I took a step away from the emotions bursting like fireworks inside me, hot pinp.r.i.c.ks that invaded my head and solar plexus. Where was Chakra when I needed her?

But thinking about her helped. I embraced the calm and looked more closely around me.

Cheap antique white paneling made up the walls of the room.

Against the back wall stood a rose-colored Queen Anne dressing table with Cabriole legs, three big round lightbulbs affixed to each side of the mirror, with a matching boudoir chair in front of it, its seat tufted in pink fabric.

You could hardly see the top of the dressing table because of the pots and jars of perfumes, creams, powders, oils crowded on top of it, anything and everything to make a woman look younger and more beautiful.

Dominique had stuck a picture of Kyle in one corner of the mirror, and stars that were her idols in others. I bit my lip when I saw the picture of us that she'd had the waiter take at lunch the last time we were together.

I still couldn't believe it had been the last time.

In her own whimsical way, Dom made fun of her profession by almost crowning her mirror with a pink boa, so it slithered along the top and hung down both sides.

In the mirror itself: I saw the love seat reflected against the opposite wall, upholstered in the same allover pink fabric as the chair. "It's a nice dressing room," I said. "They treated her like the star she was."

"Pierpont sent her flowers before every performance," Kyle muttered absently.

"Eve," I said, "would you take an inventory of every item on her dressing table, no matter how small, without touching any of it? Don't roll so much as an eyeliner."

Kyle offered us a box of rubber gloves.

"Perfect! Wow, you came prepared to snoop. Good for you. You've got a lot more of your mother in you than I thought."

He nodded, accepting the compliment with a raised brow and a mix of pride and sadness.

"If we touch anything," I reiterated, "we do it wearing a pair of these. Devious boy." I shook my head. "Seriously, what would your mother say? You thinking like a sneak thief makes me worry about your wicked side."

With a bit of actor in him, he gave me a nefarious look. "What would you like this wicked boy to do now?"

"Oh!" Eve's eyes widened. "Ask me. Ask me."

Twelve.

About half my designs are controlled fantasy, fifteen percent are total madness and the rest are bread-and-b.u.t.ter designs.

-MANOLO BLAHNIK "Eve," I snapped, "keep your suggestions to yourself until the two of you are alone. Kyle, keep an ear peeled for unusual noises, so we don't get caught, and while you're doing that, check the plumbing beneath every sink. A place this old probably has bra.s.s barrel traps, perfect for holding a pill bottle of diamonds with no interruption to water flow."

Eve responded to his double take. "She lives in a very old house, and her father, the professor, believed in teaching her and her sibs, and sometimes her lucky friends-like moi-how to fix what needed fixing."

"I see. Well. How typically unglamorous." Kyle sighed theatrically. "I get to play plumber."

I chuckled at his ploy for sympathy, but despite that, I couldn't take my eyes off the costumes, all on hangers, but some on racks and others on scattered wall hooks along with headdresses.

On the floor, along one wall, stood a neat row of dancing shoes, high heels, low heels, flats, boots, all in colors and fabrics to match the outfits.

Kyle watched me eye the clothes with a mix of longing and dread. "Can you read them, Aunt, I mean, Mad? Help me find out what happened to my mother?"

His words took me by surprise; Eve too, because his comment made her catch her breath.

He looked from one of us to the other. "Mad, my mother was a witch. If I can accept that, I can accept anything. I know what you told her about yourself and your gifts. Theater people are for the most part superst.i.tious and have faith in the otherworldly. Mom was no exception, and neither am I. She, as you know, embraced the occult. So, yes, we both believe in you."

He'd spoken in the present tense, as if his mother was still here. After I got over my surprise at his faith, and his belief system, I nodded. "Eve, come try on the costumes."

Eve paled. "I hate it when you get visions."

"Do it for me?" Kyle asked.

Eve sighed. "For you, maybe, but not in front of you."

"No, of course not," I said. "We don't want to scare him."

