she was not our client—the Grisbys were, so I really didn’t give two hoots whether she liked Viv’s designs or not.

It was time for a power play. I crossed the small sitting area and gathered up Viv’s sketches. Then I sat beside Dotty and Tina.

“So, here they are,” I said. “Have a look and see what you think.”

“I beg your pardon,” Marilyn said. “I’ve already said these won’t do.”

Her lips were puckered as if she’d tasted something sour.

“And we absolutely value your opinion,” I said. This was my tactic for telling people what they want to hear while completely ignoring them. Works like a charm.

Viv kept sewing but I saw the corner of her mouth twitch.

“Well, I should think so. I am the event planner,” Marilyn said as if this were news.

“And as such, I’m sure you’ll want the input of the people whose party you are planning,” I said.

I turned my back on her and held out the sketches to Dotty.

“Oh, thank you, dear,” Dotty said. She perched her reading glasses on the end of her nose and studied Viv’s sketches. “Oh, I like that.”

I glanced at the paper. They were looking at Viv’s sketch for the Mad Hatter’s hat. It was the standard top hat that the Mad Hatter always wore, but Viv had made it bold in bright-blue fabric with white polka dots. The hat band was contrasting red and tucked into it was the
In this style 10/6
note, which was how the original illustrator of the book
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
and its sequel
,Through the Looking Glass,
Sir John Tenniel, had depicted the hat.

“What does that mean?” Tina asked. “The ten and six?”

“It means the cost of the hat is ten shillings and six pence,” Viv said.

“Nice detail. I’m impressed,” Tina said.

“Don’t be. I looked it up,” Viv said with a smile.

She checked the flowers on the hat to see that they were securely fastened and then she tied off her thread, snipping the end with a pair of embroidery scissors that were in the shape of a stork. I remembered they were Mim’s old scissors, and it made me feel nostalgic to see Viv use them.

“Ginny, I just love how you’ve livened up the idea,” Dotty said. She reached over and patted Viv’s hand. “I think these will do very well.”

“I thought her name was V—” Rose began, but Tina shook her head.

The two of them looked at one another, and I saw Rose give Tina a slow nod as if understanding a secret message. They were two of a kind: both brunettes with stylish cuts and clothes that looked casual but were exquisitely made and came with a matching price tag.

“Well, I can see that my services won’t be needed for this party, since my opinion is obviously of no interest. I am sure there are other events I can be attending to,” Marilyn huffed.

“Here now, what’s this?” Daphne asked as she tucked her phone back into her clutch purse and joined the group.

“Apparently, my opinion of the hat designs is of no importance,” Marilyn said. “So I am assuming that my services as the event planner are not required either.”

“Oh no!” Daphne cried. “You simply have to work on the tea party. Tell her, Mother.”

Dotty didn’t look up. Instead she shuffled the sketches until she got to the next one.

I glanced at Daphne. She was in full-on middle age, with thick hips and hair beginning to go gray, not that she was letting it win that battle. I imagined her colorist was making a fortune off of her trying to keep her chin-length hair the shade of ash blonde she had going. Given how enamored she was with Marilyn, I assumed she was the type to buy into the other’s pretentions.

“Mother, are you listening?” Daphne asked.

Dotty glanced up. “Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “I’m sure it won’t make any difference to Brenda whether Ms. Tofts or someone else plans the tea.”

Marilyn and Daphne looked at one another and gasped.

“You never said!” Marilyn accused Daphne.

“I didn’t know!” Daphne protested.

“Mrs. Grisby, under the circumstance, I’ll be more than happy to plan the tea party,” Marilyn said. Her tone was clearly groveling.

I frowned. Obviously, I was missing something, like who the heck was Brenda?

“Well, that’s excellent news,” Dotty said. “Perhaps you should go see to the caterers, then; I do think my friend Ginny has the hats in hand.”

“Of course, my pleasure,” Marilyn said, all but bowing as she made her way to the door.

Daphne walked her out and I could hear the two of them whispering excitedly as they went.

“Mum, what are you playing at?” Rose asked. She pushed her black-framed glasses up her nose.

“Why nothing,” Dotty said. “My friend Brenda is coming up from Brighton for the tea, and I’m sure she doesn’t care who does the planning.”

Viv and Tina both burst out laughing, while Rose shook her head and looked nervous.

