Solve-it-yourself mystery

Abigail was hosting her boutique’s “AllWhite Soiree,” as she did each Labor Day before bidding the hue adieu for the season, when I crashed the party. According to the wall clock, a stylish analog affair sans numerals, Mimi had been missing for over an hour.

“Abigail!” I barked. “This time you’ve gone too far!”

Guests, arrayed in tints from chalk to oyster, gawked. A woman at the refreshment table was startled into dropping her angel food square into the white-chocolate fondue. Briefly, I was overwhelmed by another’s perfume—white Shoulders. How fitting. The invitees hastily retreated.

Prim in an alabaster suit and hat, my retail rival lowered the meringue cookie she was about to bite into.

“Caswell, if this is about my ‘No white after Labor Day’ stance—”

“This goes way beyond our feud over what is and isn’t okay to wear after Labor Day, and you know it!” I snapped.

“What are you talking about?” she asked mildly.

Before I could retort, Bertram, the marketing rep

consulting for Abigail’s boutique, stepped between us. I jumped back, sparing my toes from his scuffed brogues.

“I’ll tell you,” Bertram said. “It’s a cheap stunt.”

“Stunt?! Mimi Green agreed to model my shop’s line of fall and winter whites on the popup runway tonight,” I said. A hometown girl having hit the big time, Mimi would’ve been the main draw of the show— and the evening. “Now she’s just up and vanished.”

Bertram shrugged. “So she changed her mind.”

“The police disagree,” I said. “She entered the venue at 5:55 pm and went straight to the changing room. When I looked for her five minutes later, she was gone.”

I dug out my smartphone to show them a photo of Mimi’s monogrammed handbag and phone kicked to the curb outside the building. Abigail elbowed Bertram aside to see.

“Her abductor must have been lying in wait to muscle her out the back door.”

“Sounds like a bad movie,” Bertram said, chuckling.

I put away the phone. “Whatever the case, it’s clear that Mimi requires rescuing. The answer to her whereabouts rests in who would benefit most from her disappearance.”

Abigail directed a pointed look my way. “Well you were last to see her. Perhaps you’re creating a smokescreen to divert suspicion from yourself.”

“Without Mimi’s star power to showcase my styles, I’m just another novice designer and shop owner trying to get by,” I admitted with a sigh.

“And, as such, no challenge to our town’s beloved arbiter of fashion,” Bertram said with a nod toward Abigail. “Abigail would continue to profit from all that is chic.”

The faux-dove feathers adorning Abigail’s hat twitched. “But let’s not forget you also profit from my success, Bertram.”

“Are you saying I’d sabotage Caswell’s show for a bonus?”

“A bonus that feeds your extreme fashion addiction? You just might,” she huffed.

“Look,” I said. “I’m not accusing either of you of harming her. You just wanted her out of the way temporarily so she couldn’t walk my runway.”

Finally giving up on the meringue, Abigail dropped it in a nearby wastebasket.

“We were here when Mimi was taken. I know because I was standing at the full-length mirror for a final outfit check when I heard Bertram enter. A quick glance to the clock, which I saw plainly in the mirror, revealed it was quarter to six.” She turned to Bertram. “Isn’t that right, Bertram?”

For a moment, Bertram’s cool slipped. “Er…yes, that sounds about right.”

Neither had been at my popup venue during the crucial hour. Or had they?

I thought and rethought the time line. Then it came to me. I pulled out my phone again and dialed the police.

Q: Who had kidnapped Mimi? A: Turn to pg 51