Mystic Mischief by Sally J Smith & Jean Steffens

Author:Sally J Smith & Jean Steffens [Smith, Sally J & Steffens, Jean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I headed to the rear of the resort, specifically the behind-scenes area we called wardrobe. It was where all the employees' costumes were made and maintained. The resort policy was for two costumes or uniforms to be allotted to each employee along with normal maintenance and cleaning. Above and beyond normal wear and tear, any damages were our responsibility. It was a fair policy, one with incentive for us to take care of the clothing provided so we wouldn't wind up paying for mending, extra cleaning, or even a whole new costume.

The wardrobe area was like a boutique on steroids. Everything from kitchen and housekeeping uniforms to costumes for the front desk clerks, all the way to the more elaborate getups like Fabrizio's monochromatic Nehru suits and turbans, Cat's gypsy soothsayer flowing skirts and peasant blouses, and my own dark vampiress gowns hung on racks throughout the area adjacent to the employee locker room. Keeping the apparel in shape for day-to-day work shift use as well as special occasions such as Mardi Gras, holidays, and other events was just about a 24/7/365 operation, and someone was always working in the department—even on Sunday after five, especially since it was the day before the Halloween costume ball coming up. The wardrobe division was also responsible for preparing costumes to be rented out.

Monday night's ball was the first of four to be held at the resort during the month of October. Harry Villars did love a good party, and he kept The Mansion's special events coordinator hopping with ideas for happenings connected with holidays or the resort's magic and supernatural themes in general. Harry had always said Halloween was one of his favorite celebrations, and it was observed at the resort the entire month of October. The masquerade balls were generally geared toward resort guests, but tomorrow's was open to employees as well.

Sugar Marchand, the hotel's head seamstress, was inside the cavernous room hunched over a sewing machine. She was working on a bright green Kermit the Frog costume.

She looked up when I walked in. Sugar was in her mid to late sixties and was pretty dang skinny, so much so my plump Grandmama Ida would have said Sugar was a woman in desperate need of a cheeseburger. Her face bore evidence of the thirty-nine years she admitted to having smoked two packs a day. Having quit years ago, these days a full-blown campaign against cigarette smoking and its evils was the zealous pulpit from which she preached. But the years of tobacco abuse had rendered her face like cracked leather. Sugar's hair was the rich color of a good merlot and cut really short.

"Miss Melanie Hamilton," she said, smiling and creasing her face even more.

"Sugar," I said. "What's shaking loose over here in wardrobe?"

Sugar stood and crossed to a rack where she took down a dark zipper bag. "Here you go, Madam Tattooist." She unzipped the bag. "This is what the doctor, well, what Miss Cat ordered for you. I used the measurements in your costume file to alter it.

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