by Lynn Cooper
Chapter Fifteen
DAVE’S CHEESEBURGER HUT IS just what it’s cracked up to be—a place that sells cheeseburgers. He doesn’t throw a lot of variety in. He will skip the cheese if you just want a hamburger, but even that seems to tick him off. What you see on his sign is what you get.
“Good cheeseburger,” Luisa says with her mouth full of it.
“Yes,” Cynthia says. “These are wonderful.” She could eat two of Dave’s Super-Deluxes, add a chocolate shake and an order of super-fries, and her weight would probably go down. She probably won’t gain an ounce during her pregnancy. Isn’t that great?
“What’d you expect?” I suddenly ask.
They stop chewing and look at each other, blinking. Luisa shrugs. “A good cheeseburger.”
“And you got it,” I say. “But what if you didn’t?”
Cynthia swallows and sets her burger down as if I’m about to tell her the most delicious secret in the whole history of the world. “You’re making a point about the case, aren’t you?”
I tell them about Delores Huntsinger’s less-than-satisfying experience at The Crafty Crafter. How she felt cheated when the store didn’t honor the mall-wide 40% discount. “What would you have done if you were in her place, Cyn?” I ask.
As if I don’t already have a pretty good idea.
“Well, I would politely inform the salesperson of my displeasure. I would probably say I was very disappointed in The Crafty Crafter as I had always believed them to be a fair and ethical business.”
Yep, that’s my baby sister.
Luisa rolls her eyes and wipes her mouth. “Screw that. I’d throw that bear-shaped pin cushion at the stupid saleslady’s head. I’d start screaming for the whole mall to hear, ‘I want to see the manager, and I want to see him now!’”
I nod. “Would you kill the manager?”
That brings her back to earth. She furrows her brow. “Of course not. It’s just a ten-dollar pin cushion.”
“Right,” I say. “But what if the pin cushion costs thousands of dollars? Maybe hundreds of thousands? Millions, even?”
Cyn starts clapping her hands giddily. “Oh, Sis, you’re using Roger’s theory about money being the murderer’s motive!”
“Yeah. Okay. The point is, I was in the mayor’s office this morning. The McCraven brothers gave the town back $300,000 because the camera systems didn’t work as described per the contract. Stan told us his company would sue the sub-contractor and get that back with interest. No surprise—we know there are millions of dollars at play every time these guys build a mall. But, what if somebody somehow got short-changed? Didn’t get what they thought was rightfully coming to them?”
Cynthia reaches inside her purse, takes out her cell phone and slides out of the green-leatherette booth. “I’ve got to call Roger and tell him he solved the case!”
When she’s out of range, Luisa shakes her head. “I love Glen. But if he expects me to act like that when we get married, he’s going to be terribly disappointed.” She leans forward on her elbows. “Quick, tell me what really happened up there in the ceiling at the mall.”
“Nothing. The good stuff happened in the dressing room and in the corridor outside the doughnut shop.”
“Details, please.”
I tell her about him picking me up off the chair. How he kept his hands on my waist. How he whispered into my ear and put his strong, warm hands on my neck.
How we kissed.
When I’m done, Luisa slumps back in the booth and fans herself with her napkin. “That is hot-ta-ta-ta. It sounds like he’s really into you.”
A smile breaks over my face at the thought. “I’d really like to believe that’s true. But the boy’s got some heavy emotional baggage he’s carrying around, too. It’s probably why he keeps focusing so hard on the jealousy-infidelity angle for Bluff’s murder. Zeke is truly a first-class detective, but I’m afraid whatever happened to him in his personal life is clouding his professional judgment.”
“What about the other part?”
“What other part?”
“Nobody’s told you?”
“Told me what?”
“So you don’t know?”
“Luisa—”
“The word down at the salon is, Detective Worthy was involved in some sort of shooting at his previous job. How do they say it—it wasn’t a rightful shoot.”
“Righteous.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Some people are speculating it had something to do with his ex-wife. Others think it’s totally unrelated.”
