Decorating Schemes

by Ginny Aiken

  We snaked in and out between ceiling-high stacks of bolts. Adrienne knew what was where and its origin too. Impressive.

  “You know, we got a new shipment from India two days ago,” she said as we turned yet another corner. “The brocades are wonderful, but most are multicolor, so I’m not sure we could stay in your pink-is-in palette with them. And although I love the cottons myself, I doubt the Marshall house is ready for them. But the sari silk is a wonderful way to go for curtains, and I remember one particularly yummy shade of cerise.”

  “Sounds like Deedee Marshall, all right.”

  We took note of a dozen or so different types of goods, some lightweight wool gabardines for upholstery, some black chenille for the ottoman I wanted to use instead of a coffee table—I hate the things; their mission in life is to jump out and bruise legs. Adrienne even found a retro tableclothlike floral in fuchsia, emerald, and white that would be perfect for the new kitchen windows.

  At the end I had an armful of awesome samples. “Thanks for your help. I’m not so stressed anymore about the cotton-candy world I’m supposed to make for this woman. You know I don’t do precious or cutesy.”

  “You’ll be fine—with the décor, that is. I’m still worried about the effect of KC’s death on you.”

  I hadn’t mentioned the name. “You know KC too?”

  “Her mother and I have served on the board of the Wilmont Emergency Clinic for about ten years now.”

  I felt like a total idiot. “Why did you just let me spew for fifteen minutes if you knew all about it?”

  “I could tell you needed to talk. A trouble shared is a trouble halved.”

  She too wanted to dig in places better left alone. Before Adrienne went there with her figurative shovel, I asked, “So what’s the mom like?”

  “I don’t know her well, but as a volunteer, Lori’s great. She works like crazy for the clinic, doesn’t waste time, doesn’t gossip.” Adrienne shrugged. “She loved her daughter. She always talked about KC and the things she did.”

  “Any hint of trouble in the family? Did she know KC was pregnant? When was the last time you talked to her? Do you know the father?”

  “No. No. Three weeks ago at the last board meeting. And yes, but only enough to say hi when I bump into him.” Her hazel eyes narrowed. “You’ve been around that homicide detective too long. You sound like a walking, talking question machine. And you know how I hate gossip.”

  Chalk one up for Lila. “She taught me well. Not well enough to get a decent answer from you though. Please don’t play clam on me now. Tell me something about the Richardsons, anything.”

  “What do you want me to tell you? They’re people, Haley, a family like a million others. KC just finished ninth grade, she couldn’t wait to take driver’s ed, she ran track, scuba dived, and sang in the concert choir. The parents work, volunteer, go to the theater, movies, parties...” She shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re just... people.”

  “What school did KC go to?”

  “She transferred to the Carleton-Higgins Academy after sixth grade at public school. She had a learning disability—dyslexia, I think—and the academy’s LD teacher is supposed to be great.”

  “Now, there’s a place that brings back fond memories.” I grimaced. “Remember when I tracked down Marge’s sleazoid husband there last year? He was teaching summer school, and a kid spilled the beans about Steve Norwalk’s extracurricular relationships. The headmaster overheard everything and canned the merry widower.”

  Adrienne nodded. “Ed Hobart was furious with Steve. Ed’s the most patient, even-tempered man I know, but everyone at that school board meeting knew how he felt about Steve as soon as he opened his mouth.”

  “Good grief, Adrienne. You know Mr. Hobart too? Is there anyone you don’t know?”

  She chuckled. “Lots and lots of people.”

  “I still can’t believe you know the Marshalls and the Richardsons. Now even the principal at that snooty school is your friend.”

  “Hey, watch it! My kids go to that snooty school.”

  “So? It still costs a fortune. And what do they get there that they wouldn’t get at Wilmont High?”

  “I know. But Brad went there, and that’s where he wants the kiddos.”

  “Did your munchkins know KC?”

  “Grace did. She’s in concert choir.”

  “Maybe I should talk to Grace. She might know something about KC she hasn’t mentioned.”

