Murder at the Mall: (A Madeline Shore Cozy Curvy Mystery)

by Lynn Cooper

  “Yes, he certainly does have the right stuff. We’re fortunate to have such a fine gumshoe come all the way down here to join our little department.”

  As one of the uniforms holds a clear-plastic evidence bag, Zeke extracts the contents of Bluff’s pockets, examining each item before dropping it into the bag. “Right-front pocket. Set of keys. A couple of used tissues—”

  “I’ll check it for DNA,” Graham says, pointing somberly at it as if it’s critical to the case. He glances at me for my reaction, which is to ignore him.

  “Nothing in the left-front. Nothing in the right-hip.” Zeke unbuttons the left-hip pocket and extracts a scarred, gray billfold that looks like it’s been run over by steamroller.

  “‘What’s in your wallet?’” Graham asks, winking at me.

  “License, credit card, business card and a discount card for Bojangles. There’s one of those photos of a perfect family that sometimes comes with the wallet—”

  Maybe it’s my baby sister and her brood.

  “—but no cash.”

  “That’s strange,” the uniformed cop, Alan Ackrin, says. Alan and I met a year and a half ago when I happened upon my first dead body. That one was in a photo booth at the Halloween fair. A long, creepy story for another time.

  “Strange how, Ackrin?” Zeke asks.

  “Mr. Burrows always carried his cash in a solid gold money clip. It had his initials on it.” He stifles a laugh. “SOB for Stafford Oren Burrows. He flashed the thing all the time. Was real proud of it. It was some kind of business award he got. And it always had a thick wad of bills in it.”

  Zeke drops the wallet into the bag. “So maybe we’ve got ourselves a robbery motive.”

  “Or, he lost it,” Graham says. “He had those heart attacks. A man has blood cut off from the brain like that, he gets fuzzy-headed and careless.”

  “Maybe he carelessly lost his cell phone, too,” I say. “Nobody goes around without one these days.”

  Zeke checks his jacket pockets. “No phone here either. Whoever killed him must have taken it.”

  Graham grunts. “Uh, as I stated earlier, there is no killer. Chances are Bluff lost his phone wherever he lost his clip and his cash.”

  “Or,” I say, struggling to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, “there was something on Bluff’s phone the killer didn’t want anyone to see.”

  “Miss Shore,” Zeke says, blowing out his breath, “I’ll try again. Me, handling the investigation. You, being quiet.”

  The other uniform pokes his head between the curtains and lifts his chin at Zeke. “The forensics guy is running late, Detective. He and his kid were down the mall at Toys-for-Boys, so he has to run back home and get his equipment.”

  “Thanks, Klein.”

  “Also, Mayor Kwan wants you to call her immediately. She’s not a happy camper.”

  I watch his chin drop slightly toward his chest. He sighs and pulls the sheet over the body, covering poor Bluff’s lifeless face. Rising, he walks toward me, his scorching, ocean-blue eyes filled with unspoken accusation. Each step seems to suck more air from my lungs, and my legs start to shake. He raises his finger in my face. “You stay put, Miss Shore. I’m not through with you yet.”

  Although my heart is slamming against my ribcage, I manage to arch one brow and calmly say, “Through? I didn’t know you had even started, Detective.”

  Relief washes over me the second he stalks away. Like most people, my stomach fills with the fluttering of butterfly wings when I get nervous or excited. Having Zeke Worthy close enough for me to see the tiny flecks of gold in his irises has made those butterflies do all-out somersaults and cartwheels. This abdominal turbulence can only mean one thing. Shifting to the other foot, I try to ease one out but fail miserably. The expulsion is loud enough for anyone except Graham Perkins to hear.

  My face fills with the heat and redness of embarrassment. But, luckily, it’s just me, the medical examiner and the body now. As he closes his medical bag and stands up, Graham furrows his brow and sniffs the air. “What a fetching fragrance, Madeline. What’s it called?”

  “CinnaCluster.”

  “It’s heavenly,” he sighs, shuffling out of the dressing room.

  Grateful for the privacy, I dig my phone out of my purse and call Luisa.

