Death by Marriage Read Online Free

cotton with a swirl of wh ite lilies.
    Her floor-length caftan moved gracefully with her as she turned to our Deposits file and removed Deb Ellis’s cash security deposit and returned it to her. Not exactly a state-of-the-art system, but it saved a lot of unnecessary voids on the credit card.
    I hung the last Twenties costume s on the check-out rack —three long pin-stripe gangster jacket s and a red velveteen smoking jacket , which was almost no costume at all but popular with gentleman who weren’t quite into the concept of “make believe.” And, finally, I balanced three fedoras and three plastic tommy guns on top of the rack. The thought of carrying these ancient machine gun replicas definitely made the day for our would-be Al Capones .
    But not for me. Now that the set-up for the Twenties party was done, my mind reverted, for the thousandth time, to the boat parade. Oh, Martin, I’m so very sorry. God bless.
    “Crystal, my dear!”
    Our all-time favorite customer came sailing through the door. And she’d never once rented a costume. Miss Letitia Van Ryn made her customary grand entrance accompanied by Royal Willie, the only live animal besides Artemis who was granted entry to DreamWear. Royal Willie, sleek and dignified, was a retired greyhound from the Sarasota Dog Track. His owner, only slightly larger than her pet, was a remarkable match for Royal Willie, from her wisp of a figure to the perfection of her silver-haired coiffure and the elegant lines of her designer clothes. Miss Letty is a representative of a vanishing species, a woman from “old money” who never had to work a day in her life. A woman who remained a spinster by choice, dedicated to the memory of a fiancé who drowned in a sailboat accident fifty years ago. A woman whose inherited wealth was strong enough to survive the vagaries of the investment market and cushion her from the anxieties suffered by the rest of us.
    She’s is a darling, our Miss Letty. She lives in the penthouse apartment of a waterfront condo on Golden Beach inlet, not far from our modest strip mall, and frequently stops in for a chat while out walking Royal Willie. DreamWear’s main attraction for Miss Letty is Crystal and her light-hearted fortunes. But to tell the truth, I suspect Miss Letty’s interest in fortune-telling is prompted more by a kind heart than an avid interest in her future, which seems guaranteed to continue as smoothly and comfortably as it always has.
    Sometimes I look at Miss Letty and see myself forty years from now. And I hear a faint echo of protest from that starry-eyed girl who dashed off to New York as eagerly as she’d dashed off to college. The girl who knew she could have it all. Brilliant career, the perfect man, elegant home, children . . .
    I knew better now. But the years were passing, and there were moments when I regretted the lonely path I’d taken. Was this really what Robert Frost meant by “the road less traveled”?
    I shook my head. This wasn’t the moment for my mind to wander. Too little sleep. Too much to do.
    “Good morning to both of you,” Miss Letty declared brightly as she shortened Royal Willie’s leash. Not that Royal Willie has ever done anything so disgraceful as mistake the crowded aisles of DreamWear for the wide-open spaces of the dogtrack, but I always appreciated the gesture.
    “Crystal, my child, I am very much in need of good fortune. I trust your ball has a rosy hue today.”
    “My ball always has a rosy hue,” Crystal assured her, “especially for you, Miss Letty.”
    The long strings of multi-color glass beads marking the entrance to Crystal’s Cave tinkled softly as the two women, accompanied by a docile Royal Willie, disappeared behind the midnight blue draperies. I frowned. Had I heard a hint of anxiety beneath the façade of Miss Letty’s salon perfection?
    Of course not. I was simply suffering a hangover of gloom from Martin’s accident.
    Idiot ! It’s Christmas . Joy. Parties. Love.