Someone's Mad at the Hatter by Sandra Bretting

Author:Sandra Bretting [Bretting, Sandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2017-08-02T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Lance hurried to the exit and soon he disappeared. Only then did I check the time on my cell phone, which lay on the counter. It was already seven, which meant I’d been at the Factory for nearly half an hour. Not only that, but I hadn’t had a single cup of coffee and my brain felt like mush.

“Say, Bo.” I turned to him. “I haven’t had any coffee yet. Think I’ll get some from the Starbucks counter in the lobby.” What’s another five minutes in the grand scheme of things? “Do you want any?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

I quickly rose and made my way to the door. Even though Lance probably wouldn’t approve, I didn’t see how a few measly minutes in the lobby could change anything. After all, he’d mentioned my studio was empty, so whoever ruined the entrance was long gone.

Once I stepped outside, a weak splash of sunshine fell on my shoulders. I purposefully turned away from the pile of rubble outside my door—no need to revisit the carnage—and tried to ignore the images that ping-ponged through my mind: smashed glass, gouged wood, and a useless nail protruding from a broken door hinge.

I wanted to focus on other things instead: Like the ray of sun on my shoulders. The slippery feel of a damp quill on my cheek. The new cars that now worked their way into the parking lot at the Factory.

Although it was only seven, several more cars had parked near the businesses that kept early-morning hours. The flower shop, for one, opened at the crack of dawn, since Dana LeBoeuf accepted deliveries then. No doubt she was stationed in the alley at this very moment, telling a driver where to stash a box of hydrangeas in her walk-in cooler.

Another early bird was Brooke Champagne. The photographer often arrived at daybreak to shoot her subjects in the soft morning light. The rain must have changed her schedule, though, since nothing stirred inside Brooke’s Bridal Portraits when I passed by.

A few moments later, I arrived at the atrium and swung open the plate-glass door. The heavenly scent of newly roasted coffee beans reached me the moment I stepped inside.

“Hello, there.”

I whirled around to see Suzi Wan. Today she wore another chic Chanel suit, only this time the color was teal, not red. She’d accessorized it with black Tahitian pearls and matching earrings. While she seemed to have recovered from the day before, dark rings still circled her eyes.

“Hello, Miss Wan.”

“Wherever are you going dressed like that, my dear?”

“Huh?” Then I remembered the taffeta ball-gown skirt. “You mean the skirt? I had to borrow it from my friend, Ambrose. He doesn’t wear it, of course. But once I took off my pants . . .” My voice trailed off, since I was only digging the hole deeper.

“Don’t worry about it, dear.” Finally, Suzi’s gaze came ’round to my face. “No need to explain. I love taffeta.”

“My choice was either this or a slip.

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