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2 Murder on Consignment

Page 4

by Susan Furlong-Bolliger


  I flipped open my cell. Darn, no reception. Well, maybe I could run the box over to the precinct.

  I was trying to figure out how to get the books out of the dumpster when the sirens started. They seemed to be coming from everywhere. North, south, east…then there were lights. I looked through the top of the dumpster and could see the darkening sky lit up in red and blue.

  “Police. Don’t move!” I dropped the box and straightened up, raising my hands above my head. A giant strobe light flooded through the slats of the fence creating tiny dissecting lines that danced throughout the dumpster.

  “Don’t shoot,” I tried to yell, but my voice came out in a dry whisper. I could feel all the blood draining down to my feet, making my ears whiz and my head spin. I kept my hands up even though they felt like two concrete blocks.

  Then, I heard the scraping of steel on steel as the cops popped the chain that locked and secured the fence around the dumpster. The gate swung open with a shattering thud, followed by the sound of a dozen footsteps.

  “Don’t move,” the deep voice ordered again. Little did he know, I was too scared to move.

  I heard something scraping the concrete outside and then a clanking noise on the side of the dumpster. They must have been using something to climb up.

  I stood ram-rod still, my eyes squeezed shut, trying to figure out how I was going to explain being inside this dumpster.

  “What are you doing here?” I immediately recognized the squeaky little voice. I flipped open my eyes and saw Officer Wagoner staring at me over the barrel of her gun. “Hold it guys. I know this woman,” she said, holstering her gun and waving off the officers that must have been positioned and ready outside the dumpster.

  Officer Wagoner reached down and offered her hand. Reluctantly, I allowed her to pull me out. Once outside, I attempted to explain to her why I was in the dumpster, but she told me to keep quiet and wait inside her cruiser. I was still there a half hour later when Sean arrived. He leaned in so we were face to face. “Pippi?” he said, his voice low and his eyes searching for an explanation.

  “Uh, hi Sean. I tried to call you earlier. I just couldn’t get any reception from inside the….” I let my voice trail off, glancing over his shoulder to where the other officers were gathered. They all wore smirks, except Wagoner who was regarding me with concern or pity. I wasn’t sure which.

  “Hey guys, leave us alone for a minute, will you?” Sean said, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the cruiser.

  I stood with my back up against the cop car as he paced in front of me. I started to explain, “I found a box of old books in the dumpster. I think it’s from an estate sale…”

  He stopped and placed his hands with a thud on either side of me, trapping me against the car. I stiffened. Usually, I would love to be trapped against a hard surface with Sean leaning in close, but tonight he was scaring me.

  “Unbelievable.” His voice was low and husky, his face just inches from mine. “You haven’t changed a bit. What made you think you should come over here and break into their garbage dumpster? You’re trespassing!”

  He was so close, I could actually feel his body heat. I was struggling emotionally somewhere between fear, lust, and anger.

  “Wait a minute. I was tying—”

  “Trying to do what? Play detective? Don’t you remember what happened last time you did that?”

  I thought for a minute. Sure, I behaved a little stupidly last time I got involved in a police investigation, but that was different. It wasn’t like I was going to get killed digging around in a garbage can. I do that all the time. Of course, not in the middle of the night at a known crime scene. Not usually accompanied by a half-dozen armed officers, either.

  I put my hand on his chest and gently backed him up, trying to keep the situation calm. “What do you expect me to do? You’re the one who brought me into this case in the first place. Then you practically accused Shep of being somehow involved.”

  “Look,” he snarled, grabbing a hold of my shoulders. “I don’t want you getting hurt. A woman was just killed here. What were you thinking coming here alone, in the dark?”

  My eyes roamed his face. His eyes were wild, his skin flushed, his hair tussled. I could feel the intensity of his emotion and a rush of heat crept over me as I struggled not to lean into him. Whatever I was feeling was wrong. He was getting married. It was over between us.

