Okay, I was kind of afraid of Valerie now.
“Even some of my family and friends believed those lies and turned against me!”
Maybe I should have brought backup.
Valerie drew in a breath and let it out slowly, trying—hopefully—to calm herself.
“The whole thing has been a nightmare,” she said. “A nightmare that won’t end.”
I felt bad for Valerie, that her shop had fallen victim to what she claimed was—and what seemed like—a malicious attack. Looking around the place, I could see that business wasn’t good. Asha and her website had, apparently, done a great deal of damage to the shop’s reputation.
“Is that what you two were fighting about at Holt’s the other day?” I asked.
She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts and anger, she didn’t seem to wonder how I’d found out about the argument.
“I couldn’t believe she had the nerve to walk up to me, to show her face, and actually ask how my shop was doing,” Valerie said. “She didn’t fool me. I knew she was up to her old tricks, getting hired somewhere, learning the ropes, then sensationalizing and lying about what went on behind the scenes.”
“Asha worked at Holt’s for a few weeks last fall,” I told her. “She quit just before Christmas.”
“You look at her site. You just look at it,” she said. “I’ll guarantee you there’s a scathing review about Holt’s.”
Holt’s was a major international corporation. I doubted that anything Asha wrote could have been detrimental to business in a significant way. Still, I didn’t like the idea of her making up lies or embellishing difficult situations to attract readers and generate more ad money.
Valerie seemed to wind down a little more and said, “I’m not the least bit sorry Asha is dead. It sounds as if she got what she deserved.”
Honestly, it sounded that way to me, too.
And it sounded like Valerie had an excellent motive for murdering her.
* * *
Valerie had been super wound up so I decided to check out Asha’s website and see for myself what, exactly, she’d posted. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting anything as devastating as Valerie had described. I mean, really, how bad could the review of a clothing store be?
As tempted as I was to hit Starbucks again, I didn’t—even I have my limits, occasionally. I stopped on the sidewalk outside the Italian restaurant next door to Valerie’s Vintage and did a search on my cell phone. I found Asha’s site right away.
Yikes! The recent reviews she’d posted about a vacuum cleaner store and a candle shop were beyond scathing. They were downright mean, vile—way beyond a simple reporting of the facts. They read more like a tell-all exposé.
I typed Valerie’s Vintage into the search box and the review popped up. When I read it, I actually gasped aloud—it was that bad, just as bad as Valerie had indicated.
A few follow-up comments had been posted defending the shop, but tons of other commenters had piled on, supporting Asha’s accusations that Valerie’s merchandise was all overpriced knockoffs, and making it sound as if Valerie were single-handedly to blame for forced child labor overseas and deplorable sweatshop conditions.
If Valerie really had murdered Asha, I didn’t blame her. I’d have wanted to kill Asha, too.
I scrolled through reviews of other businesses that Asha had posted, going back for nearly a year. There were dozens of them, all horrific, and all of them had incited comments similar to what Valerie had endured.
I was dismayed to see that some businesses had taken out ads on Asha’s site. I knew that companies had to go where the customers were, but why had they paid good money to be a part of something so awful?
I left the Exposer site and pulled up the photo I’d snapped of Asha’s résumé, then cross-referenced her employment history with the reviews. She’d worked for many of the businesses. It seemed that Valerie was right—Asha had taken jobs to gain inside knowledge, then used it to write scathing reviews. She’d deceived the people who had hired her, she’d no doubt lied to her co-workers—she’d even gone so far as to drive that beat-up old Chevy for cover.
Cakes By Carrie flew into my head. I searched the Exposer site and, sure enough, Asha had ripped up the bakery with claims of unsanitary conditions, low-quality ingredients, and lost orders.
Unlike in Valerie’s case, this tell-all review of Asha’s—with its follow-up snarky comments—didn’t seem to have unduly damaged Carrie’s bakery, at least not from what I’d seen of the place. This struck me really fortunate—or something. I wasn’t sure what.
Really, almost everything about Carrie seemed a bit odd to me.
When I’d been in her bakery and given her the news that Asha was dead, she’d seemed genuinely surprised. Was that true? Or was she putting on a show for my behalf?
After the horrible review Asha had done of the bakery, I’d have thought Carrie’s reaction to the news would have been similar to Valerie’s—relieved, almost glad, certainly happy that justice, in a way, had been served.
But Carrie hadn’t seemed to feel that way.
Perhaps, unlike with Valerie’s shop, the review hadn’t really done that much damage to the baker’s reputation, so Carrie wasn’t all that concerned about the things Asha had said about her shop.
Or maybe Carrie had known all along that Asha was dead because she was the one who murdered her. One thing was clear—lots of business owners had a motive for killing Asha.
The info I’d uncovered today was definitely good stuff, so I decided I should let Detective Shuman know so he could factor it in with everything else he’d learned about Asha—and so he could be impressed with my awesome detecting skills, of course.
I sent him a text message asking if he could meet me. With the schedule he kept, or the lack thereof, I never knew when he was available or when he was too involved with a case to pull himself away, but he texted me right back saying he’d be there in an hour.