Now, I slump back, letting it sink in. I find it hard to imagine Zeke Worthy doing anything that wasn’t righteous. Then, again, I’m not the most objective person when it comes to him. When we care about someone, we tend to become a bit biased.
This point is driven home to me as I watch my sister up near the restrooms, jumping up and down as she tells her husband Roger what a genius he is.
“So, what are you going to do?” Luisa asks.
“What can I do? Nothing. What went on with him and his ex-wife is none of my—”
“No, I mean about the case.”
Before I can answer, Cynthia returns, giddy as a cheerleader on steroids. “Roger was tickled he could help out the authorities, but he tried to downplay his role in it,” she says, slipping back into the booth. “I love how modest he is. What did I miss?”
I say, “We’re going to ride over to Big Wheel and get an ice cream sandwich to continue our culinary celebration of your pregnancy!”
Luisa rubs her palms together fast enough to start a fire. “Now, you’re talking. I’m going to have their caramel-covered Rollercoaster sprinkled with—” Her smile vanishes. “Well-played. You know savory always makes me crave sweet. Your treachery aside, the game’s still afoot, Madeline.”
My poker face bends but does not break. Very soon, I will have to admit she’s already won since I’ve had a bite of a CinnaCluster, a whole strawberry-lemon-glazed cruller and a divine Bavarian Crème doughnut (I’m so weak).
But, not just yet. I’ve got to help Zeke and Sheriff Rice solve this murder before I can come clean on the sweets and concede defeat. Besides, given all this extreme exercise I’ve been doing—swinging up into mall ceilings, walking to the police station and then the mayor’s office and back—I may not be finished losing this contest yet. Sleuthing burns a lot of calories, and I might still have to have a cookie or some ice cream to pump the glucose to my brain I need to stay sharp.
People are counting on me. I mean, if I need to eat a Milky Way to keep up my strength in order to be there for them, then that’s just what I’ll have to do.
LUISA DROPS US OFF in the parking lot at the back of the shop. I give Cynthia a big hug and tell her again how genuinely happy I am for her and Roger and the kids. She drives away, and I take the cement walkway around to the front door. Before I ever turn the corner, I can hear my terrier barking his little head off.
The setting sun puts a glare on the plate glass window. I move my face close and see Bear standing at the bottom of the staircase and looking up into the loft. Each sharp, incessant bark lifts his front paws off the floor, so I know something has him extremely agitated.
Frowning, I unlock the doorknob. I unlock the deadbolt as well and step inside. “What’s the matter, sweetie?”
Usually, the sound of my voice sends him bounding straight for me. But he continues to face upward and bark. I put my handbag on my crafting table and pick him up. He doesn’t lick my face as he normally does. He keeps his face and perked ears pointed toward the loft as he sniffs the air anxiously.
“Who’s up there, boy? Did you see Mort the Mouse?” I ask. The little rodent has been a thorn in our side for weeks now. We don’t want to put out traps or poison, and not just because I worry about Bear getting into them. It’s just we’d rather have Mort leave of his own accord. “Come on, Bear. Let’s see if he’s up there.”
At the top of the staircase, I scan the floor for signs
of him. I’m not squeamish about mice, but I don’t like being startled either. The last time we encountered Mort was when he ran over my sock feet underneath the crafting table. I nearly hit the ceiling, and Bear stopped sleeping under the table for a few days.
I don’t see Mort anywhere. However, I do notice something that puts a deep crease in my brow. My usually-unkempt bedroom is oddly kempt. Bras are put away. The chest-of-drawers is closed. My bed is made. The door to my clothes closet, which I always leave open, is shut.
I stand frozen while my mind searches feverishly for an explanation. There isn’t one. This is not the way I left my room. The only other person who has a key to the locks on the front door is Luisa, and she’s been with me for the past two hours.
Bear senses my growing agitation and begins to whine. With the sun shining through the curtains, I move hesitantly into the center of the room and pause behind the sofa. The two throw pillows I made are tucked into the opposite arms. Hugging bear close, I walk around the perimeter to check the windows. They are closed and locked as well.
