Dressed to Kill

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Dressed to Kill Page 8

by Lynn Cahoon


  “Figured I’d find you goofing off. You know the monthly reports need reviewing. Or you could work on the supply order.” Aunt Jackie picked up several cups off the far table. “Or even just clean up the mess from the morning rush.”

  “I was getting to that.” I held up the book. “And I am working. It’s called research.”

  She threw the cups in the trash and poured herself a black coffee into one of the travel mugs. “Whatever you need to tell yourself. I’m heading upstairs to relax before my shift.”

  “Hey, what was on sale?” I put the book down and went to the counter. “Or should I say, who was on sale?”

  “Some low-level actress I’d never even heard of. And her clothes were dreadful. Tacky colors, skintight, not a quality piece in the lot.” She shook her head. “Total shame what some people will spend money on.”

  “Sorry it was a bust for you.” I cleaned a spot on the countertop with the bar towel I kept on my shoulder. “Did Sherry sell anything?”

  “People are idiots. She sold out the lot and they were clamoring for more. Claire and I left about the same time. At least that girl has some fashion sense.” Aunt Jackie stepped toward the door that led to the back office and a stairway to her apartment. “Oh, I’m supposed to tell you that Claire can’t make coffee today. She’ll come by next week. Something about her husband.”

  “Oh.” I felt a tad bit disappointed, even though I’d just met the woman. Sometimes you can just tell about people. Claire seemed like someone I might like. And not just because she was another member of the I Hate Sherry Club. Or at least I thought that wasn’t the only reason. “I’ll see you later.”

  As I stepped back to the couch and my book, my aunt called out, “You’d better have those books closed out by Tuesday morning. I’m taking everything to the accountant then.”

  “I hear you.” I didn’t even turn around. I could feel Aunt Jackie’s eyes boring into my back. A few more chapters wouldn’t hurt. Besides, until Greg got Kent’s situation all tied up, who knew when I’d see him again. Definitely not this weekend, so I’d have lots of time to finish up the accounting chores.

  By the time Sasha and Toby showed up at eleven, the story was finished and I’d grudgingly started reviewing the reports. The store had been slow for a Saturday. A couple of moms had come in for a coffee date, their chatter about their kids and local gossip filling the shop. I loved the sound of customers talking, not that I’d eavesdrop, but the sound of happy conversation made me smile.

  Walking out the door, a brand-new novel in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, I took a deep breath, enjoying the clean salt air breeze. If Greg wasn’t sitting on the porch waiting for me when I returned home, I planned to take a blanket and a thermos of iced tea down to the beach. Emma could run in the waves chasing seagulls and I could lose myself in the second book of the new mystery series I’d found this week. One of the members of Aunt Jackie’s mystery group had ordered the whole series last week, so I’d ordered a second copy for my research. Referrals from that group were gold. They knew how to pick a story.

  As I passed by Antiques by Thomas, a child’s school desk in the window display caught my eye. Polished walnut and about three feet high, the desk had to have been in one of the old schoolhouses. When Josh Thomas pulled open the wooden door, the top bell clanging, he stopped short.

  “Can I help you with something, Miss Gardner?” Josh’s words were friendly, but the tone he delivered them with could freeze butter.

  I decided to ignore his bad humor. I pointed to the desk. “Where did you get that?”

  He labored closer to the window and peered into the crowded display. “Which that are you referring to? There are several items on display.”

  “The desk. The one for kids?” I tapped the glass with my finger.

  Josh pulled out a handkerchief and polished the area where my finger had touched the glass. “If you must know, I came across that particular desk at an estate sale north of here. The former owner claimed the desk was from the first schoolhouse in Idaho. Somewhere in the Lewiston area, I believe.”

  My heart sank. If the desk really was historic, no way would Josh let me buy it for a few dollars. He’d be reaching out to the historical commissions and museums that dealt with that type of find. “I guess you want a lot for it, huh?” Then my evil side kicked in without me even batting an eye. “Aunt Jackie had her heart set on putting it in the children’s book section of the store. You know, so they could pretend to be in school, reading a book?”

