Perhaps the beautiful little dancer
had intended all those years that it should be her shroud....
"Oh, it's lovely!" Penny Crain, who was looking on, cried out
involuntarily. "It looks like a French model."
"It's a copy of a French model. You can see by the label on the back of
the neck," Lydia answered, her one good eye softening for Penny.
"So it is!" Dundee agreed, and took out his penknife to snip the threads
which fastened the white satin, gold-lettered label to the frock.
"'Pierre Model. Copied by Simonson's--New York City'," he read aloud,
and slipped the little square of satin into the envelope containing the
murdered woman's will. "Well, Penny, I'm glad you like the dress, for
I'm going to ask you to do the mannikin stunt in it as soon as Carraway
arrives with his camera."
Penny turned very pale, but she said nothing in protest, and Dundee
continued to unpack the suitcase. His masculine hands looked clumsy as
they lifted out the costume slip and miniature "dancing set"--brassiere
and step-ins--all matching, of filmiest white chiffon and lace. His
fingers flinched from contact with the switch of long, silky black
curls....
"She bought them after we came to Hamilton," Lydia informed him,
pointing to the undergarments.
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