by Terri Thayer
I waited for Freddy to right himself before offering my hand.
“Dewey Pellicano. You are Larry?”
He nodded. “Can we get some coffee?” he asked the bartender.
Freddy flopped his arm between me and Larry. “Larry, Dewey. Dewey, Larry. This is Vangie Estrada’s boss.”
I wanted to tell him about Zorn’s call, but not with Freddy listening.
Larry said, “Tell Vangie to call me. Now, what’s up with him?” gesturing at Freddy.
“You know, brother …” Freddy slurred. “When you moved up here, I thought we would spend more time together. Why don’t we?”
“Did you call your brother?” I asked Freddy.
He pulled out his phone from his pants pocket. “Guess my butt did.”
“I’m flattered,” his brother said, scrolling through emails on his phone.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. Freddy’s had a rough time. A woman died at his store.”
“Are you going to be sued?” Larry said, putting his phone away. “Negligence?”
Freddy shook his head, moaning at the effect that had on him. I could practically see his brains sloshing around.
“I’ve got to be getting home, so I’ll leave him to you. Freddy, we’re having an emergency Quilters Crawl meeting at my place early tomorrow morning. Wicked early. I’m going to call you at six to wake you up. So sober up. Quick.”
Freddy caught my gaze. Something in his eyes chilled me.
“What if I killed her with my tweeting?”
I didn’t have an answer for him. “See you in the morning,” I said lamely.
I left as Larry poured Freddy a big cup of coffee.
———
Having the meeting at seven at my place meant getting out of bed before six. Buster had the day off so he went for bagels and cinnamon bread after I drove us both to the store.
I made coffee. My mother’s old twenty-cup coffeepot was getting quite a workout these days. The familiar gurgle now felt like a death knell.
The garbage was pungent so I pulled out the bag and twisted the top. The wastebasket in the classroom was full of used paper plates and cups, so I gathered it too, and heaved both bags outside.
I had pushed the dumpster back when Freddy pulled in, followed by Buster. I went to the car to help him with the goodies for the meeting. Freddy went to the back door and held it open for us.
“Good morning,” he said slowly as we approached. As we got closer, I saw his eyes were red-rimmed and his skin was pale under his fake tan.
“Rough night, cowboy?” Buster said.
“Yeah, well, it’s not every day a customer dies at my store,” Freddy said. “Not like here.”
“Nice,” Buster said. “That was a low blow.”
Freddy draped an arm over my shoulder. The fumes coming off him stung my eyes.
“His eyes are amazingly blue,” Freddy said nodding at Buster’s back. “I’ve always heard that but never really noticed.”
Freddy’s hangover had dulled his senses but not his urge to needle Buster.
“Someone is still feeling no pain,” Buster said. He held the door open for Freddy and me to pass through, then let it slam shut.
Freddy’s body jerked and skipped a step at the noise. I shot Buster a dirty look and got an innocent one in return.
They followed me into the kitchen.
“I did have a rough night,” Freddy said. “Why aren’t you out there detecting?”
Buster said, “Not my case.”
Freddy’s voice was high-pitched and whiny. I grated my teeth. I tried to quiet him with a look but he wasn’t looking my way. He was right behind Buster, who’d laid the bags down on the kitchen table. Buster turned and glowered. Freddy stared back.
“You’re the super cop, right? You must know people. Make a couple of calls, will you?”
I didn’t need this this morning. Having these two in the same room was like putting a food dish between two stray cats. Someone was going to lose an ear.
I grabbed the cinnamon bread from Buster and dumped the contents into a wicker basket. “Thanks, honey.”
“There’s more in the car,” Buster said. He tried to get past Freddy who didn’t move aside.
Buster said, “Dude, you’re in the way. Step aside.”
Freddy said, “You’re not the boss of me.”
Why didn’t they just mark their territory? Part of me wanted to yell “Dudes, pee on the floor, already.”
