I told her everything would be all right and sent them to the café for Bob’s special spider juice punch and shortbread fingers. I suggested Adele help in there, too. I was relieved when she let go.
As soon as I started handing out tickets I knew there were going to be problems. The people at the end of the line were already getting antsy. Just then a woman came up and took my arm. “You’re Molly Pink, aren’t you?” she asked. I nodded, and she explained the cashier had told her I was in charge of the crochet group.
“Not in charge, just one of the soldiers,” I said with a smile. She introduced herself and explained she was director of the Women’s Haven and had stopped by to pick up a book. “I also want to thank you in advance for the shawls. You have no idea what this will mean to the women, knowing somebody cares enough to make them something. God bless you for thinking of them,” she said before leaving.
The next mother in line was glaring at me for not attending to the tickets. Before I could start handing them out again, Mason Fields showed up with a little blond boy in tow who he introduced as his grandson. The same mother started muttering threats under her breath. Mason pulled me aside and asked if I could get his grandson in the tent. I made a big point of shaking my head as if to say no, while I told him to go in the café and wait with Dinah and I’d sneak them in.
I was glad Jeffrey was too old to appreciate Milton. With everything going on I didn’t need some kind of confrontation between Barry and Mason.
Two of the Horror Helpers came out and invited the first twenty kids into the tent. I was about to hand out more tickets when Pixie stepped in front of me.
“I found this on the copy machine,” she said, holding out two pieces of paper. She looked a little better and thanked me again for the food. Bob saw her and waved for her to come in. “You’re busy. You can look at it later and then give it back to me,” she said before heading toward the café. I started to look at the pages, but a mother in line tapped me on the shoulder.
“Are you going to hand out those numbers, or what?” the angry mother said.
“Sorry,” I said, tearing off more tickets and handing them out. The Horror Helpers invited the next group into the tent. As I suspected, I ran out of tickets before I ran out of people in line.
“This is ridiculous,” a mother wearing a bandana said. “I want to speak to the manager.” The other people in line heard her and started chanting the same thing.
“What’s going on?” a voice asked in the midst of the commotion. When I turned I saw that it was Dorothy. “I just wanted to pick up a coffee,” she said, regarding the squirming kids with distaste.
Ignoring the annoyed parents in the line, I blurted out, “I need to talk to you about who ordered Dr. Bullard’s soup.” Was it my imagination, or did her eyes narrow?
There were more complaints from the line as Dorothy pulled away. “Kevin’s alone at the store. I have to get back so he can clean out something in the storage unit. Can’t talk now.”
She was gone before I could stop her. I wanted to run after her, but I had to deal with the restless stragglers first. I rushed the overflow to the kids’ department. As expected, Adele was hiding there. I introduced her as one of Milton’s extra special helpers and said she would not only read a portion of the new book to them but would also get them complimentary spider punch and shortbread fingers. Her outfit was a big hit. I left before I saw how the reading went.
Then, when no one was looking, I slipped E. Conner and Ashley-Angela, along with Mason’s grandson, in the tent. Mason and Dinah had found a table and were talking. Bob was talking to Pixie; his body language said he was offering his sympathy and hers said she was taking it, along with a creamy-looking drink.
I leaned against a bookcase and took a deep breath. So far, so good. I’d been so preoccupied, I’d forgotten I was still holding the two pages Pixie had handed me. At first, it didn’t even register what they were. Then I realized they were a copy of the brochure she had mentioned. The title on the front was Palladian Estate Heirlooms. There was a picture of one those large English houses that looked like it probably had no heat. Because it was only a copy, the picture quality wasn’t great. Below the photo was the story of the house and the family that had lived there. Lady Sara Ratcliffe was described as Princess Diana’s third cousin. Though Lord Ratcliffe was mentioned, the only family photo was of Lady Sara. It appeared to be a copy of an old sepia formal portrait. Lady Rafcliffe wore a long dark dress and was standing next to a chair, her hand resting on it. There was a lacy thing around her neck and down the front of the dress, which was obviously the collar Pixie had talked about. It resembled a long scarf. I could see enough detail to recognize that the piece I’d seen on Drew Brooks’s desk drawer handle came from it. Her hair was piled on her head in one of those old-fashioned styles, but since the focus was soft and it wasn’t a close-up, it was hard to make out her features. Dr. Bullard was good if he could see she had an overbite.
