She was holding Four up and studying his dangly legs and thrashing little tail. “His spots will become more pronounced, won’t they?”
Isis hissed and Four managed to claw Melody’s hand. Melody calmly put him down.
Isis began a frantic grooming.
“I’m so sorry. Do you need a bandage?” I asked. I had a strange desire to laugh when an image of a cartoon villain popped into my head. I bit the inside of my cheek.
“It’s just a nick. May I buy one of the kittens? Jason adored them. He planned to give one to Ivanna as a wedding gift, you know.”
“Oh?” I watched Isis glare at me out of the corner of her moss-colored iris. I suspected her growl translated into “Over my dead body.”
But I wanted a way to keep Melody on the hook. “Maybe when they’re old enough…” I hedged.
She twisted her bag over her shoulder. “Put me on your list, then. I really must be going. Thank you for your time.”
I had lost the moment and could no longer ask about making paper candy wrappers, or whether Emblem supplied the wrappers for Featherlight, the rival candy company to North Star, where her son worked. “I’m glad you stopped in. And I am truly sad about Ivanna. And for Jason,” I added quickly.
“Thank you, my dear. I wish you and the mayor well with your upcoming wedding. I’m sure it will be a lovely affair.”
I turned her card over and over. “Should I call you, then, when, uh, you might be able to talk to me about the paper?”
“I’m sure they’ll answer all your questions. Bye now.”
I watched her taillights disappear, two red eyes retreating down Maple Street and sailing around the corner. I kept twirling her business card. Then I read it. Her name had the initials VP after it. Aha. Maybe she was too important to talk about making paper anymore. I closed the door. Perhaps Officer Ripple could get her to talk paper. Specifically, candy paper. She might clam up if Ripple made an enquiry look official. And knowing him, he’d move off that trail.
Why was it so important to me?
Isis followed me to the sofa and leapt up next me, circled, then laid her chin on my thigh.
“I may not be a mother but can see how much you love your babies. You’d stand up to a beast twenty times your size for them.”
Beast? Lovely, gentle Melody Clark? She’d seemed like a china angel with the overhead light on her halo of hair when I’d first opened the door.
I grabbed a notebook and jotted everything I could remember about the visit, including my impressions and her recent illness. I wanted to like her. I could tell she had tried hard to love Ivanna but hadn’t quite gotten there. The love of a mother for her child—her only child, her son—overruled love for anyone else.
The kittens mewled, and Isis thumped back to the floor, lay on her side and fed her babies.
At least, when Elvis came I’d have some notes to show him. I’d met the two mothers, one who’d lost her only child and one who’d watched her only child suffer. Which reminded me to write up my thoughts about Doralynn Pressman…which somehow drove my neurons toward Tiny’s, Ivanna’s former waitressing job and the person who took over for her. Ruby. Ruby and money talk.
Money…coins on Ivanna’s dead eyes, like the Greek myth, the offering to pay Charon to cross the Styx. Dark water lapped and shushed. Oars creaked. A skeletal hand reached toward me, palm up. My chin touched my chest and I jerked awake.
“Isis baby, it’s time to hit the hay.” She’d migrated back to my lap sometime during my snooze. I hoped she’d come with me to bed and curl up around my neck like Memnet did, but she wouldn’t. Adam’s cat wasn’t all that much of a cuddler despite her recent shows of affection. I was thankful her owner had more patience with me. I was definitely anticipating the time he and I could cuddle up in bed together.
I fell asleep thinking about money again. Not exactly worrying about my own situation and my debt to my fiancé and my attorney, but back to where I’d started earlier.
Ruby’s statement about Ivanna’s supposed wealth. Follow the money. How could I find out if the money rumor was true, and what would happen to Ivanna’s estate? Martha seemed to have known about it, since she had been the one to spill something about a thirtieth birthday. Before everything went south. Funny how I’d gotten sidetracked. Getting arrested for murder would do that.
Martha, Martha. How to get her alone to have a heart-to-heart girl chat. Excuses…I’d need some wedding advice. And we had to catch up on store biz since I’d been out these past several days. I pulled the blankets around my ears. Tomorrow I’d figure something out.
