“Seems you torpedoed his attempts at getting a mortgage by badmouthing him to the bankers. Put succinctly, you sabotaged him. Not nice, Ms. Powell.”
The notepad went down on the table. Lyddie had that grin going on.
“Done?” the shop owner asked, making sure.
“Yes. And it’s a good thing, since I was about to run out of breath.”
Like that would ever happen.
“There are eight names, Lyddie! EIGHT!” Sam blurted. “The way you made it sound was that the whole of Mountain Valley was coming after me en masse!”
“It’s eight more than most people have. I never realized you were such a pariah, but then you never told me any of this. And I was supposed to be your bestie, Cruella.”
“In the first place, Zeke asked me out when I was dating Rad Evans. Ditto with number four: True.”
“Rad,” Lyddie purred as a starry-eyed look appeared in her baby blues.
“Yes, Rad. The man I dated for two-and-a-half years! We almost got engaged and—”
“Why didn’t you?”
“You think I’m going to tell you? The traitor who refers to me as a mountain named Cruella? What I will tell you is that Rad climbed me! Often and well! He went right from the bottom to the top and every inch in between until no uncharted territory remained!”
The girl whose eyes were bulging gasped.
“TMI, Ms. Slutsky! T-M-I! I don’t want to hear such perversity!”
“Then why did you ask?” Sam retorted, fire burning within her dark eyes.
“I never—”
“You certainly did! It was when you were having problems with that dud Bailey! You asked me everything about my relationship—including SEX! I guess you were hoping my sex life was as miserable as yours, but it wasn’t! Rad was great … SUPERB! He was the best lover I ever had!”
The silence between the two was pervasive. The only sound was the swishing caused by Katy going over the floors with the mop, but the ringing in Sam’s head was joyous. The flinging of her ex-bestie’s past relationship in her face caused the victory bells to sound. But that tingling … the one spreading over the back of her head … that was not part of the internal celebration.
She swiveled quickly, catching Katy with mop in hand imitating a statue. The shocked look on the employee’s face said it all.
Katy wasn’t expecting to be caught. Startled, the barista hurried back behind the counter, putting the mop away and picking up the spray cleanser.
Pfssst …. pfssst … pfssst …
“You could at least train your staff better,” Lyddie commented. “It’s rude to eavesdrop and even ruder not to know how to cover it.”
“Ha! Then you admit you were a slimeball for doing it to me?”
Sam was on the attack and taking no prisoners.
“Totally different! I had a right to know! We were besties and would have even traded clothing if I were size anemic.”
“Any excuse in the book to insult me, swine …” Sam remarked, shaking her head. Taking a swig of coffee, she continued.
“Which brings me to number three: Holly McCallister. She didn’t get the job because she lied on her application and was over an hour late to the interview. You can do one or the other and still get the job, but not both. Five: Frank Blushi lost the renovation job because he upped the price of the remodeling by $15,000! He didn’t discuss it with me, just showed up with contract in hand and explained that he couldn’t make a profit on the amount of his bid. I told him that he shouldn’t make bids that he couldn’t match and hired the contractor who gave the second lowest bid, which happened to be Eunice’s husband Chester. She should know that, and could have told you, but obviously didn’t … and I was never mean to his wife. On to six and the bake sale.
“Jan Winters held that bake sale in high school! We were both sophomores and nobody else would even talk to her, let alone help her out. The day before the fundraiser, I got the flu and had a temperature of 102! But I’d promised her and was going to crawl over there, but my parents forbade me from getting out of bed. I called and apologized, and my mother brought over the cookies I’d baked and stayed in my stead. But I guess she’d prefer making me the bad guy! Which brings me to seven.
“Biff Swallers is a cocky son of a bastardo! There, I said it,” she added in a self-righteous tone.
“He and his friend Rocky Haldrin were always in competition, but it’s like that with guys who attended Castle High. Their school mascot is the wolverine, and they exemplify the worst in that beast.”
