A hot-ticket charity fashion show is the perfect chance for Cookie Chanel, proud owner of It's Vintage Y'All, to show off her stylistic savvy for a good cause. But when a famous fashionista is fatally flattened, and the ghost of a former private investigator asks for Cookie's help, she has to scurry to sew up a solution. With clever clues from Wind Song, her psychic cat, and sassy suggestions from Charlotte, her ghost-in-residence, Cookie must unravel the sinister stitches of a deadly design—before she becomes the next fashion victim . . .
Release date:
November 1, 2015
Publisher:
Kensington Books
Print pages:
304
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Dresses were scattered about the floor. Stilettos were piled into a corner like a shoe mountain ready to topple at any moment. I’d never been behind the scenes of a fashion show, and the frantic pace was a little frightening. The behind-the-scenes footage I’d seen on TV had rows of clothing racks neatly organized by model, but this spectacle was as chaotic as a tornado. The models slipped into their outfits with ease, though, so the frenzy apparently didn’t affect them. I tried to stay out of the way, but the space backstage was cramped.
The show was being held in a nineteenth-century redbrick building that had originally been part of a college. It had also served as a hospital during the Civil War. Now the building was rented for various events. The changing area had been crammed into a small back room, so everyone was practically on top of each other.
My name is Cookie Chanel and I am a vintage-clothing connoisseur. I own It’s Vintage, Y’all boutique in Sugar Creek, Georgia. It was my job to make sure the models had a fabulous vintage accessory to go with their look. Picking out a 1960s red Pierre Balmain scarf, I tossed it to one of the models. She caught the scarf midair and in a fluid movement draped it around her neck in a dramatic fashion. Now the outfit was complete.
When I was a teenager, I’d thought about modeling, but I never had the grace. Plus, at five-foot-two, I wasn’t tall enough for the runway. That hadn’t stopped me from loving fashion. I put effort into every outfit I wore. Like today, my House of Gold sleeveless blouse was navy blue with white polka dots, and my fifties Pauline Trigère skirt was lipstick red with accordion-style pleats. I’d taken the time to style my dark hair into victory rolls too. Dressing the part was key to running a successful vintage-clothing shop. That and the fact that I loved all things vintage.
Melanie Lee was the fashion show director. She worked at the fashion design school in Atlanta. Melanie had designed the clothing that we would feature in today’s fashion show. I had been asked to pair vintage accessories with her new garments. That sounded like fun to me, so I had agreed. Melanie was running around backstage furiously trying to get everything in place and on time.
“Where is the red dress?” she yelled at no one in particular.
Melanie’s brown hair had started the day in an updo, but now the left side had fallen to her shoulder. The aqua-colored wrap dress she wore was one of her own designs.
I eased over to her as if she were a ferocious lion. “Melanie, do you need my help, or should I go have a seat in the auditorium?”
She whipped around with fire in her eyes. “What do you want . . . oh, Cookie. No, I think we have it from here. Thank you.”
Melanie turned around and stormed off. I had put all the vintage items with their coordinating outfits, so I guess there was nothing left for me to do. I felt as if I was just in the way in the confined space. One less body back there would be a good thing.
On the other side of the room, I spotted someone I knew. Actually, I’d only met her a couple times now. Brooke House had recently moved to town and opened a beauty salon around the corner from my shop. She was doing hair and makeup for the show today. Brooke had styled her own chestnut-colored hair in soft waves that fell to her shoulders. Strands of loose wisps pushed forward toward her heart-shaped face. She wore dark blue Hudson jeans on her slender frame and a wine-colored sleeveless Susana Monaco blouse.
Brooke must have felt my eyes on her. She glanced in my direction and frowned. After a couple of seconds she attempted a halfhearted smile. I gave her my best grin in return.
As I headed toward the door, a gorgeous brunette with delicate features stopped me. She wore a formfitting black with red polka-dot Christian Dior dress that I had provided for the show. I’d paired a vintage black motorcycle jacket with the dress to give the outfit an edge. Her ensemble looked great with the vintage that I’d provided, except for the fact that she wasn’t wearing shoes. Her hair was styled in a bob with loose curls falling gently next to her face.
“I can’t find the shoes.” Her voice was in panic mode.
What was I supposed to do?
“Um, I don’t know where your shoes are.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do, go out there barefoot?” She placed her hands on her hips.
Somehow I remembered this model’s name. I’d met a lot of models over the course of the past couple of days, but Hannah O’Neil stood out from the rest. Maybe it was because she yelled a lot and had been known to throw things at people. Like my grandfather would have said, she was as mean as a rattlesnake. I had a feeling if she had her shoes right now she would throw them at me.
