2 Murder on Consignment

by Susan Furlong-Bolliger

  I walked out to the kitchen. Not my kitchen. Sean’s.

  He looked up from the skillet where he was scrambling eggs. “I hate your hair.”

  “Yeah, me too. What am I doing here?” I grabbed for a mug of coffee like it was the only lifejacket on a sinking ship.

  “You don’t remember?”

  I thought back to the night before. I had a slight recollection of waving my hat in the air while riding astride a bail of straw all the while shouting something about Annie Oakley being the true unsung hero of the west. I rubbed my temples and moaned. “Oh, was I that bad?”

  “Your sister, Kathleen, said you drank half the keg by yourself. The good news is that Cherry was also two sheets to the wind, so I don’t think she noticed your condition.”

  “I’m not worried about Cherry. It’s my mother who’s going to kill me.”

  “You’re on your own with her,” he said, passing a plate of eggs my way. I took one look at the wet looking yellow mush and almost hurled.

  “Eat. It’s the best thing for a hangover.” He sat down on the stool next to me with his own plate heaped full.

  “What, did my parents call you to come rescue me or something?”

  “No. I went out to Stumpy’s to find you around eleven. I was waiting at your place and you never came home, so I was worried. You were too sick to be on your own, and there was no way I was going to be able to get you up your steps, so I brought you here. Your parents agreed that it was the best alternative. Especially in light of all that’s happened lately. They’re still worried that someone is after you.”

  I picked at my eggs.

  “Is that why you did that to your hair?” he asked.

  “Hmm?”

  “Your hair. Did you change the color because you’re trying to throw off the person who is after you, or is it because a police sketch of you is all over the news?” He opened a cabinet drawer, pulled out a bottle of aspirin and slid it across to me.

  I grimaced. I should have guessed he would already know about that. I took my time opening the aspirin bottle, trying to formulate a good answer. “Okay. I was at Alex Sokolov’s house and ran into that old woman, Mrs. Stanislav, who by the way, gave a lousy description of me. I look a lot better than that drawing that was on the news.”

  I paused, but he didn’t offer any comment.

  “Well, anyway, all I did was look in the window. I was trying to find Morgan Farrell, which I was hired to do, so I had every right to be there. Mrs. Stanislav is the real criminal. Did you know she tried to kill me? She shot at me with a big gun. I bet she doesn’t have a FOID card for it either. You should check into that.”

  “It’s nowhere in my jurisdiction.”

  “Are you going to turn me in?”

  “I feel obligated to. You’re a murder suspect.” He finished his eggs and drained his coffee. “I’m a cop. Sooner than later, someone is going to figure out it’s you, even with your black hair, and then I’m going to be in big trouble. Everyone knows that we ....”

  “That we what?”

  He shrugged it off. “Probably some of the guys already recognize you; they’re just showing me respect by not reporting it yet.”

  “No one would honestly think that I killed Alex Sokolov.”

  He stood and moved to the sink with his plate and mug. “No, no one that actually knows you would think that you murdered the guy, Pippi. It’s just that you need go in and get this cleared up. You were witnessed at the scene of a crime. If anything, you might have information that could help the investigation.”

  “Can’t you call someone and clear it up for me?”

  “I’d be happy to go in with you and help in any way I can; but it’s not as simple as making a call. I mean, what do you want me to say? Hey guys, that’s my girlfriend in the police sketch, but it’s all a mix up. No need to bother her about it.”

  Girlfriend? Did he just call me his girlfriend? The idea both thrilled me and ticked me off. I thought better to ask him about it though. Instead, I stayed on topic. “Yeah, guess that won’t work.” It was hard to think all this through with such a fuzzy brain. “I will go in, I promise. First thing tomorrow morning. Just let me get through today. I have that hotdog thing, and then the wedding. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

  “No, I think you ought to go in now. I’ll get showered and we’ll go together.”

  “Fine,” I replied. “I’ll get tidied up a bit, too. Can I use your guest bathroom?”

  He came across the kitchen and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Thanks, Pip. And don’t worry; it’ll all work out okay.”

