“So you did see something?” I prodded cautiously.
“I saw what the leaves picked up from you,” he said cryptically, then sighed. “You know, Jeraline, I served in Vietnam,” Buster said out of the blue. Where was this coming from?
“I didn’t know,” I answered lamely.
“It was the scariest time of my life. Not because people were trying to kill me; that I could handle. It was because I was shooting back.”
Hercule Poirot appeared next to Buster. “The chap has figured you out.”
My eyes went toward the swinging kitchen door, as I wanted to grab the pile of tea to try to read it again.
Buster cleared his throat, regaining my attention. “You’re sent to war to murder, and you come back to live a normal life, like it didn’t happen, like you didn’t kill fifteen souls. I remember each and every one of them. Their faces are burned into my memory forever.”
Hercule gave me a solemn shake of the head. “You really should turn yourself in.”
I sat so still, my breath held, forgetting how to function.
He continued, “There’s nothing more terrifying than taking another human being’s life, even if it is to save yours.”
Shaking his head in disappointment, Hercule said, “There is no justification for murder.” With that, Hercule Poirot disappeared back into the ether.
What do I do?
What do I tell him?
Grandma? How long does it take to put a tray down and come back?
“I can’t imagine,” I answered, knowing full well I didn’t have to. I had lived it.
Buster’s expression was kind and sympathetic, which only frightened me more. “I’m sure you could.”
Grandma’s voice cut the quiet. “It’s such a beautiful night. We should go out on the porch.”
I jumped back in my seat on reflex. Not wanting Grandma to think anything was wrong, I began to gather the plates on the table. “I’ve got this. You guys enjoy the night.”
Buster took Grandma’s hand, then turned to me. “If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here for you. I know we just met, but I’m a good listener.”
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
What could I say?
Watching the two of them head outside, I was filled with dread.
Buster knew, or strongly suspected at the least, yet he had said nothing.
Maybe that meant I could trust him.
I didn’t know for sure.
Bringing the dishes into the kitchen, I knew it would only be a matter of time before my secret was out anyway.
I prayed I wouldn’t fall apart before then.
I entered the apartment and flipped on the lights. My hands were full with a large bag that contained the biggest petticoat I’d ever seen. It was all smooshed up at the moment, but this gown was going to be enormous. Placing the bag down at my feet, I got a good look at the apartment.
The TV was off, and Grandma was gone.
Locking the door behind me, I needed to leave the living room. It reminded me too much that I was alone.
Walking into my bedroom, I maneuvered past my cutting table and sat on the edge of my bed, peering out the window. A few of the lights were on in the building next door, and a flash of movement caught my eye. A couple danced and then kissed in a perfect romantic moment.
Emma appeared next to the window, staring at the couple.
“Jealous?” I asked her.
The man dipped the woman, and they both laughed, in love.
“Definitely,” Emma sighed.
As I watched the couple with the same yearning as Emma, the man’s face distorted into my attacker.
Nearly falling off the bed from the sight, I glanced back up at the couple, but my attacker was gone, just another stranger dancing with his partner. I pulled down the shutters.
Emma focused on me. “Runway show is tomorrow.”
Standing up, I grabbed the dress and plopped down on the chair next to my sewing machine. Taking a threaded needle, I began sewing on more crystals. “I’m almost done. Only a few more of these diamonds.”
After another hour of hand sewing, the beading was done, and I hung the dress on the door.
“It’s beautiful,” Emma admired.
“I can’t believe I finished it.” I really couldn’t. But it was as magical as I’d imagined it would be.
“Better get some sleep. You need your beauty rest. You are going to be modeling tomorrow,” Emma positively beamed.
I groaned, “Don’t remind me.”
Putting the dress into a garment bag, the zipper barely made it up, it had so much fabric. Crawling into bed, I tried to shut out all the noise in my head as I closed my eyes.
Please don’t screw this up.
***
Feeling it was serendipity, I walked up to the renovated warehouse that normally housed bingo but would now be the location of the runway show. The gigantic neon sign on the roof was a weird sense of comfort as I entered the large opening. All the picnic tables had been stacked against the wall and in their place was a judging booth on the left (right on top of the bingo stage) and a long makeshift runway down the center surrounded on both sides with fold-up chairs filled with people. Curtains framed the front of the runway, and according to the email I had received two days ago but read for the first time this morning, that was where I was supposed to go.
Carrying the garment bag in my arms was difficult. Together the dress and petticoat weighed about thirty pounds. This was going to be a spectacle. I just hoped it was a spectacle the judges would like. At least I had already done my hair and makeup before I left, hence why I was running late.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. The show was about to start soon.
Hurrying through the curtains and trying not to knock them down with the bulk of my dress was a challenge, but I finally pushed my way inside.
Packed
