The Wrong Drawers

by Misty Simon

  “See, now, Ivy, that’s where you’re wrong.” My hackles rose, but he held up a hand to silently ask me to throttle back a sec. “I’m not saying you’re wrong about making your own mistakes. I’m saying if you’re hurt by those mistakes, you’re not the only one hurting. I love you, more than you know, and have done my best by you.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me there.”

  “You’re darn right I won’t,” he said, chuckling. And I knew without a single doubt everything was going to be all right, finally.

  We talked for another hour, reminiscing about Mom, missing my sisters, Daisy, Rose, and Magnolia, who we affectionately referred to as “The Bouquet,” and trading fabulous words, trying to trump each other. We didn’t really talk about Ben yet, and I figured he could be a subject for another day. After all, I wanted to walk the path of resistance slowly when it came to my dad. He might have been all right with a slightly mouthier Ivy, but I didn’t think he was ready for a full-out transformation. It could wait until tomorrow.

  Now all I had to do was find out when his plane would leave. Along the way, I also needed to identify Tarrin’s killer, too. I certainly didn’t want to languish in jail, which was exactly what would happen if it was up to the detectives. Number three on my list of things I’d like to know was why nothing was stolen from my shop even though I got locked in the closet. All in a day’s work, now that I had my dad back.

  Chapter Ten

  Friday, and I was still waiting to hear from Bella. I’d thought about calling her at the B&B to see if she’d found a pocket of time yet, but I didn’t want to push her. She would come to me when she was ready and not a minute before. Calling would only make her dig in her heels about whatever had gotten twisted in her underwear, making things much harder.

  Dusting the racks in the store and bringing all my paperwork up to date only took the morning portion of the day. The afternoon found me staring at the swirls on my fingers and wondering when I could get back on good terms with Bella. If I didn’t soon, my hair was going to go wild, too, and I might have to think about going to the next town over to get a haircut. Of course, I wanted my friendship back on even ground with Bella for other reasons, too, but the hair was right up there.

  The store had been quiet today, and I hoped it didn’t have anything to do with the murder. So far, the business hadn’t suffered, but who knew how things worked in this town. Certainly, not me. The town could boycott the Masked Shoppe and, I was so far down on the grapevine, I might only find out when I had to close the doors permanently.

  I knew I was overreacting. There was no boycott, and I wouldn’t have to close my doors, ever. Great-Aunt Gertie had left me a nice little nest egg to go along with the shop and house, and it wasn’t like this body was going to starve.

  I flipped through a new catalog I’d received in the mail and tried to think of other things to do. The days went by so slowly sometimes, even though I loved the shop. It was after four. I was thinking about closing up when the bell over the door tinkled.

  For the second time in a handful of days, Bella stood in the doorway. This time, though, she looked more like herself. A lavender knit sweater covered her slim torso and black vinyl pants encased her legs. Her booted feet were planted firmly on my welcome mat. She looked like she meant business, but you know what? I figured I could handle her this time. I mean, I’d talked with my dad and won the argument for the most part. Bring it on, world! I thought.

  “What can I do for you?” was actually what I said.

  “I tried calling you at the house this morning but got no answer. I thought I’d come by here and see if you were in. It appears you are.”

  Yeah, tell me something I didn’t know. “Okay, but it doesn’t answer my question.” I folded my arms over my sweater (brown, not good) and waited, praying she wouldn’t bring up the color or the fact I also had on light beige corduroys.

  “You don’t have to get bitchy, you know.”

  Ah, there was the Bella I knew and loved. “Yes, I do, since you can’t seem to have a conversation with me and not give me some kind of order in the process lately. So what’s the directive today?”

  For a second, she looked completely taken aback. Even when I was finding myself before, I’d never had any reason to talk to her like this. Maybe it was throwing her as much off balance as it had my dad. Tough noogies.

  “Maybe I’ll come back another time when you aren’t so worked up.” She turned to leave, a swirl of dark hair.

