Nickeled and Dimed to Death

by Denise Swanson

  Just as I was questioning my decision to accompany Noah for the fiftieth time, Winnie and Zizi Todd marched up to me and enveloped me in a group hug. Mother and daughter were part of the Blood, Sweat, and Shears sewing group that met at my store on Wednesday nights. And although neither was the type you’d expect to see at a country club dance, both were passionate supporters of the women and children’s shelter, the focus of tonight’s fund-raiser.

  Zizi was in her early twenties and attending graduate school to become a clinical social worker. She had a quirky sense of style and tonight she wore her carrot red hair in braids wrapped around her head. Her blue skirt, white blouse, and red vest made her look like the girl from the Swiss Miss hot chocolate package.

  Zizi’s mother Winnie was the original flower child, and her fashion sense hadn’t changed since her teens. She had on a groovy patchwork maxi dress, and her long gray hair was a cascade of frizzy curls down her back. I thought the silver peace symbol hanging from a leather thong around her neck was just the right touch, but the sunflower painted on her cheek might have been a tad too much. Still, I loved that neither she nor her daughter ever bowed to the Shadow Bend peer pressure to conform and blend in.

  Winnie had left Shadow Bend to live in San Francisco during the mid-sixties and had returned, sans husband, in the late eighties to have her only child. Several of the townspeople had been vocal with their advice and opinion of a single woman Winnie’s age having a baby. But she blithely ignored their condemnation, gave birth to a healthy infant, and continued to do her own thing. Clearly she had raised her daughter to value her independence, too.

  Stepping back from the double hug, Winnie said, “I didn’t expect to see you here.” She swiveled her head. “Are you with someone?”

  “Uh . . .”

  Before I could answer, Zizi elbowed her mother, then gestured at Noah, who had finally reached the head of the drinks line. He waved and smiled back before turning his attention to the bartender.

  “Dr. Underwood.” Winnie nodded knowingly. “I thought you two might end up together again. Although I figured that hot U.S. Marshal you’ve been seeing might edge out the gallant doctor.”

  “Noah and I are just friends,” I protested. “His date cancelled on him at the last minute.” After a nanosecond, I quickly added, “And Jake and I are just . . .” I trailed off, not sure what Jake and I were, and if we ever would be anything now that he was back in St. Louis working with his ex.

  Zizi poked her mother again. “There’s no reason she can’t have both guys. One’s hot and one’s sweet—just the right combo.”

  “So true.” Winnie’s voice was reminiscent. “That was what was so great about the whole free-love movement in the sixties. Living in Haight-Ashbury was like being in the middle of a gigantic Whitman’s Sampler filled with men. You could try a different flavor every day. Heck, even every hour, if you had the stamina.”

  “Which is why you have no idea who my father is.” Zizi snickered, but her robin’s-egg-blue eyes were a little sad. “You don’t think I believed the sperm-donor story of yours for a minute, did you?”

  I had been silent while Winnie and her daughter went back and forth; it was hard to join a conversation with that duo. But seeing Zizi’s expression, I decided it was time to change the subject. “So.” I searched my mind for something to say. “Noah mentioned he’s on the dance committee. Are you both on the committee, too?”

  “I was.” Zizi raised her hand. “Mom didn’t think the dance was a good idea for a fund-raiser.” She gestured around the elaborately decorated room. “She thought it cost too much to put on and we wouldn’t make a profit.”

  “And I still do.” Winnie shook her head and tsked. “For most of the women, this is just an excuse to buy a new dress and show off.”

  “Which is why we added the auction,” Noah said, joining us. “We know we’ll only make a small amount on the dance tickets, but we should make quite a bit on the drinks and even more on the auction items.”

  “What do you have for us to bid on?” I asked, looking around for a table full of goodies.

  “Mostly merchandise or services donated by local businesses,” Noah explained.

  “Why didn’t anyone ask me for something from the dime store?”

  “You never returned my call.” Noah held my gaze. “Guess you didn’t get my message.”

  “Sorry. My phone’s been eating my voice mail lately,” I lied.

