The Corpse Wore Cashmere

by Sylvia Rochester

  “We’re expecting a delivery any minute and are renting a van to haul everything.”

  As if on cue, a large truck pulled into the parking lot.

  “Looks like our order has arrived.”

  “Dylan, we’d better hit the road. I don’t suppose it’ll do any good to ask you not to play detective.”

  She grinned. “What do you think?”

  “What am I going to do with you?” He gave her a kiss on the cheek before leaving.

  “Will I see you later?”

  “Doubt it. We’re working another case, a domestic quarrel that ended when the wife stabbed her husband.”

  Wesley motioned to Dylan that they should leave. On the way out, Dylan paused to talk to Nadine and Melanie. Taking one last look back at Susan, Wesley wagged a finger at her.

  Susan got the message—be careful. She hated that she might not see him before she left, but maybe it was for the best. No doubt he’d try again to convince her not to get involved. She understood she might make some people uneasy with her questions, but there would be nothing that would result in serious consequences. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

  The front door opened, and a stocky man wearing a khaki shirt and pants entered the store. The logo on his shirt matched the one on the truck parked out front—Creative Enterprises. Melanie approached him.

  “I have an order for an A. K. Williams at this address,” he said, handing her an invoice.

  “It’s okay, Melanie, I’ll handle it.” Susan’s high heels clicked against the floor. “Costumes, right?” she said to the delivery man as Melanie handed over the invoice.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Our warehouse is in the rear. If you’ll pull around back, I’ll open the door and sign for Ms. Williams.” On her way through the boutique, she rang A. K. “The costumes are here.”

  “Great. I found a good price on a van. Isabel and I are going to pick up the vehicle. She’ll drive my car back to the shop. Soon as I get back, I’ll help tag and load the costumes. Oh, pull out some garment racks. We’re going to need as many as we can fit into the van.”

  After the delivery man left, Susan stared at the stack of boxes. Dollar signs flashed before her eyes, and they were all running out the door. Too late to worry about expenses, she thought. From the far wall, she rolled a couple of garment racks to the center of the room then picked up a box cutter from a work table and opened the first box.

  “Arr, here bees Blackbeard,” she said, lifting a rubber mask with long, black hair and a full, matching beard.

  Inside, she found sundry items—several more of the infamous pirate’s mask, eye patches, bandanas, spy glasses, knee-length pants, billowy shirts, and vests. Another box contained vinyl boots and tricorn hats, bags of earrings and fake gold chains. Rummaging through several other boxes, she found costumes befitting a woman—fitted blouses with plunging necklines, lace-up vests, skirts of various colors, sashes, and an assortment of masks that covered only the eyes.

  Another carton contained blue British uniforms with gold braids and decorative sabers. Packaged in separate plastic bags were makeup kits, treasure maps, gold doubloons, British flags, flags bearing a skull and crossbones, stuffed parrots that could be pinned to the shoulder, peg legs that wrapped around a real leg, fake hooks that covered the hand and forearm, black powder pistols, muskets, fake knives, and wine flasks made of leather.

  Surrounded with such adventurous attire, Susan’s imagination ran wild. She could feel the wind in her hair, taste the salty spray as the galleon rode the waves. Then the screech of tires snapped her back to the present.

  Tooting the horn, A. K. bounded from a long, white van. “What do you think?”

  “I think you shouldn’t drive that monster like you do your Mustang. We’ll be paying for a repair bill.” Susan opened the rear door and looked at the inside dimension. “Sure you couldn’t find something bigger?”

  “What?”

  “Just kidding. We could pack half the store in this thing.”

  “I wanted to make sure we could fit three racks lengthwise and another across the width of the van. That will still leave room for excess costumes in boxes beneath them, and it has a small backseat.” A. K. ran her hand down the side panel. “If we’re going to do more festivals and shows, we really should consider buying this baby. It could serve both stores. On one side we could have the name and logo for the Purple Pickle and on the other, the Bawdy Boutique. I have some great ideas how we could decorate it.”

  “Let’s discuss that later. First, we have to turn a profit with this venture.”

