A Passion for Haunted Fashion

Book 6: Haunted Vintage Mystery

by Rose Pressey

Genres: Ghost; Craft & Hobby Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

When Cookie Chanel moonlights as a costume designer for a local theater, murder takes center stage....

Folks say the Sugar Creek Theater is haunted. But that doesn't scare off Cookie Chanel, owner of Georgia's chicest vintage clothing store, It's Vintage Y'All - especially since Cookie talks to the ghost of her grandmother every day through her cat Wind Song.

Still, after she agrees to be in charge of costumes for a production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, she's surprised to find the specter of a young woman in the theater, keeping watch over a trunk of 1950s dresses. And when Cookie's best friend, Heather, is found standing over a stabbed actor, she has two mysteries to solve.

This is not a dress rehearsal. A desperate killer is waiting in the wings. If Cookie doesn't tread the boards lightly, it'll be curtains for her as well....

Release date: May 29, 2018

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

There were rumors that Sugar Creek Theater was haunted. I’d never given much thought to ghosts until they started talking to me. Most of the lights had stopped working in the basement of the building years ago. Fixing them wasn’t a top priority for management. Against my better judgment, I headed toward the costume room. It was located down in the dungeon. At least that was what I called the space. The floorboards creaked with every step I took. Every time I came down here I felt as if someone watched my every move. That was why I hadn’t come alone today.

I’d brought a ghost with me. Charlotte Meadows wouldn’t miss out on tagging along. She was bossy and loved telling me what to do. Charlotte had been with me for a while now. Ever since I’d found her at an estate sale. She’d been attached to her clothing. We’d been through a lot together in a short amount of time. Now she refused to move on from this dimension.

“Cookie, don’t forget to put Heather in bright colors. She’s always so blah.” The gold bangles clanged together as Charlotte talked with her hands.

“I’m glad Heather can’t hear you say that.”

Charlotte eased down the hallway beside me. She watched every step she took in her black four-inch Christian Louboutin heels, as if she thought she might take a wrong step on the old floor.

“Charlotte, it’s okay if you fall . . . you’re already dead. What can it hurt?”

“Why do you insist on reminding me of that every day?” Charlotte asked.

“It’s just a fact,” I said.

“Besides, it could hurt my ego,” she said.

As usual, Charlotte’s chestnut-colored hair fell to her shoulders in perfect waves, as if she’d just stepped out of a salon. Her makeup was photograph ready and her white Chanel blouse and black Louis Vuitton skirt were the latest off the runway. Charlotte knew fashion, no matter if she was dead. She didn’t go for vintage like me though.

We continued down the hallway. Footsteps sounded from behind me. A cold breeze drifted across my skin.

“Charlotte, stop goofing around. I’ve noticed your shoes. There’s no reason to exaggerate your footsteps.”

“That’s not me,” she whispered.

I froze. If the sound hadn’t come from Charlotte’s feet, then who was making the noise? I eased around, completely expecting to see someone else behind us. No one was there.

“This place really is haunted. I don’t like ghosts.” Charlotte rubbed her arms, as if fighting off the goose bumps.

That was hilarious considering Charlotte was a specter. I refrained from reminding her of that once again.

At the end of the hallway was the room reserved for all the costumes. Racks and racks of vintage clothing, handmade costumes, and various props filled the space. Immediately upon entering the area the sense that someone was watching fell over me again.

“Why did they stick you down here in this creepy space? There are no windows. One of these nights they will forget you’re down here and lock you in.”

“Thanks, Charlotte, as if I wasn’t scared enough already.”

Soon the spookiness was forgotten as I sorted through the clothing. Vintage always made me feel better and eased my troubles. Clothing from bygone days was my thing. I owned a boutique in Sugar Creek, Georgia, called It’s Vintage Y’all. When I got my hands on a 1950s hoop skirt or a 1940s party dress, all my stress oozed away. A gorgeous Dior cocktail dress and all my troubles vanished. Anything Chanel made my heart go pitty-pat. Considering my name is Cookie Chanel, I suppose that was fitting. As a child when I ate an entire package of cookies, my grandma Pearl gave me the Cookie nickname. The moniker fit so well with Chanel that it stuck.

Charlotte sat on an old trunk in the corner of the room. “What do you need for the costume? Let’s get this going so we can get out of here.”

“You know, Charlotte, you didn’t have to come down here.” I pulled out a bright fuchsia and black floral print dress and examined it.

With spaghetti straps, a full skirt, and fitted waist, the cut and fabric would be fabulous on my best friend Heather Sweet. The director had put me in charge of costumes for Sugar Creek Theater’s production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Heather had the role of Maggie.

“I can’t leave you alone down here. What if a ghost gets you?” Charlotte studied her red polished fingernails.

She didn’t seem all that concerned.

“I suppose I’ll talk to the ghost just like I do with you,” I said.

Charlotte pinned me with a frosty stare. “You just had to get in the fact that I’m dead, didn’t you?”

I moved away from the rack and closer to Charlotte. “I’m just sayin’ . . .”

She jumped up from the trunk. “Pick out a dress and let’s get a move on. How about that one?”

“Which one?” I asked.

