Fleeced in Stonington

by Rosemary Goodwin

  “Sure. Makes sense. We don’t want to run into any surprises with big teeth,” Kate said.

  Cherie wiggled her fingers in a goodbye gesture. “Bye,” she managed to say between slops on her chewing gum.

  “Classy dame,” Dutch whispered to Kate as they strolled to his vehicle.

  She nodded. “Fancy a cup of coffee?” she asked.

  “Sounds good.”

  “At my shop or the diner?”

  “It’s cozier at your place.”

  Chapter Three

  Kate says: To decorate using fantastic fabrics like the professional designers, use only three patterns in a room and choose different textures and coordinating colors. To use more patterns could be overwhelming.

  They clicked their seat belts shut. Kate pulled down the visor and checked her hair and hat in the little mirror.

  “What do you think of Andy the Broker?” she asked. She popped the visor back.

  “So that’s his title? He’s scruffy, but if he finds me a place, I’ll be pleased. I can’t have people meeting me at the cabin. It’s difficult to find in the woods to begin with, and it looks amateurish to interview potential clients in the kitchen.”

  “Oh, I totally agree. You may have retired from the police department but you’re doing well as a PI and should put on a professional appearance.”

  Dutch slowed the vehicle’s speed as he approached the center of town.

  “Why do you want a place so far out of the mainstream of traffic though?” Kate asked.

  “Who wants to be seen going into a private eye’s office? Someone would spot you and blab to the spouse or partner,” Dutch answered. “No, it has to be on the outskirts of town—away from prying eyes.”

  She nodded in affirmation. “Would you let me decorate it?”

  “It has to be professional, you understand. Can’t be foofy French provincial.” Most female interior designer scared him. He didn’t want soft pinks or peachy paint with straw glued on the walls like one woman had used in a room makeover on television. He’d watched, horrified.

  “Don’t treat me like I’m not qualified,” Kate said. “I know what, I can design it in the style of Early Flea Market, just like Andy Geejello, or whatever his name is.”

  “Don’t get snippy. Just giving you my opinion. You can design it any way you want—so long as it doesn’t look hokey.”

  “Good, it’s settled.” She grinned. “I promise I won’t paint the walls lilac.”

  “Okay. Deal.” He pulled into the small parking lot adjacent to the Main Street building that housed her shop. They went in the front door, making the little bell attached to the doorpost give off a gentle ting.

  Kate Bart Interiors was located in the country town of Stonington, snuggled in the hills of northwestern New Jersey. The shop occupied an old building on Main Street with wide, wood floor planks. The shop had high tin ceilings which added even more character to the eclectic mix of old and antique furniture, piles of pillows, armoires full of hand-made Amish quilts, elaborate Victorian-styled lampshades, bisque pottery and tables piled high with fringed tablecloths.

  “Hi, Abigail,” Kate called out to the young woman behind the counter. She’d been forced to hire a helper for the store because it had become a popular place for the locals to shop. She believed her popularity came about due to the newspaper reports about her and Dutch’s successes in the detective business. Since then, she hadn’t been able to lock up the store and take off for the day. Now, it had to be open seven days a week to accommodate the shoppers. She could have closed up for the day, but her philosophy was “make hay while the sun shines” and had hired an assistant. The public could turn fickle at any time.

  “Hi, guys,” Abigail said. She stopped dusting for a moment. “You’re back early.” She wiped her dust cloth over an old sideboard.

  “Yep. I’ve made an appointment for the broker to show me some properties tomorrow,” Dutch answered, wiping his finger along a table and inspecting it for dust. “Just joking,” he said to Abigail, who frowned at him.

  “Has it been busy this morning?” Kate asked.

  “We haven’t been open long. I couldn’t get my kids moving this morning, which made me a little late opening the store,” Abigail said. “But we’ve had a few customers already. A couple of ladies were in here, and they bought two of those pretty pillows. The chintz ones with frills.”

  “Good, that pays your paycheck for the day.”

  “Nice to know how goods are equated,” Abigail said with a huff.

