Chapter 17

I somehow dreamt I was Laura Ingalls Wilder trying to survive the ferocious, long winter by binding hay to be burned to keep us warm. And then Doctor Who came to rescue me. But it wasn’t Doctor Who. It was my Doctor Who ring tone.

“Hello?” I croaked into my cell phone.

“Hi, there.”

“Mark.” I pushed myself up to sit on the bed and wiped the sleep from my eyes. “What time is it?”

I glanced at the blurry clock, then I bobbled my glasses when I tried to pick them up and they fell between the bed and the nightstand.

“A little after four,” he said. “Sorry I didn’t get to return your texts or calls until now. I was tied up at work.”

Now I regretted sending him so many. Desperate, much? “I just wanted to make sure you knew I was all right. Seems there was a bit of confusion.” I winced.

“All I heard is that you found Ken Young,” he said.

Relief flooded me.

“And then got snowed in with him in some rustic hunting lodge.”

“Not what it sounds like,” I said. “And we weren’t alone. We found Anechka.”

“Marya’s sister?”

“It seems Marya was hiding her. Could that have anything to do with the money situation?”

“It would take money for food and supplies, but not the kind that her hubby was tracking in and out of her accounts.”

“I have a lead where it might be coming from.” I told him what I’d learned from Charles Barr.

“Does your father know this yet?”

I shook my head then rolled my eyes. I must’ve been only half awake if I thought he could see either. “I recommended Barr see Dad and tell him himself.”

“So you’re thinking Marya was what? Buying pills from older customers and reselling them? That’s quite an operation. I guess it might explain where the money came from.”

“But not where it was going,” I said.

“Still, it’s progress. What are you up to tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“I thought maybe we could have dinner and go over a few things.”

“I can’t tonight. I’m … pitching the doll project to the Browning foundation.” I winced. True enough. But I neglected to tell him it was with Ian over dinner at the country club. And that Cathy had rummaged up another humdinger of a dress, this one from a local consignment shop where the owner said I could consign it back after the evening was over as long as I didn’t damage it.

“Tomorrow night?” he said.

“Tomorrow is game night at the shop,” I said. “Unless you wanted to catch a quick dinner before? Might have to be takeout though. I need to put some hours in at the shop, or as my own boss, I might have to dock my pay.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that. Tomorrow night, then. Have a good meeting.”

I felt like a rat when I hung up the phone. Tomorrow when we had dinner, when I could see him face to face, I’d clarify all those half truths.

Cathy showed up at five thirty with a bin of beauty products, determined to do something about my hair. “I’m not as good as Marya was,” she said. “Or Antoine, even though I don’t think the cut works for curly hair. But I think I can improve on what you’ve been doing.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and let her at it. She worked silently, and I might have dozed off once. By six thirty, I was almost a new woman. She’d tamed the poodle into gentle waves, but not stopping there, went on to see that my nails were freshly groomed and colored and that my makeup looked better than Antoine had done—more natural, which seemed to suit my personality better.

I leaned in closer to the mirror. “I can barely make out the dark circles under the eyes.”

“I’m still waiting on details of that, you know.”

“I know.” I closed my eyes. “Not sure I want to rehash all that then go out with Ian. Can we save it for later?”

Cathy agreed, but her somber tone suggested she’d rather have the gory details now. “Oh, I gave the doll to Althena.”

“Good riddance.”

“And she gave it right back. Apparently dolls creep her out. She said she sensed some kind of negative energy associated with her.”

“I’ll buy that. It gives me the willies, too.”

“But nothing more than that. Unless I set up a session and pay her.”

I started to shake my head, but she cautioned me to hold still.

“Which I’m not going to do,” she finished, mumbling through the bobby pins she held in her mouth. “There.” She did a three-sixty walk around me and nodded approval at the glittery hair ornament she’d strategically placed over the most unruly patch of hair. “You’re so much easier than doll heads.”

“Thanks?” I stared at my reflection in the mirror. “Seriously, thanks for helping. Keep this up, and I might have to name you my official fairy godmother.”

She put the hair goop on the bathroom counter. “Keep this. You may need a couple more gallons until that cut grows out.” She winked. “Let’s think of it as Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Goo.”

I groaned. “Dad would be proud of that one.”

“He’s a bad influence.”

The dress of the evening was classic, classy, and a little more subdued. And thankfully a tad longer. I gave it a swirl in the full length mirror. “I might have to keep this one. How much was it?”

“Would you consider it an early Christmas present?” she said.

“I’d love it.”

“Good, you’re set for the next three Christmases.”

“Yikes!” I said. “We’ll figure that out later.”

