Double Booked for Death

by Ali Brandon

  Then, with a hard look at Jake, she added, “And it doesn’t mean she wasn’t, either.”

  “You’re right, Mary Ann,” the ex-cop agreed, “and that’s what Reese is trying to find out. And like I told you, they only took her in for questioning. She’s not under arrest.”

  Yet.

  Though the qualifier was unspoken this time, it seemed that everyone still heard it. They exchanged uncomfortable glances before Mary Ann stoutly declared, “Well, you won’t convince me that she’s guilty. After all, what motive could a girl like her possibly have?”

  Darla fleetingly considered explaining about Lizzie’s plagiarism claim but thought the better of it. No reason to give Mary Ann something else to worry about. Instead, she smiled and said, “I’m sure the truth will come out soon enough. Why don’t you go on back home, and I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.”

  “You’re right. No sense borrowing trouble,” she agreed, but without returning the smile. Brushing aside Darla’s attempt to help, she stiffly climbed off the stool and shook out her skirts. “I’d best go back to the store now. I left Brother all alone there.”

  Appearing far older than Darla recalled ever seeing her look, Mary Ann made her way out of the store. Darla followed, locking the door firmly behind the woman.

  “I’m officially calling it quits,” she declared. “I’ll let you out the side door, Jake, and then I’m going to go back to the apartment to eat ice cream and watch awful movies for the rest of the day . . . or, at least until lunchtime.”

  “Sounds like a good plan to me. If you feel like company later on, let me know.”

  “No offense, but I probably won’t. But do me a favor and call me when you hear from Reese about Lizzie. I have a feeling she won’t be calling me.”

  They were headed for the side door when Darla heard what was becoming a familiar sound now: the unmistakable splat of a tossed book landing on the floor.

  “Damn you, Hamlet,” she muttered.

  To Jake, she said, “Ever since that little devil learned how to pull books off the shelf, he’s been making a game of it with me.”

  Darla sought out the source of the sound, and found Hamlet lounging in the drama section near a slender volume facedown on the floor. Turning it over, she glanced at the cover so she could return it to the correct spot on the shelf, and then promptly wished she hadn’t. For, just as with some of the other novels that he’d snagged in recent days, Hamlet had pulled down a book that seemed eerily appropriate to the situation.

  With an uncertain glance at the cat—what, was he Mr. Psychic Cat now?—she hurriedly shelved the book in her hand, which had just happened to be a copy of the famous courtroom stage play, Twelve Angry Men.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “ONE NEVER KNOWS ABOUT THESE THINGS, DOES ONE? AH, well, I am certain you will find an appropriate replacement for Ms. Cavanaugh.”

  James shook his head and took a contemplative sip of coffee. As always, he’d brought his own brew in a thermos from home and drank it from his personal china cup that he kept there at the store. The only proper way to drink the beverage, he had told her early on in their acquaintance, not hesitating to inform her about his disdain for the ubiquitous lidded paper cups of the local coffee chains.

  It was midafternoon, and the store manager had just arrived for his shift. As threatened, Darla had retreated to her apartment for a couple of hours to indulge in triple-dip ice cream therapy, but by noon she’d grown bored with her bout of self-pity and returned to the store. Now, she barely waited for the door to close behind him to give James the heads-up as to all that had happened that morning.

  Though genteelly stunned by the turn of events, he had seemed less dismayed by Lizzie’s actions than Darla had expected. Perhaps the recent enmity between them had been more serious than she’d thought, as James seemed well prepared to paint the woman a villain. Even so, he had expressed polite relief to learn that Lizzie in fact had avoided arrest and returned home around lunchtime.

  Darla had been equally thankful when Jake called to give her the news.

  “That doesn’t mean she’s off the suspect list,” the woman had reminded her. “It just means there’s not enough evidence against her right now to issue an arrest warrant. But Reese did find out something interesting when they did a background on her. While Lizzie was still married, the cops went out to her place on a domestic disturbance call.”

