by Lynn Cooper
“So far so good.”
“So, he somehow talks Mr. Burrows into coming to the mall early Monday morning before its grand opening. He shuts down the electricity, brings him through a side entrance and lets him pick out his favorite cruller. He then brings him up the stairs and along the catwalk to this point. So, now they both drop through the ceiling, and the killer does the deed.”
“This far, not so good. There’s really no need for the killer to go inside the dressing room himself. He can accomplish his purpose by staying right where you are. Hold my hand.” As modestly as I can in the sweater dress, I sit down on the joist to the left of the ceiling opening. My calves and feet dangle into it. “Okay. Remember how you pulled me up here by my hands from the chair and then set me right here? Reverse that for Bluff. He’s sitting where I am, waiting to be lowered down through the panel by the killer.”
“Hold on. I’m still not clear in my mind on why Mr. Burrows is going along with this little farce or charade or journey or whatever you want to call it. Mrs. Ellsworth told you she broke it off with him. According to her, he accepted the kiss-off. So why’s he doing this? You think the killer slipped a roofie into his cruller to addle his brain?”
I ignore the sarcasm. “Did Graham find any drugs in Bluff’s system?”
“No drugs, but he confirmed what Tug said about Bluff having six or eight beers. There was still a lot of alcohol in his blood.”
“That would have made Bluff a little more pliable, I’m sure. But there had to be some incentive for him to come here.”
“Such as?”
I shrug. “Maybe the killer told Bluff if he surprised Yvonne with such a bold stunt, she might change her mind about him. Maybe he hoped she would see it as some grand, romantic gesture that would captivate and sweep her back into his arms.”
“What about you, Miss Shore? Would you find it romantic if a guy dropped through a ceiling into your dressing room?”
“I might—if it was the right guy.” I gaze up into his eyes, giving him my most promising, inviting look before continuing. “Okay. So the killer has Bluff sit on the joist and tells him he’s going to lower him down. That’s when he comes up behind and slips the garrote around his neck.”
I hold my breath as Zeke kneels behind me and puts his hands around my neck to simulate the garrote. In a deep, sultry-but-sinister voice, he says, “Like this, Miss Shore?”
I nod slowly. “Of course, he would do it much more quickly. And then he would simply nudge Bluff off the joist and let gravity take over.”
Very gently, Zeke feathers his fingers down my neck. My breathing grows shallow. When his index finger lightly brushes the column of my throat, the pounding of my heart speeds up to keep time with electrical currents zipping through my veins. He leans down, his breath warm on my ear, and whispers, “What do you want me to do next?”
Several suggestions come to my swirling mind, but none of them have a thing to do with the case. I hold my hands up into the air. “Lower me down.”
Firmly but gently, his big hands engulf mine. With seemingly no effort, he swings me into the panel opening.
“Hold me right here,” I tell him. “At this point, Bluff is struggling, flailing, kicking his legs—anything to free himself. He kicks the mirror and cracks it. He also kicks the walls. Those black smears came from the bottom of Bluff’s shoes—not from a hammer handle or a screwdriver grip. There was a faint smell of shoe polish on the marks.”
“This is what you meant when you said Bluff was killed between floors. Cute.”
Slowly, Zeke lowers me until my feet land on the chair. After I step down onto the floor, I turn and look up, expecting him to follow me down. Instead, against the dark backdrop behind him, I see the strobe of his flashlight.
A moment later, he shuts it off. He puts his legs through the opening. Like a gymnast on the parallel bars, he lowers himself far enough to drop the last foot or so onto on the chair. Once there, he steps down close in front of me. “It would appear your educated nose has helped you figure out just how Bluff’s murder was committed.”
“I don’t know, Detective. One minute I think it’s a plausible theory. The next, I wonder if I haven’t been inhaling too much hot glue.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not glue. This was lying on top of the ceiling panel adjacent to the one we removed.”
Taking my hand, he lays a pearl button in my palm. “I’m going go out on a limb and say this is the top button that was torn off our victim’s shirt collar. I mean, it’s not likely there would a bunch of these things lying around up there. It probably popped off when the killer jerked the garrote tight around Bluff’s neck.”