Charlotte gestured with a flick of her wrist. “The one that looks like the dress you’re wearing.”

I pulled the frock from the rack. The fabric was similar to the dress I’d worn today. The butterflies on the fabric were smaller than the ones on mine. The colors were the same hues of lilac and yellow. The V-neck bodice had a nipped waist, and the skirt was full in a tea length.

I placed it back on the stand. “Heather already has a dress with these colors.”

Charlotte massaged her temples, as if ghosts could really have headaches. “Just pick something already.”

“What’s in that trunk?” I pointed.

“How should I know?” Charlotte said.

I reached down and examined the latch. “It’s not locked.”

“That’s not an invitation to open it. There’s probably a mouse in there.”

Just in case Charlotte was right about the vermin, I eased the lid open. So far no rodents. However, I’d found some seriously fabulous vintage clothing. Who left these wonderful pieces? A 1950s fitted black cocktail dress with a low back. A 1940s sleeveless sweater in a gorgeous cream color. Everything was from the 1950s with the exception of a few pieces from the 1940s.

“Is that cashmere?” Charlotte leaned closer.

Now Charlotte was interested.

“Did you see this trunk yesterday?” I asked.

Charlotte tapped her foot against the dinged-up floor. “With all this junk, how would I remember? Now let’s go.”

“I think that dress is beautiful.” The female voice carried across the room.

I jumped, tossing the dress in the air. When I spun around I saw the young woman standing over by the door. She was probably about five years younger than me, around twenty-five. She had brown hair cut into a bob with bouncy curls that framed her round face. Her mint-colored dress looked like it had been made in the 1950s. A large bow adorned the neckline, and the fitted waist flowed into a gathered full skirt. I was almost sure the dress had been handmade by a talented seamstress. Maybe my style was having an influence on people around town. Where had she come from? It was as if she’d appeared out of nowhere.

“The trunk belongs to me,” she said. “I’ve been stuck in this building for years.”

Oh no. Another ghost?

“Who are you?” I asked.

“My name is Peggy Page.”

“Why does every ghost from here to Saint Augustine and back insist on sparking up a conversation with you?” Charlotte sashayed over to the young girl.

“I would think you would have an answer for that, Charlotte,” I said.

“Why are you here?” Peggy asked.

I could ask the same of her. She didn’t seem intimidated by Charlotte one bit. That was impressive.

“I’m here to style costumes for the actors in the upcoming play.” I gestured across the room with a wave of my arm.

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, what’s the play?”

“Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,” I said.

“Never heard of it,” she said.

Charlotte and I exchanged a look.

“If you don’t mind I have to ask, how long have you been here?”

Charlotte and I stared intently, waiting for the answer.

“What year is it?” Peggy asked.

Charlotte pointed at the calendar on the wall by the sewing machine.

Peggy’s eyes widened. “That long? Why haven’t I seen that calendar before? That’s a long time.”

“How long is a long time?” I asked.

She didn’t answer, but changed the subject. “I see fashion hasn’t changed all that much.” She eyed me up and down.

Charlotte moved over beside me again. Her gaze traveled the length of my body, as if she was seeing me for the first time. She pursed her lips together and said, “Oh, it’s changed. Cookie just refuses to give up on the past.”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest, partially blocking my outfit from view. “The past has a lot of great fashion to offer that we should never forget.”

“Yes, and a lot of bad too. Bell bottoms, polyester, leg warmers.” Charlotte shuddered as she ticked them off on her fingers.

I couldn’t argue with her on that.

“Leg warmers sound nice. Legs can get cold; although I have to admit I have no idea what they are,” Peggy said.

“Be thankful for that,” Charlotte said.

Peggy was chewing bubble gum. That must have been some seriously old gum.

She popped a bubble. “So what’s the play about?”

“Well, it’s set in the 1950s.”

She pulled out the gum, twisted it around her finger, and said, “Oh wow, that’s my time.”

“That’s disgusting.” Charlotte pointed to Peggy’s finger.

Peggy shoved the gum back into her mouth.

“I bet you’d like the play,” I said.

“So that’s why you were looking through my trunk?” Peggy pointed. “You can use some of the clothes if you’d like.”

“Like Cookie wouldn’t have anyway,” Charlotte said under her breath.

Peggy walked over to the trunk. “Open it up and I can help you with the costumes. What do you need?”

“Oh dear,” Charlotte said.

Peggy didn’t notice Charlotte’s sarcasm.

“Well, I’m not sure exactly. I suppose dresses would be nice. I like the red one. That would be nice for Maggie to wear in the end scene.”

Charlotte moved closer to Peggy. Charlotte was taller than Peggy, especially with her high heels, so she was towering over her. “So, Peggy, can you tell us why you are here?”

Peggy turned her back to us and walked across the room. Was she leaving?

Once she was back in the doorway, she turned to face us again. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

It looked as if she had tears in her eyes.

Charlotte and I exchanged a look.

“That’s not good,” I said, moving closer. “Is there anything we can do?”

Peggy slumped her shoulders. “I wish I knew.”

Charlotte quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me.”