I looked closer at the face and covered the stylized hair with my hand. At first I didn’t believe what I was seeing. I stared so hard I had to look away to refocus my eyes. When I turned back to the picture, there was no mistaking who it was. And then all the pieces began to fall into place.
The picture was enough to convince me I knew who had killed Drew for sure and probably Dr. Bullard. But it probably wouldn’t be enough for Detective Heather. Ah, but then a thought crossed my mind. Hadn’t someone mentioned the meticulous records Ramona Brooks kept when she was the owner of the Cottage Shoppe? A sheet listing the seller of the Ratcliffe Estate items would be the piece that tied everything together.
And I even knew where the files were. I’d overheard Kevin mention putting them in the storage unit. I considered calling Detective Heather and telling her about Ramona Brooks’s records. But hadn’t Dorothy just said something about Kevin clearing some stuff out of the unit? I had to get that Ratcliffe Estate file now.
Even though I was in the middle of Milton Mindell’s event, I couldn’t take the chance that the records would get shredded before I got the sheet I needed. I dashed to the children’s section and told Adele I had to step out for a few minutes.
“Pink, you can’t go,” she wailed, looking at the kids sitting around her. Obviously my plan hadn’t worked so well; the kids were fidgeting and punching each other. She got up and stepped close to me.
“You wanted to be in charge, well, consider yourself in that position for ten minutes or so,” I said. “It’s important. I know who killed Drew Brooks, and if I don’t get the proof now, it will be gone.” Adele demanded details of where I was going, and I pointed toward the Cottage Shoppe. “There is something I have to get before Kevin Brooks has a chance to throw it away. If you have any problems Dinah will help.”
Adele sighed and marched back to the kids, asking if anybody wanted another round of spider punch.
I was almost jogging when I passed Dinah and Mason in the café. I turned as I kept moving and told Dinah I had found the answer to everything and was going for the proof. She started to get up to come with me, but I waved her off. I thought something might be developing between them and I didn’t want to interrupt it. Besides, all I was going to do was slip into the storage unit and find a file. I started to jog down the street, but it morphed into an outright run.
I rushed past the Cottage Shoppe, barely catching a glimpse of Kevin stirring some soup while Dorothy helped a customer.
The doors to the storage unit were closed but, thankfully, not locked. I pulled one side open and slipped in. It was a full-service container and had a light. I walked down the narrow walkway between tall shelving units, quickly checking both sides for a box of files. The shelves were jammed with stuff from the store. On the upper shelves I saw pots and pans, the espresso machine, and giant glass jars of tomato products along with one-gallon plastic jugs of brown liquid. The yarn swift and the skeins of yarn Dorothy had put aside for me were sticking out from an eye-level shelf. The lower shelves h
eld plastic containers of merchandise from the store and cleaning supplies, but nothing that looked like a box of records.
My heart was pounding from the running and anticipation as I reached the spot at the back where the shelving ended. The whole area was filled with boxes, and I began to tug at them so I could get them in the light and see their contents. The first two I opened contained cookbooks and more merchandise from the store. And then I opened one that made me gasp. It was filled with the paperweights that had been on Drew’s desk. Apparently they hadn’t been such big sellers after all. All the complimentary coffee and tea things had been packed up in one box, and another had rolls of banner paper and templates to do the sign lettering.
I was beginning to think I was too late and that my next stop would have to be Dumpster diving, but then I flipped the top off a box and saw what looked like file-drawer dividers. When I pulled the box into the light, I saw they were monthly dividers. I randomly pulled a sheet from the middle and read at it.