I whirled around with the serrated bread knife in my hand. Buster took a step back. Freddy closed his eyes as if the motion was too much.
I used the knife to point at the pair.
“I’m sick of your silliness,” I said. “A sweet lady died last night.”
They both looked at the floor.
“I need help today. From both of you. This committee is coming here to ream me for my Twitter idea. To give me hell for getting Lois killed and jeopardizing the Quilters Crawl. I could use some ideas on how to mollify them.”
Buster grabbed my free hand and squeezed it. “I’m here for you.”
“Me, too. Sorry,” Freddy whispered painfully. My yelling had done his headache no good, but too bad.
I lowered my voice and slowed down. “I can’t afford for the promotion to be a failure. I promised Lark her books would be given away this weekend. That has to happen or my credibility with her is shot.”
“Me, too!” Freddy agreed vigorously. Too vigorously. His eyes squinted against the pain his outburst had caused. He squeezed his temples.
“I pulled in some favors, too,” he said quietly. “My friend the thread vendor will not be happy.”
I said, “Not to mention … if my idea goes down in flames, I’m not going to be welcome on the Quilters Crawl next year or any year thereafter. I want to salvage this.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Buster said, his eyes narrowed in the way that meant he was concentrating hard. I loved that look. “What if you gave the customers a longer time frame to report to the Twitter shop? That would help spread out the arrivals.”
Freddy stroked his chin. “Hmm … part of the problem was that people were frantic to get their ticket within the allotted hour.”
Buster nodded. I got a little tingle seeing these two actually agree on something.
Buster said, “Crowd control is essential. The last thing you want is mob mentality to take hold. People lose their minds when there’s enough of them.”
“Buster has a good point,” Freddy said. “If I’d gotten those folks in and out fast, that scene would have never happened.”
Buster continued. He’d given this a lot of thought. “That ‘must be present to win’ requirement has to go.”
“No way!” I held up a protesting hand. “That was the best part,” I wailed. “The winner was so excited when I gave her the basket. I love seeing that.”
“You’ll see their happy, smiling faces when they come back to pick it up,” Buster said with the good logic of a cop. Facts is facts.
Freddy was nodding so hard, I thought his neck would snap. There was a boys’ club forming in my kitchen right in front of my eyes.
I didn’t want to let the prize go. “But remember, Freddy, how we talked about building the excitement? I mean, that’s the whole point of Twitter. People feel like they’re in on something special. Watching someone else walk away with your prize is part of that.”
Freddy sneered. “Really, Dewey? You want the rest of the crowd to feel bad?”
I tilted my head. Where had my friend Freddy gone and who replaced him with this guy?
Buster and Freddy bumped fists. The boys’ clubhouse was complete. All they needed to do was hang the sign that said, “no girlz aloud.”
I knew how to be gracious in defeat. “I’ll give up the idea of being present to win, if you two will clean the classroom. Vacuum and dust.”
Two heads nodded as one. Freddy threw up a fist in victory. “Bring those witches in here, we’re re
ady to go.”
Freddy’s face went pale, and then turned a sickly shade of green. The fist pump had done him in. He put a hand to his mouth, his fingers long and delicate. “Oh, boy,” he said.
He stumbled to the bathroom. Buster shook his head as we heard the door slam shut.
“Looks like he did a lot of damage last night. Maybe you shouldn’t have let him drink so much.”
This was my fault? I couldn’t believe my ears. I swung around to see if Buster was kidding. He wasn’t. He was gazing at the bathroom door like Robin waiting for Batman. Unbelievable.
“I seem to recall someone complaining about Freddy being around too much.”
Retching noises came from inside. I stepped away. I didn’t need to hear that.
Buster shrugged. “Aw, Freddy’s okay.”
I pulled the vacuum out. “Make sure you get under the shelving units, too.”
He saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”
I reached out to swat Buster’s behind. He cocked his hip so my blow landed sharply.
“Thanks,” he said. “That was exactly what I needed to get going.”