~*~
As it turned out, it was a good thing I went back to Mea Cuppa, as Martha had to stay home with her sick twins. They did, indeed, have bad colds.
“Not the flu, Ivy,” Martha said when I called her after the morning rush to check on her and asked. “Just nasty colds.” She sneezed in the phone. “Oops, sorry. And I think I’m getting it too. It might be a few days before I can come back in. I already told Adam.”
My presence at the store garnered a few curious patrons trying to pick up a little thrill from being in the presence of an accused murderer, and a few apologetic neighbors. Roberta Murphy from the flower shop came in for a latte, and Bob Green popped in from the barber shop next door. Bob offered me a free trim of my tangled mess of hair. Sweet of him, but I declined. I’d have it done nice for the wedding, but somewhere that didn’t smell of tonic and aftershave. I poured him a cup of the daily special, a Peruvian grind, and waved away his money.
Adam nodded at me from the hall. He came out after the shop emptied and we were alone. He put his arms around me and kissed my forehead, my cheek, my lips. “You’re a good soul, Ivy Amanda McTeague Preston soon-to-be Thompson. This unfortunate incident will be a blip in our timeline. Something to tell our grandchildren.”
I hitched a breath at “grandchildren.” Adam and I would have to have children first.
“Mmm. Yeah.” I lifted my cheek from the soothing thump of his heart. “I can’t forget the sight of Ivanna’s hand, and her lifeless face as she sprawled on the floor. How long she’d been…”
“Shh.”
“And her wedding dress she’ll never wear, hanging there…”
“Oh, Ivy.”
“She was murdered. Why doesn’t anyone care about—”
“Ripple and the police care, Ivy.”
I eyed him, trying to read behind his molten steel irises. “What do you know?”
Adam pulled away from me and turned to straighten a stack of cups. “Nothing. When is your mother coming?”
I pouted behind his back. “Sunday afternoon. Are you coming for supper later? I’m caught up on the books for the week.” I’d had a lot of time at home to work on them. “I’ll fix linguini.” He made a better sauce than I did, but I wouldn’t pressure him.
He didn’t answer immediately. I waited. He faced me with a smile. “Of course I’m coming. Do you want me to pick up something?”
“I got it. It’s pretty quiet, do you mind if I go run a few errands?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” If I hadn’t wanted to try and catch Ruby at work I might have wondered at Adam’s hesitation.
I trotted along the sidewalks under the black metal streetlights and hanging flower pots which had been planted during the week by the closest shop owners, or Roberta if they asked for help. Hanging vincas from the wire baskets could whap the unwary and I tried to dodge them as I headed across the way to Tiny's to see if Ruby was still on duty. Lunch hour was obviously over, and only one guy anchored a stool at the counter.
“Hey, Tiny,” I called, ignoring the jeans and boots behind the newspaper the customer held. “Is Ruby still here?”
“Na, she clocked out.” Tiny didn’t even turn from his station at the grill, scraping congealing grease from the surface into the well. I wrinkled my nose at the smell. Cold grease never smelled as good as when it had any kind of potatoes
bubbling in it. Tiny’s love handles jiggled under his white triple-X T-shirt and apron strings. His little hat sat askew on his spiky gray hairs. Tiny had run for mayor and lost to Adam, though I don’t think he was all that broken up over it.
“Know where she is?”
“Honey, I don’t keep track of my employees’ private lives.” At this he offered me a sly half-grin from his profile.
“Thanks.” I turned on my heel. She must be at one of her other jobs. Hopefully her Aunt Roberta’s flower shop and not the radio station. I’d have a hard time barging in at the last place Ivanna worked. It wasn’t that I was terribly sentimental about her, I couldn’t pretend to be, but it was mostly that there wasn’t any closure.
Doralynn had not scheduled any kind of memorial, even refused to put a death notice in the Gazette, like maybe the whole murder thing had been a mistake and her daughter would turn up any moment, ready to sashay down the aisle. And…there was that little issue of her unknown murderer-running-around-loose problem.
