Cat Got Your Diamonds

by Chase, Julie;

  Bulk containers of overturned glitter flooded the room. Spilled paint and glue mucked it up in patches.

  I fell onto my desk chair and shoved a wad of tissues to my nose. “It’ll take days to clean up the mess. I’ll have to replace a ton of stock. The floor needs to be refinished.” Even if my insurance replaced everything, I’d never have all the materials I needed to fill orders already waiting. Not if I wanted to make the next lease payment. So which would it be, buy supplies and fill the orders as promised but risk missing the lease payment and losing my shop? Flake on the orders I’d already committed to and lose customers but keep my space? Who would ever work with me if I got a bad reputation for not following through on my services? No one. Then I wouldn’t need a space. Problem solved.

  Something moved in the mix of overturned supplies. Jack raised a silent palm and kicked a wad of crinoline and rickrack. Roomba-Spot rolled out, bumped Jack’s boot, and headed back into the pile.

  A bright smile spread over Jack’s face. “Your sweeper says ‘Spot’ on top.”

  “So?”

  “He’s got big googly eyes and felt ears.”

  “At least something survived this awful night.” I set him on his charger and sighed. “I won’t be able to open for a week. I’ll have to work from home.” I scooped a pen and pad from my purse. “I’ll make a list of the supplies I need and see if I can salvage any of them from this mess. Tomorrow.” Too much stress and a bar fight had turned my stomach. This catastrophe didn’t help. “Can I take some things home?” I turned to find Jack rolling bolts of fabric.

  He tossed the tidy bolt onto the floor and grabbed another. “I need you to take an inventory. We need to know if anything’s missing. It’s probably hard to tell right now.” He set the second bolt with the first and lifted another. “You don’t have to do this alone, but we need to know what was taken. With help, it won’t take a week.”

  I burst into tears. The sincerity in his voice was too much. “You have no idea. Those fabric bolts are the biggest things back here. All these other boxes were filled with thousands of appliqués, pins, and buttons.” I mimed the infinitesimal sizes with my thumb and first finger.

  He waved me off. “Make your list. I’ll lift and count, you mark.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  He rooted for a pair of scissors and cut off a tattered line of fabric. “It’s what friends do. I might not have spent a ton of time here growing up, but I know how this district operates, and I guarantee I’m not the only help you’ll see before the job’s done.”

  I wiped my eyes on my arm and crammed the soggy tissue against my nose. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. Get to work.”

  * * *

  I dragged myself out of bed long after the sun had risen and drank coffee until I felt better than I looked. Shampoo and shower gel had met their match after the night I’d had. Even my megaduty concealer was useless against the zombie-grade circles under my eyes. I pulled on a pair of cutoff shorts and a blue cotton shirt with a cartoon dog in the center and “Pugs not Drugs” scripted over him. This would be the first of many cleanup days.

  Thirty minutes later, I hauled bags of cleaning supplies through the busted door at Furry Godmother. Jack had used plywood to secure the store against further intruders until I could call the glass company. I left them a message before I fell asleep. The ball was in their court.

  I locked the door behind me and unpacked my bags on the counter. I hadn’t touched the storefront and had barely made a dent in the stockroom before going home to have a breakdown. Jack slept in his truck in front of my house. I didn’t know when he’d left, but he was there when I fell asleep and gone when I went outside to bring him coffee in the morning. He refused my offer to sleep on the couch. I had mixed feelings on the refusal.

  The work ahead was almost daunting enough to return me to bed, but if I didn’t get started, I couldn’t get finished. I grabbed a broom and pushed glass chunks into a pile. Unfortunately, the filthy floor was polka-dotted with fallen shelving and broken stock. I moved on to righting displays and rearranging the store. I stopped at the turtle tank and fished a bunny bonnet off the rocks. “You guys were lucky,” I told the turtles. “I should have you outfitted with security cameras. You’ve got a perfect view of the whole place. If you can talk, this would be an excellent time to tell me.” I dropped a handful of heirloom strawberries into Brad and Angelina’s tank. “I’ll clean your place after I finish with mine.”

