by Cassie Page
Olivia’s closet was as organized as the rest of her life could be chaotic. She had given up a small alcove overlooking the back garden to have it made into a repository for her supersized wardrobe, the spoils from her once thriving design career in LA.
This morning she picked out an indigo lace top lined with nude chiffon that gave the illusion of exposed ivory skin. Next, a pair of skinny jeans—she grabbed one of the 7 For All Mankind first, then decided on Joe’s Jeans. 7FAM was becoming the Beverly Hills uniform, while Joe’s hadn’t made much of an inroad in Darling Valley. She just felt like taking the road less traveled today. And, because she would be moving furniture, she chose a pair of orange patent leather Valentino flats instead of one of the two hundred odd pairs of mile-high stilettos jammed into the still too-small closet.
Tuesday, the best friend she reluctantly left behind in LA, had said as she helped Olivia pack, that if the design business tanked, she could open a dress shop and sell off all the outfits, purses and shoes she owned but had yet to wear.
Olivia laughed and said, “I can’t help it. I like my threads.”
Olivia loved all beautiful things, man-made and Nature made. That was one of the reasons she chose Darling Valley when she realized she had to get out of LA or lose her sanity after the breakup with Brooks. Her first vision of the small, affluent village took her breath away. Nestled in the hills separating the town from the Northern California coastline, it also boasted a pristine lake big enough for boating in the summer.
It’s home, she had said to herself as she headed back to LA. And six months later, home it became, despite the hazing she took from her sophisticated LA friends about the name.
“Really, Olivia? DARLING Village? How impossibly Angela Lansbury.”
She corrected them. “Darling Valley.”
This morning she accessorized with four inches of bracelets and a clunky lapis and jade necklace, an original piece of wearable art for which she had traded a cut glass decanter of unknown provenance because it matched this particular Versace top. As a bonus, Xavier, a jeweler with a pricey shop on Darling Boulevard, had become a valuable reference in Darling that she not yet been able to sufficiently leverage.
Oh, yes. Earrings. In a flash, cascading loops of gold dusted her shoulders. Makeup was quick. She didn’t need more than a flick of the blusher, some mascara, and a pale gloss. Hair was even quicker. After her shampoo it dried into natural soft, golden waves women paid hundreds of dollars to have permed and colored into their tresses.
In grad school, where she had majored in art history before switching to architecture and interior design, one of her professors compared her to an obscure Botticelli in a private collection he knew of in Florence. She once swore to Tuesday that they would both visit it one day.
Cody’s truck crunched over the gravel driveway just then, earlier than expected. She’d better hustle. She took a quick glance at herself in the ornate wardrobe mirror before she headed back downstairs. All she could see was the small hook in her nose and too small chest that could make do with a pair of Band-Aids instead of a bra.
“If you’re so blinking gorgeous,” she hissed at the mirror, “why can’t you keep a man?”
She tiptoed down the wooden stairs so the click of her leather soles on the wood planks wouldn’t disturb Mrs. Harmon. She grabbed an oilcloth work apron from the hook by the back door, and tied it around her waist as she threw open the screen to greet Cody.
At the sight of his auburn floppy mop peeking out around his 49er cap and two-day beard, a look that to Olivia’s taste looked grubby even though young girls found it sexy—Olive Oyl style, she liked a clean-shaven man--her spirits lifted. She wasn’t alone in this cockamamie folly of hers, a feeling that often kept her awake at night. She had Cody, if only for moral support.
“What are you doing,” she said, puzzled as she watched him try to wrestle a French oak armoire down the ramp of the truck. Usually, Cody tied the bulkier pieces on his back with straps, a trick from his days as a furniture mover for a real estate staging company. He claimed it was easier than trying to lug it with his arms. But nothing was working for him this morning. The piece wouldn’t budge. Cody gave it a troubled frown, an expression that rarely crossed his typically grinning face.
“What did you do, O, tell them to pack this thing with pig iron?”
Olivia jogged across the driveway and hiked herself up onto the bed of the truck.
“What do you mean? I moved this armoire by myself when we dropped it off at Blackman's. It has pine shelves and backing. It can’t be that heavy. You’re not hung over are you, bad boy?”