  “No problem. Come on over anytime.”

  “Thanks.” I hugged my loot. “I’d better get a move on. I have to come up with a proposal for Deedee that doesn’t look like the designer was a cotton-candy machine.”

  We returned to Adrienne’s office, where I gathered my black leather backpack purse and agreed I’d stop by to see fourteen-year-old Grace the next day. At the door I turned for a final good-bye, but I clammed up when I noticed Adrienne’s thoughtful expression.

  I waited her out.

  “You know,” she said. “I just remembered something. I wouldn’t ordinarily talk about something like this, since it’s private—”

  “Adrienne! A girl’s been murdered here. If you think it might help, then tell me. There’s a baby missing, you know.”

  “No, I don’t know. What baby?”

  “No one knows where KC’s baby is.”

  “Oh, that’s awful.”

  She closed her eyes, and her lips moved in silent prayer. I took her hand and joined in.

  Minutes later when she opened her hazel eyes, I saw the tears. She said, “KC’s mom had some work done—a nose job, or maybe a chin tuck. Anyway, Stew did the surgery, and I seem to remember that Lori took KC in to see him when her skin began to break out. Stew treated the acne.”

  “I thought dermatologists did that.”

  “So did I, but I guess with all his work on skin, he knows a thing or two about it.”

  “Fair enough. So KC did know Dr. Marshall. I wonder why she went there when she was in such bad shape.”

  “Maybe because he’s a doctor, one she knew and trusted.”

  “That would make sense... sorta. But why didn’t she just go to her family doctor?”

  “Maybe she didn’t want her parents to know about the baby. I’m pretty sure they had no idea she was pregnant.”

  “This gets curiouser and curiouser.”

  “Remember, you’re not Alice.”

  “How can I forget? This villain is way worse than a crazy queen of hearts.”

  Loaded down with pink, black, and white fabric and mulling over a couple of nuggets of interesting information, I left after another hug. By then I was beat, so I went back to the manse with every intention of crashing once I got there.

  Such was not my luck.

  Bella lurked in the azaleas outside her place. “Hey there, Haley girl! What you up to?”

  I waved the swatches and hurried to the porch. A Bella in the bush is way better than one in hand. Especially with no cats in sight.

  But Bella had other plans.

  “Can you believe my luck?” she asked, her blue eyes bright. “Detective Tsu actually came to question me. Me!”

  That stopped me cold. “Why would she do that? What did she want to know?”

  As Bella bustled over, the loose ends of her white belt flapped against the mound of her middle, and her arms waved while she talked.

  “She asked me all kinds of questions about the other day when we were at that mansion you’re doing.”

  “And what did you tell her?”

  “The truth, just the truth, and nothing but the truth.”

  “Now you’re happy.”

  “I’ll say! I’m like, you know, a real, live part of the investigation.”

  “No, no, no, no, no, no, no! The cops are part of the investigation. Not you, not me, not anyone else.”

  “I beg to differ with you. Detective Tsu shared valuable information. You know, about the case.”

  I opened the front door, coun
ted to ten, then a hundred, and was headed for a thousand when it occurred to me that Bella just might know something important.

  Resigned to my fate, I asked her in, but not before I checked her out. “You smuggling cats?”

  “You’re such a dog person, Haley. Get over yourself. Cats are people too.”

  I wasn’t about to touch that one. “Make yourself comfortable, but if a cat pops out from under your clothes, you’re outta here. Imagine what Midas would do to the place if he saw one of your beasts in his territory.”

  “Oh, Midas would just...” She waved her pudgy hands in a language all their own, then sat at the table and crumpled a paper napkin. “I don’t know, maybe he’d do like the animals in the Bible pictures. You know, the peace and love kingdom.”

  I poured us both glasses of iced tea. “That’s the peaceable kingdom, and I don’t think he’s anywhere near as noble as a lion on his best behavior.” Wild animals act better than Bella’s beasts. “Anyway. What were you saying about Lila’s information?”

  Bella blushed, and her eyes opened wider. “It’s murder!”