  “Oh, Jackie wants the desk?” Josh shrugged, an action that made his belly jiggle even through the black mortician’s suit he always wore. I didn’t remember ever seeing him in anything but a suit. Maybe he even slept in the thing. “I said the previous owner claimed the desk was authentic. My research has put it more in the range of desks used in the nineteen-sixties.”

  I was going to hell for using the offer of my aunt’s affections to barter a cheaper price. Yet I pushed harder. “So it’s reasonable? I’d sure like to make Aunt Jackie happy. You know how she gets when she doesn’t get her way.” I held up my hands. “Not that I would blame you in any way for the desk being too expensive. A man’s got to make a profit. Aunt Jackie just doesn’t understand business.”

  “You really shouldn’t talk that way about her. Jackie is an amazing woman.” He stopped, his face beet red. “I could let it go for three hundred dollars.”

  “Two-fifty?” I hated to spend money on an impulse buy, but the desk would look so cute in the shop.

  “Miss Gardner, this isn’t an auction.” Josh glared at me. I let my shoulders drop and heaved a sigh worthy of an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress. His eyes flickered to the apartment over the shop. A perfect place for him to play Romeo to Aunt Jackie’s Juliet, except she was more of a modern theater girl.

  I stepped around him and he grabbed my arm. “Fine, you’re killing me, but if I don’t take any profit, I could let it go for two-seventy-five. That’s my bottom. Take it or leave it.”

  Smiling, I nodded to the desk. “Slap a sold sign on that puppy. I’ll bring over a check on Tuesday as soon as Toby starts his shift.”

  “We have a deal?” Josh peered at me through his half-closed eyelids.

  “Do I need to sign something? I’ll uphold my half of the bargain; you just don’t sell the desk out from under me.”

  He nodded. “I’ll trust you.”

  I thought about Josh’s ending words all the way home. Was our bond becoming more than the annoying shopkeeper next door? Was his and Jackie’s relationship turning more serious than I knew? I mentally added call Jackie to my to-do list. I didn’t want to be blindsided if Josh Thomas was soon to be Uncle Josh. The thought made me shiver.

  When I reached the house, Greg’s truck was in my driveway. He sat on the top step of the front porch, reading the Examiner. My dog slept at his feet. Smiling, he folded the paper when I walked up. “I would have picked you up at the shop, but when I called, Toby said you’d left ten minutes ago. Take the long way home?”

  I kissed him and sat down beside him. “Shopping.”

  He frowned and looked closer at the only thing I had carried from the shop, my purse. “You shop light.”

  “Actually, I shop heavy.” I went on to tell him about the new addition to the kids’ area for the shop. “I think the kids will love it.”

  Greg nodded. “You could paint that short wall under the windows with chalkboard paint and the kids could draw, too.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” I thought about the corner of the shop where the kids hung out, reading books. It was small, but it might just work. “And we could advertise sales on the board.”

  “I guess so.” He chuckled. “You’re always thinking like a business owner.”

  “And what, you think like a dad?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. We hadn’t even talked about marriage, let alone kids.

  “It’s possible.” He stood up before I co
uld say anything else. “Come have lunch with me in Bakerstown. I have to pick up some supplies for the station and I’m tired of staring at a whiteboard that’s not giving me answers, just more questions.”

  “So,” I started but Greg stopped me, holding up his hand.

  “I’ll buy you lunch at that seafood place you love on one condition. No talk about the case. No questions, no comments, nothing. We’re just a couple having lunch.”

  “Anything I want on the menu?” I raised my eyebrows.

  He reached down and gave Emma a rub under her chin. “Anything. I need some time away from this to try to get clarity from all the white noise.”

  “What if I slip and ask you a question, like, was Kent murdered?”

  Greg didn’t look up. “Then you get a hamburger off the value menu at my choice of fast-food joints.”

  The man knew my weakness. Ply me with food, especially seafood, and you could have anything. I pretended to consider the offer, pushing out my bottom lip.

