Murder by Design Trilogy Page 2

  “It’s okay,” he whispered picking up the whistling kettle. “He needed directions.”

  Stuffing the envelope with the address and phone number into his pocket, John strolled into the kitchen with a disarming grin on his face—suggesting there was no reason to be afraid of him. The redhead tentatively smiled in return, her deep green eyes narrowing as she scrutinized the stranger.

  “John, meet my Granddaughter, Gillianne. Honey, meet John. He stopped at our door for directions. I’m brewing us a cup of tea before he goes back out in that rain. Want to join us?”

  “Sure. Nasty night out, John … to be wandering around.” Gillianne opened the cabinet for another cup and saucer throwing her grandfather a wide-eyed, what-were-you-thinking look.

  Ignoring her, Clay poured boiling water over the teabags in the three cups releasing a cinnamony aroma. “Maybe I’ll take the car and give him a ride now that you’re home.”

  “Oh no, sir. I wouldn’t hear of it. You’ve been very generous already. I parked in a driveway up the road. The house had no lights and I didn’t want to wake anyone, so I headed to your place. Nice to meet you, Gillianne.”

  “Alright then, but take a seat. Gilly, pass me the sugar bowl. Sugar, John?”

  “No thanks.” John, taking a sip of tea, caught Gillianne staring at him over the rim of her cup. He gulped another swallow and set the cup down in the saucer. “I really have to be on my way. Thanks for the tea.” He pushed his chair back, stood up and extended his hand to Clay. “Thanks again, sir.” Nodding to Gillianne, he picked up his damp sweat jacket and left the kitchen, the patio, and the little house.

  Chapter 3

  ───

  A SWISH OF COLD air hit Gramps in the face as the visitor left, disappearing into the rainy night. He shut the door returning the patio to a warm, damp cocoon.

  “Gilly, your mom wants you to call. Said it was urgent.”

  “Okay, but did she remember I wouldn’t be back from the casino until after eleven? The slots were going full tilt tonight. Some big tippers,” she said pulling her fingers through the black rotary wall phone.

  Gramps didn’t hear her as he shuffled down the hall. “Night, Gilly,” he mumbled over his shoulder closing his bedroom door.

  “Hi, Mom—

  “Thank goodness. A bride and her two bridesmaids came into the Tea Room this afternoon.”

  “Mom, it’s late and I’m dead on my feet. What’s so urgent?” She kicked off her low black heels, mandatory part of her uniform serving drinks to the patrons pushing the buttons on the slot machines. Gilly plunked down on the kitchen chair, massaging her toes. Flats or not, being on her feet for over six hours hurt.

  “The bridesmaids. Their eyes were red. Honestly, Gilly, they looked so pathetic. I rushed right over to them with a pot of Chamomile tea and asked what was wrong.”

  “I’m sorry they were upset, but, Mom—

  “Wait, honey. I’m getting to it. Their dresses, the bridesmaid’s dresses are on their way to Hong Kong and the wedding is Saturday.”

  Gilly dumped her night’s tips from a leather pouch onto the kitchen table—bills and coins.

  “Mom? I’m sure the girls will get to Hong Kong in time. They must have a through flight from Seattle.” As her mother talked Gilly began stacking and counting up her tips. One three-credit-hour course minus some financial aid amounted to $1350. Another $450 and she’d have enough to register for two classes at the Design Academy. But two classes weren’t enough. Three classes? Maybe three, with her sewing abilities, just might land her a job on the bottom rung of the fashion industry. But her funds were a long way from the over $4,000 she needed especially when she added in books and lab fees.

  Gilly believed with all her heart that attending a prestigious school like the Design Academy would help her achieve her goal of becoming a fashion designer … maybe someday her own line of clothes … at least out on Bainbridge Island.

  “What? What did you say, Mom?”

  “I said, the dresses were misdirected. The wedding is here—Port Gamble. I introduced myself and told them I thought my daughter could whip up new dresses in time for them to walk down the aisle.”

  “You what? It’s Wednesday, no, in two minutes it’ll be Thursday. No way. Why can’t they take the ferry into Seattle tomorrow and—

  “There really isn’t time with all the wedding preparations, not to mention the parties.”

  Gilly paced around the kitchen table, stretching the kinky telephone cord to the max.

