Veiled in Death. Stephanie Blackmoore
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on the receiving end of quite frequently several years ago when I’d almost married her son. “This old collection of junk? I haven’t set foot in this abomination of a business since the 1990s.”
I snickered. Coincidentally, the early 1990s is when Helene’s fashion awareness seemed to stop, as well. Helene favored pantyhose, shoulder pads, Chanel bouclé jackets, and Bill Blass and Halston suits. Being in her proximity was as much a time-capsule experience as being in the Antique Emporium or planning Cordials and Cannonballs.
Claudia said not a word but let her actions do the talking for her. She took one step toward Helene. She coolly rested her hand on her waist-high replica rifle.
That had better not be a working gun. Of course not, she wouldn’t.
Claudia put that idea to rest and simultaneously skyrocketed my hackles into the stratosphere. “This baby is full of fresh gunpowder. And I know how to use it.”
I took an involuntary step back with the infant in my arms, and Helene flinched, but held her own. The resident dowager-empress of Port Quincy, Pennsylvania, turned her steely powder-blue eyes on me at last.
“Hello, Mallory.”
I should have been cheered that it had taken all of this time for Helene to acknowledge my presence. Miri whimpered as I held her ever closer.
Claudia seemed to come to her senses seeing her daughter’s foster child. She leaned her rifle against a puffy ottoman and squared off against Helene with folded arms. “I mean it, Helene. Out. Now.”
It was Helene’s turn to dismiss Claudia with a flick of her heavily jeweled hand. “Not until you listen to reason, Claudia.” And she couldn’t resist a dig at yours truly. “I’m not surprised you’re consorting with this riffraff, Mallory dear.” Her term of affection slapped on at the end was as cozy and sweet as a cup of battery acid.
“Why, you . . .” Bev made a step toward Helene, bouncing on her heels like a pugilist. It was no easy feat holding back Bev while cradling Miri.
But June rescued us. “You’re free to go, ladies.” It was a compassionate command to leave, not really a request. She seemed to want to rescue Bev and me from Helene’s shenanigans. I reluctantly handed over the baby, but not before taking one more whiff of her sweet smell. I was rewarded with an adorable coo.
“I can’t believe we left them in there.” Bev nearly collapsed as she leaned against the maroon brick front of the Antique Emporium.
“We needed to get the heck out of there as soon as we could.”
It was night and day, breathing in deep gulps of fresh summer air on the sidewalk. We were a safe distance from Helene and her irrational demands. Outside the store, Bev and I exclaimed over the veil. It felt good to examine our find in the clear, bright June sunlight.
“Ooh, it’s more gorgeous than ever.” I traced the outline of delicate stars smattered around the edge of the floral pattern. The veil’s lace was even more intricate and lovely in the bright summer sunlight. “I’ll call the fabric restorer,” I promised Bev. “I suppose she can give good advice about whether we can divvy up the veil or if it’s better to keep it intact.”
Bev gave an excited nod, her eyes sparkling behind the cat’s-eye frames. “This will somewhat change the look I decided on for my big day, but it’s worth it. This is meant to be.”
Or perhaps not.
A whoosh of cold air bathed us as the door to the Antique Emporium hurtled open.
Uh-oh.
Helene wasn’t done with us. Claudia and June must have finally kicked her out of the store. Helene flounced onto the sidewalk in her red Bill Blass suit, her pageboy teased out over her ears so she resembled a king cobra. Her shoulder pads were as tall as ever, padded enough to land her a guest role as a linebacker for the Pittsburgh Steelers. The metal spikes of her suede kitten heels struck the mica-studded concrete sidewalk with considerable force. Her still-sharp, eagle-eyed gaze landed on the delicate length of fabric held in my hands. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head.
I rolled my eyes. Helene didn’t faze me. Now, if I hadn’t serendipitously jettisoned my engagement to her son a few years ago, I’d be in a heap of trouble. But my better senses had saved me from that debacle. That and my ex, Keith’s, wandering eye.
“Where did you get this?” Helene’s voice was so enraged, it was nearly an inaudible hiss.
I instinctively swiveled around to protect the veil as if I were still holding baby Miri.
“I don’t need to talk to you, Helene.” There. Boundaries. I wouldn’t consort with this maniac, not today.
“That veil is a long-lost family heirloom! It belongs to me. And I will take it back.” Helene’s bony talons gripped my shoulder and spun me around with surprising force. A small group of walkers at the nearby corner paused to sip their coffee and take in the show.
“Take your hands off of me, you loon!” I barely had time to extricate myself from her clutches. But Helene was just getting started. The audience at the corner grew by three more people, and Helene didn’t disappoint. She lunged forward and grabbed the lace from my hand. I held tight to my end.
In a single, sickening second of time, the veil ripped in two.
I didn’t even hear the primal gasp that slipped from my lips. Instead I heard the collective inhalation of the small crowd now watching it all go down.
“You idiot! Look what you did!” Helene was incandescent with rage. The septuagenarian leapt like a cat and lunged for the remaining, now jagged, piece of veil in my hands.
“Catch!” I sidestepped Helene and flung the fabric at Bev, who, in her finest hour, caught the piece of lace as it pirouetted through the air like a delicate, oversized snowflake.
“Not so fast.” Like a ninja, Helene plucked the other piece from a surprised Bev and hightailed it down the street. I was too stunned to follow the purloined veil.
“What the heck just happened?” Bev buried her distraught face in her plump hands.
“Beats the heck out of me.”
The melee only grew in intensity, as we were treated to a show of flashing lights and wailing sirens. I’d never welcomed the squeal of tires from a Port Quincy police vehicle more than in this moment. The crowd on the corner, and the steady thrum of traffic sliding down Main Street, blocked Helene’s exit. The police car could barely drown out Helene’s indignant caterwaul.
CHAPTER TWO
Not one, but two police cars executed screeching stops in front of the Antique Emporium. Port Quincy’s chief of police, Truman Davies, who happened to also be my fiancé’s father, exited his car and surveyed the scene. His partner Faith Hendricks, several decades his junior, got out of her own police car. Her blond ponytail swung back and forth as she hurried over. Her aviator glasses were in full effect.
Great. Helene really knows how to bring out the whole cavalry.
I was used to Helene’s shenanigans, which up until now had not included grand theft veil on Main Street, Port Quincy, Pennsylvania.
Truman finished observing the mess before him. At first, he seemed concerned, then irritated, and finally his crinkled eyes rested at mildly amused. I watched him cycle through those emotions as he took in the lay of the land and made his own decisions about what was probably happening. He gave a rueful chuckle and a barely perceptible shake of his head. I watched Helene lock her icy-blue eyes with Truman’s, and her heavily padded shoulders seemed to sag in defeat. It wasn’t a sight I’d had the pleasure to witness before. Soon we’d have this sorted out and Bev and I would have our pieces of the lovely veil. I inwardly cringed as I replayed the sickening shred of the delicate fabric when Helene viciously ripped the lace from my grip. Helene still had the veil clutched to her chest, a strange and rare air of defeat cloaking her more closely than her