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

by Lynn Cooper

  “Detective Worthy took me down to the police station last night. He thinks I had something to do with Bluff’s death.”

  There are a couple of ways I could play this. But, I’m still a little grouchy since I didn’t get my nine hours, so I am not inclined to be coy. “I know. He called and told me.”

  Instead of being surprised, she looks invigorated. “I figured he might. This is very good. May I call you Madeline?”

  “I won’t answer to anything else.”

  She smiles. She is quite a beautiful woman. Her eyes are almost Elizabeth Taylor-violet. They sparkle against her deeply-olive skin. “First off, you’re a woman. You understand things neither Detective Worthy nor any man, for that matter, would. I also realized from the way you handled things at Missy’s you are a very intelligent, very capable woman.”

  “So far, you’re saying all the right things, Yvonne. Feel free to turn to me anytime.”

  “Madeline,” she says in a pleading voice as she takes my hands, “I love my husband. I truly do. I just made a mistake. A huge, terrible mistake.”

  “Hey, I don’t judge. You don’t have to explain anything to me.” Although, I think, if you choose to, that’s on you.

  “No. No, I want to tell you everything. That way, you can pass it along to Detective Worthy. He’ll listen to you. I can see he really likes you.”

  It’s funny, isn’t it? A woman could be ninety, happily-married for seventy years with children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren; and, somebody you barely know can up and say, “I can see he really likes you,” and all of a sudden, you’re thirteen and standing by your locker, giddily listening to your girlfriend tell you exactly what your pounding heart is dying to hear.

  I set my coffee down. “What, uh, makes you say that?”

  “Just the way he acts when he’s talking about you. It was like he, I don’t know, caressed your name with his lips when he said it. His eyes seemed to sparkle whenever the topic turned to you.”

  The warmth in my cheeks is undeniable. “Well. To be honest, Yvonne, he and I aren’t really that close. Besides, I thought he turned you loose.”

  “He has for now. On top of being incredibly hot, he’s a brilliant detective. He let me go because he deduced I wasn’t strong enough to lift Bluff onto that clothes hook. Somehow, he figured out I just had wrist surgery for post-traumatic wrist arthritis. He even surmised I am an avid tennis player. I play in two leagues. Isn’t that amazing?”

  “Mind-boggling.”

  “I know, right? As sharp as he is at his job, I just know he will call me in again at some point for further questioning. My husband is in Europe on business at the moment, but he’s scheduled to return next weekend. I begged Detective Worthy to please not tell him about my involvement with Bluff. He said he would do his best, but he couldn’t promise anything. His silence would all depend on how the case unfolds.”

  “And you want me to use the influence you think I have with him to make sure he never tells your husband.”

  A single tear seeps from the corner of her violet eye as she nods. “Vince travels a lot in his job. He’s gone for days, sometimes weeks at a time. I—I get lonely.”

  It’s hard to tell someone you understand without sounding like you condone their behavior. I’m also a little uncomfortable about this woman telling me all this intimate, personal stuff. At the same time, I want this case solved. Zeke’s already questioned her, and I’m sure she was nowhere near as forthcoming with him as she’s about to be with me. Her admissions have been entirely unsolicited, but I still think a little disclaimer might be in order here.

  “Before you go on, you understand there’s no sort of knitter-salesperson confidentiality here. If I’m asked by the authorities to repeat this conversation, I’ll have to.”

  “But not to Vince.”

  I smile. “Not to Vince.”

  Letting her breath slowly ease out through her nostrils, she nods. “I wanted you to know. Like I said, I can tell you’re a smart, savvy person. Maybe, in some small way, you can help Detective Worthy find the killer and let me go back to my life.”

  Preaching to the choir, sister. All I want to do is knit and sew and weave and craft, craft, craft!

  “Truthfully, I doubt the detective wants my help. Can I get you a cookie to go with your coffee? Some pecan pie? Chocolate Pop-Tart?”