  “Right.” Noah’s expression was skeptical. “That must have been what happened.”

  I stared back at him, refusing to admit I’d been deleting his messages without even listening to them.

  “Some people gave us stuff they didn’t want,” Zizi said, breaking the tense silence.

  “You mean like their junk?” I didn’t think this crowd would bid for used books, old exercise equipment, or last year’s coat.

  “No.” Zizi giggled. “Mostly either new items that had been gifts they didn’t like or antiques and collectibles they were tired of.”

  “I see.” My ears perked up at the words antiques and collectibles. “Where are the auction items?” I glanced around again. “I’d love to check out the old stuff.”

  “Behind those folding doors.” Noah tipped his head to our right. “We’re keeping it all a surprise until we start the auction. Then we’ll do a big reveal.”

  “Although you might be able to persuade the auctioneer to give you a sneak peek,” Winnie said with an innocent look on her face.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah,” Zizi joined in, sliding a mischievous glance between Noah and me. “I bet the auctioneer could be bribed. Say, with a kiss.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to catch Zizi’s drift, and I glanced at Noah before adding, “Guess I’ll just have to wait along with everybody else.”

  “In the meantime”—Noah’s ears were red, but his voice was unruffled—“if you ladies will excuse us, I promised to introduce Dev to an old friend.”

  “Sure.” Winnie smiled and waved us away. “We’ll catch you later.”

  With a hand on my elbow, Noah steered me toward a short, rotund man with his arm around a tall, beautiful woman.

  As we neared the couple, Noah said, “Oakley, it’s great to see you.”

  “Thanks for sending me the tickets.” Oakley clasped Noah’s shoulder, then said, “This is Faith Nelson. Faith, my old college roommate, Noah Underwood.”

  Noah shook the brunette’s hand, then turned to me and said to the couple, “This is Devereaux Sinclair. Dev, this is Oakley Panigrahi and Faith Nelson. Dev runs the basket business I told you about.”

  “It is very nice to meet you at last,” Oakley said. “Noah has told me a great deal about you, and I’ve been wanting to discuss a proposition with you ever since he mentioned your company.”

  “Terrific.” I wondered what else Noah had said about me and when he had said it.

  “Why don’t you two go tango while Ms. Sinclair and I have a little talk,” Oakley said, pushing Faith toward Noah.

  “I’d love to.” I mentally rubbed my hands together, thinking of the money this meeting could add to my bottom line.

  Noah dipped his head toward Oakley and me before taking the stunning brunette’s hand.

  I kept a smile pasted on my face as Noah murmured in Faith’s ear while leading her onto the dance floor, but a part of me was not happy to see such a gorgeous woman in his arms. They made a striking pair, moving together in perfect harmony to the beat.

  After a moment, I forced myself to focus and, raising my voice, asked Oakley, “Would you like to sit in the lobby? The music in here makes it a little difficult to have a meaningful conversation.”

  Oakley agreed, and within half an hour, he outlined the type of gift baskets he required for his real estate clients. He explained that he handled high-end luxury properties and he wanted unique items customized to the tastes of his buyers. He was willing to pay top dollar to p
rovide a memorable thank-you gift for his customers.

  I assured him that I was the woman for the job, and he promised to send an e-mail with the particulars for the first twenty orders. He then wrote me a large check for the down payment—the rest would be paid on delivery—and we returned to the ballroom, where we found Noah and Faith seated at a side table, chatting.

  Oakley took the chair next to Faith, but when I started to slip into the one beside Noah, he stopped me, stood up, and said, “Let’s waltz.”

  For the next hour, we rarely left the floor. I had forgotten what a great dancer Noah was; he was even able to make someone like me, with two left feet, feel graceful. I had also forgotten, or more likely blocked from my mind, how much I enjoyed being in his arms.

  Finally we both needed a rest. Once we claimed a vacant table, Noah fetched us two more martinis. Sipping our drinks, we chatted about the event and the people, but eventually we ran out of small talk.

