Death of a Mad Hatter (A Hat Shop Mystery) (9 page)

I put my red hair up in a twist, freshened up my makeup and I was ready. This was exactly what I needed to take my mind off of any inappropriate thoughts about Harrison. After all, the art show was sure to have loads of men there. I could flirt with abandon and get it out of my system, thus stopping myself from being an idiot over Harry.

When I stepped out into the hallway, I bumped into Fee coming out of the guest bedroom. We stared at one another for a moment, neither one of us speaking as we took in the absolutely horrific sight before us.

We were wearing the same dress!

Fee bit her lip as she gazed at me. “It looks better on you.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I sighed. I wished I were lying, but no. Fee was all youthful curves and long legs. She looked amazing.

“We could go as twins, yeah?” Fee offered with a shy smile.

I grimaced. “That’d make me the ugly sister. I don’t think my ego could take it.”

“It would not,” Fee said with a laugh. “You look gorgeous. Honestly, I don’t fancy being seen with you in the same dress because I would be the hideous one.”

“No worries,” I said. “I’ll go change.”

“Are you sure?” Fee asked. “I’d offer to, but I don’t have any other dresses here.”

“Absolutely, not a problem,” I said. “You go ahead. I’ll be right down.”

Fee nodded and headed down the stairs. I sighed and went back into my room. It appeared it was going to be the demure little black dress after all.

Viv insisted that we all wear hats to Andre’s art show, as she never missed an opportunity to advertise the shop. Since I was wearing black, I decided to jazz things up and wear a black pillbox hat with a nest of fluffy white feathers in the front that had long black eyelash feathers bursting out of it. It was very Audrey Hepburn and made me feel a bit less dowdy.

Fee found a hat to match
our
dress. It was an aqua fascinator in the shape of a bow that had a pouf of matching netting that draped just over her forehead. Viv was wearing a chemise in shimmering pewter. She added black elbow-length gloves and wore a black cloche with a pewter hatband. She let her long blonde curls hang loose down her back.

Walking to Andre’s gallery, which was just down Portobello Road from Mim’s Whims, I felt like I was the ugly duckling in a flock of swans. I tried to shake it off, but as Fee and Harrison walked ahead of Viv and me with their heads pressed together as they talked, I found myself getting more and more grumpy.

“I think we need to spread out and work the room,” Viv said as we walked.

“Huh,” I replied not really listening. Fee had just laughed and brushed her shoulder up against Harrison’s. I couldn’t imagine what he might have said that could have been that funny.

“Andre said a reporter from the Times will be there to take pictures and do a write-up for the Arts section,” Viv said. “I think we should try to get into those photos.”

“Sure,” I said.

“You know, if you were to rip off your dress and twirl it over your head, that would really get their attention,” Viv said.

“Sounds good,” I said.

“Scarlett! You are not listening to a word I say!” she accused.

“What?” I asked. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’m not going to rip my dress off in public. I’ve had more than my share of notoriety, thank you very much.”

Viv pursed her lips as she considered me. I blinked.

She glanced ahead at Fee and Harrison. “Those two seem awfully chummy.”

“Really?” I asked. Harrison stood at the door to Andre’s gallery, holding it open for us. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Uh-huh,” Viv said. She patted Harrison’s cheek as she walked past him into the gallery.

I did not. In fact, I didn’t acknowledge him at all but strode into the gallery with my head held high.

“Scarlett, there’s my girl!” a voice cried.

I glanced across the room to see Nick Carroll, Andre’s life partner, striding toward me with his hands outstretched. He grabbed my upper arms and we did the air-kiss thing on both cheeks.

“Well, aren’t you a vision,” Nick said.

“Thank you,” I said and I gave a practiced twirl. I looked him over. “Nick, you look positively debonair.”

He really did. His blond hair was thinning, but he had obviously plumped it up with some well-used product. He wore a pinstripe navy suit over a light-blue dress shirt, which was open at the throat.

“Shall we strut and preen and show off?” he asked.

“Yes, definitely,” I said and put my hand on his arm.

Andre and Nick had been working on the gallery for months. This was the grand opening, and it was packed to bursting with people trying to see and be seen.

A waiter paused beside us and Nick snagged us each a glass of champagne. We worked our way toward the back of the room, where we could see Andre talking animatedly to a group of people.

“He’s really in his element, isn’t he?” Nick asked.

Andre was dressed in black trousers and a white loose-fitting dress shirt with a rich plum-colored vest over it. His dark skin and close-cropped hair accentuated his fine-boned good looks. He looked like a rock star and had the requisite solar system of women orbiting around him to prove it.

“Those girls are doomed to disappointment,” I said to Nick.

He grinned. “Oh no, most of them know he’s my partner. They just want him to take pictures of them, sort of like they want me to fix their teeth. They are users, one and all.”