Cathy had left by the time Ian arrived, not with the practical Prius. A big honking limo snaked its way around the dumpsters and other obstacles in the narrow back alley. And by honking, I mean quite literally. Not an impatient Manhattan taxi kind of honk, but one of those musical car horns. I think he was going for “Jingle Bells.”

As I stepped outside, Ian stood next to the car, tapping the final line of the carol into a small keyboard. He held the last note which blared and echoed in the alleyway. “It’s nice to know that all those pricy music lessons didn’t go completely to waste.”

“What’s this?” I pointed at the limo, the chauffeur of which was standing stiffly with the back door propped open.

“My father insisted,” he said, then squinted at me. “You look lovely tonight. Mom and Dad are sure to approve.”

“Your parents?”

“Are joining us for dinner at the club. Didn’t I mention it?”

“No, I don’t think you did.”

“Huh,” he said. “Well, I guess that means there’s less time to be nervous about meeting my folks, then. I think you’re going to get along just fine.”

Great. My “you’re very nice, Ian, but I don’t see us having a future, but let me tell you about our doll project” speech was just pre-empted by the dreaded meeting-the-parents date.

I climbed inside the limo and slid across the plush seat. Once Ian joined me, I said, “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever ridden in a limo before. We were supposed to have one for Cathy’s bachelorette party, but it never showed, so we piled eight grown women into my Civic. Some party.”

Ian wagged a finger. “I don’t know. Perhaps all the best parties begin with eight women in a Civic.”

Ian spent the rest of the trip pointing out all the doodads and whatnots of the luxury limo, ending with another chorus of “Jingle Bells” just as we pulled up at the country club. The stone building was awash with thousands of twinkle lights draping every tree down the long drive and around the building itself.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Never been here, either?” he asked.

“Not at Christmas,” I said. “One year the mayor gave Dad golf lessons. He didn’t have time himself, so he set it up so my brother Parker and I could both have a few lessons. I never took to it, but Parker still plays occasionally.”

The valet held open the door then Ian helped me out of the car, and we made our way into the club’s restaurant.

Lush poinsettias decked the massive stone fireplace, and red linens graced the tables. It didn’t take long for me to figure out who Ian’s parents were. Not only were the two of them sitting at a four-person table close to the fireplace, they were probably the least welcoming people I could have imagined.

Marvin Browning most closely resembled a rotten lemon. Shriveled and slightly jaundiced, but without the softness. Still, his handshake was so firm it might have sent recipients to the nearest orthopedist for x-rays.

His wife seemed a little more approachable. She was impeccably dressed in a black suit with white trim, which accented her snowy hair, fashionably styled in a chic bob. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d seen that bob before, coming out of the barber shop on Lionel Kelley’s surveillance tape.

She squinted momentarily after I escaped her husband’s vise grip but greeted both Ian and me with wan smiles and air kisses.

“We were about to send out a search party,” Mr. Browning—and no, he did nothing to encourage more familiarity—staunchly told his son. In fact, he told the whole room.

But his wife—“call me Valerie”—waved him off.

“They’re right on time,” she said, pushing her watch in her husband’s face. “Grumpy old fool.”

Ian slipped ahead of the waiter to pull out my chair, next to his mother and opposite his father.

“Lovely dress,” Valerie said. “Who designed it?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, trying to figure out how to describe the dress. Used? Previously loved? “It’s … vintage.”

“It’s very becoming on you. More than that number you were wearing in that picture in the paper, I think.”

“My picture was in the paper?” I said.

“If what I hear is true, you’d better get used to it.”

I looked over at Ian, but he was knee-deep in a business conversation with his father.

“I think I prefer your hair this way, too,” she said.

“I tried a new stylist, but I’m afraid he didn’t work out.” This gave me an idea. “Your hair is lovely. May I ask where you go?”

“I’m afraid I’m in search of a new stylist myself. Mine no longer cuts hair.”

“Retired?”

“Actually, the poor girl got herself killed.”

“I think I did see something about that,” I said.

Ian took this moment to join our conversation. “Don’t be so cagey, Liz.” He turned to his mother. “Liz’s father is with the police.”

“With the police?” Her eyelids started twitching. What, a cop’s daughter not good enough for their heir apparent?

“Afraid so,” I said. “Actually, he retired several years ago as chief of police, but he’s been reactivated, I guess you could call it, for this investigation.”

“How novel,” Valerie said. “You’ve never dated a policeman’s daughter before.”

Mr. Browning laughed so hard he choked, but recovered with a sip from his water glass. “What you need to keep you on the straight and narrow, my boy.”

“I thought you’d like that,” Ian said.