  “Where are you?” she asks. Without waiting for me to answer, she says, “In case you’re interested, Madeline, I’m standing with a mob of shoppers outside Missy’s. They’ve lowered the gate and put crime scene tape across it. A lady told me somebody found a dead body in there. Please tell me it wasn’t you.”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  “But it was, wasn’t it?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “This is the third one, Madeline. They say death follows some people; do you think you follow death?”

  What a morbid thought, no pun intended. I’m not sure why it keeps happening. You hear about people who get struck by lightning again and again. Well, maybe that’s what this is, except instead of bolts of electricity, it’s instances of homicide. “We’ll talk about it later,” I say. “Look, I’m probably going to be tied up here for a while. Could you swing by the shop and make sure Bear has enough food and water in his bowls?”

  “Sure. You want me to walk him before I go to work?” Luisa is head manicurist at Slocomb Hair and Nail Salon.

  “No, I’ll take him later. Just tell him I love him, and I’ll explain everything when I get home. Give him some of his treats, too. He’s being an awfully good boy.”

  Detective Worthy steps through the curtains, parting them for a couple of paramedics to push their gurney through. Somebody really should have pulled them out of the way before now. As he makes his way over to me, I can’t seem to take in a full breath. “Come with me, Miss Shore.”

  “Why? Am I under arrest?”

  “Let’s just say you’re a person of interest.”

  There go the legs again. I cut my eyes at him. “Criminally or romantically?”

  He doesn’t even try to hide the smirk before adeptly changing the subject. “I missed breakfast. I’d take you back to the station for interrogation, but they don’t have a food court.” Glancing at his watch, he groans. “The mayor wants to meet with us in forty-five minutes, and I’d rather do it on a full stomach.”

  “Do I need a lawyer?” I ask with just a hint of coyness.

  “You didn’t need one the last two times. Why start now?”

  Chapter Three

  THE BEVY OF WARM, culinary fragrances wafting through the food court have sent my super-sensitive olfactory into overdrive. We sit on padded, sherbet-colored stools at the Biscuit Barn. The detective is having a steak biscuit and a Coke. But I’m dying to try their signature sausage topped with a fried egg, melted mozzarella and Gouda, sprinkled with their famous Crispy Bacon Chunks.

  Since our knees have already accidentally brushed once under the circular table for two, I’m getting that old familiar, fluttery feeling in my gut. Not wanting to risk yet another methane episode, I grudgingly go with a bland blueberry biscuit and black coffee.

  Chewing thoughtfully, Zeke wipes his mouth with a BB-emblazoned napkin. “The saleslady says you were alone in the dressing room for a couple of minutes before she showed up with the key.”

  “I work fast. Getting Bluff out of my handbag was easy enough. The trick was tossing him over the door and onto the hook. I hurt my shoulder yesterday knitting a frilly, five-legged frog.”

  “She insists she raised the gate at eight o’clock sharp, and you were the first and only customer.”

  I smile slyly. “Did she say anything about my extra 15% discount? It was a verbal thing, nothing in writing. But I’m hoping she’ll still honor it.”

  “Bluff Burrows was an important man in this town.”

  “Everybody’s important to somebody, Detective.”

  “Why do you keep stumbling on dead bodies?”

  “Because the live ones move aside. My turn. Why do you just sit th
ere and say nothing while Graham spouts his ‘natural causes’ spiel?”

  When Zeke smiles, those adorable slashes in his cheeks make me sorry I was so abrupt. “I’m still new here,” he says. “But, even if I wasn’t, I’m not going to show-up a long-time public servant by second-guessing him in front of his peers.”

  “Yeah, well, good on you. I have a hard time not saying what comes into my head.”

  “So what else comes into your head, Miss Shore, aside from not seeing any fingernails in the vic’s zipper?”

  I sigh inwardly. I can’t deny I’m enjoying this handsome man’s company. It’s an ego boost for any woman to be seen with him but especially for one who’s more than a Size Two. I’m guessing that’s his type. A tall, cool blonde with long, wavy, platinum tresses and a thin, pale mouth.

  Not a buxom broad with chestnut-brown hair with soft, honey highlights and lush, ruby lips.