  A. K. strolled into the warehouse and rifled through some of the costumes Susan had tagged and hung on a rack. “Yes, they’re going to do just fine.”

  “From what I’ve seen, it looks like you thought of everything.” Susan handed A. K. the invoice. “I’ll keep unpacking and let you do the pricing.”

  A. K. spread out several tags and checked the stapler to make sure it was filled. As she selected an item, she marked the code for their cost and above it the selling price. She then stapled the tags to costumes. On non-clothing items, she stapled the tag to rubber bands and attached them. Other things, such as jewelry and coins, were left in their plastic bags and tagged.

  “Get a move on,” A. K. said. “I’m about to catch up with you.”

  “Well, when you do, you can start unpacking. We haven’t made a dent in the boxes.”

  From the door that led into the boutique came a weak-sounding voice. Susan turned to find Myrtle, looking frail and dressed in a plain, black sheath. She motioned for Susan to join her. “Can I have a minute of your time?”

  “Be right back,” Susan whispered to A. K. “Myrtle, I’m so glad to see you. How are you doing?” Susan put her arm around Myrtle’s shoulders and led her into the boutique. With the employees working up front, they had an area of privacy.

  “I keep hoping this is all a dream,” Myrtle said, “but then I wake up to an empty house and realize she’ll never return. I so looked forward to getting close to my sister again.” Myrtle huffed a disheartening sigh. “I probably should be home, having just put Lorraine in the ground, but I had to get out for a while. It seemed the house was closing in on me. So, I decided to stop by and thank you again for being there when I put her to rest…especially after we got off to such a bad start.”

  “Forget about the past. I’m here if I can do anything to help you.”

  “That’s another reason I came to see you. I wondered if you’ve heard anything from Wesley.”

  Susan wasn’t about to disclose anything Wesley had told her, but she wanted to reassure Myrtle he was doing everything possible. “He’s still interviewing everyone who comes into the Rusty Nail.” This now seemed like the right time to ask Myrtle a few questions. “It sure would help if Wesley knew more about Lorraine’s past. Did she mention any friends?”

  “I didn’t know where she was, much less anything about her social life. And after she showed up here, she said only that she was a hostess at a hotel.”

  “Have you had a chance to go through her things?”

  Myrtle’s bottom lip quivered. “I can’t bring myself to go into her room. You might think I’m crazy, but just standing at her door, I could have sworn I heard her crying.”

  Susan looked into big, puppy-dog eyes. “I would never be one to doubt you. Grief hits us all in different ways. I know it’s hard right now, but it will get better in time. The sad thing is that time is working against Wesley. The longer Lorraine’s killer has time to cover his tracks, the harder it will be for Wesley to find the person responsible.

  “Please, Myrtle, I’m begging you to gather your courage and to go through Lorraine’s personal belongings. You might find something that could help Wesley. If Lorraine kept any photos, maybe Wesley could identify them. Who knows what he’d find. You do want to help, don’t you?”

  “You’re right. I’m being foolish. My crying and sulking around the hou
se is not helping anyone. Maybe I can do something for Lorraine in death that I couldn’t do in life—see that she gets justice.”

  “Wonderful. If Lorraine hid anything from you, you probably won’t find it in the likely places—like in the bottom of drawers, taped to the back of pictures or mirrors, or tucked between the mattresses. But don’t overlook those places, either. Also, check all the hidden compartments in her luggage. If there’s something there, I’m sure you will find it. When you do, call Wesley immediately and let him know.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Susan pointed toward the warehouse. “A. K. and I are going to a festival in Biloxi. We have the opportunity to sell costumes at their annual pirates’ extravaganza. I’ll ask around, see if I can find anyone who knew Lorraine. If so, maybe I can fill in some of her life for you. If you need to talk with me, I’ll have my cell phone. Don’t hesitate to call.” Susan hoped she could find something to tell Myrtle that would make her happy. Surely Lorraine had some virtues.

  Myrtle reached out and hugged Susan. That caught her totally by surprise. A show of affection was not in Myrtle’s nature.

