Murder, Malice and Mischief

by Quinn, Lucy

  “What for?”

  Dora’s hands shook a little as she peeled the tape off the sticky section of the envelope and sealed it, but not because she was afraid. She was upset that he’d assumed she was up to no good. She looked right into Steve’s eyes to challenge him back. Even though she hated to be wrong or make someone unhappy with her, she hated criminal behavior more. And she realized she was going to have to tell the man the truth no matter what his reaction might be.

  Dora stood up and placed her palms on her desk. “I was looking for his marketing budget. My records show that it’s ten times that of the other restaurants, and I wanted to see his version to make sure I had my numbers right.”

  A soft knock on her open door made both of them turn their attention to Lindy. “I’m leaving for the day. Did you want me to mail Evie’s present for you?”

  Lindy drove by the post office to get home each day, and she often took mail with her when she left work. Dora gave her a bigger smile than usual and grabbed the package to hand it to the older woman. “Thank you, Lindy. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem. See you both tomorrow,” she said in a cheerful voice.

  The woman’s quick retreat told Dora she also knew Steve wasn’t happy. When she saw a muscle twitch along her boss’s jaw, the confidence Dora had felt about correcting a wrong slipped away, and the icy fingers of fear tripped down her spine.

  “You think my son is stealing?”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

  Steve raised his eyebrows at her in a way that made Dora think he didn’t believe a word she’d said. It occurred to her that he was acting a lot like someone who had something to hide and that he had no intention of letting Dora find it. She had a feeling her weekend was about to start early.

  Chapter 2

  Evie Grant hummed to herself as she flipped through an In Style magazine. Her latest job at Price Dry Cleaners was perfect for catching up on the latest trends. Perched on the counter while waiting for a customer, she bounced her foot to the beat of the song playing on the sound system. She paused for a moment to admire her shoes. She’d bought them with her last paycheck, leaving very little to pay her bills, but she knew she’d eventually catch up.

  Evie twisted her foot back and forth to inspect the bright-yellow leather lace-up with a chunky heel and a white wing-tip design similar to the classic men’s shoe style. Paired with her daisy print sundress that had a flouncy skirt, she was a modern version of a nineteen-fifties pin-up girl. Although, instead of the hair sprayed version of an updo, she had a pile of messy blond curls on her head with a few strands refusing to behave.

  The bell on the door made Evie hop off the counter to assist the young woman who had come in. Evie let out a small noise of disapproval at the girl’s outfit. While the customer was young enough to pull off the short dress that clung to every dip and valley of her body, she had a winter-palette skin tone and was wearing an autumn color.

  “Honey,” Evie said as she shook her head. She waved her hand as if she was scanning the woman’s body with it. “Great dress, but a true red would be a much better color for you than salmon orange.”

  “What?” The girl glanced down at her body. “But it’s my favorite color.”

  “And a great one to love,” Evie said. “But it does nothing for your complexion.” She did understand how hard it was to give up on a favorite thing, so Evie smiled and added, “Save it for your accessories. Imagine a tangerine clutch and shoes with navy blue. Divine!” she exclaimed, quite pleased with her sudden burst of brilliance. “But trust me on this; no more orange near your face, got it?”

  The girl smiled. “Okay.” Then she frowned. “But what should I do with this dress?”

  Evie smiled back. “Size four?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’d fit me.” Evie held up her palm. “Or you could give it to Goodwill. Either one works.” She then tilted her head as she got to business. “Name for the pickup?”

  “Danvers,” the girl said, and items clattered on the counter as she emptied her purse searching for something.

  Evie clicked the conveyor button on, and the machine hummed as she rotated the Ds forward. She riffled through the bags until she found an order for Danvers. “Carrie?” she asked reading off the name on the ticket. She noticed the girl was checking herself out in a compact mirror.

  “Yes,” said the girl.