I stare at it, feeling my breath quiver in my chest. It’s not that Bluff’s murder wasn’t real before. But seeing this button somehow makes it even more real and even sadder. I let it slip back out of my palm and into Zeke’s.
He puts it in his shirt pocket, reaches down for his jacket and drapes it over those fine shoulders. “I have no choice now but to talk to Vince Ellsworth. If he did find out about the affair, he has a very strong motive for murder.”
My turn to nod. “I understand, Detective. Yvonne will have to, too.”
“I’ll leave that panel off and have Doug take a closer look up there. See if he can maybe find a set of prints on the spiral staircase. Not that it’s totally necessary since we found the button.”
“Since you found it, Detective Worthy.”
He flashes that heart-melting smile I wish he would show more often. “No, Miss Shore, it’s we. I would never have set foot up there if you hadn’t prompted me to. Investigating with you up there was quite, uh, enlightening as well as quite—”
He never finishes the thought. I am dying to know what else was quite about our time together.
“Well,” he continues, “I’m off to find Vince Ellsworth. I’ve got a feeling he got back a bit earlier from Europe than his wife thought he would. You have yourself a good day. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.”
“I hope so.”
After he has opened the door and departed through the curtains, I wistfully sigh and sit on the bench to put my heels back on. My cell phone rings as I step out of the dressing room. It’s Cynthia.
“Hey, Sis, what’s up?” I ask.
“Can I come to your shop? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
Ah, the new baby on the way. Thanks to Mom telling tales out of school, I’ll need to gear up my giddy, super-surprised face when Cyn spills the proverbial beans. “Sure. I’m at the mall right now. But, I can be home in ten minutes. Luisa is there in case you arrive before I do.”
Chapter Fourteen
WHEN I REACH MY shop, through the front window I can see Cynthia sitting at the crafting table talking with Luisa. She’s such a terrific manicurist at Slocomb Hair and Nail Salon, she works by appointment only and can set her own hours.
To my relief, I don’t see Yvonne. I wasn’t looking forward to telling her Zeke planned to question her husband about the murder of Bluff Burrows.
The more I think about it, the more I realize I probably shouldn’t have gotten involved in pleading her case to the detective. I mean, how well can you know someone you met yesterday? Yvonne seems like a nice lady (I’m not forgetting the 15% discount she promised). And, I think she truly feels remorseful about her little indiscretion of infidelity (actually six little indiscretions, but I digress).
But, there comes a time to pay the piper. Yvonne should have thought of the consequences of her actions before committing them. As Rhett Butler told Scarlett O’Hara: You’re like the thief who isn’t the least bit sorry he stole, but is terribly, terribly sorry he’s going to jail.
I’m not judging her. But Zeke’s right. On the surface, no one has a better motive for killing Bluff than Vince. Assuming, of course, he got back from Europe and found out about the affair. It would be dereliction of duty for Zeke not to put him under the hot lamp. Or, at least, give him some o
f Trish’s confession coffee.
Delores Huntsinger, one of my best customers, is coming out my door just as I reach for the handle. In her sixties, gray and matronly, she holds one of my plushy cats with the arched eyebrows, lidded eyes and a heart literally on its checkered shirt sleeve. “Oh, Madeline, my niece just loves little kitties. She’s going to adore this one!”
“I’m so happy to hear that, Delores. I do appreciate your being such a loyal customer.”
She touches my arm. “Well, honey, when you make adorable crafts at terrific prices, you’re going to have bunches and bunches of loyal customers.” She lowers her voice in a conspiratorial tone. “You’re not like that awful place I went to in the mall yesterday. The Crafty Crafter.”
A big chain store. I’m not too worried they’ll cut into my business since their crafts are made by robots and are mighty pricey to boot. I’m a little put out Delores went there in the first place, but I just smile. “Awful?” I ask, secretly pleased to hear it.
“Well, you know how everything in the mall was supposed to be 40% off? Well, I went in there and found a bear-shaped pin cushion I’ve been needing. It was ten dollars—can you believe it, Madeline?—but I could handle six with the discount. But, when the saleswoman rang it up, it was full price!”
