Stacey and the Fashion Victim Read online

  “I never meant to hurt anyone,” she said.

  “I know that. But you sure scared a few people, me included.”

  “Sorry,” she whispered, looking down at her feet. Then she took a quick breath and looked back into my eyes. “What are you going to do? Tell everyone? It’s my word against yours, you know. You can’t prove anything.”

  “As a matter of fact,” I said, “I can. I have a few witnesses. Come on out, guys.” I turned toward the stalls. One by one, my friends emerged.

  “It worked!” cried Mal.

  “At least we didn’t get up at six for no reason,” said Claudia. (She hadn’t been happy about my insisting we arrive super-early at Bellair’s, but I knew it was the only way we’d catch Harmony in the act.) She grabbed a paper towel and began to scrub the lipstick off the mirror.

  “Are you all right, Harmony?” Mary Anne asked, placing a gentle hand on Harmony’s shoulder.

  At that, Harmony began to sniff. Then she started to cry. “How did you know it was me?” she asked between sobs.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  She nodded.

  “Well,” I said, “once I started to put it all together, it was obvious.” I leaned against a sink and began to explain. “The thing that really tipped me off was the look on your face when Mrs. Maslin said you’d been named Princess Bellair.”

  “Ugh,” said Harmony, frowning. “That was the last thing I wanted.”

  “Right,” I said. “You’re sick of modeling, aren’t you? Just like Cynthia. But your mom won’t let you quit. So you tried to convince her that modeling could be very, very dangerous.” I watched Harmony’s face closely. So far, this was just a theory of mine.

  Harmony gulped and nodded, and I knew my theory was correct. “I remember the first time I saw you,” I went on. “Cokie pointed you and your mother out, and told me that your mother wouldn’t rest until you were a top model. But I never had the feeling that a modeling career was that important to you. I mean, you never seemed psyched about the clothes, or the great assignments Mrs. Maslin gave you, or anything.”

  Harmony was nodding. “I liked it at first,” she whispered. “It was even fun, for a while. Then I lost interest in it, but by then she — my mom — was really excited about me being a supermodel.”

  “So you poisoned yourself,” I said.

  My friends gasped, but Harmony just nodded. “I knew it wouldn’t kill me,” she said, “but I wanted to seem really, really sick. That’s why I drank almost the whole cup.”

  “Those stomach cramps couldn’t have been much fun,” Mary Anne said sympathetically.

  “They weren’t,” said Harmony. “They would have been worth it, though, if my mom had let me drop out of Fashion Week.”

  “But she didn’t,” I pointed out. “So next, you started writing these notes everywhere. And putting spiders in people’s shoes.”

  “And you were the one who cut up those clothes,” Mal put in.

  “That’s right,” I said. “Remember those pink spots on the scissors, Mal? Well, I had suddenly remembered that Harmony’s nail polish was pink that day, too. That was a big clue.”

  “I hid those scissors,” said Harmony, surprised.

  “And I found them,” Mal replied proudly. “Right near the scene of the crime.”

  I was watching Harmony’s face and thinking. “You know,” I said, “I remember looking at you that day and having this weird feeling that you knew who had cut up those pajamas. But at the time, I never would have thought it was you!”

  “I think I even creeped myself out,” said Harmony with a tiny grin.

  “Well, I know you creeped me out when you loosened the screws on that railing,” I said. “I thought I was going to be history when that thing let go.”

  “I knew the other roof was there. I knew I wouldn’t be badly hurt. And I didn’t even mean for it to happen to you. I was just hoping I would fall. Anyway, how did you know I’d loosened the screws?”

  “I didn’t at the time,” I said. “But I saw the screws on the roof, and later I remembered you were the one who suggested we should do the shoot over by the railing, instead of on the lounge chairs. And then I remembered the way you looked at me and said ‘sorry’ after we’d fallen.”

  “Very impressive detecting,” Mal whispered, giving me a grin and a nudge.

  Harmony agreed. “I can’t even pretend to be innocent,” she said. “You have all the clues. And now you have witnesses,” she went on, waving a hand at the others, “who’ve heard me say that I did all these things. And I did. I was responsible for everything.”

  For a second, we were all silent.

  Then Mary Anne spoke up. “You have to tell your mother,” she said. “You have to tell her you don’t want to model anymore.”