  Kate looked at Dutch and rolled her eyes. He only grinned.

  “I didn’t mean anything by…” Kate began.

  “I understand,” Abigail snapped, without much conviction.

  “I’ll put the coffee on,” Dutch said.

  “You’ll have to get the water in the bathroom,” Kate said quietly as she shuffled through the mail. Bills, bills and more bills.

  “I’ve got the water.” Dutch stood in front of the table, which served as the coffee station. “Where’s the coffee?”

  “Over there in the cupboard.” She pointed with the stack of bills. “When you’re done, we have to sit down and talk business.”

  “What are you getting at? Business?” He spooned four heaped scoops of coffee grounds into the filter and clicked the machine on. He pulled out a chair and sat on it backward, hugging the back. “What gives?”

  Kate stared at him. She swore he was getting more handsome every day. When he’d first moved out to his cabin, he looked like a middle-aged man wearing white socks and black sneakers with nasty-looking shorts and cheap, colored T-shirts with pockets. He’d just had his forty-sixth birthday but today he looked much younger. Since she’d made comments to him about his appearance, now his jeans were fitted, his shirts laundered and starched and he wore boat shoes with no socks. He makes me quiver. He makes me feel alive. I can’t tell him that I want him in my bed with me in his arms. Maybe I’ll be able to soon. I’ve been dead for years and have to learn to be more assertive. She pushed her hair behind her ears. Along with the appearance improvement, their relationship had grown more serious. They didn’t discuss their togetherness much, but they did agree they were in love. Kate had been the reluctant one in the past. She’d believed that falling in love with another man meant she was disloyal to her deceased husband; however, she’d gotten over that feeling.

  She leaned on her ornate desk. “Bills are what gives,” she said. “When I’m working on your cases, I’m not earning any money designing rooms.”

  “And your point is…?” He stared at her.

  “You really don’t have a clue, do you?” Men translate women’s statements in a totally different way. They really are from another planet. Kate gazed into his hazel eyes. They have golden flecks.

  “I think I’m getting the answer. Through osmosis,” he said, feigning fear while holding his thumb and index finger to his forehead—psychic-style. “Wait. It’s coming through. Ah, yes, I have it. You want to get paid when you do detective work for me.”

  “Right. You get my drift.” She spread the bills over the huge calendar covering the surface of her desk. “I’m thousands of dollars in debt and when your work interferes with mine, I always seem to lose.”

  They were silent for a few moments.

  Dutch broke the silence. “Okay. Why don’t we come up with a solution? I’ll pay you an hourly wage. Maybe not as much as you would earn designing, but it’ll be some payment for all your work.”

  “True. It won’t be as much as I’d earn designing. That’s a given. I’ll come up with a figure.” She took out her calculator and tapped in several numbers. Satisfied with the result, she wrote some numbers on a small piece of paper and handed it to Dutch.

  “Or I could take out another mortgage to pay you,” he said with a smirk as he read the amount she wanted.

  “Are you serious?” A frown wrinkled her forehead.

  “No. Silly. I can afford you, but you can’t goof off when yo
u’re on my dollar.”

  “Goofing off would be unethical. Do I strike you as unethical?” she demanded. Boy oh boy, Dutch really ticks me off sometimes. He knows exactly which buttons to push to make me prickly.

  The coffeemaker hissed and gurgled as the last of the water drained through the grounds, signaling the completion of the coffee.

  “Honey, I’m not up to an argument,” Dutch said, exasperated. “All I want this minute is a cup of caffeine.” He walked over to the coffee pot and poured out two cups. He handed one to Kate, who added creamer and sweetener.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “So, will you be satisfied with the amount of pay you want?”

  “Whatever the job allows is okay with me. As long as I get some compensation.”

  They were quiet while they stood and sipped their hot drinks—like an old married couple discussing their finances. It was an uneasy feeling. Even when she had been married to her husband, Kate always found the discussion of money to be embarrassing. She’d felt like a kept woman at times, and in order to get rid of the feeling, she’d worked at some job or another in order to have her own cash. She was old-fashioned that way.