  “No, thanks.” Yvonne takes another deep breath as if she’s about to dive under water. “I met Bluff a couple of weeks ago. He was walking around in the mall with the McCraven brothers. I was busy making sure the back-stock inventory had been counted and all of our spreadsheets and invoices were in order. I’ve been with Missy’s Buxom Boutique for eleven years. I’m a manager as well as a salesperson. The men all came over and made small talk. You know, ‘Are you getting set up okay?’ and ‘Isn’t this all very exciting?’ Men being men, they all got a little flirty. Nothing vulgar, of course. Just about how nicely I filled out my clothes.”

  She shrugs. “Bluff was the sweetest, though. He said, ‘Yvonne, your beauty is the envy of every woman in this town.’ It felt good to hear a man say such a sweet thing to me. Vince and I have fallen into a comfortable groove where we take each other for granted, I guess. Anyway, they all left. But Bluff came back later by himself.” She presses her palm to her chest. “As a matter of fact—” she says, hesitating.

  “Go on.”

  “Never mind. It’s not important. The thing is, I really liked Bluff’s eyes. There was a kindness and a sincerity in them, but there was also pure, animal heat. The kind that makes a woman want to—”

  “Focus, Yvonne, focus.”

  “Right. We wound up talking and laughing the whole afternoon while he helped me stock the clothing racks and put some final touches on the store window display. He was so charming the entire time we were working.” She hunches her shoulders like a schoolgirl. “Anyway, we went back to his house that very night.”

  Lucky girl. Compliments from a man are a lot more charming than hearing him say you need to get back to your sewing.

  I’m starting to get on my own nerves with that. I really need to let it go.

  I give Bear a dog biscuit and pour a little sugar and cream in my coffee. “Just tossing this out there: is it possible your husband found out about you and Bluff?”

  Yvonne adamantly shakes her head. “Vince is extremely demonstrative and super-strong. He wouldn’t be cagey. He’d just find out where the guy lived and strangle him with his bare hands.”

  “Did you confide to anyone what you did? A girlfriend maybe?”

  “No.”

  “Was it an ongoing thing or just the one night?”

  She shuts her eyes. “I, uh, ‘met’ with him on six other occasions. He was very virile,” she says, touching the freshly-flushed skin on her neck. “The last time was three days ago.”

  “Last time as in right before number seven?”

  “No. As in I can’t see you anymore.”

  “So, you ended the affair.”

  “I had to. Bluff wanted me to leave Vince. He said he was in love with me. But I told him I wouldn’t. I said I was still in love with my husband.”

  That makes me frown (not the part about being in love with her husband; that’s sweet). “I’m afraid that’s the very thing that’ll prompt Detective Worthy to call you back in for further questioning. Now, you’ve got a motive. Bluff asks you to leave your husband. You refuse. Bluff threatens to tell Vince himself. You kill Bluff to keep that from happening.”

  “But the detective knows I couldn’t have strangled anyone with this wrist. Besides, Bluff didn’t threaten me. He was upset, sure. But he said he would back off.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  “Yes. And, if it comes up during the investigation, you have to make Detective Worthy believe it. Because it’s the truth, Madeline.”

  I give her a reassuring if ambiguous smile. When I told her I didn’t judge, I meant until I had all the facts in front of me.
“I’ll tell him, Yvonne.”

  That seems to satisfy her. She grabs my knee and covers her mouth as a few more tears escape. “I can’t thank you enough.” Sniffing and wiping them away, she surveys my crafting table and smiles. “This looks like fun.”

  “Honey, you have no idea. Do you want to see how I make a miniature Scottish sofa out of an old flannel shirt, sponges and popsicle sticks?”

  “I’d love to. Until they finish processing Missy’s as a crime scene, I’m unemployed. I’ve got nothing but time on my hands.”

  Just as she slides her chair close to mine, the door chimes jingle. We turn to see Luisa burst in. Like me, she’s a chunky monkey and just a couple of inches shorter than my five-six. Unlike me, she has long, jet-black hair flowing down her back, dark-brown eyes and a long-time fiancé; whereas, I have brown, neck-length hair, green eyes and a condescending prospect who thinks my place is sitting at a Singer Sewing Machine.

  In an impromptu Scottish brogue, I tell her, “Aye, the coffee’s powerful good this morning. Lassie, would you be wanting a shortbread cookie drizzled in chocolate and caramel sauce to go with your cup?”

  She nods knowingly. “Nice try, but I’m enjoying the view from atop the no-sweets wagon.”