  “Get in the truck. You know you want to.” He pulled me into his arms, then leaned down and lightly bit my lip. When I complained, he laughed. “I’ve missed you.”

  As we drove toward the highway, I stared at Esmeralda’s house. Her driveway was filled with cars, and there were several parked on the street. “She’s having a reading today?”

  Greg glanced at the house as we passed. “Some guy’s family is here for his birthday. She says they need to help the guy cross over because he’s stuck here.” Greg finally noticed now that I was staring at him, not the fortune-teller’s house. He blushed. “Sue me, I get bored at the station sometimes and overhear my staff’s phone conversations. It’s not like she was being quiet about the whole thing.”

  I pressed my lips together, trying not to laugh. For all his lectures to me about confidentiality, my boyfriend was one of the biggest gossips in town. If it didn’t deal with official police business. “Hey, did I tell you she did a reading on me last week when I dropped off Maggie?”

  “Who’s Maggie?” Greg turned the car north onto the highway.

  “Esmeralda’s new cat. She showed up when I was napping the other day.” I pulled my hair into a ponytail and rolled down the window, enjoying the wind.

  “Oh. So what is up next for you? A fortune awaits you? Travel is in your future? It better not be a new love. I’d hate to have to fire her.” He took my hand in his and squeezed.

  “Nope.” I put a waver in my voice. “Things aren’t what they seem. And the old favorite, some are silver and the others gold.”

  “Why does that sound familiar?”

  “It’s an old Girl Scouts camp song.” I stared out Greg’s window, watching the waves in the distance. Living by the ocean never got old. I felt sorry for the people who lived in land-locked states. What did they do to revive themselves?

  Greg drove in silence for a while. Then he muttered, “Things aren’t what they seem, that describes this case to a tee. I wonder if I’m not the only one listening in on others’ conversations.”

  I turned my attention from the flock of seagulls back to him. “What are you saying?”

  He tossed the paper over to me. “Someone’s been talking to the press about confidential police matters.”

  I only had to read the headline before I knew what had Greg upset. Darla’s byline was under the two-inch headline I read aloud. “Killer Leaves No Clues—Police Stumped.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The cab of the truck was silent as I read Darla’s exposé on the investigation into Kent’s murder. She had included several quotes from an undisclosed member of the police department. When I finished, I folded the paper and set it between the two of us.

  “You don’t have anything to say?” Greg slowed the truck to make the turn onto the road that would take us to Bakerstown and away from the ocean.

  “I really want a bowl of that clam chowder. It’s been months.” I tapped the paper with my unpolished fingernail. “I don’t break deals.”

  Greg barked out a short laugh. “Since when?” He ran a hand through his sandy hair. “Fine, we can talk about Kent. Who do you thing is spilling to Darla?”

  “Doesn’t seem like Esmeralda’s style.” I thought about Toby and Tim, the only other official employees of the department. “Toby won’t even talk to me about what’s going on. No way would he talk to Darla. So that leaves you or Tim.”

  “And it’s not me.” Greg sighed. “Tim’s my guess, too.”

  I thought about the tall, lanky man who wasn’t much more than a kid, straight out of college and a criminal justice major. Honestly, it didn’t seem like his style, either. The kid was too into the rules to break them just for some press time. Something Esmeralda said the other day nagged at me. Then I remembered. “What if Darla’s just observing the obvious?”

  “What do you mean?” Greg pulled into the parking lot of the seafood restaurant, the site of our first date. Of course, I hadn’t realized it was a date back then.

  I slipped out of the truck before I answered. “Esmeralda said living in a small town, you start knowing people. Maybe Darla just knows how you’ll react when a murder happens versus when someone dies by accident. Maybe your actions, like driving in to meet Doc Ames or spending more time at the station, tells her a story.”

  “Plausible, but I’m still going to talk to Tim. Just in case.” He held the door of the restaurant open and smiled. “After you.”

  “You’re such a gentleman.”

  “I just don’t want to be trampled when you smell the bread.” Greg nodded to the hostess. “Two for lunch.”