Ramona Brooks had used a fountain pen to write up in her remarkable penmanship the description of a set of silver serving pieces and a bone china tea set. It listed the seller, the date the serving pieces had sold and the price. She’d written in the date she paid the consignee and gave back the tea set, which didn’t sell. Whoever had said she kept meticulous records was right. I sent out a silent thank-you.
All I had to do was locate the sheet for the Ratcliffe Estate heirlooms. Since the files were arranged chronologically rather than alphabetically, I thought I was going to have to go through the whole box. I tried to remember if there was any clue as to when the items had been in the store to narrow down my search. Hadn’t somebody said something about when the time changed? Hoping I was right, I thumbed through October. This was taking longer than I’d expected, and I was getting a little frantic as I ruffled through the pale green pages. And suddenly there it was.
As soon as I saw Ratcliffe Estate Heirlooms, I knew I’d found the sheet I needed. My eye went down the page as my breath grew ragged. Below the list of items I saw the name of the seller in Ramona Brooks’s perfect blue ink. Bingo, I had my proof. I was still holding the copy of the brochure Pixie had given me. That along with the sales sheet and Pixie’s story ought to be enough. Detective Heather would see who had a real motive to kill Drew Brooks, and then she’d leave Sheila alone. I pulled out the sheet and as I turned to go, a shadow fell across the page.
“What’s your hurry?”
I slipped the sales sheet and the brochure behind my back and looked up, having already recognized the voice. “Patricia, what brings you here?”
“I stopped by the bookstore to drop off some autographed copies of my book. Adele was in quite a state. She said you were off getting something that proved who killed Drew Brooks. May I have it, please?”
I held the papers tighter. “I was mistaken—there wasn’t anything. I need to get back to the bookstore. The Milton Mindell event and all.” I started to take a step toward the door, but the overhead light reflected on something in Patricia’s hand.
“I don’t think so.” She raised her hand a little so there was no mistaking the small blue handgun.
“I thought Benjamin was antigun,” I said, looking at the compact but lethal weapon.
“He is—but I’m not. At least, for me. These days you’ve got to protect yourself.” She moved the gun a little closer. “Now hand me the paper.” When I didn’t comply, she looked annoyed. “Molly, Molly, Molly, why couldn’t you just mind your own business?”
“I don’t know what paper you’re talking about. I was looking for something I had put on layaway at the store.” I pointed at the yarn swift, but as I did the papers slid out of my hand and landed on the floor.
Patricia bent down quickly and scooped them up. When she looked at the copy Pixie had given me, Patricia nodded in an annoyed fashion. “So Dr. Bullard made a copy of the brochure. Well, it doesn’t matter anymore.” While she was distracted I tried to edge around her and head for the door, but she blocked me and pointed the gun at me.
“There wouldn’t have been any problem if that orthodontist hadn’t demanded a refund. How could you understand? You’ve never been a single parent wondering how you’re going to keep your children in private school.” She set the papers on the shelf and sighed. To my surprise she lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke.
“Yeah, I smoke, so go on, give me a lecture.” She took another drag. “I was working two jobs and selling off my jewelry, but it still wasn’t enough. I had to do something to get money for the kids’ tuition. At first I thought of crocheting some things and selling them.”
“But I thought you didn’t crochet.”
“Are you kidding? Me, queen of the crafter, not crochet? The hardest thing was pretending I was having trouble. It’s kind of like if you’re an opera singer and you have to sing bad. I was watching one of those antique shows on TV and noticed that who something had belonged to affected its value. That’s when I got the idea for Lady Ratcliffe. At first I thought I’d make the pieces myself, but it was too time consuming, even with my skill. I found a place online in China that would create items to my specifications. They attached machine-made motifs to a ready-made backing for pieces like the collar and used machine-made trim for the hankies. Once I got them, I washed them in weak tea and rinsed them in fabric softener to age them, and I was ready to go.
