by Mary Maxwell
“In the background there,” I said. “The fuchsia tights. Do you know who bought them?”
“Those aren’t simply tights, Katie,” she said. “They’re Wunder Under Pants.”
I grinned, repeated the name and asked why the tights deserved such a fanciful moniker. “Oh, because they’re so wonderful!” Pearl gushed. “They fit like a dream. They’re perfect for every body type. And there’s a little hidden pocket in the waistband for your key.” She pointed at a rack against the far wall. “They’re right over there. But if you had your heart set on fuchsia, we only had two pairs and they’re both gone.”
“Oh, drat the luck!” I joked, lowering the phone. “Who beat me to them?”
Pearl’s smile went flat. “What was that?”
“I was wondering if you remembered who bought the fuchsia tights,” I said. “Er, I mean, the wonderful underwear pants or whatever.”
“Well, I think…” She paused, crinkling her nose. “Why are you asking?”
“It’s kind of a long shot,” I explained. “But the man in the photo…” I held up my phone again. “…his brother came to see me. He thinks that Theo, that’s the guy in the picture, went missing sometime after this selfie was taken on the porch at Sky High last week.”
Pearl studied the phone again. “And you think…what? The woman in the photo might know something?”
I shrugged. “Like I said, it’s a long shot. But I remember working a case in Chicago that was solved because of something similar.”
“Fuchsia Wunder Under Pants?” She smiled playfully. “Is that what you mean?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “But you never know. Maybe the woman in the tights heard the man on his phone, saw him talking to someone or noticed which car he left in.”
“They’re so much more than tights,” Pearl said again. “But I know what you’re saying.”
It felt like a minor breakthrough, so I hoped she would reel off the names and I could head out to talk with the proud owners of the fuchsia pants. Instead, Pearl told me that she was on vacation when both pairs were sold.
“Do you mind asking whoever was working while you were away?” I said.
“Absolutely,” she answered. “It would’ve been either Leslie or Caroline.”
“What about Gia?”
Pearl shook her head. “Gia quit a couple of weeks ago,” she said with a trace of melancholy. “Her dad’s really sick, so she moved back to Atlanta.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“I know,” Pearl said softly. “He’s such a sweetheart, too.”
“Well, at least Gia will be able to spend some time with him, right?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Pearl glanced at the door when it opened and waved at the two women who came inside. “I just feel so bad for Gia. She was an only child, and her mother passed away last year.”
We stood together in silence, thinking about Gia and parents and the heartrending reality of fate, until Blanche suddenly shouted from behind the velvet curtains.
“I’m all set!” she yelled. “You ready to see the magic happen?”
Pearl smiled. “I better get back there,” she said. “One of us will give you a call about the fuchsia pants.”
“Thank you so much,” I said. “And tell Blanche that I can’t wait to see her bedazzled designs in your front window.”
CHAPTER 7
After leaving Pearl’s boutique, I made a quick stop at Java & Juice. Then I drove to Homer Figg’s house with the windows down, a fresh blueberry-kale smoothie cooling my throat and the radio tuned to a classic rock station. I didn’t recognize the song that was blaring from the speakers as I turned onto Homer’s street, but it had a driving beat, jangling guitars and a saxophone line that coiled around the singer’s vocals like a rattlesnake circling its prey.
Homer was one of the more adventurous and active residents of Crescent Creek. He was patriarch of the family’s legendary business, a consignment shop for clothing, furniture and toys known as Figg’s Pretty Penny Emporium. He was also founder of the Crescent Creek International Museum of Art & Antiques, a local attraction that filled the two-car garage at his house on Conover Street. The museum’s exhibits and memorabilia featured items donated by local residents or culled from the Lost & Found drawer at the Pretty Penny.
When I pulled into the driveway, Homer was in his front yard with something small and furry on a leash.
“Hi!” I called, getting out of the car. “Did you get a new pet?”