  “My attitude’s not going to change until yours does,” I said to her retreating back. Kind of childish, I admit, but I couldn’t think of any other way to get her to understand this distance was not my doing.

  She faced me, giving me the evil slanty-eyed look. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  So here, finally, was my opening. Should I take it? Did I have enough courage to take it? Slanty eyes or not, I thought I did. “I’m saying you haven’t been very nice to me lately and I don’t appreciate it.” Not the best opener, but from the way her eyes widened, I assumed I’d hit a nerve. “I did nothing wrong and you haven’t taken any of my calls, tried to see me other than to issue more orders, and generally have been rude and standoffish. I don’t know what the problem is, but you haven’t even given me a chance to say how sorry I am your friend died. I know what it’s like because of Janice. It must be worse for you, and I sympathize.”

  “You’re wearing brown again.”

  Okay, not quite the response I had expected. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure, but this is what I picked out this morning. Don’t you think we have weightier subjects to cover than my fashion choices?”

  She seemed to take a minute to think about it. “No, right now I want to discuss your clothes. Then later, if you can make time to come over, I’d like to talk about the other.”

  “To be honest, Bella, I don’t have time to discuss my clothes right now. I do want to talk with you, but I have to be available for my customers.” Thank God the bell rang at that moment, saving me from embarrassing myself. I hadn’t had any customers when she came in, which would have made me a liar. Now I wasn’t.

  “Fine, then,” she said. “I’ll talk with you later. Come by after you close, if you can.”

  “That would be best.”

  She left, closing the door softly behind her while I turned to the man who had saved me from talking about my clothes. Although, once I got a look at him, I had to suppress a shudder of horror. This was the man who’d purchased a snug Speedo, or banana hammock as we called it in the business, for himself last month. The color, an eye-popping yellow, hadn’t fit his sallow skin, or his body type for that matter. But who was I to tell someone what not to buy? Just as long as I didn’t have to witness the finished ensemble, I didn’t care.

  “Welcome, Mr. Hanks. What can I do for you today?”

  The short man with his potbelly waddled over to the accessories section and asked, “Did you get in any of those other colors like I asked a couple weeks ago? The ladies like purple, you know.”

  There was no holding back this shudder. “Sure. Um, let’s see.” I searched through the racks and came out with violent purple, eye-searing red, and carrot orange.

  “I’ll be right back.” He made his way to the midnight blue curtains protecting the dressing rooms, and I sent up a quick prayer that he wouldn’t want my opinion.

  Minutes passed, during which I put on a CD to drown out his grunting and groaning. “Ivy,” his voice boomed from the far dressing stall.

  Oh, please, please, please. I’ve been a good girl—sort of—don’t make me look. “Yes?”

  “I wanted to make sure I told you I one hundred percent believe you didn’t kill that silly Tarrin girl.” The curtain swished, and at that moment I wanted to run in and kiss the man, Speedo or no Speedo.

  Then sanity returned. I really appreciated his words but thought that appreciation would wane if the curtain opened. “Thanks
, Mr. Hanks. It means a lot to me.”

  “You ask me—which I know you didn’t, but I’ll tell you anyway—that boyfriend of hers did it. Or the sister.”

  “Chad Darmore?” I remembered Ben telling me the fiancé’s name.

  “Not that idiot. Doesn’t know his computer from a hole in the ground. I’d put my money in a mattress before I invested it with him.” He grunted again, and by my count this should have been the last suit. I was almost in the clear. “The other one—Jason or Jesse. Something starting with a J, anyway. I don’t know why she thought she could come back into town, get her jollies with an old flame, and still keep up appearances.”

  For a minute I thought he was talking about Ben, and I was sure my heart would stop.

  “Now, Ben was a smart one for getting away from her while he could.” The curtain swished again and out popped a blessedly clothed Mr. Hanks.

  “Hi!” My smile was bright and full. He probably thought I was an idiot if his expression was anything to go on.