“Which is fine, since they fill out the party, don’t they?” I asked.

“Indeed they do,” he said.

Another waiter stopped by and we helped ourselves to the cherry tomatoes stuffed with pesto.

“There are some salt-and-pepper cheese puffs circling about,” Nick said. “Keep an eye out.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

I scanned the room, looking for Viv. She was easy to spot. She was standing in front of one of Andre’s cityscapes, talking to two older gentlemen and their wives. I could tell she was chatting about the shop, as she touched the brim of her hat with a gloved hand.

“Beg pardon, Mr. Carroll,” a waiter joined us. “We have a small situation in the kitchen.”

“What sort of situation?” Nick asked around the tomato in his mouth.

“A fire,” the waiter said.

“Gah!” Nick waved to me as he shot off across the room toward the back of the building.

“It was just a small one,” the waiter said, following him. “We got it out.”

I watched them go, wondering if this was cause to evacuate. I glanced up. I didn’t see a sprinkler system. Then again, that would be bad for the photographs.

I dropped my small plastic plate and napkin into a trash can. I supposed it was time to do my duty and work the room, except I didn’t really feel up to being my usual charming self. I scanned the crowd, looking for a flash of aqua. Given how tall Fee was in her platform heels, it didn’t take me long to spot her. To my surprise, there was no sign of Harrison hanging on her every word.

I turned around, checking to see where he might be. Not that I cared, I told myself. I was just trying to keep track of the people I had come with, which was only polite.

“Looking for someone?” a voice asked from behind me.

I turned to find Harrison standing there. My breath caught in surprise, but I refused to show it. Instead I gave him a closed-lip smile and said, “Just assessing the situation.”

“And what have you determined?” he asked.

“That Andre’s gallery is destined to be a success,” I said.

“To Andre,” Harrison said and lifted his glass.

“To Andre,” I repeated. We clinked glasses and I took a sip of the crisp, fruity champagne.

“Have you had the tiny tomatoes?” I asked. “They’re very good.”

“No, I missed those,” he said.

He glanced over my head in the direction where I’d seen Fee. Now, that was just rude. I frowned at him.

“What?” he asked when he met my gaze.

“If you’re so bored with me, you can go elsewhere,” I said.

“I’m not bored,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s why you’re looking right around me at someone who is entirely too young for you,” I snapped.

He was in the middle of a sip when I spoke, and I must have caught him off guard, because he choked on his beverage and began to cough to clear his throat. His eyes were watering, and I could tell he really needed to have a good hacking fit to clear the airway.

“Come on,” I said. I took his glass and put it down with mine on a nearby table, then I led him by the arm out the front door to the street, where he could let loose with a coughing jag.

It was quieter out here. The dull roar of the crowd was replaced by the occasional rumble of a car going past. Until Harrison burst into a coughing fit that was so violent, it hushed the birds chirping in the nearby trees. I thumped his back, possibly with more force than was strictly necessary, but hey, I was trying to help.

When his cough diminished to a small wheeze, I ceased whacking him.

“Better now?” I asked.

“Yeah, thanks,” he said. His voice was gruff and a tear leaked out of the corner of his right eye.

“Excellent,” I said. I made to go back into the gallery, but Harrison stopped me by catching my hand in his and tugging me back.

“Not so fast, Ginger,” he said. His green eyes narrowed. “What exactly did you mean I was looking around you at someone entirely too young for me?”

“Nothing,” I said. I tried to pull my fingers out of his grasp but he tightened his hold.

“I don’t believe you,” he said.

I gave him my best affronted look. I even put my free hand over my chest in a protestation of shocked innocence.

“No, still don’t believe you,” he said.

“Well, that’s just—” I began, but he interrupted.

“Spill it,” he said. “Who do you think I was looking at?”

“Fee,” I said.

“Oh, well, I was looking for her.”

“Aha!” I poked him in the chest with my finger. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” he asked. He rubbed the spot where I’d jabbed him.

“She’s too young for you,” I said. “You could be her father.”

Harrison’s eyes widened in surprise, and he said, “Perhaps if I’d spawned her when I was eight.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “That’s a huge age difference.”

“You are mental,” he said. “I can’t believe you think . . . ugh . . . I refuse to participate in this conversation any further.”

He strode past me, back into the gallery. Viv was just coming outside, and he brushed past her without even checking his stride.

“What’s got Harrison’s knickers in a knot?” Viv asked.

“He’s just being oversensitive because I said that Fee is too young for him,” I said.

“Is there a reason you felt the need to point that out?” she asked.

She was holding a glass of champagne in her gloved hand, and she took a sip while she waited for my answer.

I glanced at the gallery behind us, but I couldn’t see either Fee or Harrison through the windows. I did see Viv’s and my reflections. In our party dresses and hats, we looked like we belonged on the cover of a vintage
Vogue
. I turned away.