  I searched for something to say to squelch the heat rising in me: admit an error, change the subject, anything. “Okay. You’re right. I do need to be more careful. I did find something interesting, though. There was this box of books from an estate sale, marked Sokolov. I think there could be a connection.”

  There, I’d got it out. I felt a speck of pride as I waited for his reply. Certainly he’d be pleased with my discovery.

  He began rubbing his temples.

  “So,” I continued. “When your guys get the books could you have them look around for a black sequined purse? It’s damaged a bit, but—”

  “This is why it didn’t work out with us,” he practically shouted. “You can’t stay out of things.”

  “What!” Suddenly the temperature in my hot head matched the heat in my lower extremities. Surprising how I could go from intense desire to downright ticked-off. “It didn’t work out with us because you never could commit to any sort of serious relationship. Although you don’t have that problem now, do you?” It was my turn to get in his face. I began jamming my finger into his chest to emphasize every word. “You and Sarah deserve each other. And you want to know who hasn’t changed? You. You’re still a jerk.”

  I started toward my car. “Where are you going?” he called after me.

  “I’m leaving.” I turned and shot him a daring look. “Unless you’re planning to arrest me.” I glanced over to the other cops. They were each pretending to be wrapped up in some sort of task, but I knew they were hanging on every word. Well, I didn’t care.

  I dramatically held out my wrists. “Well?” I taunted in my loudest voice.

  He looked down, not responding. So, I turned and walked away.

  Thinking back on it later, I wished I wouldn’t have been so dramatic. Had I just been just a little nicer, maybe he would have let me retrieve the books. They were fair game since they were in the dumpster anyway, even if behind a locked fence. If I’d really gotten on his good side maybe I could have even talked him into picking up that black sequined purse with the broken strap. I just hated to see a repairable discard go to waste.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning, I grabbed a bagel and twisted the top off a soda. Not much of a coffee drinker, I preferred to derive my daily caffeine fix from soda with its sugar kicker. Wearing my best jeans—or at least the only pair I could get buttoned—and a practically new fleece hoodie, I loaded the back of my station wagon with boxes to ship later in the afternoon. My first stop, however, was going to be the Retro Metro, where I hoped to find my elusive friend, Shep.

  Ogden Avenue was packed with morning commuters, so it was almost nine when I finally made it to Westmont. A few more turns and I was pulling into the lot of the Retro Metro. I glanced at the brick-fronted warehouse which housed three stories of consignment heaven. Shep had a knack, that’s for sure. Only he could convert a nuts and bolts warehouse into the best consignment shop in the tri-state area.

  Although they weren’t officially opened for business until ten, I knew that several employees would be in setting up displays and sorting through merchandise. I rapped on the door for a couple of minutes before anyone came to answer.

  “We’re not open yet,” a young guy announced through the closed door.

  “I know. I’m here to talk to Shep. I’m a friend,” I yelled back.

  The door opened a crack. I caught a glimpse of a kid with a plethora of piercings and a swatch of fuzz on his chin.

  “Shep’s not here,” he said.

  “When is he coming back?”

  The kid shrugged and s
tarted to shut the door. I moved my foot in front of the frame and leaned in trying to wedge my body in the opening. “Hey, is Pauline here?”

  “She’s busy,” he said, pushing harder on the door, which was cutting off circulation in my leg. I pushed back, but he was proving to be strong for such a scrawny guy.

  “Hey, Owen. What are you doing? Let her in,” a female voice came from behind.

  Owen let go of the door and I tumbled into the room.

  “Pippi! How are you?”

  I righted myself and greeted Pauline, Shep’s right-hand gal. We’d come to know each other well over the past year. “Hey, fine. I shot a menacing look at Owen; but he wasn’t making eye contact.

  “What brings you to the Retro Metro?” she asked.

  “I’ve been trying to reach Shep. Do you know where he is?”

  She glanced uneasily at Owen. “Why don’t you go back and help the guys with that new load of boxes,” she told him. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  After the door-warrior departed, Pauline motioned for me to follow her. We moved into a retro-eighties style room that instantly transported me back thirty years. “What a great room,” I commented, parking myself on a pink and black director’s chair. A faux zebra-striped rug stretched under my feet.

