“Mrs. Kenner,” I said, “Joyce. I’m Samantha Kidd. I met you at your holiday party. I was with Cat Lestes.”
She looked confused for a moment, and then recognition struck. “Oh yes, you’re Catherine’s partner.”
“We’re not partners like you think.”
“I certainly hope you’re not planning on breaking things off with her because of the baby,” she said. “Whatever your problems are, I’m sure you can work them out.”
“It’s—complicated.”
“Honey, doesn’t matter if it’s men or women. It’s always complicated.” The corners of her mouth turned up but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“No, Joyce, it’s not complicated like that. Cat is married. Was married. Her husband worked for your husband’s company. George Stevens?” I expected her to respond to the name. At her blank look, I continued. “He was murdered a few nights ago, right here in the store. Didn’t your husband tell you?”
“My husband doesn’t bring details about the company home with him.”
“But it’s been all over the news. That and the usual retail thefts. I don’t see how you could have missed it.”
“I don’t share society’s fascination with murder and homicide. It’s unseemly.” She stood straighter. “About Catherine, Tom led me to believe the two of you were a couple. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”
I put my hand on her arm. “It’s okay. Cat’s going through a really hard time right now and she can use all of the support she can get. Imagine, eight months pregnant and now this.”
Her eyes narrowed for a moment. “Eight months? That would mean—last April?”
“I imagine so. I never stopped to do the math.”
“Poor thing,” she said. She took my fingertips in her hand and squeezed. “Do let me know if there’s anything I can do to help your friend out.” She glanced at the assortment of panties in her grip and then, as if realizing she had no idea why she’d wanted them in the first place, handed them to me and walked away.
It struck me as odd that Joyce Kenner didn’t know about the murder at the outlet. Not only had it been on the news, but George was part of the Kenner & Winn family. He’d been strangled with a necklace that had been outsourced by her husband’s company. Not that I expected talk of murder to be dinner table conversation, but this seemed like the kind of thing that might transcend “pass the salt.”
I returned Joyce’s selections to the appropriate fixtures and headed to Cat’s office so I could adjust my leggings. Once I closed the door behind me, I tugged at my waistband until the crotch was back into place. I pulled down my sweater and squeezed through the narrow space between Cat’s desk and the file cabinet and dropped into her chair for a moment. I leaned back and studied the office. The ceiling consisted of pop-out, off-white cork tiles positioned on top of a gray metal frame. My old buying office at Bentley’s had the same kind. It was handy for birthday parties when we needed a place to hang balloons, because while the metal frame was rigid, the cork tiles lifted easily. One party had us celebrating an engagement by dangling ring pops from the metal grid with colorful ribbons.
Happy memories of working at Bentley's had helped fade the recollection of the sixty-five hour work weeks. I remembered the office camaraderie that we had, even though the job had held its stressful moments. The close-knit team that I assembled seemed capable of rising to most challenges and having fun between the crises. Funny thing, I hadn’t thought about that job in a couple of months. Now I was remembering it as though I’d been a fool to leave.
The walls of Cat’s office were soft yellow. I was willing to bet that she’d been responsible for the color choice and not Jim. My eyes traveled around the office, looking at the Erté print on the wall, the mirror that hung on the back of the door, and the file cabinet propped back against the wall. Our hidden camera was positioned between a pile of books on fashion and style, and I cringed while I realized that Dante would see me hanging out after hiking up my tight pants. As long as I managed to keep my embarrassing moments less than five minutes long I had a chance to go unnoticed.
Or, I could go back through the pictures and delete the incriminating ones and nobody would be the wiser.
I stood on top of the desk and reached for the tablet. I discovered a new vantage point, one that let me see the top of the wooden cabinets that lined the wall behind Cat’s desk. I stared at a small collection of crystal frames that sat off to one side and a stack of invoices held together with a large black binder clip. A cluster of awards for best sales promotion that were seriously in need of dusting. A framed sketch signed by a fashion designer with a personalized note to Cat. I picked it up and ran my hand over the glass. That was better. Then I noticed movement reflected in the glass.
I looked around, making sure I was alone. The overhead lights were all the same as they’d been when I entered. The computer screen had long ago defaulted to its screensaver, and the small desk lamp was off. I heard a scraping sound overhead and looked up.
One of the ceiling tiles was out of place. I reached up and pushed on it ever so slightly. Like every ceiling tile I’d ever seen, it lifted with minimal pressure from my fingertips. I moved my hands to the tile to the left. Same result. There was only one tile left that was within my reach, and it wasn’t sitting properly on the metal grid. I gently pressed on it but it didn’t budge. I applied a little more pressure, but nothing. I checked my footing, and then stood on my tiptoes and put both hands on the ceiling tile and pushed up. The tile shifted and a cascade of pearls pelted me on the head.
21
MONDAY AFTERNOON
The unexpected shower of jewelry caught me by surprise and I yelled. I swatted at strands of black pearls as they fell on me, flinging some away. I lost my balance. My right foot knocked the inbox off the desk and papers flew everywhere. I dropped to a squat and gathered up as much of the twisted and tangled jewelry that I could.