  “So, they have no time but I’m supposed to come up with a couple of dresses—abracadabra? Mom!” Slumping in the chair, Gilly stretched her legs out in front of her, leaned her head back and stared up at the ceiling.

  “Now, Gillianne, you’re just tired. They’re meeting you tomorrow morning for coffee at the Port Gamble General Store, nine o’clock. I’m sure you’ll be able to give them some ideas … at the very least. The girls were so sweet. So sad.”

  “You and me, Mom. They’ll meet you and me. Okay?” Gilly closed her eyes, thinking out loud. “Twenty minutes to Port Gamble from Gramp’s. I’ll stop at home first—

  “Oh, I’ll wait for you then if you’re stopping at the house. How’s your grandfather? Did he get the raspberries picked? Bring some if he did.”

  “He’s fine. I’ll ask about the berries but right now I’m going to bed. Mom, what size are the girls?”

  “Maybe tens. Maybe an eight and a ten.”

  ───

  THE SUN BURNED OFF the morning fog ushering in a beautiful summer day in Port Gamble. Tourists loved the quaint little port patterned after a New England village in Maine by two lumbermen in 1853. The Pope and Talbot mill thrived for over a hundred years, receiving log booms tied to tugboats to subsequently be milled at the port. Unfortunately, the mill closed in 1995 putting the lumbermen out of work, almost killing the town.

  Entering the café in the General Store to the chatter of tourists stocking up on muffins or bacon and eggs, and numerous fill-ups of coffee, Gilly spotted the bridal party—tears, no; long faces, yes. The girls stared down into their coffee mugs. One of the them looked up and smiled as Anne Wilder marched to their table with her daughter. They were a matched pair—both five-foot-five, red hair, dressed in jeans and white T-shirts. Anne and Gillianne slid into the two empty chairs as Hannah, sporting a freshly starched white apron, placed two mugs of coffee on the table in front of them.

  “Gilly, meet Trudy Stanhope, the bride I’ve been telling you about, and Sherry and Jean, her bridesmaids. Girls, this is my daughter, Gillianne Wilder, a crackerjack seamstress.”

  “Now, Mom, I don’t know—

  “Gillianne, please, please, can you help us?” Trudy asked clutching her mug. Her eyes, voice, and rigid body spelled desperation as she leaned toward Gilly.

  Gilly looked into the bride’s large brown eyes, tears gathering, her big day hanging by a thread. How do you say no to those eyes?

  With a sigh, Gilly looked at the two girls she was being asked to dress as bridesmaids in two days, sewing day and night. Her mother was right, they looked to be size ten. Jean had big boobs. Sherry appeared to have no boobs at all, maybe a size eight. Sherry was blonde and Jean’s hair a dark brown. Both wore their hair long, but at the moment pulled back in ponytails protruding through the hole in the back of their billed caps.

  Hannah returned to the table with a large pot of coffee and began topping off everyone’s mug, as several patrons noisily filed out into the late August sunshine. They were replaced with a new batch of customers looking for breakfast. Empty mugs and silverware clattered down on the counter in front of them as they perched on the high stools.

  Gilly turned away from the bridal party, blinked twice, and smiled. How could she be so short sighted? Turning back to the girls, she realized she was looking at an opportunity to add to her bankroll. With her savings, another class was sitting in front of her. Two dresses. Create two dresses in two days? Of course she could,
sewing all hours between now and the wedding. Quickly assessing the situation, a smile spreading across her face, her green eyes dancing, she faced the bride.

  “I’m not scheduled to work at the boutique today … my next shift at the casino is tomorrow evening. Did any pieces of your outfits make it here?”

  “Yes,” both maids piped up. “Our shoes and ribbons—pink bows to hold flowers in the back of our hair,” Sherry added.

  “What color are your shoes?” Gilly pulled a little blue notepad from her tote, her mom handing her a pen.

  “Pale pink matching the bow,” Jean said. “I wanted to wear black.”

  “Jean, you did not.” Trudy shot her an evil look.

  “I did, too. If you’re going to marry what’s-his-name, then I say wear black.”

  ‘”Jean, stop it. If Trudy wants Quentin, then that’s that.” Sherry patted Trudy’s hand. “Don’t listen to her.”

