Crafts, Crimes, and Country Clubs

by Stacey Alabaster

  But no such luck. Now it was a civil war with everyone blaming each other.

  Was this the end of the Pottsville Ladies’ Tennis Club?

  "You look a little glum," Adam said as he packed up the dog bed and called Casper and Jasper back. Both of them looked very well fed, so there must have been no issue with Flora sharing her food. "Did your long weekend not go as planned?"

  "Not unless you consider an attempted murder part of the plan. But apart from that, it was lovely. The slopes are very hospitable this time of year."

  Adam shook his head. "I think you ought to take a look at the sort of people you choose to spend time with."

  He had a good point there. I thanked him for looking after the dogs and wearily walked home, dreaming of just being able to curl up in my own familiar bed and to try and sleep the last few days away. So much for a refreshing few days.

  With Casper sleeping in her bed in the living room, I called for Jasper to hop into his bed at the end of mine. I was unpacking my wig and Jasper barked at the red fabric. To him, it probably looked like a small, furry animal that I was waving around. He came up and sniffed it before starting to nibble at it. I moved it away and commanded him to go and lay on his dog bed and be a good boy.

  I folded up the wig and placed it back in my bedside drawer, wondering if I would ever need to put it on again. Whether Christine Taylor would ever be seen again.

  Now that I was back to being George, and out of the bubble of the tennis club and the glitz and glamor, I had to return to my sobering reality. I had work to do. Was the attack on Tina related to Detective Nicholas's death? It had to have been. I couldn't find any other good explanation.

  Usually, I would have run my theories past Jasper—he couldn't respond in words, of course, but he listened and offered advice in his own way—but I had to go into the shop to make sure that Brenda was handling everything okay. So I had no one to talk to that morning except myself. I just hoped my lips weren't moving as I walked along. I didn't like the reputation I was gaining as the local crazy woman.

  Whoever attacked Anthony Nicholas had to be the same person who attacked Tina. Tina was just lucky she hadn't suffered the same fate, and that we wouldn't be attending her funeral next.

  Or maybe she hasn't escaped. Maybe someone will try to hurt Tina again. And next time, she won't be so lucky.

  My head was down, deep in thought, so at first, I didn't notice the gap in the street. Something did seem a little off, sure, and I may have frowned and glanced at the empty spot to my right, but I shrugged it off and kept walking to work.

  It was only when I walked through the door and saw the satisfied look on Brenda's face that I finally paused and looked back over my shoulder. The penny dropped. The gap. The cart was gone.

  "Hang on..." I said slowly, before I raced back out front. '"Where is Melanie's cart?"

  Brenda could not wipe the grin off her face. "I finally won," she said, crossing her arms in victory.

  "What do you mean, Brenda?"

  "I mean, while you were off enjoying yourself on vacation, I was here, saving this craft store!"

  "What did you do?"

  She smiled. "Not only did I tell her we would be suing her for infringement, I told her that I would be going to the police so that they could file criminal charges against her! She completely folded. She doesn't have the permits. I told her she had one night to pack up and leave or she would be in double trouble."

  Of course she expected me to be grateful. She probably wanted me to drop to my knees and thank her for all her good work. But I was stunned. I was worried about what had happened to Melanie. What was she going to do without a business or an income?

  I shook my head. "I think you've gone too far, Brenda," I said. "I don't think you should have done this. It crosses a line."

  She barely even bothered to act defensive. As far as she was concerned, she was in the right, Melanie was in the wrong, and it was as black and white as that. "She was breaking several laws," Brenda said, folding up the handkerchiefs. "So she had it coming."

  "Where is Melanie now?"

  "What does that matter! I hope she has moved on, ready to scam the next town."

  Sure. Maybe she hadn't gotten the right permits to operate a mobile retail shop, but that didn't make her a crook! Or a scam artist. If there was one thing that annoyed me about Brenda, and there were many, it was that she saw things in such a moralistic black and white way.

  "Where are you going?" Brenda called after me.