I shook my head. “I think you’re the one who needs to spend less time with Freddy.”
Fifteen
Barbara V arrived fifteen minutes early. I was still wiping down the kitchen table and had a handful of crumbs in my wet hands when she steamed into the kitchen. I hadn’t heard the back door open over the noise of the vacuum. I could only hope that the vomiting noises were over.
Despite the hour, Barb V was feisty. “Dewey, what are we going to do about this? I didn’t sleep a wink last night.”
Lack of sleep didn’t show on her face through the antediluvian layers of makeup she’d applied. Her eyes were bright and shiny. She licked her lips.
I could feel waves of tension coming off her. She was carrying an old leather briefcase, which she set on the tabletop. Right in a wet spot. I handed it back to her and swiped at the table with a towel.
“I’m not quite ready for you. It’s not even 6:45,” I said.
“I know, but we must get on top of this,” she said. She flicked an errant crumb off her briefcase and cradled it.
“I agree, Barb. It’s really terrible. Did you know Lois?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think so.” Her gaze shifted away from me.
I rinsed out my sponge and put it in its holder. I checked on the coffee, but the old machine wasn’t finished brewing yet.
“She was one of my mother’s customers, but she’d stopped quilting for several years. The Quilters Crawl was going to be her entrée back into it.”
Sadness filled my chest. I looked at Barb V but there was no comfort there. She didn’t seem to have sympathy at all for this quilter who wouldn’t be quilting again, ever.
Her shoulders were taut, her strong jaw pointed in my direction. Barb V was dealing with Lois’s death by taking care of business. She clicked open her briefcase.
“I have created a checklist of potential problems. Everyone at the meeting needs to get one of these. May I use your copy machine?”
The noise stopped in the classroom. I heard Buster stowing the vacuum.
Her stoicism was getting on my nerves. “There’s one in the classroom. We’re going to meet in there. I’ll be in as soon as I pour the coffee …”
“I hope this meeting doesn’t take too long.”
She gathered up her things and moved away, her sensible shoes making no noise as she glided across the floor. She seemed to move under a power that was not visible. I heard her greet Buster. The door opened and several shop owners come in.
I went out in the hall and knocked discreetly on the bathroom door. “Wrap it up, Freddy,” I growled. I kept my voice low. “I need you out here. Now.”
The toilet flushed. This was no day for him to be under the weather.
He looked a little better when he came out. At least there were two spots of color on his otherwise gray face.
“Barb V and a couple of the others are here already. Get in there and schmooze. Act contrite.”
“I am contrite.”
I smoothed the collar of his shirt, bypassing the wet spots. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t always show. Put your tail between your legs and beg their forgiveness. I need you to claim responsibility for this. This never would have happened if you hadn’t tweeted every two seconds. Tell them that.”
Freddy straightened his shoulders. Buster, looking on from the hall, gave him a thumbs up. Freddy gave him a half bow as if he was going into battle.
“Get a breath mint,” I called after Freddy.
Buster touched my arm. He leaned in and whispered. “I’ll go holler at my buddy at Santa Clara PD,” Buster said. “See if they’ve figured out how Lois died yet.”
I got up on my tiptoes and gave him a kiss. “Thanks for all your help this morning.”
He let his hand slide down my back slowly. I tamped down the shiver of delight that threatened to make my mind go fuzzy. We split up, Buster going outside to make his cell call, me into the kitchen.
I poured coffee from the big urn into a smaller carafe and took that into the classroom, along with a plate of bread. Paper cups, utensils, and plates were still stacked on the side tables along with small cups of flavored coffee creamers and packets of cream cheese. No one would have had time for breakfast this morning.
The classroom was buzzing with the owners catching up on what happened yesterday. Most of the owners on the Crawl were here. The four with shops down south were going to call in.
“Good morning, everyone,” I said. “I’m glad you could all make it.”
