by Rose Pressey
“Maybe he was having an affair and his girlfriend was cheating on him,” Peggy said.
“It would serve him right.” Charlotte narrowed her eyes.
Charlotte had been cheated on, and she got angry when she knew someone was doing that.
I moved across the room toward the exit. “Either way, I have to look into this. Someone around here has to know, right? They’ve probably overheard something.”
“You know how they gossip in this town. Most of the time gossip is rooted in the truth,” Charlotte said, crossing her arms in front of her.
I wasn’t sure about that, but nevertheless, I had questions and needed answers.
“What do we do next?” Peggy asked.
“There should be no shortage of people willing to flap their tongues about what was going on in the Chrisman household,” Charlotte said.
She was right about that.
“I think it’s time we got out of here,” I said.
“Thank goodness. I don’t want to spend another minute here.” Peggy rubbed her arms as if warding off a chill.
As we headed toward the door, I spotted someone watching me. When the woman noticed we’d made eye contact she quickly looked away. She was standing by the stage working on a prop.
“Where are you going, Cookie? I thought we were leaving.” Peggy motioned toward the door.
“Not so fast,” I said.
The woman busied herself with painting one of the props. She’d probably seen my confrontation with James. I knew she recognized me. She couldn’t ignore me forever.
“Hello,” I said as I approached.
She reluctantly looked over at me. “Hi.”
“Well, this conversation is moving along nicely.” Charlotte’s words dripped with sarcasm.
I couldn’t just launch right into my interrogation. I had to approach with caution. More flies with honey or something like that. I didn’t want to scare her away from talking to me.
“I’m Cookie Chanel. I’ve been working on the costumes.”
“Oh yes, how are you?” Stacy Roebuck attempted a smile.
“She doesn’t sound genuine when she asked. I think she wants you to leave her alone,” Charlotte said.
Maybe so, but I wasn’t going to leave until I asked questions. With her behavior I suspected she knew something that she didn’t want to share.
“I guess you saw what happened over there.” I motioned over my shoulder.
She went back to swiping the paintbrush across the background. “It’s none of my business.”
I exchanged a look with Charlotte.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Peggy asked.
Since she didn’t want to discuss the scene with James, I would get right into the questions about Morris. Maybe we could go back to the topic of James.
“Were you here the day they found Morris?” I asked.
“That’s right,” she said without looking at me.
“Seems like she is hiding something,” Charlotte said. “Get it out of her, Cookie.”
I moved a bit closer. “What do you think happened?”
She checked over her shoulder. “Well, we’ve all heard about your friend.”
“She didn’t do it,” I said defensively.
“Get back to the conversation about James,” Charlotte said. “Remember more flies with honey.”
“What was the relationship like between James and Morris? Did you know either of them well?” I pressed.
She placed the paintbrush down. “I’m not friends with either of them, but I do know James’s wife.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Ask about the affair,” Charlotte said.
“Was there some kind of tension between James and his wife?” I tried to keep my tone casual so she’d think I was being friendly and keep talking.
“You could say that,” Stacy said with a hint of laughter in her voice.
“What does that mean?” I studied her face.
She looked around to see if anyone had entered, and said, “She’s been having an affair.”
“Aha. Just as we suspected,” Charlotte said.
“This is like a soap opera. Do they still have those?” Peggy asked.
“There are a few left. I used to watch Guiding Light, but they stopped that a number of years ago,” Charlotte said.
“My favorite was Our Gal Sunday,” Peggy said.
This was no time to discuss old radio or television soap operas.
“Who was she having an affair with?” I asked.
Stacy looked around again to see who was listening. “Morris.”
“Uh-oh,” Charlotte said.
“This is a strange turn of events,” Peggy said.
“I like Patricia, but she is extremely jealous.” She took another swipe at the prop with the brush.
I frowned. “She was jealous of her husband?”
“Maybe, but I mean she was jealous of Morris. Apparently he was a busy man, and I don’t just mean at work and here at the theater.” She raised an eyebrow.
“She means he was seeing more than one woman,” Charlotte said.
“He was a tomcat,” Peggy added.
“That dirty dog,” Charlotte added.
“The low-down rotten snake.” Peggy narrowed her eyes as if Morris were right there with us.
I peeked around. Whew. No ghost of Morris appeared. I never knew when one might pop up, so I was always on guard. Charlotte and Peggy could probably go on for quite a while with alternative names for Morris.
“He was seeing other women?” I asked.
Stacy added another touch of white paint to the canvas with a swift stoke of the brush. “He was also having an affair with Marie Damon. Oh boy, if you think Patricia was jealous. Marie was even worse.”
“Now I want to know more,” Charlotte said.
“Me too.” Peggy moved closer to the stage.
“Did Patricia and Marie know about each other?” I asked.
“I’m not sure, but if they did it would probably turn violent,” Stacy said.
“Turn violent? So that means one of them killed Morris?” Charlotte asked.
Stacy gestured with the brush in her hand. “Listen, I need to clean these brushes. It was nice chatting with you. Oh, and don’t tell anyone what I told you, okay?”