"Gee, thanks," Eve said. "What am I, Lady MacBleh?"

"I see, you're worried about getting naked, and I'm worried he'll freak when I zone out."

"Oh, no," Kyle said. "I'll be fine. I'm used to witnessing all kinds of crazy behavior. I'm in show biz, remember? As I said, my mother told me about your gift and what you can do. I hope you don't mind. I was the only one she felt safe confiding in, and I didn't tell a soul."

"Thanks for that," I said, squeezing his arm. "Now tell me what we've got here."

"These costumes were made for Diamond Sands," he said. "Only Mom has worn them for the past five years, except for Ursula the few times she went on if Mom was sick, so they might have a story to tell."

"Who's Ursula?"

"Mom's understudy. Ursula Uxbridge."

"Of course, the understudy. She's someone who'll profit from your mother's death. Is Ursula capable of murder?"

"Capable but probably not smart enough."

"And who's capable of stealing the diamonds?" Eve asked.

"I don't give a flying firecracker about the diamonds," Kyle said. "I want to know who killed my mother, and I want them punished."

Kyle won Eve's eternal lapdog devotion for that. People had always meant more to her than money. To me, too, for that matter, but Eve took it to extremes.

"Kyle," I said, "face the wall while Eve puts on a costume."

Hands on hips, Eve tried to stare me down. "Madeira Cutler, why can't you wear the costumes?" She'd whined the question, a plaintive sound I'd never quite heard from her before.

This phobia of hers about my psychic ability was the first obvious fear I'd ever seen in my fearless friend.

I sighed. "I don't mean to torture you, Eve, but when I wear a readable outfit, I find myself in the wearer's point of view, and I can only see what the wearer saw. If I touch an outfit that someone else is wearing, I can look around the room. You know, play sleuth?"

Eve wet her lips with her tongue and raised her chin. "And you know that because?"

"I've had both experiences," I reminded her. "Remember when I tried on that cape how frustrating my limited view of the scene in that office was? But when Sherry tried on her wedding gown while I adjusted the fit, I could tell you what was hanging on the wall opposite the woman wearing the same gown a century before. That's how I know."

"When you're having a psychometric vision," Kyle asked her, "can you walk around the room and open things?"

"No, wherever the universe plants me in a vision, I seem to be stuck there. But if I'm not stuck in the outfit, I can look everywhere. If I'm in the outfit, my point of view is limited to the wearer's point of view. Simple as that."

"I do remember your experiences, dammit." Eve clenched her fists and kicked the sofa for good measure. "Mad, I am so going to get you for this. Kyle, turn around."

"Remind me not to cross you," he said, facing the mirrored wall.

"I'm not one to have a hissy, normally, but you don't know what happens when Mad gets a vision. You'll have nightmares, I tell you."

Kyle shrugged. "I'm not scared."

"You will be." Eve put her hands on her hips. "Hey, you facing the mirror is sort of defeating the purpose, isn't it?" She took Kyle by an arm and guided him farther to the right. "The other wall," she explained.

I shook my head, actually able to smile at their antics, despite our purpose here. "Kyle, can you tell us about Diamond Sands, the story line, brief synopsis?" I asked. "You know, while I help Eve change?"

"Oh sure. It's a musical about the beginnings of the Pierpont Diamond Mines, and the family, a two- hour commercial in a way, but it's a romance, too, about the current owner's Victorian great-great-grandparents, an Australian rags to riches story, which gives it an entertaining edge."

Eve fidgeted as she b.u.t.toned herself into a mostly gold camel-hair wool Victorian autumn gown with three-quarter sleeves, circa 1883. The brocade weave of peaches outlined in brown on a rust background formed the underskirt and over bodice of the dress. The plain brown wool formed the short gathered overskirt and bustle. "Great gown," I said as I stood back.

"Hot and scary," Eve said. "So, Kyle," she added, putting off the inevitable. "People pay to see this commercial?"