A petite blonde stomped over to us with a pair of black stilettos in her hand. “Here are the shoes. And remember to put them back in the bag and hang them with your outfit when the show is over.”
The four-and-a-half-inch Jimmy Choo heels made me want to drool. Hannah snatched them from Meaghan’s hands, obviously not impressed by the gorgeous shoes. She was probably used to wearing stylish items like that.
“It’s about time,” Hannah exclaimed as she stormed off.
“She has such a pleasant personality, don’t you think?” Meaghan rolled her eyes.
“She’s a real doll,” I said.
Meaghan McKinney was Melanie Lee’s assistant. I didn’t envy her job. She worked under this kind of pressure all the time. Melanie was trying to make it big with her designs and that meant a lot of stress. I didn’t see why Melanie wouldn’t be successful because the items I’d seen so far were gorgeous. It didn’t look as if Meaghan had much time to decide on her outfit for the day. Her jeans were wrinkled and her plain white T-shirt was half tucked in. One of her sneakers’ laces was untied.
“Sorry about that.” She blew the bangs out of her eyes.
“It’s okay. I guess you’re used to it by now.”
“I wouldn’t say used to it, but I’ve learned how to deal with it. I should have become a veterinarian like I’d first intended.”
“Meaghan!” Melanie yelled from behind a rack of clothing.
“I’d better go.” She rushed off when Melanie yelled her name again.
I stepped out from backstage. A large crystal chandelier hung from the middle of the room. Swaths of white fabric were draped across the ceiling and pooled against the walls as if a dream of glitz and glamour. I hardly recognized the room. Before its makeover it had been nothing but beige walls and hardwood floor. I took a seat at the front of the stage.
With white folding chairs crammed into every available spot around the makeshift stage, the place was full to capacity. There must have been at least 300 people here. Needless to say, I was excited about the turnout. Being a part of the action had been thrilling and it would be fun to see the final outcome. I just hoped none of the models tripped while onstage.
A woman in her midthirties with short black hair sat next to me. She wore a formfitting red and white dress that hit just below the knees. I didn’t know the designer of the dress, but I recognized the woman from being backstage earlier in the day. I’d seen her leaving a red dress on one of the racks. Shandra Jordan also designed clothing, but I wasn’t sure if she had any pieces in today’s show. Casting a glance my way, she noticed me watching her.
“Hello.” Her clipped tone let me know she wondered why I was staring at her.
“I’m excited for the show. Do you have clothing featured?” I asked.
“No,” she said drily.
The music pumped a little too loudly from speakers behind the stage and the models streamed out one by one. I was happy to see that they had all worn my vintage pieces correctly. None of the items had gotten mixed up with the wrong outfits. Seeing my stuff onstage made me proud. After all, vintage was my life. My mother said I got my style and love of fashion from my grandmother. Granny Pearl had been the one who started calling me Cookie because the moniker fit so well with Chanel, that and she loved Coco Chanel. My given name is Cassandra, but everyone calls me Cookie.
Never had I thought that running a vintage-clothing shop would bring so much adventure into my life. Maybe I should have taken some time off after helping a movie company with their costumes, but I liked to keep busy, so I’d moved right on to another project.
The show passed quickly and everyone clapped as Melanie emerged onstage and took a bow. Shandra snorted. I looked over at her. A scowl covered her face as she stared at Melanie. At least I thought she was staring at her. I wondered what that was all about.
Now that the show had finished I had to get backstage and make sure all of the clothing items I’d brought were returned. The items were delicate because of their age and I wanted to make sure they weren’t tossed around too much. I liked to think of them as my babies.
After weaving through the crowd, I walked backstage. The models were feverishly removing the clothing and tossing the items onto the floor, changing into their own outfits. So far I hadn’t spotted Melanie or her assistant, Meaghan. I wanted to congratulate them on a job well done.
“Has anyone seen Melanie?” I asked.
Most of the models ignored me, then again it was noisy back there and maybe they hadn’t heard me. A couple of women nearby glanced at me and then whispered to each other.
I moved through the small space, zigzagging around the models.
“Please return the vintage items to the rack by the door,” I yelled so they would hear me.
Again they didn’t pay me any attention. I cringed at the way some of them were handling the clothing. I would thank Melanie and then hurry back in there to get my items before there was a disaster.
As I stepped out from the back space, a small equipment room was on one side of the hallway and on the other side a sound room. I checked both spaces but couldn’t find Melanie. At the end of the hall was an exit door. Maybe she’d stepped outside.
When I opened the door to the outside, I looked to my left and spotted Hannah. She was staring at the pavement. I followed her gaze and spotted Melanie facedown on the ground. Blood had pooled under her body. My stomach clenched and the smell of rotting trash from the nearby cans didn’t help. At that moment Hannah looked up at me. Her face was pale and haunted.
