“Excuse me?”

Eleanor pointed toward the display table.

“Left glove.”

Paige’s face hardened.

“Don’t tell me where to look.”

Then the front door opened.

Julian Whitlow entered.

Tall.

Dark-haired.

Carrying two garment bags.

Paige transformed immediately.

“Julian!”

She rushed toward him.

“Thank God.”

“What happened?”

“She took my ring.”

Delia’s face fell.

Julian looked toward her.

Before he could speak, Eleanor walked to the glove display.

She picked up the left glove.

Turned it upside down.

The diamond ring fell into her palm.

Silence.

Paige stared.

“There it is.”

Eleanor handed it to Julian.

“No harm done.”

Paige laughed nervously.

“See? I must have forgotten.”

Delia looked at her.

Said nothing.

Eleanor folded her old wedding dress.

Delia stopped her.

“Come back tomorrow morning.”

She took the gown gently.

“It’ll be ready.”

Eleanor looked at her.

“Thank you, baby.”

Then she left.

Earl was waiting outside.

“Well?”

Eleanor sat in the car.

For several seconds she said nothing.

Then:

“Five minutes.”

Earl looked at her.

“That bad?”

“That seamstress.”

“Delia?”

“Find me the rest.”

“About Paige?”

“No.”

Eleanor looked back toward the salon.

“About Delia.”

Earl nodded.

“You telling Mr. Julian?”

Eleanor shook her head.

“Telling him what? That I wore rags and spied on his bride?”

“She accused an innocent girl of theft.”

“Julian will say I set a trap.”

She looked toward the salon window.

“Paige will cry.”

“And?”

“He’ll believe her.”

Earl started the car.

Eleanor’s voice became quiet.

“That boy has to see it himself.”

“How long?”

“Five days.”

She looked at the old brass clock on the dashboard.

“We have five days.”

Delia Banks lost her job before lunch.

Miss Fenwick called her into the alteration room.

She looked miserable.

“Paige called.”

Delia already knew.

“Either you go, or the entire Prescott order goes.”

The bridal package included Paige’s gown.

Six bridesmaids.

Two mothers.

Reception alterations.

Thousands of dollars.

Delia nodded.

“I understand.”

Miss Fenwick rubbed her forehead.

“You’re the best hands I have.”

“But?”

“That girl pays my rent.”

Delia removed her measuring tape.

“Can I ask one thing?”

“What?”

She lifted Eleanor’s old gown.

“Let me take this home.”

Miss Fenwick looked surprised.

“I told that lady tomorrow morning.”

“You don’t work here anymore.”

“I know.”

Miss Fenwick sighed.

“Take it.”

Delia packed her scissors.

Pins.

Thread.

Then left through the back door.

She never saw Eleanor watching from across the street.

The next morning, Eleanor returned.

The old gown was not at the salon.

Earl gave her an address.

A narrow storefront three neighborhoods away.

The sign above it had once read:

ODESSA ALTERATIONS

Half the letters had fallen away.

Delia sat outside on a bus bench.