by J. R. Ripley
‘Same here,’ Brad replied. ‘When I couldn’t reach you last night, I didn’t know what to think. I was afraid Mr Teller might already have …’ He paused. ‘You know.’
I knew.
I aided him through the door and he joined our little group. Detective Highsmith had helped himself to a cup of coffee and I saw traces of powdered sugar on his lips. I beamed.
‘What’s so funny?’ Highsmith looked irritated. Why? Because I’d caught him actually enjoying life?
‘Nothing,’ I said. I dropped my hands on the table and turned to Johnny. I smiled. ‘You know, I thought you were trying to kill me the other day when you caught me nosing around your backroom.’
Johnny rolled his eyes. ‘Please, I was simply trying to get you to leave before you damaged the inventory. Do you have any idea how expensive all those gowns are?’
I lifted my eyebrows. That made sense. ‘OK, but what about yesterday afternoon?’
‘Yesterday afternoon what?’
‘When I saw you at Salon de Belleza.’
Johnny’s eyes flashed warning signals but I didn’t know why. ‘Oh, that’s right,’ he said loudly, ‘you asked me for the name of my manicurist.’
‘I did?’
‘Let’s get something to write on.’ Johnny pushed out of his chair and dragged me away from the tables. ‘Quiet, Ms Miller.’ He looked over his shoulder at Clive. ‘It’s supposed to be a secret.’
‘What’s supposed to be a secret?’ I asked. ‘You and Caitie said something big was going to go down in three days.’
He scowled, tapping a finger against his lips, then answered. ‘Fine, I’ll tell. But first you have to swear you won’t say anything.’
I placed my hand over my heart. ‘I swear.’ And crossed my fingers behind my back. I knew better than to believe me; why didn’t he?
Johnny whispered, his back to the others, ‘Caitie’s been helping me plan a surprise anniversary party for Clive.’
A surprise anniversary party? ‘I thought you were plotting another murder or your great post-murder escape.’
Johnny rolled his eyes. ‘Focus. Our anniversary is really a few weeks off, but Clive always figures out when I’m trying to surprise him. This year, I thought I’d plan something early. I figure he’ll never expect an anniversary party three weeks before the date.’
I had to admit, it wasn’t a bad plan. Though he probably shouldn’t have confided in me. I’m terrible at keeping secrets.
He looked pensive a moment. ‘I suppose you could come. The party’s at our home.’
Gee, such a warm invitation. I was almost insulted enough to say no. But I couldn’t let Clive down. He’d be disappointed if I wasn’t there. ‘Sure, I’d love to. Can I bring anything?’
‘Not necessary. I’m having the entire soiree catered. I’m even having a cake made by Markie.’
‘Markie?’ I rubbed my nose. Powdered sugar always tickles. ‘Who’s Markie?’
‘Markie Rutledge from Markie’s Masterpieces, the cake shop over at Navajo Junction. Surely you’ve heard of him?’
I shook my head.
‘Haven’t you ever watched BrideTV?’
I could only helplessly shake my head again.
‘Well, he’s had his own show on there. Plus, he’s rated a five-tier cake bakery by Baking Bridal magazine.’ Johnny flinched. ‘Shh, here he comes.’
Sure enough, Clive wrapped his arms around our waists. ‘What are you two hens clucking about?’ It was irritating to note that Clive’s arm could go further around Johnny’s waist than mine.
‘Nothing,’ I replied. ‘I was thanking Johnny for the flowers again.’ Aubrey had set them in a tall jar on the prep counter near the coffee grinder.
Clive glanced over at them. ‘Oh, I see you’re using the rolling pin.’ He squeezed me tighter then let go. ‘You never did tell me how you like it.’
I did a quick scan of the café, spotted zero flies and let my mouth fall open. ‘You gave me the rolling pin?’
‘Sure, of course,’ Clive answered. He was beaming. ‘You weren’t here so I left it on the counter as a surprise. The door was open but you weren’t around. It was a café-warming gift.’
‘What was with the threatening note?’
‘What threatening note?’
‘The one that said “take care.”’ I wiggled my fingers in the air. ‘What was that supposed to mean?’
Clive scratched his head, looking amused. ‘It meant take care, don’t let anything happen to it like what happened to the last one. I signed it.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Didn’t I?’ Clive tittered. ‘Oh, well, no harm done, right?’
No harm done? No harm done?! I kissed Clive’s cheek, then gave it a pinch. ‘Nope. No harm done.’
The door tinkled once more and, like a good Pavlovian, I turned to look. It was Trish Gregory coming through the door, looking like an opposing army on the offensive in her Karma Koffee uniform. I frowned and hollered at Detective Highsmith, who was deep in conversation with Daniel. ‘What’s she doing here?’ I pointed a finger at Trish. ‘Why haven’t you arrested this woman?’
Detective Highsmith turned his chair to face me. ‘What for?’
‘What do you mean “what for!”’ I blubbered. ‘The woman destroyed evidence in a murder investigation!’
The detective shrugged.
‘Please,’ said Trish. ‘I didn’t know anything about evidence.’
‘She’s right,’ said Highsmith. ‘Mrs Gregory had no way of knowing that those chairs might be evidence. Besides, we caught the killer, remember?’
I turned on Trish. ‘But you bought the chairs and burned them to the ground. I know. I followed you,’ I said. ‘I watched you do it!’
