“He couldn’t ruin my business. Sure he’d cost me some money — but he couldn’t do anything to ruin me. Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because I thought I could talk him out of it,” I whispered.
“Well, it doesn’t matter now. He’s dead. He can’t do anything.”
“Leena, here’s the problem. My name is in his date book. The police are going to find out about me.”
“How do you know your name is in his date book?” She asked.
“I saw it in his home office.” When I told people about my investigation, it sounded a lot crazier than it was.
Leena clicked her tongue. “They’d find out anyway. The cops are going to call me about charges on his bill. They’ll have the phone number. Pey, you will be talking to the police. Look, when they question, me I won’t give them anything until I see a warrant. But they will get it — and I’ll have to give them the information. I might be able to stall taking the call for a little while, but it’s going to happen.”
“Can you let me know when they do? So I can be ready?”
“Sure, not a problem. I don’t know what you’re up to, and I don’t want to know. But I’m going to give you some advice. Just don’t get crazy. Attending a client’s funeral is a no-no. Don’t get involved, and don’t tell the cops what he was up to. Talk to the cops, play dumb, and walk away.”
“I’ll try.” Another lie. I wasn’t going to try. There was no way I was walking away. I was getting the inside story on Jim’s murder, no matter what. “Thanks, Leena. I appreciate it.”
“Seriously, Peyton, don’t meet any more callers. Nothing good ever comes of it.”
No need to tell me twice. I was sorry that I’d met the one.
Chapter Eighteen
I made another trip to the mall. I needed a couple of cute dresses, a smart pair of pants, and a few nice light sweaters. I needed things to give me that cute girl reporter look. Being a chubby Lois Lane was a brilliant disguise. Since I was going to be working the journalist angle, I thought I’d better get one of those tiny little recorders too. Wal-Mart had them on sale for less than thirty dollars. I could easily hide it in my purse, just in case anyone broke into a spontaneous confession. I didn’t know if tape recordings held up in a court of law, but they sure did help in writing a piece for a newspaper. I was definitely going to talk to Rachel-Ann, and a tape recorder might come in handy.
This wasn’t my first time going to Charmed. It was a cute little store. I had window shopped there many times. Rachel-Ann sold candles, lotions, soaps, and a few pieces of jewelry. If there was a problem with her store, it was that it was too familiar and too expensive. I could name three stores downtown just like it: same candles, same lotions, same soaps, same artists making the same kind of jewelry, and same type of society dame running the place.
Dame.
I had actually used the word dame in my thoughts. I really was starting to think like a detective.
I picked out a pair of khakis and a peach short-sleeved sweater for my disguise. I looked very reporterly. I was counting on Rachel-Ann thinking the same thing.
The place was empty. At least it appeared to be that way. I could hear voices in the back that sounded like arguing. I wanted to get a little closer. I wanted to catch every bit of information I could, but common sense stopped me. I was pretty sure they’d heard the bell ring when I came in. Unless I changed into surgical gear and put a stethoscope against the wall, eavesdropping wasn’t going to do a whole lot of good. So far I’d been lucky in that department, but there was no need to risk being caught. Besides, the last time I’d listened in on Rachel-Ann, she was about to get it on with her boy toy. I was afraid of a repeat performance.
“Hello?” I considered calling for Rachel-Ann, but I wasn’t too sure about how to address her. I might’ve snooped around in her closets, but that wasn’t really enough to put us on a first-name basis. However, in the past few days, I’d learned a lot about her, and I was her husband’s phone kitten. We had a lot in common; it could be enough to put us on a first-name basis.
Rachel-Ann came out red-faced and fuming. “I’m sorry; we were having a little discussion in the back.” Seeing me in the store stopped her dead in her tracks. “You.”
Okay, not the reception I’d wanted, but I wasn’t going to let it stop me. “Mrs. Alexander…” Her clothes still looked a little too tight. Maybe it was her signature style.
