“I sure hope you don’t have fleas,” she said, realizing belatedly that maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to let the thing inside. But there was something comforting about having another living thing here with her—as opposed to whateverunliving thing had been screaming at her in the foyer a few minutes ago. Her palms went damp again at thethought.
And so she allowed the cat to stay while she pored over her laptop at the kitchen table—searching for information about anything that might explain a ghostly presence at Shenstone House—till the wee hours of the morning. When she finally stood, stretching her aching muscles and yawning, the cat padded softly to the door in an unmistakable command. Its flag-like tail twitchedimpatiently.
“Very well then,” she said, and let him—she’d determined its gender when the beast had plopped onto the floor and yanked up a leg to wash itself with a complete lack of modesty—out. “See you…whenever. Thanks for keeping mecompany.”
Dawn had broken and Leslie looked longingly at her bed, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep—her mind was too keyed up, too awake. So she decided to clean up thespeakeasy.
“Maybe I’ll find something that gives me a clue down there.” And now that it was daylight, she didn’t expect any ghostlypresences.
She worked down there all day, pausing only to check her phone a few times for texts or calls. There were several from Cherry and Orbra, to which she replied that, yes, she was still alive, and no, no one had broken in. There were no calls or texts from Declan, but she hadn’t really expected any. Really. As far as he knew, her aunt had planned to spend the night and Leslie wouldn’t bealone.
Stephanie wasn’t coming over to work today either because it was the Homecoming Dance, and she needed all day to get ready—an opinion Leslie readily shared and supported. So she worked without interruption: cleaning, clearing out, organizing theplace.
To her delight, she discovered more vintage clothing: a pair of shoes, two scarves, and something that looked like a woman’s dinner jacket from the Roaring Twenties—a long, loose coat that a flapper might wear over one of the beaded shift dresses that were popular. The one she discovered was made of silk with incredible beading and embroidery. It looked like it could have belonged to the fictional detective PhryneFisher.
There were other vintage objects, many of them recoverable: pillows, knickknacks, glassware, and even a jeweled hair comb. There were four unopened bottles of whiskey, and countless broken ones. She eyed the untapped bottles and wondered if any of them were any good. Maybe Trib wouldknow.
What she didn’t find was a safe or cache where Red Eye Sal might have hidden his jewels. And though she’d learned quite a bit about his history during her searches on the Internet, there was still a question as to what had happened to all of thejewels.
All the while she worked, Leslie blasted music. It helped to keep away stray thoughts of supernatural occurrences, and it kept her motivated and awake. But by two o’clock, her energy was lagging. She’d eaten a snack midmorning, but now she stopped and had a full meal, answered some email, put a new can of tuna outside for the cat, and then…took a blissfulnap.
Now that she was showered and fully awake, Leslie decided to take the vintage clothing to Gilda’s Goodies and see if the proprietor was interested in them—and whether they could even be salvaged enough to sell. She called Gilda Herring, using Aunt Cherry as a reference, and the proprietor was ecstatic at the thought of seeing some vintage twentiesclothing.
“The shop closes at six on Saturdays during off-season,” Gilda told her, “but I’ll be here till at least eight. Come onover.”
The cat—at some point, she’d begun to think of him as Rufus—eyed her speculatively as she climbed into her car, but made no move to gain entrance to either the house or vehicle, despite the fact that he should have been groveling in thanks for the tuna. The can had been lickedclean.
“See you later,” she said, then drove down the curving, tree-shrouded drive. It wasn’t quite seven, but it was already nearly dark. Leslie had left the exterior lights on, and several more inside the house than she normally would have done. She knew she didn’t want to return to a black-windowedbuilding.
Gilda didn’t look anything like Leslie had imagined. She was probably mid-forties, had sleek blond hair cut in a trendy style: scalp-short in back with a thick swath of bangs in front—and she wore a dress that looked like it was from the forties. Showing off Gilda’s goodies, ofcourse.
“Let’s see what you’ve got here,” Gilda said, her eyes gleaming from behind lipstick-red cat’s-eye glasses…and she moaned with pleasure when she saw the dinner jacket. “Where did youfindthis?”
Leslie explained, and all the while Gilda was humming and sighing over the detail stitching and beading and sequins. “This is just gorgeous. Needs a little recovery work,” she muttered to herself, “but I can do that. I wouldn’t trust it to anyoneelse.”
She looked up suddenly. “I have to be honest, Leslie. Something like this probably belongs in a museum. Though I’d love to have it in my shop.” She grinned and bit her lip as she looked back down at the jacket. “We could sell a piece like this for probably about a thousanddollars.”
Leslie’s eyes widened. “I figured it might be worth a couple hundred…but wow. Let me think about that. In the meantime, can I pay you to restore it and get it back toshape?”
“It would be a pleasure— Oh, Regina!” Gilda looked up as the mayor’s wife poked her head into the office. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.” Shesmiled.
“I know,” said Regina. “But I was in the area and wanted to check up on that piece you’re fixing for me. Hello, Leslie. Oooh, where did you get that?” She’d seen the dinner jacket spread out on the table. “That’sincredible.”
“I know.” Gilda was gleeful as she explained where Leslie had found it. “I’m thinking late twenties. Maybe 1927. It couldpossiblybe a Worth, you know. They weren’t putting tags on everything at thattime.”
“If it’s a Worth, it would definitely belong in a museum,” Regina said. Her slender hand hovered over the silk, then dropped slightly—just enough to brush it with the tips of her fingers. “But I’d buy it in a heartbeat if it was available.” She looked up at Leslie. “It would have gone perfectly with that vintage dress Kristen van Gerste wore to prom. But she didn’t have anything like this.” Sadness lingered in hereyes.
“Speaking of Kristen van Gerste,” Gilda said, pulling out some tissue paper. “I heard Marcus Levin was back in town for the game last night. He did an interview with some of the alumni who playedfootball.”
“He is, and he did,” Regina said, watching with interest as Gilda wrapped the dinner jacket in tissue paper. “We had dinner with him, Aaron and I—after the game, of course. It’s always nice to see former residents—especially ones who are now celebrities.” She laughed. “Aaron is very good about reminding them about where they came from, and how much we depend on tourism here in town. Personally, I keep hoping T.J. Mack will come back for avisit.”
“Marcus Levin? Why is that name familiar to me?” askedLeslie.
“He was the boy Kristen van Gerste had the big shouting match with at the prom,” Gilda replied, smoothing the tissue paper over the jacket. “Is he still as much of an ass as he was backthen?”
“If he is, he hid it quite well beneath a very polished exterior,” Reginasaid.
Gilda burst out laughing. “Well, there’s my politically correct mayor’s wife!” She slid her hands beneath the tissue-wrapped jacket and folded the whole thing into thirds. Then she carried it with great reverence to a shelving unit and placed it there. “I should be able to get to it next week. Is that soon enough,Leslie?”