“All right, catch me up,” I whispered to Viv. “What’s the inside joke?”

“My friend Dotty just pulled one over on Ms. Tofts,” Viv said. “Brenda is the queen’s nickname amongst her staff, so she made it sound like—”

“The queen would be attending the tea,” I finished for her with a smile. “Very clever.”

“Until Daphne figures it out,” Rose said worriedly. “Then she’s going to have a fit.”

Although I had only just met her, I got the distinct impression that Rose was the peacemaker in the family. As the youngest, she was very quiet, almost timid, and seemed to get agitated if anyone showed any sort of upset.

“She’ll be fine,” Dotty said dismissively. “Now, how are we going to decide who will wear which hat?”

I glanced at Viv. I had no idea if she’d put any thought into this or not. Things could get dicey if family members wanted the same hat.

“Geoffrey asked to be the Mad Hatter,” Tina said.

“Of course he did. Whatever Geoffrey wants Geoffrey gets,” Daphne said as she rejoined the group. She looked grumpy at the mention of her brother, and I exchanged a glance with Viv.

“Lily has to be the rabbit,” Dotty said. “She’s always late. It’s perfect.”

Rose nodded, but Daphne looked even more sour.

“Tina, I think you should be Alice,” Dotty said.

“What?” Daphne snapped. “Why her? She’s not even a Grisby, not really.”

“She is your brother’s wife, and since he is the sole heir to his father’s fortune, she is the lady of the house, so it is only fitting that she be Alice.”

“Just because darling Daddy forgot that he had three other children—” Daphne sniped, but Dotty held up her hand.

“That’s enough,” she said. “Do not speak ill of your father to me.”

Both Tina and Rose looked tense while Daphne visibly seethed. “Fine. Just make me Tweedledee or Tweedledum. I couldn’t care less.”

With that, Daphne stormed out of the hat shop, slamming the door so hard in her wake that the glass rattled.

Dotty glanced after her daughter. “All right, then. Tweedledum it is.”

Viv and I waved through the glass when the Grisby family finally departed. I was not sorry to see them go. Tina was nice, but Dotty was definitely not all there. Daphne, I wanted to hand a large Pimm’s Cup and tell her to calm down, and Rose was so meek, I just wanted to kick her.

That’s horrible of me, I know. I am usually excellent with people, all people, but I discovered when I was working in the hospitality industry back in the States that the one sort of person I really struggle with is the helpless whiner. Ironic, yes?

You would think that since I am such a pleaser, the high-maintenance, needy type would be my favorite, but no. The martyr thing just irritates me. If the light in your bathroom is out, call the front desk; we’re happy to fix it. Don’t wait until the end of a five-day stay to mention it and act all put out because we didn’t know. How could we know, since you didn’t call and you refused maid service? Argh! Sorry, old issues. But Rose Grisby was definitely one of those martyr types and I just wanted to slap a backbone into the girl before she wilted into a helpless heap of boo-hoo-hoo.

“So, I’m thinking Rose could be the Cheshire cat,” Viv said.

“Really?”

“It would force her to have some oomph, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” I said, which was my polite way of saying no. “I really thought Dotty should be the Mad Hatter, you know, because she’s nuts.”

“No, that would be much too obvious.” Viv laughed. She turned away from the door and looped her arm through mine. Together we walked into the workroom at the back of the shop.

Fee was there working at the large wooden table in the center of the room. She was brushing fabric stiffener onto a wooden hat form that had a red straw fabric stretched and pinned to it.

She glanced up when we entered. Her face lit with a smile but then dimmed as she recognized us.

I glanced at Viv. “I don’t know about you, but that felt like a snub.”

“No question,” Viv said. “She absolutely snubbed us.”

“No!” Fee cried and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I just thought you were someone else.”

Again Viv and I exchanged a glance. “Do tell,” I said. “Who were you expecting?”

“Oh, no one,” Fee said. She turned away.

Viv raised one eyebrow whispered, “Do we press her or let it lie?”

“Let it lie,” I said. “This time.”

Viv looked reluctant but then shrugged. “Tea, then?”

“Sounds good,” I said.

Viv went to fill the kettle while I foraged in the cupboards for something to snack on. I glanced at Fee out of the corner of my eye. The truth was I didn’t want to press her because I had a feeling she’d been hoping that we were Harrison and I did not want my suspicion confirmed.