There was a knock on the door. On instinct, I stuck my left leg out and corralled the remaining jewelry from the desk and slid it across the surface in a sweeping kick like a character in a Quentin Tarantino movie. The door to the office opened and Cat’s former boss, Jim Insendo, peeked inside.
“Cat?” he asked. His eyes went wide at the sight of me in a fighting crouch on top of Cat’s desk. If exercise had been more of a priority in my life, I might have been able to get back up from the squat. As it was, I tipped myself to the right and slowly brought my left leg around to the front. I shifted my right leg so I was sitting on top of the desk with both legs dangling in front of me. Only slightly less suspicious in terms of things-people-do-in-the-boss’s-office.
“Cat’s not here,” I said. “Jim, right? I’m Samantha. We met at the Kenner & Winn party.”
“Samantha, that’s right.” He reached forward and shook my hand. He was younger than I’d originally thought. He couldn’t be a day over fifty and even that was a stretch. Must be nice, getting to choose retirement a full fifteen years before the rest of the working masses.
His eyes flicked over my shoulder for the briefest of moments, but then returned to my face. “Do you know where Cat is? I brought some paperwork for her.” He held a flat white envelope.
“She’s at home resting, but I can take that.” I held out my hand and took the envelope. He didn’t hand it over right away, and for a moment we engaged in a passive tug-of-war. When he let go, I tucked it under my arm. “I’m sort of helping her out around the store.”
“I thought you worked at Tradava? Isn’t working here a conflict of interest?”
I studied him. His normally jovial expression was less relaxed, and in its place was one that told me Jim Insendo didn’t miss very much. I didn’t know what Cat had told him about me. I pushed myself off the desk and stood in front of him, making him take a step backward.
“I’m on vacation,” I said, conjuring up a smile. “Cat’s had a troubling time lately and I’m doing her a favor. No pay, no benefits. Just a friend help
ing a friend. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Something like that.”
There was something about him that seemed out of place. We stood like that for a few seconds, him fidgeting with his pockets, me crossing my arms and then dropping them to my sides to look less defensive.
Jim looked behind me again, his brows slightly furrowed. “Did I hear a crash?”
I smiled. “I knocked over her inbox. Klutzy, I guess.” I inched my way forward until we were standing awkwardly close together. I pretended everything was okay but was pretty sure a necklace was caught on my shoe. Jim finally stepped back, and I kicked my foot a couple of times. The necklace dislodged and flew under the desk. I kept inching forward, making Jim move back, until we were out of the office with the door shut behind me.
“I have to take care of some things for Cat, but I’ll tell her you stopped by.”
“Make sure she gets that,” he said, pointing at the envelope.
“I will.” I scanned the store, looking for someone I could trust. Shana was by the registers, but she wasn’t exactly on my trustworthy list. Dante, however, stood by the front of the store next to the control panel to the gate. I raised my chin and caught his eye, and then tipped my head ever so slightly toward Cat’s office. “Would you excuse me?” I said to Jim.
“Sure. I think I’ll do some shopping while I’m here.”
Jim walked away. I looked at Dante again. He hadn’t left his post. I bypassed the cocktail dresses and headed toward the front of the store.
This time of year, the store should have been in complete disarray thanks to desperate customers who tore apart displays in order to find last-minute-gifts but that wasn’t the case. Just like Cat had said, the customers who entered weren’t there to shop, they were there to gawk. Between the theft and the murder, Cat was going to post a loss this season. The news had put her store on the map, but the only people wandering through were the looky loos who wanted a story to tell on Christmas morning.
I reached Dante. “When did you get here?”
“About half an hour ago. Cat said you were here and I called you but you didn’t answer.”
“I found something in her office. Come with me.” I turned around and led the way. I didn’t say anything until after we both were inside the office with the door locked behind us.
Dante turned toward me. “You got my attention,” he said. He was closer than I’d anticipated. “Though I question your choice of setting.” He looked from my face to the camera.
“I came in here to get something from Cat’s desk. The ceiling tiles were out of place. So I climbed up on the desk and pushed on them and that fell down.” I pointed to the other side of the desk at the pile of jewelry.
“‘That?’” Dante put his hands knuckle-side down on the surface of Cat’s desk and leaned across. He stayed like that for a few seconds.
“I’m no fancy former private investigator like you, but if I had to guess, I’d say ‘that’ is the jewelry somebody stole the night we found George’s body. What I don’t get is how somebody ran out of the store but then got it back into the ceiling in Cat’s office.” I picked Cat’s desk phone up from the floor and checked for a dial tone.
“Who are you calling?” he asked.
“Detective Madden. This clearly relates to the case and he needs to know.”
He put his hand on my wrist. “Does Cat know about this?”
“No, but she should. You need to get your camera out of here and find out how this happened.”
The dial tone shifted from a steady one-note to a rapid beeping. Dante let go of my wrist and leaned too close for comfort. He reached behind my head and picked up the camera, and then stood back up. “Keep me in the loop,” he said and then left.