  “Sweetie, you should get some rest. You look a little peaked.” He handed me the three suits and told me to ring them up.

  I didn’t even mind him saying the same thing as everyone else in my life. He believed me! I couldn’t say why this one man’s belief in my innocence was so important, but I thought it had to do with very few other people in town believing me.

  I rang him up on the antique cash register I’d finally managed to figure out. He thanked me profusely, saying Gertie hadn’t been nearly so understanding of his need to show off his body for its wonderful shape. I nearly choked when I told him to come back anytime.

  I’d have to discuss this new information with Ben. Tarrin sleeping around, huh. Apparently her life and fiancé weren’t nearly as perfect as she had led me to believe.

  With Mr. Hanks gone, I tried to blank my mind of Speedo’d men by settling back with a new magazine that promised to overload my brain with images of perfume ads and ways to get your man in ten easy steps. The article about achieving nirvana in bed was fascinating, and I barely pulled myself away from it when the doorbell tinkled again.

  Reading the last sentence, I barely got a peripheral glance at a figure breezing past me and into the boudoir. I’d know that shock of gray hair anywhere, though, and ran to catch up with my dad.

  Panting when I arrived, I gave some serious thought to hauling him out of the room bodily. But he’d already seen everything, and now it was all over but for the shouting.

  “So, Dad, what are you doing here?” I asked, trying to wedge my way between him and the cabinet on the right. No need to expose him to the variety of whips and feathers I carried.

  “Don’t try to get me off track, young lady.” He harrumphed and did the arm-crossing thing. We were settling in for a long discussion with me defending and him huffing and puffing.

  “I haven’t heard anything about a track yet, so how could I be working to derail you?”

  “You know exactly why I’m here, or you wouldn’t be trying to edge me out of this room.”

  “No, that’s not it at all,” I said as I subtly scooted him toward the door. “I wanted to see if you wanted coffee and was directing you toward it.” Lies, all of it, but I took his elbow anyway and literally dragged him out of the room, closing the curtain behind me. Phew!

  “If you’re so embarrassed with what you sell, then why have it in here at all?” He crossed to the counter and bent over to sniff my new candles. “Apple. Good choice,” he said.

  So like my dad to pull himself off the subject. He wasn’t absentminded or easily distracted, but this was one of his ploys. He’d try to lull me into another conversation about scent, or dinner, or something, and then hit me out of left field with another boudoir question. It wasn’t going to work this time.

  “I’m not embarrassed at all. I simply thought you would prefer not to be in the room with so many women’s underpants.”

  That got him good; his cheeks flushed. “What I’d like to know is when you planned on telling me you pandered to the baser natures. I hope you only sell to married women.” A crease formed between his bushy eyebrows.

  “Oh, please.” I planted my hands firmly on my ample hips. “Seriously, I do not check every woman’s left ring finger before they go into the room. Technically, they can buy anything their little hearts desire. Who am I, the moral police?”

  “Well, you should be.”

  “Ha! I’m not taking on that responsibility. Besides, some women buy the merchandise for themselves because they like to feel pretty.” And wasn’t it nice not to have to decide whether or not I was up to this confrontation. I’d waded in like it was nothing. Score one for Ivy!

  Dad’s face flamed red, a shade I had plenty of frilly panties in. “I’m not discussing feeling pretty. I don’t want to know what the women around here wear under their blouses. I do, however, want to know why you’ve set up that boudoir back there.”

  I almost laughed, and even came an instant from snorting like I’d never snorted before. How apropos (great word) that my dad called it the same thing I did, even if it was in a whole different tone of voice. “And why can’t I have this little back room? Women like to buy underwear.”

  “Everyone buys underwear. It’s the other stuff I don’t approve of.”

  Now I was really happy I had kept him from looking inside the cabinet. “Women like to buy underwear in private, not only in the crammed aisles of the local Wal-Mart, you know. Besides, the room and merchandise were already here. Aunt Gertie set all this up, and it’s been here for as many years as she was.”

