WHAT THEY ARE SAYING...
"...The best way I can describe this book is, “Wow!” It was a fantastic paranormal story that had me immediately pulled in and wondering if the bridal salon was truly haunted or having nasty pranks played upon it. I fell in love with both Erica and Grant and felt their characters played well off each other. Ms. North had me intrigued the entire time and feeling as if I personally was experiencing the strange occurrences firsthand. I couldn’t wait to find out how the story ended and when I did, I was surprised at the twist of events the author masterfully created. This is definitely one I’m adding to my library and I would highly recommend it to other readers."
Night Owl Romance Book Review - Reviewer's TOP PICK by Diana Coyle 5 Hearts!
Eternally His is a spectacular, charming and entertaining story of how true love knows no bounds, surpassing time, space, past and present, in order to find its soul mate. Carol North has successfully expressed heartfelt emotions through her characters, along with a perfectly developed plot, turning this dazzling story into a thrilling and sensational read! I have added Mrs. North onto my definite author's to buy list. I recommend this to any reader who loves romance, time travel and paranormal genres. A must read!!!
Amy J Ramsey, Reviewer
www.trinagon.blogspot.com
http://www.midwestbookreview.com/rbw/aug_09.htm#amy
Eternally His is a spectacular, charming and entertaining story of how true love knows no bounds, surpassing time, space, past and present, in order to find its soul mate.
5 STARS = Reviewed by Amy at Ramsey's Book Reviews
"Eternally His is as riveting a ghost story as it is enchanting a love story that reaches beyond the veils of time. The ending does have an interesting twist that could surprise some unsuspecting readers...Eternally His was definitely one of the more interesting tales I have read in a good while."
4 1/2 Tombstones from Lyda at Bitten By Books
"I unreservedly recommend Eternally His by author, Carol North. In fact, I found this book so satisfying; I gave it a rating of 9 out of 10, the highest rating I’ve ever given to any book so far."
Rob Shelsky© for Novelspot
"…Eternally His... reads like a contemporary, but the supernatural aspect is central to the story and the tag therefore well deserved. Well worth your time and money."
4 Books From The Long and The Short of It
"...The writing is crisp and clear. You can picture the settings: the beauty of the opulent salon; the cold of the snow storm. The characters are very “real” and you can feel their emotions: the reluctance to get involved, the touch of joy, the pain of perceived betrayal and even the loneliness of the ghost. The plot has plenty of twists to keep you turning pages to find out what happens next and the ending is sweet and beautiful! You need to read and enjoy this unique love story! "
You Need to Read - Martha E. from You Gotta Read Reviews
EXCERPT
Chapter One
Like the swallows to Capistrano, the bridal fashions season is arriving to Belle Brides right on schedule, thought Erica Peterson as she drove her white Lincoln into a parking space at the far end of the lot. It was twenty minutes before the bridal salon opened and the nearby spaces were already taken by her clientele. Little sports cars and large SUVs sat with their engines running, heaters on, and fogged-up windows concealing the occupants.
Erica smiled at the eagerness of the waiting brides and their attendants. She sighed with relief. It’s going to be a good year. I’ll be able to pay off a big chunk of the mortgage and have something left for me. Erica felt frown lines settle in her forehead. And all those weird happenings will prove to be explainable...and they’ll stop. She shook her head as if to toss off the negative thoughts, then looked down at her new snakeskin boots and wondered if the delicate skins could survive a Midwest winter. Before buying the boots she wavered between beauty and practicality. Beauty won. On cold January mornings like this one she threatened to move her business from Eastlake, Illinois to the Sun Belt. Every spring, when the crab apples and lilacs were in bloom, she forgot her threat.
Before she could get her key out of the ignition, BB, the mascot of Belle Brides, was on her lap and straining toward the door. Erica smiled at the little dog. “Thankfully, the service was here and plowed the parking lot so that bridal ivory, to-the-floor fur doesn’t have to touch dirty snow.” She grabbed his leash, opened the car door, and set the dog on the pavement. Erica grabbed her briefcase and stepped out of the car.
She felt the familiar tingle of pride as she walked toward the old Victorian mansion remodeled into a bridal salon. It was so beautiful, especially on this winter morning and set against an ice blue sky. The sun shone through the carved wood trim on the eaves and porch and cast ivory lace shadows on the white satin siding. The plum-colored door with cupid-decorated brass fittings hinted at the feminine beguilements waiting within.
