Copy Cap Murder (2 page)

“I refuse to wear that,” I said to Viv. “There is nothing you can say or do that will change my mind.”

“Oh, don't be difficult, Scarlett,” Viv said. “You'll look adorable in it.”

I frowned at the felt concoction she was holding out at me. It was a bright yellow cap like something a paperboy in the nineteen twenties would wear. It was lumpy on top and saggy at the back and the narrow brim would sit just over my eyes, destroying my visibility.

“I'll look like a flattened banana,” I argued. “I'm not wearing it, unless . . .”

“Unless what?” Viv looked wary. Smart girl.

“Tell me about your husband,” I said. “Name. Birthplace. Occupation. Anything.”

“No.” She blanched. “I can't.”

“Why?” I asked. Yes, I was trying to give her time but every now and again I felt the need to poke the bear with the stick to see if I could get her to bite or at least offer up some details.

“It's too . . .” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head.

I stared at her. What was the big secret?

“Oh, my god, he lives with his mother, doesn't he?” I asked. “And you can't get him to leave her.”

She looked as if she was going to let me believe that for just a moment and then her chin dropped to her chest in defeat. “I wish the problem was his mother.”

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind, I'm not discussing this anymore.” Viv looked at the hat and then at me. She had a very determined look in her eyes and I had a feeling she was transferring her conflicted feelings about her marriage to my head and a hat. “You have to wear a hat.”

“Fine,” I said. I realized it was time to put my stick down before the bear mauled me. “But not that one.”

“Which would you prefer?” Viv asked.

“That one,” I said. I pointed to the hat on her head.

“But . . .” Viv puffed out her lower lip.

I snatched the bright blue cashmere ribbed beanie off of her head and moved over to a mirror, where I could try it on. It was a perfect fit, very hip and cool without the nerd quotient of the hat she'd been trying to get me to wear. Plus, she had hand stitched seed pearls all over it, giving it a solid wow factor.

“This will do,” I said.

“Oh, that looks terrific on you, Scarlett,” Fee said. She
entered the shop from the workroom, wearing an adorable bright red bucket hat fashioned out of a quilted flannel material and trimmed with a wide black ribbon.

Viv twirled the yellow felted hat on her finger. “I really thought Scarlett would look adorable in this one.”

Fee looked at the hat and then at Viv. It was clear to see she was struggling with what to say. I gave her the hairy eyeball to make sure she didn't gang up on me with Viv and try to force me into the hat. There are very few times that I don't love Viv's designs but this was one of them and I was not going to wear it.

“Fine, I'll wear it,” Viv said. “But it's not nearly as eye-catching with my hair color as it would be with yours.”

“Maybe,” I said. I pointed to my head. “But this one looks amazing on me and I'm keeping it.”

Viv opened her mouth to argue but the front door opened and in swaggered our neighbors Nick Carroll and Andre Eisel. They were a couple who owned a photography gallery/studio a few shops down Portobello Road from us. Although Nick was a dentist by day and his partner Andre was the photographer of their twosome, they ran the gallery together.

They lived above their shop just like we lived above ours, and the five of us had become fast friends after, well, after Andre and I had stumbled across a dead body together. What can I say, that sort of thing bonds people.

“Good evening, ladies,” Nick said. He was using a walking stick with a silver knob at the top. By the way he was twirling it and admiring his reflection in the window glass, I got the feeling it was a new toy for him.

Andre was dressed all in black, as always, and looked
at his partner with amusement. As we exchanged greetings, Andre hugged me close and said, “I just don't have the heart to tell him it looks pretentious.”

“Let's not,” I agreed. “He looks so happy.”

The doors opened again and this time it was Harrison arriving to escort us all to the party. Per usual, my treacherous insides clutched at the sight of him, a fact that was not missed by Andre.

“Why don't you just date the poor man already?” he asked.

“You know very well why,” I said.

“Scarlett, you can't punish yourself just because your last boyfriend was a heartless git,” Andre said.

“Quite right,” Nick agreed as he joined us. “Did you ever get the tally of women the blighter cheated on his wife with?”

I made a face like I had a bad taste in my mouth. “I stopped counting at five.”

“Five?” Harrison asked from behind me. “I can't even manage one girlfriend never mind five and a wife.”

I glared at him. “Do not sound impressed. He is a horrible person.”

“Agreed,” Nick said. “But still, juggling six women is . . .”

“Morally reprehensible, socially repugnant, blatantly misogynistic and utterly unforgivable!” Viv snapped.

I patted Viv on the back. “Well said, cousin.”

“Brilliant,” Fee agreed.

“All right, now that's sorted,” Harrison said. “Is everyone ready to go?”

Viv straightened the cap on her head. With her long
curly blond hair flowing out from under it, it really did look so much better on her than it would have on me. Yes, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

We locked up Mim's Whims behind us and set out into the early evening. I love Portobello Road not just because I spent all of my school holidays here with Mim and Viv, although that is a lot of it, but I love that it has its own village sort of charm, where everyone knows everyone else and we all keep an eye out for each other.

