Read Online A Cast-Off Coven by juliet blackwell - Free Book Online Page B

niece’s wedding—the first such invite I’d ever received—I was excited beyond all measure.
    Susan started flicking through a rack of 1950s formal gowns, immediately exhibiting her fashionista training by studying the inside of the collar first. For the professional in the know, labels are more important than the cut or the fabric of a garment.
    “So, what are we talking about?” Susan asked no one in particular.
    Before I could stop her, Bronwyn dropped her voice to a loud whisper and said with great drama, “ A man was killed last night at the San Francisco School of Fine Arts! ”
    “No!” Susan whipped around to face her.
    “Yes! Maya and Lily were there !”
    “Get out !”
    A chorus of gasps filled the room. Although there was nothing funny about a man’s death, Maya met my eyes, and we shared a smile at the women’s over-the-top sense of drama.
    “ Do tell,” Susan said, turning to me.
    “Unfortunately, it’s true,” I said. “Maya and I took a tour of the school last night and came across the body.”
    Another gasp. “Who was he? How was he killed? Who did it?”
    “Probably someone after an inheritance,” Maya mused.
    “We don’t know. . . . His body was at the bottom of the staircase leading up to the bell tower. He must have fallen.”
    “Who was it?” Susan repeated.
    “A benefactor to the school, a man named Jerry Becker.”
    “ The Jerry Becker?”
    “You know him?”
    “I met him once, when he was in town for a symphony fund-raiser. He was going on and on about his daughter’s talent as an artist— please , like I haven’t heard that before—and, if I recall, made several deliciously inappropriate remarks to me. I was with my second husband, Bradley, at the time, so I merely enjoyed the flirtation. Anyway, anyone who’s anyone knows of Jerry Becker. He’s got scads of money.”
    “ Had scads of money,” Bronwyn noted. “Can’t take it with you.”
    “He was found in the bell tower?” Susan repeated. She looked around at Maya, Bronwyn, then back at me. “I take it you’ve heard the ghost stories about that place?”
    “Ghosts?” said Bronwyn. “My friend Charles is a ghost hunter! Would you like me to call him? Maybe he could help.”
    “That’s okay,” I said. Charles Gosnold was precisely the kind of ludicrous, untalented ghost hunter I was making fun of just last night. “I think I can take care of it.”
    “There are stories about a haunting . . .” Susan went on. “There was something else, too. . . . I can’t quite remember. It just so happens I’ve done some research on the school—for a while it was one of the most prestigious institutes for clothing and textile design on the West Coast.”
    “I didn’t know that,” Maya said.
    “Oh yes, ask me anything,” Susan said. “I literally wrote the book on the local fashion history a few years ago, did you know? I’m sure Booksmith has a copy; I’ll sign one for you. Of course, the ‘real’ fashion design industry is in New York City, but San Francisco did its part. Then someone at the school decided that fashion design wasn’t ‘fine’ enough for the School of Fine Arts, and they phased it out in favor of painting and sculpture.”
    “Maybe that’s why the provost is giving me some vintage clothing from the school’s collection,” I said. “I’m picking it up this afternoon.”
    Susan’s gaze, eager and just this side of greedy, fixed on me. “What kind of items?”
    “I’m not sure yet, but the provost said she thought they were from the late Victorian era.”
    “Hmm . . . Too early for the school’s textile program,” Susan commented. “They must date back to the convent days. When are you getting them?”
    “Later this afternoon.”
    “Ooooh, could I come by tomorrow and check them out? I would love to wear the perfect Victorian gown to the wedding—can you imagine? My sister would simply die of envy.”
    “Sure. We’re closed on Mondays, but I’m usually here washing