  “Gertie set this up? I need to sit down.” He plopped onto the side of the fountain, and I thought this probably wasn’t the time to point out the mermaid’s nipples showing through her hair as she arched out of the bowl of the fountain. Bad timing.

  “Why is it such a big deal?”

  “Why didn’t you show it to me when we toured the shop all those weeks ago? And why did I need to find out because I happened to remember my surroundings, days after being in there?”

  Ohhh, that stopped me right in my tracks. I spent a moment trying to collect my thoughts and still came up with nothing I really wanted to say. How did you tell your dad you thought he was a prude and couldn’t handle the truth? I certainly couldn’t yell it at him like Tom Cruise did in A Few Good Men. So I hedged. “Well, it’s like this. I thought you wouldn’t be comfortable with it, and so I tried to shield you from it.”

  He had the gall to laugh. “You mean you were uncomfortable with it and wanted to keep me out so you wouldn’t have to explain yourself.” He rested his hands on his knees and shook his head. “We’re a pair. Anything else about the store or your life I should know? As much as it pains me to listen to lingerie talk and dating stuff, I’d prefer if we could get things out in the open.”

  “I love you, Dad, but I think there are still some things that don’t need to be discussed. Let’s leave it with the thought that you know all the important stuff. Beyond that, I think it would be a better idea if you stay out of here from now on. It will help make sure the ladies don’t leave without filling my cash register with their nasty money.”

  He laughed again, and this time I joined him. He pushed himself up from the fountain and came two inches from landing a hand on the aforementioned nipple. Lord, wouldn’t that have been funny. Coming forward, he hugged me for the first time in a long time and patted me on the back. “I love you, too, sweets. I don’t like to be at odds with you. I’ll try to keep out of your business as much as possible if you keep me in the loop.”

  “Deal.” I hugged him back with all my might and savored the special fragrance that was Stan—Old Spice.

  He pulled away and held me at arm’s length. “I have a confession to make since we’re airing grievances and making a clean breast of it.”

  I had a sinking feeling this was not going to be good. Following along like a puppy, I trailed him back into the boudoir and watched as he picked up a package with
a torn flap.

  “This came in the mail for you today. I didn’t necessarily mean to open it, but then temptation got the best of me. Needless to say, I was shocked at what I found. If anything, I hope what’s inside here is at least for this room and not some newfangled gadget for you and Ben.”

  Oh, gah! Visions of the Ultima-brator and various other things requiring batteries danced through my head. Please don’t let it be something like that. I’d rather have a handful of crotchless panties.

  No crotchless panties delivered me from embarrassment. It was with a heavy heart I pulled a pair of furry handcuffs from the package along with a rubberized nightstick and a badge with the words “Inspector Naughty” on it. I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole.

  I turned the package over, thinking it must have been some kind of joke. I would never order these things. I certainly wouldn’t wear a badge with that name on it, though the fire-engine-red furry handcuffs intrigued me with their possibilities.

  Anyway, in turning over the package, I found the return address, and it said Play It Up! I hadn’t ordered anything the night of the party. Who could have sent this to me? And why? More importantly, did I have someone else’s merchandise, and was she waiting impatiently to do an especially naughty search and seizure?

  Chapter Eleven

  I put the package and its crazy contents under the counter and out of my mind for the rest of the business day. Instead, I concentrated on helping people pick out various costumes. The back room enjoyed a brisk business, too. Time and time again, giggling women of all ages and shapes told me when it started getting cold they were left with only a few things to do in the evening. One involved their purchases. I couldn’t believe it. I’d be more worried about freezing vital parts off than wearing sexy lingerie. Give me a pair of flannel pajamas any day.

  Eventually, closing time arrived. I shut off the lights, locked up the cash registers, and thought briefly of running home to change my brown clothes to something a little more in line with how I felt about myself. But, glancing at the clock, I knew I had no time, so I dashed out the door and jumped into my car.