My heart is beating fast as we come back to the closet. I stand to the side, turn the knob and throw the door open. When nobody with a chainsaw or a hockey mask jumps out, I step inside.
My clothes are pushed all the way to one side. In the middle of the closet rod, one of my stuffed raccoons is hanging by the neck from a piece of twine.
My landline phone rings. For the second time today, I nearly jump out of my skin. Calming down enough to catch my breath, I pick up the receiver from the coffee table. “Hello?”
I hear the deep, distorted, warbly sound of a voice disguiser. “That’s just how easy it is, Miss Shore. One minute, you’re with your sister and your friend, having a good time. The next, you’re dead. Leave the Burrows’ case alone.”
ZEKE ARRIVES WITHIN TEN minutes of receiving my distress call. As we sit at my crafting table, I hold Bear while the detective studies the hanged raccoon. “You should have left this where it was, Miss Shore,” he says sharply. “Doug’s on his way. He might have been able to find prints on it.”
“Call him back, and tell him to forget it. We both know your forensics guy won’t find anything in the closet or on the windows or on the front door. Like I said, whoever killed Bluff is too clever to make slip-ups like that. Sorry, but I just couldn’t let him keep hanging there.”
“Him?”
I nod at the raccoon. “Rory.” Still shaken, I try to smile. “At least my room is tidy now.”
Zeke rises. After running his fingers through his hair, he shoves his hands anxiously into his pockets. “I’m going to post a uniform down here tonight.”
“No, you’re not. Bear can’t sleep if anybody else is in the shop. If he doesn’t sleep, neither do I. If you want to have one of your officers patrol the area every so often, that’s fine.”
“I take it you’re not going to leave the Burrows’ case alone either.”
I smile at him. “For the new kid in town, you already know me pretty well.”
“I’d like to keep knowing you. So, maybe you should back off and leave any further investigating to me.”
“Not going to happen. This jerk has invaded my home. He’s made it personal. There’s no way I’m backing off, down or any other direction.”
“Then let me post a guard.”
I shake my head. “I’ll be fine. Look, I know you have to follow forensic procedure. Tell Doug to come by tomorrow and do his thing. Luisa can let him in while I’m out.”
“Sure. And just where will you be out to?”
Ah, the sweet sound of possessiveness. Even though it’s born of protectiveness, I still find it flattering. “I have a date. I think.”
I look for the first hint of jealousy. I detect maybe just a little around the edges of his mouth. “You think?” he asks.
“Yeah. I mean, I’ve got to call the guy first and ask him, but I’m pretty sure he’ll take me up on it.”
I clearly see exasperation on Zeke’s face, which is a wonderful sign I’m starting to worm my way into his heart. “Get some rest, Miss Shore.”
For the remainder of the evening, I go about my business crafting and serving a couple of customers. Bear helps me greet them before hurrying off to play with his toys or nap on the floor.
It appears he’s having an easier time adjusting after the breakin than I am. It’s hard to regain a feeling of normalcy after a predator violates your private space. I’m sure it’ll take time. But, I’m determined to do it.
When the last customer leaves, I look through my plate glass window. Periodically, I’ve noticed the same car passing by slowly. It’s not a police cruiser or an unmarked car.
It’s a white Nissan Sentra.
Zeke’s.
Chapter Sixteen
ON WEDNESDAY MORNING AT ten, I’m still panning my perimeter and nervously looking over my shoulder as Stan McCraven and I move amongst the throng of shoppers at East End Mall. “This is my favorite part of the whole construction process,” he tells me. “Walking through a new mall and watching the people having a good time in a place McCraven Brothers built.”
“Making a beaucoup of money is a pretty good perk, too, huh?”
He laughs. “You’d better know it, honey. You’re too savvy for me to pretend otherwise. I can’t tell you how many professional athletes I’ve heard say, ‘I love the game so much, I’d play for nothing.’ That’s a load of bull. It’s easy to pop off such drivel after you’ve got a few million in the bank.”