  “Lizzie already told me about that,” Darla had replied. “She said she and her husband fought all the time in the six months before they separated, and that one night things got so out of hand that a neighbor called the police.”

  “That’s pretty much what the record says . . . except that it was Lizzie and not her husband who got hauled down to the station that night. The report mentioned something about her threatening him with a big-ass butcher knife.”

  Jake had rung off after that, leaving a shocked Darla to wonder what she was going to do about her employee now. No way could she risk keeping someone who had no qualms about sabotaging a store event. And with what Jake had just told her about Lizzie’s apparently violent history, who knew if her behavior might one day escalate—if it hadn’t already? But given all that, what would Lizzie’s reaction be when Darla told her she was fired?

  She had phoned Jake back a few minutes later for advice. The other woman’s response had been blunt.

  “Does she have a key to the store? Okay, don’t worry about trying to get it back,” she’d said when Darla nervously answered in the affirmative. “Ted’s brother, Barney, is a locksmith. I’ll give him a call and tell him you need him out there before end of business today. Wait until the new locks are on before you call Lizzie to tell her she’s out of there. I doubt she’ll be too surprised, but this way, she can’t come in after hours and trash the place or anything.”

  “But what about when we’re open?” Darla had asked, feeling suddenly vulnerable.

  She’d heard Jake’s humorless chuckle on the other end. “Don’t forget, kid, I’m still your official one-woman security firm, plus you’ve got all the cameras hooked up to record any problems. Call me as soon as you’ve told her, and I’ll come up to keep an eye on things.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” she’d replied in true relief. “And, yes, send Barney over as soon as possible.”

  Recalling that conversation now, Darla told James about the locksmith. “And Jake will be hanging out here the next couple of days, just in case.”

  “Sensible precautions on both counts,” he agreed, downing what remained of his coffee. “And now, I had best finish fronting the shelves. That last gaggle of old women wandering the mystery aisle were little better than barbarians.”

  As James left to tidy the books, the bells at the front door jingled. Darla gave a reflexive start, visions of a knife-wielding Lizzie springing to mind. No weapons were in evidence, however, only a blond bulldog who, judging by his resemblance to Ted the security guy, had to be Jake’s locksmith.

  “Name’s Barney,” he said, introducing himself, “and it’s your lucky day. You need it picked or changed, I’m the guy for you . . . except when it comes to noses and babies. Badda boom.”

  Unlike his brother with his finger pistols, Barney punctuated his bon mots with a bit of air drumming. Despite her unsettled mood, Darla couldn’t help but smile back as she took him on a brief tour of the store and showed him the various doors needing attention.

  Barney completed the job far more quickly than she had expected, though not without sharing additional cringe-worthy jokes. He tested all three doors a final time and then handed her a set of keys and a bill that made her gulp only slightly as she reached for her checkbook.

  “Pleasure doing business, ma’am. Tell Detective Jake hello for me,” he said with a tip of his ball cap. He pocketed her payment and left whistling a tune that sounded suspiciously like “Jingle Bell Rock.”

  “Seasonally challenged and desperately in need of new material, but efficient,” was
James’s conclusion as the door shut behind the locksmith. Then, with a wry look at her, he added, “Under the circumstances, I will not be offended if you prefer to keep custody of all the keys . . . at least, for a while.”

  “Thanks, I think I will. And now, I’d better make that call to Lizzie.”

  She carried the cordless phone upstairs to the break area for a bit of privacy. James was far too polite to stand around and listen to the call outright, but she knew he’d have an ear cocked in her direction. It was going to be hard enough to conduct her first official firing without her remaining employee silently critiquing her performance.

  Like the lock changing, however, the call went better than she’d anticipated. Lizzie answered on the first ring, as if she’d had her hand on the receiver all afternoon. Before Darla could get more than a “hello” out, the woman sighed and said, “I suppose you’re calling to fire me, aren’t you?”