“I just thought the obvious might be escaping him,” I said. I reached out and took Viv’s glass out of her hand and helped myself to a fortifying sip.

“Scarlett, jealousy does not become you,” Viv said.

“What?” I gasped. “I am not jealous!”

One of Viv’s delicate eyebrows rose higher than the other as she considered me.

“Really? Then why meddle with whatever might be happening between Fee and Harrison?” she asked.

“He’s eight years older than her!” I protested.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Viv said, “but wasn’t the blighter who broke your heart
ten
years older than you?”

“Exactly, my point,” I said. It wasn’t, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t cling to it like a life raft in the North Sea.

“Harrison isn’t like that,” Viv said. “He’s a good man and just because he is a few years older doesn’t mean he’s a lying, cheating git.”

“I know, but Fee is so young and innocent,” I said. “She really needs to be dating people her own age.”

Viv studied me for a moment. I didn’t like the look in her eye.

“What?” I asked.

“Jealous,” she said in a singsong voice.

“No, I’m not,” I said. Why are family members so good at twanging your last nerve like a banjo string?

“You can’t escape your nature,” she said.

“Now, what’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“Do you remember when we were teenagers and that silly musician boy liked you?” she asked.

I sighed. I did not like the direction this conversation was headed.

“No, I don’t,” I said. I drained her glass and handed it back to her.

“He was a swarthy, dark-haired fellow named Chad or Todd or something like that,” Viv said. “He was completely uninteresting to you until Chrissy Hupper took a shine to him.”

“I have no recollection of this,” I said. Big, fat lie. I still remembered Chrissy. Still hated her, too.

She was one of those girls who didn’t have any girlfriends. I always consider that an indicator of whether a woman can be trusted. If a woman has no female friends, there is usually a reason why. In Chrissy’s case, it was because she loathed any competition in the wide-open field of men.

She tagged around with all of the boys in the neighborhood, preening under their attention. She didn’t like it if any other girls cut into her turf, so needless to say she was less than thrilled when Viv and I appeared on the scene.

Chrissy spent a lot of time making fun of my American accent and making me feel like an idiot because I didn’t know all of the local slang and television references that the neighborhood kids shared. She was particularly irritated by me because the silly musician boy liked me so much.

“You were oblivious to Chad/Todd until he showed a glimmer of interest in Chrissy, after weeks of you rejecting him, of course, and then you full-on stalked the boy just to take him away from her,” Viv said. “Because you were jealous.”

“No, I wasn’t. Besides, that was completely different,” I said. “I did flirt with the musician boy, which I admit was not nice of me, mostly because I couldn’t stand Chrissy, but it was also to protect him. I wouldn’t let a guppy date her, never mind an actual boy. I don’t feel that way at all about Fee. I adore her.”

“And yet you showed no interest in Harrison until he showed interest elsewhere,” Viv said. “Then you got jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” I protested. “This whole conversation is ridiculous. I don’t care who Harrison or Fee date; I just don’t think they’re right together.”

“Which is none of your business,” Viv said.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll butt out. Can we go back inside now?”

Viv looked unconvinced but then shrugged as if resigned to whatever happened.

I opened the door, determined not to look for Fee or Harrison. Instead, I made a beeline over to Andre to give him my congratulations.

Thankfully, he had a moment between being interviewed and fawned over and opened his arms wide when he saw me.

“Scarlett, you look amazing,” he said as he hugged me. “I should grab my camera.”

“And this is why I love you,” I said, hugging him back. “You know just what to say to a girl when she’s feeling dowdy.”

“You? Dowdy?” he asked. “Never.”

I gave him a doubtful look.

“You don’t believe me?” he asked. “Come here. I have something to show you.”

He led me to a corner of the gallery I had yet to visit. A series of three huge prints were on the wall. They were done in black and white with just one object in the photo in color.

“Oh my God,” I murmured. “That’s me and Viv!”

The photos were the ones he had taken of us at the Wonderland tea when I’d been telling Viv about seeing Geoffrey and his secretary.

The first photo was a profile shot of me with my hand almost up to my mouth. It was easy to see I was about to tell a secret. The second shot was of Viv and me, huddled together with me whispering in her ear. And the third was of Viv looking surprised at what she’d just heard. In the first one, only my lips had color, rum raisin, in fact—my favorite lipstick. In the second, the feathers on Viv’s hat were the only burst of color. And in the third, it was Viv’s big blue eyes that were the spot of color.

“When did you put these up?” I asked. “They weren’t here when we helped set up the other night.”

“They weren’t ready yet,” he said. “In fact, I hung them this afternoon, and they were the first prints to sell.”

“Oh, Andre, they are magnificent,” I said. “You made us beautiful.”

“You already are, love,” he said.