He glared at the tiny animal. “This isn’t a pet, Katie. It’s a fuzzy oven mitt with legs. We’re babysitting for one of the women from my wife’s book club.”
“And how does the oven mitt get along with your Labs?”
Homer laughed. “It’s the first Teacup Poodle the boys have ever seen. They were curious for about ten seconds the night that King Kong arrived, but they’re over it now.”
We both watched as the small furry creature lifted its leg and threatened to moisten the tip of Homer’s boot.
“Poor thing doesn’t realize he’s not tall enough to tinkle that high,” Homer said.
“And his name is King Kong?”
He frowned. “Peg said she wanted something ironic.”
“Uh-huh. And what do you call the little guy? King or Kong?
“Me?” Homer’s eyes lit up with mischief. “I call him something that isn’t polite to say in mixed company, Katie. Most people call him Double K, which is about as far from ironic as you can get. I mean, why bother with King Kong in the first place, right?”
We both fell silent again and watched as the miniature mutt took care of business without dampening the boot. Then Homer asked how things were at Sky High Pies.
“I haven’t come in this week,” he said regretfully. “What’s been going on?”
“We’re busy as always!” I answered. “How about the museum? Have you had many visitors this week?”
He frowned. “We’re closed for repairs. I accidentally dropped the garage door opener in the toilet, so I’m waiting on Ernie Stewart to come by and reprogram the new one that I bought.”
“What about the gizmo on the wall?”
“I broke that a couple of years back,” Homer said. “Hit it too hard with my elbow and smashed the plastic doohickey that covers the thingamabob.”
I smiled at his explanation. “Accidents happen!”
“Every five minutes or so around here,” he said, glancing down at the puppy on the leash. “Last night, this little bugger christened the new area rug in the guest bedroom, destroyed a pair of my wife’s fancy high heels and left a tiny brown gift in the middle of the kitchen floor.”
“I guess that’s par for the course with someone named King Kong,” I said.
“Yeah, I suppose,” Homer agreed. “But enough about this furry beast. Was there something I can help you with, Katie?”
“Actually, I wanted to ask you about a man that you may have talked with at Sky High last week.” I pulled out my phone and showed him the picture of Theo Greer. “Do you remember him?”
Homer angled toward the screen and peered at the image.
“Yeah,” he said. “I talked to him briefly that morning, and I’ve also seen that picture before, too. I was leaving the bank earlier today and some fellow was standing out front. Came up and asked if I’d seen his brother in town. I told him that I remembered him, but couldn’t provide much that would be useful. Then I went to get in my car, but the guy started pestering some woman.”
“Seriously? What happened?”
The dog on the leash began to chew on Homer’s shoelaces. He quickly pulled his foot out of harm’s way and leaned down to pet the pooch.
“There you go, buddy,” Homer cooed. “That’s a good boy. We’ll go inside in a minute or two and you can gnaw on the rawhide bone.”
Homer finished with the puppy and turned his attention back to me.
“How did he pester the woman?” I asked.
“He
was just a pest,” Homer said. “He kept pushing the picture into her face and demanding that she look at it. I guess they exchanged a few spicy words before he eventually left her alone.”
“Did she report him to the police?”
“I don’t know about that,” he answered. “I heard about it from Roxie Lambert. She had a similar experience at Bubble Brite Laundry when she stopped to ask June Taggart about a stain on her silk dress.” He scowled at the picture of Theo Greer again. “The guy with the photograph of his brother was harassing June and demanding to know if she was familiar with a woman named Arlene.”
“Arlene?” I said. “Did you hear a last name?”
Homer narrowed his watery gaze. “Not that I recall,” he said. “But I’m seventy-five, Katie. Some parts don’t work as well as they used to.” He flashed a smile and chuckled. “And, as far as I know, they don’t make a little blue pill for the brain yet.”
I nodded silently at the remark and asked if he could remember anything specific that Theo Greer mentioned during their conversation.