  “Look, Myrtle, when you feel up to it, I want you to take your pick of anything in the boutique. There’s nothing like a new outfit to lift one’s spirits.”

  Myrtle squeezed Susan’s hand. “I was so wrong about you.”

  Susan answered with a smile. “I’d better get back and help A. K. I’ll be in touch.”

  Myrtle headed for the parking lot, and Susan returned to the warehouse.

  “What was that all about?” A. K. asked.

  “She wanted to know if I’d heard anything from Wesley.”

  “Can’t blame her. I still shiver thinking about Lorraine’s dismembered body.” A. K. pulled a garment rack packed with tagged costumes out of the warehouse. “Help me load this.”

  The van came with a ramp that pulled out from under the cargo area. Too bad it didn’t come with a pulley for loading. Susan and A. K. struggled to push the rack up and into the van, not an easy task in high heels.

  “Put your shoulder into it,” Susan said with a grunt.

  Over the next hour, they tagged and loaded two more garment racks.

  A. K. held up a scanty skirt and matching bandana. “We’d best pick out our costumes and set them aside before the public leaves us little choice. Where’s the lace-up vests? Oh, here they are,” she said, answering her own question. “Me, I’m going as a sexy wench.”

  “Why am I not surprised? This lady buccaneer outfit is more to my liking. Leather pants, high topped boots, and silk-looking blouse.”

  “Boring!” A. K. sang the word.

  “Not with the vest half laced and showing cleavage.”

  “Well, shiver me timbers. You do have a bit of daring in you. Nothing wrong with making the most of your attributes.”

  Susan gave A. K. a friendly push.

  A. K. bundled their outfits into two separate garment bags and tagged them with their names. “Okay, time for a break. We have enough room for one more rack across the back. We can put the bagged items in a box on the backseat. I gotta say—I love this disguise.” She picked up a Blackbeard mask and slipped it over her head. “Are ye ready to set sail?”

  When A. K. grabbed Susan’s arm, a bright light all but blinded her. From its center, rays streaked out in all directions. Frozen in place, she swallowed down a panicky feeling and pulled the mask from A. K.’s head.

  “Are you okay?” A. K. asked.

  “I…I don’t suppose you saw anything.”

  “Only that you seemed to freeze in place. What happened?”

  “I’m not sure. A light obscured everything.”

  “Oh, brother, here we go again. Your visions always mean something.”

  “Sorry, but I can’t do anything about them.”

  “Well, it’s too late to cancel now. I sure hope it doesn’t have anything to do with our trip. If you’d rather not go, I can take one of the girls with me.”

  That was a nice gesture on A. K.’s part, but Susan wasn’t about to back out. “Oh, no, you don’t. We’re in this together, and I intend to do everything I can to make it a success.”

  “Good girl.”

  By mid-afternoon they had crammed everything possible into the van. A. K. pulled the vehicle closer to the back of the building and locked it. “That should do it,” she said. “Time for me to get back to the Purple Pickle.”

  “And I need to make sure everything’s in order before I close up the boutique. I have to pay a few bills and make payroll before I leave. What time do you want to meet in the morning?”

  “Seven o’clock should give us plenty of time to get there and set up shop. Maybe we can enjoy a good meal and relax before the festivities begin on Friday.”

  Susan wasn’t into gambling, but she knew A. K. loved the one-armed bandits. She rubbed her fingers together. “You feeling lucky?”

  “Always, but I’ll make sure to consult my crystal ball before we leave. I like having an edge.”

  Chapter 5

  Early Wednesday morning, Susan and A. K. parked their cars in the back lot of the Bawdy Boutique then climbed into the van and headed east on I-12 to the Gulf Coast. Both wore dark shades to fight off the piercing rays of the morning sun. However bright this heavenly intruder, it paled in comparison to the light Susan had experienced yesterday.

  A. K.’s wrist flopped over the top of the steering wheel as she motored down the interstate, the speedometer hovering at seventy miles per hour. “What do you think? If we turn a big profit, should we invest in the van?”

  Susan shifted her weight in the passenger seat. “Any chance we could find something a little more comfortable?”