Erica stopped at the circular porch. The wind drove icy needles through the loosely woven angora hood covering her honey blond hair. She wore her hair drawn back into a neat, “business-like” coil at her neck, which left her ears exposed to the chill. The metal rims of her eyeglasses felt bitterly cold against her skin. Erica shivered and shortened her usual inspection of the building’s exterior: The tower window is terribly dirty. I must have it cleaned. But how? Good...the maintenance service cleared the snow and spread rock salt on the porch and steps. I must remember to call the service back to remove those icicles hanging off the gutters. Oh...no...not today. A loaded appointment book and the staff gets creative. But why did they display a high-necked, ivory Victorian with four off-the-shoulder white taffetas? And where did they get that mannequin? And the red wig? The mannequin’s green eyes are beautiful...so strong they can be seen through the veiling...so lifelike...so mesmerizing—
Screech.
Screech.
The shrill sound pulled Erica’s attention from the mannequin’s eyes and sent a shiver down her back. “It’s the burglar alarm.” BB was pulling on the leash and growling and snarling. “It’s okay, BB. It’s probably just a false alarm,” she said, and started up the steps. Or, a burglar might really be inside. Her stomach lurched. She stepped off the porch, tugged on BB’s leash and together they ran to a tall pine tree at the edge of the building, where she stood between some low-hanging branches. Erica took up the slack in BB’s leash so he had to stay under the protective cover of the pine branches.
Screech.
Screech.
The sound of the alarm reverberated inside her body. By now, she thought, the security service will be phoning the salon to find out if the alarm was accidentally set off. When the phone isn’t answered the service will inform the police. Her ears began to ring, and the muscles in her back tightened. It’ll be okay. The police will find whatever or whoever set off the alarm. She tried to comfort herself, but her muscles refused to relax.
The alarm stopped. The silence was deafening. In minutes that felt like hours to Erica, a police car came careening through the lot and stopped at the porch steps. A police officer jumped out of the car and ran around the porch toward the back of the building. A second officer got out of the car and started up the steps.
“Sir,” Erica called to the officer. “I’m the owner of the salon.”
The officer turned and walked toward Erica. “Miss, did you set it off when you were unlocking the door?”
“No, Sir. I was walking up the steps when it went off.” BB tugged on the leash. She pulled back.
“Okay. We’ll check it out. Got the keys?”
“Yes.” She dropped the briefcase to the ground. Her hand shook as she reached into her coat pocket for the keys and handed them to the officer. As soon as he took the keys her muscles began to relax. She pointed to the largest key. “That one opens the front door.” She knew the alarm would need to be reactivated before it could go off again so she didn’t need to give the officer the code to the alarm.
“Thanks. Stay here until I come back.” He turned and walked back to the porch.
Before the officer could climb the steps, another car came screeching into the lot and stopped within inches of the police car. A tall man holding a clipboard jumped out. Erica assumed he was a police officer even though he wore an unbuttoned coat over a tweed jacket and tan slacks. The man walked up the porch steps. She noticed the way his long limbs moved in a kind of controlled saunter, unlike Bill, her ex-fiancé, who walked as if he was afraid to make a mistake. Erica listened to her thoughts and smiled at herself. She was obviously feeling safer now that three policemen were there to protect her.
She watched the two officers talk and point at the windows and door. The tall police officer turned in her direction, then toward the wedding gowns displayed in the bay window, and back to her. His face, what she could see of it beneath the sunglasses, registered an emotion somewhere between fascination and repulsion. He must be a bachelor or divorced, she thought. Married men usually aren’t frightened by the sight of a bridal gown.
The uniformed police man unlocked the door and both men entered Belle Brides.
What must her waiting clientele be thinking? Erica turned toward the parking lot and noticed all the cars had clear spots rubbed in their fogged-up windows, through which the occupants were peering at the building.
BB whimpered. Erica bent down and patted the little dog’s head. She pushed up a coat sleeve and looked at her watch. Eight minutes had passed. The salon was due to open in twelve minutes. Being a Sunday, she didn’t expect her staff to arrive until the very last minute or two before opening. More cars were arriving and parking, but no one ventured out.
The door opened and three police men walked out. The third officer must have entered Belle Brides through the back door. They walked down the porch steps and pointed at the roof. One of the officers got in the police car and the other walked up the porch steps to the entrance door.
