Chapter One
Seeing my best friend’s disembodied head sticking through the wall was disconcerting.
“Look,” Max said, poking her hands through the wall to frame her face. “I’m a big game trophy.” She gave me a saucy grin and batted her eyes. “Take my photograph.”
I dutifully picked up my phone, opened the camera feature, and took Max’s picture.
She floated on into the room and peered at the image over my shoulder. As usual, Max had been reduced to a white flare on an otherwise bare spot on the wall.
“Nuts.” She sighed. “Being a ghost has its drawbacks, you know.”
I suppressed a smile. “I can imagine.”
Maxine Englebright—Max—had died in 1930. Shops on Main had been her family home then. Max had been on her way to a dance—with my great, great-grandfather, oddly enough—had fallen down the stairs, and had broken her neck. She’d died instantly. And she was still wearing the mauve party dress and peacock-feather headband she’d had on as she’d taken her tumble. So, even though she’d been dead for nearly ninety years, it appeared she was still adjusting.
I did like to think I’d made Max’s life—er, rather afterlife—a bit better. Since renting space at Shops on Main and opening my vintage-inspired fashion design boutique, Designs on You, Max had been introduced to the joys of technology. She was now enjoying books, movies, and television programs on her—formerly, my—tablet, so I didn’t feel too sorry for her when she was pulling these crazy stunts and distracting me from my work.
“I’ve got to get this dress finished before Kristen gets here.” I looked up at the clock across from my sewing machine. “And school will let out in less than two hours.”
Max flicked her wrist. “No worries, darling. You’ve got this thing by the tail on a downhill pull. I don’t know why Princess Kristen has to have a custom dress for the dance anyhow.”
“Because she’s spoiled, and custom dresses keep us in business,” I reminded her.
She smiled. “There is that.”
When I’d learned that Winter Garden’s homecoming dance had a 1950s theme, I’d showcased some 50s-style dresses I already had in my ready-to-wear line on social media. I’d also gotten busy making more dresses and skirts in a variety of sizes and styles that would fit the theme. The items were selling well. But Kristen Holbrook had swept into Designs on You and had demanded a custom dress that would be “yellow with white trim, unlike any other dress that will be at the dance. I always stand out.”
Together, Kristen and I had come up with what she had deemed the perfect dress.
After the young woman had left, Max had perched on the corner of my desk and said, “If we could buy that child for what she’s worth and sell her for what she thinks she’s worth, we’d make a killing.” She’d referred to Kristen as “Princess Kristen” or simply “the princess” ever since.
“I think I’ll duck out for a while,” Max said. “I’ll be back after the princess leaves.”
“All right.” I knew it took a lot of energy for Max to hang around as much as she did.
I was down to the hemming of the dress, so I put an adjustable blind hem foot on my sewing machine. I glanced around the atelier. I was proud of the progress I’d made in just a couple of months. The workshop was neatly laid out and contained three sewing machines, a long white worktable, a metal filing cabinet to store patterns, a full-length three-way mirror, and a custom shelf made by Grandpa. The shelf even sported an elaborately carved A at the top, and it was big enough to store bolts of fabric in the bottom and pattern books, sketchbooks, pens, and watercolor pencils in the top.
Two dress forms stood in the atelier. Sometimes Max liked to hover behind them and pretend she was trying on the outfits they wore. I’d push them over in front of the mirror so she could admire the clothes. It must be tough—especially for a fashionista like her—to have to wear the same outfit all the time.
There was an ornate Oriental screen separating the workshop from my reception room. Two navy wingback chairs flanked a small marble table in front of the window. I had a writing desk that faced the door, and a pair of mannequins stood in the room. One wore a 1950s-inspired polka dot, A-line dress and a black grosgrain hat, and the other modeled a Renaissance gown. Halloween would be here in a few weeks, and the gown was versatile enough to wear for a costume party as well as to a RenFaire, a masquerade ball, or a cosplay event.