  I smiled, but kept my focus down, shifting eggs from one side of the plate to the other. I didn’t dare look up. He’d see the guilt written all over my face. Instead, I kept shifting eggs until I heard the shower running full steam. Then I scribbled a quick note, took his keys, and quietly slipped out the door.

  Sean was going to freak when he found the note and realized I had left. At least I had the courtesy of letting him know where he’d be able to find his car and keys. I wondered if he would come after me; he pretty much knew my itinerary for the day. Hopefully, he had enough going on that he wouldn’t bother chasing me down.

  Speaking of which, I only had a couple of hours before I was due at the new JimDog’s grand opening. Leaving Sean’s car in Stumpy’s parking lot with the keys under the mat, I got in my rental and high tailed it back to my apartment for a quick shower and change. Even though my locks had changed color, I still grabbed the black wig with heavy bangs and smeared on some extra heavy makeup to cover my freckles. If anything, I was consistent.

  The whole way to Skokie, I kept glancing in my mirror, wondering if Sean would put out an APB on me, or just hunt me down himself. Neither was a good option. Maybe I should have followed his advice and turned myself in.

  I arrived in Skokie with no time to spare. The new JimDog store had made quite the transformation in the last few days. The building was completed and included a new giant weenie, JimDog’s trademark, on the roof. A large banner and a giant, forty-foot high balloon marked the occasion.

  Things were already bustling by the time I walked inside. I caught a glimpse of Ms. Ashcroft across the room. She was standing by the kitchen with J.J. and another woman.

  I readjusted my wig and approached cautiously, hoping my disguise would fool them.

  They all turned in my direction as I approached. “There you are,” Ms. Ashcroft said. “I have your costume ready. It’s hanging in the restroom. Did you sign the paperwork?”

  I handed over the envelope noticing that the secretary and J.J. were standing awfully close to each other. The type of close that suggested intimacy.

  At first glance, they made an unlikely couple. He was dressed in a classic cut suit which would have looked great if his head didn’t look like it belonged on the eight pound rack at the Ten Pin. The woman next to him was also dressed classically—like a classic bimbo, that is. Short skirt, tight shirt, and heels high enough to challenge a stilt walker.

  I nodded and uttered a quick thank you, not wanting to chance it that J.J. might recognize my voice. As it was, he’d barely glanced my way so far. His eyes were pretty much stuck on the short-skirted woman.

  I headed for the back of the restaurant to change.

  Once inside the restroom, I stepped into the six foot weenie and zipped up. The costume came complete with a long sleeve white tunic, leggings, gloves, and foot covers. The polyfoam body zipped right up to my neck and then attached to a large matching head complete with eyes, a toothy smile and a mustard streak up the middle. I looked very yummy.

  Out in the restaurant, the doors were opening and the meat-loving crowds pouring in. My job was to circulate, hand out stickers and balloons to kids, and be available for photo opportunities. I got the hang of it pretty fast. Actually, I was good at being a giant hotdog. The kids loved me.

  I was getting into a groove when, over the happy shrieks and giggles, I heard JimDog’s booming
voice. “Welcome to JimDog’s,” he was saying to a young family hunkered down in one of the booths.

  I lumbered over in his direction, but stopped short as I saw J.J. approach. JimDog didn’t look happy to see him. He grabbed his arm and pulled him over by the back kitchen entrance. I followed, but hovered around the corner and tried to stay out of sight as best I could in the giant hot dog suit. I strained to catch their conversation.

  “I see you brought her with you,” JimDog said.

  “Yeah, so. You think you’re the only one entitled to a little fun on the side?”

  “I never paraded mine out in public. What are you thinking? Not too smart, especially now that your wife is missing.”

  “She’s just off somewhere. She’ll get over it and come home.”

  “Yeah, well she’d better show up. There’s too much at stake for her to be running around on the loose. You need to get her under control.”

  “I’ll take care of it. I told you I would.” J.J.’s voice was faltering.

  “You’d better, or I will.”

  “Like you took care of Alex Sokolov? I guess his death solves a lot of problems, doesn’t it? Really, Dad, your own son? He was your son, wasn’t he?”