Brant rushed in as red-faced as she was. “Honeybee, I was just saying”—
“I know what you were saying, and stop calling me Honeybee. My name is Rachel-Ann,” she hissed at him.
Hurt washed across his face, and he opened his mouth to say something to her. Then he saw me. “Emily? Your name is Emily, right?”
“Yes sir, Mr. Jenson. It’s me, Emily Summers, from the St. Pete Times.” I gave him a big smile.
It was pretty clear he’d like nothing more than for me to fall through the floorboards and straight into the city sewer system. “What can I help you with, Emily?”
Rachel-Ann answered for me. From the look on her face, it was best I not interrupt her. “I’m sure she came here to talk to me. That’s why she’s in my store.”
I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of the death stare she was giving him.
She turned to me, smiling sweetly. It was scary how she could turn that stuff off and on. “Now what can I help you with, Emily? Were you looking for a particular product? If you like candles, we just got a new scent in called Oktoberfest. It’s a wonderful blend of cinnamon, nutmeg, clove, and pumpkin. Very spicy.”
Her voice was mechanical. If she was counting on Charmed to be her sole source of income, she really had to work on her salesmanship.
“Actually, I’m here on business.” I was winging it; I had no idea where this was going to take me. It was scary and exhilarating. I was like Maverick in Top Gun. “The newspaper’s giving me a chance to do a story for a special section we’re running on the businesses downtown. I thought a little story on you and Charmed would be a great personal interest piece.”
She arched her eyebrow. “Ahh, local widow struggles to keep store open?”
Ouch. Under normal circumstances, that would’ve hurt. I would’ve felt bad about lying to her to get a little info. But she might’ve killed her husband, and with murder, sympathy went out the window. I took a deep breath and nodded. “I thought a story about Charmed might help you out right now.” I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
Brant shook his head. “No. She’s not going to talk to anyone.”
Rachel-Ann went from former beauty queen to Pele’ the Goddess of Fire in less than point three seconds. She turned red. The whites of her eyes glowed. She crossed her arms and looked Brant up and down. “Since when do you have the right to decide what I can and can’t do?” She spat the words at him. “No one tells me what to do anymore. This is my store, this is my life, and if I want to talk to a dumb little reporter about what’s going on in my life, I’ll do it. Do you understand?”
If he didn’t, I sure did. That dumb little reporter thing offended me. I had to remind myself that I wasn’t really a reporter. Besides, there was no way I was going to correct her, not with the way she went all ninja on her lover. Quiet was the best thing for me to be.
“But honeybee, I was just saying…”
Brant didn’t know when to stop. I almost felt bad for him. She’d already told him that the honeybee thing wasn’t working for her.
Her words chopped him off at the knees. “I know what you were saying. You were saying you didn’t think I was capable of making my own decisions. You were saying I’m not bright enough to know who to talk to and who not to talk to. You were saying I can’t run my own business. Now I’m saying I think it's best that you leave. Do whatever you did before Jim died and give me a little peace.”
The blood vessels on her forehead were throbbing. One of them was going to erupt like Mt. Vesuvius if he didn’t fly on out of there.
Fortunato’s made the best Greek salad in town, and if it wasn’t okay with Rachel-Ann, it was okay with me. They were big on calories and big on taste. I loved them. Occasionally, I would justify having one because of the salad aspect, ignoring the big dollop of potato salad that was right in the middle of the bed of lettuce. Thanks to Brant, I was going to be eating them in my sleep.
She just glared at him, her arms still crossed. I was starting to feel sorry for the guy. He couldn’t do anything right. One thing I was sure of: he wasn’t going to be getting any honey tonight.
He nodded and trudged out the door. “I’ll take a little walk and get us some lunch.”
She stared after him, still on the verge of exploding. I had to say something. “I’m sorry if I caused an argument. It wasn’t my intention.”
She sighed heavily and began straightening the candles she had in the display window. “It wasn’t you. That’s been brewing for a long time. I just need a little breathing room. He’s always around. I can’t get him out of my hair.”