  "I am going to find Melanie! I just hope she’s not starving and freezing on the street, thanks to you, Brenda!"

  10

  There was no trace of Melanie, not even a feather or some fluff from a pipe cleaner that had fallen onto the light snow underfoot. It was like she was a ghost, and had never been there at all. I heard a familiar voice behind me. Low. Posh. "Chris...Christine?" Sally asked in shock as she removed her dark shades when I spun around.

  My stomach sunk.

  I'd been sprung. No wig. No face-defining makeup to turn me into a more glamorous version of myself with a thinner nose and higher cheekbones.

  Just plain old George.

  I gulped and looked around, hoping that a miracle might occur. Maybe I could disappear through the same wormhole that seemed to have engulfed Melanie and her cart.

  Sally looked like she was shaking. "I...I don't understand..." She walked over to me and reached out, pulling gently on one of my curls, which sprang back. "Is this your real hair, Christine?" She searched my eyes for answers.

  There was a certain kind of shame that engulfed you when you've been caught in a lie. "I'm really sorry, Sally... I-I don't know what to say."

  "You—" She took a step back and looked me up and down. "Is this what you really look like?" It was taking a while for it to really dawn on her. I didn't blame her. She must have thought I had multiple personalities at that point.

  I gulped and nodded. "I'm afraid so. I was trying out another identity for a little while there. I..." I was still at a loss for words. Any explanation I came up with seemed so unsatisfactory.

  Sally looked like she had been stung. "But why would you do that?"

  I tried to explain that I had been turned away from the tennis club when I'd tried to join up as myself. "But when I came back as Christine Taylor, in my chic red bob and my expensive clothes, I was accepted."

  "Why would you go to such crazy lengths to join the club?" Sally asked, still in shock.

  There was that word again. I supposed my reputation as the town crazy lady really was spreading and there seemed to be nothing I could do to stop it. "I just really wanted to be accepted into your group," I said meekly. "I know I resorted to desperate measures. I never meant for anyone to get hurt."

  "Were you— Were you spying on us?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. She had moved from shock to suspicion.

  I shook my head, even though I supposed that was precisely what I had been doing. But I couldn't let her know that. "I just wanted to belong to your circle, Sally. Rather desperately." I glanced at the ground to appear contrite. "And so I did something I am rather ashamed of. I created a new identity so that I would be welcomed by all of you. Accepted."

  It took Sally a long time to compose her thoughts on the manner. She was shivering inside her coat, but I was still burning up from embarrassment. "I-I don't know what to say, Christine." She paused and looked at me skeptically. "Is that even your name?"

  I gulped. "No. It is Georgina. But friends call me George. It is what I prefer." I shot her a look that I hoped was full of apology and regret. "And I hope that you will be able to call me George, Sally. I don't want to lose your friendship, however it was gained."

  She sighed. "I do know how hard it is to make friends in this community." She glanced up at the sky and shook her head. "And we've all done desperate things. And things we are ashamed to have done."

  I dug the toe of my boot into the snow and pondered this for a moment. Across the road, at
the cafe, I noticed Lucy and her golden blonde hair sitting at one of the front tables. I was worried, just for a second, that I might look to her left and see Ryan sitting with her. But she was all alone. She looked so sad.

  And suddenly, I thought, What if it wasn't Ryan that Lucy had been seeing down at the station? What if Sally had gotten it wrong? What if it was Anthony?

  "Sally?" I said softly. "I know you mentioned that you thought your husband was having an affair."

  She straightened up and looked uncomfortable. "We don't need to worry about that now. Why are you bringing this up?"

  I turned back to her. "I just noticed that Lucy was acting strangely at the funeral."

  She stared at me and blinked a few times. "You think it is strange to cry at a funeral?"

  "Well, no. But to cry that passionately at the funeral of a man you don't know very well? Yes, I do think that is a little strange." I took a deep breath. "Sally, I think that you got it all twisted. Lucy was having an affair with Anthony."

