Page 32 of Once Broken
“I know.I’ll call you later.”
After ending the call, Riley turned onto Peachtree Street, scanning the storefronts for their destination.
“There it is,” Ann Marie said, pointing to a narrow Victorian house sandwiched between more modern buildings.True to Gillian Sinclair’s description, a mannequin dressed in a replica of Judy Garland’s iconic blue gingham dress and ruby slippers stood in the front window, frozen mid-step on a journey to somewhere over the rainbow.
Riley parked across the street, studying the building as they unbuckled their seatbelts.Timeless Threads Boutique occupied the first floor of the three-story Victorian, its faded elegance evident in the ornate woodwork and stained glass accents.A hand-painted sign hung above the door, the letters styled to evoke 1940s glamour.But despite the artistic presentation, there was something melancholy about the place—like a beautiful woman who had aged without quite accepting the passage of time.
A “CLOSED” sign hung in the window, likely a response to Veronica Slate’s death, as Gillian had suggested.Beside it, a smaller sign read “By Appointment Only” with a phone number.
“Guess we’re the appointment,” Ann Marie remarked as they crossed the street.
Riley pressed the brass doorbell beside the entrance, its chime audible even from outside.Nothing happened.She pressed it again, longer this time.
After nearly a minute, movement flickered behind the door’s frosted glass panel.The lock clicked, and the door opened just enough to reveal a woman’s face peering out at them.
“Yes?”The voice was soft, slightly tremulous.
“Ms.Kingsley?I’m Special Agent Riley Paige, and this is Special Agent Ann Marie Esmer.We’re with the FBI.Gillian Sinclair called ahead about our visit.”
The door opened wider.Diane Kingsley was tall and thin, her frame draped in a flowing caftan of peacock blue silk that might have been fashionable decades ago.Her silver hair was arranged in an elaborate updo that seemed too formal for a quiet afternoon at home, and her face—once beautiful, Riley could tell—wore makeup applied with a hand that wasn’t entirely steady.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Diane said, her hands fluttering like agitated birds.“Gillian called.About dear Veronica.Such a tragedy.Please, come in.”
She stepped back, swinging the door wide.Riley and Ann Marie entered a space that felt more like a film set than a retail store.Racks of vintage clothing lined the walls, organized by era—1920s flapper dresses shimmering with beadwork, 1930s bias-cut gowns in liquid satins, 1940s suits with strong shoulders and nipped waists.But what drew Riley’s attention were the mannequins.
They stood throughout the shop, at least a dozen of them, each dressed in a recognizable costume from classic Hollywood.Not just dressed—transformed.Wigs, makeup, and accessories all meticulously arranged to create the illusion that these weren’t mannequins at all, but specific stars themselves, frozen in their most iconic moments.
“My little family,” Diane said, following Riley’s gaze.She approached the nearest mannequin—dressed in Audrey Hepburn’s black Givenchy dress from Breakfast at Tiffany’s—and gently adjusted its pearl necklace.“They keep me company.This one’s been fussy today.The pearls never sit quite right.”
Riley exchanged a quick glance with Ann Marie, whose expression remained professionally neutral despite the oddness of the moment.
“We have so much to discuss,” Diane continued, gesturing for them to follow her toward the back of the store.“Not down here, though.Too many ears.”She cast a meaningful look at the mannequins, then smiled as if sharing a private joke.“This way to my apartment.We’ll have privacy there.”
She led them through a curtained doorway to a narrow staircase that creaked beneath their feet.The walls of the stairwell were lined with framed movie posters, many featuring a young Roberta Rimes.
At the top of the stairs, Diane unlocked a door and ushered them into her apartment.Here, every surface held memorabilia—signed photographs, small props, vintage movie magazines carefully preserved in plastic sleeves.The furniture was an eclectic mix of periods and styles, creating the impression that various film sets had been dismantled and reassembled in this single room.
“Please, sit,” Diane urged, indicating a velvet settee that might have been lifted directly from a 1930s drawing room comedy.“Would you like tea?I was just about to make some.”
“That would be lovely,” Ann Marie replied with a warm smile—the gentle manner she used to put people at ease.
Diane disappeared into what Riley presumed was the kitchen, leaving them alone to absorb their surroundings.Ann Marie leaned closer to Riley, keeping her voice low.
“She’s exactly as Gillian described—eccentric but seemingly harmless.”
Riley nodded, her gaze drawn to a collection of photographs arranged on a side table.Most featured Diane herself, decades younger, posed with various Hollywood figures.In one, she stood beside Roberta Rimes, both women laughing, their arms around each other’s waists.
“Look at this,” Riley murmured, picking up the framed photo for a closer inspection.“This must be from the 1970s.Roberta looks to be in her fifties here, and Diane appears to be in her twenties.”
“Quite the age difference for close friends,” Ann Marie observed.
“Roberta was more than a friend,” Diane said from the doorway, startling them both.She carried a tray with a teapot and cups, which she set on a coffee table before them.“She was my mentor.My savior, really.I was just a wardrobe assistant when we met—a nobody with dreams of acting.Roberta saw something in me that no one else did.”
Riley returned the photograph to its place.“You worked together on films?”
“Three of them,” Diane confirmed, pouring tea into delicate china cups that didn’t quite match.Her hands trembled slightly, causing the spout to clink against the rim.“Roberta insisted I be cast in small roles.That’s how I got my start.She believed in me when the studios didn’t.”
She handed them each a cup, then settled into an armchair opposite the settee.“But you’re not here to talk about my modest career.You’re here about Veronica.”