“They can’t do that. The mayor negotiated the discount with the mall commission, and all stores are supposed to comply with it.”
“I made her get the manager. Do you know what that little weasel said? ‘Ma’am, it was The Crafty Crafter’s understanding the discount was more of a suggestion than an actual requirement. We don’t plan to honor it.’ He actually smirked when he said it. I wanted to wring his smug neck.”
“Remember your blood pressure, Delores. Give that stress-reducing plushy cat a few squeezes.”
She does. Her eyes close involuntarily, and her pinched face immediately relaxes. “That is amazing. I bet my diastolic just dropped ten points.”
“Terrific. As for The Crafty Crafter, I’ll let Mayor Kwan know they’re not playing fair.” Knowing Patsy, she’ll read them the Riot Act. She might even get Cole Taylor to write a scathing editorial in The Slocomb Guardian about the store’s unethical non-compliance.
Few things make a person madder than being gypped out of money. If someone as pleasantly even-keeled as Delores Huntsinger can get angry enough to wring someone’s neck, well—
“Thanks, Delores. You’re going to get 20% off on your next purchase from The Crafty Little Sew and Sew Shop.”
Her eyes widen. “How come?”
“For being a wonderful customer and a good friend.”
“Bless you child,” Delores says, squeezing her plushy cat as she walks down the sidewalk.
BEAR, OF COURSE, IS the first to greet me. He runs and jumps up into my arms, licking my face and squirming. Cynthia waits until we’re finished communing. He scurries off to lie in his bed and chew the toys I made for him. She rushes up and hugs me as if it’s been a few months instead of a few hours since we saw each other.
“I got here a little earlier than I thought I would,” she says. “Luisa has sold two pink elephants and a plushy cat since I’ve been here. You’re doing so great. How’d your errand go?”
I matter-of-factly tell them both about my mall ceiling investigation with Zeke, leaving out a few of the more intimate details.
“Oh, this is juicy,” Luisa says. “You and the hunk detective, alone, up in the dark attic.”
“Yes, Madeline. It sounds like you two are working very closely together now.” She gives Luisa a knowing look.
“Moving on—you said you had something you wanted to talk to me about.”
Luisa touches Cynthia’s arm. “Is this sister-sister stuff? Or can just anybody listen in?”
“You’re not just anybody,” Cyn says. “And I want you to hear, too. I’m pregnant!”
Giddily, we all grab arms and jump up and down in a circle, squealing. I couldn’t make my eyes any wider if I propped them open with toothpicks. I cover my mouth and can’t hold back the tears of joy. I hug her and rub her back and kiss her and gush about how wonderful it is and how ecstatic I am for her and Roger.
Cynthia folds her arms. “You don’t seem very excited. Mom already told you, didn’t she?”
“Yes. Are you mad? Because you should be. That was very mean of her.”
She laughs. “You can’t blame her for being herself.”
“Of course I can. Never mind that. We’ve got to celebrate. Luisa and I are taking you out to lunch.”
“Yes,” Luisa says, clapping. “You choose, Cyn. We can go anywhere you want as long as it’s Dave’s Cheeseburger Hut.”
Cynthia gives her a playful shove. “Suits me. Do they have salads?”
“No, silly. They have cheeseburgers.”
My cell phone rings. My eyes widen in curiosity when I see a photo of Trish Cully. The police clerk apparently wants to video chat, which she’s never done before. Hitting the accept button, I see Sheriff Rice’s grinning mug on the screen. “Well, hello, Sheriff.”
He laughs. “Hello right back at you, Miss Madeline. You’re going to have to bear with me. I’m not used to all this high-tech stuff. All I’ve got is an old flip phone, so Clerk Trish has graciously let me use her fancy phone with all the bells and whistles.”
“You’re doing fine. What can I do for you?”
“Well, you’ve been down here to the station twice this morning, and I didn’t want to have you come down again. But I wanted you to see and hear something. Trish says, ‘Why don’t you just make a video call?’ So she showed me how.”
“Great. Cynthia and Luisa are here with me. Should I take this call in private?”