  “Well-played. Luisa, this is Yvonne.”

  “Hey, Yvonne, nice to meet you.”

  “Same here.”

  “Did you guys hear the news?”

  “What news?” I ask.

  “I just heard it on the radio. Sheriff Rice arrested Tug Sizemore for the murder of Bluff Burrows.”

  Chapter Eight

  I LEAVE LUISA SHOWING Yvonne around the shop as I run upstairs to fix my hair and put on makeup. After donning a fetching sweater dress and low heels, I walk the four blocks to the police station located on Vermullen Street.

  My motives are many and intertwined. First (deep breath), I’m hoping to see the sexy detective so I can, per Yvonne’s impassioned request, persuade him not to tell her husband she cheated on him. I’m sure I can make him believe she truly loves Vince and doesn’t want one moment of weakness—make that six moments—to end her marriage.

  After all, I did pass along Roger’s theory of the murder to the detective. Yvonne’s revelations are actually pertinent to the case.

  Second, I’m curious to find out what evidence Sheriff Rice has against Tug Sizemore to make an arrest. I’ve been thinking about what he said at the mayor’s office about being distraught over Bluff’s death. His sadness certainly seemed genuine. But, I need to ask Patsy about her skepticism at hearing it.

  Besides, I thought the sheriff was supposed to be taking care of his injured brother in Clowney County. That’s two hours away.

  Third, in case you didn’t get it the first time, I’m hoping to see Zeke!

  Could it be true—his lips caressed (Yvonne’s words, not mine) my name when he said it? That his eyes sparkled, his face lit up and he clenched his hand over his heart whenever I became the topic of conversation?

  Okay, I may have embellished.

  Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but he did call me when I was at Mom’s. Maybe it was no problem to get the number of my business, which is also my personal number; but, he did go to whatever little trouble it took to find it. There was some actual effort involved.

  Yes, it was to talk about the case. But why would he want to do that? He’s made it clear he wants me to leave the police work to him. So, why would he call and start bouncing around ideas about the murder?

  He wouldn’t—unless it was just an excuse to talk to me. Maybe I’m not the only one who feels the sparking attraction between us. Maybe Zeke himself is feeling a bit of a pull toward Miss Madeline. I mean, he did make that remark yesterday at the mayor’s office about getting to “investigate me further.” He even winked at me when he said it.

  At least, I think he did. I hope it’s not like the time I thought the dark-haired hunk at Six Flags was winking at me only to find out he’d gotten dust under his contact.

  Maybe it was. Now that I think about it, Zeke did clam up pretty fast when I made that remark about the tan line on his ring finger.

  Sighing, I turn on the sidewalk and head up the steps of the police station.

  THE CLERK, TRISH CULLY, looks up from her desk and smiles as I walk through the glass doors. “Hey, Madeline. Cute outfit. Of course, everything you wear is adorable.”

  “You’re too sweet, Trish. Is Detective Worthy around?” I ask casually.

  She opens her mouth, but a man’s comfortable and resonant voice seems to come out of it. “Hey, there, Miss Madeline. I was hoping you’d be by.”

  Turning, I see Sheriff Archie Rice give me a big, welcoming smile. He hurries up the short corridor and extends his beefy hand. Fifty-two-year-old Archie is a big bear of a man with hairy, Popeye forearms. His short-sleeved, gray uniform shirt is casually unbuttoned at the collar, and he isn’t wearing a tie. His outfit has more puckers than pleats. He’s barrel-chested and beer-bellied although I know for a fact he doesn’t touch alcohol. He’s only a few inches taller than I. He has a round, pleasant face featuring a cleft chin and a thick, gray-white mustache. It matches his short but full head of hair.

  “Sheriff,” I say, shaking his huge, sausage fingers. I gave up trying to grip his hand a long time ago. “How’s your brother doing?”

  “Oh, I suspect Zimmy will be fine in a couple of months. The old hardhead was riding his motorcycle and hit some gravel. He wound up in a ditch with the cycle on top of him. According to his doctor—a fine man, just a real fine man—Zimmy’s got a busted pelvis and two cracked short-ribs.”

  “Ouch.”