The uniformed officer to whom Erica had given the keys walked to where she was standing. He handed her the keys. “Miss, we didn’t find anyone in the building and no signs of forced entry. We checked all the floors and nothing looked disturbed. Me and my partner are leaving but Detective Stewart will want you to talk with you.”
Erica picked up her briefcase and met the detective at the open door. He was pulling off his leather gloves. As Erica watched she felt a painful longing flow through her body. He’s going to fold them at the base of the fingers and in half again, she thought, like he always does. When he did exactly that, she shivered, wondering how she could have known...unless they had met before. But where? When? There was something familiar about him. Erica raised her head and looked at his face.
At that instant, he slid the sunglasses to the top of his head, where they rested in brown curls. Their eyes met. Neither moved. The man’s hand hung suspended in the air near his sunglasses. Erica’s breath slowed to match a fragile beat deep within. Her arms hung limply at her sides. She saw nothing but his eyes, deep blue and sparkling with mysteries and joys of—
Bang. The door blew closed.
They each jumped back a step. He was staring at her with a confused look on his face. Erica felt a bittersweet mixture of pain and desire course through her body. She fought an urge to touch his face. He took a step forward. She backed up a half-step. Her cheeks colored. A year without a man, she told herself, and you’re beginning to act like a love-starved adolescent—stop it.
The man cleared his throat, shoved the folded gloves in a coat pocket, and offered his hand. “Detective Grant Stewart, Eastlake Police Department.”
Even his voice is familiar, she thought, and wondered again where they met, then realized he was waiting for her reply. “Erica Peterson.” She took his hand. It felt nice—firm and warm. He tightened his grip. She pulled her hand away, and looked at his chin, so she wouldn’t have to feel his eyes again.
“Are you the owner?”
She hesitated while deciding how much she wanted to tell him. “No, my parents own the salon. I manage it for them. They live in Florida.” That was close to the truth. Her parents owned two-thirds of Belle Brides and she owned the rest.
“Smart people, your parents. That’s where I plan to retire, Mrs. Peterson.”
Erica hesitated. She guessed he was trying to find out if she was married. It wouldn’t do him any good because she wasn’t interested in having another relationship. “It’s Ms. Peterson,” she replied coolly. “I’m sorry you came over here for nothing. It was obviously a false alarm.”
“Probably was.” He tipped his head toward the display window. “In the winter alarms can be set off by icicles falling from the roof or gutters and hitting the windows. These windows are protected by the porch roof but the second floor windows aren’t.” He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. A lot of false alarms happen when people are opening their businesses.” His voice became serious. “Was someone opening the door when the alarm went off?”
“No, I was walking up the porch steps,” she said, then dropped her eyes, fearing to get lost is his again, and stared at a tan stripe in his blue tie. She sensed his puzzlement over her reaction.
“You sure no one was in here?”
“Of course, I’m sure.” She turned her head slightly so she wouldn’t have to look into his face.
“Maybe something’s wrong with the system. Had any other problems lately?” He took a half-step to the side and stared directly into her eyes.
Erica remembered how the lights in fitting room three kept going on and off when no one was in the room. Her electrician said there was nothing wrong with the wiring or the fixture. Could this false alarm have anything to do with the lights? And with the other problems? she wondered, then realized Detective Stewart was staring at her. She shifted her weight to the other leg and dropped her eyes. “No.” She lied.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I believe you,” he said, but a frown creased his forehead.
“Well...if you’re done—”
“Not quite. Show me your alarm system. I need some numbers for the report.” He pointed to an official-looking form on his clipboard, and walked through the front door.
Erica followed. I don’t have time for this. The opening is only minutes away. She unhooked BB’s leash, slid out of her coat, and dropped it and her briefcase on a nearby loveseat. Better not to argue with the detective. That’ll make this silly exercise take longer. She pulled a hinged picture frame away from the wall and exposed a row of switches and a set of buttons that looked like a keypad on a phone. “We enter our code number here.” She pointed to the buttons.
“That’s a fine system.” He nodded in apparent agreement with her choice of protection, looked at the box, and wrote something on the report. “What are all those other switches for?”
