Outside the building, the warm air added to the heat in her cheeks. She had parked in the employee and visitors lot, so that meant she had to trek past the charred, crime scene tape-festooned Dumpster. It was an ugly reminder of the ugly side of people. Amy took a deep, calming breath and forced herself to look at the object of her despair. A man was bent over next to it. When he stood back up, his limp, dark hair glinted in the sunshine. A pink teddy bear sat next to the blackened stump of a former corner post in the enclosure. Amy froze. A pebble crunched under the sole of her shoe. She seemed to have worn cursed footwear that day. The man turned and squinted at her. "Is this where Phoebe Plymouth was killed?" he asked.
Amy tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it stayed there like a lump of stale fruitcake. "It's where her body was found."
He nodded once. "Why is it burnt?"
"Good question. I wish I had an answer for that."
His eyes narrowed further until they were just lines of eyelashes. "Phoebe was the most beautiful woman in the world. I am…was her number one fan. I can't believe someone killed her. Now she truly is an angel."
Was this one of the cyber stalkers Ginny was talking about? Somehow Amy had imagined the men would look as creepy as their comments, but other than needing to wash his hair or try some new styling products, this guy looked pretty normal. Looks could be deceiving though. No reason to provoke the potentially crazy obsessed man. Benign was the name of the conversational game. "Her death was a tragedy."
"It was devastating," he said before turning back to the Dumpster and kneeling in front of the stuffed animal.
Amy willed her legs to move at a casual walking pace instead of giving in to the desire to run away as fast as she could. The ten second hike to her car felt as though it took ten minutes. Finally, she made it to the Mini. Amy locked herself inside the sun-warmed vehicle, but instead of starting the engine, she pretended to check her makeup in the visor mirror. It reflected Number One Fan Man as he pressed his fingertips to his lips then touched the teddy bear's snout. He stood and began walking diagonally across the parking lot. Just in time too. She was beginning to feel as though she was sitting in a sauna. But she hoped that by not starting the engine, he wouldn't notice that she wasn't leaving. And the locked doors with rolled up windows made her feel a bit safer while hanging out in the vicinity of the strange man. Especially when her mind was spinning out of control, turning the comment about Phoebe being an angel into a twisted psychopath's reasoning for committing murder.
The man's burnt-orange T-shirt disappeared around the corner of the building that sat at the edge of the parking lot. Amy opened the Mini's door and took a deep breath of the cool air, which had seemed warm when she walked out of Quantum. She hadn't really planned on going for a walk, but the breeze would help cool her down. And more beneficially, she might be able to figure out more about the suspicious memorial-leaving guy.
There were a few people strolling along the sidewalks but since it wasn't Main Street, not enough for Amy to easily blend in with the crowd. So…fake window shopping it was. The man was walking at a quick pace, weaving around the business people and stroller-pushing moms who were out and about on the warm, sunny day. Amy stuck close to the right edge of the sidewalk, nearest to the window displays. When the man suddenly stopped to examine something in a window, Amy stopped too. In front of a restaurant—where the only things on the other side of the glass were people eating lunch. She locked perplexed stares with a bespectacled older gentleman eating an omelet before she took a few more steps. Even though she was uncomfortably close to the suspicious man, she wasn't unnerving any innocent diners. At least she could study the sparkling necklaces and rings in a jewelry shop display from that vantage point. When Amy glanced to the side a few seconds later, Mr. Orange Shirt was nowhere in sight. How had he disappeared so quickly? While an opal pendant necklace had caught her attention, she wasn't focusing that intently on it.
She hadn't cooked herself in Mimi the Mini just to let a few seconds of panic stop her from completing her mission. Whatever the mission was. She still wasn't quite sure what she hoped to accomplish by tailing the man, but it seemed like the right thing to do. So…most likely he had continued on in the same direction, possibly ducking into a store. If he had passed behind her, the bright T-shirt should've been reflected in the jewelry store window.