A few more questions followed. They seemed like casual conversation, but before our dinners arrived, they’d learned where I went to college, my area of study, and a brief sketch of both my dating history and my current aspirations. If I’d have known, I would have worn my blue interview suit and brought my résumé.

And then it hit me. I wasn’t Ian’s choice, nor was I the type of girl—that glamorous model type—he was normally attracted to. I was Ian’s best attempt to please his parents. And it became clear that a mature, educated woman with working class roots was just what they’d ordered for him.

“Nothing wrong with starting at the bottom,” Mr. Browning said, with the first smile I’d seen on him all evening. “When I started my business, I didn’t have two nickels to rub together. But I worked hard, lived frugally, invested everything. I’ve made some friends in the business, and I’ve made some enemies, but I arrived where I wanted to be.”

I nodded.

“But it grounded me,” he continued. “Ian, he works hard and he’s a smart boy, but he needs that grounding.”

And suddenly I panicked. I had to do something before I got the “welcome to our family” speech. I wasn’t sure if Ian had said something that suggested our relationship was more advanced than two dates, or if perhaps Ian assumed the same, but I needed to set things straight.

Unfortunately, when I panic, I get clumsy, and when I turned to address the misconception, I upset my full and unwanted glass of wine. It ran down the tablecloth and puddled in my lap.

“Good heavens!” Ian leaped out of his chair. Of course, everyone in the restaurant was now watching.

Milliseconds later an observant waiter reached our table with extra napkins which absorbed much of the spill.

“I should probably visit the ladies room and see what I can do,” I said.

“I’ll go with you,” Valerie said.

In the rest room, which I was relieved to find unattended, I blotted a little more of the stain, then Valerie suggested rinsing it out. I was trying to figure out what kind of contortions I’d need to get the full skirt of the dress into the sink when Valerie suggested I take it off. So I went into a stall, removed the dress, and handed it to her over the door.

I’d considered going out there to help, but I’d worn only a half slip, and my beleaguered bra wasn’t quite ready for prime time.

“How’s it coming?” I asked when the water finally stopped running.

“I think I rinsed out most of it,” she said. “I’m afraid it’s dripping wet, though. I’m going to set it in front of the hand dryer. Would you like to come out and sit while it’s drying? I’m sure nobody will come in.”

“I’m not totally …”

“Want my jacket?” Without waiting for a response, she hoisted her jacket over the door. I put it on, and clutched it up tight.

Once freed from my three-by-five-foot prison, I inspected the dress, held suspended over the hand dryer by Valerie’s clutch purse. The skirt looked much better. I gave the dryer another cycle and joined her on the sofa in the small anteroom.

“Thanks so much,” I said. “I feel like an idiot. And I hate to keep you from dinner just to help me.”

“No worries,” she said, kneading her hands. “Happens to everyone. How clever of you to choose something washable. Besides, the men’ll be talking business nonstop. I should be thanking you for the relief.”

“Aren’t you involved? In the business, I mean?”

“If you ask Marvin, my job is to spend what he makes.”

“I somehow doubt that,” I said.

“I guess I’m old enough to be comfortable with the role of the woman behind the man. Things are a bit different today. Women have careers of their own. The corporate wife with her mad skills of arranging dinner parties, entertaining clients, smoothing ruffled feathers, and getting various stains out of expensive clothing has gone the way of the rotary phone and party lines. I’m becoming obsolete.”

“I think that perhaps you’re appreciated more than you think. I, for one, am very thankful for your help.”

The dryer stopped again, so I excused myself, rearranged the garment, and gave it another cycle.

“I must admit,” she said, “you’re not like the girls Ian usually brings home.”

“What, poised, attractive, and capable of getting through a meal without a single catastrophe?” I shrugged it off. After all, even though half the women in the town might consider Ian the catch of the day, I was still inclined to throw him back.

She laughed. “I find it refreshing. So, tell me about yourself.”

“I think we covered that at dinner.”

“Not the résumé. What are your passions, your hobbies? What makes you tick?”

“Family is important to me. I like my work. It wasn’t what I set out to do, but I find I enjoy the shop.”

“Are toys all that lucrative? I mean, there can’t be that many serious collectors.”

“We’ve had our lean times. Fortunately, our clientele isn’t limited to the serious collectors looking for that rare find. Though we are thankful for them. We get a lot of casual browsers who come in just for a look. But then they see that toy they played with as a child, and then another, maybe something they haven’t thought about in years. We make a lot of impulse sales that way. I guess our primary market is nostalgia. My dad always said that just about everyone can say they once owned a vintage toy collection if they’ve lived long enough.”

“I’ll have to come check it out, then. I do think I have a couple of my old Madame Alexander dolls in the attic.”

