Going Through the Notions(12)
The ladies decided to purchase the sewing station, so I moved it out of the front window and set it near the register. They said they would look around some more, so I busied myself with filling the space in the window with a 1930s Beech-Nut Gum display case, a silk sample swatch book, and some pristine tatted linen hankies.
All the while I kept half an ear open for the gossip behind me. When the discussion turned back to Angus, I was shocked to hear a note of resentment in the voices of the locals. To hear how jealous people were of the Backsteads, who still operated a thriving business in spite of the downturn in the economy.
The depressed economic conditions had also helped me obtain a rock-bottom rent for my store space when I first opened, I thought, with a soupçon of guilt.
I’d built a successful business myself by word of mouth, and now sold not only to crafters, but to collectors, interior designers, antiques dealers, and treasure hunters, some of whom came from hundreds of miles away. Like Eleanor’s, mine was a destination shop. Our little village of Millbury was too far off the beaten track for the casual tourist. Although unlike me, Eleanor only opened her store when she damn well felt like it.
Once the customers and the other women had departed, I mentioned to Martha, Debby, and Eleanor that I thought I might stop and visit Cyril Mackey at his junkyard. I had a feeling that if anyone could come up with some information about the night of the murder, it might be Cyril.
Martha choked on her third cheesecake square.
“Why do you want to see that disgusting old fart? The man needs a haircut, a shower, and some clean clothes, and that’s just for starters. Last time I saw him in town, I offered to pay for a trip to the barber.”
I winced. “And what did he say to that?”
She sniffed. “Nothing I can repeat in polite company.” Noting the almost empty plate, she addressed Eleanor. “How many of those have you eaten?”
Eleanor shrugged. “Not sure. Five, maybe six. More?”
“How the hell do you stay so skinny?”
“Not sure. I eat like a pig. That is, when I remember.”
“See, Daisy, this is the kind of comment from her that drives me insane. How can someone just forget to eat?”
The doorbell chimed again, and I ran a hand through my hair. It was turning out to be a busy day.
On the doorstep stood a gorgeous young woman, long blond hair trailing across her shoulders. She wore a filmy gauze top and a full-length silk skirt, with a colorful Indian scarf tied expertly around her neck.
She flung her arms wide. “Hi, Mom. Surprise!”
Chapter Three
“Sarah! What on earth are you doing here?” I rushed over and hugged my daughter, and even managed to kiss her on the cheek before she strode into the store.
“Oh, you know. I’m sort of between films right now, so I thought I’d come home and chill for a while.”
Debby clasped her hands together. “Films! How exciting!” She was always going to the Ritz, an art house cinema in the Old City district of Philadelphia that featured independent and foreign films and documentaries.
“Wow, it’s always like a party in this place. Look at these.” Sarah took the last of the cheesecake squares and smiled at Martha. “Awesome.”
“Thank you, darling. Glad there was at least one left for you,” Martha said with an arch look at Eleanor.
Eleanor was a former costume designer, and had worked on some of the same movie sets as Sarah. After one of her visits home, Sarah had told her about Millbury, and intrigued, Eleanor came to check it out. She saw the empty storefront across the street from me and that was it.
“Sarah, do you remember that last shoot from hell we did together? With Robert Malone, the crazed director on the Western debacle? I still have nightmares about that one.”
“He was a complete maniac. Overcoked and overbudget.”
“The man decided he needed two hundred extras at the last minute, all of them in period costume. I wanted to strangle him with a length of rickrack trim.”
Sarah laughed. “So I take it you don’t miss the movie business, E?”
“Not one bit, thank you very much. There’s not enough gin in the world to make it bearable. Besides, I’ve finally found my true niche in life. Just like your mother.”
“Oh, yeah. How’s biz with the dusty old sewing things, Mom?”
“Pretty good,” I answered. “Although I clean every item before it’s displayed, Sarah. I honestly don’t think they’re that dusty . . .”
I was drowned out by my group of friends as they peppered her with questions about her exciting career. She had Joe’s easy charm and ability to get along with anyone. I saw their expressions of delight as she turned her attention from one to the next. Like a beautiful butterfly landing on a flower beside you. You held your breath because you didn’t want it to fly away.