Peggy stood a little straighter. “Hey, maybe you can help me figure out why I’m here. The last thing I remember is from 1956. I bet that’s when I died.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” I placed one of the dresses back into the trunk.

Peggy looked at Charlotte. “You’re a ghost, right?”

Charlotte studied her fingernails. “No, I just like hanging around being see-through.”

Peggy smirked and turned her attention back to me. “Did you help her find out why she’s a ghost?”

“Well, yes, I did, but . . .”

Peggy had a bounce in her step as she crossed the room. “Good. You can help me.”

Yes, I suppose it was now my fate in life to help the ghosts. I didn’t mind really. After all, I would want someone to do the same for me.

“Okay, I’ll help, but you’ll have to tell me what you remember about your last day alive.”

Peggy frowned. “I don’t remember anything.”

“Nothing?” Charlotte quirked an eyebrow again.

Peggy tossed her hands up. “No. It’s as if I have amnesia.”

“I’ve heard about that happening,” I said. “Ghosts lose their memory. In fact, Charlotte couldn’t remember a lot of things.”

Charlotte scowled, as if I wasn’t supposed to mention any imperfection she ever had.

I’d read about it in a book too. One that I’d borrowed from my best friend’s occult shop. A medium had written about the ghosts that she had interacted with, and some of them couldn’t remember a thing. It would be a good thing if I could help Peggy finally bring back all her memories.

“This is so nice of you. Thank you so much,” Peggy said.

When she looked at me with her big brown eyes and said such sweet things, how could I refuse?

“Yes, I suppose I could help you,” I said.

“As if there was ever any doubt,” Charlotte said.

A scream rang out and we froze.

“What was that?” Charlotte asked, clutching her chest. “This is a wild bunch around here. Haven’t they learned how to act in public?”

“I don’t know what happened, but I need to find out.” I ran for the stairs with the ghosts following close behind.

After fumbling my way down the long dark hallway, I almost stumbled as I raced up the stairs. My best friend Heather Sweet was up there. What if something had happened to her? Maybe there was an accident. I was hoping it was something as simple as they’d seen a mouse or spider. Once at the top of the stairs, I burst out into the seating area.

A crowd had gathered by the front of the stage. Something had happened and it didn’t look good. Worse yet, I hadn’t seen Heather. As I neared the stage, I spotted the body on the floor. Much to my relief, it wasn’t Heather. I couldn’t make out who was on the ground. The person was male I guessed by the dark gray suit and shoes.

“Why is everyone standing around?” Peggy asked.

People were blocking the view of the man’s face. I scanned the crowd and spotted Heather standing right next to the man’s body. I saw the man’s face. I recognized him right away. It was Morris Palmer. A knife was protruding from his chest. Blood covered Heather’s hands. Was it bad that I was thinking about her getting blood on the gorgeous cherry-colored Dior dress? Yes, that was definitely bad. I scolded myself for the thought. I suppose the blood would blend right in with the color of the fabric.

I’d never seen that kind of expression on her face. She looked absolutely stunned. Soon the gathering of people turned their attention to Heather. I knew what they were thinking. It wasn’t possible.

“This doesn’t look good,” Charlotte said as she stood beside me.

No, it didn’t look good at all. I ran over to Heather. She stumbled back, looking down at her hands.

“I think she’s going to faint,” Charlotte said.

I grabbed Heather and guided her away from the stage.

First we had to get the blood off her hands. Next we’d get her to a chair. My mind raced with thoughts of how the blood had gotten on her hands. How had this happened to Morris?

“The police are on the way,” a man from the crowd announced.

Immediately thoughts of Dylan popped into my mind. Detective Dylan Valentine and I had been seeing each other for a while now. He would be the first on the scene for a death investigation. Unfortunately, I was one of the first too.

I guided Heather to the ladies’ room so she could wash her hands. Maybe the police would want to see that blood was all over her hands, but I didn’t want to leave Heather in that condition. She had already been through enough. Heather’s whole body shook as she stood in front of the sink. I turned on the faucet and directed her hands under the water. The crimson color faded as it mixed with the water and circled the drain before disappearing.

“This does not look good, Cookie,” Charlotte said as she stood by one of the stalls.

Peggy remained silent as she stood by the door watching us. I imagine we had completely shocked her. Once Heather had dried off her hands, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Tears ran down her cheeks. I hated to see her like this. Maybe she didn’t want to talk about it, but I had to know.

“What happened?” I asked.

Heather turned to me. “When I came from backstage I saw him on the floor. I ran over to him and tried to help him, but it was too late.”

She placed her head in her hands. I reached out and embraced Heather. All I could do was tell her that everything was okay.

“So she didn’t kill him? Whew, that’s a relief,” Charlotte said.

“Cookie, are you in there?” Dylan’s voice came from the other side of the door.

“Uh-oh,” Charlotte said, racing over to the door.

“Okay, don’t panic,” I said.

“Do they think I killed Morris?” Fear flashed in Heather’s green eyes.

“Well, the blood all over your hands sure was a good clue,” Charlotte said.

I glared at her.

“It doesn’t look good, does it?” Peggy said.

Oh great, now she was helping Charlotte.

“We’ll just go explain everything to . . .