I twisted the knob of the flower shop to no avail until I noticed the blue and white clock in the window pointing to three, when Roberta planned to be back. Hmm, must have a delivery. My phone said it was one thirty. I looked the length of downtown in case any suspicious characters happened to be lurking, and then decided to check in with Ripple. He’d want to know about the money angle in the murder case. If nothing else, I’d put in a good word for Elvis. I headed for City Hall, a stone edifice from the nineteen twenties with old worn marble floors. The police station and the library flanked either side, added-on squat little cubes in drab, flat-faced gray block from the seventies, the most unimaginative era until the eighties.
For a block and a half, past the alley and the pet food outlet, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I marched along, trying to ignore it, though I admit to making a dash for the glass doors of the police station when I came close.
I approached the counter, taking deep breaths to regulate my pounding heart and noticed Detective Reyes scuttle down the hall in the opposite direction after we made eye contact.
Cindy Evans, the clerk, clicked a couple of times on the keyboard before giving me the time of the day. It was a good thing big, plastic eyeglass frames were coming back in so she could be in vogue every twenty years or so. The pink cashmere sweater of the day, worn around her shoulders like a cape, was fastened by a silver and twinkling fake diamond bar pin. Cindy squinted slightly as she peeked up at me from under her bangs.
“Hi, Ms. Evans, I’ve come to see Ti—Officer Ripple.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Preston. Officer Ripple is unavailable.”
I couldn’t stop the automatic twist my chin took toward the light under the conference room door.
Cindy’s eyes narrowed, and her lips tightened. Yep—swathed in cotton candy pink to match the sweater.
“May I leave a message?”
She nodded at the yellow pad of blank notes next to my left hand.
I filled in my name and number, the date and time while I pondered what to write. I wasn’t about mention my clue directly since anyone could read the message before he got it. I settled for “Please call at your earliest convenience.” Just anonymous enough to pique his curiosity and cause him to actually call—I hoped—without giving anything away to anyone else who might see. Like Larkin.
I crossed the parking lot on the way to get my car for a trip to the grocery store. Two shiny objects leaning innocently together on the handle of my door forced me to halt. My heart started pounding again. Two squares of chocolate. One with the winged Featherlight design. The other bore the gold North Star Candies symbol. My chin wobbled. Not another chocolate stalking.
Then I gathered my courage and flicked them away. I plunged my hand to the bottom of my purse for the mini pepper spray I could legally carry and use outside the city of Chicago, ’cause, ya know, who needed to use it in the city? I hitched my bag’s strap toward my throat. Murderers beware. Ivy was on the case. Invincible me! I possessed knowledge of the motive for killing Ivanna. No one was gonna scare me. Figuring out means and opportunity should be a piece of cake and lead me right to the culprit. I’d have to be the one, since the local police were so intent on seeing me in jail. No way would I tell anyone about the candy.
My stomach gurgled.
Maybe Elvis, as Mom asked. But no one else.
A snack would be good first. There’d probably be some samples in the grocery aisle.
An uneventful rendezvous with my car and the grocery mart had me squeezing heads of lettuce and sniffing tomatoes in no time. I always forgot the difference, so I just used the same squeeze and sniff method to find the best of everything fresh. I paused in front of the colorful jars of pasta sauces, trying to decide what I could get away with, when someone jostled me, leaned over and tossed a blue box of mac ’n cheese and a twelve-pack of North Star assorted in my basket. The perp leaned into my space with a big freckle-faced grin before I could get my mouth all the way open for a proper shriek.
“Just kidding!”
“Elvis Hillert. You know way better than to try to scare me.” I slapped his hand as he removed his mac ’n cheese, eyeing the candy sourly. He caught me.
“What’s this? The evil eye on chocolate? Hey, it’s yours.”
“It’s just…well, there was this, um, incident… So, you’re back? So soon?”
His smile faded a bit as he tilted his head. “Yeah. Just stowed my duffle at Adam’s place for a couple weeks until I can move into my new digs. What incident?”
A mom pushing one of those kiddie cars with the sweetest little fella decked out in baseball gear maneuvered past. The child patted my pants leg. I touched the corner of my lip to make sure no drool escaped.
