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The fairy seemed unsure how to react. “Would you like coffee?” he offered. “It should still be hot.”
“I’d get it for you, but I don’t want to splash any on my clothes.” Camryn ran her hands down the front of her white pantsuit. I wasn’t one to pay attention to fashion rules, but even I knew white after Labor Day was a fashion faux pas in America.
“White is a bold choice,” I remarked.
“It’s winter white,” she clarified.
“What’s the difference between winter white and plain white?” I asked.
Gun clucked his tongue. “I don’t even know where to begin with you.”
Sian set a cup of coffee in front of me, along with a sealed envelope. “This arrived while you were gone.”
“We were tempted to steam it open,” Gun said, “but Sian wouldn’t let us. The young lad has something called scruples.”
“Who delivered it?” I asked. There was neither postage nor a stamp.
“I saw no one,” Sian said. “The envelope was on the porch when I opened the door for your friends.”
I slid the card from the envelope. It was some sort of invitation.
Gun gasped and snatched it from my hand. “Eternity Fashion House. How? Why? What?”
“You know them?” I squinted at the card. “Where does it say Eternity Fashion House?”
He flicked the logo with his fingers. “That is an instantly recognizable trademark.”
“It’s the Greek symbol of life.” It was a simple spiral embossed with the Greek key design.
“It’s the symbol of three illustrious fashionistas who are inviting you, Lorelei Clay, to their offices for a private dress fitting.” He slapped the card on the table. “Explain.”
“Can’t. I have no idea why they’d send this to me.” I pondered the invitation. “It could be Magnarella’s doing. He wants me to look my best to impress his potential investors at the gala.”
Gun and Cam fixed me with matching incredulous expressions.
“I’m sorry,” Cam said. “Can you back up a few days and expand on that statement? I know I’ve been out of town a couple days, but I’ve fallen woefully behind.”
I told them about Magnarella’s offer, my visit to the lab, and the upcoming gala.
“Magnarella must know you can’t afford a designer dress,” Gun said. “It’s in his best interest for you to look flush with cash if he’s trying to attract investors.”
Cam gave me a pitying look. “How poor are you, Lorelei?”
“I need a new source of revenue very soon,” I admitted.
“Why not work as a private investigator? It would be similar to your work in London, and you seem to be doing it anyway, except without compensation.” He shuddered. “You really ought to reconsider that.”
“If I accept payment, then I’m…”
Gun watched me, waiting for me to finish. “You’re what?” he finally prompted.
“I don’t know. It feels wrong.”
“Are you a comic book superhero? No. You’re Lorelei Clay, owner of a house in dire need of furniture.”
“I built her a bed,” Sian interjected.
“She has a bed,” Gun said.