  Someone rapped on my new plywood door cover. “Hello? Good morning? Lacy Crocker?” a sweet, little-old-lady voice called.

  I peeked through my window. “Sorry. I’m closed.”

  The woman jumped when she noticed me at the glass. “Oh my!” She fanned her face. “I know. I brought you a snack. Homemade cinnamon rolls. They just came out of the oven. I’m Matilda Golden. I live on First near Coliseum Street.” Her raspberry muumuu and orthopedic sneakers didn’t scream danger, and I could almost smell the cinnamon rolls through the window.

  I unlocked the door. “Thank you. I’d invite you in, but I’ve got a mess. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Nonsense.” She beeped the doors of a nearby Jaguar unlocked. “Give me just a minute.” She passed me the dish with rolls and waddled across the sidewalk.

  I held the door with my bottom while she fished an espresso machine from her trunk. “Now we’re in business.” She carried the machine through Furry Godmother and set it up on my bakery display case.

  “You really don’t have to do that. I’ve got a ton of work to do, and honestly, I’m in an awful mood. Maybe another day would be better.” I checked outside for suspicious-looking individuals and closed the door.

  “I didn’t come to visit. I came to help.” She produced a speaker dock from the box with the espresso machine and set her phone inside. Soft jazz filtered through the air. “Leave the door open. Get the air circulating. Do you like cinnamon rolls? You’re not one of those young people who are allergic to everything, are you? Whey, nuts, gluten, oxygen.”

  I shook my head.

  “Fantastic.” She dropped a pastry the size of my head onto a paper plate and jammed a fork into it. “Eat.”

  I pinched my wrist in case I was still at home in bed. “I’m sorry, did you say your name is Matilda Golden? The recluse?”

  “I rarely find ample reason to leave home, but I’m not opposed to it. Ah!” She waved her hands overhead. “Here they are.” She wobbled past me in a flurry of silk and heavy perfume.

  A cluster of women my grandmother’s age appeared at the doorway in floppy brimmed sunhats, toting bags in every size and pattern. They kissed Matilda’s cheeks and gasped appropriately at the mess around me.

  The smallest one with fuzzy, bluish hair took my sweaty hands in her small, soft ones. “Don’t worry about a thing. We’ve all heard what went on here, and we’ve come to help.”

  I opened my mouth to speak but only managed, “Thank you.”

  My mother arrived next, wearing white capris and my high school Converse shoes. She said her hellos, then focused on me. “Why are you standing there?” She clapped her hands.

  I jumped behind the counter and gawked. The sexagenarian posse before me scooped up trash and wiped down walls. The combined net worth of my cleaning crew was probably enough to buy the block, maybe the street. Mom sprayed and wiped the glass on my bakery display with gusto. I didn’t even know my mother could work a household cleanser bottle.

  Another round of neighbors rolled through the front door like this was completely normal. They got assignments from Matilda and went to work.

  A lump formed in my throat. My eyes stung and blurred. I turned my back to the crowd and pulled the hem of my shirt to my face, dabbing away the renegade tears.

  “Lacy?” Dad’s voice echoed from the doorway.

  I turned and gave him my brightest smile. Imogene stood at his side. Her hair was shocked with gray, but her eyes were as sparkly and mischie
vous as ever. I kissed Dad’s cheek, then wrapped my arms around her. “Thank you for coming.”

  She patted my back. “Where else would I be when you need me?”

  I pulled back and waved a hand at the carnage of my store.

  Her frame went rigid, as if she’d finally noticed the disaster around us. “Whoa. Someone did a number in here. They left bad juju all over this place, and you didn’t need any more of that.” She shivered and rubbed her palms up and down her arms. “It feels like angry, fearful juju. That’s a dangerous combination.”

  Dad slid one strong arm around my back and squeezed me to his side. “Don’t listen to her. The worst of this is over, and we’re all here to help lighten your burden.” He pressed his lips to my head. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you, but you’re going to be fine.”

  I shook free with a confident smile. One more fatherly assurance and I’d be a blubbering moron. I lifted my chin. “You’re right.” Jack would figure this out if I didn’t. I just needed to stay alive until one of us did. “Where did you find all these people?”

