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“Three designers make it triple exciting,” Delaine trilled as she ticked them off on her fingers. “Jules Armand creates the most glamorous evening gowns, Marnie Moon does fabulous country-club-type sportswear, and Vladamir... well, he has a to-die-for collection of handwoven scarves, shawls, and ruanas.”
“What’s a ruana again?” Theodosia asked. She knew she wasn’t always up on the latest fashion verbiage. Tea, yes. Fashion, no.
“It’s a wrap, silly girl.”
“Like a poncho?”
Delaine did a dramatic eye roll. “Ponchos are so last decade. You need a ruana for when you’re out sailing or hanging at the beach and are in serious need of a stylish cover-up.”
Theodosia didn’t bother telling Delaine that her idea of a cover-up was an oversized T-shirt.
“Let’s find you a glass of champagne,” Delaine said, “and get you started shopping.” She reached over, grabbed a glass off a server’s tray, and thrust it into Theodosia’s hands. Then she spun Theodosia around, gave her a slight push, and said, “Go. Enjoy. Spend money.”
Which sent Theodosia careening off in the direction of a display of ruanas and scarves. Which, turned out, really were gorgeous. Linens and fine wools in colors of pale peach, cornflower blue, mulberry, and terra-cotta that had been hand-loomed, possibly by French nuns or little ladies high in the Andes Mountains who were probably paid pennies on the dollar. She picked up one of the whisper-soft scarves, looked at the price tag, and set it back down.
No, she told herself. I’d have to sell a hundred scones to pay for that.
She turned away from the display and found herself staring directly at Mignon Merriweather.
Mignon recognized Theodosia immediately and said, “Fancy seeing you here.” Then she grinned and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Did Delaine twist your arm, too?”
“She means well,” Theodosia said. “But...”
“Tell me about it. Delaine is a dear soul, but subtlety isn’t exactly her strong suit.”
“How’s your shop coming along?” Theodosia asked, mostly out of politeness. She searched her memory and said, “Belle de Jour.”
Mignon was thrilled by Theodosia’s perceived interest. “You remembered! Well, I’m almost ready to launch,” she bubbled. “My final shipment of French crockery arrives tomorrow, then I’ll have a few days to fine tune the displays before I throw open my doors on Monday.”
“You must be thrilled.”
“Beyond the moon and scared to death,” Mignon said. “I know it’s a gamble, but... I guess I enjoy playing the odds.”
“I ran into Ginny Bell last night,” Theodosia said. “At the fundraiser for the Arts Alliance. And then, of course, she was at the funeral this morning...”
Mignon’s mood changed instantly. “That toxic witch,” she spat out. “I can’t stand her. The nerve of her attending... well... at least I’m getting some degree of revenge. I understand the police have questioned Ginny Bell a number of times.”
“I think they’re questioning a lot of people,” Theodosia said. She didn’t bother to add, Including you.
No matter; Mignon spoke the words for her.
“Yes, I’ve spoken to the police myself. Tried to impress upon them how Ginny Bell went from adoring my husband to utterly despising him.”
“That’s a pretty wide range of emotions,” Theodosia said.
“Which is why I firmly believe Ginny Bell could have had a hand in Osgood’s death.” Mignon stared intently at Theodosia, her eyes pinpricks of intensity. “You know?”
No, I don’t know, Theodosia thought. In fact, I have no idea who might have killed Claxton. But it feels as if I might be edging closer to an answer.
Mignon touched a hand to Theodosia’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, dear. I’m getting carried away by my emotions when we both came here to have a nice, relaxing shop.”
“It’s no problem,” Theodosia said, as Mignon smiled and then turned and picked up a sea green scarf.
Theodosia wandered over to a rack of sportswear and started going through it. Wondered if polo shirts and white skorts were her style. No, probably not. Not unless I dyed my hair blond and changed my name to Topsy or Bunny.
“Theodosia?”
Theodosia turned when she heard her name called. Then she smiled when she saw it was Bettina, Delaine’s niece, who worked at the boutique.