Amy quickened the pace of her faux shopping expedition, glancing from side to side as she strolled along the sidewalk. Absolutely no orange garments or oily, black hair in sight for the next two blocks. She was nearing the end of the downtown shopping district, where the storefronts were predominantly for specialty services like house painters and insurance agents. Not a lot of window displays to pretend to look at, if the need to do so arose again. Where had he gone? With a quarter of a block to go before reaching the purely residential neighborhood, Amy turned around. And came face-to-face with the object of her futile search.
"Are you following me?" He squinted at her even though the sun was being shielded by a cloud at the moment. Did he need glasses, or did he just like to scowl at people?
"Following you? No. Just getting a little exercise and shopping done at the same time. I adore multitasking. This street isn't as busy as Main for walking. So that's why I'm here." Amy maintained eye contact with him, hoping the gesture would exude confidence as she mentally inventoried her outfit—khaki capri pants, a coral-colored T-shirt, and memory foam soled flats that were marketed as walking shoes. Yay! Her impromptu excuse had turned out to be plausible, if her traitorous nervous ticks didn't give the lie away. She ground the toe of her shoe into the sidewalk to stop her foot from tapping.
He exhaled. A wave of foul-smelling breath washed over Amy. Talk about a test of mettle. Her calm, unintimidated facial expression developed a nostril flare glitch. The stare down continued for a few more excruciatingly long seconds.
"I thought maybe you were following me. The government sends people to spy on me all the time, and I hate it."
Really? He was either paranoid or into doing things that had caught the government's attention. Or both. Both would be a really volatile combo, sort of like five-alarm spicy chili topped with deep fried jalapenos.
"Nope. I am definitely not from the government." She couldn't risk trying to say she wasn't following him. Some body part with an honesty complex would flinch and give the lie away. Amy pointed to a pet supply shop on the other side of the street. "I need to pick up a new chew toy for my dog. He goes through at least one a month…teeth like a saw blade. I think he takes his pent up aggression out on his toys."
Pogo was more face-licking dust bunny than guard dog, but he could bark ferociously and nip at ankles like a pro—possibly scaring off an unwanted visitor to the house. Especially if the intruder only heard him and thought the harmless mutt was a chew toy destroying machine with anger issues. Amy took a few steps backward, until she was standing on the curb next to the crosswalk. She partially turned so that she could see the signal but kept Zombie Breath in sight in her peripheral vision. He paused for a few seconds, to scowl at her some more, then turned and disappeared into a narrow alley. A sign hanging off the adjacent building pointed up the alleyway toward the Kellerton Hostel.
Amy speed-walked to the other side of the street when the crosswalk signal changed. She hadn't even realized Kellerton had a hostel. When she was lined up with the narrow passageway but safely on the other side of the street, she could see that it appeared to dead-end in a courtyard. Unless the guy could scale buildings like Spiderman, he had gone into the hostel.
She ducked into the pet store and bought a squeaky toy shaped like a squirrel for Pogo—a reward for being her scapegoat even though he was probably sound asleep at home on the corner of the couch, completely oblivious to her plight. When she left the store, she turned back toward the nearest corner and headed for the safety of the busier sidewalks on Main Street. She retrieved her phone from her purse and placed a call to the Kellerton Police Departm
ent.
Five minutes later, she was frustrated and in need of some serious self-soothing activity. Detective Foster hadn't seemed interested in Phoebe's superfan. Or at least she hadn't sounded at all appreciative about the fact that Amy had put herself in danger to follow the suspicious dude, ending the conversation by saying, "I bet all stars have creepy fans." At least she said she took down his description, even though she grumbled that a name would've been better. Like a criminal would give his real name to someone who he thinks is a government spy.
So that tidbit of paranoia tipped him toward the truly crazy side of the spectrum. Did it mean he could also rationalize that Phoebe was so angelic that he needed to turn her into a real angel by killing her? Amy had heard about people calling on angels to help them through rough times. Maybe if Phoebe was ignoring her biggest fan in real life, he thought she would have to pay attention to him through some supernatural law once she crossed over to the other side.