So that left me with some time to kill. I looked around at all the shops, stores, and the mall entrance just a few blocks away. Oh, yeah, I could occupy myself, no problem.
Then it occurred to me that the way my awesome detecting skills were rolling today, maybe I could find my lost credit card.
First, I accessed my account online. No charges that I hadn’t made had been posted—whew! I still hadn’t gotten an alert from GSB&T about suspicious activity on my account, another good sign. Hopefully, this meant I’d simply misplaced the card and I could still find it somewhere.
A little oh-please-let-this-be-easy tremor rumbled through me as I headed for the restaurant down the block where Marcie and I had met earlier in the week—the one where Jack had shown up and—and—and, well, I still couldn’t remember what had happened after that.
I couldn’t think about it right now.
Inside the restaurant, I approached the hostess stand. The place was getting busy with the dinner rush but she took the time to check the lost and found in the manager’s office, then returned with regrets. I thanked her and left.
After dashing off a quick text to Marcie asking if she’d somehow ended up with my Visa, I went to my car and checked under and between the seats, but didn’t find it. Marcie texted back a few minutes later stating she didn’t have my card.
At this point, there was nothing to do but go shopping.
I headed for Macy’s.
* * *
After an hour of sampling makeup, trying on shoes, and combing the handbag department in the hopes of spotting a Mystique clutch—there wasn’t one—Detective Shuman texted me. He’d just pulled into the parking garage. I left the mall.
It was dark now, so the twinkle lights in the shrubs and trees had come on. Music floated from the hidden speakers. I spotted Shuman turning the corner, headed my way. His tie was pulled down and his collar was open. I doubted he’d had as leisurely a day as I had.
When he got closer and saw me, he grinned.
Shuman’s got a killer grin.
Obviously, there’d been a tremor in The Force.
“Did you find Asha’s killer?” I asked.
“Did you?”
Shuman was still in detective mode even though he was, apparently, off work for the day.
Okay, if he wanted to play it that way, so could I.
“I found a whole bunch of suspects,” I told him.
His eyebrows rose. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
We stared at each other for a few seconds.
“Buy you a beer?” I asked, and nodded down the block.
Shuman shook his head. “I don’t have time.”
“Meeting Brittany?”
He grinned, but in a different way—which was still totally hot.
“You might as well tell me what you found out today,” I told him. “If I had a date tonight, I’d have already blabbed everything to you and been gone.”
Shuman frowned. “Did you break up with Liam?”
“We’re seeing each other tomorrow night,” I said. “Come on.”
I led the way to one of the benches situated on the plaza and we sat down.
“What did you find out?” I asked.
Shuman didn’t answer.
“You can’t keep Brittany waiting,” I told him.
He still didn’t say anything. His I’m-not-talking-first cop training was really irritating at times.
Obviously, he’d learned something significant in his investigation. If he didn’t soon tell me, I might have to beat it out of him.
I could take him.
I’d have to blindside him, of course.
“Okay, fine,” I said, and huffed a bit just so he’d know this didn’t quite suit me, then filled him in on what I’d learned about Valerie’s Vintage and Asha’s Exposer website, plus the argument between Valerie and Asha that Grace had witnessed at Holt’s.
He listened intently and nodded occasionally. I even got a slight eyebrow bob once, indicating that this was news to him.
I gave him a minute or two to think about everything, then said, “Can you believe companies actually advertise on that site?”
“At least now we know where all of her money came from,” he said.
“Asha lived really well,” I said. “She must have charged a lot for those ads. I still don’t get why any reputable business would want to be associated with a site like hers.”
“Small businesses are desperate,” Shuman said. “They have to reach customers wherever they can.”
He was right, of course, but the whole thing still didn’t sit right with me.
“Did you learn something today that ties in with this?” I asked.
“We got a hit on the background checks we were doing on the employees who work in the shops next to Holt’s,” Shuman said. “Seems a woman who owns one of the stores shot and killed her husband last year.”
“What?”
“It was ruled an accident,” he said. “The handgun was inside her purse and when she reached inside, it went off. The bullet struck and killed her husband.”
“Oh my God, that’s awful.”
Shuman shrugged in a way that made me think he didn’t share my feelings.
“You don’t think it was an accident?” I asked.
“She knew how to handle a firearm. She had a license to carry concealed,” Shuman said. “It was a thirty-eight, the same caliber as the weapon used to kill Asha.”
“Coincidence?” I asked.
“Maybe.” Shuman shook his head. “But I don’t like it.”
“So who is she?” I asked.
Shuman hesitated.
“Look, I work in that shopping center. I visit those other stores,” I said. “If there’s a woman there who accidentally shot her husband, I want to know who it is.”
“Dena Gerber,” he said. “She owns the craft store.”
I remembered seeing Carrie talking to her when I’d walked past the craft store. I’d been sure they were talking about me.
“Did you get the gun from her for a ballistics check?” I asked.
“No probable cause. We’ve found no connection between her and the victim—yet.”
“Maybe you have now.”