  “You don’t have to look so cheerful about it.”

  She gulped her tea. “Oh, Haley girl. I’m not cheerful about KC being killed. That’s pure sin, and sin’s serious stuff. It’s just that for once I’m in something so... so big screen. That movie stuff really does happen, after all.”

  “Hello!” I had to tiptoe around this one. “Did you miss the part about the killer? The sicko who killed a pregnant girl?”

  “Nope. But I know all about Come-on-in. People with Arthur’s clauses have to take it.”

  “Who’s Arthur?”

  “Not a who, Haley girl. It’s that thick arteries disease.”

  “That’s arteriosclerosis.”

  Her turquoise hair bounced with every nod. “That’s what I said. And not everyone can get their hands on that Come-on-in blood thinner. You need a prescription. So we just need to track down who’s taking the stuff to know who killed KC.”

  “Millions of people in America take blood thinners, Bella. There’s no way you can figure anything out that way.”

  She stood in a huff. “Fine. Be that way. But I know something else. I know someone else.”

  I was going to let her go. Really, I was. But my curiosity got the better of me.

  “Who do you know, Bella? I mean, I know you know a lot of people—” between Bella and Adrienne, the free world has few strangers “—but who do you know who has something to do with all this?”

  “Wanda.”

  “Wanda who?”

  “Wanda Ballard.”

  “Okay, have your fun. Tell me about Wanda.”

  “Wanda was a hand model back when I was doing runway jobs. She’s lots younger than me, and she’s not retired yet. She’s a pharmacy clerk at the Wilmont Drugstore these days. I’ll bet she knows everybody in town who takes blood thinners.”

  “But that doesn’t mean we can figure out who gave them to KC. The list has to be miles long.”

  “What does it hurt to ask?”

  “I give up. Give me her number. I’ll call her after she’s finished work and ask her to talk to Lila.”

  “No way.”

  “Huh? What was all this about if you don’t want me to talk to your friend?”

  “Oh, I want you to talk to Wanda, all right.”

  Busted! By the gleam in her eye.

  “No way.” I shook my head for emphasis. “No way, no how, nuh-uh, no! You are not pulling a Jessica Fletcher here.”

  “You’re right. I’m not. Not by myself, that is. You and I are gonna go question our witness. Then we’ll follow the clues wherever they lead.”

  “I’m not going to question Wanda. I’m just going to tell her to talk to Lila Tsu.”

  Clumps of turquoise fuzz shook from side to side. “Nope. Wanda won’t talk to a cop. Never ever.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause she’s got a record.”

  Great. “What did she do?”

  “She stole some of the rings she modeled way back then.”

  I groaned.

  “It’s no big deal. She gave them all back when she was convicted. And she did her time too. She’s cool. That’s how Wanda became a pharmacy clerk. She worked in the prison hospital.”

  “And you think she’s going to tell you who killed KC Richardson?”

  “Sure, she’s my friend.”

  Half of me wanted to send Bella back to her Balis; the other half of me was dying to meet the ring model turned jailbird turned pharmacy clerk, if for no other reason than I’d never met anyone who remotely fit that description. I knew I should’ve run when I saw Bella in the bushes.

  “Oh, all right. What will it hurt? When do you want to go?”

  Her smirk told me she’d played me like the expert she is. “We have a date with Wanda tonight at the Seashore Bowling Lanes. She’s in a league, and tonight’s their championship. I’ll come get you at seven.”

  When the door closed behind Bella, I fell onto the couch. What had I gotten myself into?

  It didn’t take long to find out. Bella’s friend was an experience, all right. Wanda’s team wears lime green bowling shirts with the name Connie’s Convicts embroidered across the back. That’s right. The members have all done time. And most of them chain-smoke. Around them breathing is optional.

  Aside from that, they’re a fun bunch. They welcomed us into their midst and asked us to kick back and enjoy the games. Between frames, and between endless bowls of corn chips, potato chips, pretzels, cheese doodles, prefab onion rings, and popcorn in a never-before-seen shade of glowing gold, Wanda told us all she knew about every malady for which she’s sold a drug. Every last one. From boils to hemorrhoids to ingrown toenails to irritable bowels.