  “What do you want me to move?” he asked in order to change the subject. He cracked his knuckles. “I’m ready.”

  “Those china cabinets over there.” She indicated two extremely large pieces of furniture.

  “Wait here. I have a surprise for you in my truck. I nearly forgot it. The package came in the mail the other day.”

  Puzzled, Kate waited for him to come back into the store. He brought a small box. He stabbed the tape open with Kate’s letter opener and displayed the contents.

  “Furniture sliding disks,” Kate exclaimed. “Why didn’t I think of those? I saw them on TV—they’re great.”

  Dutch took the disks out of the box. “I bought the larger size because of the big stuff you move around. They slip under the furniture legs. The smooth sides are for sliding on carpeting and the other sides with fabric are for pushing on bare floors.”

  “Wish I’d invented them. Thanks, Dutch. These will save everyone’s back. But I won’t have an excuse for you to come over now that I have these,” Kate teased.

  “Don’t worry about that.” He grabbed her around her waist. “I’ll always find an excuse to see you.”

  “I’m glad.” She reached up and kissed him. “I want to visit Rachel after we finish here. Wanna go with me?”

  “Sure. I haven’t seen her for ages.” He patted her bottom.

  “Finish your coffee.”

  Chapter Four

  Kate says: Do you yearn to have the look of the old Hollywood in your home? It’s easy to attain—buy, or spray paint, your furniture with a high-gloss lacquer in bright colors. This style is called Hollywood Regency. Add crystal chandeliers, velvet drapes, silk lampshades and lush, thick carpets to your rooms. This style, however, requires small-scaled formal furniture—so dump your overstuffed couch and that reclining chair.

  Kate always marveled at Rachel’s house and garden. She was her friend and confidante from her corporate office days. Rachel had purchased the tiny cottage about ten years ago—after her divorce became final and she’d quit her job. She painted the house white with pastel pink shutters and front door. Really girly. The garden was an overflowing mass of flowers, birdhouses and whimsical items surrounded by a white picket fence.

  The little colorful houses for birds had broken blue-and-white china handles for perches. An old watering can topped a weather vane. The spout pointed north. Pink and orange petunias and nasturtiums tumbled down the sides of an old wheelbarrow alongside a bucket filled with white daisies. Tall sunflowers nodded as they faced the sunshine.

  The pathway was made of flagstones. Grass grew in between the stones, resembling little ponds surrounded with green fields. Fragrant basil and Russian sage lined the path and brushed the legs of visitors who passed by when they approached the front door.

  A painted sign swung in the breeze at the garden gate. It read:

  RACHEL FULLER, maker of HOMESTEAD KIDS™ cloth dolls and teddies.

  Teddies had been added recently.

  “Come in,” Rachel called out at their knock.

  Kate and Dutch opened the door and entered the living room that was directly off the long hallway.

  “Hi, kiddo,” Kate said to the red-haired woman sitting at a dining room table. Rachel’s mouth sprouted hatpins. She stuck several into the seam of a fabric doll’s dress. “Hello, love,” she said, once her mouth was free. “Dutch. It’s great to see you. It’s been a long time.”

  “It’s good to see you too.” He kissed her.

  “Welcome to my atelier.”

  “Ooh, gone all upscale now, have you? Very posh.” Kate looked around at the bolts of fabric, a basketful of pastel-colored French ribbons and boxes of button eyes.

  “Yeah. It’s not my dining room any longer so I call it my workshop.” Rachel laughed.

  “Seems like you’re busy as usual,” Dutch said.

  “Yes, thankfully. Pays my mortgage.”

  “I like your sign,” Kate said. “I notice you’ve added the teddies.”

  “Does it look amateurish?”

  “No. Not tatty at all. It brings attention to the fact that you’re now making teddies as well as dolls.”

  “I think it’s silly,” an elderly woman said, surprising everyone with her sudden appearance.

  “Aunt Carmella and Uncle Ralph are staying for a couple days, aren’t you, dear?” Rachel directed the remark at the woman standing in the doorway. The woman didn’t respond.