  Chuckling, Sheriff Rice lightly punches my shoulder with knuckles that look like they could batter down a wall. “That’s exactly what Zimmy said. Anyway, his daughter came in from Texas, and she’s taking care of him. Now, I’m anxious to know: did you come down here to tell me I’ve got Bluff’s killer in custody? Or have I got the wrong man?”

  I hunch my shoulders. “I don’t know. At this point, even I might be a viable suspect.”

  He grins. “Never, honey. It’s just I’m real fond of Tuggle. I know I’m not supposed to let my emotions get into it. But, you don’t want to think somebody you like could be a murderer, do you?”

  “No, you don’t. Sheriff, I know it’s none of my business to ask—”

  “Why isn’t it your business? You found the body, Miss Madeline. From what I’ve been told, someone who shall remain nameless—Patsy Kwan—considers you a suspect. Again. Given the fact you were definitely instrumental in putting Kuberov and Gandalon behind bars, I think Kwan’s crazy. From where I stand, you’re as vested in this case as anybody else. Ask away.”

  “Why did you arrest Tug?”

  “Well, you see I—” He glances down the corridor. “Hey, as we speak, our esteemed district attorney and intrepid detective have Tuggle under the hot lamp with bamboo shoots shoved under his fingernails and a rubber hose in his face. In other words, they’ve just given him a cup of Trish’s coffee to try to make him confess.”

  Never looking up, she snorts. “You’re going to start making it yourself, Archie.”

  He tucks his chin and giggles, his tiny, gray eyes twinkling behind his huge cheeks. “Come on,” he says, putting his paw in the small of my back. “We can stare at’em through our fancy two-way mirror.”

  I walk beside Sheriff Rice although I already know to turn left at the water cooler. As I said, this ain’t my first rodeo. Just shy of evidence lock-up, we turn right down a short hallway. We stop at a rectangular window about ten-by-five feet. On the other side, which is a mirror to them, Tug sits at the middle of a metal table facing us. He’s slumped down just the way he was in the mayor’s office yesterday morning.

  Wearing no jacket, D.A. Darren Sparks leans his palms on the right end of the table, his face close to Tug’s; instead of the calm, finger-steepling barrister he was in the mayor’s office, he now looks more like a frazzled juror who�
�s anxious to go home after a long and fruitless deliberation. His usually-neat blond hair is mussed and matted to his forehead, and the knot of his tie is pulled down nearly to his stomach.

  My breath catches when I see Detective Worthy sitting casually on the left end, right ankle resting on his left knee. He’s also lost the jacket, reclining there in his crisp, white shirt with the black tie pulled down just enough to unbutton the collar. He’s rolled his sleeves up past his muscular, hairy forearms.

  Oh, my.

  “I tell you, it’s the truth,” Tug says. “Darren, you can keep asking me over and over, but I’m not going to get tired and slip-up and say anything different.” He picks up his short, Styrofoam cup and frowns into it. “Who made this? Haven’t you got some sugar and cream?”

  Darren smugly stands and purses his lips. “You start answering my questions, and I’ll get you all the sugar and cream you want.”

  Zeke massages his temples. “Mr. Sizemore, do you really expect us to believe Mr. Burrows just gave you a solid gold money clip with over two-thousand dollars in it?”

  On our side of the glass, Archie folds his arms and looks over at me. “I was driving back from Clowney County yesterday when I got an anonymous call. Somebody using one of those voice-disguiser gadgets said Bluff hosted a high-stakes poker game at his house with Tug and three other men until almost four a.m. the morning he died. He said Bluff took all of them to the cleaners, including Tug. The caller said when the game ended, both men went out into Bluff’s backyard and started shouting at each other. You see, Miss Madeline? Bad as it made me feel, I didn’t have any choice but to search him. When I came across the clip and the cash, I had to bring him in.”

  Behind the glass, Tug takes a sip of his coffee and grimaces. “Yes, Detective, that’s exactly what he did. When the game broke up, Bluff walked with me out to my car. Rather, he staggered. He must have had six or eight beers, which really wasn’t like him. Anyway, he turned around and handed me the money clip loaded with cash. He said, ‘Tug, my boy, I don’t need this pittance, and I’m no longer an SOB.’ He laughed when he said it. It happened just like that.”