"Something came up," I said, standing and clipping the leash onto Jasper's collar as a sleepy little Casper—a small white terrier—appeared down the hallway, not wanting to be left out of the festivities.
"I told you, these young guys just have no sense of commitment," Adam said, shaking his head. Ah yes, the wise old voice of reason. Ever since he had become engaged to Felicity a month earlier, he was suddenly an expert on being an adult, even though he had lived a good life as a 40-year-old kid up until that point.
I grabbed the second leash from him and called for Casper to come and join us as well.
"Well, good luck," Adam said with a sigh.
"Good luck with what?" I asked as I turned to leave.
"Good luck ever getting that kid to settle down."
I rolled my eyes at him and turned to leave. "It was a work emergency, Adam. Ever hear of murder? A little more important than a few days away skiing. We'll be back on the slopes as soon as this whole business is sorted."
But I was being defensive and rationalizing. As I walked away with the two dogs pulling me back to our house, I wondered if we would ever have that romantic away.
I squinted and leaned forward. Had a child painted this, or was it on purpose? The S was backward in the sign that read "Crafts and More!" and there were crudely painted stars around the lettering. There was another sign, hand-painted, giving the business hours of this wayward cart that had parked itself two hundred feet away from the craft shop that I ran. The craft shop where I paid to rent the building every week and paid the utilities.
The business hours were short, admittedly. Tuesday to Saturday and only from 10 till 3. Much shorter hours than we kept. But that didn't seem to keep people away. It was 10:00 am Tuesday and there were already people crowded around, looking at the discount pipe cleaners and glitter and plywood. There was a pair of women in their forties who were... I stopped. Hey! They were regular customers at my store. At least, they always had been. I saw one of them pull out her wallet and hand over cash for a tub of discounted glue that was only a couple of quarters. Cash that could have gone to my store. Except that I charge five dollars for the same item.
I pulled my shades off and stared at the garish display. There were feathers and balloons all over the cart, obscuring the woman running the show behind it, but I could see that she was wearing a bright coat, like the circus ringmaster that she was. There were colorful pipe cleaners sticking out in every direction on the stand and little circles of brightly-colored cardboard everywhere announcing half-price discounts and even 90% off some items.
I had to wonder if part of my resistance to the cart and the feelings of growing rage were that I actually gravitated to the more 'garish' things myself, but Brenda—my assistant manager—had decided that we needed to move the store in a more subtle, sophisticated direction. "This isn't a shop for children's art projects," she had said to me once. "We are catering toward the sophisticated women of Pottsville." Except that I wasn't a sophisticated woman of Pottsville and I wasn't sure I wanted to cater to them. Not to mention that women like that didn't craft. They ordered handcrafted items in from Europe. They didn't make them themselves.
I entered the store and was greeted by Brenda's scrunched-up face. "Good morning," I said, hoping that she wouldn’t ask why I was back in town instead of on my little vacation. Thankfully, she didn’t.
Brenda had spotted the portable craft stall herself and was livid. "I am putting a stop to this," she said, her face set in determination. There was a glimmer in her eyes as well, almost like she was possessed. She didn't like it when anyone didn't stick to the rules. In her eyes, this woman had pulled up into town like an outlaw and she needed to be run out in the same fashion.
I just shook my head and went back to opening up the newly-arrived stock. Though I had no idea why Brenda had ordered thin-stemmed wine glasses. I held one up in question. "It's so that people can personalize them. For weddings and parties." I placed one down and turned around the sign on the door to make sure that people knew we were actually open. Brenda didn't like to turn the sign around until the last second and sometimes, she 'forgot' to turn it around at all.
She was still steaming from the nose. "That woman has some nerve coming in to our territory like this. She needs to be dealt with accordingly."
"I think you should just calm down," I said with a little laugh, thinking that she was joking. "It's annoying, yes, but these sorts of things come and go." The stall couldn't have been there for more than a day or so. The sign said it only opened on Tuesdays onward, so it had probably only been there for a few hours, unless the times had changed. It would probably be gone again in a week.
"Oh, I am not going to calm down," Brenda said. "I am not going to stop until that stall is completely destroyed."
I spun around. "Brenda, what are you going to do?"
"I am going to make sure she is packed up and forced to leave town," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "And if need be, I will make sure that she is prosecuted."
Whoa. This was starting to get way too heavy for me. I laughed in a way that was more of a scoff. "How are you possibly going to get her prosecuted?" I asked. I couldn't help feeling that there were more important things the Pottsville Police were currently dealing with. Did Brenda know one of them had just been killed? I don't think they were going to care about a few discount pipe cleaners, even if there were some laws being broken.
But to Brenda, this was a case just as serious as murder. "There is no way they have the right permits," she said. "They popped up out of nowhere and just started to try and deliberately undercut us."
Once the ridiculous wine glasses had been unpacked, I wandered back up the road to check out Brenda's claim. She was right—not only were the prices dirt cheap to start with, which I’d already known, but when it was an item identical to one we stocked, it was discounted to 90% off. Difficult not to see the coincidence in that.