  “I can’t,” said Harmony. “You don’t understand….”

  “We’ll help you,” Mary Anne said, gently but firmly.

  Harmony looked down at the floor. “And do we have to tell everybody what I did?”

  I exchanged glances with my friends. We all seemed to feel the same way. “That’s not necessary,” I said. “As long as you promise to stop doing stuff like that.”

  “I promise,” said Harmony, crossing her heart.

  Just then, Cokie burst into the bathroom. “What are you all doing?” she cried. “Mrs. Maslin wants to do a run-through of tonight’s show. We’re supposed to be ready in fifteen minutes!” She ran to the mirror and began to inspect her makeup. “I don’t know why Monica uses this foundation on me,” she said to herself.

  “We were just leaving,” I told her. And with that, the five of us left Cokie alone in front of the mirror — which, thanks to Claudia’s efforts, was clean.

  As we walked toward the dressing room, Harmony grabbed my hand. “Thanks,” she whispered. “For catching me, I mean. I know that sounds weird, but thanks.”

  I thought I understood what she meant.

  She took a deep breath. “I have to talk to Mrs. Maslin,” she said. “She should let somebody else be Princess Bellair, because I don’t want to be. In fact, this show tonight is going to be the last one I ever do.”

  Wow. “Do you want me to go with you?” I asked.

  “No, you go ahead and get ready for the run-through,” she said. “And I know you guys,” she gestured at Mal, Mary Anne, and Claudia, “have things to do, too. Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

  She sounded sure of herself. So my friends and I went our separate ways: Mary Anne and Mal to the Kid Center, Claudia to find Jamie and Roger Bellair, and I to my mirror.

  Ten minutes later, just as I finished dressing, Harmony came into the room with a smile on her face. “All set,” she said. “Mrs. Maslin said she was sorry to hear my decision, and she promised not to tell my mother until I’ve had a chance to talk to her. She said she’ll give the princess role to Blaine — which is great — and she also told me that she finally broke down and agreed to let Emily be in the show. She’s going to be a lady-in-waiting.”

  Harmony was talking so fast and so happily that she didn’t even notice the warning look in my eyes. The look that said, “Watch out, your mother just came into the room.”

  For, sure enough, Mrs. Skye had shown up. And she’d heard at least part of what Harmony had said.

  “Tell your mother what?” she asked. “And what is this about you not being the princess?” She’d folded her arms, and she looked angry, but she was speaking very calmly. Too calmly.

  Harmony gulped. “It’s just that — that —”

  “Harmony, you can do it.” I’d moved next to her, and now I whispered into her ear.

  “Mom, I just don’t want to model anymore,” said Harmony, in a rush. “And I’m not going to, after tonight. That’s final.”

  Mrs. Skye looked shocked. “But — but —” she began.

  “No,” Harmony interrupted, sounding determined. “I don’t want to do it anymore, and you can’t make me.”

  “This is utter
nonsense,” said Mrs. Skye.

  I’d hoped she would be more understanding. “Modeling isn’t for everyone,” I put in. “I think tonight’s going to be my last show, too.”

  Mrs. Skye looked at me without really seeing me, and it was clear that she was already trying to think of some way to make Harmony reconsider. Obviously, things weren’t going to change overnight for Harmony. But at least she’d been honest about how she felt. There wouldn’t be any more fake poisonings or lipstick messages.

  Harmony was going to have to work this out the hard way, but I had no doubt that she would work it out. And, if she needed us, my friends and I would be there to help.

  Jessi and Becca knew a lot more about Aunt Cecelia’s smoking habits than Aunt Cecelia would ever have guessed. She was so sneaky about it, and so careful. But the fact was, they always knew when she’d had a cigarette.

  “For one thing,” Jessi told us later, after the Great Stoneybrook Smokeout, “you could always smell it — on her breath, on her hands, on her clothes. Ugh!”

  For another thing, they’d both noticed a pattern to Aunt Cecelia’s trips out to the garden in the Ramseys’ backyard. There was the after-breakfast trip, the late-morning trip, the after-lunch trip. You see what I mean.

  (In wintertime, according to Jessi, Aunt Cecelia would open her bedroom window and lean out, puffing away. Jessi could see the clouds of smoke from her bedroom window.)

