Poison Ivy Page 3

  Chapter Three

  The next few hours passed in a blur. I rented out tiger, fairy, and princess costumes to little girls, valiant knights and firefighter costumes to young boys. And to the adult sector: witches and warlocks, adult-sized babies with big diapers and pacifiers. Old ladies with curlers. Pirates waltzed out with maidens. Pumpkins shimmied away with belly dancers (not from the lingerie shop, but the kind that hid at least some of the human anatomy while still being sexy). I also did a brisk business from the boudoir, including three leather bustiers and a riding crop, with feathers in black to complement the metallic silver of the handle, that went flying out the door.

  Yikes!

  But I kept telling myself, “It pays the bills,” as I rang up each nasty little purchase. Although when I sold a fat old man a wrestling-style banana hammock in sparkling pink, I felt my gorge rise. You could not pay me enough to see the end result of that costume.

  As I mentioned before, we weren’t a large town, and so there weren’t many duplicates, but I did have two separate orders for flapper costumes. Strange, maybe it was a vintage thing. So I rummaged around in the storeroom—another room I’d found at the top of a set of stairs when Kitty pointed—where I finally found the fringed skirts.

  There were three of the skirts in the frigid attic. As I looked through more boxes to find the headdresses, one of the skirts kept drawing my eye. It was beautiful, a soft lavender, with sparkles in the fringe that picked up the meager light filtering through the grimy upstairs windows. I imagined myself in the skirt, sashaying my way into the big Harvest Halloween Ball at the Community Center. My invitation had arrived in the mail three days ago, and I’d decided to go. It was good for business, I told myself. Really, though, I wanted to meet some men. I’d been working so hard for the last two weeks—moving, then waiting through the probate, I’d hardly seen anyone, much less any eligible males. Despite Bella’s snort when I’d asked about the single male population of Martha’s Point, I still hoped some were here and available.

  My legs would look really good in the costume. I’d been running around so much lately—as opposed to all the sitting I’d done as a secretary—surely I must have shed a few pounds in two weeks. Plus not having to cook for my dad was an added bonus to the move to my new beloved town. He was a meat-and-potatoes man, and now I could make a salad. And if the salad was all I wanted, I didn’t have to suffer through making his dinner anymore. His favorite beef stroganoff was filled with fattening egg noodles that constantly tempted me to taste-test.

  It was after eight and the sky was black by the time I trooped down from the attic. I laid out the individual pieces of the flapper ensembles on the counter in the now quiet shop. We, Kitty and I, had closed around six, at her insistence. Why I let her tell me what time to close is still a mystery to me. This was my store.

  “It’s five after six,” she’d said with a pointed glance at her imitation leather-banded watch. I could tell time with the best of them, and the large grandfather clock in the far corner had gonged out the hour just minutes ago. I knew what time it was.

  “Gertie always closed at precisely six. People set their clocks to the door locking and the lights going off here.”

  Blah, blah, blah. I ignored her as I continued to polish the counter, hoping she would go away.

  Not thirty seconds passed before she started up again. “You know, we won’t get any more customers this evening. We’ve always been done and gone by six. No one will come by after six.”

  “Kitty, you are more than welcome to go.” And never come back. “I still have some things I want to do here, but I don’t want to keep you past your normal time.” Heaven forbid her meatloaf didn’t make it to the table when expected.

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that to you, dear. I wouldn’t feel right leaving you here all by yourself. What if you didn’t lock up the store properly or couldn’t get the day’s receipts to balance? Besides, we girls have to stick together. We really should be going. People will think something’s wrong if we stay any later. And gracious, someone might actually go so far as to call the police to make sure everything is all right. I bet they’ll think a burglary is in progress because the lights are on in here and it’s…” She gasped after looking at her watch again. “It’s almost six-thirty.”

  Obnoxious poop. So it was six-thirty. Surely the National Guard was not going to come out because my store was still open. I wanted to tell her to get the hell out, but two things held me back. First, the wuss gene reared its ugly head and I backed down. And second, I didn’t know enough about the store yet to take over running it completely without her help. I was in a bind, and you don’t bite the hand that rings up the sales. That blasted antique register still baffled me.