“Things have to be tough for you right now. I’m sure he’s just trying to help.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes all I want is to be left alone. I want to figure out exactly what I’m going to do without him lurking around or looking over my shoulder.” She looked up at me, panicked. “That’s off the record, right?”
I put down my notebook and pen. “Of course it is.”
It wasn’t like there was going to be a real article anyway.
Tears were welling up in her eyes. “You just wouldn’t believe everything that’s happened since Jim died. This place isn’t bringing in any money. All I have is Brant, and look at him. Who wants that?”
If there’d been any doubt in my mind about Brant’s status as Mr. Pay-My-Husband-Back, there wasn’t anymore. Of course, now he was Mr. Look-Who-I’m-Stuck-With. It wasn’t good place to be. I thought margarita-lovin’ Brant was going to be getting the old heave-ho once the dust settled.
“I take it you two are involved?” I pretended that I hadn’t seen them getting all nasty on her dead husband’s day planner.
She was still in tears. “It started before Jim died. Brant works in the accounting department for Jim’s company. After I saw the video of Kaz.” She was starting to snot up, and I went behind the counter to find her a tissue.
“Kaz?” I acted like I wasn’t in the know. It was best that Rachel-Ann think that I was hearing this all for the first time.
“Can you believe he made a video of himself fucking my best friend?” I handed her the box of tissues I found underneath the counter.
She gave her nose a hearty blow. “Well, let me tell you, Montgomery Davis didn’t get where he is because he’s an idiot. She signed a pre-nup and in the case of adultery, she got nothing. You bet your ass I made sure he saw the video.”
There was no stopping her—not that I wanted to. Rachel-Ann was ready to tell off the world and I was lucky enough to have a front row seat. If only I had some popcorn for the show. “I met Brant at one of Jim’s office parties. Jim always left me in the corner. Brant was good looking enough and I just wanted to get back at Jim. Now I’m stuck with him.”
She looked up at me with big raccoon eyes. “And I’m spilling my guts to a reporter from the St. Pete Times because I don’t have any friends.” That sent her off on another crying jag as she plopped down on the floor.
I thought the only way the situation could be made worse was if I told Rachel-Ann I’d entertained quite a few of her husband’s “Kaz” fantasies. Although, it might help her to know that Jim loved to fantasize about a Kaz freshly-plucked from one of Florida’s grittier trailer parks. In his dreams, he liked her trashy, and he never lasted more than a few minutes. Perhaps Rachel-Ann needed the little reminder that a night of romance with Jim was over before she was sure it had even began, and that included foreplay.
Then again, maybe Brant didn’t measure up. That was a scary thought. Could life be that cruel to a former beauty queen?
“I’ll come back for the story later in the week. I’m not going to put any of this in the article.” I sat down next to her. “I can’t even begin to imagine how tough things are for you right now.”
I hesitated for a second before going ahead. I didn’t want to push her too far, but then I remembered she thought I was a reporter. It was a reporterly thing to ask. “Do you have any idea who could’ve killed Jim?”
She blew into the tissue. “Who didn’t want to kill him? He was a real bastard.”
I wouldn’t argue with her there. Jim was a bastard. “Not everyone who thought he was a bastard is capable of murder.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you doing a story on his death? I don’t want my children exposed to any more of that. It’s bad enough we’re losing everything.”
Oh Lord, she was going to start crying again. Her mascara was already smeared under her eyes; another round of tears would have it running down her face and onto her blouse. Plus, I certainly didn’t need her to call complaining to the newspaper.
“I won’t do that, Mrs. Alexander. Maybe it’s a little too early for an interview.”
More tissues. I needed more tissues. I was surprised that a women with her pageant experience didn’t know about waterproof mascara. “So I take it you and Jim weren’t very happy.”