Why doesn’t he just leave? she wished. He made her feel nervous, like she could jump right out of her skin. Maybe he’ll leave if I humor him. Erica lifted one switch after another, and watched the reception room spring to life. Spots of pink light flooded mirror-lined alcoves in which brides could stand on raised platforms and view their wedding gowns from all angles. In the center of the room, a marble fountain splashed rose-tinted water on bouquets of fresh roses and carnations. Tiny sprinklers dropped from the ceiling and released a soft mist of Honeymoon Musk perfume, as they would frequently throughout the day. The “Romantic Melodies” tape began playing in the middle of “I Love You Truly.” In the far corners of the room, rhinestone-trimmed satin slippers and white lace nightgowns revolved in gilt and glass display cases. Crystal chandeliers burst into light over a curving, mirrored staircase. A million dollars well spent, thought Erica, and—
“Wow. That’s a fine electronic display.” Grant’s mouth hung open as he looked around the room, his gaze resting now and then on a display case or a mannequin revolving in a mirrored and lighted alcove. “Those big dolls are really something.” He grinned. Little laugh lines appeared at the edges of his eyes.
“They’re not dolls, Detective Stewart They are mannequins.” Erica’s tone was icy. She did not appreciate jokes about her business—not even from a handsome man. She glanced at his left hand. Not even from a handsome man not wearing a wedding band.
He appeared unaffected by her curt remark; the smile didn’t leave his face when he spoke. “You seem tense. I was making a joke to help you relax.”
She could feel his gaze but refused to look at him, instead she turned toward the clock above the reception desk. “If you’ve finished, I’d like to get back to work. The salon opens at ten, and I hear my staff coming in the back door.”
“It’s routine procedure to make certain nothing is missing. Before I leave, I’d like you to show me the rest of the store.”
“Salon,” she said softly.
“What?” Detective Stewart looked puzzled.
“This is a ‘salon,’ as in high fashion. It is not a ‘store,’ as in grocery.” Erica felt her eyebrows take on a menacing slant.
“Sorry, but I don’t know much about high fashion.” He looked down at his clothes.
Erica worried she might have hurt his feelings and answered in a gentler voice. “Apology accepted. I’m just over-sensitive about the subject.” She led the way through the mirrored arch into the fitting room area.
When Erica opened the door to the first fitting room, the detective stepped inside. His gaze traveled across the mirrored walls, up to the crystal chandelier, down to the mauve velvet chaise lounge, and came to rest on Erica. She saw Detective Stewart and herself reflected in the mirrored wall. Their eyes met in the mirror. Both looked away.
Don’t even think about it, she warned herself. You’re getting over a fortune hunter. You sure don’t need a ladies’ man, and this guy is too good-looking and too confident to be anything but. He’d even look good in the Christian Dior full formal. Not many men have the height and presence to carry it off, but he does. There I go again, relating everything and everyone to bridal fashions. She frowned and looked at her watch. “If you’ve seen enough of the fitting rooms, I must insist that you leave. I have work to do.” Erica turned and walked down the hall.
When they returned to the reception room, Detective Stewart seemed to have fastened his gaze on a torso mannequin wearing a white lace bustier with matching bikini panties. He asked, “What do you sell besides wedding dresses?”
“Formal gowns. We also arrange for tuxedo rentals and, as you’ve already noticed, we sell bridal lingerie.” Her patience was wearing thin.
“It would be hard not to notice.” He looked leisurely around the room. “Nice place, bet it’s worth a—”
“Detective Stewart, I do not appreciate being cross-examined.” He’s probably trying to find out how much I’m worth, thought Erica, while fighting to keep her composure.
“I’m just asking questions. That’s my job.”
“Your job is to catch criminals, Detective Stewart, not to insult law-abiding citizens.”
BB had been following them on their tour through the salon. Obviously alert to the anger in his mistress’ voice, he jumped up on Grant’s leg and growled.
Grant looked down at the little dog and grinned. “What’s that, a dust mop?”
Erica’s cheeks colored at his insult to her beloved BB. She bit down hard on her lips before she trusted herself to answer. “That is a Shih Tzu.. His ancestors were bred to be companions to the emperors of China.”
“That’s a male?”
“He’s more than a male. He’s the father of twenty-three show-quality Shih Tzus.” Erica spoke quietly and deliberately, but her eyes darkened to a deep emerald color.
Detective Stewart didn’t appear convinced of BB’s sexual prowess. While he was taking another look at the little dog, Erica heard a slight noise coming from above the detective. Erica heard the fragrance sprinkler jet drop from the ceiling. She looked up and smiled, but said nothing. Grant looked up. The timing and his height and position were perfect. A spray of Honeymoon Musk doused his face and shoulders. He jumped out of the way.
“What is that?” He growled the words, then pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. Coins fell from his pocket.
