I bent and grabbed a bottle of water from the floor. With a snap, I opened the cap. ``Stop it! Stop it, all of you!''
I splashed water on the writhing heap of humanity as if breaking up a vicious dogfight.
Cindie Rae reeled back first. ``My hair!''
Darwin scrambled out of danger. ``This shirt is pure silk--dry clean only!''
Only Pinky had the composure to stand back in rigid silence, straightening her coat with the last vestiges of her dignity.
``That's enough,'' I snapped. ``You're all behaving like crazy people. Darwin, give me the bag.''
His hand trembling, Darwin obediently placed the Let- titia McGraw bag in my upturned palm. I took possession calmly.
``Now,'' I said. ``We've had quite enough violence for one night. We're going to let Popo decide who gets this bag. It's her job, and she does it extremely well.''
Darwin made a rude noise with his lips.
Cindie Rae was still rearranging the mane of her hair. ``We'll see about that. If I have any say in the matter, Popo is history!''
Pinky said, ``I think I know how to solve this impasse. Here, young man. Surely you can spend this wisely.''
She placed a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill on Popo's desk, but Darwin recoiled from the money as if it might be contaminated. ``Take that back! Do you want to get me fired? I'm not taking bribes!''
``Since when?'' Pinky demanded. ``Popo makes no bones about it.''
``Take it back, take it back!'' SLAY BELLES 19
``Oh, stop screaming.'' Pinky snatched up her money. ``I'm going to find Popo this minute. I'll get this straight- ened out one way or another.''
She made a stalking exit, the hem of her Burberry coat flying out behind her skinny frame.
``That woman is a menace!'' Cindie Rae went to the mir- ror and checked her hair. ``Why hasn't she been convicted and electrocuted by now? Everybody knows she killed both her husbands.''
``That's enough,'' I said.
``Who do you think you are? And you,'' she said to Dar- win. ``If you breathe a word of this catfight, you'll regret it. I'll tell Alan everything that happened here.''
Satisfied with her hair, she gathered up a shopping bag and followed Pinky out of the salon with a hip swivel that would have done spinal damage to a person with less mus- cle tone.
``There,'' I said, handing the Lettitia McGraw back to Darwin. ``You'd better put this bag in a safe place.''
He sniffed. ``I'll take it down to the store safe in the security office.''
``Good idea.''
``What a mess!'' He rubbed his bitten ear as he surveyed the chaos of Popo's carefully arranged merchandise. Hyste- ria threatened again, but Darwin bravely gathered his cour- age. ``I have to get this cleaned up before Popo gets back.''
``Let me help.''
``God, no.'' He shuddered at the thought of spending another instant in my company. ``I'll manage somehow. It's past closing time. All customers should be out of the store by now. Including you.''
``Listen, Darwin, I'd like to talk with you.''
Still standing stiff and wounded behind the desk, he said, ``About what?''
``There's been a misunderstanding, and if I was part of it, I need to make things right.''
``I don't know what you're talking about.''
Spike stopped lapping up the spilled Slim-Fast and began scrambling around underfoot, dragging his hindquarters and panting with excitement. He tracked chocolate paw prints all over Popo's floor.
I picked up Spike and held him away from my clothing. 20 Nancy Martin He dripped with Slim-Fast. ``First let me clean up the dog in the lavatory. Then we'll have a discussion.''
Silently, Darwin pointed.
I ducked into the bathroom at the back of the small salon and plunked Spike in the sink. At once he sensed what was coming and tried to climb out, but I was too quick for him. Pinning the dog in space, I carefully scooped warm water run over his rough coat to avoid soaking his casts.
``You are a menace,'' I told him.
At last I turned off the water and held Spike down with one hand as I stretched to yank a handful of paper towels from the dispenser.
Which was went the lights went out.
``What in the world . . . ?''
Silence. The lavatory had no window, so the darkness was complete. Spike gave a nervous yap.
``Quiet,'' I told him, and blindly tried to dry him off with the towels. Over my shoulder, I called, ``Darwin?''
I heard someone jiggle the locked doorknob.
``Darwin? What's going on?''
No response. I put Spike on the floor and felt my way to the door. I grabbed the knob and twisted to disengage the lock, but when I tried to pull the door inward, it didn't budge. ``Darwin!'' I called. ``I'm locked in here!''
Still no answer. And no lights. Panting and whining with excitement, Spike hobbled around my feet in the small bathroom.
The bathroom lock was on the inside of the door, I rea- soned. So why couldn't I let myself out? It was as if the door had been dead-bolted from the outside.
In total darkness, I rapped my knuckles on the door. Then I pounded. I shouted. I kicked the door as loudly as I could. To accompany me, Spike barked and finally began to howl.
But Darwin didn't come to open the door.
Nobody did.
``That little bastard locked us in here for the night,'' I said to Spike.
The puppy sat down on my foot and whined.