“Maybe it’s because they’re hot,” the girl putting her hair up in a bun mused. She speared it with two bobby pins and called it a day. “Never met one that wasn’t calendar boy material.”
“There’s Bailey,” Sam reminded.
“Okay, there is one, but I never met two,” the girl snapping her fingers at Katy capitulated. “Iced chai latte, please.” The barista swung her eyes in the direction of the woman who signed her check.
Smart girl.
Sam’s dark tresses danced from the nod of approval.
“Which brings me to the last on the list, the lovely Corona Pete. It’s a shame that his ingesting too many drugs has wreaked havoc with what was once a perfectly sound functional brain. In the state it’s in, I only hope he donates it to science so they can study the effects of what happens when you swallow Tide pods.”
“The story, Sam,” Lyddie prodded.
“Fine! Corona found out I was working at Bliss and figured I could hook him up with an inexpensive place to shoot up in—which I did. Another pair of druggies was selling their shooting gallery and moving to California to sleep in a tent on the beach. I thought: who better to sell it to? The house suffered from neglect, but the plumbing and mechanics were in good shape. So was the roof, because the worst thing that can happen is a leak when you’re nodding out and facedown on the floor.
“The price was right and the neighbors were used to having ne’er-do-wells living next door, so it looked like a good opportunity, but the mean ole bankers didn’t see it that way. Corona had lost the job he’d put on his loan application. I mean, how could he be expected to keep it for the whole two weeks it takes for the references and background check to be processed? He couldn’t. And although he didn’t see being unemployed as a huge deal, you’d be surprised at how much importance is placed on having a source of income by those cranky financial types. I know it’s a pesky detail for someone like Corona, but there it is—the awful truth.
“He got judged on the same criteria we all do—and that’s a credit score and ability to pay bills in a timely manner. Since there’d never been an applicant with a minus number, it didn’t go Corona’s way. As for his assertion, I only wished I held sway over bankers and IRS agents. Actually, I’d like the power to be over the Mountain Valley Police also so I could fire Detective Death.”
Katy served Lyddie her chai. The ice cubes tinkled against the glass as Lyddie stirred in the Stevia she carried in her purse.
“So you’re telling me that all the people with vendettas just happen to be crazy and that you’re completely innocent of the charges? Highly doubtful.”
More slander.
No wonder Sam was kicking Ms. Thang to the curb as soon as this was over. A mental note was made:
No more free chais on the house. Ha!
“No response?” Lyddie poked.
“Some things don’t deserve one. I’m shunning your query,” Sam replied.
“Then maybe you can edify me as to what happened at Patricia Cunningham’s. What did she say about Doris being married?” Lyddie queried before taking a sip of the cold beverage.
“She said that her daughter was married to a Peter Dengrove … but get this …” Sam whispered, leaning in. “He was sent to jail.”
“No!”
“Yes,” she assured. “She married him right after graduating from college. Went to UCLA.”
“Not bad,” the curvaceous blonde said before taking her
second swallow. It must have been good because she followed it up with hasty gulps.
“Degree was in business, but she ended up marrying Dengrove before putting it to use. And he must have been doing pretty well because when he moved here, he bought a house in the Timmer Hills section.”
Lyddie stopped chugging and whistled.
Timmer Hills was the wealthiest section of town and where Bliss Harper lived. There wasn’t a residence under seven figures in that area. Sam had hoped to move there one day, but that dream was shot to hell. A glance out the window told her that. There was only a barren landscape without a customer in sight.
Venice Beach was looking pretty good.
“Why didn’t I know any of this?” Lyddie asked as she swirled her tea before taking another swallow.
“That’s what I asked … and it’s here the story gets more interesting.” Taking a perfunctory look around, she saw that Katy was preoccupied with cleaning again.
Perfect.
She could speak openly and without fear of loose lips sinking ships.