“At least you’re honest about it.”
“As much as I can be. But, you should know—in case you’re taking notes on prospective husbands—I’ve already got all the money I’ll ever need. That doesn’t mean, however, I don’t want more. Still, I’m telling you the truth: I really do get a kick out of just hanging out in a town a few days after the job’s done and seeing all the people bustling about, enjoying themselves.”
When I told Luisa and Cynthia last night I was planning on taking Stan McCraven up on his invitation to call him, they both looked aghast.
“You mean you’re going to cheat on Zeke?” Luisa asked.
“You know he’s going to be hurt,” Cynthia said.
I stared at them in disbelief. You can’t cheat on a man you don’t have. “What are we, twelve?” I asked. “I thought you’d be happy, Cyn. After all, I’m just following your hubby’s theory—‘If you drill it down to the root, Bluff died because of money.’ Stan knows how money works in business deals. He might give me some insight that might tell me who hung Bluff on the hook and why.”
“Oh, so it’s Stan, is it?” Luisa said. “I see how it is.”
Cynthia made her pouty face. “I wish Roger never did solve this case for you if it means you losing your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend!”
Luisa huffed. “Well, he certainly won’t be after you date Stan McCraven behind his back.”
Stan and I now pass shiny, glittering stores that fill the air with the overpowering perfume of malls—fabric smells emanating from the clothiers mixed with the sweet aroma of candies and the savory scent of the Hillshire Farms store coming up on our right. One of several fancy fountains spew into a tiled pool where patrons toss coins. Throwing away money on top of the money they’ve already spent and will be spending.
People. We’re strange birds, aren’t we?
I smile confidently when I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass surrounding a jeweler’s. The outfit I chose for our tour (it is not a date) is a pink, gauzy wrap skirt. It hits me just below the knee and, paired with matching high heels, shows off my shapely calves. I topped the skirt with an ivory, peasant, barely-off-the-shoulder blouse. The outfit is one of my favorites because it’s super flattering on my full-figure without being too seductive. I’m looking for information here, not a fiancé.
“Honesty and truth,” I say to Stan as we pass a Hallmark shop. “Those are not words you often hear coming from a bigtime busines
sman.”
“Oh, I admit, they’re not exactly the words we’re reputed to live by. Terms like ‘cutthroat,’ ‘scoundrel’ and ‘double-crosser’ are more synonymous with our vocation. Too often, ‘smart business deal’ means somebody lost their shirt.”
“Has it ever happened to you, Mr. McCraven?”
“Please, it’s Stan. Oh, yes,” he says, tugging on his sleeve, “I’d say this is at least my tenth shirt.”
It’s a very charming quality—a multi-millionaire freely admitting to having been fleeced, and more than once. I like him a lot. What’s not to like? Good-looking, wealthy. Available. Isn’t that what’s on every woman’s wish list? The man’s got everything going for him except one thing:
He’s not Zeke Worthy.
I laugh. “Did you lose one having to repay that $300,000 to the town when the power and the back-up generators didn’t work?”
“Not to sound immodest, Madeline, but that was more like losing a cuff. You expect to incur some minor losses. You have glitches. Unforeseen monetary hiccups. That’s business.”
“What kind of hiccups?”
“Let me give you an example. Before coming to Slocomb, we built six new malls in the past two years, three of them overseas.”
“Sounds very ambitious.”
“To tell you the truth, Madeline, it would have suited me just fine to slow down a little. Take a long cruise somewhere exotic. But Tom’s been a real go-getter lately. He’s pushed us to keep going. ‘Strike while the iron is hot,’ he says. Anyway, on the first three, we made enough profit to make our shareholders ecstatic. On the last three, we had some unexpected expenditures. One time, it was a lawsuit claiming we used substandard structural materials. Another time, some union workers said they didn’t get the bonuses we promised. So our accounting department takes care of it.” Shrugging his shoulders, he says, “The point is, money is always coming in. Money is always going out. You get to the point where you don’t even think twice about it.”