  And I was right, to Bella’s extreme dismay. A substantial segment of Wilmont’s adult population has crud-filled arteries. No way could we identify a potential suspect from Wanda’s vast storehouse of knowledge.

  No one even remotely related to the case took Coumadin.

  Bella was bummed.

  I was thrilled.

  Now I could go back home, crawl into bed, and not worry that my nutty elderly neighbor was about to smash her way onto a killer’s radar. Maybe I’d even catch a few z’s before the nightmares kicked in.

  And maybe in the morning someone would know what had happened to KC’s child.

  “What’s that you’re working on?” Dad asked the next day.

  “Hey there. I didn’t realize you were up already. Have some coffee.” I moved the Pepto-pink mountain to the side. “I’m about to overdose on all this sweetness and light. It’s the design for the Marshalls, but it reminds me of Bella’s old hair color.”

  Dad murmured, “The Marshalls?”

  “Yeah. The people where I found the dead girl.”

  “Oh! I remember. How sad. We brought it up in our prayers at the church board meeting last night.”

  “It is sad—tragic, really. And no one knows where the baby might be.”

  “What baby?”

  “Dad!” Absentminded he’s always been, but this was too much. “The dead girl was pregnant. She’d just given birth. Remember?”

  He scratched the back of his head. “Yes... I think I do remember something about that. Anyway. You’re right. It’s tragic.”

  “Is there something on your mind?”

  He crossed to the pantry and withdrew his gross fiber cereal. It is gross—trust me. The cardboard box tastes better.

  “Not much.” He took a clean bowl from the cabinet. “Besides you, of course. I’ve been praying for you, honey. You’ve spent a couple of nights now walking around your room or down here. The nightmares are back, aren’t they?”

  I hated to worry him. “I’m okay now. It took me a couple of days, but I got some sleep last night.” Thanks to nighttime headache medicine that knocked me out when my head felt ready to explode.

  He poured the twigs into a bowl, s
plashed them with his skim milk, then began to crunch. After he swallowed, he said, “Glad to hear that. So what’s on your schedule today?”

  “I’m taking fabrics to Deedee, letting her choose her pinks.”

  “That’s nice.”

  Dad worked his way through his daily dose of bark, and with his every crunch I winced. Then the last bite of kindling went down, he took his bowl to the dishwasher. “I’ll be at the church until 2:00. I’m seeing a parishioner at that time.”

  “Okay.” I stood. “See ya at dinner.”

  “God bless you, honey.”

  “You too, Dad.”

  Even the large chunk of cheese I gave Midas didn’t do a thing for his disposition. His arguments followed me outside, which, of course, is what he wanted to do.

  The drive to the Marshalls’ mansion was no fun. It’d begun to rain. Yeah, yeah. I know all about the bad rap Seattle gets for its weather. And it does rain. But it doesn’t always rain. And when it doesn’t, there’s nothing as beautiful as the Emerald City and the area surrounding it.

  But this wasn’t a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

  At the Marshalls’, Deedee opened the door and stepped aside. “Come on in. I can’t wait to see what you have.”

  Where was Domingo? “You wanted pink.”

  “Oh, I’m so excited. I’ve never had a room done by a pro. This is so cool.”

  Oh boy. “I hope we have fun while we’re at it.”

  She led me to the kitchen, where a silver coffeepot steamed in the center of the table. Two cups and saucers sat opposite each other, and a lemon poppy-seed loaf had been cut into decadent-looking slabs.

  “Wow!” My stomach growled—for the first time in a while. “You didn’t have to do all this. I had breakfast—” half a slice of toast “—a while ago.”

  “That’s what I figured—a while ago. Sit! Help yourself.”

  The lemon poppy-seed bread was incredible. And the Starbucks? Need I say more?

  Before I could make a glutton of myself, I put down my antique Gorham silver fork, took a last transfusion of caffeine, and unzipped the portfolio.