  "But Lucy... Lucy would never do that..." Sally's face was drained of color. She looked like she was about to pass out.

  She seemed to completely take leave of her senses. For a moment, she seemed to forget that I was there, that there was someone else to overhear the thoughts she was spewing aloud. "I...I thought it was Tina... My goodness, what have I done?" She brought her hands up to her face.

  "What do you mean? Sally?"

  All of a sudden, she looked up at me and her eyes became less glassy. She was back in her body and once again, she was back on planet Earth. "Nothing," she said with a bright smile as though nothing had happened. "I'd better get going," she said. "I need to be home to supervise the chef for a dinner party I am throwing tonight..."

  I stepped in front of her. I still felt like the friendship we'd had wasn't completely fabricated. Maybe there was some reasonable explanation for everything, and I was willing to hear it. "Sally, you don't look very well. You’ve gone very pale. Would you like to go somewhere and talk about this? I promise that anything you say will stay between the two of us. We are still friends after all, aren't we? Even with my hair like this?"

  "I don't think we should be friends anymore," Sally said, putting her nose in the air as she pulled her shades down. "I've decided that I can't look past your deception after all."

  I was left standing there knowing two things for certain—one, that Sally Nicholas had pushed Tina down a mountain, and two, that the Pottsville Ladies’ Tennis Club was no place for me.

  I had been holding my cell phone in one position for so long that my arm was starting to cramp up, yet I still hadn't dialed the number. I knew what I had to do, I just really didn't want to do it. I took a deep breath and started to type in the number for the local police.

  I jumped when, halfway through dialing, the phone rang. It was Tina. I gulped and answered it, wondering how I was going to explain to her the decision I had made. Or rather, not made. Or almost made. How could I say, "Hey, I know that it was Sally who attacked you. I just couldn't quite bring myself to make the call, out of a misplaced sense of loyalty."

  Tina was so overexcited that she was tripping over her words. She spat my name out. "Christine!" she exclaimed. I gulped when I realized that she still didn't know about my deception. Would she still be calling me if she knew that wasn't really my name? The words spilled out of her like a torrent, so fast that I barely understood them, but the news was sobering. "Sally has been arrested."

  Ryan tried to swallow down a smile. "Strange to see you with your real hair." He opened the door for me and I hurried in to get out of the cold. The snow had reached the valley again and Pottsville was covered.

  He was only teasing, but there was still a sting to his words. "I've given up all of that," I said as I entered the station and followed him. I knew the place well. Too well.

  Ryan seemed relieved. The best thing about him—or one of the best things—was that he never held a grudge and whenever we got into an argument, he would treat it lightly the next time we met. "Why? Did you get sprung?"

  I almost took offense, but then I softened as well and laughed. "I just missed my real hair, that's all. I think the natural look suits me better." I pulled on one of the curls absentmindedly.

  He nodded and told me that Sally was waiting, if I wanted to see her. "She's in one of the holding cells. Even with all the money she has, being bailed out might be difficult seeing as this is attempted murder."

  I swallowed down a gasp. I still wasn't sure Sally deserved that charge leveled against her.

  "I-I'm not sure about this," I said, starting to double-back.

  "What's wrong?" Ryan asked, two steps ahead of me down the corridor.

  "She doesn't want to see me," I said, staring up at him with regret. "Not after what I did." My words were soft.

  "What did you do?" Ryan asked, frowning.

  I fluffed up my hair. "Deceived her. And now that she knows who I really am… Well, it was Christine Taylor that she wanted to be friends with. Not me. She's mad at me. She's not going to forgive me."

  I didn't know what he was looking so sorry for me for. After all, he was the same as Sally, wasn't he? He had also been angry at me when he'd found out I'd taken on a new identity.

  "I wasn't angry at you for being yourself..." Ryan gently pointed out. "I was mad because you were pretending to be someone you weren't."