“I think she’s dead,” Hannah said.
“Well, pick my peas, you’ve discovered another dead person.” I knew it wouldn’t take long before Charlotte caught up with me.
The ghost of Charlotte Meadows typically stalked me everywhere I went. Today she had been suspiciously absent. Trouble followed her, though, and I figured at any minute I’d become aware of her presence. Now wasn’t exactly the best timing. I was a little occupied with my current project. I’d met Charlotte Meadows at her estate sale. She’d been murdered and demanded that I find her killer. Now she wouldn’t leave. Charlotte hadn’t been the only ghost I’d encountered either, but I hoped that now interacting with the spirit world was all behind me. Maybe Charlotte would eventually move into the next dimension. Around the same time a gorgeous long-haired white cat had found me. She was no ordinary feline though. Wind Song the cat had psychic abilities and used the Ouija board and tarot cards, but more about her later.
“Do you have a special talent for finding dead bodies? Kind of like a corpse radar?” Charlotte asked.
“You know that isn’t true,” I said.
“Actually, I don’t know. Aren’t you going to help the poor girl?” Charlotte motioned toward Hannah.
I’d already dialed the police, so there wasn’t much that could be done. I eased over toward Hannah. When I neared, she finally looked over at me. I approached as if sneaking up on a scared cat. Now that I was standing next to her, I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the building away from the body. Her body was rigid as she walked with me. There was no need for her to continue to stare at Melanie’s lifeless body. Nothing could be done for Melanie now. Sirens sounded in the distance, growing louder with each passing second.
“I can’t believe she’s dead. How did this happen?” Hannah whispered.
I noticed blood on Hannah’s hands. She spotted me looking at her and stuffed her hands in her pockets.
“I had nothing to do with this, you know?” she proclaimed.
“Of course.”
I wondered if she believed my response. I wasn’t even sure if I believed what she said. After all, it was her shoe by the body and she had blood all over her hands. How would she explain that?
As if she read my mind, she said, “I was just trying to help her. That’s why I have blood on my hands.”
The sirens were loud now and the swirling lights covered the area in a red and blue glow. Police officers surrounded the area.
“You should know exactly what the procedure is by now,” Charlotte quipped.
Sadly, Charlotte was right. I knew that we would have to give statements to the police, but I wasn’t positive that Hannah wouldn’t end up in handcuffs tonight. If what she said was true, then I felt bad for her, but if she really did have something to do with Melanie’s death, then that just made my skin crawl. Hannah seemed so sweet now in contrast to how she’d acted earlier, but that didn’t mean she was innocent by any means.
A dark-haired officer wearing the dark blue Sugar Creek Police Department uniform approached us. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Hannah remained silent with her arms wrapped around her waist as if shielding herself from the harsh reality of what had happened.
Finally, I said, “Melanie was dead when I came outside. I believe Hannah found her.” I pointed to Hannah.
She would probably be unhappy that I had told the officer that, but it was the only thing I could do. The officer pulled her to the side and she could no longer hide the blood on her hands.
“Do you see him yet?” Charlotte asked.
“Do I see who?” I asked.
She waved her finger in my direction. “Don’t play dumb with me. Where’s the handsome and divine Detective Valentine? I know you’re looking for him.”
Maybe I was looking for him, but the main reason was because I knew I would have to explain why I was at the scene of the crime. Well, maybe that wasn’t the main reason, but a very important reason nonetheless. I peered out over the darkness and then finally spotted Dylan Valentine. He was talking to another officer. He must have felt my eyes on him because he looked over at that moment.
“This is quite a scene,” a male voice said from behind me.
I jumped and spun around. A fiftysomething-year-old man stood beside me. He wore a gray pinstriped suit, white shirt with red tie, and black and white spectator shoes. His black hair was styled in a forties cut. I stared at him but didn’t speak.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Where are my manners? My name is Samuel Sanders. How do you do?” He smiled. “I would offer my hand to shake, but . . .”
Finally, I managed, “Nice to meet you. I’m Cookie Chanel and this is Charlotte Meadows.”
Charlotte studied her ruby red painted fingernails but didn’t look up at the dapper-looking man.
“Are you an officer with the Sugar Creek Police Department?” I asked.
“Don’t you know that he’s a ghost?” Charlotte asked without looking at us.
I studied the man closer, eyeing him up and down. He appeared very much alive to me, but then again, so did Charlotte.
“Sadly, the pretty lady is correct. I am in fact a ghost.” The man peered down at his white suede and black spectator shoes.
Charlotte instantly took an interest in Samuel when he mentioned her appearance. She was so predictable. Charlotte was a sucker for a compliment.
She moved closer to Samuel. “So what brings you here, Mr. Sanders?”
Charlott. . .
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