  After a lot of coaxing, Kitty finally left on her own, without me having to toss her out on her old, flat butt. I tried to subtly insert a little something like, “You’re on my turf, playing by my rules,” into our brief conversation, but I fumbled. Again.

  Once she was gone, I locked the doors and fielded a call from the cops, who were checking to make sure everything was okay and did I know it was after six? Argh. I told them I’d be in the attic until about eight. And that’s precisely what I proceeded to do. I did not want some patrol guy to come over to make sure I wasn’t stealing from my own store.

  I wish someone would put out a catalog filled with things like brass balls and steel backbones. I’d order in a heartbeat.

  I jerked myself out of remembering Kitty and the annoyance that seemed to go hand in hand with her. Instead, I concentrated on the pieces and parts of the costumes laid out on the counter in front of me. I set to work on finding any rips or tears—imperfections—in the garments. One fringed top needed mending at the shoulder, but otherwise I was in business. I put the separate pieces into a bag marked with the word CLEANERS and took a soft paintbrush from under the counter to clean the feathers on one of the headpieces.

  Anyway, at least now I had the place to myself. And after poking around in the nooks and crannies of The Masked Shoppe, I fell in love. The bustle and noise had died, and in its place was a quiet Celtic soundtrack playing through the speakers in the rafters. I’d found the coolest old stereo in the boudoir’s closet, with a stack of tapes. The system was completely pre-CD. The toe of my shoe tapped out the hypnotic rhythm of the music on the wood flooring.

  An okay first day, I thought, and hummed to the music as it whispered across the deserted main room. I’d left the candles burning throughout the day, and they still gave off the welcome smell of apples. Black apple candles. Go figure. Cream-tinted I could see, but Kitty told me a local candle maker would put any dye color on a chosen scented candle for a little extra. Wonder if I paid for those candles? Petty, I know, but I vowed to keep a closer eye on things now that I knew I was not the only one with a key.

  And that reminded me about the lack of a return call from my esteemed attorney. Well, I’d worry about it tomorrow. My first day as a proprietress had been worse than I expected. My optimistic side said tomorrow would be better. I snorted at that side, but inwardly still found a little hope that it was right.

  Of course, that’s never the way things actually work. Instead of a day that could only top the one before, I walked into chaos of a different kind on my second day.

  Setting my alarm clock for five, I chose another brown outfit for the day, this one a straight dark chocolate skirt paired with a silk blouse. The skirt brushed my ankles and managed to slim down the overly abundant curves I owned. Tiny leaves in all the colors of autumn floated down from the rounded neck of the silk shirt. I looked good, not that the Bouquet would agree, since it was still brown, but they weren’t here.

  So back to the chaos. I didn’t notice anything at first, because the front of the shop was in perfect order: costumes and props hanging from silver bars attached to the wall, big wardrobe filled with ball gowns and evening formal wear hanging in a straight row, unlit candles ensconced in pretty puddles of black. Perfect, r
ight?

  The trouble started when I opened the small door to the broom-closet-sized room that led into the boudoir. The royal purple material, draped so becomingly yesterday, hung slightly askew. Not a big deal. Maybe someone brushed up against it on their way out yesterday. Maybe Jackie had jerked the material in her huff to get away from the likes of me. Who knew? Although I thought I would have seen it before leaving last night.

  I had my answer when I walked into the main part of the boudoir. It looked like a freaking cyclone had hit Frederick’s of Hollywood. Bras and crotchless panties hung from the previously romantic sconces, like leftovers from a bachelor party. Thigh-high stockings and garters littered the floor. After I did a thorough check, I found every single piece of lingerie, every sexy outfit, every panty or bra, was out of place.

