by Misty Simon
“Oh, I think I do.” Her eyes got this weird cast to them, but it cleared before I had a chance to figure out what it meant. Maybe I had imagined it, I thought, since with her next breath she was bawling like a lost child.
I made nonsensical soothing noises and felt completely out of my depth. My own tears I could handle. I could even stand Bella’s, if it came down to it. But to have a virtual stranger blubber all over me was a completely new and uncomfortable situation.
I jumped up, almost toppling Chrissie into the fountain. She managed to clutch the lip of the bench in time and avoided an untimely bath. Grabbing a box of tissues from the long wooden sales counter, I returned to sit next to her, but made sure to leave enough space so she wouldn’t cry into my sweater again. At a loss for what to say, I sat and waited for the sobs to subside. What to do now?
Chrissie pulled herself together before I tortured myself looking for the answer to that question. “I’m sorry,” she said, hiccupping. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this, and look at me. I’m a mess.”
I looked at her while she hung her head. She was a mess, but far be it from me to kick someone when they were down. I wasn’t a pretty crier and neither was she.
“Do you have a bathroom I could use?” she asked, mopping at her running mascara with a tissue.
“Sure, down the hall and to the left. Take your time.” Please, take your time and don’t come out crying again. I wasn’t unsympathetic at all; I just didn’t know what to do for her.
While Chrissie cleaned up, or whatever she was doing in the bathroom, I helped the few customers who straggled in. It was blustery out today, as my favorite childhood character used to say. Each person who entered the store did so with the wind at their back, hair flying and scarves whipping around their wind-chapped faces. Mr. Craken, the poor unfortunate soul, had his hair whipped off completely. Stunned, I gawked until I realized he wore a hairpiece. It was an effective rug, since I’d had no idea the man was bald as a Christmas bulb. I did my best not to snicker—not good for customer relations.
Finally, Chrissie emerged from the back, more composed this time, thank goodness. “Thanks again, Ivy. I’m so sorry for the trouble.”
“Not at all. Don’t worry about it. Did you find everything you needed?”
“Yeah. I’ll go now. I have some work to do. Maybe we’ll see each other later.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” I waved her out of the store. Ten minutes later, it occurred to me I could have given her the package I’d mistakenly received from her company. Another thought came hard on the heels of the first: why had she come in the first place? All she’d done was cry on me, use my bathroom, then leave. Oh, well, hopefully she’d be back and we could get things straightened out. I wanted to get the merchandise back to her soon, though, because the more it sat in my little office, the more the thought of trying it out on Ben appealed to me. Not that I wanted to beat him with the rubber nightstick, but it might be fun to dress up as a naughty cop and do a full body search. Hmmm.
Business was slow, and I dreamed up several scenarios with me as Officer Honey before the clock struck six and it was time to go home. I walked to the house bundled in my scarf, gloves, two jackets, long johns, hat, and boots. I wasn’t taking any chances of a freak freeze catching me off guard.
Walking up the sidewalk, I hummed Christmas songs to myself, trying to decide what exactly would be an appropriate gift for my new lover at this joyous holiday season. All fun thoughts were cut off, though, when I came to my house. The door sat ajar and all the lights were blazing. My dad came tearing out of the house, rolling pin in hand, his comb-over flapping in the wind.
Chapter Twenty-One
“What the hell is going on?” I shouted as Dad ran past me in slippers and a robe.
“No time, sweets!”
I jogged after him around the side of the house, wondering who—or what—he was chasing and why the rolling pin. Did our family have a natural aversion to normal weapons, using baseball bats and such?
I didn’t catch up with him until we reached the garage and were both leaning against the siding, panting like dogs. His hair had finally decided to lie down part way, but tufts still stood up here and there. No matter what he was doing outside with my kitchen utensils and in his moccasins, this was definitely one to call and tell my sisters—the Bouquet—about. They’d get a kick out of how fast our father was able to go when he wanted. I’d bet they would also get a kick out of the fact he had a love interest.