Max and Grandpa Dave had been encouraging me to host an open house, but the time had never seemed right. One of the Shops on Main vendors had died just before I’d moved into my boutique, and it would have been in poor taste to throw a party then. I wasn’t about to mention it to Max—and maybe not to Grandpa Dave, at least, not yet—but I was considering having a Halloween party. It would be an excellent way to showcase Designs on You and to introduce newcomers to my fashions. And Max would be absolutely over the moon. Being tethered to this building had done nothing to curb her curiosity and enthusiasm toward people. She’d love being in the middle of a soiree, even if Grandpa and I were the only ones who knew she was there.
***
I’d barely finished pressing Kristen’s dress when the princess flounced into the boutique and flung herself onto one of the navy chairs. The theatrical movement was enough to make my cat Jasmine raise her gray and white striped head for a moment before repositioning herself on the windowsill and yawning at the rain.
“Hi, Kristen,” I said. “Your dress is ready, if you’d like to try it on.”
“Yeah.” The word emerged from her lips as a sigh. “I need something to cheer me up today.”
“Would you like to talk about it?” I asked.
“Of course, she wants to talk about it,” Max said. “I thought for a moment she was going to have to throw herself onto the floor before you’d give her the response she wanted.”
I pierced Max with a glare that plainly asked what she was doing here when she’d told me she’d be back after Kristen left.
The ghostly fashionista shrugged. “I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to see the finished dress.”
Fortunately, Kristen couldn’t see or hear Max. In fact, other than Jazzy and me, no one else at Shops on Main seemed to be aware of her. And the only other person who could see and communicate with Max—as far as we knew—was Grandpa Dave.
“Our play is ruined,” Kristen said, looking up at the ceiling. “Stupid Ms. Jessup is leaving us high and dry.”
“Was she the play’s director?” I couldn’t imagine a teacher leaving her students in the lurch, but maybe it had been an emergency.
Kristen scoffed, as she brought her eyes back to mine. “No. She was a janitor, but she was in charge of costumes and props for the play.”
“Why can’t she still do that?” I asked. “I imagine she was being paid extra for the costuming job…unless it was a volunteer position.”
“It wasn’t volunteer, and she was being paid…well, I might add,” Kristen said.
“Well enough to put up with you, Princess?” Max asked.
“I know because I saw the budget.” Kristen examined her pink-tipped nails. “They say this polish is the color the Royals wear.” She turned her hand toward me.
I ignored Kristen’s comment about her nail polish and asked why Ms. Jessup’s leaving the school necessitated her abandoning the play.
“It’s because she’s leaving the state. Her mom is sick, and she has to go take care of her.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said.
“Thanks.” She blew out a breath. “You know…you could do it.”
I frowned. “Do what?”
“Ka-thunk!” Max exclaimed. “That was the sound of the other shoe dropping.”
“You could do the costumes.” Kristen leaned forward as if this idea had just occurred to her, but neither Max nor I had been born yesterday. This entire performance had been carefully choreographed.
“What play are you doing?” I asked.
“Beauty and the Beast.” Kristen beamed. “Naturally, I’m Belle.”
“Naturally,” Max parroted. “As if anyone else in the school—dare I say, world—could play the part.”
Kristen opened her tiny designer purse and took out a card. “This is Ms. Kelly’s number. She said to have you call anytime this afternoon to discuss the costuming with her.” She stood. “I’d like to try on my dress now.”
***
I walked Kristen to the front door of Shops on Main. She was carrying her dress, and I didn’t want her to drop it trying to open the heavy door with her hands full.
“Don’t forget to call Ms. Kelly!” Kristen called over her shoulder, as she stepped out onto the wood plank porch.
“I won’t.” I closed the door and smiled at Connie, who was standing in her doorway.
Connie owned Delightful Home, and it was located directly across the hall from Designs on You. Connie’s shop smelled of cinnamon and sage, sometimes lavender, depending on the essential oils she was diffusing at the time. In addition to oils, Connie sold candles, soaps, lotions, and tea blends.