"They did because Dominique DeLong played the lead," he said, still staring at the dressing room door.

"Why was the show closing then?" I asked.

"Pierce Pierpont, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, put a stop to advertising practically the minute his father died. I don't think Pierce was fond of my mother. I wouldn't be surprised if he intended to end her career by closing it. But hey, maybe that's me being paranoid."

"Your mother died a suspicious death," I said. "Paranoia seems reasonable considering."

"Young Pierpont does sound like a b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Eve agreed, her arms crossed over the gold Victorian gown, sort of daring me to come near her.

"So tell us about the show," I said, again, so Eve would relax.

"At the time it takes place, the female lead is set to take London theaters by storm. But all that ends when she's forced to accompany her husband, falsely accused of theft, to the Australian colonies. Thinking they were doomed, they served their time but ended up saving the son of the family to whom they were indentured. They were thanked with their freedom and a monetary gift to start a new life. They bought a plot of land that surprisingly yielded a mother lode of diamonds and became the richest family in Australia."

"Sounds pretty good," Eve said. "I like a happy ending."

"Victor Pierpont, Pierce's father, was a great man. I was happy for him, and I liked and respected him. His son, not so much. The musical had a lot going for it, and my mother played the rich heroine beautifully."

"Of course she did," I whispered, wishing to h.e.l.l that I'd come to see her in it. That's what I get for thinking a New York show will last forever. "Now I understand why the costumes range from rags to these gorgeous Victorian gowns."

"My mother wore the gown Eve's wearing to the cast party the night before she died," Kyle said without turning.

Eve did a slow turn toward his back. "How do you know what I'm wearing, if you can't see me? You peeked!"

"Um," Kyle said, buying time. "Shiny doork.n.o.b?"

Thirteen.

Costumes are the first impression that you have of the character before they open their mouth-it really does establish who they are.

-COLLEEN ATWOOD "Get your eyes off that doork.n.o.b," Eve said, "put your hand on it, instead, turn it, and go find some coveralls or jeans in one of the other dressing rooms. You can't take sink traps apart in that suit."

"Wouldn't the police have looked in the plumbing for the diamonds?" Kyle asked.

"Maybe," I said. "Maybe not."

I c.o.c.ked my head to one side and pursed my lips. "Ah, how long have you two been dating?"

"Funny," Eve said. "I figure it's been about what, Kyle, an hour since we first laid eyes on each other?"

"I feel like I've known you all my life," Kyle said, "if you count the ride to the Federal building."

"Right," Eve said, "I forgot that we dropped off the arch idiot."

"Eve, stop talking about Nick that way," I said. "Honestly, you'd think you were carrying a torch for him or something. You know what they say about love and hate being two sides of the same coin."

Eve faked a dry heave. "Quick, give me a barf bag."

Kyle looked entertained, and under the circ.u.mstances, he needed that. And he needed to keep busy. "Clothes for examining the depths of sink pipe traps, Kyle," I said.

"You really think the diamonds are in the plumbing?" Eve asked when his steps faded.

"No, but they could be, and he needs to be doing something."

"Ah." Then she started fidgeting with the dress ruffles. "Are you sure you should touch this gown?" She stepped as I reached. "On second thought, don't touch."

"You know, my friend, you're going to have to get over your psychic-phobia around me. I'm not going to change."

"You already did change," she pouted. "You didn't used to read vintage clothes and scare me spitless."

"That's true. I wonder what the universe has in store for me next."

"As long as it doesn't involve me. Yikes, you put your hands in my pockets. Mad? Madeira? Where did you go? I hate when you pop out and forget to tell me you're leaving!"

I could hear Eve calling me but she seemed far away compared to the Mod Squad living room in which I found myself. Seventies striped walls in blue, lime, turquoise, and mauve, a modern half sofa with huge, almost-bouncing 3D-type polka dots and rings in nearly the same colors. Close enough in colors not to make me seasick, anyway.