I held my hand up as a promise. “I won’t.”
Stacy collected her brushes and disappeared backstage.
“I guess this means you have to talk with Patricia and Marie,” Charlotte said.
“Yes, I think a conversation with the women is in order,” I said as I headed for the exit door. “Of course, I have to find them first.”
Stepping out into the sunshine, I had to shield my eyes until they adjusted to the light. The place was surrounded by trees, but compared to the dark inside this was amazingly bright. I wished I hadn’t left my cat’s-eye sunglasses in the car. As I walked toward my car it felt as if someone was watching me. Someone could be watching me and I wouldn’t even know it. My eyes finally got used to the light. I peered back at the old building. On the second floor was a balcony that overlooked the parking lot. James was standing up there glaring down at me. A cold chill ran down my spine in spite of the warm temperature outside.
“If looks could kill,” Charlotte said.
“That means Cookie would be a ghost too,” Peggy added.
I didn’t even want to think about that. I wondered if James had overheard my conversation with Stacy. Now I was worried for her safety. If he was the killer, then maybe he would hurt her. I climbed in the car and sat behind the wheel, contemplating my next move. James was still on the balcony.
“Do you think he’ll hurt Stacy?” I asked.
“Not right now,” Charlotte said. “Here she comes. She’s safe for now.”
Chapter 7
Charlotte’s Tips for a Fabulous Afterlife
Don’t consider haunting your enemies.
I mean, you didn’t like them while living, so why
do you want to be around them for all eternity?
Each time I spotted a yard sale, if at all possible, I had to stop. I’d found some of my best vintage pieces at yard sales. I pulled the Buick along the curb in front of the brick two-story house. Items were spread across the yard, but I’d hooked my gaze on a rack of clothing like a laser.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Charlotte asked. “You can’t shop; you have a case to solve.”
I cut the engine. “Come on, Charlotte, you know I have to work. No work means no money. No money means I don’t eat. If I don’t eat I will starve and die. If that happens I definitely can’t solve the case. See how that works?”
“She’s so sassy,” Charlotte said to Peggy.
“She does have a point though,” Peggy said, leaning forward from the backseat.
The ghosts followed me across the driveway to the side of the house where I’d spotted the rack of clothing. Right away I noticed a few dresses and blouses, so I headed in that direction.
“She sniffs out clothing like a dog sniffs out a bone,” Charlotte said.
Not every trip yielded a vintage find, but I was lucky enough to score one today. In the midst of modern-day frocks, I spotted a dress from the eighties. My hand wrapped around the item so tightly that no one would get it from me.
“I believe I had a dress just like that,” Charlotte said.
The gorgeous blue fabric had a deep V-neck and structured shoulder pads.
“It’s Diane Von Furstenberg,” I whispered.
The only time I’d think about buying anything with polyester. As I sorted through a box of handkerchiefs I overheard Heather’s name. Two women standing by the side door of the house were talking. I moved closer to hear the conversation, trying to act as if I was checking out the knickknacks.
“I heard they let Heather go,” the blond woman said. “Morris was fond of the ladies. Perhaps he was dating her too.”
Heather would not be happy to hear this. It was probably best if I didn’t tell her.
“I told you people gossip,” Charlotte said, shaking her head. “They look like they do their fair share of it on a regular basis.”
“They should mind their own business,” Peggy said.
I agreed, but that was unlikely to happen. The women seemed happy to talk about Heather. Of course it made my blood boil.
“I just don’t like the thought of a murderer walking free around Sugar Creek,” the brunette said.
I didn’t want a murderer free, either, but they shouldn’t look at Heather, because she was innocent.
“I heard Patricia is working at the diner now,” the blonde added.
“Really?” the brunette said. “I suppose she’s divorcing James.”
“More like he’s divorcing her,” the woman replied.
They looked over at the same time.
“Way to go, Cookie, your staring caught their attention.” Charlotte tossed her hands up.
The women frowned when they caught me watching. I offered a smile, but they didn’t return the sentiment.
“I bet they know you’re friends with Heather,” Peggy added.
I paid the woman for my dress and hurried away from the house.
“See, it was totally worth it to stop there,” I said as I got into the car.
“Because of the dress or finding out that Patricia works at the diner?” Peggy asked.
“Both,” I said, cranking the ignition.
“Now we need to go to the diner,” Charlotte said.
“I am a little hungry.” I pulled away from the curb and headed to the diner.
Glorious Grits was close to my shop downtown, so I dropped Wind Song at my place and proceeded to the diner. The owner, Dixie Bryant, was one of my close friends. She had been like a mother to me when my parents moved away. When I stepped inside, the smell of burgers and fries hit me like a delightful calorie-laden cloud. The place was packed with the late lunch crowd. I’d be lucky if I even found a seat. Red-and-white-checkered fabric covered the tables. Red leather booths lined the walls with tables and chairs in the middle of the room.
“Do you see Patricia?” Charlotte scanned the room.
Dixie was behind the counter and waved when she spotted me. Sure, I should eat kale, but I needed comfort food. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. A waitress was standing next to a table taking a man’s order. Since I didn’t recognize her I assumed she had to be Patricia.
