by Meg Macy
I held up a hand when she rose from her chair. “Wait, wait. So if Jay drove you home, did you happen to see anyone in the parking lot behind Fresh Grounds? Like Gina, wearing Holly Parker’s pink jacket. Remember it has ‘Think Pink’ spelled out on the back.”
“So that’s why you thought she was Holly?”
“Yeah. She’d been stabbed in the back.”
“Stabbed? Whoa.” Maddie gulped coffee. “Must have been terrible finding her.”
“You got that right. I know Holly always loved the Pink Panther, but does she sell them in her store? I’m curious to check out what she does carry, given the name she chose.”
“I’m sure it’s chock-full of Alice in Wonderland stuff.”
“I suppose. So did you see anything in that parking lot or not?”
Maddie sighed. “I was tipsy after all that champagne. Unless someone crashed into Jay’s truck, I wouldn’t have noticed anything. And I was so worried about you.”
“I felt great this morning until I found Gina. Even Digger thought she was Holly at first, and then he started in with the ‘dead body magnet’ again.”
“Sometimes he can be a real pain.”
“He threw you under the bus.” I explained how Digger had reported our encounter with Holly to Detective Mason. “Took everything way out of context, too. Figures. So what are we going to do about Mom and Dad?”
“What do you mean?” Maddie asked. “They didn’t know Holly or Gina.”
“I meant about them moving back here. If that’s true, I’ll find an apartment or a house to rent. I’m thirty-one. I love working here, but I need my own space.”
“Yeah, but I bet Mom will get Dad to buy a house or a condo. Close enough so he can meet the guys for breakfast or lunch. Mom does not want to live above this shop. She’d rather sell it. Barbara Davison probably put that idea in her head.”
“Maybe I ought to buy them out. And your portion of the inheritance,” I added.
Maddie laughed. “No way could you afford it. But once things settle down after the Oktobear Fest, I’ll set a goal and business plan for my boutique. You know I’ve got your back, Sash. Even if I don’t work here.”
I squeezed her hand. “Yeah. And thanks.”
“I’m glad Holly rented the former Christmas shop, if you want the truth. It’s too close. I’d rather be next to Abby’s antique store on Church Street.”
“What about the Time Turner? Now that Cissy Davison is officially engaged, I’m betting she’ll close her business.”
“Maybe,” Maddie said, her eyes bright. “That would be a great spot. Hey, did you know Gina worked for Cissy before she started working for Holly?”
“No. Maybe we should ask her why Gina quit.”
“Abby told me Cissy fired her, but don’t quote me on that.” My sister scratched her nose, thinking. “You know, the Time Turner would be perfect with that nice little flat above the shop. But Barbara Davison charges a lot for rent, from what I’ve heard.”
“Maybe Mom can finagle a better deal for you,” I said. “We’d better get to work with her and Aunt Eve, or we’ll never hear the end of it. Oh, good, the moving crew’s here. No way could I haul furniture back and forth until Mom’s satisfied.”
Once I coaxed Rosie into her crate, Maddie let the trio of workers inside and herded them into the hallway. My sweet dog growled and barked while the young men unwrapped each piece of furniture and muscled them around. Mom and Aunt Eve changed their minds several times, as I’d expected, but the guys took it in stride without complaint. Maddie ended up outside, chatting on the phone with Kip, for the most part. After the crew left, we started unpacking.
For the rest of the afternoon we filled the shelves and file cabinets with paperwork and books. My back and shoulders screamed for mercy. And when I jammed my index finger on a crate, sharp pains shot through my hand, wrist, and up to my elbow.
I danced around, cursing in my head, while Aunt Eve rushed to get ice. “Ow, ow, ow. Oh, man. Can’t we finish the rest tomorrow?”
“Stop whining, Sasha, you’re not five years old.” Mom wiggled my fingers and thumb. “Doesn’t seem to be anything broken.”
“Hurts like the devil,” I said. “I hope we’re not out of ice.”
Aunt Eve hurried in with a cold plastic bag, twisting around every so often to argue with my uncle, who followed her. “I can’t believe you didn’t confirm that order, Ross.”
“I’m pretty sure we did,” he grumbled.