Amy stopped walking. Those theories were getting too outlandish, even to herself. Luckily she hadn't shared them with the stoic detective. She stuffed her phone back into her purse and looked around to get her bearings. Unique Decor was a few stores ahead. Buying the lacey, white summer blanket she had seen there on Sunday would make her rumpled ego feel a tiny bit better. Time to turn the fake shopping trip into a real one.
When she entered the home interior boutique, Charlotte was busy chatting with two other people. Since she had been squinting in the bright midday sunshine for fifteen minutes, thanks to leaving her sunglasses in the car in her haste to follow Mr. Weirdo, Amy's eyes took their sweet time to adjust to the dimmer light inside the store. When she could finally see something other than shadows, she recognized the people—Phoebe's producer and the trendily-dressed assistant. Charlotte leaned sideways around Ginny, who looked as though she had stepped out of a fashion magazine from 1967, and waved at Amy.
While she wandered around, checking out fused glass platters and fish-shaped pitchers, Amy tried to hear what the trio was talking about. But several large waterfalls scattered around the store gurgled so much she couldn't hear a word of the serious-appearing conversation. Luckily, she didn't have to pretend anymore that she was interested in shopping. Charlotte's store was stocked with so many things that Amy wanted that it felt as though she was walking through a treasure trove. The blanket she came in for, along with a blown glass bottle stopper and a woven aluminum trivet, were in her basket when the couple left. As soon as they were out the door, Amy headed to the checkout counter before anything else caught her eye. It was retail therapy, not maxing out her credit card therapy.
Charlotte did a little shimmy shake. Her necklace, which looked as though it was made of big gold fish scales, clanked like a handful of coins. "I'm so excited! Those people were with Phoebe Plymouth's show. They're thinking about keeping the show going and would like me to try out as the new host."
"Oh, wow! That's wonderful. I bet they thought of you because of the way you handled yourself at the Cabin Fever Cure demonstration." Much more graciously than Phoebe.
She nodded. "That's what they said." Charlotte exhaled. "Finally, there's a silver lining to the dark cloud Phoebe brought to Kellerton by dying here."
When Amy walked out the door of the home decorating shop, she paused for a few seconds. While she was pretending to check her phone, she was really looking around for scary superfan. He didn't seem to be lurking nearby, unless he was a master of disguise and had turned himself into the elderly woman waiting for the stoplight to change at the nearby crosswalk. Since that was highly unlikely because he wouldn't have had time to pull off that detailed of a transformation since she last saw him, Amy decided to head back to her car. Then again, if he was paranoid about being followed by government operatives, maybe he could pull off a gender-bending, age-multiplying disguise in a short time. Before she could contemplate that disturbing thought further, a movement to her left startled her so much that she performed a perfect imitation of a squawking seagull—which drew the attention of several women walking past carrying takeout containers. And the awkward day had become more embarrassing.
Geri was sitting at the pottery wheel in the front window of Make It Unique. She waved again, signaling for Amy to come into the shop. She had planned on heading home to experiment with savory quick breads for a magazine's recipe contest, but the afternoon had gone so far off track, what difference would one more stop make? Amy pushed open the studio's door. "Good afternoon," she called as she moved closer to the mesmerizing pottery wheel where Geri was making magic. The sides of what she had thought would be a small bowl began to rise, guided by the expert potter's hands. "What are you making?"
"A drinking glass," Geri answered as she used a chopstick to add grooves to the shapely cylinder which had more curves than Marilyn Monroe. Who knew a water glass could be so sexy?
"It's gorgeous."
"I'll put your name on it, if you would like to paint it later this week," Tommy said as she walked into the production area of the studio. The business owner was dressed in her standard outfit—paint-splattered blue jean overalls and a spiral tie-dyed T-shirt. She had added even more color to her wardrobe by using neon-pink gel to spike her super-short hair.