I finally caught sight of the owner's face. And I had to admit, she didn't seem quite as evil as I had assumed. A woman with curly brown hair and a bright smile greeted me. Her nametag said ‘Melanie,’ and she was a curvy woman with a full face and lots of charm. "Can I help you with anything?" she asked, eager to help. She pushed forward one of the racks of beads, showing off her wares. They were just glass beads, but they had been polished to look more expensive. The kind of thing I liked, to be honest. "These have been hot sellers," she said with a wink. "Only got a few left, so you'll want to get in quick!"
Hmm. She certainly knew how to sell. And she was very charming. It was lucky for us that she was only running a temporary store and not a permanent shopfront, or Brenda and I really would be in trouble. As it was, I still thought that Brenda's outrage was a huge overreaction. We just had to ride out the storm and wait for Melanie to move onto the next town of her own accord.
She had a section on the side of the cart that was full of wigs, which caught my eye. It was certainly something that we didn't stock—and for that reason, they were higher priced than some of the other items. A few of the wigs were the usually bright Halloweeny types, but there were a few sophisticated ones as well, chic bobs that actually looked like real human hair. I ran my fingers through one of them, a short red style that I thought might actually suit me.
"Nice beads," I said, running my fingers over the turquoise bulbs as I returned to the items that Melanie had originally showed me. "Not my usual color, I have to admit. I usually go for brighter colors. But they are very nice." After checking the price sticker, I had to wonder how she could keep her prices so low. We sold beads four times that price.
"So how do you manage to make a profit?" I asked curiously as I picked out a few of the beads and popped them into a small brown bag. I couldn't resist.
"I just think this town needs a cheaper alternative to all the overpriced and snobbish boutique craft supply stores," she said with a little laugh, clearly not realizing that she had just put her foot in her mouth.
&
nbsp; I straightened up and placed the bag down on the counter, pulling out my purse. I still intended to make the purchase, but I wanted her to realize the offense she had just inadvertently caused. "Well, I happen to operate one of those stores." I nodded toward the craft store. "That one just there, in fact."
I watched the color drain from her face.
"I-I didn't mean."
I pulled a ten-dollar bill out of my purse. "I think you did mean what you said." I shrugged a little. "But it's okay. Here, keep the change." From the looks of her flimsy signs and all the discount signs littering the stall, she needed a few extra dollars.
She reached her hand out and pushed my money away. "I'm so sorry. Can we start over? Be friends? Hey, what is your name?"
I paused for a moment. "Georgina. Most people call me George. Well, if I like them, they do."
She grinned at me. "It is a pleasure to meet you, George."
I glanced over my shoulder at Brenda, who was making her usual sour face. I could see it through the window even halfway down the street. I wondered what she was going to make of the fact that I'd just tried to give Melanie money. "Well, this is a little like conspiring with the enemy," I said. "Especially if you are not going to let me pay." I put the ten-dollar bill back in my purse.
"I think us small business owners need to stick together," Melanie said. "Are we in this together? We can help each other out, rather than become enemies."
Yes, well, I was a small business owner, while this woman just had a cart in the middle of the street. Was it really the same thing?
I sighed and smiled. It was better not to be a snob. Besides, she did have a point. "I suppose we should be allies rather than mortal enemies."
Melanie was beaming. "Oh, I'm so pleased to hear that! Here," she said, taking the last beads off the stand and placing them in my bag. "You might as well have these as well."
I thanked her and said I needed to be going. The 90% off signs caught my eyes as I backed away. Melanie was a pleasant woman, but if she was going to undercut my prices like this, I wasn't sure how good of friends we could be.
3
We rarely held the craft circles during the day—or on the weekend—but with the rapidly dropping temperatures, night times just didn't work. Most of the members of our craft circle were a little more...senior, you could say. They preferred to be inside in the warmth during the cold winter nights. Brenda had switched it to Saturday morning, only to find out that the library was now closed on Saturdays, which had caused a brief meltdown.
I had a plan. "We can hold it Thursday. During the day. The library is open, it will be warmer..."
"What about the shop!"
I shook my head. "We can close for two hours between eleven and one. No one will die, Brenda."
I wandered into the library and checked if the book I had put on hold had come in yet. The librarian, a shrewd-looking woman with a long neck and a short dark bob, shook her head and said it still needed to be transported from Hayfield Mountain Library.
"Oh," I said, blinking a few times in surprise. "I was just there on the weekend. I could have picked it up myself."
I considered just buying the electronic version for my Kindle. I didn't think there was much chance of going back to Hayfield Mountain any time soon. Pottsville’s police force had closed ranks and I hadn't seen Ryan since Monday night. So much for making that relationship official.
Brenda waved me over and asked if I was going to help her set up the chairs or 'just daydream all morning.'
"Daydream all morning," I replied, but I helped with the chairs anyway. She was edgy about being away from the shop for too long and wanted to wrap the circle up early.
I stared out into the garden of the library, where snow was starting to softly fall, having finally found its way into the valley. I couldn't stop my mind from wandering and soon I was thinking about the view from the cabin resort...wishing that I was back there.