  The hangers clacked on a metal hang bar by the register when Evie hung the girl’s clothing, and she entered the amount due into the register. “Cash or charge? Cash gets you a discount,” she said as she’d been trained to do with every customer who didn’t look like they were a lawyer or the police. Apparently, that statement raised red flags for an audit according to her boss, Fred.

  After Carrie paid, she tore the plastic wrap off her order and tugged a green dress off a hanger. She held the garment up to her chest and asked, “What about this one?”

  “Fabulous. You’re a winter, so true jewel tones are totally you.”

  Carrie grinned. “Can I use your bathroom?”

  “Sure, it’s right over here,” Evie said as she let her behind the counter. “You’re going to love how that color combined with your dark hair is really going to make your skin glow.”

  Less than a minute later, Carrie emerged from the restroom and handed Evie the orange dress. “You were right. I Iook so much better in this color.”

  “You really do.”

  Carrie impulsively stepped forward and hugged Evie. “Thank you.”

  “Happy to help.” Evie chuckled as the girl released her, and satisfaction filled her with a warm glow when Carrie left looking better than she had when she’d come into the cleaners.

  “I love this job,” Evie said as she held out her new acquisition to inspect it. And she discovered not only had she scored a new dress, but it was an Alexander McQueen, which cost a small fortune and was more than her credit card could hope to handle. She let out a squeal. Evie knew just what she was wearing to margarita Tuesday on this Thursday night.

  “Evie!” called out Fred Price, a short, stout man who happened to own the place. “Please tell me you didn’t just con another customer out of her clothing.”

  “I didn’t! She gave it to me and even thanked me for taking it.” Evie squinted her eyes at Fred. He had a surveillance camera set up to monitor the reception area. Supposedly for safety reasons, but Evie wasn’t so sure that was why. “Don’t you have anything better to do than spy on me from your office?” she asked as the bell rang to announce another customer’s arrival.

  Fred let out a low growl of frustration as Evie quickly greeted the new customer. Evie pasted on a show-stopping smile and said, “Hello. Welcome to Price Cleaners! How can I help you?”

  It was a woman with a small boy, and Evie knew just how to make the child’s day. When the woman said she was there to pick up the Parker order, Evie looked at the little boy. “I’m Evie. What’s your name?”

  “Spencer.”

  “Spencer, I’m going to need your help to get your Mom’s clothes. Do you think you can help me?”

  Spencer nodded.

  “Great. So, see this big conveyor belt? It can only be turned on with”—Evie darted her eyes to the left and right as if she was afraid to reveal a secret and lowered her voice—“magic.” Spencer’s eyes widened. “And you’re the one who has it.”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

  “I think you do.” Evie moved over to the conveyor and placed herself next to it so that the boy couldn’t see the switch. “I want you to hold out both your hands and stare really hard at the machine. Using your mind, tell it to start.”

  Spencer looked up at his mother, who was smiling. She said, “Go ahead, honey.”

  The boy scrunched up his face and held out his hands. “Move, machine!” he called out.

  Evie hit the On button with her shoulder, and the conveyor whirled to life. “You did it!” She gave
Spencer a look of exaggerated shock. “I knew you were magic.” She turned to Fred, who had been watching the whole thing. “Did you see that?”

  Fred rolled his eyes at Evie before saying to Spencer, “That was amazing. I could use a man like you. When you’re old enough for a job, come see me.” He muttered under his breath to Evie. “Because I’m about to have an opening.”

  But Evie knew her performance meant he wasn’t going to fire her. She was good with people, and he knew it. Once Spencer and his mother left, Fred said, “You’re lucky you’re so good with kids. You can keep your job one more day.”

  Evie really did have a gift for dealing with people, and she knew just what Fred needed to feel good about his decision. She grabbed his hands and gushed, “Thank you, Fred. You won’t regret it.”

  “Humph,” he grumbled as he pulled away from her. “And no more magazines. Make a dent in the phone calls to overdue orders instead.”

  “Will do!” Evie said with a salute.

