Vivian Conroy - Grand Prize - Murder!

“Let me see it,” Claire urged.

Vicky offered the phone to her.

Claire hmm-ed. “You have a dress that can go with it. The coral one I saw in the photos you showed me of the midsummer gala?”

Vicky was surprised her mother even remembered that.

Ms. Tennings said, “All you need is a few long necklaces to complete the look.”

“And elbow-length gloves,” Claire supplied.

“I have some,” Vicky said, resigning herself to the inevitable. Once her mother or Marge got something in their heads, it had to happen. And now that they were all joining forces, it was impossible to resist.

“How about your hair?” Ms. Tennings asked.

Vicky looked from one to the other. “Enough already. I can do my own hair. And my makeup. I don’t like a fuss.”

“All right then.” Marge clapped her hands together and studied Vicky with the adoration of a mother watching her daughter on prom night. “You just let me handle the hat. Friday night you’ll have the time of your life.”

Chapter Four

In front of her long hallway mirror that was in an appropriate art deco style, Vicky adjusted her brand-new hat just a touch. The color was perfect with her coral dress. Two long necklaces that she had found on the bottom of her jewelry box completed the twenties’ look. For makeup she had focused on highlighting her eyes with some golden tints and her lips with some shine.

A knock at the front door announced the arrival of her mystery driver for the night. She was curious whom Marge had managed to find for that. It couldn’t be Bob. Lilian Rowland would never invite him to one of her parties. Only the ultra-stylish or the ultra-rich got in with her.

And those who happened to be able to bring famous authors of course.

Shaking her head to herself that she had fallen for this ploy, Vicky opened the door.

On the well-worn step in front, his dark hair crowned by some dangling climbing roses, was Michael Danning. His tan was much deeper than Vicky had expected after a stay in Denmark. In black tie he looked even smarter than usual. He smiled at her and reached out his hand, holding a single white rose. “A corsage for you to wear. I heard it was quite the thing in the twenties.”

“I thought you were still in Copenhagen.” Thrown off balance by his sudden appearance, Vicky accepted the corsage and took her time attaching it to her dress. Her thoughts raced. She had looked forward to Michael’s return, to hear all about his trip and tell him about the store and Bella’s visit to town, but now that he was suddenly in front of her, her head was painfully empty. All the engaging and witty things to say seemed out of reach.

“And I had hoped you’d be happy to see me back in town.” Michael’s voice was teasing, but his expression was tight. “Of course I should have attended the ceremony where you got your sign and…”

Vicky cut off his apology quickly. “It wasn’t a ceremony really, more of an informal affair. I don’t like being the center of attention anyway, so it’s not a problem.”

She checked the corsage and then reached for her purse on the hall sideboard. “All done. Shall we go then?”

“Allow me.” Michael offered her his arm and escorted her to his car. It shone as if he had especially waxed it for the occasion.

“Marge told me what color your dress was,” he confided. “I figured she’d know. I didn’t want to get you a pink rose and then find it clashed with your dress color. It’s a good thing you got Marge to help you with the store and all. Else I’d think you were working too hard for it.”

He opened the car door for her and made a gallant bow.

“Thank you.” Vicky lowered herself into the car seat, careful not to crease her dress. Looking up at him, she said, “I thought you believed in hard work.”

Michael held her gaze as he said, “I do, but it can be too much sometimes.”

Before Vicky could pick up on this remark to probe how he was doing now that Celine was officially pronounced dead, Michael broke eye contact and closed the car door. He rounded the car to get in on his side.

As he started the engine, music began to play. Classical. A piano piece. A prelude by Chopin, one of her favorites.

Had Marge also told Michael that?

Apparently the whole night was set up as a luxury treatment for her. She’d better enjoy every second of it.

Michael said, “So there is going to be a scavenger hunt starting tomorrow. First thing I saw when I drove to town from the airport. The posters were everywhere.”

Vicky shot him an amused glance. “Thanks for exaggerating my success. We printed off around thirty.”

Michael looked over his shoulder to back out of her driveway. “Must be more. I counted at least ten on my way over here.”

“Oh. How odd.” Vicky glanced down to ensure the seat belt was not messing with her dress. “Maybe Bob didn’t have time to drive around and he all put them closely together? Well, never mind. As long as we have a reasonable turnout at the signing, I will be happy. Mostly for Bella’s sake. She is used to bigger events, I suppose. I don’t want her visit here to be a complete letdown.”

“You do know she’s under attack?”

The quiet question plopped like a stone into a pond. Vicky sat up, echoing, “Attack? How do you mean?”

“So you don’t know.” Michael’s hands tightened on the wheel. “At a book signing in spring some disturbed fan threw something at her.”

Vicky stared at Michael’s profile. “Are you sure it was her? I don’t remember reading anything about it in the newspapers.”

Her thoughts raced to make sense of the revelation. “Was Bella hurt? Did they get this person who did it? Is he in jail now?”

“I don’t think so. They don’t even know for sure if it was a man or a woman. Naturally when something was thrown across the room, panic broke out, and people were screaming and pushing each other. In the commotion he or she got away. Who knows where that disturbed fan is now? Whether he or she is still obsessed with Bella? With getting to her and hurting her?”

Vicky frowned. She hadn’t known about this and wasn’t happy to learn her guest author had been under attack, but it could have been an isolated incident. If there was a serious security issue, the PR people would have taken it up with Bella, she supposed.

Of course there had been the odd Mr. Giverny snooping around Bella’s door.

And Bella’s own insistence that she didn’t want to stay in a hotel…

Bella had explained it by referring to all the packing and unpacking, the beds that might not be comfy. That was a good enough reason.

But what if she avoided hotels because she felt vulnerable there, exposed? A hotel room could easily be broken into. Several people, such as cleaning personnel, had keys to the room. In an apartment on the other hand she’d be relatively safe.

In the meantime Michael said, “I just don’t like you getting involved with someone who has been under attack. Just a few weeks ago you might have been hurt when—” He didn’t finish the sentence.

Vicky took a deep breath. On a fun night like this she didn’t want to be reminded of her confrontation with Celine’s killer. That had been a surreal experience, something that only happened once in your life.

Those events surrounding the final resolution of Celine’s disappearance case had left them all a bit jumpy. They could be reading more into small things than was needed. Her thought for instance that Giverny’s mustache had come from a theater kit was pretty ludicrous. Yes, he had been a pushy person, but why assume he was changing his appearance? She had to stick to facts instead of jumping to conclusions.

She tried to sound certain when she said, “Nothing happened then, and nothing will happen now. Look, Bella didn’t tell me she’s under attack. I’m sure she would have mentioned security if it had been an issue for her. But she was really cheerful when we met. The incident at the signing happened some time ago, you say, and we have no way of knowing what really happened. Perhaps the person responsible is very sorry for what he or she did. And why assume someone would follow her all the way out here?”