"So what are your ideas so far?" Brenda asked me.
"Well, I'm thinking the wife might have had something to do with it..." I said. "I know that Anthony Nicholas was married, but apparently, they weren't going through such a good streak." I perked up and turned around, happily surprised that Brenda was taking such an interest. "And it would also get Ryan off the hook," I added quietly, looking around to see if anyone was listening. Didn't exactly want all of Pottsville to know that my maybe-boyfriend was a maybe-killer.
Brenda just stared at me. "No. I mean about that darn craft cart," she said. "We are gathered here today to come up with strategies to rid the town of that eyesore."
"Right. I, um..." I scratched my head. I didn't want to get involved, though I was still playing both sides. Brenda didn't know that I had added Melanie to Facebook the day before and that we'd been messaging each other funny things all night.
Brenda put her hands on her hips. "You haven't been thinking of any plans, have you?"
Secretly, I thought we should have invited Melanie to the craft circle, not used it as an opportunity to gossip and talk about her behind her back. But I didn't dare suggest it to Brenda. I just made my way quietly to the center of the library and took a seat, there in body but not fully there in mind.
"I say we spread a rumor that all of her goods are stolen items so that we ruin her reputation and no one shops there any longer!"
"Or we could say that she is a criminal. It's not far from the truth, after all!"
"Enforcing a town-wide boycott is the best way. If she doesn't make any money, then she can't stay here!"
Maybe I needed a new group of friends.
When, after half an hour, the conversation still hadn't slipped away from Melanie and the various ways in which we could bring her down, I decided that I could make a better use of my Thursday lunchtime. I gathered my purse quietly, stopping by the 'borrow' section before I left, settling on a different book by the same author.
"I might just slip out for a while," I said to Brenda, who was too busy with her scheming to even listen to me. Good—that meant she wouldn't miss me much then. "I'll be back at the shop just a little after one."
I set out into the cold air and smiled as I moved slowly on the snow, being careful not to slip. By the time I had walked a quarter of a mile back into town, it had melted and the sun had come out. There was also a spring in my step. What I had said to Brenda was right—I had a new lead to go off of. If I was going to prove that Ryan had nothing to do with Anthony Nicholas's death—because he didn't, right??—I was going to have to find a new suspect. If Nicholas's marriage had been in tatters before he'd died, then that was the place to start.
The only reason I ever knew that Anthony Nicholas was married was because Ryan had told me. Well, had been married. She was a widow now. Her name was Sally, but I didn't know that much more about her. I had never even seen them together. I was surprised when Ryan had mentioned that he had a wife at home. Apparently, she had waited a while to follow him to Sandy Point and had only been in town a short time.
Apart from that and her name, all I knew was that Detective Nicholas's wife hadn't been too happy about moving from her coastal paradise to little old Pottsville.
And I knew that she moved in exclusive circles in Pottsville. She was the kind of 'sophisticated woman' that Brenda thought we were appealing to at the shop, but who would never actually step foot in our craft store. She might get her assistant to do it for her. Maybe.
If I was going to impress Sally Nicholas, I needed to go home and get changed out of the overalls I had worn to the craft circle. And to work before that. I pulled them off and switched it for a long red dress, pulling on my white coat and thinking that would make me look more sophisticated. I looked myself up and down in the mirror. The outfit was all wrong. All it had achieved was to make me look like Santa Claus. I tore it off and started over again, this time ditching the red and just sticking with the white palette—a simple pair of white pants with a white shirt.
White was the most sophisticat
ed color, right?
I was already out the front door when I had the shocking revelation that I hadn't shut the back gate. Soon, there was the racing of footsteps over the gravel driveway and the familiar feeling of Jasper’s paws against my chest. I closed my eyes and wondered if there was any chance he hadn't been digging. I opened them again. Of course not.
On the one hand, I suppose I was lucky that it had happened while I was still home, and that Jasper hadn't run away while I was gone.
He was up on my chest again.
"Jasper! No!"
Now I had four prints.
Why oh why had I chosen to wear white?
Fantastic. Now I looked the picture of sophistication.
It was too late to go back inside and go through another outfit change. I didn't even have another outfit to change into. I was just going to have to make the most of it. Maybe dog prints were in that winter season.
Now that the snow had stopped falling, it was warmish for a winter's day and all of the snow in the valley had melted, though the mountain peaks in the distance were still capped like soft-serve cones. I felt like I was starting out fresh on my day, and tried to put the nasty talk at the craft circle out of my mind. I'd have to decide what to do about that situation later.
The Pottsville Tennis Club had indoor courts for the winter season with blue floors and a strict dress code written on the front that included "no black soles."
I was glad I'd stuck with white. Not only was it the color of sophistication, it was definitely the color of tennis. From a quick glance through the window, I could see that most of the members milling around inside were also wearing white. Even though some of them were dressed in tennis outfits, standing in front of a roaring fireplace, most of the women were draped in casual designer wear that draped and didn't look practical for the tennis courts.
Crafts, Crimes, and Country Clubs Page 2