  The strangest thing about all this was it appeared all the inventory was there except items over a size fourteen. Weird. Not a single plus-sized bra or panty lay among the ruins of the room. No sexy nightgowns with X-anything on the tags. Nothing. It appeared someone had broken in and made off with all the lingerie for the full-bodied woman.

  “What the hell is going on?” I said aloud to the wrecked room. As if on cue, the bell tinkled above the door I’d purposely locked behind me when I came in.

  Chapter Four

  I cowered. I couldn’t help it. I heard the jingle of the bell and ran behind one of the sheer curtains in the lingerie room, cringing like a kicked dog. I was alone, freaked that my store was broken into and all the larger-sized lingerie was gone.

  Well, not alone anymore, but I had been.

  My brain finally kicked in when I heard Kitty’s strident voice singing some tune from the fifties. So she did have her own key and felt confident enough to use it without asking me first. We’d see about that.

  I walked out of the back room as if I were on a mission. And I was. I was going to get that key and put Miss Kitty in her place while doing it.

  The diminutive lady had dressed in black polyester slacks and a bright orange cardigan the color of that breakfast drink my mom used to make me down by the gallon. Kitty was humming now and I didn’t want to scare her, so I cleared my throat and waited for her to turn around.

  Jumping a little—which pleased me, although I had just thought about the evils of scaring her—Kitty whirled around and put her hand to her heaving breast. Okay, I admit to feeling a little vindictive at this point. She was in my store, uninvited, and hopefully her imbalance would give me the upper hand in the confrontation ahead.

  Was I up for it? Again, we’d see about that.

  “Kitty,” I said, all sunshine and light. “What a surprise. You didn’t say you’d be in this morning.” I’d delivered the first line and waited for her response. I wasn’t going to say another thing until she did. Let her sweat, I thought. She probably had no idea I was upset about her trying to take over the store. I’d bet she was one of those women who saw herself as “helping.” And I’d be the bitch who kicked her out. Well, not kicked her out, because I still needed her. Put her in her place. Maybe later I’d go out and kick a poodle.

  “Well, Ivy, good morning. I didn’t think anyone else was here. I thought I’d come in and get things going for you so you didn’t have so much to do. We could have another rush like yesterday, and I didn’t want you to be behind.”

  How thoughtful, I mused. But I wasn’t falling for it again. The nice-lady act with the veiled barbs was not going to float this time.

  “I certainly appreciate your concern, Kitty. But I’ve been here for about an hour, and I think you’ll find everything in order.” Please, God. “I’m taking my responsibilities to the store very seriously. You don’t have to worry about coming in early to help anymore. If you’d like to stay on for our peak season, I’d appreciate that, too, but I think normal business hours are fine from now on. In fact, why don’t you go ahead and give me your key, so I don’t scare you like I did this morning. I can handle opening the shop.” I put my hand out for the key and watched as she took her sweet time retrieving it from her purse.

  “Really, Ivy. I thought you’d be glad for the help with opening.”

  Jeez, she was going to drag this out. I thought I’d done pretty good on putting my foot down and didn’t want to explain myself to her. I shouldn’t have to, and I didn’t want to make enemies in my new hometown. So I throttled back my agitation and said, “As I said, I do appreciate your help, and”—I almost choked on the next words—“I would love for you to continue to help, but I think it is a good idea for me to have all the keys for the store. I don’t want any confusion over who’s doing what, where.” Like stealing all the lingerie. Something flickered in Kitty’s eyes when I said all the keys. Could she have made another one? I didn’t know, but I’d have to figure out a way to discover the truth.

  She seemed to accept my decision. Finally. This backbone stuff was a lot of work. Of course we had to go through the whole thing of working the key off her enormous key ring, and then the hesitation before she put it in my hand. She started to protest again. I saw the words on the tip of her tongue and cut her off before she could utter the first syllable.