  “If you feel I’m entering into such a bad marriage, why did you agree to be my bridesmaid?” Trudy’s eyes again began filling with tears.

  “Because you are my best friend and I hope to talk some sense into you before you make a big big mistake,” Jean said, her brows rising in defiance. “In which case, I had to be with you to help pick up the pieces. Let’s table the discussion for now shall we?”

  Gilly waited before saying anything, her head swiveling back and forth like watching a ping pong match. She glanced at Trudy. “Are you sure you want to go through with this dress idea?”

  “I do,” Sherry said and giggled.

  “Looks like it’s the only way I can be a witness to disaster,” Jean snipped. “I’d still like to wear black.”

  “Gilly, Quentin and I would very much appreciate your help to make our wedding a memorable day.” Trudy wiped away a tear, blew her nose, and looked at Jean daring her to speak.

  “It’ll be memorable, alright,” Jean mumbled.

  “Please, stand up a minute,” Gilly said looking at the two bridesmaids. The girls, puzzled looks, stood up, pulling their T-shirts down into place over their jeans. “Turn around slowly … that’s good … okay, you can sit down.”

  A family at the next table watched the bridesmaids. “Mommy, are they dancing?” their little girl asked. She shot up, twirling. Gilly tapped her pen on her notepad, smiled at the little girl as her mother pulled her into her lap before she tripped Hannah serving their breakfast order.

  Gilly sized the girls up, jotted more notes, then looked at the bride. “Is your dress okay?”

  “Thankfully, yes.”

  “I have two lengths of material I bought last year … they’re still in my trunk, crepe on one side and a lustrous satin on the other. One piece is a pale banana, the other light apricot. Very pretty. Lightweight, shimmery, and will drape nicely. I think there’s enough for a tea-length, sleeveless dress—one of each color. Does that sound at all appealing?” Gilly looked at Trudy for approval. As far as she was concerned, given Jean’s outbreak, the bride had the final say. Mentally cutting the fabric, her hands skimming the material out on the table, she visualized a design—the draping, the front nipped at the waist showing off the girls’ figures.

  “Sounds wonderful,” Trudy said expelling her breath. “Their dresses were long, but short for summer is probably better and the wedding is in the morning. Saturday morning.” Her eyes opened wide as her mouth turned down. “Do you think you can do it?”

  “It’ll be close, but a short dress, hems, no sleeves … we can give it a try. Are they carrying bouquets? Colors?”

  “White with pink roses. Ribbon is white.” Trudy said gathering strength. Maybe this woman with the wild red hair was going to save her day.

  The bridesmaids didn’t look thrilled when Gilly said the word try. Skepticism played around Sherry’s face, while Jean, bored, checked her nails.

  Gilly jumped up and gave Trudy a hug, and looked at Sherry and Jean. “Hey, come on. You’ll have your dresses if I have to sew all night. But I need your help.”

  Gilly darted back to her chair and began writing furiously on her notepad.

  “Anything, you name it,” Trudy and Sherry chimed in giggling at each other.

  “I don’t sew. Not even a button.” Jean switched hands, buffing a non-existent spot off her little finger. “But I know how to stand still for a fitting.”

  “Mom, can you go to the boutique and pick up two of those filmy scarves—very long, muted colors of pink, blue, yellow and green. Make sure Sharon agrees they are returnable in case they don’t work out. I think they will perk up the dresses if I attach them at the shoulder … flowing down the front and back.”

  Anne nodded, yes, excitement in her eyes watching her daughter swing into action.

  “Oh, wait. I may have the perfect pin.” Trudy reached into her shoulder bag retrieving two small gift boxes tied with narrow, pink satin ribbon. With a broad smile, tears long gone, she set a little box in front of each girl. “Your bridesmaid’s gift. Thank you for coming with me,” she said throwing each a kiss in the air.

  Jean gently pulled the ribbon on her gift, carefully lifted the lid and shifted the tissue away, a smile spreading across her face.

  Sherry did the same picking up a gemstone-encrusted pin, about an inch and a half wide, sparkling with pinks, golds, and greens. Holding the pin to her shoulder, she held her head high tilting her chin so the others could see the effect. “Trudy, it’s beautiful,” Sherry exclaimed looking from her pin to Jean’s. Trudy beamed at her friends. Identical pins. No her pin is prettier than mine.