  Then there were the car trips, the excuses about needing to buy milk at the convenience store, and all the times Aunt Cecelia would push back her chair after dinner and say, “Hmm, I think I’ll take a little stroll.” If Jessi or Becca asked to go with her, she’d say she was “in the mood for solitude,” and take off alone.

  It wasn’t that Aunt Cecelia was a sneaky person in general. She wasn’t. Jessi knew that the main reason she snuck around with her cigarettes was that Mrs. Ramsey disapproved. She didn’t want Aunt Cecelia smoking in the house, and she definitely didn’t want Aunt Cecelia smoking in front of Jessi, Becca, and Squirt.

  So Aunt Cecelia became a secret smoker.

  She’d been a little surprised when Becca and Jessi approached her with the Smokeout pledge. “Heavens, girls, I hardly smoke at all!” she said. “Don’t you have any real smokers to go after?”

  That’s when Jessi and Becca had presented her with a list of every cigarette she’d smoked over the last few days. (Even though they’d been at school during the day, they knew when she smoked. She stuck to her pattern.)

  “Goodness,” Aunt Cecelia had said, holding the list at arm’s length so she could read it without fetching her glasses. She’d cleared her throat. “You girls have certainly done your research,” she’d said with a little smile. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt me to try quitting for one day. Where’s a pen?”

  She’d signed the pledge.

  But Jessi and Becca didn’t trust her. They knew their aunt, and they knew that she had not one, but two habits that are hard to break: smoking and sneaking. Therefore, they decided in advance that they’d spy on her all day Saturday and shame her if they caught her with a cigarette. “She’d be so embarrassed if we caught her breaking her pledge,” said Jessi. “She’d probably never smoke again after that.”

  She and Becca devised a plan and drew up a schedule so that one or both of them could keep an eye on Aunt Cecelia all day. Especially after breakfast, after lunch, and after dinner — Aunt Cecelia’s favorite times to smoke.

  Jessi was covering the after-breakfast shift, since it was Becca’s turn to clear the table. The family had just finished a huge Saturday morning breakfast: pancakes, bacon and eggs, toast, juice, and fruit. As they sat back, satisfied and full, Jessi snuck a glance at Aunt Cecelia. She knew, just knew, that her aunt was dying for a cigarette.

  Next, Jessi looked at Aunt Cecelia’s Smoke-out pledge form, which was propped up in the middle of the table. There was Aunt Cecelia’s signature. No question about it. Jessi saw Aunt Cecelia glance at the pledge. She saw Aunt Cecelia frown. Then she saw Aunt Cecelia push back from the table.

  “Guess I’ll go check on my tulips,” she announced.

  Jessi and Becca exchanged a glance. Neither one of them moved a muscle. Jessi waited until Aunt Cecelia left the room. Then she stretched, as casually as possible, and stood up herself. “Great pancakes, Dad,” she said as she picked up her plate and glass and took them over to the sink. “Guess I’ll go check on my … my toe shoes.” She and Becca had agreed that it would probably be best if their parents didn’t know about the spying they’d planned to do.

  Jessi tiptoed down the hall, listening for Aunt Cecelia’s footsteps. There was no sound, so Jessi figured she must already have slipped out the sliding glass doors that lead from the Ramsey dining room to the backyard. Jessi headed for those same doors.

  She slid them open quietly and tiptoed out onto the deck.

  “Looking for someone?”

  Jessi jumped. Then she turned and saw Aunt Cecelia glaring at her.

  “Don’t trust your old aunt, huh?” asked Aunt Cecelia. She had one hand on her hip and the other behind her back, and she sounded angry. Jessi didn’t know what to say.

  Then Aunt Cecelia laughed. “I can’t blame you, honey,” she said. “I am just about the sneakiest smoker ever. But when I signed that pledge, I meant it.”

  Jessi wanted to believe Aunt Cecelia, but she was still just the tiniest bit suspicious. She took a step closer and tried to sniff without Aunt Cecelia noticing. After all, what was Aunt Cecelia hiding behind her back, if not a cigarette?

  Aunt Cecelia laughed again and brought her hand around to the front. She was holding a large bouquet of bright red tulips.