  Walking to the table, Greg’s phone buzzed. He took it off the holder and checked the display. He shrugged as the woman seated us and set our menus on the table.

  “What’s up, Tim?” His gaze met mine and he held up one finger as he listened to the dispatcher.

  “Can I bring you something to drink?” The chipper hostess paused at the table, looking at me.

  I raised my eyebrows, silently asking Greg if we’d actually be having lunch and he nodded. I guess our nonverbal communication as a couple was spot-on. I ordered two large glasses of iced tea and opened the menu, trying not to listen to Greg’s conversation and hoping we wouldn’t be taking our lunch in to-go boxes.

  “I’ll be back by three. I’ve got to stop to talk to Doc Ames. Jill and I are having lunch now.” I could hear Tim’s frantic response. “Seriously, if they want to talk to me, they can wait around until I get back. Send them over to Coffee, Books, and More to relax.”

  When Greg put his phone back into the holder, he picked up his menu. “So, what looks good?”

  I peeked over the menu and caught his gaze. “Thanks for lunch.”

  He shrugged. “It’s just the bank auditors. They can cool their jets for a few hours. They’ve been on a tear about this alarm system issue for the last week. Of course, before Kent died, we couldn’t even get the security service to return our calls. Now everyone’s covering their butts.”

  “You think Kent’s murder has something to do with the faulty alarm?” I set the menu down. “He wasn’t even at work when he died.”

  Greg held up his hand. “Not your circus, not your monkey.”

  “No fair, you brought up the subject,” I reminded him.

  “Jill, repeat after me: Not my circus, not my monkey.” He studied the menu, avoiding my stare.

  The waitress returned with our drinks. “My granny always said that when I’d get all worked up about something she didn’t think was my problem. Like when my friends were having troubles with teachers at school. I’d come home all vigilante, and she’d respond with that old saying.” The waitress smiled at the memory. “It used to tick me off. Anyway, what can I bring you?”

  Greg listed off enough food for three people and then turned to me. “What are you having?”

  She turned to me, obviously surprised at the size of his order.

  “I’m having the scallops, with a side salad, garlic mashed pota
toes, and add a cup of clam chowder.” I closed the menu and handed it to her. “Oh, and bring me that crab dip appetizer, with two plates. I’ll share.”

  After the waitress walked away, Greg laughed. “I bet she thinks we’re being joined by friends.”

  “Hey, I ran this morning.” I took a sip of the tea. “Besides, it sounds like you’re going into cop mode as soon as we get back into town. So this is date night, and I’ll take the leftovers home and watch movies.”

  “Sounds like a perfect night.” Greg sounded thoughtful.

  I put my hand on his. “It would be if you were cuddled up on the couch next to me.”

  “Even if I insisted on the new Mark Wahlberg movie?” Greg squeezed my hand. Even though we watched a lot of movies together, we were still getting used to each other’s tastes in humor and entertainment.

  “I’m planning a Disney princess marathon,” I teased.

  As the appetizer arrived, he leaned back, spreading a napkin in his lap. “Then I’m glad I’m working.”

  I tore off a piece of the fresh bread loaf, still warm from the oven, and dipped it into the crab mixture. “Is there any way Kent’s death wasn’t murder?”

  He raised his eyebrows as he mirrored my actions with the dip. Then he sighed. “I guess I started this.” He took a sip of tea before he continued. “That’s why I’m going to see Doc Ames. The tox screens are coming back wonky. I mean, we know the good banker was a cokehead. But there’s something else in his system.”

  “So he could have overdosed?” I shrugged. “I don’t know a lot about the whole drug thing, but people are always dying because of drugs.”

  “Not the high-class drug addicts.” Greg ripped a bigger piece of bread off the loaf. “People like Paine tend to use cocaine as a supplement to their lifestyle. They can work longer and harder because they never sleep. And, apparently, it’s good for the libido.”

  “You make it sound like an herbal supplement.” I shook my head. “I can’t believe they wouldn’t drug-test him at the job. Doesn’t Rotary Bank have a drug-testing program?”

 

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