“That must be her,” I whispered.
“Sit in her section,” Charlotte said.
“I’m not sure if there are sections.”
I spotted an available booth behind the man and rushed over before someone else could get the table. Charlotte and Peggy beat me to it. They were already sitting at the table. I slid in beside Charlotte. Of course to everyone else it looked as if I was eating alone. Dixie came over with a glass of water.
“Good afternoon, Cookie. This is a pleasant surprise.” She looked at the empty space beside and across from me. “Any ghosts with you today?”
She knew about my recent run-ins with the spirit world.
“Actually, yes, Charlotte is here.” I motioned to my right.
Peggy scooted to the edge of the seat. “Tell her I’m here too.”
Dixie noticed me staring across the table.
“Um, and I picked up another ghost at the theater.”
“Morris?” Dixie whispered.
“Surprisingly, no. Her name is Peggy. I think she died in the fifties.”
Peggy nodded at Dixie, as if Dixie could see her.
Dixie’s gaze fell on that side of the booth. “Really? That’s interesting. Why is she at the theater?”
“She doesn’t know,” I said.
“I wish I did.” Peggy sighed.
“Well, nice to meet you.” Dixie offered an awkward smile.
“Likewise,” Peggy said.
Patricia walked by the table with plates in her hands as she headed toward another table. Her ash-blond hair reached to her shoulders in bouncy waves. Multiple bangle bracelets covered her wrists, long silver beaded earrings dangled from her earlobes, and silver rings were on almost every finger. I guessed her height around five foot seven.
“When did Patricia Chrisman start working here?” I asked.
“A couple days ago,” Dixie whispered. “I was shocked she wanted to work here. I needed help, though, so I’m not complaining.”
A crash rang out. Patricia had lost a plate. The cheeseburger and fries were scattered across the floor.
“Looks like customers might soon be complaining though,” Charlotte said in her usual snarky tone.
Peggy laughed. “Yeah, Patricia has butter fingers while holding plates.”
Charlotte lifted an eyebrow. “But not while holding a knife? She seems a bit nervous if you ask me.”
“I’d better help her. Talk to you later.” Dixie rushed off.
“She’s not a good waitress,” Charlotte said. “Why would she want to work here?”
“Maybe she’s just learning the ropes.” I held the water glass up to my lips so people wouldn’t think I was talking to myself. “I need a chance to talk to Patricia.”
“If she ever comes to take your order maybe you can,” Peggy said.
Five minutes later, Patricia came over to the table. The ghosts were getting restless.
“Well, it’s about time.” Charlotte tapped her fingers against the table as she glowered at Patricia.
“Can I take your order?” Patricia’s focus remained on the pad of paper she held in her hand.
“I’d like a cheeseburger and fries,” I said, handing her the menu.
“Anything to drink?” she mumbled as she scribbled on the pad.
“Diet Coke,” I said.
“Oh, that will help.” Charlotte scoffed.
Peggy giggled again. “Diet Coke can’t possibly taste as good as regular. How do they take out all the calories?”
Patricia walked a
way before I had a chance to say a word.
“What are you doing?” Charlotte asked.
“What do you mean ‘what am I doing’? She took off before I could say anything.”
Charlotte tapped her fingers against the table again. “Well, you’d better think of a plan for when she returns. Don’t let her get away.”
Charlotte was never shy about offering advice. This was one time I would follow her recommendation. Luckily, Patricia soon brought over my food. An added bonus that she didn’t drop the plate.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked in a hurry.
“There was one thing . . .”
“Ketchup?” Patricia asked. “It’s right there on the table.”
She’d acted as if she was ready to walk away. Now she’d had to pause, which obviously didn’t make her happy.
“Be gentle, Cookie. You have to tread lightly in asking the questions. You don’t want to scare her away,” Charlotte said.
“Yes, easy does it,” Peggy said.
“I haven’t seen you around here before. When did you start working for Dixie?” I asked.
“Terrible question!” Charlotte’s voice almost pierced my ears.
Patricia frowned. “Just a couple days now.”
She sounded more than a little irritated. Not to mention I knew Charlotte was annoyed with me. It had seemed like a good question at the time. Now I was rethinking that decision. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t come out and ask if her husband had murdered Morris. Charlotte was making me nervous. If I didn’t ask the right questions she would yell at me again. Her tension oozed across the seat.
“I’ve seen you somewhere before,” I said. “Oh, that’s right, your husband is acting in the play at Sugar Creek Theater. I’ve been doing the costumes for the production.”
“Much better.” Charlotte’s voice returned to a normal level.
Patricia’s eyebrow shot up.
“Oh, you have her interest now,” Peggy said.
“Yes, he is. Sorry, I don’t remember you,” Patricia said.
“I’m Cookie Chanel. I own It’s Vintage Y’all.” I motioned toward the street.
Her scowl deepened. “Oh yes, the used clothing.”
“Uh-oh, looks as if she’s not a fan of your shop,” Charlotte said.