After five minutes of fuming, I finally got an idea. I went to the door and felt around the edges to locate the hinges. ``Aha.'' SLAY BELLES 21
Groping in my handbag for something to use as a tool, I poked myself with a metal nail file. I pulled it out and tested its strength. It was flimsy, but it would have to get the job done. Cautiously, I wedged the nail file up into the hinge and pushed. I felt the bolt give way, but only slightly. Getting the door off the hinges was going to be a tedious process.
When the first hinge was disassembled and the second bolt nearly wiggled out, the lights suddenly came on again. I checked my watch. Nearly forty-five minutes had passed, and I'd broken three fingernails. The palms of my hands were going to be bruised. I ran cold water into the sink to soak them for a minute, then went back to inching the hinge apart.
I let out a cry of relief when the second bolt fell out and hit the tile floor with a musical ding. Wrestling the door out of position was harder than I imagined. It didn't just fall into my arms. I had to shove and wiggle and heave to inch the heavy door out of place.
At last, the weight of it fell sideways. A rush of cool air entered the lavatory. I looked out and realized that some- one had tied one length of a rope around the doorknob and fastened the other end to a sturdy coatrack on the opposite wall.
``Darwin, you little fink!'' I said to the empty salon.
No sign of the weasel.
I gathered up the contents of my bag and shoved it back where it belonged. Then I stepped over the rope and picked up Spike. ``Let's get out of here.''
Just as eager to leave as I was, Spike let himself be dumped into my bag. I pushed out of the salon and into the darkened department store.
It was eerie, deserted and quiet. The usual rumble of escalators, heating system, and muffled music had been si- lenced. I didn't see a single person. Even the reindeer in Santa's Wonderland were still. I headed for the escalator.
At the edge of the luxury bedding department stood the display bed I'd noticed earlier. But something was different this time.
I stopped still at the foot of the bed. ``Popo?''
The sprawled body of Popo Prentiss lay in the bed- clothes, the sheets wildly twisted around her. Popo didn't 22 Nancy Martin move. Her eyes were half-open and unfocused. One of her hands lay upturned and flaccid. The other still gripped her plastic water bottle, now empty and dented. I realized I was standing in a splashed puddle of water.
``No,'' I said, already feeling the floor begin to tilt around me.
I didn't need to touch her to know she
was dead. Her stillness was complete. I could see that a plump needlepoint pillow with a Ralph Lauren tag had been abandoned beside her head. A thin line of foamy drool ran from the corner of her mouth. The blond spikes of her hair were damp. She had tried to fight off her killer with the water bottle.
``No,'' I said again. I backed away from the bed and bumped into a display shelf. A rack of brilliant yellow tow- els cascaded around me, and I cried out. I pushed away and rushed for the escalator. I stumbled on the top step, then caught my balance on the railing and clattered down- ward. I must have shouted, but the panic was deafening.
From below, a rush of darkness swirled up to me. Not an electrical blackout this time, but a different kind of dark- ness. I had to find help before I passed out.
At the bottom of the escalator, a figure in a uniform appeared. I made out a bald head and a name tag that swam before my eyes. He reached for me, but I couldn't see his face, only the Haymaker's logo embroidered on his shirt. A security guard.
``Call the police.'' I gasped. ``Popo's been murdered.'' Chapter 3
My best friend, Lexie Paine, greeted me at the front door of her home. ``Sweetie, where have you been? I was ready to send a Saint Bernard to go search for you.''
``Sorry I'm late.'' I stepped inside and reached for the edge of a table to support myself.
Lexie lived in a converted Victorian-style boathouse along the famous Boathouse Row on the Schuylkill River, a picturesque curve of storybook houses that were main- tained by various boating clubs. With her powerful connec- tions and bottomless personal bank account, my friend had managed to score one of the abandoned boathouses and had renovated the second floor into luxurious living quarters.
Behind her, I could hear the buzz and hum of party guests that floated in the air, along with soft jazz and the scent of expensive flowers from Neppo.
Summoning some self-control, I said, ``You, on the other hand, look stunning. Which rapper did you have to mug to get that necklace?''
Slim and sinewy from beating up bulls and bears on Wall Street, Lexie wore a smoky black cashmere ensemble and double strand of serious bling. She toyed with one of the diamonds at her throat. ``I had a good week in the Asia markets. You won't believe how desperate American man- ufacturers are to get themselves into pathetic Chinese vil- lages so they can exploit the workers and make billions. I could spend every day playing matchmaker if I didn't get bored with all the upstanding, two-faced executives from Omaha.''
23 24 Nancy Martin
``Nobody would ever mistake you for two-faced, Lex. You tell it like it is.''
Lexie closed the door and gave me a hug. ``Sorry about the rant. Now, sweetie, what's happened? You look white as Christmas snow. My God, you're shaking!''
``Careful,'' I said. ``I don't want to spoil your party.''
My friend popped her eyes wide and held me away from herself to get a better look at my face. ``What's happened? You didn't discover another dead body, did you?''
``As a matter of fact--''
She cursed prayerfully. ``You're kidding! Who was it? Anybody I know?''