  “I am,” she admitted, relieved not to have to beat around the bush. “I’m not saying I think you’re guilty of anything beside really crappy judgment, Lizzie, but I can’t have you work here anymore after what you did, trying to sabotage the signing like that.”

  “I understand.” Another sigh. “Sorry I was such trouble for you. And thanks for the attorney’s name. If Detective Reese ends up arresting me, I’ll give him a call. I don’t suppose I can come by later for my check?”

  “Well—”

  Remember, they found her with a butcher knife, she told herself as she felt her resolve momentarily waver. That mental image was enough to restore her backbone.

  “Not a good idea. I’ll have it in the mail to you today. Good-bye, Lizzie, and good luck,” Darla finished and hung up the phone before her guilt over canning the woman got the better of her. Then, as instructed, she promptly dialed Jake.

  “Good job, kid,” Jake said once Darla recapped the brief conversation for her. “It sounds like she took it okay, but I’m still going to hang out with you for the next couple of days. How did Barney work out for you, changing those locks?”

  “Easy as changing a baby. Badda boom.”

  Her reply drew a commiserating laugh from the other woman. “Yeah, he and his brother are something, but believe me, the guys know what they’re doing. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

  The rest of the day proceeded without incident. By the time Darla closed the store at her usual time, she was satisfied that, if she hadn’t made a profit, at least she’d covered the electric bill for the day.

  “See,” Jake proclaimed from the beanbag. “I told you things would get back to normal soon enough. And even Hamlet behaved himself this afternoon.”

  “You’re right,” Darla answered in a wondering tone. In fact, she hadn’t seen whisker nor tail of him since his little book snagging incident that morning. Was he still lounging in the apartment, or had he snuck downstairs and tucked himself away in one of his favorite hiding spots? She only prayed that his absence didn’t mean he’d been off playing more cat tricks on her.

  “So, wanna grab a bite at the Thai place again?” Jake asked.

  Darla considered the offer a moment and then shook her head. “Thanks, but after this whole thing with Lizzie, I don’t think I’ll be good company. I’ve got a date with a container of yogurt and my pillow.”

  “Suit yourself, kid.” Then, turning to James, who was packing up his coffee thermos, she asked, “What about you, James? Care to go Dutch over some pad thai?”

  Darla waited for him to dismiss the invitation in his usual aloof manner, but to her surprise, he said, “I shall go you one better, Ms. Martelli, and purchase dinner for you.”

  To Darla, who was staring at him in amazement, he added by way of explanation, “My auction last night ended quite favorably, and so a small celebration would not be amiss.”

  “Well, let’s not let that cash burn a hole in your vest pocket,” Jake declared with a toss of her frizzy hair. “Darla, if you want to hand over one of your new keys, I’ll give the store another look when I get back. And then I’ll check in with you, if you think you can keep your eyes open that long.”

  “Believe me, the idea of you and James out on the town together is enough to keep me awake all night again.”

  Darla saw them off at the front door, feeling curiously like a parent seeing her daughter off on a date. She resisted the impulse, however, to suggest that Jake take a sweater with her. Instead, she locked her new lock after them; then, finishing the last of the closing process, she set the alarm and went out the side door.

  Hamlet was waiting for her behind the newel post at the foot of the stairs. This time, he let her get halfway to the first landing before he rocketed up the steps, using her as a human croquet wicket on his way to the top.

  “Damn it, Hamlet,” she called after him. “Someday, you’re going to trip me, and Jake will find my broken body lying at the bottom of the stairs. And then who do you think will feed you your kibble?”

  Hamlet made no reply to this dire prediction, for he was already sitting at the apartment door waiting for her to drag herself up the final flight. As soon as she reached that spot, however, she wondered if she should have had Jake check out her apartment, too, beforehand. Of course, Lizzie didn’t have a key to either the downstairs door or this one. But with all that had been going on, Darla decided to let Hamlet enter the apartment first.