  “Hi, Aunt Carmella.” Kate extended her arm to point at the man beside her. “This is my friend Dutch. You haven’t met him before.”

  “He’s cute. Bet he’s a cop. Looks like one.” She sucked air through the large gaps in her teeth.

  “He was at one time. How do you know that?” Kate asked.

  The woman tapped the side of her nose, indicating she knew things. Carmella settled into a chair at the table, legs akimbo so her large tummy fell in between them. Her thick elastic support hose looked like a sack full of walnuts—no, the lumps were varicose veins. Her grey-streaked hair was tied back with a grungy piece of ribbon.

  Dutch smiled at the woman. “Pleased to meet you too.”

  “Ya gotta be careful at your job. I see bad vibes around you. Means danger.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Dutch answered.

  “I see deaths in your future. The names Fannie and Mac and Mae and Freddie are floatin’ above your head.” Carmella sucked air in.

  “I’ll watch out for people with that name.”

  He and Kate had heard all of the hilarious stories Rachel told about Aunt Carmella and Uncle Ralph. They were only colorful tales, she argued, merely to amuse her friends. She wasn’t being disrespectful.

  The couple had been raised in a tiny rustic village in the mountainous area of northern Italy. It was on the pinnacle of the mountain where chunks of the rock regularly broke off, taking part of the village with it. In time, it was expected, the village would be no more. No cars could be driven due to the ancient steep and winding narrow streets. The villagers got around on donkeys. Consequently, Carmella and Ralph never learned to drive a car and felt no need to alter their ways when they’d immigrated to the United States. They rode a bus to work in the factories—she to the perfume manufacturing company in Passaic and Ralph to the tin-can factory near Paterson.

  “What do you mean Dutch should be careful?” Kate was worried.

  Aunt Carmella sat, stoic. “’Cos I know, that’s all. He’s gotta watch out for the bad guys out there. They get real mad at people who interfere with ’em.”

  “You know she’s usually correct,” Rachel said in the woman’s defense. “She can foretell the future—precognition it’s called.”

  “Oh, I remember. You work the three-legged table, which taps out responses from deceased people. One knock of the table leg on the floo
r for a yes and two taps for a no to a question. You also hold séances where you call spirits with messages from the dead and ward off the evil eye.” Kate shuddered and rubbed her arms. She was suddenly cold. This old lady is creepy. At least she’s not saying Mum or Dutch are going to be killed. It’s about the only positive note in this conversation.

  “What’re yous guys going on about?” Uncle Ralph made his appearance.

  “Good Lord,” Rachel said, raising her eyes to the heavens through the ceiling. “Why don’t you get some more clothes on, Uncle?”

  “It’s too hot.” He stood in the doorway to the dining room, in his underwear—boxer shorts—and short black socks and dress shoes. His hair-covered man-boobs hung pendulously like two bunches of black grapes.

  Attractive. I’ve never seen such a hairy man before. Kate couldn’t believe her eyes.

  Carmella stared at him. “Go shave.”

  “I did already.”

  “Next time stand closer to the razor. I don’t know what makes you so stupid, but it really works,” she spat at him.

  “Who are you ta call me stupid?” He held up his right arm and struck it with his left hand.

  I know what that means. Not polite at all.

  “I’m your wife. Knowed you for years. If ignorance is bliss, you must be the happiest poyson alive.” She looked over at Kate and Dutch. “He’s old. Even pees in the tomato garden like all the old men on our street.”

  Rachel winked at them. “Do you get the feeling of being trapped in a Mel Brooks movie?”

  Kate, Dutch and Rachel chuckled.

  “I’m tired of your nagging,” Uncle Ralph complained. “I feel like driving off a cliff.”

  “I’ll bring the car around,” Carmella answered.

  “When you’re gone, I’m going to dance on your grave.”

  “Good. I’m being buried at sea.”

  “Ba-dum-bum-CHING. Rimshot.” Rachel drummed the air. “It’s like an old vaudeville act around here.”