  I nodded, but I wasn't sure that was the full story on his side. He'd been mad because I'd been meddling in the case behind his back, and I still hadn't figured out what he was hiding. But now that some time had passed, I could only hope that what he was hiding was simple: that he wasn't hiding anything. I had found no proof that he or any of the other police officers in Pottsville had anything to do with Detective Nicholas's death. And it was a huge relief.

  "If she doesn't like you as you are, as George, then she isn't worth being friends with at all," Ryan said. "And she is the one missing out, not you."

  Sally was looking sullen in her cell, head drooped and still in her expensive clothes, but behind bars, she was equal with anyone else in society. I crept forward.

  It had been Lucy who had made the call. Not me. But would she know that? She'll have to assume it was me.

  "Christine..." Sally stopped herself. "George," she said, as though the word was still foreign to her. She stood up and walked slowly to the bars. "I can't believe you came to visit me."

  "I wasn't the one who called the cops," I said. It was the first thing I needed to tell her. It just spilled out. I was still desperate for her to like me, to approve of me, to allow me into her inner circle, even though she was behind bars. I wasn't sure what power she would still hold in Pottsville after all of this.

  Sally shrugged a little. I wasn't sure she believed me. I wasn't sure that she cared. "It doesn't matter," she said softly. "I suppose I deserve to be here."

  The words twisted in my stomach. "But it was just an accident, wasn't it, Sally?" I leaned in closer. "You just got angry in the moment, lost your temper with Tina. That's why you pushed her. It was a moment of rage. No intent of..." I lowered my voice and whispered, "…murder?"

  Sally was very quiet as she took a few slow steps backward.

  "Sally, please tell me that you didn't actually intend to kill Tina?"

  She walked back to the bench and sat down. Her face was half in shadow. I gripped the bars and stared at her.

  "I'm still your friend, Sally," I said. "If I can do anything to help you, I will. But you have to tell me what happened."

  She was still staring at the ground. "I thought it was Tina who was having an affair with Anthony. I never thought Lucy would do this to me. She was my best friend." She raised her eyes, and they were red and gleaming. "I would do it again if I got the chance. But this time, I would make sure I got the right person."

  I gulped.

  I was going to leave without saying good-bye to Ryan. After what Sally had told me, I didn't think I could deal with talking
to another human being just then.

  But at the last moment, I thought better of it and quietly doubled back into the station, hoping that I might be able to quietly surprise him.

  I could hear Ryan's voice coming from the break room. One of the officers was pouring black coffee into a Styrofoam cup. It was Ryan, Matt, and two other officers, quietly gathered, and I suddenly felt like I was intruding on an intimate moment. They were discussing a case—I wasn't sure which at the beginning—without realizing there was anyone around to overhear them.

  "She definitely did it," Matt said, nodding in the direction of Sally's cell

  Well, of course she did it, I thought, pressing myself up against the wall so they wouldn't see me. She admitted to it.

  But he wasn't talking about the attack on Tina. "It'll be easy now. Case closed." The rest of the cops all muttered and nodded. But not Ryan.

  Ryan stood up and sighed as he poured his cup down the sink. He looked upset, but also like he was a little intimidated by being the odd man out. "We don't have any proof that Sally killed Nicholas."

  I held my breath a little without realizing it. They were going to try and pin that on Sally. She may have lost her temper with Tina, but I still knew, deep down, that she wasn't the one who had killed Anthony.

  "Come on, guys," Matt said, lowering his voice as his wild eyes darted around. "This will make it easier. The guys over at Hayfield Mountain will stop asking questions. You know this makes sense."

  Ryan put his hat back on and started to storm off toward the door. "You guys can charge an innocent woman if you want, just to cover your own tracks, but I'm not having any part of it."

  I pressed myself tightly against the wall so that he wouldn't see me, but I felt the wind as he passed by me in the hall, my own breath held.

  I never said good-bye to him that night.

  11

  The shovel was barely making a dent in the snow. Still, I pressed on, trying to clear a space for us to at least allow our customers into the door of the shop.