PROLOGUE
Thursday evening
Mayor Charles E. Sloan strode out onto the stage and took the microphone off its stand. He flashed his pearly white smile and waited for the crowded ballroom to finish their applause. “Thank you, everyone, and welcome to the final night of our Small Business Association fashion show. I see the association chair and coordinator of this event, Fran Decker, standing in the wings. Fran is the owner of Fabulous Fashions. All her outfits are created by local designers and will be for sale after the show. The proceeds will go to help small businesses all across our fine community, because as you know, nothing is more important to me than keeping Sequoia small. Fran, step out and take a bow for all the hard work you’ve done.”
He waited until the clapping stopped to say, “Folks, we have a great show lined up for you, with summer fashions from some of the best designers in town, and models whom I’m sure you’ll recognize. We have Ms. Carly Blackburn, PTA president and campaign coordinator, Mrs. Hope Louvain, the wife of our esteemed chief of police, Ed Louvain, and my beautiful wife, Eleni Sloan, who can’t wait to show you the outfits she’s modeling this year.
“To get things started, I’d like to introduce our emcee and fashion consultant from New Chapel, Indiana.” He pointed in my direction, but the audience couldn’t see me. I was standing just offstage behind a curtain set up in the large banquet room of the Waterfront Hotel. It was my first year officiating the event. I’d done quite a few shows before but none in Sequoia, Michigan.
The mayor waited until I was beside him to introduce me, as he’d done the previous evening. Then, as he led the audience in a round of applause, he handed me the microphone and strode offstage and into the audience.
“Good evening,” I said, absolutely loving the way my voice boomed over the loudspeakers. “As Mayor Sloan said, we have a great show lined up for you. So, let’s get things started.”
As the clapping subsided and the upbeat music began, I glanced at the notecard in my hand. “Our first outfit, modeled by Eleni Sloan, is from designer Martinique. This fun and flirty jumpsuit comes in a gorgeous coral floral print. The lightweight organic rayon fabric is flowy and breathable—perfect for a day at the beach or you can dress it up with wedges for dinner! The leg slits will make you feel pretty and sexy—perfect for that special summer night out.”
I watched as Eleni crossed the stage and started down the runway, smiling at the women who oohed and aahed over her outfit. She was tall and fit, with dark features emboldened by a palette of smoky makeup and thick, curly black hair. At the end of the runway, she pivoted smartly and walked back, exuding confidence. I liked confident women.
“Thank you, Eleni,” I said. “And our next outfit is modeled by Hope Louvain. This tropical floral jumpsuit by artist Jane Strayer has an elegant vee neckline and is fully lined. The waist tie is removable and can be wrapped in multiple ways, tied in the front or the back. This all-in-one wonder can be dressed up with your favorite heels or, for a more casual take, paired with platform sneakers and a denim jacket.”
Hope was cute and short. Her outfit suited her, but the extensions she’d clipped into her short, blond hair didn’t match. I had to hold my breath as she hobbled across the stage and down the runway, where she pivoted, faltered slightly on top of stiletto heels, and returned amid another round of applause. “Thank you, Hope,” I said.
“Our third outfit, modeled by Carly Blackburn, is by designer Flora Smith, a pretty gauze dress with lace insets and pin tucks. It has a plunge halter neckline, open back, and an A-line silhouette, a smart but casual dress to wear to any summer event.”
I looked down at my notes as I waited for Carly to emerge from the curtain. When she didn’t appear, I said into the microphone, “Sorry. There must be a snafu backstage. Are you enjoying the show so far?”
The audience applauded. I glanced to my left but still didn’t see anyone waiting to walk onstage. I waited a moment, hoping Fran was simply fixing a loose strap on Carly’s dress. At the side of the stage, I caught sight of the audio technician, but he merely shrugged. I blocked the bright stage lights with my hand and looked out into the audience for Charles Sloan, but he, too, was gone.
I began again. “As I said, our next outfit is modeled by Carly Blackburn . . .”
And again, no one appeared.
I stood there staring down at my notecards, wondering whether I should go backstage to find out what was going on when Eleni Sloan ran out from behind the curtain. “Someone call 911. There’s been an accident!”
My fingers instinctively reached for my phone. As I rushed past the curtain, I could see the models standing off to the side of one of the dressing rooms, where Carly’s legs were sticking out beneath the curtain. I pulled back the flap and saw her lying on her side. No one else seemed to be calling for help, so I did.
“Hello? Yes, we need an ambulance. The Waterfront Hotel in Sequoia, Michigan. Please hurry.” I listened to the instructions given by the woman over the phone, and when she had finished, she asked for my name.
“Jillian Ophelia Knight Osborne.”
* * *
I sat down on a folding chair and tapped my fingers impatiently. The police had told me not to leave. They had grouped all of us who were involved with the show in one area next to the stage and were calling each of us individually to question us. I wasn’t sure why we were being interviewed—what kind of accident could cause all this fuss?
I glanced at my watch. I wanted to be back in my hotel room by ten so I could get to bed early. I planned to check out by eight o’clock the next morning so I could be home by nine thirty, when Harper’s play group met. She was at the adorable age of eighteen months, and although I hadn’t even been gone two days, I missed her terribly.
A policeman came over and ushered me to a table, where an overweight man with a sour face was seated. He looked tired and dumpy in his wrinkled overcoat and awful brown suit.
“I’m Detective Walters,” he said. “Have a seat.”
I sat down across from him and folded my arms across my expensive designer top.
“Who was responsible for dispensing the water bottles to the models’ dressing areas?” he asked.
“That would be me.”
He wrote it down, then looked straight at me. “Did you at any time open any of the water bottles?”
I stared at him, puzzled. “I opened mine. Why would I open anyone else’s?”
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
“Believe me, I only opened mine. I put the rest in each of the three curtained dressing rooms and left, just as I did yesterday evening.”
“Where did you get the water?”
“I stopped at a mini-mart about two blocks from here.”
“Was it necessary to supply the models with water?”
“I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.”
“Is that a yes?”
This man was way too serious. “That’s a yes. It’s what I do at every fashion event. And that’s all I have to say because I really need to get to my hotel room now.”
“I’m going to have to instruct you not to leave town.”
“What?” I rose in indignation. “I can’t stay here. I have a baby at home.”
“Who’s taking care of the baby now?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but my husband, the father, is.”
“So the baby is in good hands.”
“That’s not the point.”
“State your full name for the record.”
I sat down again. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Why can’t I leave town?”
“You were backstage before the event.”
“So?” I sat forward, my fingers on my knees, and said in a confidential voice, “We’re not talking about a murder here, are we?”
“That’s still to be determined. Now state your name for the record.”
I huffed impatiently. “Jillian Ophelia Knight Osborne.” I leaned over to see what he had written. “No. That’s Osborne with an e on the end—and no u.”
I huffed again. The man couldn’t even spell. “Can I go now?”
“Yes, you may go. But don’t leave town.”
I rose and put my purse over my shoulder. If he thought I was going to stay in Sequoia, he had another think coming. In fact, forget about staying until morning. I was going to leave tonight.
Take that, detective sour face.