She dropped her voice to a whisper. “It might give you an opportunity to snoop around a little bit. Talk to people. Do a little of that sleuthing we talked about. What do you say?”
I wavered. I could dress up like Cinderella and snoop like Jessica Fletcher or Miss Marple. “On second thought, it sounds great, Madelyn. Thank you.”
“Excellent! Pick you up at six thirty. See you then. Ta-ta!” She pivoted on her practical, flat-heeled shoes and headed back down the hall, skipping every third step. Nell’s pregnancy, and her plan to announce it at the rehearsal dinner, had changed everything for me. Madelyn was right. Going to the gala would be a great opportunity to talk to people, but I no longer thought I was helping Josie by proving Nate innocent.
Chapter 31
What I found as I searched my closet was that I had plenty of classic pieces, the foundation of any wardrobe, but not much that was really gala-worthy. I’d never had a need, so I’d never created a gown for myself. My best option was the little black dress I’d designed for my roommate and fellow Maximilian minion back in New York, Orphie Cates. I’d almost finished the dress, but before the final fitting, the pressure of Maximilian had gotten to her. She’d up and quit one day, packed her belongings, and left Manhattan. I hadn’t heard from her since.
To leave the dress undone was the equivalent of starting a book and not finishing it. I couldn’t leave characters hanging in my mind with no conclusion to their story. By the same token, I couldn’t leave an article of clothing I was working on incomplete, unable to realize its potential for the wearer, whoever that might be. I’d adjusted the sizing and finished the dress so it would fit me, but I’d never had an occasion to wear it.
Until now.
I’d kept Meemaw’s full-length mirror when I’d moved my things into her room. The buttercup walls and dormer windows made the room bright and warm, but that didn’t banish the feeling that this wasn’t really my room. And even though Orphie had never worn the little black dress, I still felt like it belonged to her, not me.
I looked at my reflection, remembering the hours and hours I’d spent on the beadwork tracing the deep V neckline. The inch-wide strip of black, silver, and gold iridescent beads caught the light as I turned. I’d used ruching on the bodice, a technique that brought the eye inward, slimming the body. Of course, the Spanx I wore underneath didn’t hurt in that department, either. When I paired the dress with transparent black tights patterned with tiny dots, I had to admit I was pleased as punch with it.
“It needs something, though,” I mumbled as I pulled my corkscrew hair up in back, securing it with a few bobby pins in an artfully messy bun.
The closet door slid open with a bang. I gasped. “Meemaw! You’re going to give me a heart attack!” I had accepted that she was still here with me, but dang if it didn’t still catch me by surprise every time she made her presence known. I padded toward the crammed closet and peered into the depths. I waited, but nothing happened. Maybe Meemaw was just bored.
But as I took a step back, my foot landed on something hard. I looked down. Lying on the floor, where it hadn’t been a few seconds ago, was a beaded cuff. The perfect accessory for my little black dress.
As I bent to pick it up, a warm pocket of lavenderscented air moved around me. My head snapped up. “Meemaw?” I held up the bracelet. “Thank you.” Who knew where it had come from, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to see her. To hear her voice. To hug her.
The closet door slowly slid closed behind me. I turned, my gaze drawn to a pair of black suede pumps I’d bought more than a year ago at one of Maximilian’s accessory sales. Even with the employee discount, they’d been pricey, but the edgy zipper detailing at the toe and heel had been such an unexpected twist that I’d splurged. “I forgot about these,” I murmured, slipping them on.
I suddenly knew just how Cinderella had felt after her fairy godmother had chanted, “Bibbity bobbity boo” and done her magic. I felt bathed in love and warmth.
The lingering floral scent was fading. “Are you still here?” I spun around, hoping to see the swirling air or her ghostly form, but I was alone.
Meemaw’s rocking chair sat in the corner next to the oval mirror. My dresser held photos of Orphie and me during Fashion Week in front of the fountain at Lincoln Center’s Damrosch Park, Nana surrounded by goats nipping at her pockets, and Mama and Meemaw, the spitting image of each other right down to the blond streak in their hair, on the front porch of this house. I picked up the frame. Mama’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. I’d never noticed that before. Meemaw gazed right at the camera, her head tilted toward Mama, her smile genuine and complete as she stood there with her granddaughter. It was all about family for Meemaw. It always had been. I suddenly understood how brokenhearted she must have been when I’d left Bliss.
My gaze went back to my mother, and I felt a little piece of my own heart fold in on itself. I’d been well into my twenties when it finally hit me that not only had my father left my brother and me, but Mama’s husband had walked out on her. The sadness was right there in plain sight. I’d have seen it if I’d only been looking.
A knock on the door downstairs snapped me back to reality. The clock read six thirty on the dot. Madelyn was punctual.
I headed down the stairs, my heels clicking against the hardwood.
“The OPEN sign was still out and the door was unlocked,” she called, “so I came in.”
“Of course—” I broke off, stopping short as she came into view. She was covered from head to toe in beige. Beige skirt. Beige blouse. Nude stockings. Even a beige clutch. My left eye twitched and my pulse skittered. Beige, beige, beige. She was too young to look so matronly. She was like a flavorless biscuit, plain and bland. Where was the style? The personality? The sparkle I’d seen when she talked about magic and ghosts and that wacky paranormal society?
It was all buried under clothes the color of oatmeal.
I snapped my jaw closed, hoping she couldn’t read my expression. Then I noticed
“Pshaw. That has nothing to do with it. He loves you.” At least I assumed he did.
“Well, of course he does. But he’s not here, is he?”
“And you wish he were.”
She pursed her lips in true British style. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . That came out wrong—”
I waved away her apology. “Stop! I know what you meant. If I had a husband, I’d want him by my side, too.”
She looked me up and down, heaving a deep, sorrowful sigh; then she slowly fluttered her hand in front of her body as if she could shoo the dreariness away. “This is just horrifically drab.”
That was all the encouragement I needed to propel me into action. I was going to help her find her effervescence again or I had no right to call myself a fashion designer. I hurried down the last few steps, grabbed her arm, and yanked her into the workroom. “It’s your lucky day, Mrs. Brighton. We’re going to vanquish the drab. You game?”
Her lips quivered nervously, but she nodded. Already there was color in her cheeks and a glint of excitement in her eyes. “Work your magic, Ms. Cassidy,” she said.
And I did.
Chapter 32
As Madelyn and I started across the arched stone bridge, we passed a gorgeous pond and waterway directly below us. The castle. Gracie Flores was right on the money about this place. I’d forgotten how ostentatious it was.
With each step, I felt like Alice in Wonderland slipping further through the rabbit hole, slowly growing smaller and smaller, landing in a place where I just didn’t belong. The Kincaids were out of my league. I’d come from goat farmers and bandits, not oil and . . . oil. The last time I’d been here, they’d made it perfectly clear that the two did not mix.