Between pants, I repeated my question, “What is going on?”
“Second, please.” He put his hand over his chest and leaned more fully on the siding. Please, don’t let him have some kind of heart attack.
“Take your time, Dad. Get your breath back.”
He did, simply inhaling and exhaling for a couple of minutes before lifting his head to look at me. “We’ve been robbed.”
“Robbed?” I had nothing worth taking.
“Yes, someone came into the house while I was showering and took your stuff.” He straightened and started walking back around the house to the front door. His moccasins made swishing sounds through my overlong grass.
“What did they take, and how do you know they took anything at all, if you were in the shower?” Another question sprang to mind regarding the shower, but I refused to ask if he had anything on under the robe.
“I heard someone rummaging around in the house and thought it was you, at first. But when I called out a hello, a huge commotion ensued, and then the door slammed. By the time I got out of the shower, and checked all the rooms for you, or whoever had been here, I noticed your pantry had been raided.”
We entered my precious house, now sullied and invaded by some nameless, faceless perp, and I got angry. My hands clenched at my sides as I made a beeline for the kitchen and my supposedly raided pantry. Nothing of value hid there, so I couldn’t think why anyone would steal something from that glorified broom closet.
Apparently my paper products were the only things that had interested them. I no longer owned any paper towels, napkins, or extra toilet paper. “Damn!”
“Language.”
“I am not going to worry about swearing when I no longer have anything to wipe my hands or ass with.” The outburst shocked even me.
We stared at each other in mute horror until my dad started laughing, a wheezy, choking laugh. I, on the other hand, laughed so hard I snorted. When I got my breath back, I patted him on the shoulder and apologized.
“No problem, honey. I wasn’t expecting it, though. Phew! I haven’t laughed so hard in years. I think you made me cry.” He wiped his eyes and sat down in a kitchen chair. “So what do we do now?”
Feeling sick to my stomach, I replied, “Call the police, I guess.” Bleck.
Needless to say, the police were not happy to see me again so soon. I got quite a few looks from slanty eyes as they searched the house for forced entry. At least I didn’t have to defend my allegations and put up with people mocking me for reporting stolen paper goods. I wasn’t happy to be the last in a line of victims, but it was a comfort to not be the first, either. What fun something like that must have been. Excuse me, officer, but all my napkins have been taken. I’d like to fill out a stolen property form.
But as I said, I fortunately didn’t have to deal with those problems, even though I did have to deal with another set. “Yes, I know I’ve been calling you with increased regularity, Dale, but what do you want me to do?”
The officer mumbled something under his breath, which sounded suspiciously like “Go back to where you came from.” Before I could take umbrage (love that word), Ben appeared, saving me from embarrassing myself further.
“Sweet Ivy, thy name is most definitely trouble,” he said, getting out of his car and crossing through my ocean of a front yard. I really needed to get out here and cut the grass. Did people mow this close to the grass dying for winter? Would I be the laughing stock of the neighborhood if I did?
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br /> “Why is it my fault? Someone came in and stole all my paper towels, napkins, and toilet paper. How is this my doing?” I did the hands on hips thing and waited for his answer. This new in our relationship I wasn’t against withholding sex, except I would suffer from the punishment, too. Hmmm, I’d have to come up with something else. In the meantime, I gave him my best glare.
He held his hands up like he was surrendering. Good thinking. “I’m not saying it’s your fault. It just seems like trouble finds you wherever you go.”
Bad answer. I opened my mouth to give him a scathing retort when my dad jumped in.
“Precisely what I was saying the other day. It’s as if she were a gatherer of troubles, or something of the kind.” Stan stuck out his hand and I wanted to bite it off. Now was not the time for them to start getting along. “Ben, nice to see you again. What do you make of this particular bit of trouble?”