  “Look, Gillianne,” Jean said twisting the pin so the facets caught the light.

  “They’re beautiful and perfect,” Gilly said envisioning the pins anchoring a scarf at the neckline. “Okay, ladies, we have work to do. Mom, you’re going to the boutique for the scarves. Keep the brooches in mind. Also, pick up two of my tote designs. Sherry and Jean can carry their stuff in them to the church’s dressing room … oh, I didn’t ask. Where are you being married?”

  “That quaint, Port Gamble church on the hill. Reverend Paul is officiating. Do you know him?” Trudy asked.

  “Yes, we do,” Anne answered. “In fact, Gillianne and Paul are an item,” she whispered.

  “Mom, stop. We are not an item.” Gilly looked around hoping no one heard her mother. That’s the last thing she wanted. Paul was becoming too attentive and she was trying to squelch his advances. A boyfriend was not in her plans, at least not now. Not for a long time.

  Anne ignored her daughter. “Did you know that church, the whole town really, was modeled after a town in Maine?”

  “My aunt lives in Portland,” Trudy said.

  “I’ve seen references to Pope and Talbot. Are they still in operation?” Jean asked.

  “Unfortunately for us Wilders, they shut down the mill. It’s been tough.” Anne paused to take a sip of coffee. “My husband and his father lost their jobs. My father-in-law has a nice little house on Puget Sound, in Hansville. He was a strong man and picked up seasonal construction jobs as did Gilly’s father. She was five when the men were laid off. Once she was in school I began working at the Tea Room where I met you yesterday.”

  “What about you, Anne? Do you live in Hansville, too?” Trudy asked.

  “No, we have a small house here in Port Gamble. Luckily we bought it long before the shutdown and have been able to keep it. But my Gilly … she has big plans. You’ll see her name on the labels of the prettiest gowns someday.”

  “See there, you guys, you’re going to have designer dresses,” Trudy said, smiling at Gillianne.

  “Daydreams. If we don’t get started, there’ll be no dresses—designer or not.” Gilly sighed, tapping her pen on the notepad. “Back to the list.”

  “What can we do?” Trudy asked leaning forward.

  “Mom will drive you to Hansville, to my Grandfather’s house that she was talking about. He has a guesthouse with a large table I use for cutting fabric. My sewing machine, tools and Patty are there
. I have to take your measurements.”

  “Patty? Who’s Patty,” Jean asked.

  “Oh, she’s very important. Patty is my mannequin,” Gilly explained with a giggle. “Mom, I’ll stop at home to pick up the material and meet you all at Gramps in an hour. The boutique opens in ten minutes—you girls go with my mom to pick out the scarves and totes—just be sure they’re my design so we can take them out of inventory. If Sharon looks peeved, tell her I’ll replace them with two new ones next week. Oh gosh, money … we’ll worry about settling up later but it won’t be bad.” Gillianne jotted several numbers on a fresh sheet in her notepad. “The dresses should come out about $185 each, plus the totes and scarves—"

  “Gilly, I won’t hear of it,” Trudy said.

  “What?” Gillianne said. Her head snapped up wondering, now what was the matter?

  “Their dresses, flying to Hong Kong, were over $500 each. You’ll charge us an appropriate amount. After all, these are Gillianne Originals and I intend to tell everyone at the wedding what my bridesmaids are wearing, and I will pay you dearly for your time, energy and expertise in making my dream come true. I mean, at this last minute you are going above and beyond, for heaven’s sake.”

  The conference broke up, the ladies departing the café with their marching orders. Gilly climbed into her white, previously owned Chevy, and headed home to unload the beautiful material from the vehicle. Running up the front steps she punched her grandfather’s code on her cell.

  “Hi, Gramps. Just to let you know mom and I will be descending on you with a bridal party of three. I need your table in the guesthouse and my other stuff.”

  “I’ll put the kettle on. And, Gilly, remember that visitor last night, the man who was here when you came in?”

  “Yes sir, what about him?” Gilly, juggled her phone, opened the front door, and ran up to her makeshift sewing room to dig out the material from her treasure trove of fabrics.

  “Well, I was down at our little store about an hour ago and darned if Jim, you know, the county deputy?”