Death of a Mad Hatter (A Hat Shop Mystery) Read Free Page A

said. “It’ll be tight, but I think I can get it done.”
    Harrison made a face.
    “What? I think it will be great fun,” I said.
    “You would,” he retorted. I was pretty sure this was an insult, but I didn’t press it.
    “What about you, Viv?” Harrison asked. “How do you feel about it?”
    She was quiet for a moment, staring out the window as if contemplating something. When she turned around, she gave us a wicked smile.
    “If it’s a mad hatter that they want, then it’s a mad hatter that they’ll get,” she declared.
    I exchanged an alarmed glance with Harrison. Between Mrs. Grisby’s dottiness and Viv’s Cheshire cat grin, I was beginning to feel as nonplussed as Alice when she fell down the rabbit hole. Oh dear.

Chapter 2

    “No, no, no, oh goodness, no!” Marilyn Tofts, the posh event planner that the Grisby family had hired to pull off their
Alice in Wonderland
tea, was flipping through Viv’s sketches. So far, there was a whole lot of “no”s happening and not much else.
    Viv was hand stitching several white silk roses and a cluster of berries onto the outside of a sweatband on a periwinkle-blue wide-brimmed sinamay hat. I watched her fingers nimbly move over the fabric. She didn’t even seem to notice or care that Marilyn Tofts was rejecting every one of her sketches.
    I glanced at the Grisby ladies. Today Dotty had returned with Tina, as well as two of her daughters, Daphne and Rose. Daphne was pacing across the front of the shop. So far she had spent all of her time on her phone haggling with her son over attending the tea party in a way that reminded me of a carnival hustler trying to get suckers to come knock over the bottles at his booth.
    “I’m afraid these are not up to my standards,” Marilyn announced with a sniff. She waved her hand dismissively at the sketches.
    I narrowed my eyes at her. When I’d heard the Grisbys had hired Ms. Tofts, I had done some research. She was a very ambitious event planner and was making a name for herself in London as one of the go-to party planners for the elite.
    She certainly looked the part. She wore a flirty little floral skirt under a tailored jacket with the very latest in shoes by Stella McCartney. Her long honey-colored hair was done in an old-Hollywood-starlet style that swooped over one of her eyes and I imagined was supposed to be sexy but made me wonder if she was just hiding an advanced case of pinkeye. Not nice of me, I know.
    Her makeup consisted of a heavy hand on the mascara and eyeliner and a bold red lipstick that matched her finger- and toenails.
    I didn’t like her. Maybe it was the fact that she was dissing my cousin’s work, maybe it was the dimple in her cheek when she smiled—a smile without humor—or maybe it was just the overall feeling of poseur that I got off of her. She struck me as one of those people who, lacking their own creative gifts, liked to diminish the genius of others while pretending to hold some high ideal that could not be met.
    Petty. That’s the word I was looking for to describe her. She struck me as someone who kept score, and the score always had to be in her favor. Mercifully, she was not our client—the Grisbys were, so I really didn’t give two hoots whether she liked Viv’s designs or not.
    It was time for a power play. I crossed the small sitting area and gathered up Viv’s sketches. Then I sat beside Dotty and Tina.
    “So, here they are,” I said. “Have a look and see what you think.”
    “I beg your pardon,” Marilyn said. “I’ve already said these won’t do.”
    Her lips were puckered as if she’d tasted something sour.
    “And we absolutely value your opinion,” I said. This was my tactic for telling people what they want to hear while completely ignoring them. Works like a charm.
    Viv kept sewing but I saw the corner of her mouth twitch.
    “Well, I should think so. I am the event planner,” Marilyn said as if this were news.
    “And as such, I’m sure you’ll