  As I toyed with the stem of my glass, Noah cleared his throat. “Dev, I—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, Winnie rushed up to us and announced, “It’s time to start the auction. I’ve noticed a few couples have already left.”

  “Okay.” Noah sighed, then asked me, “How would you like to be Vanna White?”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, point to the item and look beautiful,” Noah teased.

  “Okay.” I smiled. “I can handle at least one of those two assignments.”

  “I know you’re not just a pretty face. I’m sure you can point, too.”

  Winnie chuckled, then hurried off to whip the bidders into a frenzy.

  Noah stood and, taking my hand, escorted me toward the door that led to the room holding the auction items. He gave me an inventory of the objects up for bid and their donors, then asked me to read them off as he lined them up. We were halfway through the list when I noticed several pieces with the name Elise Whitmore next to them and a note saying that she preferred not to be identified as the contributor.

  Her gifts included a set of antique golf clubs, a couple of signed baseballs in little Plexiglas boxes, and a bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild Pauillac 1996, which I knew retailed for close to eleven hundred dollars. Apparently Elise was cleaning her house of more than just chocolate molds, and she didn’t want anyone to know it.

  Just as we were opening the folding doors to the ballroom, my phone rang. I would have ignored it, but it was Boone’s ring tone—“Sue Me” from Guys & Dolls. Since it was nearly eleven and he should have been dining in a Kansas City restaurant, if he was calling me, it had to be an emergency.

  I gestured to Noah that I would only be a minute and stepped through the rear exit into a hallway. After fishing the cell from my evening bag, I said, “Hello.” I waited, and when there was no response, I asked, “Boone, are you there? Is everything okay?”

  Amid static, I heard Boone’s voice say, “I’ve just been arrested for murder.”

  “What?!”

  “Come to the Shadow Bend Police Station right away.”

  “Who was killed? Boone, tell me what happened,” I demanded, but the line was dead, and when I hit Redial, the call went immediately to his voice mail.

  Damn! What in the world had Boone gotten himself into?

  CHAPTER 6

  * * *

  Well, this was awkward. The animosity between Noah and Boone was legendary. It had started when Noah ran against Boone in the sixth-grade election for class president. There had been a brief hiatus in their hostilities during high school while Noah and I were dating. But the minute Noah and I were no longer a couple, the men’s true feelings resurfaced. From that moment on, they hadn’t bothered to conceal their contempt for each other.

  People who have never lived in small towns have no idea how serious and lifelong a feud can be, but I knew. Which meant that asking Noah to abandon his auctioneer duties in order to drive me to the police station to help Boone wasn’t a good idea. Noah would either agree, in which case he’d be present for Boone’s humiliation, or he would refuse, in which case there’d be a major rip in our slowly mending relationship. I didn’t like either scenario.

  Adding to my dilemma, I was pretty sure Boone wouldn’t want news of his arrest to get out. Although considering that Shadow Bend’s grapevine grew as if some superfertilizer had been applied, I wasn’t sure there was any way to keep it quiet. Still, I didn’t want to be the source of the leak.

  My only alternative was Poppy. Although she was Boone’s friend and would want to help, her father was the chief of police and she didn’t get along with him, so her presence might cause more of a problem than it solved. Unfortunately, I couldn’t figure out another way to get from the country club to the police station without telling someone who might start the gossip mill grinding. At least Poppy wouldn’t blab.

  Praying that her less-than-reliable bartender had shown up and she could leave her bar, I punched her speed-dial number on my cell. She owned Gossip Central, the most popular watering hole in the county, and as soon as she answered, I could tell that, as usual, the place was crowded. Saturday nights were her busiest time. Without any pleasantries or chitchat, I immediately told her about Boone’s call.

  It took a while for her to hear me over the noise of the bar, and even longer for me to convince her that I had no more information. Finally she said she’d pick me up in fifteen minutes—an ETA I thought was optimistic, considering that Gossip Central and the country club were on opposite sides of Shadow Bend.