  Grabbing the key out of her wrinkled hand, I said, “Thanks, I think this will work out far better.” Then I thanked my lucky stars when the bell tinkled again. This time a new customer came in, and I looked forward to another busy day. One in which I’d have to order a bunch of new plus-sized lingerie to replace what was gone and figure out who in their right mind would only take the bigger stuff and leave all the other clothes and costumes, not to mention the cash register. Plus, I didn’t want to broadcast the news of the robbery. What if Kitty had taken it all? What if Jackie had come back to exact revenge after our little That Teddy Won’t Fit Over Your Thigh tussle?

  But all of that took a back seat because the bell tinkled three more times, and my little shop was off and running for the day.

  The next few days whipped by in a flurry of cats and bats and vampires, oh my! Everyone in town had passed through my door, and I was happy each night when I counted the till. Kitty didn’t show up unannounced again, and we were only a little over a week from the annual Harvest Costume Ball. For the first time in a long time I felt good about damn near everything in my life. It was scary; I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  I still worried about the missing lingerie, but the woman at Sass and Lace overnighted some new things and I was able to re-stock the back room without alerting anyone to the theft. I knew I should go to the police, but I wanted to sit on things for a few days before I reported anything. I mean, what would I say? Some larger woman may have made off with my undies? Merchandise was stolen from my store and, by the way, I think you can rule out anyone who isn’t at least a size 14? I don’t know that they would take me seriously. I probably wouldn’t take me seriously.

  Besides, I’d read a bookshelf full of mysteries. I bet I could figure this one out myself, with my first suspect being Jackie. Maybe she’d stolen the lingerie so she wouldn’t have to admit a size two really wouldn’t fit her left thigh.

  I got my chance the following Thursday. Jackie came in to pick up a kitten costume in a size Large (no argument from me), and I cornered her before she had a chance to walk back to the boudoir.

  “That costume will look great on you,” I said with my professional smile on my face. No harm in buttering up the suspect before grilling her like a cheese sandwich.

  I got a nod and a cross between a snort and a throat clearing in return. Okay, time to try again. “How are things going with Charlie?” I asked. I’d pumped Kitty for information on Jackie earlier, so I had some conversation openers. Of course I didn’t tell her what I needed it for, and, voila, found out Jackie was dating Kitty’s son, Charlie. No wonder I got a sense Kitty didn’t like Jackie that first day. Nothing like a mama bear protecting her thirty-five-year-old cub from the unworthy paws of the replacement for his affections.

  Jackie’s whole body went stiff as a board, and
I was puzzled. I didn’t come out and say “Can you please return my stock” or anything, so why go statue on me? Maybe there were problems in paradise.

  But then a smile came across her face and she seemed to relax. It was a nice smile, but I could see a hint of smugness there. I was confusing myself with all these mixed messages, so I gave up the over-analyzing. I’d try later when I wasn’t being knocked off my feet with the overpowering reek of too much of Elizabeth Arden’s Red.

  “Charlie’s great.” Jackie brushed her blond hair over a rounded shoulder. “Thanks for asking. Hey, I wanted to apologize for the other day.”

  Wow. I hadn’t seen that one coming. Now I was the statue. For about two seconds. “Um...thanks.” So did I have to apologize here, too? No way. I had nothing to apologize for. I’d thought some unkind things about her since the Back Room Debacle, but everything I’d said to her at the time was true. Then again, I could have been nicer, and maybe I should apologize for that. She was a customer, and I wanted happy customers.

  She saved me from further self-torment by waving her hand as she walked away from me. Well, that went better than I’d expected. Or did it? I pondered the smug smile as I went about the rest of my day. Did it mean she knew something about the missing lingerie, or was I reading too much into nothing? Maybe her smiles were always smirky? Maybe I’d have to check out the next person on my short list of suspects.

  I locked up the store and went home to my clawfoot tub for a long soak. Bella was taking me out tonight to see the town, and she had told me to dress casual. That didn’t mean I couldn’t look damn good in casual. After all, I still hadn’t seen any really eligible men yet, and if I happened upon the one that (hopefully) existed in this town, I wanted to be prepared. Not desperate for the earth to swallow me whole because I hadn’t put on enough deodorant or my hair looked like I’d stuck my finger in an electric socket.