Page 20 of The Sole Suspect
“Nonsense.” Steel returned to her spine. “This district survived the Great Depression. It survived the urban renewal attempts of the ‘80s. It will survive my brother’s... sensitivities.”
Penny opened his mouth—probably to ask about those sensitivities—but I caught his arm. Some secrets were best left undisturbed. At least for tonight.
The first drops of rain fell as Penny and I reached Vintage Vogue. Thunder rumbled overhead, but something else made my skin prickle—a sense of being watched. I turned, scanning the shadowed storefronts, but saw only my reflection in Wilson’s darkened windows.
“Stay at my place tonight?” Penny jingled his keys. “I’ve got that trunk of vintage suits to sort through. Might find something good for the auction. Plus...” His fingers twisted his pendant. “I don’t fancy being alone tonight.”
A flash of lightning illuminated the Historical Society’s copper dome in the distance, brightening everything around us in a brilliant flash that turned night into day.
“Yeah, me neither.” I pulled my coat tighter, unable to shake the chill that had nothing to do with the rain. “Let’s see those suits.”
We ducked inside Vintage Vogue. Thunder cracked overhead as Penny locked the door behind us.
We shuffled through the darkness, navigating around rows of retro garments and display mannequins that seemed significantly more unsettling in the shadows than they ever did in daylight hours.
“Just let me find the hallway switch,” Penny murmured as he groped around blindly. Abruptly, the fluorescent tubes flickered to life in the corridor.
Vintage Vogue’s back room smelled of cedar and mothballs. Apparel spanning multiple eras cascaded from crates and storage chests. Our investigation board remained in its designated place, crimson thread haphazardly connecting various hypotheses.
“Here we go!” Penny announced, triumphantly.
I turned from the investigation display to find Penny balanced precariously on a stepladder, reaching for a steamer trunk tucked away on one of the highest shelves.
“Careful,” I warned, steadying the ladder. “That trunk’s probably older than both of us combined.”
“And twice as valuable.” The brass latches clicked as Penny set it on his workbench. Dust motes danced in the light from the overhead fluorescents. “Some of these suits survived the Depression, two world wars, and disco. Show some respect.”
He lifted the lid with reverence. The scent of mothballs and forgotten elegance wafted up. Inside, carefully preserved in tissue paper, lay a collection of men’s formal wear spanning half a century.
“My great-grandfathers’ wedding suits should be in here somewhere.” I touched the fabric of a navy pinstripe, remembering the photographs of Jack and Elijah Sterling standing proud before their Boston shoe empire. “Unless you sold them.”
Penny clutched his chest in mock horror. “Sell a Sterling family heirloom? I would never.” He pulled out a burgundy brocade vest. “This beauty has been waiting for the right moment to shine again.”
Penny held the vest against my chest. The burgundy brocade caught the light, its pattern as intricate as the day it was woven. “This was your great-grandfather Jack’s, wasn’t it?”
I nodded. “From his wedding to Milo Hart. The night two rival shoe dynasties became one.”
My fingers traced the delicate stitching. “Grandpa said Jack and Elijah Sterling owned half the shoe stores between here and Boston. They had many options for mates back in the big city.”
“But it was a red-headed cobbler in a tiny shoe shop that caught both their eyes.” Penny signed wistfully. “So romantic… and so scandalous. Two alpha business tycoons falling for the same omega? And brothers at that? The gossip must have been delicious.”
“The local paper really hyped it up to a ridiculous degree.” I slipped the vest on. The silk lining, cool against my shirt, carried traces of alpha scent—faded but still detectable even after ninety years. “Think it’ll do for the auction?”
Penny circled me, professional eye critical. “With the right tailoring... yes. Though we’ll need to take it in here.” His fingers pinched the fabric at my waist. “You’re slimmer than your great-grandfather.”
“Speaking of the auction...” I fidgeted with a button. “Are we crazy for doing this?”
“Probably.” Penny dove back into the trunk. “But crazy looks good on us. Besides, when else will we get to play Cinderella for Boston and Millcrest’s elite?”
“That’s what worries me.” I caught his wrist, making him meet my eyes. “These aren’t fairy tale princes, Penny. They’re alphas and betas with money and power. What if?—”
“What if one of them turns out to be your Dominic Steele?” He waggled his eyebrows.
My face grew warm. “He’s notmyanything.”
“Darling, you can’t lie to me. Not after you let him compromise you atop... where was it again?” Penny fanned himself dramatically. “On yes, your kitchen table.”
“Counter,” I corrected. “And can we focus?”