“I couldn’t help overhearing,” Connie said, pushing a strand of her long, honey blonde hair behind her ear. “My friend Susan has a child in Sandy’s class—and who’s also appearing in the senior play this fall. Sandra Kelly and I went to college together. Anyway, Susan told me the person who was heading up wardrobe and set design for the play has quit.”
“Yes, that’s what Kristen was telling me.”
“You know, even if you can only help out a little, it would be a tremendous service to the school.” Connie tilted her head, making the silver hoops in her earlobes glisten in the light. “And it would earn you the appreciation of the Winter Garden community.”
I nodded. “I’ll call Ms. Kelly and see what I can do.” I went back to Designs on You.
“What’s with this play—Beauty and the Beast?” Max asked. “Is it a fairy tale, like Snow White?”
“I’ll show you.” I went to the desk and opened the tablet Max used for reading and watching movies. I downloaded the animated version of the movie Beauty and the Beast. “They made a live-action version, but this is the first one I saw. I fell in love with it.” I smiled. “Mom did too. She told me that the Beast was voiced by Robby Benson and that she had a major crush on him back in the day. She said she even still has a Tiger Beat with him on the cover.”
“What’s a Tiger Beat?”
I shrugged. “I guess it was a magazine back when Mom was a kid. I was always more into Teen Vogue.”
Max huffed. “All I had was Motion Picture and Cosmopolitan.”
My jaw dropped. “You read Cosmopolitan?”
She nodded. “It wasn’t as exciting as Motion Picture, but the stories were pretty good.”
***
After work, I put Jazzy and her cat carrier into the backseat. Jason’s car wasn’t in the lot, but I hadn’t expected it to be. I knew he had to work late this evening. He’d been booked solid since before Labor Day, mostly with senior portraits.
Jason and I had been dating this past month. I knew it wasn’t a good idea to get involved with someone who worked in the same building, but he and I had really been drawn to each other. He’d taken photos of me in some of my designs to help promote both our businesses, and our friendship had grown.
I opened the door of my tiny green SUV—SUV crossover, to be precise—and slid behind the steering wheel. It was just past five o’clock, and it was nearly dusk.
As soon as I’d backed out of my parking spot and started driving toward Main Street, I called Grandpa Dave. I’d always been closer to Grandpa—my dad’s father—than I’d been to anyone. He lived about ten minutes away from us the whole time I was growing up. I still lived in my mom and dad’s house. Dad had taken a job in Florida over two years ago.
Grandma Jodie had been dead just over five years, and especially since Mom and Dad had gone to Florida, Grandpa and I spent time together at least two or three times a week. I used my car’s Bluetooth connection to call him, thinking he might like for me to bring dinner.
“Hi, Pup,” he answered. “I hoped you’d call today.”
“Well, I hope you’re hungry. Jazzy and I are.”
“That cat is always hungry. Then again, so am I.” He chuckled. “And you’re in luck. I have a turkey breast in the slow cooker.”
“I am in luck,” I said. “I was going to offer to bring something, but this is even better. Be there in a few.”
Jasmine and I were such frequent visitors to Grandpa Dave’s house that he always had some of her preferred cat food on hand. He always had my favorites on hand too. Mom and Dad thought Grandpa Dave spoiled me. He did. And we were both perfectly all right with that. Hopefully, I spoiled him too. I tried, anyway.
When I drove up the long driveway leading to Grandpa’s house, I saw that he’d kept up Grandma Jodie’s tradition of putting a fodder shock, a friendly-looking scarecrow, and an uncarved pumpkin on the porch to herald the fall season. I was glad he hadn’t put away the white rockers or taken down the swing yet—we still had some warm days left to enjoy those.
Grandpa came out onto the porch as I parked the car. I got out, opened the back door, and let Jazzy out of the cat carrier. She ran to the porch as quickly as she could. By the time I got to the porch, Grandpa Dave had already scooped her up, and she was nuzzling his chin.