“‘Pretty sure’ isn’t good enough, especially when they’re one of our best customers. It doesn’t make sense that different items on the bears were missing. One didn’t have spectacles, another didn’t have the hat. And one uniform was missing the belt.”
“For our Teddy Roosevelt bears?” I asked, and pressed the ice bag on my thumb. “Whoa. That sounds like an error with the sewing staff.”
“Well, shipping should have caught all that. But I was busy training Tim Richardson,” Uncle Ross said, “so maybe we didn’t check all five hundred bears going to South Dakota. We’ll ship the missing items tomorrow, first thing in the morning.”
“You do that,” Aunt Eve said. “We ought to photograph every single specialty bear we make. Then laminate the photos and post them above the crates, so whoever fills orders can see what each bear should have. Or put the photos in a three-ring reference binder.”
“Oh, brother. Overkill,” he grumbled.
“Great idea, Aunt Eve. I prefer posting them above the crates, and I’ll take the photos.” Ignoring my uncle’s dramatic sigh, I checked my thumb. Only a slight bruise. “Make sure those items are shipped off, and add extra bears to make up for the mistake.”
“What?” Uncle Ross slapped his cap against his knee. “No way.”
“Yes, Ross,” Aunt Eve said sternly. She grabbed my bag of ice and pressed it against her face. “Oh, these hot flashes! In fact, make it half a dozen bears. We have to keep our customers happy, or they’ll stop ordering specialty bears.”
“I’ve got a tour tomorrow at one,” I said. “I’ll take the photos after I’m finished with the church group. They’re seniors, so it might take me a while.”
“I promised Kip I’d help him finish painting his bear, so I can’t cover for you behind the sales register.” Maddie looked guilty. “Sorry.”
“I can do it,” Aunt Eve said. “Just give me a quick lesson on working the register. All these fancy tech gadgets, I tell you. I feel so old.”
“Have to admit the office looks good,” Uncle Ross said. “Need any help?”
“Ha. Where were you three hours ago when we needed a hand moving furniture?” Her tone dripped with sarcasm. “Such great timing, like during our marriage. But you’re right. It does look nice. With a few more touches, we’ll be done.”
“Hmph. I’m catching a burger at the pub.”
“You ought to order a salad.”
“Rabbit food. I starved whenever you cooked,” he said, and stalked out the door.
Maddie chuckled. “For eating so many greasy burgers, fries, and donuts, how can he be so skinny? I bet you didn’t really starve him.”
“Meat and potatoes, every night,” Aunt Eve said. “Beef or chicken, fried fish. Wouldn’t touch anything green. But listen, I made a tuna macaroni salad this morning for us. I figured we’d be too tired to cook after doing all this work.”
“Oh, yum. I love your tuna and mac salad.” Maddie grabbed my arm. “Come on, let’s finish everything so we can eat and relax.”
I loved the drastic improvements. Will Taylor’s masculine office, with its sleek metal and wood furniture, was gone; the large room now had a door leading to the parking lot, and looked far cozier with the white-painted brick wall and comfortable chairs in a sunny yellow fabric grouped around a rustic, round wooden table. Teddy bear magazines and a basket holding Silver Bear Shop & Factory flyers filled a shelf nearby, along with several custom-order bears.
Facing that “consultation” area, a
long counter served as Aunt Eve’s desk that attached to the floor-to-ceiling hutch. Cubbies were filled with a printer and other supplies. That also gave her a measure of privacy from the rest of the office. A pale robin-egg blue lampshade and an orange chair added a fifties touch. So did the muted graphic bird-themed wallpaper surrounding the windows. Oddly enough, I noted her wedding portrait on the desk. In it, Uncle Ross looked so funny with long dark hair, a beard, and his mustache.
Maddie had hung a row of her annual teddy bear cartoons, framed in white, in the long hallway leading to the shop. I’d staked a claim to one corner of the office, using my weathered table as a desk. Not that I’d have time to sit here, but I did have a window view now. And my hanging spider plant loved sunshine. Dusty olive green shutters folded against the beadboard wall. The aged teddy bear on my floral-patterned chair looked familiar.
I walked over and picked it up. My hands ran over the corduroy arms and legs, the faded and worn nose and dull eyes. “This was one of Grandpa T. R.’s bears.”