``Popo Prentiss.''
Aghast, Lexie pulled me over to the staircase and we sat down together on the bottom step. I put my bag gently on the floor, and Spike slept on. Hugging my knees, I told Lexie the whole story, keeping my voice low so as not to disturb her guests.
``And you were locked in the loo while it happened?'' Lexie put her arm across my shoulders for comfort. ``My God, Nora, it could have been you!''
``I doubt it,'' I said.
``What do you mean?''
``I've had a couple of hours to think about it. If you were a random killer, would you commit your crime in the mid- dle of a department store shortly after closing? With all those security cameras going?''
``You think someone deliberately murdered Popo? Hell, what am I saying? Of course she was deliberately mur- dered. Half the people in this town despise her!''
``And the other half suck up to her so she'll get the dresses they want for the Christmas galas.'' I gave a hic- cough and realized I was fighting back tears.
Lexie tightened her arm around me. ``You've had a terri- ble shock. I'm so sorry, sweetie.''
``I'm okay. The police came right away. They were very nice to me.''
Her expression reflected genuine concern. ``Did you faint?''
I blanched. ``Yes. Dammit, I wish I could get over that tendency. It makes me feel like such an idiot.''
``You're just empathic. But there's nothing to worry SLAY BELLES 25 about now. Surely the police are looking at video tapes this minute. There must be security cameras all over that store. The killer will be caught in no time.''
``That's the thing. Somebody tampered with the security system.'' I told her about the power outage. ``All the cam- eras went off-line.''
``You mean someone from inside the store shut off the electricity?''
``Not just electricity, but the backup generator for the security systems, too. Someone really knew what they were doing.''
Lexie blew a sigh and shook her head. ``This is certainly going to be more bad news for Haymaker's.''
``More bad news?''
Lexie smiled wryly at my question. ``You listen to all the wrong gossip, sweetie. Haymaker's is performing poorly. It's the dreaded third-generation syndrome.''
``The what?''
``Alan Rutledge is the third generation to own the store. His granddaddy started by selling pencils on the street and built Haymaker's from nothing. Then Alan's father joined the biz and made it into a regional chain. The two of them worked like dogs to build Haymaker's, but they never showed Alan how to get his hands dirty. Now he's on his own, and he doesn't know how to mind the store. He'd rather go see a musical. It's a classic business story. The third generation bungles the family store.''
``Haymaker's is going out of business?''
``No, but the vultures are circling. I've heard a couple of big retailers are looking to buy out Haymaker's.''
``Maybe that's a good thing,'' I said. ``Alan will be free to enjoy what he really loves.''
Lexie nodded. ``He's a closet song-and-dance man. I heard a wild rumor he got engaged to Cindie Rae Smith. That can't be true, can it?''
``It can, and is. I saw Cindie Rae at the store tonight. She was acting as if she owned the place already. I think she's the closest Alan could get to a leading lady.''
Lexie leaned closer. ``Did you get a good look at her? I mean, is she as . . . enhanced as everyone says?''
``Put her in the warm sunshine and she'd melt like a Hershey bar.'' 26 Nancy Martin
``Ugh. I hear her Web site is beyond revolting, too. What is Alan thinking?''
``We both know what he's thinking.''
Lexie shuddered. ``Everybody knows I'd rather make money than love. I have no sex drive whatsoever. It's so messy, for one thing, and all those dreadful emotions that make people do crazy things like--Oh, sorry, sweetie. I didn't mean you.''
``No offense taken.''
Lexie wagged her head. ``But Alan . . . What a waste of a solid family fortune.''
I took a deep, steadying breath and let it out slowly. ``I can't believe Popo is dead.''
``Me neither. She may have been universally hated, but she was indispensable to a lot of my friends.''
Just a few minutes with Lexie had made me feel better. But I didn't want to spoil her party. ``Look, I should go. I'm sorry to bring bad tidings. I should have waited until morning to call you. But I thought I'd better stop by to apologize for not picking up your package in case it was something you needed tonight.''
``Oh, forget about that! Heavens, you shouldn't have bothered. It was only a little evening bag I planned to use next weekend.''
``A little evening bag?''
``Right. Popo called and said it would match a dress I'm wearing to a charity ball on Saturday. A Lettitia McGraw handbag.''
I couldn't help myself. I laughed.
She cocked her head. ``What's the story?''
``It's a very popular bag tonight, that's all. Look, I'd bet- ter run along. You have a lovely party to host, and I--''
``Don't beg off,'' she commanded, getting to her feet and extending her hand to help me up. ``You have to stick around. If nothing else, you could use a stiff drink, I'm sure. And everybody wants to see you.''
Although I simply wanted to go home to my own bed, I could hardly walk out without saying a few hellos. I picked up my bag with the sleeping puppy inside and shouldered it. ``All right. Tell me who's here.''
Elaine Viets & Victoria Laurie, Nancy Martin, Denise Swanson - Drop-Dead Blonde (v5.0) (pdf) Page 3