“Honeymoon Musk perfume.” Erica quickly replaced her grin with a demure look.
Muttering under his breath, Detective Stewart knelt on the floor and began retrieving his change. He was now down to BB’s level, a definite signal to play a favorite game—fetch. BB sniffed and bit at the coins, his tail wagging furiously.
“Damn.” The detective stood up, turned his scowling face toward Erica, and held out the clipboard and a pen. “Sign my report and I’ll give you a copy. You can pick up the official—typed—report at the station on Tuesday.”
Erica quickly read the report and signed it. “Thank you, and now I have to open the salon.” She turned away.
“If you decide there’s something you want to tell me, just call the department and ask for ‘Detective Grant Stewart,’” he said to Erica’s back.
Erica gave no sign of having heard him and began walking toward the reception desk.
BB stood quietly until his new friend left, then put up his nose and ran to the back of the salon, obviously following the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Miss Millie, the assistant manager, brought sweet rolls and donuts on weekend mornings, and always a special treat for him.
~*~
The false alarm at the bridal salon made Grant a few minutes late for coffee with his buddy, Detective Harry Grunwald. He raced into the restaurant and nodded at his friend. After they were seated he said, “Sorry I’m late,” and shook his head. “Sometimes the easy calls are the worst. My dad was right. I should have followed the family tradition and become a chef.” On his face was a “don’t ask” expression.
Harry didn’t ask. They had been friends for the ten years since Grant was a twenty-four-year-old rookie cop and Harry was assigned to toughen him up. Clearly, Harry had learned when to give his friend time and space.
They placed their orders, then sat in silence until the waitress brought their food. Grant dropped a huge mound of butter on his English muffin. Harry nibbled on dry whole wheat toast.
Grant dug into pork sausages and eggs. He was lost in thoughts of Erica Peterson and kept remembering the instant he looked in her eyes—WOW. He felt her presence all the way down to his toes. He had a strong feeling they met before, but he kept racking his brain and still couldn’t remember where. Maybe they had and the meeting was unpleasant. That would explain her apparent dislike. All his instincts were telling him she was hiding something. He felt conflicting emotions when he thought about Ms. Peterson—attraction and distrust—but mostly he felt confused.
It was Harry who finally relieved the tension. He sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose at Grant. “What’s that you’re wearing, Honey?”
“Honeymoon Musk perfume. I thought it would wear off by now. Do you think anyone else smelled it?” Grant looked furtively at the nearby diners.
Harry was grinning from ear to ear. “Why do you think the hostess gave us this lonely table next to the kitchen?”
“That’s not funny, Harry.” He glared at his friend for a while before continuing. “It happened when I answered a call at the wedding dress store—salon. They spray the stuff on their customers, and I was standing in the wrong place.”
“What call?”
“A burglar alarm went off, and no one was in the place. It looks routine, probably icicles hitting the window. But I’ve got a gut feeling the owner is hiding something. She got angry and clammed up when I asked her if she’d had any other problems,” he said, then lowered his head and spread butter on the second half of his English muffin.
“Is it a real gut feeling? Or are you just mad you smell like that?”
“Yeah, I’m mad, but it’s more than that. She was lying to me. I can always tell when a woman is lying to me, maybe because so many of them have. She’s either got a problem, and she’s not talking, or she’s involved in something she didn’t want me to know about.”
“Grant, the job’s getting to you. You’re the most suspicious cop in the department. You always think the worst first.” Harry pursed his lips and shook his head. “Come on, that store’s been around for years and there’s never been a hint of anything shady. She’s just a woman making an honest living and you probably scared her. What does she look like?”
“She’s a real looker, with legs up to here...” Grant put down the muffin and held out his right hand about four feet above the floor. “And a waist like this...” His hands formed a twelve-inch circle. “Most women would kill to have her sexy eyes and body and she’s hiding them behind ‘grandma’ glasses and under an ugly dress.”
“So? You gonna book her for wearing the wrong clothes? Or have you got the hots for her?”
“Hell no, she’s not my type. I go for the tall, super-skinny model types.” Grant laughed.
“Yeah, you sure do.” Harry shook his head. “Maybe it’s time you changed your luck.”
“I have. Now I love a short blond named ‘Annabel.’“ Grant smiled as he thought about his little daughter.
“Can’t argue with that one, having three daughters of my own.” Harry grinned, then looked serious. “I mean the adult kind of woman.”