  He nodded to my mother.

  Mom looked up on cue and heaved a stage sigh. “Now there are three of you just standing around. If I look up again, will there be six?”

  I laughed through a bubble of emotion. “Thank you,” I managed to croak.

  Her eyes widened and a blush crossed her cheeks. “Well.” She smoothed her palms over her pants and glanced at the busy folks around us. “You’re welcome. I knew you wouldn’t ask for help, so I took it upon myself. I thought you might get angry, but someone has to get things done properly around here.”

  “You didn’t need to ask to help me clean up, but you could’ve asked before borrowing my shoes,” I laughed.

  She looked at her feet and smiled. “We bought these together before you went to college. Do you remember?”

  “Yes.” I was shocked that she did, but I hadn’t forgotten. “It was a really good day.”

  She raised her eyes to mine. “Yes, it was.”

  A man in navy-blue dickeys poked his head into the open doorway, breaking our moment. “Crocker?”

  “Yes?” Mom, Dad, and I answered in unison.

  The man checked his clipboard. “Someone called about a window replacement.”

  “That was me.” I waved. “I left a message last night with the measurements.”

  Dad shook the man’s hand and signed for the bill.

  Clipboard took more measurements and went back to his truck on the curb, where two men in matching uniforms commiserated over coffee from the shop next door.

  I leaned into Dad’s side. “You didn’t have to do that. Insurance would have paid for it.”

  “Then they can pay me back. No sense in waiting when the Clean Team’s here now.”

  “The Clean Team?” I snickered. “This crew has a name?”

  “Sure. Names make everything friendlier. Like Vinnie. Without a name, this group, for example, might seem like just a bunch of pushy old broads.”

  Mom glared.

  Matilda laughed.

  “Come on.” He took me by the elbow. “Let me introduce you to the crew.”

  * * *

  By dinner, Furry Godmother was clean, tidy, and repaired, save one massive fallen bookcase. We’d worked around it until it seemed more like a strange part of the ambience than the huge obstacle it was. Mom had even wiped down the back and sides.

  I’d taken complete inventory of everything on the sales floor. Nothing was missing. The last of the District Clean Team had dissipated by late afternoon, and Imogene had left promptly after shaking a feathered rattle around every window. I didn’t ask. I only hoped whatever she did to the windows was as effective as the sleeping magic she had worked on me as a child.

  What a difference a day made. Yesterday I’d bought a fish to cure my loneliness, and today I’d been kissed and hugged half to death by a dozen neighbors and friends. Working with Mom had been nice, too. She wasn’t nearly as intimidating without her haute couture.

  I needed some fresh air. “Who wants a smoothie?”

  No one responded. Mom made a face and pointed to all the refreshments lined up on the bakery counter.

  “I’ll be right back.” I slipped into the sticky evening and exhaled. I needed to clear my head. A little red sports car zipped into traffic and revved its engine. I stopped moving. It was the car from the Barrel Room parking lot. Hayden’s car.

  I hustled up the block to the Frozen Banana and waited impatiently for my turn at the counter. “Hi. I’m Lacy Crocker. I work a few doors down. I own the pet boutique, Furry Godmother.”

  The guy behind the register didn’t seem to care. “What can I get you?”

  “I think a woman was just in here. She has really big, brown hair and tan skin.” I struggled to remember something else about her besides her bad attitude, but I hadn’t paid much attention to Hayden the only time I’d seen her. My focus had been on Sunshine. “I think she’s taller than me.” I lifted a hand over my head to indicate how tall I thought she might be. “Athletic looking.”

  The clerk patted out a drum solo on the register’s sides. “Are you going to order?”

  “Yes, but can you tell me if a girl who looks like the one I described was in here a few minutes ago?”

  He stared. “No.”

  I dragged an agitated hand through my hair. “Are you sure? I think she was just here. She drives a red sports car with tinted windows.”

  He raised his brows and looked through the store window.

  “You remember her now?” My heart leapt. I remembered something, too. “She has an employee discount card from the Barrel Room.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He smiled, proudly. “I know that girl. She’s hot. Are you going to order?”