I grabbed my cell phone and looked at the photo I’d taken of Asha’s résumé, but didn’t see the craft store listed as one of her previous jobs. I accessed the Exposer website, hoping I’d find a scorching review that would make Dena Gerber another suspect. Nothing.
“Or maybe not,” I admitted and put my phone away. Still, I wasn’t ready to give up on Dena Gerber as a suspect so I said, “Maybe she’s some sort of Black Widow? Has she had a lot of husbands? Have they all turned up dead under mysterious circumstances, maybe?”
Shuman shook his head and said, “She was married once before, divorced years ago. Husband number one was alive and kicking at the time.”
“Did you interview the girl who owns the bakery?” I asked. “Cakes By Carrie?”
Shuman thought for a few seconds and said, “Carrie Taylor? Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. No red flags, no alarms. Why?”
“Asha wrote a terrible review about her bakery,” I said. “I don’t know. I just get a weird vibe from her.”
He rose. “Let me know if your vibe turns up some hard evidence.”
“You’ll look into Valerie Roderick?” I asked. “She had a really strong motive for wanting Asha dead, plus they had that argument at Holt’s.”
“I’ll check into it,” he promised.
“Have fun with Brittany.”
Shuman grinned and left.
I sat on the bench, thinking. Seemed I now had a long list of suspects—the wife of the man at the convenience store who had reportedly had an affair with Asha; Valerie Roderick and everyone else who’d been skewered by the Exposer website; Carrie; and now Dena Gerber.
Of course, it would be easier to come up with the murderer if I had some evidence to go along with the motive I’d uncovered.
I headed down the sidewalk toward my car, running all sorts of scenarios through my brain—all completely trumped up, at this point, since all I could do was speculate on what might have gone down the day Asha was killed.
I needed more information—and I wasn’t all that sure how I’d find it.
CHAPTER 14
“Something’s going down,” Bella murmured.
I followed her oh-so subtle eyebrow bob across the racks of clothing in the women’s department. Saturday morning and the store was crowded, but I easily spotted a group of six men and women trooping down the hallway that led to the training room and managers’ offices.
They looked like they were definitely on a mission.
“Hey, that’s the slimeball from the convenience store,” Bella whispered. “Owen something or other. Always hitting on me when I go in there.”
“Which one?” I asked.
“The one with the Donald Trump comb-over.”
I spotted him immediately, trailing along at the back of the group. I figured him for late forties, short, soft looking, and kind of pudgy. Not exactly the kind of guy you’d imagine Asha—half his age—having a fling with. Owen must have had something going for him that wasn’t readily apparent, though, honestly, I didn’t want to think too hard about what it might be.
“See that old guy in front? The tall one?” Bella said. “He owns the furniture store.”
He was old, all right. His snow-white hair was combed straight back. He wore a crew-neck sweater and what I’m pretty sure was a leisure suit. He’d completed his look with two gold chain necklaces and a pinkie ring. He was either mobbed up, or stuck in the seventies—or maybe both.
“You ask me, that place is a drug front,” Bella told me.
I spotted Carrie in her bakery uniform. Dena was behind her. I didn’t know the other man, but guessed he ran the cigar store.
None of them looked happy.
“What’re they doing here?” Bella asked
.
“This can’t be good.”
I wound my way through the racks of clothes, Bella on my heels, and watched as all of them disappeared into Jeanette’s office.
“Something is definitely going down,” Bella said.
Jeanette’s door closed with a thud.
Not a good sign.
“At least it’s not those people from corporate,” Bella offered.
I cringed slightly as Ty flew into my head. I pushed him out.
“What’s going on?”
Sandy appeared next to us.
“The owners of the stores in the shopping center just crashed Jeanette’s office,” Bella said.
“Maybe it’s a surprise party for Jeanette,” Sandy said. “You know, for her birthday.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“That would be cool, wouldn’t it?” Sandy said.
“I’m pretty sure it’s not a surprise party,” I said.
“My birthday is next week,” Sandy said. “Jeanette and I could have been born on the same date.”
I gave up.
“What are you doing for your birthday?” I asked.
“That boyfriend of yours better be planning something special for you,” Bella told her.
“Actually, he is,” Sandy said.
Bella and I shared a this-is-seriously-doubtful look.
“Really, he is,” Sandy insisted. “He already told me. He’s taking me out to dinner, someplace nice. It’s going to be romantic, I just know it.”
Honestly, I wasn’t convinced. Sandy’s boyfriend was a world-class jackass as far as I was concerned. He treated her terribly. I really hoped he’d come through for her on her birthday. She deserved it—and a lot more—for everything she’d put up with from him.
“You’ll see,” Sandy told us.
I hung around the women’s department pretending to straighten the clothes so I could keep an eye on Jeanette’s office. Whatever was going on in there couldn’t be good—and it was taking a long time. Finally, the door opened and the center’s business owners trooped out again.
Nobody looked any happier than they had going in.
I waited, thinking Jeanette might come out and I could just happen to see her and ask what was up. She didn’t show. I was tempted to go ask her flat-out—I’m not good at holding back—but I heard an announcement over the PA system paging the assistant manager on duty to Jeanette’s office. Apparently, she needed backup for whatever was going down.
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