“Incident?” Elvis brought me back to earth.
“Uh…not here.” I glanced along the row. I wasn’t ready to tell Adam about the possible candy warning earlier, so inviting Elvis to come along to supper tonight was out. “Want to walk me out after I pay?”
“Sure.” He flipped the box of mac ’n cheese upward in tight circles and caught it again. “I’ve got an important errand too.”
He was begging me to ask, so of course I did. “Oh?”
“At Wyler’s. It’s that time.”
I squealed—ladylike and briefly since we were in public. I set down the basket to hug him. “Amy deserves a beautiful ring. Will you surprise her?”
“I’ll try to,” he said, bashful now that he’d made his intentions known.
“Sorry. That was quiet for me.” I couldn’t quit grinning as we made our way to the checkout. “Oh, wait for me by my car, would you? I forgot Mom’s bran flakes.”
I returned to the trenches of the cereal aisle, dodging the same kiddie car from before and a blonde princess pushing a purple cart loaded with fish crackers and juice boxes alongside another youngish woman with an infant strapped to her chest.
What was with all these babies coming out of the walls? And when would I get one of my own? My whine caught in my chest at the sight of two more Featherlight cubes sitting guiltily on a display.
“Ivy! Psst, hey, Ivy. Over here?”
I winced at the stinger burning my neck muscles when I whipped too fast toward the voice and the rest of me followed too slowly. My night was way ruined.
“Stanley! Why are you here?”
11
At least one mystery was solved. My chocolate stalker was real—a real idiot. Shucks.
Stanley put his hand over his heart. “You wound me, Ivy. After all we’ve been through together.”
“Together nothing! In fact, get away from me now. I don’t want to be seen with you. They’ll think we’re plotting another murder and I’ll end up back in jail and my wedding canceled. And nothing is keeping me from this wedding.” My heart twinged at my harshness, but I was more peeved that not only was he here, out of jail, but that he thought I was in any way together with him.
He appeared worn around the edges in baggy j
eans, his thin, sandy hair too long and his receding chin more pronounced, as if he’d been hungry for a long time.
I walked away fast, squeezing tears behind my eyeballs.
He stuck to me like a burr. I thrust my basket at the cashier. “Sorry, got something in my eye.” I fished a tissue from my purse, my touch lingering on the smooth, cool cylinder of pepper spray.
The teenager scanned and bagged my food quietly and efficiently.
I ran toward Elvis, hustling my sack of linguini fixings, bag of salad, and loaf of French bread along, hoping to ditch Stanley. Like we were in eighth grade. I stopped at the concern Elvis wore.
“What’s up, Ivy?”
Before I could answer, his gaze went over my head. Amazing how calm he was when I was still trying to catch my breath from my fifty-yard dash.
“What’s up, Brewer?”
I narrowed my eyes and stowed my groceries in the backseat as I listened. Elvis the Traitor. How could he even acknowledge the enemy? I watched Stanley out of the corner of my eye.
“I got out.”
“So I see.” Elvis rocked on the heels of his black leather boots and stared at my jailbird former fiancé. I slammed the back car door hard.
“DA said there wasn’t enough to convict, so they dropped the charges in exchange for…um, well…just, yeah.”
I shook my head, grateful not to have made the second biggest mistake of my life by marrying such a great conversationalist. Even though he was the one who dumped me.
Elvis chuckled and hitched his thumbs in his belt loops. “I think I even understand. What’s next? Back to work? Chicago, isn’t it?”
“I haven’t even told anyone I got out. I don’t have a job. Ma…well, Ivy, you know her. She cried when I told her about…you know. I mean, it was worse than when we—I—I mean, you know we would have been a disaster if you and me had gotten hitched. I don’t even know why they thought I could have hurt her. She was…” Stanley glanced at me. “Not like you,” he mumbled.
My cue to leave. I ripped my keys from my purse and huffed into the driver’s side. I glanced in the rearview mirror. Time for Elvis to choose me or him. I turned on the engine but resisted the urge to rev it. Global warming and all.
Meow Matrimony Page 10