“He talked a lot about Ben Franklin,” Homer said.
“Who?”
“Benjamin Franklin. As in, one of the Founding Fathers of the United States of America.”
“Oh, that Ben Franklin! I thought you were talking about someone who lives around here.”
Homer shook his head. “I guess the guy’s a big history nut. From the way he was boasting, I’d also say it’s safe to assume that he lives in Philadelphia.”
“Okay,” I said. “He’s from back east, but he was in Crescent Creek looking for someone that he used to work with.”
“Maybe he found her, too,” Homer said with a smile.
“What do you mean?”
“I saw him on your front porch about a half hour later as I was leaving,” Homer said. “He and a young lady were really getting into it.”
“They were arguing?”
Homer nodded. “Cats and dogs, Katie. Cats and dogs.”
“Who was she?”
“Heck if I know,” he answered. “I only saw her shapely caboose.” He winked. “If you know what I mean.”
“I think I do,” I said. “Could you guess her age?”
“Somewhere between birth and the Pearly Gates.”
“Mr. Figg!”
“What? How can I guess her age when the only thing that I saw was her backside? I mean, I could describe all of that beauty if you’d like.”
I shook my head. “It’s okay,” I said. “I get the picture.”
“I’m just teasing, Katie. I don’t have any idea who it was or what her age might be, but the look on that guy’s face told me that they weren’t chatting about the weather.”
“Can you describe what she was wearing?”
He smiled. “Clothes.”
I felt my blood pressure percolate. “Uh-huh. And can you be more specific?”
“Women’s clothes,” Homer said.
I glared at him for a split second before smiling. “You’re in rare form, Mr. Figg.”
“Prune juice,” he said. “And Double K. I’m getting twice as much exercise and fresh air now that I’m walking our two pups and this little runt separately.”
“Well, that’s all good to hear.” I smiled at the diminutive furry critter sprawled in the grass. “Can we try that last question again?”
“About the woman’s clothes?”
I nodded.
“Well, she was pretty dang fit,” Homer said. “Muscular legs, tiny waist, slim arms and her rump was—”
“Her clothes, Mr. Figg! What was the woman wearing?”
He smiled. “Let me see that picture again,” he said.
I reached into my purse, pulled out the phone and navigated to the image of Theo Greer. When I held it up, Homer lightly cupped my hand and studied the image closely.
“That’s her,” he said, pointing at the screen. “She’s the one right behind the man in the picture.”
I turned the phone and once again scrutinized the fuchsia tights, boxy gray sweatshirt and sapphire running shoes.
“See, Katie?” Homer said. “It’s just like I told you—she’s wearing women’s clothes.”
I put away the phone. Then I asked if he remembered any additional details about the brief encounter with Theo Greer.
“That’s about it,” Homer said. “We didn’t have a lengthy chat or anything. He asked for directions to the drug store. We talked about Benjamin Franklin. And then he asked if I knew anyone named Arlene.”
“Did he mention where he was staying in town?” I asked.
“He wasn’t,” Homer said. “He had a room down in Frisco at the Silver Dollar Motel.”
“You’re sure about that?” I asked.
“That’s what I heard him tell someone on the phone,” Homer said. “Why do you seem surprised?”
“I’m not really surprised,” I answered. “I just haven’t heard anyone mention the Silver Dollar since I moved back to Crescent Creek.”
“Does that dump hold a special place in your heart or something?”
I blushed. “Possibly.”
Homer chuckled and stepped closer. “Is that right?” he asked, lowering his voice. “A long ago romantic rendezvous? A tryst with someone famous?”
“Nothing that exciting,” I said. “But like your comment about the dog, my stay at the Silver Dollar is something that isn’t polite to discuss in mixed company.”