  I heard some movement and a little thud. I assumed James had pushed J.J. against the wall. “Shut up, J.J. You don’t know what you’re talking…”

  “I want a balloon.”

  I looked down to see a four foot bundle of energy prancing at my feet. “I want a balloon,” he whined.

  I motioned for him to be quiet, but he persisted. “Balloon, balloon!” He was getting louder and tugging at my bun.

  I was trying to shoo him away, when suddenly I felt someone grasp my arm. I looked up to find James’s face boring into mine.

  “Hey, let go,” I pleaded, trying to shake him off, but his grip was tight. He dragged me through the crowd and into the men’s room. J.J. was right behind him. Once inside, he backed me against a urinal and yanked off my hotdog head. I reached to try and secure my wig, but was too late. It had faltered and he grabbed ahold of it, too.

  It was just like all the ending scenes in Scooby Doo where Velma rips off the villain’s disguise and announces his true identity. Aha…it’s not really a hotdog, it’s … it’s….

  “It’s that crazy red haired woman,” JimDog announced. Then, momentarily confused by my new brunette coloring, he grabbed a hold of my real hair and yanked again.

  “Ouch!” I shrieked. Then, with all my might, I kicked him in the shin.

  He doubled over and dropped a few cuss words. Seizing the opportunity, I opened the bathroom door and ran like the dickens. I ran through the restaurant, out the side door, and straight towards my rental, all the while fumbling for my keys inside the hotdog suit. J.J. was right behind me and closing in fast.

  Luckily I found my keys and slipped into the car just before he caught up to me. I clicked and double checked the locks. He started banging on my window like a crazed lunatic.

  “Take an easy. This is a rental!” I yelled out.

  He kept banging.

  I jammed the keys into the ignition, peeled out and left J.J. in my exhaust. Right before leaving the lot, I glanced in my mirror and saw him making a rude gesture my way. The Farrell men really lacked class.

  *

  It wasn’t easy driving while wearing half a hotdog costume, but I managed to put some distance between the two JimDogs and myself before my cell started to ring.

  I made a quick pull over in a gas station lot and dug my phone out of my bag. I expected it to be Sean, but it was my mother.

  “Hi Mom. I’m kind of busy right now, can—”

  “Kind of busy? Do you know what time it is?”

  “Uh—”

  “It’s after three o’clock.”

  I didn’t get it. The wedding wasn’t going to start until seven. “Okay…”

  “Don’t you remember that the photographer is going to meet us there at five for pictures?”

  I thought back. “No. When did you tell me that?”

  “Last night at the rehearsal.”

  Oh, no wonder I didn’t remember; I was probably already half-baked when she told me. “No problem, Mom. I can be there at five. I’ll go home and change now.”

  “You’re not being a very good maid of honor. You should be here attending to Cherry. She’s a nervous wreck.”

  She was right, I wasn’t being a good maid of honor. Although, technically, I was just the fill-in maid of honor. At least I was better than Willow who had got herself into major trouble with the law. Speaking of which, I hoped Sean didn’t catch up to me until the wedding, or I could find myself in the same predicament. That would really upset my mother.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m on my way.” I snapped my phone shut and headed for home, promising myself that I’d put the case out of my mind for a while. I needed to focus on Cherry and her big day. I was going to be the best maid of honor ever, despite the ugly dress.

  Chapter 23

  Who knew a cheap rent-a-wreck could do over eighty-five so smoothly? Not bad for thirty-seven a day, plus tax. The little rental wonder got me back to Naperville in a forty-five minutes flat. Of course, I got a few weird looks along the way. Guess people weren’t used to seeing half a hotdog zipping down the freeway in a tiny compact.

  I ripped into my drive, pausing for a moment to check for signs of possible police surveillance. I couldn’t believe that Sean had let me get by with taking off that morning. He must have figured he’d catch me at the wedding. Hopefully, he didn’t plan to remove me from the festivities in shackles.

  I shot up my steps, stripped off the hotdog costume, and hit the shower for a quick rinse. The steam made my curls turn to frizz, but no problem. I simply twisted and secured them with a clip. A quick smear of mascara and lip gloss and I was wedding-ready.