  Fred returned to his office, and she reached under the counter to grab the stack of tickets for orders that had been waiting for more than a month. It was her job to call and remind customers to pick up their garments. She only made it through four reminders when an older woman in her late sixties walked in clutching her handbag as if someone had just tried to rip it form her grip.

  “Miss Nancy, how nice to see you again today. Did you forget something?” Evie asked, smiling at the woman. Miss Nancy was a regular who was in every week without fail and almost never brought in the same thing twice.

  “No. I didn’t forget anything.” Miss Nancy thrust a bright blue Post It note at Evie, her hand shaking slightly. Her lips were pursed, causing her bright red lipstick to crack. “Did you leave this in my pocket?”

  Evie glanced down at her own handwriting and nodded. “I know it’s hard to keep up with fashion trends, so I figured I’d give you a heads-up before you wore that sequin blazer again. It’s cute in an unexpected way, but the cut isn’t quite right for your body type and the fur on the cuffs and collar… Well, I think we can all agree that mink isn’t exactly socially acceptable anymore.”

  “This note says my jacket makes me look like a disco ball that needs a haircut!”

  Evie glanced down at the blue piece of paper and bit down on her bottom lip. She’d been in a bad mood when she’d left the unsolicited advice, and it was glaringly obvious she’d gone too far because Miss Nancy was craning her neck, peeking into the back area, no doubt looking for Fred. “Uh, it was just a little humor. Of course, you would never look like a disco ball. With that tiny waist, I’m sure you’re the envy of the bridge club.”

  “I don’t play bridge,” Miss Nancy snapped. “What, do you think I’m eighty?”

  “Of course not,” Evie said quickly, trying to recover. “You couldn’t possibly be a day over forty-five.”

  Miss Nancy snorted. “Nice try, little lady. But it’s too late to clean up this mess. I checked the pockets of my other garments and found a ton of unsolicited notes on everything from hemlines to unflattering colors.” The woman raised her voice as she added, “Do you have any idea who I am?”

  Evie shook her head. She just knew the woman as an eccentric lady who always showed up with interesting clothes that never quite hit the mark for Evie. “I was just trying to be helpful,” Evie said nervously. Maybe she had gone too far. But when Miss Nancy hadn’t commented on the notes before, Evie thought maybe she liked the advice. “Fashion is sort of my passion and—”

  “Your passion?” Miss Nancy let out a huff of laughter and swept her gaze over Evie. “That dress is a bad knockoff from the Donna Karan line six or seven years ago. And the pants you had on last week? They had so many wrinkles they looked like you’d fished them out of a Cracker Jack box. Do me a favor and look up Nancy Lemon when you get a chance.”

  “I—”

  The woman held up her hand, cutting Evie off, and stepped into the back room.

  Evie started to go after her, but she heard Fred call out, “Hey, Nancy. Long time no see. We keep missing each other.”

  Whatever Nancy said, Evie didn’t catch it as another customer strolled in looking for his suit. She hurriedly retrieved it for him and was just about to dash into the back to apologize again when Fred appeared from the back room with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

  Evie swallowed. This wasn’t going to end well.

  “Is it true you left fashion advice in the pockets of Miss Lemon’s garments, Evie?” His tone was low and full of disappointment.

  “Yes, but—”

  He held up his hand in much the same way Nancy had just a few moments ago. “Have you been doing this to all of my clients?”

  “Not to… for,” Evie stressed. “And not all of them. Just the ones who could use a few pointers.”

  Fred ground his teeth together, making a muscle in his jaw pulse.

  “It’s her or me, Fred,” Miss Nancy said. “I won’t have some young fool telling me my creations aren’t flattering.”

  Warning lights went off in Evie’s head. Creations? Nancy Lemon?

  “Oh, no,” Evie said out loud, clutching at her chest. “Lemon Fashions? Home of the perfect cropped pants and the best darn bra a girl can buy? That Nancy Lemon?”

  Miss Nancy beamed. “I did design the perfect bra.”