“The porch looks nice,” I said, as I strode up the steps and gave Grandpa a hug.
“Yeah, I didn’t put the decorations out as early as Jodie would’ve, but I finally got around to it.”
We went into the house, and I inhaled the mouth-watering aromas of cooking turkey, onion, and—
“Potatoes?” I asked.
He grinned. “Yep. All we need is the dressing. Will you do the honors while I feed Ms. Jasmine?”
“Gladly.” I put my purse on a chair in the living room and went to the kitchen sink to wash my hands. I’d worn a fifties-style dress with a bolero jacket today, so I took the jacket off and put it with my purse.
“You’ll get cold with those bare arms,” Grandpa warned.
“Not if I stay busy.”
I took a loaf of bread from the breadbox and retrieved a cookie sheet from beneath the oven. It was harder to make turkey dressing for just the two of us. After Grandma Jodie had died, I’d taken over making the dressing for family dinners. I had to be mindful of how much toast I was making when it was only the two of us. I buttered the bread and put it under the broiler.
“Did you have a good day today?” Grandpa asked.
“I did. Max made a spectacle of herself.” I explained about her making herself appear to be a big game trophy, and he laughed.
“She is a sight,” he said.
I then told him about Kristen and her wanting me to speak with her teacher about making costumes for the Winter Garden High School production of Beauty and the Beast.
“Are you going to do it?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “I’m concerned about taking on a project of that size.”
“Eh, at least speak with the teacher and see what she says. By now, she might’ve recruited one of the moms or something.”
“That’s true.” I put on potholders and took the toast out of the oven. “I’ll call her after dinner.”
“Funny you should mention Winter Garden,” Grandpa said. “I’m taking part in the farmers’ market there this weekend.”
“Winter Garden has a farmers’ market now?”
He nodded. “For one more week anyway. The Down South Café is hosting it in their parking lot.”
“And you’re taking some of your woodworking?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I doubt I’ll sell anything, but it’ll give me a chance to meet new people.”
I shook my head. “You’ll sell everything you take and come home with orders for more.”
Grandpa just grinned. He knew I was right.
***
Grandpa and I tidied the kitchen, and then he looked at the clock. “You’d better call that teacher if you and I are going to watch something on television before you leave.”
“All right.” I went into the living room, retrieved my phone and the card Kristen had given me, and sank onto the black leather armchair near the fireplace. I slipped off my shoes and tucked my legs beneath me. I keyed in the number and half-hoped the call would go to voice mail. It didn’t.
“Hello, this is Sandra Kelly.”
“Hi, Ms. Kelly. I’m Amanda Tucker. Kristen Holbrook gave me your number.”
“Ms. Tucker, I’m so glad you called. We’re in a bit of a bind.”
“Please call me Amanda,” I said.
“Great. And call me Sandy. As I’m sure Kristen told you, we’re putting on a production of Beauty and the Beast.”
I laughed softly. “I’d imagine Kristen has told that to anyone who’ll listen. She’s very excited to be playing the role of Belle.”
“Yes, she is. There’s usually little to no budget for wardrobe and set design for a high school musical, but this is Kristen’s senior year, and her parents want to ensure the child goes out with a bang,” Sandy said. “So, while the amount is still modest, there is a budget in place.”
“How much time do you think would be involved in an undertaking like this?” I asked. “I’ve never done costuming for a play before, and I do have a business to run.”
“Of course, you do. And you certainly wouldn’t be expected to do everything yourself. The Winter Garden parents are great about pitching in. We have a production meeting scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. If you’d be able to join us, we could discuss all the particulars and you could make your decision then.”
“Sounds good.”
“By the way, you don’t happen to know anyone who could oversee the set design, do you?” Sandy asked.
I looked into the dining room where Grandpa Dave sat with Jazzy on his lap. He had his reading glasses perched on his nose and was staring down at a half-worked jigsaw puzzle.
“As a matter of fact,” I told Sandy, “I just might know someone who’d be perfect for the job.”
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