TITLE: Candy, Murder, and Just Desserts
Monday morning I paced the floor of my dress design salon for plus-sized women, which I called either Cookie's Queendom or Florida Fashions, depending on how mad I was at my boss. Unable to figure out why my employees weren't beavering away, completing gowns for our spring fashion show, I passed rows of unused sequins and spangles, which for some unknown reason smelled of baked apples.
"These should be attached to frocks, to make them sparkle," I said in the most compassionate voice I could muster under the circumstances.
No one even looked up from their work tables. Were they perhaps doing the crossword puzzle, playing online solitaire, or revising their profile for an online dating service?
"Attention, minions. These Angelskin, Satin Gloss and Dance crepe luxury stretch fabrics should all be pinned around these gorgeous mannequins, standing by, ready to display my award-winning designs. Why isn't anyone pinning?"
Still no response. This felt like a strawberry Twizzler moment, but I had none handy.
While the Venice, Florida weather report of sunny and warm blared at me from the tiny pink radio on my desk, I scrutinized my employees.
Instead of cutting fabric, Theo Grumsbak, my head cutter looked up from his work table on the other side of the room and winked at my favorite model, Flora.
Convinced that a new adventure, or at the very least, a juicy affair, could be afoot, I switched from slave-driver designer mode to amateur sleuth.