“It seems Dengrove was an investment specialist. Handled a lot of very wealthy clients, including Elliot Harper, husband of our friend Bliss. In fact, Elliot Harper was his keystone … his foundation … and how he drew other clients in. They figured if Harper was using him, everything must be copacetic, but it wasn’t.”
“No!” Lyddie exclaimed, her eyes widening. The girl had the thickest lashes in town, even without the lash-lengthening mascara dabbed on.
“Yes! Dengrove’s investment strategy amounted to an elaborate Ponzi scheme,” she answered, still keeping her tone soft. “While he paid Elliot and a few others interest on their investment, it was only to garner a reputation. Once he had that, the checks stopped coming. He was planning on skipping when the feds caught up with him.”
“Was Doris in on this?”
“That’s the thing. Her mother says she absolutely did not know, but the clients, well, they had their own theories. They swore she was not only aware, but an equal partner in the scam. And it didn’t help that the money disappeared.”
“How could it disappear?”
“It couldn’t,” Sam replied. “That’s my opinion anyway. But in Doris’ favor, on the morning her husband was arrested at the airport, he only had a single one-way ticket to Switzerland. So it could be that the money was wired elsewhere and that Doris was left as the fall guy … er, woman … person.”
“Then he wanted her to look guilty so they’d go after her and leave him alone,” Lyddie filled in.
“Exactly.” Stretching her arms, she relaxed against the padded cushion. “Now as to the reason we remained ignorant of the entire scam, it’s because the clients targeted didn’t want the case publicized. Rich people don’t relish looking like fools in print, so attention was kyboshed through clout. Then there was Doris going back to her maiden name. She opened Cunningham’s and not Dengrove’s. That’s why those who didn’t know about the Peter Dengrove scandal never connected him with her. But his attorneys sure did. She was stuck with a lot of legal expenses. That’s what her mother says anyway. Said Dengrove’s attorney was constantly calling her.”
“And her husband?”
“Got knifed in the big house. That means prison.”
An eye roll indicated what Lyddie thought of the primer.
“There was speculation on whether Doris had a part in his demise, but nothing was ever proven. And the death threats she was receiving would bolster that she wasn’t involved. They never stopped, you know? She was still getting them at the time of her murder,” Sam added.
“Patricia said that?”
“Sure did. But she was proud that Doris made a success of the restaurant. Her daughter wasn’t a trained chef and learned what she knew from her dad. That background, coupled with the business degree, was enough for her to take a flyer.”
“You gotta admire women like that. Women who can’t overcome a little adversity are such losers.”
Sam slammed her palms against the table, ending the conversation then and there.
“That’s it! I’ve had all I’m gonna take from Little Miss Take a Cheap Shot!”
Standing, she grabbed the half-filled glass of iced chai from under Lyddie’s nose.
“I,I didn’t even mean it that way, Sam! Really!”
“Yeah, sure! Out! Out, out, out! I don’t know what got into you today, Lyddie! You’re a bundle of nerves and you’re getting me nervous watching you!”
“It’s the coffee,” her ex-best buddy explained. “I was forced to drink it this morning while helping you out of this predicament. Damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.”
“No, damned because you can’t keep that mouth shut,” she said, pushing the woman she’d known for far too long out of her establishment.
“But, but …” Lyddie stuttered. “Does this mean our relationship is concluded, because I am so ready to move on.”
“No such luck, mon frère. The war has only begun and it’s time for Stage II.”
“Stage II? What exactly is that going to require, because I have other things to do besides—”
It felt good slamming the door in Lyddie’s face. But with that grand move out of the way, what would be her next?
As she watched Lyddie mince down the street, attracting admiring glances as she went, the shadow of death appeared, but why?
What the heck was he doing here?
No way was that specter going to place an accursed foot in her newly-sanitized establishment, but before she could do anything, Katy snatched Lyddie’s unfinished drink from her hand and dispensed with it. A round of spraying the newly-vacated table ensued. No doubt, Katy was a treasure, and from now on, she’d only hire people who were OCD.
