The Homewreckers(72)

“Come on out and let me see,” Jodi called.

Hattie stepped out.

“Oh yeah,” Jodi said. She pulled the zipper down another four inches, then rolled up the sleeves to elbow length. “Turn around,” she ordered.

Hattie did a quarter turn. “Hmm. It kinda bags in the seat, but I can fix that easily enough,” Jodi said. She grabbed a handful of pins and began pinning the excess fabric. “Turn again? That’s better, but I think we’ll take it in a half inch in the bust. That’ll take care of the grease monkey look.” She went over to a rack of accessories and plucked out an abstract patterned silk scarf in vivid hues of oranges, hot pink, lime green, and yellow. “Vintage Pucci,” she said, giving Hattie a wink. “From my own collection.” She knotted the scarf around Hattie’s waist and stepped back again to study her handiwork.

“I love it,” Hattie said. “The scarf really makes it.”

“Well, you know what Dolly Parton says in Steel Magnolias,” Jodi reminded her. “The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize.”

Hattie looked down at her bare feet. “You’re not gonna make me wear some horrible spiked heels, right?”

“Nope.” Jodi went back to the accessories rack and handed her a pair of stylish lime-green tennis shoes. “Lanvin,” she said.

Hattie let out a deep sigh of contentment and threw her arms around the wardrobe mistress. “I feel so much better now. This outfit feels just right. It’s me. Only more stylish. And cute.”

“Great. Now take it off so I can get started on the alterations,” Jodi ordered. “Once that’s done we’ve got to FaceTime Rebecca so you can model the finished outfit.”

“What?”

“I don’t make the rules, I just make the rules look fabulous,” Jodi said. “Be back here in an hour, okay?”



* * *



“Hmm.” Rebecca’s voice filled the small trailer. “What happened to the dresses we shipped down to you?”

Hattie started to speak, but Jodi beat her to the punch. “Way too short,” she said. “And not enough fabric to let the hems down.”

“What about those cute rompers? I was thinking we’d show off her legs.”

“Hattie’s got this weird body type. Short-waisted. They made her look like a puffin. Not flattering. At all.”

“I don’t hate the jumpsuit,” Rebecca admitted. “Hattie, can you turn so I can see the back?”

Hattie obliged, turning her back to the camera just as she saw Jodi, out of camera range, shoot her a conspiratorial wink.

“The fit is decent,” Rebecca allowed. “Turn again.”

Hattie spun back around.

“Is this the LaLa Tarabella we sent down?” Rebecca asked. “It looks different from the one I saw on the website.”

“I altered it slightly,” Jodi said. “Took it in through the bust and butt, chopped the sleeves short to show off those tanned arms of hers, and then I did some machine-embroidered embellishments along the bottom of the pants.”

Rebecca let out a long sigh. “This is probably as good as we’re going to get on such short notice. Now, Hattie, I’ve already spoken to Lisa about your hair and makeup for tomorrow. She’s going to go with a bit more eye drama than usual, because we don’t want you looking like a sad little country mouse next to Jada Watkins. Good job, ladies. Bye now!”

Jodi clicked off the FaceTime app and turned to Hattie. “Sad little country mouse, my ass.”





38

Lightning Striking Again and Again




“Detective Mak?” Emma Ragan’s voice was soft, and cracking from emotion.

“Hi, Emma,” he said. “Is something wrong? Can I help?”

“Y-y-yes. It’s a long story. I’d feel better if we could talk in person.”

“That’s fine, Emma,” he said, his voice soothing. “Tell me where and when. I’ll meet you wherever you want.”

“You know the square, downtown, with the big statue of General Oglethorpe? I called in sick today, could you meet me there in, like, an hour?”

“I’ll see you then,” Makarowicz said.



* * *



She was sitting in the shade of a huge oak tree, on the edge of a park bench, her pale, bony shoulders hunched over, feeding popcorn to a group of pigeons, looking remarkably like a wounded bird herself.

“Hi,” he said, smiling at her as he approached. She looked up and he saw that she’d been crying, her eyes red-rimmed, nose runny. She wore a dress that looked like an old man’s sleeveless T-shirt, what his daughter used to call a wife-beater, that accentuated her delicate build.

Makarowicz sat down on the bench and waited. Emma wiped her nose with a paper napkin she plucked from a bag she was holding on her lap.

“Are you really sick?” he asked. “I gotta say, you don’t look so good.”

“I told my boss I was on my period. Men never ask you any questions when you tell them that. I’m just super upset my dad showed up last night.”

“You didn’t know he was coming for a visit?”

“No! Get this. He broke up with the chick he was living with down in Florida, and he’s been living in Richmond Hill. He rang my doorbell around eight last night, and said we needed to talk.”