  Having solidified that notion in my head, I remind myself that my being a person of interest to him is most definitely as a criminal and not as a potential girlfriend. I mean, he and I are not a thing that’s going to happen. I’m just caught in his crosshairs. Lawmen always suspect the person who reports the crime. He probably thinks the third time is the charm. It would certainly be a nice feather in his cap to finally catch the curvy serial killer.

  I set my coffee down. “Look, Detective Worthy, I just went in there to try on some clothes.” And eat my cinnamon bun. “I just want to answer your questions, go home to my dog and sew something.”

  “Fine,” he says, crushing his napkin and flipping it onto his Styrofoam plate. “But you still have to come with me to the mayor’s office. She was quite adamant about that.”

  I frown. “Can she do that? Isn’t it abuse of power or something? It doesn’t sound right somehow.”

  “Maybe she can, maybe she can’t. Like I said, I’m the new kid on the block. I’d like to be here at least two months before I start bucking city hall.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “I’ll have to haul you down to the precinct for further questioning. Technically, I can hold you for twenty-four hours.”

  My mouth goes dry. “Your arms must be very strong. But you’re barking up the wrong tree. The person you need to be taking a close look at is the saleslady. I noticed—”

  “Miss Shore, I appreciate your observations. I’ll admit, you were very helpful in the Gandalon case. Everyone says you also were very insightful on the Kuberov case eighteen months ago. You have a good eye for detail, and some of your deductions were spot-on. But I’ve already eliminated Mrs. Ellsworth as a suspect. She didn’t even know Mr. Burrows. So, just stick to your sewing and leave the police work to me. Okay?”

  I hold up my palms. “Hey, I’d like nothing better than to get back to my shop. If you’ll just eliminate me as a suspect, I’ll be happy to get out of your way.”

  “Who says you’re a suspect?”

  “Mayor Kwan doesn’t crave my company because I’m a sparkling conversationalist. Although I am.”

  He picks up our trash and tosses it into the receptacle. “Come on. You’ll be back at your crafting table before you can say ‘A stitch in time saves nine.’”

  “We’ll see.”

  Chapter Four

  AS SOON AS ZEKE opens the door, Mayor Kwan smiles at me from behind her humongous mahogany desk. “Detective Worthy, please place cuffs on this woman. She’s under arrest for the murder of Bluff Burrows and two other people as well.”

  I return the smile. “Nice to see you, too, Patsy. Is that a new dress?”

  “Thank you for noticing. I thought maybe it was a bit too teal at first. But I added this yellow scarf, and Voila! Detective, the bracelets, please.”

  Although I know nothing will come of this fiasco if common sense wins out—no guarantees here—I can’t help but picture myself behind bars. I don’t look good in orange, which is strange given my coloring, but fashion isn’t the main issue. Never seeing Bear again is. They don’t allow pets in prison, and I simply couldn’t live without my fur baby. Just the thought of trusting my mother to take care of him sends a cold shiver up my spine.

  My sister Cynthia wouldn’t let him through the front door of her perfectly-pristine house to disrupt her perfectly-perfect family. Bear might shed a hair or—heaven forbid—lick one of her offspring in the face. They’d ship my poor baby off to a shelter so fast his little fluffy head would swim. He’d be better off if I turned him loose in the woods to fend for himself.

  Glancing around the Mayor’s spacious office, I can see the gang’s all here. Tug Sizemore, the fifty-year-old councilman who worked side-by-side with Bluff Burrows to spearhead the “MALL FOR US ALL” campaign, slumps sadly in one of the two, plush, cream-colored armchairs. Darren Sparks, who just turned thirty and serves as the town’s district attorney, sits erectly, looking smugly over his steepled fingertips.

  Cole Taylor, 22 but looking all of sixteen, is the top and only reporter at his grandfather’s newspaper, The Slocomb Guardian. Picture Shaggy Rogers from the old Scooby Do cartoons except with red Chuck Taylors and without Casey Kasem’s cracking voice, and you have Cole. Snobbishly, he’s spread out in the middle of the sofa with a yellow ledger and a hand-held tape recorder in his lap as if he owns the place

  Sadie Armstrong, Mayor Kwan’s frizzy-redhead secretary (and also her seventeen-year-old niece), is poised beside her desk in her straight-backed chair, typing furiously on a laptop. She’s a senior at Slocomb High only a few units shy of her diploma, so she only does half days at school and works mornings with her aunt. There must be a pep rally or photo shoot at school this afternoon since Sadie is wearing her cheerleading uniform.