  “Yeah, Shep wanted to get this finished before ... well… it used to be a fifties-style dinette. He worked hard to collect all these items.”

  “Wow,” I said glancing around. Shep had a knack for decorating. He never seemed to run out of ideas. The whole warehouse was divided into several different rooms, each showcasing a different era of style and décor. The eighties room was done so well it made we want to break out a white sweatband and don some fuzzy pink legwarmers.

  “So you’re looking for Shep?” Pauline interrupted before I could get too far into the eighties groove.

  I turned my focus away from a framed Ferris Bueller movie bill and back to her. “Yeah, so where is he? I’ve been trying to call him for a couple of days. He’s not returning my messages.”

  “I’m sorry you’ve been worried. He’s fine. He’s taking some time off to visit with his parents.”

  “His parents? He hasn’t spoken to them in…what…twenty years?”

  Pauline shrugged. “Well, I guess they’ve reconciled.”

  I eyed her curiously. Shep’s parents kicked him out of the house when he was just a teen. I’d never heard him say anything about wanting to reconnect with them. “Reconciled? Are you serious? Come on, Pauline. What’s up?”

  She glanced downward and squinted at the zebra rug. Bending down, she made a production of removing several pieces of lint that had gathered on the black stripes. “Nothing’s up. He’s just taking some time off. He’ll be back in a couple of weeks,” she continued to pick as she spoke.

  Her aloofness bothered me, but I sensed I was going to get her to tell me what was really going on. “Well then, I guess I’ll let you get back to work. If, by chance, you talk to him, please tell him to give me a call. It’s important,” I emphasized. “Someone we know was murdered and the cops want to question Shep,” I added, watching for a reaction. A weird feeling settled over me when she didn’t seem surprised by the news. “Does Shep already know about the murder, Pauline? Is that why he’s taken off? Is he in some sort of trouble?” I was working hard to keep my voice steady.

  She stood and glanced at her watch. I took it as a dismissal and also stood, but still maintaining eye contact. She shifted her stance and looked away. “I’ve said all I can say, Pippi. I’m sorry. I’ll tell Shep you were here. I’m sure he’ll be calling you soon. Now, I’ve got to get back to work, but if you want, you could go through some of the stuff out back. We’ve been sorting through a couple of lots from estate sales and there’s some things we can’t use.”

  “Sure, thanks,” I muttered as she turned and started for another part of the store.

  Not knowing what else to do, I headed for the Retro Metro’s dumpster which, lucky for me, turned out to be a virtual smorgasbord of resalable goodies. Unbelievable what Shep was throwing away these days. I guess his clientele base had moved a little more upscale. Good for me, because my clientele (the Third Saturday Flea Market crowd) wasn’t so hard to please. They were going to jump all over the corner shelf unit I was trying to cram under my passenger seat. Not to mention the CD rack, wooden stepstool, and miscellaneous kitsch I’d found buried throughout the dumpster—my personal favorite being a framed cross-stitch sampler that said: Funny, I don’t remember being absentminded. What a hoot! I’d probably sell it to someone’s grandma for five bucks.

  I was struggling to fit my acquisitions in between the packages I still needed to ship when I looked up and saw Sean. He was across the lot, leaning against his car, watching me. I shoved the sampler between some boxes, slammed my back hatch, and crossed the lot with clenched fists.

  As I approached, he held up the sequined purse I’d left behind the night before. “Peace offering,” he said, smiling as if last night’s fight never happened. That’s the thing with guys; they could turn it on and off. Not me, I carried a grudge.

  “Thanks,” I said, snatching my purse before he could change his mind. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m still looking for Shep. Heard from him?”

  “No, but I just talked to Pauline and she said he’s taking some time off or something.”

  “Really? Did he mentioned this vacation to you before?”

  We stood, staring at each other.