"That would be great. I love the shape of it." Amy slid her hand from her waist down the side of her hip. "It reminds me of my own curves."
"Then it is destined to be yours." Geri smiled. She looked at Tommy. "Do you think I could take a break after I finish this? I need to speak with Amy about something. That is, if she has a few minutes to spare."
Amy nodded as Tommy responded. "No problem. Take as long as you need."
"Give me a minute to finish this up. We can run up to my apartment for a bit of privacy."
Amy set the shopping bag containing the new white blanket on the floor at her feet, after making sure it was safely out of the halo of clay splatters on the linoleum flooring around the wheel. She watched as Geri smoothed the top lip of the glass then slid a wire under the newly formed piece of functional art to release it from the platform. Had something bad happened on the date? Geri was pretty open and routinely stated that she didn't care what other people thought of her or her life. So the request for a private chat put Amy on edge.
They had barely made it into the apartment a few minutes later when Geri blurted, "I think my date may have murdered Phoebe Plymouth."
Definitely a good reason to have a private conversation. "Really? What happened to make you think that?"
Geri sprawled on the blanket-covered couch. She indicated for Amy to sit in one of the nearby chairs. "Some of his friends were at the bar when we went there yesterday. Our lunch date extended to happy hour, so we decided to have a cocktail together. His buddies were picking on him about getting back on the dating horse after being shot down in flames by the TV star." She tugged on one of the tiny braids that had reappeared in her hair. "After we left, he explained that he had approached Phoebe to see if she wanted to feature one of his vardos on her show. He wasn't really trying to get a date with her like his friends thought—or so he said. Whatever happened, he obviously wasn't impressed with how she handled the interaction, but he didn't go into any details…just grumbled about how rude younger people are now."
How had she jumped from describing a failed business deal to suspecting the guy was a murderer? Plus, what the heck was a vardo? She'd start with that and then ease into poking around the reasons behind Geri's suspicion. Amy fiddled with a silk cord tassel on the edge of a blanket covering the easy chair she was sitting on. "First off, before we get to the more serious stuff, what is a vardo?"
Geri tucked her feet under herself. She nodded. "Sorry. I should've explained that. Vardos are traditional gypsy wagons with curved roofs. According to Mick, people are using them for tiny houses to live in full-time, as campers and even guest houses or extra office space. It would've been a marketing coupe if he could've gotten Phoebe to use one of his vardos on her show. He pitched it to her a
s a mobile office or meditation space that could be moved around the property."
"That would've been a great way for him to get publicity for his company. But I take it Phoebe was less than agreeable with the suggestion?"
"Yes. And instead of just politely declining his offer, she picked apart how ugly she thought the wagons were—in front of his friends." Geri sighed. "He used to be a construction foreman, so you can imagine how crude his buddies have been after watching him getting berated by a pretty, young woman over something he constructed."
"So he didn't take the joking around on Monday well?"
Geri's nose wrinkled. "He seemed to—laughing it off and pointing out that the other men would've ended up in the same boat."
If he wasn't upset by the put down, then how was Geri getting around to suspecting he murdered Phoebe? Her ideas apparently took one bounce then rocketed off into the atmosphere. Amy could relate to that. "If he wasn't angry about being snubbed, why do you think he could've killed her? Did he say something away from his friends that is making you suspicious?"
She shook her head. "He was the perfect gentleman. Perfect." Geri paused to pick at the clay stuck under her short fingernails. "There was nothing about his behavior that made me suspicious. I really liked him. But…when he was showing me around his workshop, I caught my toe on the edge of a rubber floor mat. The corner of it flipped up. It had been covering up a dark stain on the cement which looked a lot like blood to me."
What an unpleasant discovery to make on a first date. Talk about dates from hell. Finding a big old bloodstain was far worse than dealing with spinach stuck in the other person's teeth. "So what did you do?"
Banana Muffins & Mayhem Page 9