She gave him a friendly jab on his arm, the rock hard biceps under his ratty leather jacket giving her an unexpected jolt in her belly. How long had it been since she had felt a man’s muscles? She refused to visit that house of pain and focused her attention on moving furniture.
“O, I’m not kidding. It killed me to get this onto the truck in the first place. The other stuff was easy, but this was like a dead weight.”
Olivia tried to rock the armoire to walk it over to the ramp. It barely moved, but she sensed a shifting weight inside.
“Something’s in there,” she said. “I wonder if they used it for temporary storage and forgot to empty it out. Let’s open it up.”
The armoire was tightly bound with heavy ropes secured with nautical knots. Cody scowled at the setup. “This rig would tie down a battleship. Why the overkill?”
The knots were so tight that Cody had to cut them off with hedge clippers Olivia dug up in the garage. Cody cleared the rope away, then tugged and pulled on the door, but with no luck. He threw up his hands.
“What are we going to do, O? I can’t use a crowbar or it will damage the doors. How we are going to open it?”
Olivia tried the door herself with the same result. “Are you sure it isn’t locked? Did you pick up the key?”
Cody pulled an ornate iron key from his jacket pocket and dangled it by its rose-colored tassel, then worked it into the lock. “Nope. I can get the lock to turn, but this old wood is all swoll up. This door won’t budge.”
Olivia had a light bulb moment. “Let’s tip it forward and see if whatever is inside pushes the door open. I’ll stand in front. Do you think you can tip it, Cody?”
“Worth a try. I’ll go easy so it doesn’t fall on you.”
Cody pressed his massive shoulder against the back of the armoire. It started to get away from him, so he grabbed the sides to guide it. Olivia held onto the front. Suddenly, she heard a loud thunk and something inside shift. The door flew open, smacking Olivia in the forehead. She jumped back and the door widened. It gained momentum on creaking hinges as the object inside pushed itself free.
A scream erupted from Olivia’s throat. “Oh my god, Cody! There’s someone in there.”
Cody resettled the armoire and ran around to the front. He stared openmouthed at a man in an expensive sport coat and slacks slumped half in and half out of the armoire. Cody reached over to catch him as he started to slide toward the floor of the truck. He touched him, then jumped back.
“Olivia, it’s Mr. Blackman! Holy shit. I think he’s dead!”
Table of Contents
Also by Cassie Page
The Check List
Chapter One: Casting Call
Chapter Two: The House Call
Chapter Three: Hit Search and Ye Shall Find
The Phone Call
Chapter Four: M for Mystery
Chapter Five: A Corpse In A Teacup
Chapter Six: The Cavalry Arrives
Chapter Seven: Beyoncé With A Badge
Chapter Eight: Hello Kitty
Chapter Nine: Did The Earth Move For You, Too?
Chapter Ten: Rocking and Rolling
Chapter Eleven: The Princess and the Pea
Chapter Twelve: Bye Kitty
Chapter Thirteen: Missing Persons
Chapter Fourteen: Crazy Kitchen
Chapter Fiftee
n: Designer Considers
Chapter Sixteen: Motherless Children
Double the Fun
Chapter Seventeen: Party Time
Chapter Eighteen: Mr. Perfect
Pretty Flowers
Chapter Nineteen: Missed Chances
Chapter Twenty: Whither Thou Goest
Chapter Twenty-One: Where’s Roger
Check’s In The Mail
Chapter Twenty-Two: Surprise!
Chapter Twenty-Three: Here Kitty
Chapter Twenty-Four: New BFFs
Chapter Twenty-Five: An Ax And A Girl
Chapter Twenty-Six: The Freak Show
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Show Me The Money
Alphabetical Order
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Stop That Car
Payday, Payday
Chapter Twenty-Nine: M For Misery
Chapter Thirty: Vera The Voluminous
Chapter Thirty-One: Stargazing
Chapter Thirty-Two: Busted
Chapter Thirty-Three: Mr. Who?
Chapter Thirty-Four: Give 'Em The Boot
Chapter Thirty-Five: Oops!
Chapter Thirty-Six: Coming Clean
Chapter Thirty-Seven: The BOLO
Just One Bite
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Follow The Money
Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Shortcut
Chapter Forty: Cut To The Chase
Chapter Forty-One: The Breakfast Club
Chapter Forty-Two: Welcome Home
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