“Well, thank goodness the auditorium is already set up. Franklin and Jude really came through for me there. They organized our agents and the rest of Ms. Lambert’s crew, prepared the stage, and got the seating situated. Flora and Vicky already took care of taking down the author booths.”
Uh-oh. She was building up to something big.
She continued, “And I got all the authors situated, except for Dr. Meyers. No one can find her anywhere.”
Again, I started to tell her why, but she shoved the dress my way. “So, it’s your turn. See if this fits.”
“This dress? Why?”
“We need a bridesmaid.”
“Oh, no.” I started shaking my head. “Not me. Can’t you get someone else? Besides, I look horrible in pink.”
“It’s not pink. It’s called light blush. And it’s supposed to complement any skin tone.” She pointed me toward the auditorium. “The models are changing in the small room off the back of the stage. There’s an entrance down the hall from the main auditorium doors. You can’t miss it. Someone will be there to do your makeup and hair. Vicky’s in there, taking care of the lineup. Just find her and she’ll tell you what to do.”
“Vicky’s here? Did you leave Olive alone at the office?” Visions of shredded furniture and chewed documents snapped to mind.
“Are you serious? Of course not. Olive’s here, tucked safely in the Potter’s Room. Zach has offered to keep an eye on her for me. Oh, here comes Lynn.” She motioned her over. “Be a dear, won’t you? Show Lila where the dressing room is in back of the stage area. Would you mind?” Without waiting for a reply, she pointed a bejeweled finger in the general direction. “Now go on, Lila!” she said. “There’s not a second to spare.”
I took off with Lynn to find the dressing room, thinking perhaps it was better I didn’t get a chance to tell Bentley about Dr. Meyers. It had been enough for her to see one of our writers arrested for murder. Clearing Jodi as a result of a confession of yet another of our authors would not please my boss one bit. That bad news could wait until the show was over.
“Lila? Are you okay?” Lynn was asking. “You seem upset. I heard about your mother. Is everything okay with her?”
“Yes, she’s fine. It’s just . . .” I thought about how close Lynn was to Dr. Meyers. Certainly the news that she’d confessed to Chuck’s murder and would soon be arrested would be upsetting to her, too. I hesitated, deciding that as soon as this fashion show crisis was over, I’d call a meeting and tell everyone at once. The news could wait another hour. “It was just upsetting to see Mama in the hospital today. She’s doing fine. But I wish I could have stayed with her, though.” Guilt pricked at my conscience. With everything going on, I hadn’t called to check up on Mama.
We were standing in front of the dressing room. I jostled the slippery peachy fluff of the dress hanging on one arm and my shoulder bag on other arm and started shrugging out of my coat. “I hate to ask this of you, Lynn, but would you mind watching my purse for me? I don’t want leave it unattended in the dressing room. And could you check my coat for me?”
“Of course. Would it be helpful if I gave your mother a quick call? I could explain that you’ve been called to duty, but that you wanted me to check on her.”
Oh, how sweet. I breathed a sigh of relief. “You wouldn’t mind? It would make me feel a little better.”
“Absolutely not. Anything to help,” she added, gathering my coat and shouldering my purse. “Consider it done. What’s her number?”
I anxiously glanced over my shoulder as I entered the dressing room. “Oh, just use my phone. It’s in my purse. I listed her under Mama in my contacts.”
Lynn chuckled. “Sounds good. I’ll give Mama a call.” She offered a quick smile. “You’re going to do great. Good luck.”
*
ONCE IN THE dressing room, it wasn’t difficult to find Vicky. Her A-line skirt, wool stockings, and sensible shoes stood out like a sore thumb in the room of flowing taffeta and high heels. “I’m supposed to try this on,” I told her.
She turned a harried look my way, reading glasses teetering on the edge of her nose, and then she stole a quick glance at her clipboard. “Let’s hope it fits. There’s no time for me to find anyone else, and each bride is supposed to be preceded down the catwalk by a bridesmaid. It simply won’t do to have an unaccompanied bride.” She pointed toward a bank of stalls with curtains. “Go slip it on and come out here so I can see how it looks. And hurry.”
I scurried to the dressing room. As quickly as possible, I slipped out of my clothes and stepped into the dress, tugging and shimmying until I maneuvered the bodice past my hips. Lucky for me, the skirt flowed softly from a high empire waist that actually minimized what I liked to think of as my pleasantly plump hips. And it camouflaged the bit of tummy I preferred not to think about at all. I breathed a sigh of relief. It looked okay. Good, actually.