“I made up a whole story for Mrs. Brooks about how I was distantly related to Lord and Lady Ratcliffe and had some family heirlooms that I wanted to sell. I showed her the brochure I’d created. All I needed was a wig and a costume and I became Lady Ratcliffe. It’s amazing what you can do with a digital camera and a computer photo program. Once she read the story and saw the photo of Lady Ratcliffe wearing the Irish crochet collar, she believed the whole lot were real heirlooms. She didn’t even notice my resemblance to Lady Ratcliffe. If she had, I would have just said it was because we were distant family.
“I guess all the buyers believed the brochure, too, because the items sold. And I might add, nobody but that unpleasant orthodontist complained or tried to return their heirloom.”
I was trying to think of a way to get out of there. Between the gun and the confession about making fake antiques, I didn’t feel optimistic about the odds of her just taking the papers and leaving. I looked around the storage unit for some kind of help. If only I’d taken my cell phone.
Now that Patricia had started talking, she kept going. “When Bullard demanded the refund, Drew got curious and went through his aunt’s records. When he saw how many other pseudo heirlooms were in the batch and that none of them had come back, the greedy so-and-so got an idea. He gave Bullard the refund to get back the Irish crochet collar and handkerchief so he could use them to blackmail me. Can you believe he threatened to go to the media and tell them what I’d done if I didn’t keep providing him with fake antiques for his new Internet store?
“Benjamin would have dropped me like a bomb. I couldn’t let it come out. After struggling on my own with the kids I’d hit the jackpot with him. He’s rich, actually a nice guy, and he’s going to get elected. I couldn’t let that rat Drew ruin it for me.” She let out her breath. “It feels good to finally talk about it.” She looked at me and her eyes seemed kind of crazed, though she still didn’t have a hair out of place, nor a speck of lint on her black slacks. Black slacks? It must have been her slacks-covered legs that Kevin saw on the stairs.
“I didn’t intend to kill Drew, you know. I just wanted to knock him out so I could get the crocheted pieces. I figured that without the items there was nothing he could do. By the way, it may look easy to knock somebody out, but it isn’t. I had to smack him a whole bunch of times. How was I supposed to know he’d fall in the soup?”
Apparently when she’d heard Trina coming up the stairs, Patricia had slipped into Kevin’s office. Well, now I knew how the handkerchief got there and how the lacy piece had ended up hanging off the drawer handle. Patricia had r
ipped the collar as she made a hasty exit. She didn’t seem to care that Detective Heather had the hanky now, since the only thing that could connect her with the fake heirloom was the paper in her hand and me. I felt a strong uh-oh go off in my head. Maybe she didn’t plan for either the papers or me to get out of there.
She dropped the cigarette and stamped it out, reached in her purse and pulled out a huge roll of silver duct tape with a cutting edge attached. “You have no idea how many things you can do with this stuff. I never go anywhere without it—I’m doing a whole chapter on it in my next hints book.” She secured the roll under her gun arm and pulled a long piece off with her free hand, snapping it off against the sharp edge. She wrapped it around my wrist and then pulled it against the other one, binding them together. “You can roll it up and use it for shoelaces or hair ties and even do an emergency repair on a hem.”
She ripped off another piece and kneeled in front of me. She put the gun down and quickly tried to wrap the tape around my ankles. Seeing the gun on the floor, I attempted to kick it away. She grabbed it back and pointed it at my head.
“I don’t want to shoot you, but I will. Although, I think I’ve come up with a better all-around solution.” She surveyed the small space crammed with stuff. “This place is a fire trap.” Having secured my legs together, she dropped the gun in her purse and stood.
I hadn’t realized she’d cut another piece of tape until she was about to stick it over my mouth. I felt light-headed at the prospect and thought by talking I might be able to keep her from doing it.
“Before you do that, I’d like to ask you a question.” I was using as many words as possible since as long as I was talking I didn’t think she’d slap the tape on me. “The question is—well, maybe it’s actually a couple of questions.”
Patricia looked impatient and I realized I better get to the point or she’d put the tape on me just to shut me up.
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