  Now that my transportation was secured, I had to decide how to inform Noah that I was leaving and why. The why was hard enough to explain, though I was hoping a generic announcement that I had a personal emergency would be enough. The how was tougher.

  While I had been talking to Boone and Poppy, Noah had concluded his speech, and the auction was in full swing. He was completely occupied taking bids and interacting with the potential buyers. I couldn’t exactly march up to the podium and make an announcement.

  Hmm. Maybe that was my out. If I wrote him a note, I could slip away without having to explain my predicament. No, that wouldn’t work. What if he didn’t get the note? Okay. I could leave him a message with someone I trusted to deliver it. From the glares I had been receiving all evening from the other single women, it was a fair bet that most of them would be happy to see my backside and even happier to allow Noah to think that I had abandoned him without an explanation.

  That narrowed the field to Oakley, Winnie, or Zizi. I quickly ruled out Oakley. I definitely didn’t want my brand-new client to see me as someone surrounded by crises. And Winnie tended to be a little scattered. However, while Zizi’s appearance suggested she might be less than dependable, I knew that no one maintained a 4.0 average in grad school without being reliable.

  Having made my choice and asked Zizi to tell Noah that I had to leave due to a personal emergency, I fended off her questions. Then I hurried to the lobby and retrieved my coat. I had at least five minutes before there was any possibility of Poppy’s arrival, so I made a quick visit to the ladies’ room for an insurance pee. As Birdie always said, go when you have the chance.

  By the time I had finished in the bathroom and walked out of the country club lobby, Poppy’s ginormous silver Hummer was idling by the curb. Since Poppy’s preschool days, males had been misled by her froth of silvery blond ringlets, striking amethyst eyes, and delicate build. Despite her angelic appearance, she had always been a wild child. I felt a little sorry for the guys who were fooled by her ethereal beauty. There really should be truth in advertising where men and women are concerned.

  Considering that Poppy’s father was the chief of the Shadow Bend police force, the irony that Poppy was the town bad girl was not lost on me. Then again, maybe instead of an incongruity, it was a cliché. Wasn’t the preacher’s son often a troublemaker? It didn’t take a psychologist to figure out why the offspring of an authority figure might behave badly.

  As soon as I climbe
d into the H1, I grabbed the seatbelt. When Poppy was at the wheel, it was always a bumpy ride. Her philosophy was, “Drive it like you stole it.” Thank goodness she’d quit taking that idea as literally as she had when she was a teenager. Stopping her from going on unauthorized joyrides in any car that caught her fancy had been one of the trials and tribulations of my adolescence.

  My derrière had barely touched the seat when Poppy floored the accelerator and demanded, “Tell me again exactly what Boone said.”

  I finished buckling up, then repeated my brief conversation with him, ending with, “So I have no idea who the victim is or why he’s been arrested or what he thinks we can do to help him.”

  “Obviously my father’s behind this whole thing,” Poppy snapped.

  Her relationship with her dad had been shaky for years, but something had happened last Christmas to push it into open hostility. I had never found out exactly what had caused the final falling-out. I suspected the reason was the apparent one: Poppy’s devil-may-care lifestyle was about as opposite as could be from the chief’s paramilitary-type existence, and one of them finally did or said something the other couldn’t tolerate.

  “Dad’s only harassing Boone because he’s a friend of mine,” Poppy added.

  I made a noncommittal sound, hoping to soothe her anger without blatantly disagreeing with her. I was reasonably certain Chief Kincaid wouldn’t be that unprofessional, but Poppy firmly believed that her father was the love child of Lizzy Borden and Vlad the Impaler. Nothing I said would change her mind.

  As Poppy raced her Hummer toward town, I felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. A couple of months ago, Chief Kincaid had taken my grandmother into custody over an episode that had been blown out of all proportion, and I had been summoned to her rescue. Eventually Gran had been released to me and the event forgotten. I could only hope that this incident would end as well.

  When Poppy barely missed hitting a man in a gray hoodie and black jeans walking along the side of the road, I gasped. The guy leapt off the pavement and into the grass, shaking his fist.