  I grabbed the dress and started to pull it over my hips. Uh, oh. It was kind of tight. How did that happen? It fit a couple of days ago. It must be PMS. That would explain a lot of things.

  I danced around, bending and squatting, trying to get the material to stretch; but the pumpkin-colored polyester proved resistant to my efforts. So, out of desperation, I stripped back down and ran to my inventory boxes. I ripped and tore through clothing until I found it—a Lipo-In-A-Box Girdle. I’d picked it up for a steal at the Salvation Army. I had seen it featured on an episode of a daytime talk show’s favorite picks not too long ago and … well … if anyone needed lipo in a box, it was me.

  Somehow, I managed to hike the flesh-colored-spandex instrument of torture up over my behind and onto my torso. Then, I tried the dress again. Perfect, except for the fat rolls under my pits and well … I didn’t even dare turn around in fear of seeing back fat. At least I got it to zip. Everything was great, unless I needed to eat, drink, or take a deep breath. The price of beauty.

  I put on the matching pumpkin died shoes and trotted right over to the house. The whole gang was there, minus the guys, who were banished from the area. Aunt Maeve was busy fussing over Cherry, who was decked out in a cowgirl wedding dress, complete with white accessories—a fringed jacket, cow-girl hat, and rhinestone accented boots.

  “There you are,” she gushed as I approached. “Oh, you look great in that color, especially with your new hair. I just love it.”

  I didn’t think her compliment was valid, especially coming from a girl who was going to her wedding looking like she’d just stepped off the set of Gunsmoke—before they added Technicolor. I’d be going back to red real soon, despite the police sketch.

  “What do you think,” she asked, picking up a piece of tulle and attaching it to the brim of the hat. “Veil or no veil? It just sticks on with Velcro, so I can go either way.”

  “Uh…” I was speechless. The room grew silent waiting for my reply. I could tell this had been a hot issue before my arrival. I looked at my mother for help. She was wearing a pained expression.

  Mary Frances spoke up. “Maybe on for when
you walk down the aisle, but off for the reception?”

  “Yes. Great idea,” I agreed. Cherry smiled. Everyone breathed easier. Leave it to Mary Frances to come up with an amiable solution.

  After another few minutes of fussing, we all took off for Stumpy’s. I opted to ride with my sister, Kathleen, and her family in their minivan. There was no way I was going to be able to scrunch my lipo-in-a-box body behind the wheel of the subcompact. As it was, I could hardly manage with the whole back bench of the minivan. Worse yet, the stupid thing was squeezing all the liquid right out of me. I had to go to the bathroom before we even got out of the driveway.

  Fortunately, Stumpy’s had set up a few extra porta-potties just for our family’s special occasion. Someone had also set up a flower covered arch and two large baskets of mums where I assumed Cherry and John were going to take their vows. Instead of chairs, straw bales were arranged in long rows, each bail dressed with a large white bow. Off to the side was a huge bonfire, where we’d gather later to roast weenies, chug beer, and … if I was lucky, put together a few smores. After which, we could all mosey over to the pavilion where a mobile dance floor had been laid out and a couple of fellows were busy testing amplifiers. Although, since the only instruments I could see were a fiddle, a banjo, and a squeeze box, I’m not sure what needed to be amplified.

  “Isn’t this wonderful,” Cherry said, squeezing my arm and leading me toward the flowered arch.

  “Wonderful,” my mother echoed.

  I just nodded and smiled. I kept on smiling right on through the ten million pictures that ensued. Maeve and Chuck must have allocated most of the wedding budget to the photography category. Just my luck. I would be forever archived as a giant, dark-haired pumpkin.

  Guests began to arrive, just as the sun was starting to set. I spied Sean right away. He didn’t look too happy; but at least he wasn’t wielding hand cuffs.

  I took my place in line for the procession and waited while the fiddler stepped forward and raised his instrument. The crowd grew quiet. I grimaced, half expecting him to break into a lively rendition of The Devil Went Down to Georgia. However, to my surprise, he played a beautiful Canon in D-major.