  “Yes. What else can you tell me about her?”

  “I don’t know. She’s a regular. She used to buy two strawberry smoothies every night, but she missed a few nights and only ordered one today. Same thing last time.” He peered over my head at the line forming behind me. “Dude, if you aren’t going to order, I have to ask you to step aside.”

  I dug in my pocket for some cash. “No. I’m ordering a small piña colada smoothie. Was she here last night?” Was Hayden the one who trashed my store?

  He took my money and turned for the stack of bright-yellow cups. “Nah. She hasn’t been here in a few nights.”

  “How about five nights ago? Was she here then?”

  He snapped a lid onto my cup and shoved it across the counter. “Yeah, maybe. Thanks for stopping at Frozen Banana. Have a fruity day. Next.”

  A couple in matching “I Heart New Orleans” shirts pushed their way around me to the counter.

  I unwrapped a straw and pondered the new information all the way back to Furry Godmother. Hayden didn’t stop at Frozen Banana last night, but she could’ve trashed my shop without buying a smoothie. Not buying a smoothie didn’t mean she wasn’t in the area.

  It also didn’t mean she was.

  I pushed the door open to my shop and relaxed at the sight of my loved ones.

  Dad gave the room a proud once-over. He toed the toppled bookcase. “Sorry I couldn’t raise this for you. When you’ve only got one man under sixty, it’s hard to do any heavy lifting. Bad backs. Bad hearts.”

  I gave him a fast squeeze. “You did enough. Forget that for tonight. I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

  “Don’t forget to send thank-you cards for the help and the food,” Mom instructed. “I have addresses if you need them.”

  I couldn’t muster the urge to grumble about the thank-you cards. I hated writing them, but this time I wished I could do more than write a few words on cardstock. “I’ll take care of it.”

  She dug in her purse and handed me a fancy black-and-white invitation. “I’m having a benefit dinner tomorrow. You always say no, so I don’t invite you as often as I should.” She pushed her shoulders back. “If I don’t invite you, you can’t reject me, but you also c
an’t say yes. So think about it.”

  I nodded. Appreciation for all she’d done bubbled in my chest. However, making emotional decisions wasn’t the best practice with all my tasks piling up. “I’ll see if I have anything on my calendar.”

  Dad lowered reading glasses onto his nose and pushed buttons on my new security system. “They installed this in no time. How do we know it works?”

  “They showed me. I’ve got an instruction booklet, an emergency number, and passcodes in my purse.”

  He traced his finger around the outline of the wall unit. “It doesn’t look like much. We probably should’ve had our guys come out here. Our house has a bigger pad than this. More options.”

  Mom dusted her shirt. “Our home has more to lose.”

  I bit my tongue. If I pointed out that my stock was handmade, and therefore irreplaceable, she’d list family heirlooms and art, which was valid. Insensitive, but accurate.

  The locked front door wiggled, and the silhouette of a man in dark clothing and a ball cap came into view.

  I knew that silhouette.

  Dad stepped in front of us. “We’re closed for renovations.”

  I nudged him. “It’s just Jack.”

  Dad’s face lit up. “Why didn’t you say so?” He flipped the dead bolt and welcomed Jack inside.

  Jack pulled his hat off and stuffed it, brim first, into his back pocket. His cheeks were red from sun or exertion. His eyes were droopy from lack of sleep.

  “What’s this?” I reached for the baking dish in Jack’s hands.

  “Banana bread with cranberry jam. It’s a family recipe.”

  “You made me a banana bread?”

  He looked away. “Tabitha made it. I would’ve stopped by sooner, but I chased a dirty lead halfway to the Mason–Dixon line.”

  I set the dish aside and tried not to care who Tabitha was.

  Mom huffed and floated past me on indignation. “Can I get you some coffee, Jack? Maybe you’d like a bite to eat?” She stood behind the casserole-laden bakery display and gave me the stink eye.

  I shooed her away. “Fine. Let me play hostess. You’ve done enough. Go home and open a bottle of wine. Enjoy your night.”