Mom smiled. “Dad found it packed in a box down in Florida. Ross played with it first, and then gave it to him. We figured you might appreciate it. So you like the changes?”
“Absolutely, and thanks. But what’s in this?” I waved to the huge armoire, also painted the same green as the shutters, that stood against the opposite wall.
“Open it!” Maddie shooed me over to it.
Inside the double doors, I found rolls and pads of paper, jars of paintbrushes, cases of ink pens and pencils, all stored in wicker baskets. Bottles, tubes, and jars of paint filled one cubicle. Several drawers held reams of printer paper and forms.
“Wow. This is really cool,” I said. “So you’re still working in the shop.”
Mom stepped forward. “We figured she could use your table whenever we need a design for the shop. I’m so glad you like this storage cabinet, Maddie. Your father thought it was too expensive, but I insisted. It’ll serve for now until you open your own business.”
“Like I said, a million times, I’m not ready to decide on anything,” my sister said.
“We understand. Dad and I are fully behind whatever you want, whether it’s a boutique or a graphic design company. No pressure.”
Maddie met my gaze with pursed lips. I had a hard time keeping a straight face, too. We knew the real story on that score. No pressure from Mom?
Yeah, right.
Chapter 9
My curiosity got the better of me within the hour. I fetched my bicycle and pedaled down the lane, thinking up an excuse to stop in at Holly’s shop. Did she have an Alice in Wonderland theme going on in her décor? And if so, what did it look like? Given all the work we’d done in our office and for the Cran-beary Tea, I never had a chance to check it out. I leaned my bike against the former Holly Jolly’s picket fence. I heard voices beyond the screen door, although the porch supports prevented me from seeing who was visiting Holly.
Until I recognized Detective Mason’s gruff tone. Oh boy. Where was his SUV? Maybe he’d parked it around the corner. I climbed the steps and then hesitated. He wouldn’t appreciate me showing up during an interrogation.
“So Ms. Lawson borrowed your jacket without permission.”
“She often did, yes.” Holly sounded perturbed. “Bad habit—although we had discussed it and Gina apologized. Really, we were more like sisters. Not just employee and boss.”
Ha. The insincerity in her voice didn’t surprise me in the least.
“So Ms. Lawson was not your business partner.”
“More of a personal assistant. She took care of things I didn’t have time for. Errands, checking inventory, handling online inquiries. That kind of thing.”
Arms folded, I surveyed the window display of stuffed bunnies, cats, teddy bears, and a variety of zoo animals in wicker baskets. A fanned-out display of books took up one corner, mostly Disney princess titles, but here and there Holly had tucked in other small items—a White Rabbit clock, a Mad Hatter top hat, and an Alice in Wonderland Barbie doll in the original box. Must be why her online sales exceeded any shop purchases. I had to wonder, though, why Holly hadn’t kept her shop specialized to the theme. Why throw in teddy bears and unrelated books into the mix? Unless that was a deliberate dig at us and at The Cat’s Cradle.
Then again, she had to have a few Pink Panther items. The shop bell jangled when I walked inside. I stared at the huge antique gold-framed mirror on carved legs that blocked the passage into the shop; its wavy glass distorted my image, stretching me long and thin in an unnatural way. I’d always wondered what I’d look like being so skinny, but this didn’t look right at all. My fat head didn’t jive, and my legs looked like sticks. Until I shifted and the image reversed. Now I had a pinhead on top of a huge body. Ugh.
It seemed to fit with my memories of Holly’s personality. Sweet to your face, but ready to change in an instant or stab you in the back. I shivered when I recalled Gina facedown on the graveled parking lot in that bloodstained hoodie.
“Since you have a customer, I’d like to check for anything Gina may have left here,” Mason said. “I’ll start in the back.”
“Thank you, Detective.” Holly used her “people voice” with him all right, her words dripping honey. “Anything to help you resolve who killed my assistant.”