“Thinking of selling?”

She laughed. “Guess I’m just curious if they’re worth anything.”

“There are a fair amount of Madame Alexander collectors out there. Value, of course, would depend on the specific models and their condition. My sister-in-law, Cathy, runs the doll department. She could probably tell you.” And then lightning struck. It might be the perfect opportunity to pitch the doll project to at least one Browning.

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” she said, after I explained the rehab project. “Is there still room on this committee?”

“You want to help on the doll committee?”

“You’ve seen my mad stain-removal skills. If nothing else, I’m sure I could help with that. I’m surprised you haven’t pitched the idea to Ian’s foundation.”

“To be honest, I’ve been waiting for the right moment.”

“That can be awkward, considering you’re dating and all. Tell you what, how about I put in a good word for you?”

“I’d …” It wasn’t exactly how I’d pictured this going. “I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”

My dress took just one more cycle before I declared it dry enough to wear, during which I gave Valerie the details about our next meeting.

“Looking forward to it,” she said.

*   *   *

I’d barely opened the shop the next morning when Amanda and Cathy showed up.

“Did I make a mistake with the scheduling?” I said.

“No, I’m not working today,” Cathy said, settling Drew in his swing.

“Couldn’t get enough of my charming personality and witty one-liners then?” I asked.

“Well, there’s that. But I really wanted to hear more about the date.”

“Ooh, the date,” Amanda teased. “Forgive me, but who was this with? There’s so many men seeking your attention, I’ve lost track.”

For that, I threw a sock monkey at her.

“Seriously,” Cathy said, “romance aside, I’m more interested in whether you pitched the doll project. Unless there are juicier details to share.”

Amanda leaned forward against the counter, her face resting on her hand. “I’m all ears.” She set the sock monkey up next to her. “So’s my friend here.”

“If you’re looking for juicy details, I’m afraid to disappoint you. Our evening ended with just a chaste peck on my cheek.”

“From Ian Browning?” Amanda said. “The town’s quickest mover?”

“Was your father watching from the window while he cleaned his gun again?” Cathy asked.

I laughed. “That was a long time ago.”

“Jack?” Amanda guessed.

“’Fraid so,” I said. “Make sure he tells you the whole story. But no, this time Ian’s parents were watching from the limo.”

“I thought you were going to end it with Ian and pitch the doll program,” Cathy said.

“Well, it’s hard to break it off with a guy on the second date when he’s already progressed to meeting the parents. But I did pitch the program to Valerie Browning. In fact, she might be coming to the next meeting.”

“Does that mean you’ll be seeing Ian again?” Amanda asked.

“Not entirely sure,” I said then shared my theory that Ian was looking for a girl his parents would approve of. “Last night felt more like a job interview.”

“Ouch,” Cathy said.

“On the bright side, when I do get a chance to tell him I’m not interested, it won’t leave him brokenhearted and despondent.”

“Speaking of broken hearted and despondent, I’m still waiting to hear more about that night with Ken.”

“Night with Ken?” Amanda said then covered the sock monkey’s ears.

“And his sister-in-law,” I added.

“That much I got from Dad,” Cathy said.

I walked over to Drew’s swing and pulled up the sock that he’d kicked loose. “You, sweet boy, are the only man in my life not giving me any trouble.”

With that, he threw his drool-slobbered toy giraffe on the ground. I picked it up, wiped it against my pant leg, and placed it back on the tray. When I turned around, Cathy and Amanda were frozen in place waiting for me to go on.

“Fine.” I sighed. “Ken seemed to think that maybe we could pick up where we left off.”

Cathy’s eyelids shot up. “Does he now? Are we baking a cake with a file in it for him?”

“He’s not under arrest,” I said. “At least not last I heard. I don’t think Dad has enough to hold him unless something incriminating came back from forensics. He might be out already.”

“And how did you leave it with Ken?” Cathy asked.

“Let’s get past the investigation first. I still don’t think he killed Marya. Meanwhile, I thought I’d try to sell some toys,” I said. “If that’s all right with you.”

“What, no big dates on your social calendar today?” Amanda asked.

“Maybe a little one,” I said. “Mark Baker is bringing dinner over before game night tonight.” As I said it, I felt my anticipation growing. No, it wasn’t a gourmet dinner at the club, but on the flip side, I didn’t have to dress up and I could wear flats. Win-win.

“Sounds nice,” Cathy said.

“Hey,” Amanda said, “wouldn’t it be funny if Ian and Ken showed up, too?”

Neither Cathy nor I said anything as we both stared at her.

She pointed at the monkey. “It wasn’t me. He said it.”