“I have no personal interest in Ms. Peterson. She’s a cold business woman. Besides, I don’t want to get involved now. Not ‘til the custody issue is settled.” Grant sighed deeply. “I’m meeting with Dave on Thursday to see what we can do. Having a woman in my life will have to wait.”
Harry grunted. “So you’re just helping a damsel in distress?”
“That’s not what this is about.” Grant’s look turned serious and he shook his head adamantly. “I’m just saying something’s going on at that wedding dress store. I’m going to check her out and have my buddy at the credit bureau run a report on her business and personal finances. He owes me a favor. Maybe I’ll find out the woman is legitimate, but has a problem she wasn’t ready to talk about.”
After a few minutes of silence, Harry asked, “Are you still thinking of taking the bar?”
“Yeah. I’m taking an on-line, brush-up course.”
“I just don’t get why you want to be a lawyer after all this time out of law school. I thought you liked being an Eastlake cop.”
“I did and expected I’d spend my career here and move up in the ranks. I still like being an Eastlake cop, but I want to do what’s right for Annabel. I want to give her a better future, college, a big wedding, all the things girls want.”
“I’ve been raising three girls on a detective’s salary. You could raise one.” Harry looked hurt.
“It’s more than that. The divorce wrung me dry.”
“Yeah, that’s gotta bite.” Harry nodded.
“I’d rather not talk about it.” Grant lowered his eyes, feigned a fervent interest in his English muffin, and consciously tried to force his mind to another channel. Immediately Ms. Peterson’s image appeared. She was a mystery. He spent his entire work life solving crimes and most of his off-duty time thinking about solving crimes, and that Erica Peterson’s actions had him puzzled, but his intense feelings toward her had him totally baffled. She wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever met, and was miles away from his ideal, so why did he feel so intensely about her? Why the de jà vous feeling?
~*~
When Erica heard the door shut behind that maddening Detective Stewart, she turned and watched him through the window. Nostalgia, only nostalgia, she thought. That’s what I feel. They were near the same age, maybe even attended Eastlake High together, so the strong feeling probably came from memories of her youth, and certainly not from any past attachment to that particular man.
She looked back at the clock—only three minutes to opening—and hurriedly crossed the plum-colored carpet to the reception desk, an ornate affair with a carved oak frame and gilt in the crevices. On top of the desk was an intercom built into an antique French phone. She picked up the intercom and said, “Stock girl to the front, please.”
Erica started to replace the intercom and stopped. She could just imagine her staff huddled together in the break room gossiping about the police cars in the lot. Better nip that in the bud. She again spoke into the intercom. “And if anyone is wondering, the police were here because of a false alarm.” She replaced the receiver and turned her mind back to the opening.
Soon Teri appeared. Even dressed in the nondescript clothing required of a Belle Brides stock girl, dark slacks and white sweater or blouse, she was a beauty. Her long, dark hair curled over her shoulders and her big brown eyes sparkled.
Erica inspected Teri as she had the building and mannequins. During business hours the staff belonged to her and must fit the Belle Brides’ image. “Teri, do you remember the cardinal rule of Belle Brides?”
“Yes, Miss Erica. ‘Never, never look prettier than the brides.’”
“Well then, please pull back your hair with a rubber band and wipe off some of that makeup. We don’t want you turning a groom’s head.” She smiled at Teri to soften the rebuke.
Erica herself took seriously the salon’s cardinal rule. Her honey blond hair was pulled tightly back to straighten the waves and her eyes were hidden behind metal-rimmed glasses. Today she wore a beige gabardine dress, unadorned except for a braided snakeskin belt in brown shades. Accenting her twenty-three-inch waist was Erica’s one immodesty.
“Yes, Miss Erica.” Teri blushed as she pushed the hair away from her face.
“When you’re done, please smooth the draperies in the west window, and remove the mannequin in the ivory Victorian gown from the east window. Put the gown in stock and the mannequin in the receiving room.” When she gave an order she expected it to be accomplished, so Erica turned her attention to planning for the day’s business. She opened the large, spiral-bound book in the center of the reception desk.
There were more appointments than she expected, and there were usually walk-ins on the weekend. She’d hate to have them wait overly long. Two brides at a time were the most a bridal consultant could care for properly—three was stretching it. She decided to phone two of her part-time consultants and ask if they could work in the afternoon. While she was planning fitting room assignments, Teri returned.
“Miss Erica, where is the mannequin you want me to move?”
“In the east window.”
“It’s not there now.”