The number to the Ribbon Police Department was almost as familiar as my own, though there were definitely times when my first instinct hadn’t been to call it. I guess that hadn’t been my first instinct this time either. So much for personal growth. When the desk sergeant answered, I asked for Detective Madden.
“He’s out interviewing a suspect. Whatcha got?”
“This is Samantha Kidd,” I said, wondering if it would ring any bells.
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “What are you calling in reference to, Ms. Kidd?” he asked.
“I need to talk to the detective about the murder at the Ribbon Designer Outlets. I found something he should see.”
“You’re calling about evidence in a murder investigation?”
“Well, sort of.”
“Is it or isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“I’ll let him know. What’s the best number for him to reach you at?”
That’s it? “Hold on,” I said. I found my handbag and fished the Nick Phone out from the depths. There was a missed call from “Hot Man.” I swiped the notification away from my screen when it occurred to me that I didn’t know my own phone number. There had to be a way to find out my own number from the phone but there was a faster way to get the information. I called Nick.
“Hey, Kidd,” he answered.
“Hi. I don’t have time to talk. What’s my phone number?”
“Shouldn’t you know?”
“I know my old number but not my new number and the police are on the other line—”
“The police? I’m coming over.”
“I’m not at home. I’m at Catnip. I’ll explain later.”
“Do you have a pen?”
“Yes, tell me when you’re ready.” He rattled off a series of numbers. “You know my number off the top of your head?”
“It seemed important.”
I smiled. The blinking light on the base of Cat’s phone reminded me I had a desk sergeant on hold. “See you tomorrow.”
“About tomorrow—” he started, but I cut him off.
“I gotta go.” I hung up and took the desk sergeant off hold. “Hello?” I asked. “Are you still there?”
“No wonder Loncar took a vacation,” he muttered. “Ready when you are.”
I repeated the number for him and he repeated it back to me. After hanging up, I left the office. I locked the door behind me and looked up just in time to see Jim turn around and leave.
It seems he’d been keeping an eye on the office the entire time I’d been inside.
22
MONDAY AFTERNOON
I went to the register where Shana was refilling the shopping bags and shoved the envelope from Jim into my handbag. Today Shana wore a black pleather vest over a turtleneck and a pair of tight black jeans. A small chain dangled from a piercing in her left nostril and connected to another piercing by her eyebrow.
“When’s Cat coming in?” she asked.
“She’s not. I told her to take the day off and I’d watch over the store.”
“Why?” she asked. “You’re not part of the staff. I’m the assistant manager. If anybody should have been asked to step up and put in more hours, it should have been me.”
“You’re right, Shana. You do bear a certain responsibility for the store.” I looked over my shoulder. “Weren’t you the one who worked the night George was murdered?”
She went even more pale than her usual shade, probably making her more attractive to other goths. The blue streak in her hair stood out in stark contrast to her extra-pale skin, and dark, purplish-blue circles under her eyes became prominent. We’d been alone in the store when I came up to her, but a woman with a basket of colorful leather gloves now approached. Retail rules dictated that we press pause on our confrontation until we could take it off the selling floor.
“Excuse me,” the woman said. “Is one of you Samantha Kidd?”
“That’s me,” I said. “Can I help you?”
“Not me, but you can help that gentleman over there.” She pointed to the front of the store where Detective Madden stood. The collar was up on his long loden-green trench coat, and his red hair curled against it in the back. He held up a hand in a mock sa
lute.
“What is he doing here?” Shana asked. If she went any more pale she’d be invisible. I was certain she was hiding something but I didn’t know what.
“The detective? How do you know him?”
“Wasn’t he on the news?”
“Probably. He’s here because I called him,” I said. “I found something that I thought he should see.” I glanced down. Her hands were shaking. She balled them up and shoved them into the pockets of her vest. I looked back at her face, making no secret of the fact that I’d observed her very suspicious body language.
I met the detective at the front of the store. “Detective Madden,” I said. “Thank you for meeting me here.”
“I got here as soon as I could. Dispatch said you found evidence that we missed?”
“I didn’t say you missed it. I found something I think is related to the case. Truthfully, I don’t know what it means so I called you. It’s in Cat’s office.”
“Lead the way.”
As we walked through the store, I wondered if Cat had told him about the present George had left behind for her. The gesture told me much about their relationship, but would the detective see it the same way?
“How are you holding up?” I asked. (Just being polite.)
“I have to tell you, I wasn’t happy about getting assigned to this case. The week before Christmas, nobody wants to have to investigate a murder. And this case—it’s a lot. Pregnant woman left by her husband days before a major holiday.” He shook his head. “It’s no Hallmark movie, I can tell you that.”
I was surprised by the detective’s apparent interest in discussing things. “You have to admit this is a tricky case,” I said.
“How so?” he asked.
“There’s the burglaries and then the murder, but aside from the fact that the victim was both the store owner’s spouse and the supplier of the merchandise he was strangled with, what’s the motive? Add in what I’m about to show you in Cat’s office and you’ll see what I mean.” I paused in front of the door and studied him. “Detective Loncar would have told me to mind my own business by now.”
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