  “Mayor Kwan,” Zeke begins, “Mr. Burrows’ body was found less than an hour ago. We’re still in the very early stages of our investi—”

  “Found by her, you mean. Three dead people, all conveniently happened upon by Madeline Shore. She’s our killer. We all know it. We just need you to figure out how she does it, especially this one. I hired on three dozen extra mall security people on top of the plethora already in place. And she did the dastardly deed right under their noses. So, start detecting, Detective—after you put her in the hoosegow.”

  I’m tempted to remind her those first two murders have already been solved. Both killers confessed and are now incarcerated for life at Pezzy Correctional Facility. But Patsy’s in her glory here, and far be it from me to spoil her opinion with facts.

  “Mayor,” Zeke says, “I understand you want this murder solved quickly—”

  “It is solved, Detective.” She rolls her eyes. “I hope you haven’t fallen in love with the perp. Please don’t do something dramatic like flip your badge on my desk. I detest romantic gestures.”

  I toss my hair at him and wink. “You’re too late, Mayor. We had breakfast together this morning, didn’t we, darling?”

  “Miss Shore, you’re not helping your case,” he says. “Mayor, there’s no way she could have done it. To tell the truth, it’s difficult to see how anyone could have.”

  Tug clears his throat. He’s five-ten and forty pounds overweight with an ashen complexion. He wears a wavy, brown rug William Shatner would not be caught dead under. Even in summer he wears a black turtleneck to cover his turkey wattle under a dozen different suits, all of them more wrinkled than a prune’s grandma. “Maybe no one did. It’s my understanding it was an accident, followed by a heart attack.”

  Zeke glares at him. “How did you get that information?”

  “I have my sources,” he says sullenly.

  “Graham told him,” I say.

  “Why wasn’t I told?” Mayor Kwan asks. “This is wonderful news. Heart attack accidents happen all the time. Darren, call a press conference. Cole, go write all this up in your little paper.”

  I note the patches of pink rising on the reporter’s alabaster cheeks.

  “Hang on,” Detective Worthy says. “Perk’s a medical examiner; he has no more authori
ty to solve this case than the mayor has to tell me who to arrest.”

  Cocking my mouth sideways, I whisper, “So much for not bucking city hall.”

  He ignores me, which I find incredibly hot. In that deep, reverberating voice, he says, “There’s definitely foul play here. I believe Mr. Burrows was murdered.”

  Cole holds up his tape recorder. “Why isn’t Sheriff Rice handling the investigation?”

  “His brother was in a bad motorcycle crash over in Clowney County last night,” Sadie says, clacking away. “He went to look after him for a few days and left Detective Worthy in charge.”

  I see the groove between Zeke’s eyebrows deepen. “How the devil did you—”

  “Graham told her,” I say.

  “We’ve got to get out ahead of this thing,” Mayor Kwan barks. Somewhere in her late forties, black-haired, tall and lithe, she smooths her dress before sitting down in her brown-leather, high-backed office chair. “Slocomb is never going to be the thriving metropolis we want it to be if our citizens keep getting themselves murdered. Bluff and Tug had a hard enough time convincing the McCraven brothers to build one of their mega-malls here. But they believed in us. And what do we do to justify their faith? Not an hour into its grand opening, one of us winds up hanging on a hook at the big-and-fat store.”

  “She’s right,” Darren says, maintaining his finger steeple. “A high-profile death like this—it puts a definite taint on the town.” He cocks his immaculately-combed blond hair at Cole. “Now, Jimmy Olson here will blow it all out of proportion in his grandpa’s yellow rag. Next thing you know, Dateline and 48 Hours will come flying in here with their real reporters and turn Slocomb into more of a ghost town than it already is.” He nods his perfect coif at Cole. “That’s off the record.”

  “Yeah, right,” Shaggy’s doppelganger says, showing him the red light on his tape recorder. “There’re not gonna be any cover-ups on my watch, Slick.”

  “No one is covering up anything, Cole,” the mayor says. “Just write in your little paper the awful person who has been killing Slocombites has been arrested, and it’s safe to shop at the mall again.”