“Oh, Jim was happy. He had everything. Me, other women, money. I was the one who wasn’t happy. It’s why I wanted this store. I figured it would take a few years to be profitable, but once it was, and the kids were at college, I could get a divorce. He’d have to pay alimony, and for the kids’ education, but I really thought if I got this place off the ground, I’d be able to have something of my own.” She started with the tears all over again. “But now I don’t have anything.”
I was starting to feel bad for her, until I remembered she could be a killer. Just because Jim was a jackass didn’t mean the things he’d told me about her weren’t true. He could’ve been an honest jackass. “Did you ever talk about divorce?” I might as well push the envelope as long as I was asking questions. She was weak and vulnerable; I wasn’t going to get another chance like this again.
She shook her head. “I threatened him, but we never talked about it. I don’t think he thought I was serious. I mean I was, but I don’t think he believed it, but I guess maybe he did, because…” The waterworks were starting up again. “…he left me nothing. Can you believe it? Nothing!”
It was real easy for me to believe. He never seemed to like her too much, but that probably wasn’t the best thing for me to say.
She kept on talking. “Our house is in foreclosure. He lost his job a month ago. He let our insurance lapse. My parents had to pay for the funeral. Our bank accounts are drained.” She blew her nose again. “He probably spent all our money on booze and whores.”
And you’re talking to one of them.
“The worst part is, I don’t have anyone to talk to. Kaz was my best friend.” She started to shake and water squirted from her eyes again. How much could one woman cry?
I got up, grabbed the entire box of tissues and attempted to clean her up. Rachel-Ann was a hot mess.
“You’re going to make new friends. Look, I don’t have all the answers, but I know it’ll get better.”
“Everyone says that.” She sniffled.
“Yeah, it’s trite, and it doesn’t help you at all right now, but I think it’s true. One day you’ll wake up and it won’t be as hard as the day before. It’s just hard getting to that day. You seem like a fighter to me. I know you’ll be okay.”
She was trying to wipe away her raccoon eyes and had managed to smear the mascara all over her face. “You think I’m a fighter?”
I nodded. “You didn’t give up on your marriage; you’re running your own business. That says fighter to me.”
She laughe
d nervously. “I guess you’re right.”
I stood up, took her hand, and helped her off the floor. “I’m going to come back in a couple of weeks to do the story; you’ll feel better by then. I’ll let you get cleaned up now.”
“I must look horrible.” She signed.
“Oh no, your mascara just ran a little.” It was going to take her weeks to chisel the crap off her face. I wanted to get out of the store before she looked in a mirror. “I’ll see you soon.”
“And you won’t tell anyone what I said?”
“It’s our secret.” I waved at her as I walked out the door and headed down Central Avenue.
I ran into Brant a few blocks away. He was carrying a bag from Fortunato’s. “Hey. Why don’t you hold up for a second?”
He ignored me and kept walking. “I don’t have anything to add to your story.”
I had to run to catch up with him. “I didn’t do the interview. She was too upset. I just think you should wait, give her a minute to clean up. She doesn’t want you to see her right now.” I lowered my voice like I was letting him in on a government secret. “She started crying, and mascara was flowing like a river. She wants to be beautiful for you.”
He stopped. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she just needed a little girl talk. Between you and me, she’s really upset that she was so mean to you, but with all those stunts Jim pulled, she’s scared. You’re the only one she can trust right now.”
Maybe she trusted him enough to kill her husband.
“She told you about Jim?”
I nodded. “I can’t believe the house is in foreclosure. I guess Jim was leading a double life. The poor thing, she said you were the only blessing to come out of all this.”
“Whoever killed him did her a favor.” His face was turning red.
“It sounds that way.” I hoped my little recorder was picking all this up. Maybe he would blurt out a confession. He was the one most likely to do Rachel-Ann a favor.
I wanted Brant to think we were on the same team. “Didn’t you work with Jim? I would’ve thought you knew about his losing his job.”
Phone Kitten: A Cozy, Romantic, and Highly Humorous Mystery Page 13