  “Why are you so stuck on this Shep thing? You can’t possibly think he had something to do with Jane’s murder.”

  “I’m not sure what to think. I have to say it seems strange we can’t track him down.” I started to protest, but he cut in, “There’s another possibility, too.”

  “What?”

  “He could have witnessed something. We have Jane’s phone records and they show that Shep called later that day. Since the teapot was wrapped, I’m assuming he changed his mind about buying it and was going to come back and pick it up.”

  “And, you think he came by last night and witnessed something and now he’s in danger?”

  “It’s hard to tell. It could be anything. I’m going to talk to his employees now.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at the Retro Metro. “Good luck. I just tried to get something out of Pauline, but she was pretty tight-lipped.”

  “There’s something else,” he started as I turned to leave. I faced him again, noticing his eyes were darting about nervously. “I want to explain… I mean, I feel bad you found out about me getting married. I should have told you the other day…I just…” His voice faded to a whisper.

  A thousand ugly retorts popped into my head, but I managed to keep them to myself. “What do you want me to say? Congratulations?”

  “No…I mean, yes. Thanks. I just…well, I wanted to clear the air. Like I said, I felt bad because I didn’t really tell you the other day when we were at the crime scene. I didn’t know how to tell you. Then I saw you last night at The Classy Closet, and well…you know how that went. By the way, Sarah said she ran into you at the bridal shop. Why were you at the bridal shop?”

  “Why do you care?” I shot back.

  He shrugged. “Just wondered. Are you serious about someone?”

  My mind raced. Would he feel jealous if I said yes? Maybe I should make up a fake fiancé and see how he reacted. Then I reconsidered. “No, I’m not dating anyone. I haven’t since…” I let my words drop. “My cousin, Cherry Gallagher, is getting married a week from Saturday. I’m her maid of honor.”

  He smiled. “Well, congratulations to Cherry.” He seemed happy. Was I sensing relief in his voice?

  “When’s your big date?” I asked.

  “June.”

  “Good for you. Hope you’ll be happy.” My voice sounded false, even to me.

  I turned to leave, but he gripped my arm and wheeled me around. “Pippi, I’m sorry.” He paused, searching my face.
>
  “Don’t be. I’m happy for you, really.”

  “Really?” he asked, moving in closer. His eyes were half-mast, his lips slightly parted. His breath was coming in short shallow rasps. I was feeling that old familiar tingling I’d always felt right before the onset of a passionate kiss.

  We teetered there, suspended in lustful confusion for a few seconds before I decided to make a move. I leaned in, closed my eyes and parted my lips, ready for the familiar warmth I had missed for so long, but all I felt was cold air.

  My eyes snapped open. He’d backed up and was regarding me with what…confusion, fear, amusement?

  Then, I did something I’d never done before. I slapped him. I’d seen Scarlett do it to Rhett and Sally do it to Harry. Heck, I’d seen it done a thousand times on trashy daytime talk shows, but I had never done it. Quite honestly, I shouldn’t have waited for so long…it felt great.

  I spun on my heel and walked away. I was fed up with Sean and all his hormonal superiority.

  Chapter 7

  I peeled out of the lot, tires squealing, and junk rattling from every corner of the Volvo. I could hear the sound of glass breaking as I screeched around the corner. Probably the cross-stitch sampler, but I didn’t care.

  I drove straight to the nearest fast food drive-through. Thank goodness, they had switched over from the breakfast menu; I don’t know what I would have done without a double layered hamburger to calm my slap-happy soul. I went to retrieve a couple of bills from my wallet and found them wrapped in a tidy little note reminding me to check my emotions. Well, to heck with my emotions; I was beyond that. I needed a good, old fashioned, high calorie binge. So, just for good measure, I coughed up a couple of more bills and added a chocolate shake and small fries.

  Sufficiently carb-loaded and stuffed with saturated fat, I was feeling better by the time I reached the post office. After shipping my packages, I made my way back to my apartment to unload my car.

 

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