I was feeling a bit too emotional to talk, so I put my hand on his cheek and whispered, “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry I said you were ruddy bad luck. You’re not, you know.”

“You’re forgiven.” I stepped back and glanced around the room. “Andre, this is fantastic. You are the toast of the town.”

He put a hand on the back of his neck and tilted his head to the side as if studying the room through the lens of his camera.

“It is brilliant, isn’t it?” He looked equal parts relieved and awed.

“Andre, pet, you’ve got a buyer for your series of boats on the Thames,” Nick said as he joined us. “They want to talk to you about light in dark or shadow or some such artsy stuff.”

“Keep an eye on my girl,” Andre said.

“I do hope he is referring to me,” Nick said to me with a wink.

Andre grinned and kissed first Nick’s cheek and then mine before he moved in the direction of the art buyers.

“How is the fiery situation?” I asked Nick.

“Under control,” he said. “Honestly, caterers these days. A little oil fire and they all act like we’re in a bad disaster movie.”

“Scarlett Parker, is that you?”

The voice came from behind me. I didn’t recognize it. I gave Nick a wide-eyed look and he glanced over my shoulder. Given the paparazzi’s fascination with me a few months before, I was always leery when approached by persons unknown. Nick shrugged, which I took to mean he had no idea who it was but that it didn’t look like a media type.

I turned slowly, bracing myself for a camera or a mic to be shoved into my face. There was none of that. Instead, I found Marilyn Tofts standing behind me, sipping champagne and nibbling on a cheese puff.

“I thought it was you,” she said. “Nice hat.”

“Marilyn, how good to see you,” I said. I can recover and lie pretty quickly like that. Given that the last time I’d seen her was at a dead man’s tea, I was surprised she was even willing to be seen talking to me.

“Likewise,” she said. From the cool expression on her face, I could tell she was being as insincere as I was.

“Nick Carroll, I’d like to introduce Marilyn Tofts.” I grabbed Nick’s hand before he could disappear into the crowd.

He gave me a put out look and then he glanced at Marilyn as if recognizing the name. “Marilyn Tofts? The event planner?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s me,” she said. She tossed her long honey hair back over her shoulder and gave him a bright smile. “You’ve heard of me?”

“Heard of you?” Nick asked. “You were the talk of the Berringers’ dinner party last week.”

“Was it the Wonderland tea they were talking about?” I inquired.

Marilyn gave me a sour look.

“No, this was before that unfortunate incident,” Nick said.

“It
was
unfortunate, wasn’t it?” Marilyn gave a delicate sniff. “All of my hard work and for what? The host up and dies in the middle of the tea. There was simply no saving it.”

“You tried?” I asked.

“But of course; that’s what I do,” Marilyn said and sipped her champagne. “The family was extremely difficult. I could not get any of them to come out of hiding and take control of the situation.”

“But the head of the family had just been discovered dead,” I protested. “Surely, the guests understood the extraordinary circumstances.”

Marilyn Tofts rolled her eyes. “It was a pathetic display. That family is a disaster, I tell you. If you ask me, it serves them right. Letting me believe the queen would be there when obviously they are not of that social caliber.
Humpf
.”

I glared at her. She was just as shallow as I had supposed.

“Everyone has challenges,” Nick said. He patted Marilyn’s hand sympathetically. “It makes you stronger.”

She gave him a grateful smile. I glanced between them. He looked positively giddy to meet her. I had to give it to her: she did make an impression.

In her usual vintage-starlet style, Marilyn was wearing a Maggy London satin sheath dress in jewel green. It had a wide portrait neckline and a cascade of fabric on one hip that gave her an amazing silhouette. She’d finished the look with a pair of black platform heels, which caused me a severe pang of shoe envy.

“And you’re so brilliantly talented that the tea will be no more than an insignificant memory as you blaze a trail through the upper crust’s social network,” Nick said.

“Oh, go on,” Marilyn said. There was a pause and she raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at Nick. “No, seriously, go on.”

Nick grinned and suddenly I felt like the third seat on a bicycle built for two.

“I heard that you arranged to have the lead singer of Oasis just pop in at the Dashavoys’ wedding and sing a bit to the bride, is that true?” Nick gushed.

“It is,” Marilyn preened.

“That’s brilliant!” Nick cried.

“I know!” Marilyn cried in return. “This is how amazing I am . . .”

I backed away. Neither of them noticed and no one tried to stop me. I decided I liked Marilyn Tofts even less now than I did when I first met her, and that had been in the negatives already.

I worked my way through the crowd and decided to console myself with a tray of goat cheese–stuffed dates that I found unattended. I was working through my fourth when Fee joined me, looking smashing in
our
dress.

“Scarlett, what are you doing here playing the part of the wallflower?” she asked.

“Muh muh,” I mumbled through a mouthful of date.

Fee blew an errant blue curl out of her eye and studied me with a look of concern.