The thought that she might be crushing on our man of business bothered me, but I wasn’t sure why and I really didn’t want to talk about it and be forced to acknowledge something I wasn’t prepared to deal with.

“So, how are things shaping up for the Wonderland tea?” Fee asked.

“Once we got rid of Tofts the event planner, it went very well,” Viv said. “I’ll need your help with the hats, of course.”

Fee looked delighted, and I felt the teensiest bit left out. Then I remembered how many times I had stuck myself with pins while trying to attach a bit of fabric to a hat form and I got over it. Millinery just wasn’t my gift.

“Hello?” a man’s voice called out from the front of the shop.

Fee sat up straight and gazed at the door, looking hopeful.

“We’re back here!” I called out.

I knew that voice. It was low and deep and rumbled through my chest like a freight train. I hoped I didn’t look as giddy as Fee to hear it. I watched Fee as the man entered through the narrow doorway. Her reaction to seeing him would be very telling. She beamed. Damn.

“Are you closing up early today?” Harrison asked.

Fee sat grinning at him and he smiled in return, looking equally delighted to see her before turning to me and Viv.

“No,” I snapped. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, because no one is minding the store,” he said. Then he frowned at me. “And because we’re supposed to go over to Andre’s gallery and help him and Nick set up for his opening show. You do remember that his big art show is coming up, and you made us all promise to help.”

I had met Andre Eisel, a photographer, and his life partner, Nick Carroll, a dentist, when I had moved back to London a few months before. I had convinced Andre to photograph Lady Ellis wearing one of Viv’s hats and, well, let’s just say we bonded over the traumatic event and we have been BFF ever since.

“Oh yeah,” I said.

“You forgot!” he accused.

“No, I didn’t,” I said. Yes, big fat lie. “I’m merely preoccupied with the very large order of hats we have to make for the Grisby family.”

“Is that so?” he asked.

Harrison tilted his head and studied me. He was wearing well-worn jeans and a Mansfield United sweatshirt. He looked annoyingly handsome in more casual clothes than I was used to seeing him in, like he was the sort of guy who knew what each end of a hammer was for and knew how to use one. Handiness is always attractive.

I could tell he didn’t believe that I was thinking about the Grisbys, so naturally I had to prove him wrong by talking about them.

“What did Daphne mean that their father had forgotten that he had three other children?” I asked Viv.

I grabbed a package of rye Finn Crisps out of the cupboard and placed some on a plate. In the small refrigerator, I found a tube of Primula cheese spread with chives. I loaded up a crisp and took a bite. This would hold us over until we finished helping Andre and Nick.

“Well, it’s complicated,” Viv said. “But in a nutshell, because Geoffrey is the only boy born into the family, he inherits the entire Grisby fortune.”

“That’s barbaric!” I said. “No wonder Daphne is so cross.”

Fee and Viv helped themselves to the crackers.

“It’s called male primogeniture,” Harrison said. He stirred sugar into his tea. “It’s been the custom for centuries.”

“I thought the Act of Succession was changed,” I said. I sipped my own tea. I hoped it was high-octane in the caffeine department, because I was feeling the late-afternoon blahs catch up to me.

“It was adjusted before the arrival of Prince George, in case he was a Georgette,” Fee said. “The royal primogeniture is now firstborn, first rule.”

“But apparently, in the Grisby family, Geoffrey senior did not make this provision, or any provision, in fact, for his daughters,” Viv said. She washed down a bite of cracker with some tea.

“I’m surprised the daughters even want to participate in the hospital wing fund-raiser,” I said. “I’d boycott.”

“And have the family cut you off?” Harrison asked.

“It seems like they already have cut the daughters off—at the financial kneecaps,” I said.

Every feminist cell in my body made me irritated on the Grisby daughters’ behalf. I still thought Daphne was a pill, but at least now it made sense to me. I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of brother would be okay with gaining his family’s entire fortune while his sisters were cut out entirely.

• • •

“Has that tape touched anyone else?” Geoffrey Grisby asked as he ducked away from the measuring tape in Viv’s hands.

“Beg pardon?” she asked.

“That!” He pointed at the measuring tape. “Have you used that on anyone else’s head?”

Viv stared at him.

“I could get lice or bedbugs or a horrible infection!” he cried. “I can’t have anything touching my head that may have touched someone else’s.”