“Nah. Hey, girls.”
“Hey, Sheriff,” they say.
“All right, Miss Madeline. I want you to listen to this fella who came in here a few minutes ago. His name’s Ray Kenner. He’s one of McCraven Brothers construction workers, and he’s got quite the story to tell.”
I hear Trish’s slightly-irritated voice say, “You’ve got to turn the thing around toward him, Sheriff.”
“Oh, right.” He laughs as the phone swings around and lights on the lean, prominent-cheekbone face of a man with dark brown hair. He wears a faded, flannel shirt. Archie says, “All right, Mr. Kenner. You’re speaking with Miss Madeline Shore. She’s kind of an unofficial consultant with us, you might say. Look right into this thing and tell her what you just told me.”
“Right. Well, it happened about a week ago. Me and the boys were at a bar here in town—Pat’s—having a beer or twelve. Celebrating being close to finishing yet another mall.” He guffaws. “As if we need an excuse to get together and drink. Anyway, some of the crew started going on and on about the good-looking woman who works at Missy’s Big Gal Store. Some of the boys always whistled at her or said something flirtatious when she came in. She never got mad. She just smiled. Big Ralph popped up and said it was him she was smiling at. In fact, he walked over to her on a couple of occasions, and they were both laughing and going on. Ralph came back bragging a woman with an hourglass body needed a tall, strong man with a lot of muscles to make her happy.”
Of course, I think. Yvonne said her husband was taking her for granted. She probably welcomed any sort of male attention.
“Anyway, Curtis, who’s on the drywall crew, laughed and told Ralph he wasn’t her type. He said he was finishing some sheetrock at the store beside Missy’s and saw this little sharp-dressed fella getting all chummy and handsy with her when she was putting out stock. He says he heard them giggling in the back of the store one day. When he snuck a peek back there, he said they were hugging and kissing, going at it like a couple of teenagers.”
We know all this already, I want to tell Archie. Meanwhile, Luisa and Cynthia are hanging wide-eyed and enrapt on Ray Kenner’s every word.
“Okay, now, move on,” I hear Sheriff Rice say. “Tell her the other part.”
“Got it. Anyway, this mean-l
ooking dude kinda walks up in the middle of us. He’s built like a fireplug—short but wide, kind of beefy. He’s got slicked-back, black hair and a crooked nose that looks like it’s been broken once or twice. He reminded me of one of those mafia types who played in The Godfather. He asked Curtis if he knew the sharp-dressed fella’s name. He didn’t, but Leon did. He told the dude it was Bluff Burrows, some bigwig who was always walking around with the McCraven brothers.”
“What did the man say?” I ask.
“He said, ‘I’ll kill him. I’ll kill them both.’”
Luisa and Cynthia gasp and look at me.
I already know the answer, but I ask the question anyway. “Did anybody happen to catch the man’s name?”
“Yeah. As he was storming out, kicking over tables and raking bottles off into the floor, the bartender said, ‘You’re going to pay for the damage, Ellsworth.’” Kenner shrugs. “I would have said something sooner. But guys get mad and say stuff like that all the time. When I read this morning Bluff Burrows had been found dead, I figured I’d better let the sheriff know.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kenner,” Sheriff Rice says, swinging the focus back onto his own face. “Well, Miss Madeline, I called Detective Zeke right before I called you. He found Vince Ellsworth at that same bar and started asking him questions. I told him to bring the boy in and ask him a lot more down here in the interrogation room. I just wanted to bring you up to speed. You know you’re more than welcome to come down here and look through the glass when our slick district attorney and stalwart detective do their thing.”
“It’s tempting, Sheriff. But my sister just told us she’s pregnant, and Luisa wants to treat her to a cheeseburger.”
He laughs. “I understand. Give her my congrats. Ya’ll have a good time—oh,wait. I wanted to let you know: Lonnie Burke’s on the lam. I sent Officers Casey and Mel over to his motel here in town to pick him up. Would you believe that big ol’ boy tossed’em both in the swimming pool? He drove off in his little Mazda Miata before they could even wade up to the kiddee pool.”