with her like a newly captured slave.
“How do you pick out the dress before you get the ring?” Helen said when the couple left.
Millicent was rehanging Courtney’s rejected gowns. “Are you kidding? I get brides in here who don’t have the groom yet. If a woman wants to marry, she will. She goes out and gets herself a man. Don’t believe that stuff about women waiting for the man to pop the question. In my experience, women do the picking. The smart ones let the guys think it was their idea.”
Courtney’s quick march through the store had left a gaggle of gowns tangled on their hangers. Helen pried them apart carefully, protecting the delicate fabrics.
“That groom sounded awfully trapped.”
“He trapped himself,” Millicent said. “Mark wants to make partner at a big Lauderdale law firm. He’s marrying the boss’s daughter.”
“How do you know this?”
“Courtney told me.”
“She doesn’t care?” Helen dropped a heavy duchesse satin in surprise. Good thing Millicent didn’t see it hit the floor.
Millicent’s white hair had disappeared into the snowy gowns, making her look headless. Now she faced Helen, using a bloodred nail to emphasize her words.
“Listen. Courtney is getting what she wants—an ambitious husband. Mark is getting what he wants—a partnership in a big firm. People always get what they want, Helen. They just don’t realize it.”
Helen wondered if Millicent got what she wanted, and how she got it. She wished she’d never listened to Desiree. Helen thought last evening was the start of the investigation that would clear her name. Instead, she was more confused than ever. The little bride was sly. Her accusations insinuated themselves into Helen’s mind. Did Millicent really murder Kiki in a fit of rage to get her money from the estate? Did she place that shocking “Weddings to Die For” ad?
The ad was a brilliant move. Oh, not at first. Millicent endured cold shoulders and cancellations. But now the shop was deluged with brides and their mothers, all buying. The ad was outrageous, and Floridians reveled—or wallowed—in their own bad taste. Kiki’s death brought new life to Millicent’s business.
Millicent hung up the last dress, pulled a bottled water out of the fridge, and dropped into a pink chair.
“Put your feet up a minute, Helen. This is the last free time we have until six o’clock. We’ve got appointments the rest of the afternoon. I’ve got so much business, I may have to hire another salesperson.”
“Because of that ad?” Helen said.
“Yes. The TV coverage didn’t hurt, either.”
Helen lowered her voice, even though the store was empty. “Millicent, it’s just us girls. I swear I’ll never tell. Did you place that ad?”
“Of course not.” Millicent looked indignant, but her bloodred nails crawled nervously in her lap.
“The
“So? Anyone can dress up like that.”
Anyone could. But did they? Helen needed to know for sure. Truth was the only antidote to Desiree’s poison. Fortunately, the answer was right down the street.
“OK if I go out for coffee?” Helen said.
“Go ahead. Just be back in half an hour.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine. Leave.” Suddenly, Millicent seemed relieved to have her out of the store.
The
“Eric is in the ad department, around the corner,” she said, and zipped off to answer the phone.
Eric had a soul patch, a pierced eyebrow, and a lot of attitude.
“I’m from Millicent’s,” Helen said. “We’re still trying to find out who placed that ad.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault. I just took the money.” He shrugged. Helen thought about grabbing him by his eyebrow ring.
“You took the money to ruin our business. I don’t want to cause trouble, Eric. Answer my questions and I’ll go away. Give me grief and I’ll be back with a lawyer.”
That got his attention. Helen’s bluff worked.
“Could the person who placed the ad have been a man dressed as a woman?”
“Not unless he had his Adam’s apple shaved,” Eric said. “We get transvestites in here with ads for the clubs.” He was impressed with his own esoteric knowledge.
“You said she was about fifty-five?”
“Yeah. My mom’s fifty-one and this lady looked older.”
“Could this person have been wearing a white wig to make herself look older?”
“Maybe,” Eric said. “But she had those freckles on her hands—what do you call them?”
“Age spots.” Helen had been trying to convince herself those brown spots on her hands were big freckles.
“Her neck was crinkly, too,” Eric said. “I guess you could artificially age yourself if you were in a movie, but it would be pretty hard to pull off otherwise.”
Helen sighed. Eric was right.
She went sadly back to the salon. Now she knew. Millicent had placed that ad and lied about it. Helen felt sick. She’d admired her boss as one tough, smart businesswoman.
Millicent was hauling new stock out of the back room. She towed a rack of heavy dresses as easily as a child’s wagon. Her biceps bulged through her suit sleeves. Her fingers were strong. Millicent could have easily smothered tiny Kiki.
“Here, Helen, hang this dress on the front rack.” Helen took a beaded gown from Millicent’s lightly liver- spotted hand.
“Millicent, I’ve got to talk to you before the next round of appointments.”
“So talk,” Millicent said.
“I saw Desiree last night.”
“The deadbeat bride,” Millicent said.
“She said you went to the rehearsal dinner and threatened her mother.”
“She’s a liar,” Millicent said hotly. “I never went near that rehearsal dinner. I wondered where the police got that story. She sicced the cops on me. I ought to sue her. I yelled at Kiki on the phone. They can check my cell phone records.”
So what? Helen thought. That wouldn’t stop her from driving to the restaurant. “Desiree says you wanted to strangle Kiki.”
“Of course I wanted to strangle her,” Millicent said. “I also wanted to shoot her, stomp her, and chop her into little pieces. But give me some credit for customer relations. I didn’t say it. I asked her to pay the bill, and she promised to bring a check Saturday morning. Now her debt-dodging daughter wants to get out of paying me. That’s what this is really about.”
“Where were you the night of the rehearsal dinner?” Helen said.
Millicent pointed one bloody nail in Helen’s face. “That’s none of your business. But if you think I’m a murderer, Helen Hawthorne, you can walk right out that door.”
Helen couldn’t quit. She needed the money. She also needed to keep an eye on Millicent. Maybe Desiree was lying about that rehearsal dinner. But Helen didn’t think so.
She’d already caught Millicent in one lie.
For the rest of the afternoon, while Helen wrestled with white silk and satin, she made her decision. Tonight was the night. She would ask Phil to move in with her. She was ready. She couldn’t change her lying boss, but she could fix her love life.
Last night with Phil had been wonderful. When he’d gotten out of her bed at two a.m., she’d wanted him to stay. Not just for the rest of the night, but the rest of her life.