The greetings were quiet and subdued. The phone rang and I placed the phone in the middle of the table and put it on speaker so the absentees could hear everyone. While I was occupied with getting them online, the room quieted.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” Barb V said without a glance in my direction. “We all have time constraints.”
“Understood,” I said. “Freddy and I have some ideas on how to prevent what happened yesterday from ever happening again.”
“How did she die? Do we know?” Cookie asked.
I looked at Freddy. He acknowledged me with a small nod. His face was lined with concern. I didn’t have to worry about him acting remorseful. The creases on his forehead said it all. I felt bad for doubting him.
He spoke. “We don’t know exactly. But I want to say it was because I allowed the crowd to get out of control. I have spoken to the police—”
He had not. Did he mean Buster?
“And a lawyer,” he continued.
His brother. At the bar. After six straight shots of scotch. Oh, Freddy, king of spin. Politics lost a viable candidate when he decided to go into sewing machine sales.
“We have come up with some ways to prevent this type of tragedy from ever happening again,” he continued, remorse dripping.
He explained Buster’s suggestions for lengthening the time and allowing the customers to leave before the drawing.
Most heads nodded. Barb V was staring at her hands folded on top of the table. Unlike everyone else, she hadn’t helped herself to coffee and food. Barb V must run on bitterness.
Gwen, the owner of Half Moon Bay Quilting, spoke. “Let’s think about this. There have been six Twitter events over the last two days. Six shops, including mine, have not had a chance to do this. I want that chance. Otherwise, it’s not fair.”
I chimed in, “I had mine the first day and it was a non-starter. But I’m okay with that because this is the kind of thing that needs time to build.”
Gwen said, “Maybe not build as much as Freddy did …”
Cookie said, “The two dozen or so that came at the Twitter time liked the promotion. They felt a part of something special. Dialed in. Modern and …” She curled her fingers into air quotes, “… with it. Many of them told me that they’d been meaning to start following our shop on Twitter.”
Summer from Santa Cruz spoke up on the p
hone. “Our event was very successful. We had about forty new people in the shop. We fed them and played games and had a blast. The feedback was very positive. I had sales in that hour equivalent to an entire day on a non-Twitter day. I loved it.”
I smiled. “Thank you. I’m glad.”
Around the table, shoulders were starting to come down and people were smiling. Sales were up. That’s all they wanted to hear.
Barb V cleared her throat and all eyes went to her. “Nevertheless, we should stop this promotion all together. Just because one store had a good experience does not make up for the debacle at Freddy’s. A woman was trampled to death.”
Freddy flinched. The drinks he had last night were keeping him off kilter. “We don’t know that,” he said lamely. “We don’t know how she died.”
Barb the Damp said, “All I know is that the risks outweigh the benefits.” A rivulet of sweat trailed down her cheek. “There can be no doubt that the Twitter promotion is far too dangerous.”
I exchanged a look with Freddy. The Damp could be counted on to spout the party line.
Freddy directed his comments to the phone. “I can tell you this much. There was a wonderful atmosphere outside my place before …” Freddy searched for the right words. His synapses were not working well. “It happened. The customers were happy, having fun.”
Wendy pushed on her elbows and lifted up her butt to get a better sight line to the co-chair. “Barb, you were there. What did you see?”
“What?” Barb V’s head swiveled. She glared at Wendy. “Me? At Freddy’s? Why would I be at Freddy’s?”
Barbara the Damp leaned in to get a look at who asked the question. Wendy glanced around the table, her voice unsure. “My sister was there when Lois died. She said she saw you.”
Barb the Damp said, “Your sister needs to get her eyes checked.”
Barb V made a tight face and shook her head. “Let’s stick to the important thing here. A woman died because of the promotion.”
“We don’t know that,” I said. “If we adjust the timing …”
Wendy protested. Gwen talked over her. The speaker crackled with voices from the coast. The voices mingled until no one could be understood. I couldn’t understand what anyone was saying. I sat back in my seat.