CHAPTER 8
When I arrived back at Sky High Pies, I went into the office, checked messages and decided they could wait for a few minutes. I wanted to call the Silver Dollar Motel in Frisco and investigate the tip from Homer Figg. After finding the phone number online, I dialed the digits and sat back in my chair.
“Motel,” bellowed the man that answered. “If you’re looking for the Long Horn’s two-for-one steak dinner special next weekend, we’re completely booked and apologize for any inconvenience.”
“Thank you,” I said. “May I please speak to the manager?”
“This is Marv. How can I help you, ma’am?”
While he listened patiently, I gave him my name and explained that I was calling from Crescent Creek about a possible missing person.
“From where?”
“Crescent Creek,” I said again.
“Do you know somebody named Vivian England?”
“Well, my neighbor is Viveca England,” I said. “Could that—”
“Oh, dang!” he exclaimed. “I can never get that woman’s first name right.”
“Do you know Viv?”
“I do,” he said. “But not well. My wife hired Vivian to…see? Even two seconds later, I fumble it. Anyway, Miss England is helping my wife with some interior decorating for her office.”
“Really? That’s fantastic! Viv’s been pouring her heart and soul into her new business, but I didn’t realize that she had clients as far away as Frisco.”
“We’re just down the road a spell,” he said with a chuckle. “Not on the other side of the planet.”
“I know, but…well, it’s a small world,” I said. “I hope Viv does an amazing job for your wife.”
“They’re off to a great start,” he said. “My Nancy comes home with updates just about every night, discussing fabric swatches and paint colors like they’re some kind of miracle breakthrough.” He laughed again. “But enough about that. What can I help you with?”
“As I mentioned, I’m calling about a missing person,” I said. “Someone told me that the individual in question was staying at the Silver Dollar. His name is Theo Greer and he’s been in the area since at least last week.”
“And who are you?” he asked. “I didn’t quite catch your name.”
“I’m Kate Reed,” I answered.
“Are you with the police up there in Crescent Creek?”
“No, sir. Although I have close ties with them. I run my family’s bakery café, but I previously worked as a private investigator.”
“Ar
e you sure the fellow’s gone missing?” Marv asked.
“Not really,” I said. “I’m just going on what his brother told me.”
“What’s that name again?”
“Theo Greer,” I said. “He told someone that he had a room at the Silver Dollar.”
“He did,” Marv said. “Until some moron came and kicked in the dang door a couple of nights ago. He’d been with us for three days or so at that point, but he checked out the next morning even though I’d moved him to a new room with a door that worked.”
I was surprised by the man’s comment, and quickly asked for details.
“About which?” he said. “The damage to my door or the jerk that put his boot through it?”
“I’d like to hear as much as you can share,” I said. “And, before you get started, I’m sorry to hear about the damage to the motel.”
He scoffed. “Not as sorry as I was. We just had a new paint job done this summer that pretty much drained our building maintenance fund.”
“Well, I know how that goes. I’m the third generation to run our family business. I’ve got one eye on the bottom line and one on the bank balance at all times.”
He chuckled. “Then you can appreciate my fury when the idiot kicked in the door. I called the police, but he was gone by the time they arrived. Theo Greer said he’d never seen the guy before, but I didn’t believe him.”
“Really? Why not?”
“Well, I can’t exactly put it into words,” Marv answered. “It was mainly a gut thing. Like, there was something about how carefully he talked to the police and how many times he apologized to me for all the inconvenience.”
“Did you get a look at the troublemaker?”
“Just the back as he ran away,” said Marv. “I told all of that to the police, but I doubt if it was much help. I mean, it was a guy wearing jeans, a dark jacket and a baseball cap. He was driving a blue car that had out-of-state plates and a pretty hefty scrape along one side.” He laughed again. “Doesn’t exactly narrow down the pool of suspects much, does it? Tell you the truth, it’s all water under the bridge at this point. The door’s been repaired. The police have a bulletin out. And Theo Greer’s taken his bag of lies somewhere else.”