She leaned against the glass, her fingers wrapping around the silver handle of the door to keep out the trash.
“Ms. Powell,” Detective Death greeted, speaking loud enough to be heard through the glass.
The negativity gushed out his pores and invaded her already foul mood. No! He was not getting in.
No way.
“No rest for the wicked?” she countered as she flung the door open and got in his face, pulling the door shut behind her.
The remark got a smirk out of Petrovich but disappeared as soon as the Siberian Winter’s partner flashed a disapproving glare.
“I don’t know what brought that on, ma’am. I’m only doing my job.”
Ma’am?
Had he really called her ma’am?
Lighted match .. gasoline … fire.
“Your job is persecuting me. Don’t you have a murderer to arrest?”
Again, the Siberian Winter grinned, but quickly turned it into a cough.
“You’re under no obligation to talk to me, ma’am,” he retorted.
“Right, right, right … goading me into refusing, eh? Yeah, that would mean you could drag me down to the station and wouldn’t that make great copy? After she refused to cooperate, Samantha Powell, owner of JUST ADD COFFEE, was hauled downtown for questioning in connection with the murder of Doris Cunningham, the woman whose head was bashed in and left in the new coffee shop that everyone is avoiding. News at eleven,” she marqueed with her hands.
A thumb dug at the corner of his mouth as he frowned, but his act wasn’t going to work. She’d heard what he said and there was no walking it back.
“We,” he said, pointing to himself and the partner backing away, “had a question for you, Ms. Powell. That’s all.”
“Oh, ho, ho, ho!” she remarked, doing her best Santa impression. “I’m sure you have lots.”
It felt great getting her snark on.
He took a step forward, bearing down on her lithe form, but intimidation wouldn’t work.
“What were you doing this morning, Ms. Powell?”
“This morning? I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean, why did you visit Patricia Cunningham?”
Those arms of hers hit her favorite posi
tion these days and crisscrossed over her chest. It was clearly self-protective because—
How did he know that?”
“How did you know that?” she spat.
“Because we had questions for her and saw you leave.”
No wiggle room there.
Story time.
“I went to give my condolences. Her daughter was found on my floor. You do remember that, right? Oh, yeah, you must. Why else would you be hounding me?”
“We are not hounding you—”
“He isn’t,” she said, pointing at Detective Volga. “But you are.”
“My partner and I were on official business in driving to Mrs. Cunningham’s. You are not a member of the police force, so we will ask you one more time: what was the purpose of your visiting Patricia Cunningham? Simple enough question, ma’am.”
“I believe I answered that already,” she snapped, “but then maybe I’m getting senile. I mean, being addressed as ma’am will do that to you.”
“It’s protocol, Ms. Powell. Don’t know why the attitude.”
“Oh, ho ho ho ho!” she blasted, sinking into Santa Part Deux. “I’ll repeat this one more time: I w-e-n-t t-o g-i-v-e m-y c-o-n-d-o-l-e-n-c-e-s,” she drawled.
“That’s not what she said, Ms. Powell,” he said, buttoning his suit jacket.
Her arms fell to her sides.
“Listen, Nancy Drew,” he began. “Impeding or interfering with an official investigation is a crime—one you could be charged with if you don’t keep your nose out of things. I don’t know what you’re thinking playing amateur detective, but I’m warning you to stay out of our way and quit influencing witnesses.”
Pivoting with the precision of a West Pointer, he snapped around, while his dreamy partner followed. A look of sympathy was imparted, but nothing more.
Sam was rocked by Detective Death’s words. Not only had he found out about her snooping, he’d actually tried to head off her doing more by issuing a threat of arrest. But the more she thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense. How did he just happened to be at Patricia Cun —
He’d been following her!
That had to be it! After all, she was his prime suspect, and as his prime suspect, he’d put her under twenty-four-hour surveillance. Why hadn’t she figured that one out before? She’d just waltzed over to Patricia Cunningham’s with no fear of repercussion and without taking cursory evasive maneuvers.
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