Trish’s brow shot up. ‘You did?’ She shrugged. ‘I had no idea. Yes, I saw the chairs by chance while shopping at Laura’s Lightly Used. Like I explained to the police this morning,’ her eyes darted to Highsmith and he nodded, ‘when I saw the chairs I figured they might have been the chairs that had been removed to hide Rick Wilbur’s body. So I had to destroy them.’
‘So you were involved!’ I gestured for the detective to haul her away, but he didn’t move.
Trish rolled her eyes. ‘No, don’t you see? I burned the chairs because of bad juju. Who knew what evil might have seeped into those chairs? They couldn’t remain. I couldn’t let some poor soul purchase them and take them home. They’d be cursed.’
Trish rested a hand on top of my shoulder. ‘I had to propitiate the spirits.’
So that explained all that mumbo-jumbo I’d overheard her spouting out at the medicine wheel.
‘I can understand that,’ said Mom.
I looked at my mother as if she’d gone bonkers. I got the feeling Trish Gregory already was at the deep end of the pool bonkers. In fact, she’d probably been breathing those whatchamacallit ummy-gummy-yer-the-cheffy fumes too long.
‘Anyway, I simply came to tell you that the HVAC company will be over to repair your unit this afternoon.’ She handed me an envelope.
I turned it over in my hands. ‘What’s this?’ A refund on the rent for all the trouble they’d caused me?
‘A bill for the air conditioner and dry wall repair and paint.’ She started for the door. ‘Don’t worry – if you can’t pay it all at once we can add a small sum to your monthly rent.’
‘What?’ My eyes narrowed to deadly slits. ‘This is ridiculous. You can’t possibly expect me to pay this. It’s not my fault Ed Teller tried to burn my apartment down. With me in it, I might add.’
‘No, but you did neglect to check the batteries in your smoke detector.’ She waved from the door. ‘It’s in your lease, Ms Miller.’
‘You won’t get away with this!’ I hollered at her backside. ‘I’ll get an attorney. I’ll sue!’ First thing this afternoon, I’d turn this whole case over to Andy. He’d know what to do.
Trish turned on her heels. ‘Oh, please, Ms Miller. Don’t make this
difficult. Life is all about letting go. Besides,’ she quipped, ‘if I were you, the only thing I’d be getting an attorney for is to sue whoever or whatever gave you that haircut.’
I flopped into an empty chair. Who knew life in a small town could be so exhausting? And now, on top of having a business to run, I had a cat. Yeah, that’s right, a cat. I couldn’t exactly leave Carol Two to fend for herself. Besides, it wasn’t her fault that she was a cat and came from a broken home.
Mom planted a kiss on my forehead as she set down her empty cup. She fingered my bangs. ‘Don’t listen to her,’ she cooed, ‘I just love what you’ve done to your hair, Maggie.’
She would. I grimaced and wondered how I’d look in a buzz cut.
The bank had called first thing this morning and told me the problem with the check had been a clerical mistake at their end. That was a relief. Moonflower had popped in before work and announced that Patti and her sister-in-law were keeping Wilbur Realty going. I guess she didn’t want to squash the goose that was laying the golden egg no matter how much she preferred gardening.
Detective Highsmith had told me the police had learned that Joey the Junkman, a local scrap dealer, had found the chairs in the alley behind the café and sold them to Laura. Her clerk, being relatively new, hadn’t recognized him.
That left Rick Wilbur’s ex, Caitie Conklin. She was just crazy, and ornery. And my next-door neighbor. I’d be keeping a sharp eye on her. I’d be keeping an even sharper eye out for her shears. Who knew the most dangerous weapon to come out of Japan wasn’t the samurai sword but the Kamisori scissors?
Aubrey and I replenished the platters of beignets and refilled the coffee cups. Life in a small town might be exhausting, but it had its moments.
I looked at the plain, unadorned paper cup. I really needed to do some branding, some fancy logo like Karma Koffee. Aubrey and I were going to have to do some brainstorming.
I smiled. The first thing I’d do once I did have a spiffy new uniform was to put it on and march across the street to Karma Koffee and rub Trish and Rob’s respective noses in it – and I was definitely not going to buy one of their muffins, no matter how tasty they were.
At least, I hoped not. I still think they must be doping them somehow with some hippy-dippy New Age juice. What else could explain this irrational craving I was constantly fighting for Heaven’s Building Blocks?
The bell on the door jingled. We’d added the tiny leather strap of brass bells this morning. ‘Welcome to Maggie’s Beignet Café,’ I called out.
A small man entered. He wore a loose-fitted lettuce-green tunic that fell to just below his knees. A pair of rough-hewn leather sandals held long, wide feet. His elongated head was nearly as large as his chest and his eyes stuck out like his designer had made a mistake, leaving his eyeballs too large for his eye sockets. Don’t you just hate it when that happens?
We all watched in silence as he approached our group. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, his voice high and squeaky and tormented, almost as if the language was unfamiliar to his tongue, ‘can you tell me the way to the Table Rock Hotel and Convention Center?’
I let out my breath.
Whew.
A sci-fi nut. Looking for the science-fiction costume and gaming convention being held this week at the Table Rock. I’d seen the advertisement in the Table Rock Reader.
Thank goodness, because I’d forgotten to hang the No Shirts, No Shoes, No Aliens sign.