I couldn’t see her or Mason, since a large bookshelf stood beyond the mirror and blocked any view of the counter. A row of pink striped Cheshire Cats, the Disney tags showing, lined the top; vinyl Queen of Hearts figurines, with huge heads on tiny bodies, filled another shelf. Other movie tie-in merchandise was displayed as well. A huge cardboard cutout of the twins, Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee, loomed near the bookshelf. Beyond that stood two racks of blue dresses with white aprons, costumes I assumed, in both children’s and adult sizes, plus a third rack with a variety of other costumes.
The shop looked so different from the Holly Jolly Christmas shop’s arrangement. I hadn’t known what to expect. Especially not the six-tier rack of teddy bears, all in costumes, with Bears of the Heart tags. Plus a huge variety of children’s picture books arrayed on a bookshelf.
I met Holly’s surprised gaze. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I wanted to extend my condolences about Gina.”
“It’s not like she was family,” Holly said with a dismissive wave. “I’m sorry she’s gone, of course, but I’ll manage. Digger said you replaced some staff after they quit.”
“Retired, actually,” I said, wishing Maddie’s friend would find something better to do than gossip. Like doing his job. “So you do have a Lewis Carroll theme going on here. People love shopping for collectibles.”
That seemed to erase the suspicion in Holly’s dark eyes. “Yeah, they do. It’s my favorite Disney cartoon, and the movie was fabulous. Did you see it?”
“With Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter? Yeah.” I thought the actor’s character portrayal was pretty wild, but it hadn’t surprised me given his weird version of Willy Wonka. I preferred Gene Wilder, hands down. “I loved the actress who played Alice.”
“Mia Wasikowska. Oh, I forgot to put on the music.”
Holly turned to push a button on her open laptop. Strains of the Danny Elfman and Tim Burton movie soundtrack began, with its building crescendos and subtle undertones of racing to adventure. While I’d enjoyed the movie, hearing the score in this shop unsettled me.
“I have a White Queen costume and makeup,” Holly said, and waved to a photo on the wall. “People say I look as good as Anne Hathaway.”
“Cool.” In my opinion, her image looked ghostly in that white wig and pale skin, with dark brows and dark red lips, plus dark nail polish. Not that I would ever admit that. More power to her if she enjoyed a little cosplay. “What unusual teapots.”
They sat inside a locked glass cabinet to the left of the counter. One was squat and four-sided, topped with the Mad Hatter holding a teacup; another teapot had a White Rabbit shape, with his pocket watch dangling from the
spout. A snow globe caught my eye, encasing the Mad Hatter’s tea party with all the participants. Next to it, a second glass ball showed Alice holding her flamingo golf club. I walked over to view several framed posters on the far wall. One was a classic illustration I recognized from the book my Aunt Marie had given me.
“I always wondered who did those illustrations,” I said.
“Sir John Tenniel,” Holly said promptly. “He did satirical cartoons for Punch magazine for over fifty years, too, but he’s best known for his artwork in Lewis Carroll’s books. I have a rare edition, but not one of the original two thousand printed by the publisher. Tenniel demanded the book be reprinted and those first copies trashed. They’re worth millions now.”
“You really know your stuff—”
“Ms. Parker? I’d like to show you something.” Holding a cardboard box, Detective Mason walked from the back room but stopped when he caught sight of me. “Ms. Silverman.”
“I came to offer my family’s sympathy,” I said. “For Gina’s death.”
“Perhaps you could help identify an item or two in this box.”
“Where did you find that?” Holly sounded panicked and pushed me toward the door. “Sasha’s not a customer, so she’d better go.”
“Wait, hold on. I think she could help.”
That puzzled me. I watched Mason set the box on the counter. Still in his limp shirt and tie, he looked weary as if he’d battled a heavy storm. A cobweb glistened in his mop of sandy hair, and he pushed his glasses farther onto the bridge of his nose. I glanced at Holly, who bit her lip. The detective pulled on latex gloves, lifted an object from the box, and uncoiled the loosened bubble wrap. I gasped in shock at the furry teddy bear he’d uncovered.
“Minky Bear,” I said. “Someone stole it from our house in Ann Arbor. That had to be at least fifteen years ago, though.”
“Why would it be in a box in my shop?” Holly asked. “Unless the former owners left it here. We tossed out a bunch of junk, but never finished clearing all the boxes out. But maybe it’s not the same bear that you owned.”