Ben straightened. I could see the gleam of my dad’s approval shining in his green eyes. Damn. “Well, sir, I think someone might be playing a trick on the residents of Martha’s Point. But as to what that trick is, I have no idea. Trouble gravitates to Ivy like slivers of metal to a magnet.”
Save me! Ben had said the magic words. My dad had been a machinist in his past life, and nothing fascinated him like talk of machinery-type things. Metal and magnets were right up his alley.
I left them to grunt and make other manly noises while I snagged Detective Bartlett as he got out of a car. “Any news you can share with me about Chad?” I asked the older man.
“Nothing, Ivy, and after this last addition I don’t want you involved in anything else. Why don’t you lie low and stay out of trouble for a while? See if the professionals can’t get some work done around here. That is what we’re paid for, after all. And last time I checked the payroll down at the station, you weren’t on it.”
Well, don’t sugarcoat it for me. “Thanks,” I said, wanting to add “for nothing” onto the end of it. Nothing good could come of it, though, so I kept my mouth shut and went back to where my dad and Ben were bonding over lathes and drill bits.
****
As I sat down to a dinner of salad—and my dad chowed down on veal parm with about a pound of noodles—the phone rang. After the multitude of calls I’d endured throughout the day from my three sisters, Ben, Martha, and several of the previous victims of the Napkin Snatcher, I did not want to talk with anyone else.
Dad stopped eating and gave me a pointed stare. “Are you going to get the phone?”
I shrugged. “I wasn’t planning on it. I’m done for the night.”
“Did you ever talk to Bella?” He forked up more pasta.
“Crap.” I picked up the phone, and she was squawking in my ear before I could even say hello.
“Why didn’t you call me? Why do I have to hear the news about Chad and the burglar at your house from some old biddy while I’m dyeing her hair blue!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not going to cut it. Drop whatever you’re doing and get your rear end over here now. I have something I need your opinion on, and I want to hear all the news. Chop, chop, Ivy.” Then she hung up.
I was getting mighty tired of the chop-chop thing, but I knew an order when I heard one. Ben’s earlier words about not following Bella’s every directive floated behind me as I jumped into my car and hightailed it to her house.
She stood in the open doorway, arms crossed and foot tapping. “What took you so long?”
All right, it was time to put my size nine-and-a-half boot down. “I jumped in the car as soon as I hung up with you. Did you expect me to stretch the phone cord all the way over here and talk while I walked?”
“Well, no.”
I followed her into the entryway and hung up my coat on the hall rack. “Did you expect me to fly over here and risk another run in with the police when they pulled me over and gave me a ticket, therefore making me even later?”
“Of course not.” She sat on the sofa and tucked her feet under her butt.
I tried the same move, but it lost something in the translation to my body, and I ended up untucking and sitting with my feet on the floor. “Then give me a break. I said I was sorry for not getting in touch with you earlier, though I did try. I kept hearing a busy signal at the shop and then was caught up in giving the police my statement.”
She had nothing to say to that, so I barreled on. “I don’t mind running over to your house at a moment’s notice. I don’t even mind you telling me to get my rear over here. However, ‘chop, chop’ is getting old, and so are your demands. I’m not a minion, I’m your friend, and I expect you to respect that.”
The sound of clapping startled me. Ben stood in the front doorway, a smile on his face. Sauntering into the house, he expertly ducked the pillow Bella threw at his head. “Good for you, Ivy.”
“I didn’t expect to have an audience. I’m sorry, Bella.” I blew out a disgusted breath. I was happy to see him, but his timing absolutely stank. “Ben, go back out and stay out until we’re ready for you.”
He gave me a blank look until I got up from the comfy chair and pushed him back through the door, slamming it inches from his nose. I even took the time to snick the lock.
Turning back to Bella, I resumed my seat. “That’s not the way I meant for things to happen.”
“No, I know it. I’ll watch myself from now on. I was really worried about you, though, and this is my normal response. I’ll try harder. Though I have been looking for a minion. Sure you don’t want the position?” We both laughed. “So, should we let him back in yet?”