  The only thing Jessi could smell was their faintly sweet scent, and the only thing she could think to say was, “Oops. Sorry.” Then she hugged Aunt Cecelia.

  “You know, honey,” said Aunt Cecelia, “this Smokeout is such a good idea that I think I’m going to try it again tomorrow. What do you think of that?”

  Jessi smiled up at her. “I think that would be excellent,” she said. “Totally excellent.”

  On Saturday morning, Watson showed up for breakfast wearing a tux.

  “Jacket,” Kristy told us later, “pants, starched white shirt, black bow tie, plaid cummerbund — or whatever you call those things — and shiny black shoes. The whole outfit.”

  The family was gathered around the huge kitchen table: Kristy’s mom, Nannie, Charlie and Sam, David Michael, Karen, Andrew, and Emily Michelle. The room had been full of noisy talk and the clatter of dishes. When Watson showed up there was a sudden, shocked silence.

  Then, after a few seconds, everybody started talking at once.

  “Um, Daddy? Are you going to a wedding or something?” Karen wanted to know.

  “Did we have plans I’ve forgotten about?” Kristy’s mom asked, sounding panicked.

  “Looking good, Watson,” Kristy said, grinning and giving him the thumbs-up.

  “Sharp threads, man,” agreed Charlie, nodding.

  “Can I borrow that suit for my prom?” asked Sam.

  Emily Michelle just stared at Watson as if he were some stranger she’d never seen before.

  Watson stood there, looking as if he were about to burst out laughing. “I want you all to finish breakfast and then run upstairs and dress in your best clothes,” he said when he could fit a word in. “I’m having a little ceremony this morning, and I want you all to be there.”

  It was then that Kristy noticed the ornately carved wooden box Watson had tucked beneath his arm. “What’s in the box?” she asked.

  “Some very good companions,” Watson answered. “Companions I’m going to be saying good-bye to.”

  That was all he’d say. He waved away their questions as he toasted and buttered a bagel. “The sooner you’re all dressed, the sooner we can begin,” he told them.

  They finished breakfast in record time. Kristy’s mom said it was okay to leave the dirty dishes on the table for once. T
hen everybody headed upstairs to figure out what to wear.

  Kristy doesn’t enjoy dressing up, which meant it wasn’t hard to decide between the two fancy dresses she owns, both of which are left over from weddings. She scrambled into one of them, ran a brush through her hair, debated whether to wear pantyhose and decided not to, stuck her feet into the one pair of shoes she owns that aren’t sneakers, and ran back downstairs without even checking herself in the mirror.

  Watson waited until everyone was assembled in the front hall. Charlie and Sam came downstairs dressed in suits. David Michael had dressed in a polo shirt and khakis. Andrew was wearing a clean shirt and his newest jeans, and Karen had pulled on a frilly pink dress. Kristy’s mom had dressed Emily Michelle in a white jumper, and herself in a full-length black gown she’s worn to fancy charity dinners.

  “You all look very nice,” Watson said. “Thank you. And now, will you accompany me outside?” He bowed and offered his arm to his wife. Then the two of them led the others into the backyard.

  Beneath one of the apple trees was a small but deep hole, surrounded by cut flowers arranged into bright bouquets. Watson asked his family to stand in a circle around the hole.

  “We are gathered here today,” he said solemnly, “to bid good-bye to …” he paused and flipped open the box, “… to some very dear friends.”

  “Watson! Your expensive cigars!” said Kristy’s mom.

  True enough. The box was full of cigars, each with a colorful ring. Kristy could smell their rich scent.

  “That’s right,” said Watson. “I’ve been saving these for a special occasion, and I think that special occasion is now. But instead of smoking them, I’m going to put them to rest for good.” He glanced wistfully at the cigars. Then he took one last sniff, smiled sadly, and closed the box. He knelt down and placed it in the hole he’d dug. Then he picked up the hose, which was lying nearby. “This is just to make sure I don’t sneak out here and dig them up some night when I’m feeling weak,” he explained as he held the nozzle over the box. “Charlie, would you turn on the faucet?”

  So that was Kristy’s Smokeout memory: Watson in a tux, surrounded by well-dressed family members, holding a hose over a box of very valuable cigars. “I didn’t even think of taking a picture,” she said later, “but I guess I don’t need one. I’ll never forget that image.”