  “Ohmigod!” Evie squealed, pulling her shirt up to expose the red satin number that gave her the perfect amount of support and showed off her impressive cleavage. Made more impressive with the magical bra. “You are my favorite person in the entire world, Miss Nancy. A perfect genius if you ask me,” she gushed. “I’m a huge fan of my cropped Lemons. I have three pair.”

  “So, you like my sportswear line, but not my runway. Interesting.” She cast a glance at Fred. “A designer with less confidence could really get messed up with her advice. Better do something to nip this in the bud, or I’m finding a new dry cleaner come next week. Your choice.”

  “It’s no contest,” Fred said, still glaring at Evie. “This is the final straw, Evie.”

  “But—” Evie started.

  “You’re fired, Evie. Go home.” Fred took Miss Nancy by the arm and escorted her out the door while Evie blinked, wondering how she’d ended up giving advice to a famous fashion designer. “I was only trying to help,” she said again to herself as she grabbed her handbag and the McQueen dress from the back room and left with her head held high.

  Chapter 3

  The door that separated the upstairs offices of Two to Mango from the stairwell to the restaurant below shut with a heavy thud from its hurricane-proof sturdiness as Lindy left Dora alone with Steve Franklin. The man’s dark eyes were black with his anger, and Dora was nearly shaking in her shoes as he asked, “Did you find what you were looking for in Marco’s office?”

  Dora shook her head as she looked down at a pen on her desk. She was a terrible liar and she knew it.

  “You did!” Steve cried out, and Dora jumped when he slapped his hands onto her desk and leaned over it toward her. “You little sneak,” he growled out.

  Dora had witnessed Steve laying into waitstaff who’d made him unhappy before, but she had never seen him this angry. It was looking more and more like he knew exactly what she’d found on Marco’s computer, and that made him dangerous. She stepped back from the desk, eyeing the door with the hope she could escape. “I didn’t find anything. I swear.”

  “How did you get into his computer?”

  “I didn’t!” Dora cried out as she backed up against the wall with the intention of sliding along it until she got to the door.

  Steve stepped in her way, but instinct kicked in and Dora bolted around him toward the exit. She wasn’t fast enough, though, and Steve grabbed her arm and yanked her back against his body, wrapping an arm around her waist. She gasped when a hard object was jabbed into her side, and she glanced down to see Steve was holding a gun.

  The urge to cry was strong as Dora began to whimper. Flashes
of her life’s dreams played in her head: a handsome groom putting a ring on her finger; her imaginary children on swings; and Evie laughing as they frolicked in the waves as old women.

  “Please, I don’t know anything. I—” She inhaled sharply with pain when Steve dug the gun further into her side.

  “I bet you know plenty, and that’s too much for a smart girl like you.”

  He’s going to kill me, she thought. Dora was as conflict averse as a person could be. She would rather eat an overcooked steak than send it back. She’d let someone cut in front of her in line instead of standing her ground. And she was the type to hand her purse to a potential mugger before he had the chance to snatch it. So what she did next shocked her as much as it shocked Steve.

  Dora stomped her foot on top of his with all the strength she could muster and twisted in his arm to release herself as he reacted to the pain. She lifted her knee toward his groin and connected. Hard. Steve let out a groan of pain as he doubled over, and Dora grabbed the barrel of his gun.

  For a split second, she felt the hard metal of the weapon in her fingers before Steve realized what she’d done. He pulled back, but she wasn’t going to die without a fight. Somewhere deep down inside of herself, Dora found the strength to grab on to the pistol with her other hand and push it toward the ceiling while she held on tight. She stumbled forward and into Steve’s chest as he pulled harder.

  The gun exploded with searing heat that singed Dora’s blouse as a loud bang made her ears ring. Then a deafening silence settled around her as time nearly stood still. I’m dying, Dora thought as she sank to her knees with the weight of Steve pulling her down with him, clutching at her as if she were his life preserver. She watched his face as he opened his mouth and blood bubbled out of it.