  “We could opt for a motor home and modify the interior, but that would cost big bucks.”

  “Pass. I’ll settle for less comfort and more profits.” Susan looked through the back window into the cargo area. “Everything seems to be staying in place.” Then she turned her gaze out the side window. “The interstate might shorten the time to get there, but the route lacks the beauty of the coastal road. I remember driving from Pass Christian to Biloxi, watching the Gulf for miles with its white sand beaches. It’s a timeless scene, you know—the same today as it was hundreds of years ago, and it will be unchanged long after we’re dead and gone.”

  A. K. moaned. “Thank you, Little Miss Sunshine. Nothing like a little cheer to start the day. When I see the beaches, all I think about are beer parties, sunburns, and bonfires. But considering what we’re hauling, right now I’m picturing pirates and buried treasure. I only wish that Jack could be here to play make-believe with me. Come on, girl. Get with it.”

  Susan wished it were that easy. What she wouldn’t give for a real crystal ball. “You’re right,” she said. “Let’s find some good music.” She finally decided on a station, and for the next hour or so, they had a sing-along. Before she knew it, they were approaching Biloxi.

  A. K. turned off the interstate for the short drive to Beach Boulevard. They passed a few casinos on the waterfront before the Pirates’ Reef came into sight. It was hard to miss the hotel with its replica of a Spanish galleon marking the entrance. A gigantic skull and crossbones flag hung from the top floor. Across the bottom of the flag, it beckoned all landlubbers to join the festivities.

  They turned into the circular drive and rolled past flaming torches to the main entrance where hotel personnel rushed to greet them.

  “Allow me, madam.” A young man with dark hair and eyes opened Susan’s door and gave a sweeping bow. He looked to be in his early twenties. “Do you have reservations or are you here to enjoy the casino?”

  Another employee greeted A. K. with the same enthusiasm.

  Susan stood eye to eye with the modern-day cavalier. “The manager, Mr. Fleming, gave us permission to set up a costume shop for the festival. I’m Susan Griffin, and my business partner is A. K. Williams.”

  His dark eyes sparkled even brighter. “Mr. Fl
eming told me all about you. When I saw the van, I was hoping you were the costume lady. Serious gamblers don’t usually arrive in such a wagon.” He grinned, showing straight white teeth against his olive complexion. “I am so ready to pick out my costume.” His lips curled.

  The man’s demeanor was far from macho, and his unpretentious attitude appealed to Susan. She took an immediate liking to the fellow. “And you are…?”

  “I’m Miguel Santos, manager over the desk clerks, but right now, we’re all doing whatever we can to accommodate visitors. We’re booked solid, so the festival should be a real blast.” He turned and motioned to other male employees at the front doors. “Need help here.”

  A. K. unlocked the back door to the van, and Miguel pulled out the loading ramp. Standing on tiptoes, he leaned forward and ogled the hanging outfits. “My, my, look at all the goodies.”

  He reminded Susan of a little boy in a candy store. “Mr. Fleming said he would provide a kiosk for us on the mezzanine.”

  “It’s ready for you. I’ll have everything delivered to your location, along with your luggage. You and your friend can check in at the front desk and join me when you finish. Mr. Fleming has provided complimentary rooms for each of you close to your kiosk, and you needn’t worry about security. There will be hotel personnel on duty at all times, and the kiosk can be locked. Leave your keys in the ignition. The valet will park your vehicle.”

  “Wonderful,” A. K. said. “Now, all I need are directions to the slots.”

  “A girl after my own heart,” Miguel said, patting his pocket.

  Stepping into the lobby of the hotel was like stepping into the past. Giant palms rose twenty feet high against fake stone walls. Distressed trestle tables, topped with lanterns and surrounded by wooden captain chairs, transformed the contemporary lobby into a dock-side tavern of the seventeen hundreds. Barrel fountains and exotic birds in cages added sound to the illusion.

  “Far out, huh?” Susan said, gawking at the surroundings as she approached the check-in desk. It had to have cost a fortune for the decorations, way beyond her budget.