“Oh, I think he can chill, literally, for a little while. He needs to learn a lesson or two himself.”
Two minutes later, we took pity on the poor man and opened the door again. He’d been trying to pick the lock with his handy-dandy lock-picking set, and he fell toward us with the inward swing of the door.
He looked up sheepishly from his place on the floor. “Hello, ladies.”
“Serves you right,” I said, reaching down to help him stand. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you worked tonight.”
“I got off early to be with my favorite girl. I called your house and your dad said you were here. And here you are.”
“And here I am.” I gave him a kiss that would only mildly curl his toes and yanked him into the living room with us. “Bella, is it okay for him to be here for the things you wanted to show me?”
“Sure, it’s no big secret, and I’d share it with him at some point anyway. I think it ties in with our investigation.”
What was it with everyone and these high-drama words? Before, it was about finding out who killed a friend of ours. Now we were getting into sophisticated terminology. Next we’d be discussing the procedural protocol for a Code 187.
Bella got up from the couch and led the way into her spare bedroom, the one where Tarrin had been found lifeless. I didn’t necessarily relish being in this room again—the last time I was here I’d found a dead body—but if Bella needed to show us something, then I guessed I was stuck.
Walking around the bed, she stooped and pulled something out from under the silky plum bedskirt. I’d never really learned to use or appreciate this extra piece of bedding, since my dad wasn’t into them. But it looked so pretty hanging beneath the bedspread, I put it on my list of things to buy, along with new toilet paper, napkins, and paper towels. Darn that Napkin Snatcher! Why couldn’t he have taken my doilies or the fingertip towels hanging in the bathroom, which I never used? Why my toilet paper? I discovered he’d taken every roll except the one in the guest bathroom, where my father had been showering. Rotten bastard—not my father, the thief.
Bella dropped a small square piece of fabric on the bed and stood back looking proud of herself. I couldn’t see the significance of the swatch of cloth but didn’t want to burst her bubble by saying as much.
Ben, on the other hand, reached down and picked the cloth up, turning it over and over. He seemed to
examine every thread and strand of it before putting it back. “Okay, I don’t see the significance,” he said.
Ha! I wasn’t the only clueless one, though I possessed more tact.
Hands on hips, Bella blew out an exasperated sigh and looked at the two of us like we were two particularly slow toddlers. When she spoke, it was with the same condescending tone. “I found this after the police left, while I was cleaning in here. I could swear Play It Up! uses the same kind of fabric and mesh in their lingerie.”
“Back up, back up.” Ben did the surrender thing again with his hands and shook his head. “What, exactly, is Play It Up!? And why do I get the feeling I’m missing something here?”
Oh, no, this was going to be the sticky part.
Chapter Twenty-Two
See, the thing here was, I hadn’t actually gotten around to telling Ben who Tarrin worked for, or what she did. I had left it as she was a party consultant, and so had the press and police. This wasn’t a story Ben had covered, which meant he was out of the loop as far as this aspect went.
“Um, the company sells toys and clothes of the naughty variety,” I said, avoiding his eyes. “Tarrin was here giving a party to demonstrate and sell the stuff.”
He stared at me for what seemed like an eternity, during which he opened his mouth a couple of times, and I could almost see the words on his tongue. Which of the multitudes of questions running through his brain would he ask first?
“So, did you buy that little red thing from the other night through Tarrin, then?”
Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting that one. I did a little bit of a carp impersonation myself, then whacked him on the arm. “I most certainly did not. It was from my shop, and thanks for blurting it out.”
“Little red thing?” Bella asked slyly.
“Don’t you start,” I said, pointing at her. Then I turned the pointy finger at Ben and poked him in the chest. “And you! Don’t you ever get mad at me for telling Bella things, when you yourself blurt them out.” I was getting really good at this confrontation thing. Take the bull by the horns, I always said—from this day forward, anyway.