  He charged inside before she could get the door open all the way. Darla moved more slowly, poking her head around the edge for an experimental look. No hideous caterwauling ensued, and all the books appeared to be in their proper places. So far as she could tell, it was safe to enter.

  As always, the first order of business was to feed Hamlet—that, or listen to his official starving-kitty lament that could go nonstop for a good hour (once, feeling in an evil mood, she actually had timed it). That accomplished, she nixed the yogurt and instead made a veggie omelet for herself, which she ate while watching her favorite weekend cable news host expound on the day’s issues. She managed to get through almost the entire hour show before the host gave a recap of the Valerie Baylor saga. He mentioned that the private service had been held a few days earlier, and to Darla’s surprise she saw a bit of video that obviously had been taken with a long-distance lens.

  “No escaping the press,” she muttered, scanning the footage for a glimpse of herself . . . or, more likely, her hat. She didn’t see either, but the camera had captured a clear view of Morris escorting out his parents.

  The sight of Valerie’s brother brought back her previous suspicions that the whole Lizzie situation had caused her to put aside as unimportant. Now, however, both Lizzie and Janie had been scratched off the suspect list; neither appeared to have had any involvement with the actual accident leading to Valerie’s death. Maybe it was time to put Morris back on the list.

  “Yes, yes, assuming that what happened was anything other than an accident,” she said aloud to Jake in absentia, since she could almost hear the ex-cop telling her that the whole push-shove question was still up in the air.

  Since there was nothing to be done about Morris now, however, given that her one attempt to question him had led to nothing, Darla instead went over to her desk. Feeling virtuous, she accessed the store security software on her laptop. Ted had suggested she make a habit of doing so, at least until she was comfortable that her unknown intruder was no longer a threat. Given what she’d spent on the software, she told herself she might as well get her money’s worth out of it.

  Once she’d again determined that all was well in the store, she left the screen up and found a nice nonthreatening travel memoir that she’d been meaning to read, and curled up in bed with it. She put it aside only to pick up the phone when Jake checked in a little later, as promised.

  “How did your date with James go?” Darla asked her in a bright voice.

  The other woman gave a dismissive snort. “Please. We were two friends having dinner together, and it just so happened he was kind enough to pick up the ta
b. Don’t read anything more into it than that.”

  “Whatever you say,” she agreed, grinning to herself at this rare opportunity to needle her friend. She had no doubt that what Jake said was one hundred percent true, but it was far more fun to let her think otherwise. Then, sobering, she asked, “Everything okay down in the store?”

  “Locked up tight as a drum, all the alarms are functioning, and there’s no one suspicious hanging around. Oh, and only a few hardcore Valerie minions are holding vigil at the flower shrine. No sign of Lizzie or any of the Lord’s Blessing Church protesters, so I think you and Hamlet are good to go for the night.”

  Which hopefully meant that Lizzie was staying put, and that Marnie and company were long since on their way back to Texas in their repaired van.

  “Thanks, Jake. I really do appreciate all this. I’d probably be a basket case right about now if I didn’t know you were downstairs.”

  “Just doing my job, kid,” the woman replied, but Darla could hear the pleasure in her voice over the compliment. “I’ll be back up to the store in the a.m., like I said. Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite,” she finished, laughing.

  Since bedbugs were currently a scourge in the city, Darla shivered at the very idea. She hung up the phone and picked up her book again. Hamlet deigned to join her in the room, but he made due with the dresser as his lounging spot rather than curl up on the pillow beside her like any normal cat. Darla met the feline’s disapproving green gaze with an amused look.

  “You know, I don’t think a bedbug would dare take up residence here with you running the place,” she told him and then settled back into her book.

  Interesting as the author’s account of his India journey was—so vivid were his descriptions that she could almost taste the boiling chai tea and smell the lackadaisical sacred cows—she found herself nodding over every page. She sprang back to full wakefulness, however, when the sound of a ringing phone had her almost leaping from the covers. She glanced over at her alarm clock. Quarter before ten—too late for polite callers where she came from, but still prime time on the East Coast.