The lower level of the buildings on our street are done in vibrant shades of red, blue and green while the upper resident stories are white or exposed brick. There is even a side street of buildings painted a glorious rainbow of pastel colors in a stubborn show of cheerfulness that I've always admired. Mim's Whims is white with a royal blue trim. I once suggested a color change but both Mim and Viv were horrified, probably because I was going through a hot pink phase at the time. Either way, I'm glad it has stayed white with a blue trim. It had been one of the constants in my life and now that Mim is gone, I can't imagine it any other way.

Another thing I love about Notting Hill is that travelers from all over the world come to the Saturday market, which stretches for over two miles. You can find anything from antique clocks and cameras to T-shirts with animal faces painted on them, there's even a booth with all things Beatles, and of course, we sell our hats.

Portobello Road has such a frantic friendly atmosphere that I really couldn't imagine living anywhere else in London. I traveled all over the world as a hospitality major, yes, I convinced myself it was research, and London is by far my favorite city.

Still, with the winter cold creeping in, I was longing for some beach time. As a redhead, I am the person with SPF 50 slathered on every bit of my exposed skin and I have a sun hat the width of my own personal beach umbrella, still, there is something about the feeling of powdery sand between my toes, the briny smell of the sea and the sound of the waves crashing on the shore that soothes me like nothing else. Or maybe I just wanted some space between me and the man who had come to dominate my thoughts.

“Nice lid, Ginger,” Harrison said.

See? It's like just thinking about him conjured him to my side. He looked ridiculously attractive in his black suit jacket with a matching cashmere sweater underneath framing his crisp white dress shirt and dark gray silk tie with a fancy embroidered design. Truly, I needed to put three thousand miles of ocean between us for a bit for my own mental health.

He fell into step beside me and I noted that we had paired off on the narrow walkway with Harrison and I in the lead, Fee and Viv behind us and Nick and Andre bringing up the rear.

“Lid? Is that your attempt at American slang?” I asked.

“Yes, how did I do?” he asked.

“Not quite as bad as your Southern accent,” I said. “If I remember right your ‘y'all' still needs work.”

He grinned and I glanced away. How could a man's smile make me dizzy? That had never happened to me before. I was pretty sure it was a bad thing. Maybe I was allergic to him.

“I'll keep working on it,” he said.

“So tell me more about Guy Fawkes,” I said. “Give me
the four-one-one on why it's still celebrated over four hundred years later.”

“Honestly?” he asked. “I think it's because we like to burn things.”

I glanced at him in surprise and he laughed.

“Just teasing, although . . .” His words trailed off and I thought maybe there was a kernel of truth to what he said. Bonfires are fun, after all.

“Let's see what I remember from my school days,” he said. “From what I recall, in 1605, Guy Fawkes and his coconspirators planned to blow up the House of Lords using kegs of gunpowder hidden beneath the building. They failed. To celebrate King James I surviving the dastardly plot, people lit bonfires all over the city. It had much more political and religious overtones for the first two hundred and fifty years, but now it's more of a social event for bonfires and fireworks, although people do still like to burn a Guy Fawkes effigy.”

“I can see where that would be therapeutic,” I said. “Any chance we could make it look like my ex?”

“Still feel the need to burn him at the stake?” Harrison asked.

I sensed he was watching me closely while trying to appear not to be, and I realized my answer was important. I tried not to blow it, but I figured honesty was best.

“Not as much as I used to,” I said.

Again, he grinned and I felt it all the way down to my toes.

“Well, I'd say that's good, no, great progress,” he said.

We continued walking. Occasionally, his arm brushed
mine and I felt the urge to link my arm through his, but we weren't there yet and that was okay.

“What exactly is it that you do at Carson and Evers?” I asked.

“Money stuff,” he said. “Basically, I make a lot of money for people by telling them what to buy and when to buy and conversely what to sell and when to sell it.”

“Is that what you always wanted to do?” I asked. I found I was curious about what the boy I had once known had wanted out of life and if it mirrored what the man had become. So many people our age had settled into careers they loathed just for the money; I wondered if he was one of them.

Clearly, I was since I had always dreamed of managing a grand hotel with hundreds of staff but was now managing a hat shop with no staff except an intern, who really worked for my cousin.

“Uh, no, not exactly,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh.

“Interesting,” I said. I gave him a sidelong look, wondering if I could get him to confess. “Tell me, what would you be doing with your life if not ‘money stuff'?”

“Ugh, this is embarrassing,” he said. “I have to be clear that I think I landed exactly where I am supposed to be, but when I was younger, in my teens, I had thought I would be something much more daring like a spy.”

“A spy?” I goggled at him. “Like 007? A womanizer?”

“With the babes but without the misogyny,” he clarified. “Yes. In my defense, I was a teenager.”

I laughed, enjoying his look of chagrin.

“What stopped you?” I asked.

“The family needed me to take up my uncle's clients, and I wasn't sure I was cut out for a life of espionage,” he said. “I still love a good thriller, though.”

“Me, too,” I said. I grinned at him. I couldn't help it. Never in a million years would I have pegged Harry as a wannabe spy. I found it thoroughly charming.