“Don’t be silly, darling,” Tina Grisby said. She was standing in front of one of the smaller mirrors. “It’s just a tape measure. I’m sure they’ve never had an outbreak of lice here.”

Viv looked like she wanted to wrap the tape measure around Geoffrey Grisby’s germ-phobic neck. I took the tape measure out of her hands and put it away.

“I’m sure I have a new one in the back,” I said. “I’ll just go get it.”

“Tina, please stop trying on the hats,” Geoffrey said. “You don’t know where they’ve been.”

I saw Viv’s eyes narrow into slits. And I knew she was not appreciating the insinuation that her hats might harbor an infestation of some sort.

“Viv, how about you show Mr. Grisby what the finished hat will look like?” I suggested in a tone that signaled it wasn’t really a suggestion.

“Right,” she said. She sat down next to Mr. Grisby and picked up her stack of sketches off of the table.

I glanced over at Tina and tipped my head in their direction. She hastily took off the hat she’d been trying on and joined them in the seating area. I figured Viv would be fine, but it never hurt to have a mediator if Geoffrey Grisby decided to put his foot in it again.

I hurried to the workroom in back and opened the supply cupboard shelves. Surely, we had to have a backup tape measure. I scouted around until I found a paper one that looked like it was a throwaway from a furniture store. Good enough. I carefully folded it up and wrapped it in some crinkly cellophane that Viv used to wrap hats that she shipped.

It looked like new packaging if you didn’t look too closely. Satisfied, I went back into the front of the shop.

“You don’t like it?” Viv asked. She didn’t sound happy.

“It’s blue with polka dots,” he said. “I pictured the plush velvety hat with the wide orange band, you know, like Johnny Depp in the movie.”

Viv opened her mouth and I had a feeling that whatever was going to come out would scorch Geoffrey Grisby to a pile of smoking ash.

“Found it!” I cried. I hurried across the room and handed the cellophane measuring tape to Viv. “Go ahead, you can get his measurements now.”

Viv slowly closed her mouth and stood, taking the tape from me.

“You agree with me, don’t you?” Geoffrey asked his wife Tina. “I think I have the same jawline as Johnny Depp. I’m sure I could carry off his look.”

Tina glanced at her husband and then at us. I gave her major props for not cracking up.

I then glanced at Geoffrey Grisby. He was in the peak of middle age with a round belly, a sad comb-over and two chins that wobbled when he talked. The only resemblance he bore to Johnny Depp resided in his own imagination.

“What’s my hat size?” Geoffrey asked.

“The average head size in the UK is seven and one-eighth,” Viv said. “Or fifty-eight centimeters.”

“I am quite certain I’m above average,” Geoffrey said.

Viv was standing behind him, so mercifully only I saw her stick her tongue out at him. I gave her a look, but she ignored me, placing the measuring tape around his head just above his ears.

“Well?” he asked.

“Average,” Viv said. “No, wait, I was wrong.”

Geoffrey Grisby looked up as if his eyes could roll into the back of his head and he could see Viv.

“Smaller than average,” she said. “By a half centimeter.”

“You’re quite sure?” he asked.

“Quite,” she confirmed.

“I still want a plush hat,” he said. His voice sounded petulant. I imagined being told he was below average was not sitting well with him.

“Oh, I’ll make it plush,” Viv promised.

I did not like the look in her eye, and if Geoffrey Grisby had a brain in his head, he would take note of it as well. Of course, he did not.

“Good,” he said. “I know you hat people are all a bit daft, but I won’t be made a laughingstock because of your whims.”

Viv still held the measuring tape in her hands. Not that she would cause Geoffrey Grisby any harm, but it occurred to me that the tape would make an excellent tool with which to strangle a person. Thank goodness this one was paper.

I nudged Viv and took the tape out of her hands. “You should probably write down those measurements, don’t you think?”

“Certainly,” she said. She picked up a pencil and jotted the size down on the sketch of the Mad Hatter’s hat.

“They aren’t mad, you know,” she said.

“Who?” I asked.

“I was talking to Mr. Grisby,” she said.

“Oh, what’s that?” Geoffrey looked up from his cell phone at Viv.

“You said hat people are daft,” she said. “We’re not.”

I fleetingly thought of how she went missing just a few months ago and had to bite back the urge to point out the episode.