by Gayle Leeson
“Yeah,” Grandpa said, “I’m afraid Talbot might simply be trying to shift blame for Sandra’s death onto someone else.”
AFTER TALKING WITH Grandpa, I set up Max’s email account and then created her social media page using a cartoon flapper as her profile pic. She wasn’t terribly interested in the email account, but she was all about filling out her profile information. As she input her likes and joined online groups, I did two things: I worked on my remaining costume sketches for Beauty and the Beast, and I wondered if I’d come to regret creating this monster that was Max Online.
“I’ve just joined a group of people who enjoy silent movies,” she called. “And a group of people who love musicals.” She paused. “I suppose now I need to watch some musicals.”
“Okay,” I said absently.”
“Joined a book group! And another one...”
“Wonderful.”
Connie opened the door to the atelier and quickly stepped inside. Seeing Jazzy lying on the table near Max’s tablet, she gave the cat a pat on the head. “What’s wonderful?”
“The fact that I’m creating the design for the last really difficult costume for the play.” I thought I handled that pretty smoothly. “Have you been busy this morning?”
“Not terribly,” she said. “You know the old saying about rainy days and Mondays—and today, we have both. But I imagine traffic will pick up after lunch.”
“Did you have a nice weekend?” I asked, sketching a handle onto the chipped teacup costume.
Connie nodded. “It was peaceful. We ordered in both Saturday and yesterday and binge watched all the Toy Story movies.”
Max had moved closer to us. “What’s that? Is it something you think I’d like?”
At least, she’d stopped manipulating the tablet while Connie was in the room. The poor woman had suffered enough stress over the past week without thinking that either my tablet had a mind of its own or that she was going crazy.
“I love those movies,” I said.
“So do I.” She gave me a slight smile. “Even though I do always cry at some point while watching them.”
I laughed. “Me too.”
“Just wait until you’re a parent,” she said. “Then those outgrown toys take on even more significance.”
“Outgrown toys?” Max mused. “Sounds weird, but if you’ll find it for me, I’ll watch it.”
I gave her the briefest of nods before asking Connie, “Had you heard the rumors about Sandra Kelly and Blake Talbot?”
Her smile faded. “I had.”
“Did you believe them?”
Taking a moment and seemingly choosing her words carefully, she said, “The rumors were compelling—coming from so many different sources—but I try to give everyone the same consideration I’d want them to give me.”
“Judge not...?” I asked.
“Right. It’s easy to look at something standing outside of it and believe we know everything necessary to make a determination about it,” she said. “But, in fact, we know little about another person’s life—only what they choose to show us.”
“That’s true.” I glanced at Max to see that she also was at least considering the wisdom of Connie’s words. “I heard that Mr. Talbot denies having an affair with Sandra—currently, anyway—and that he and Sandra were trying to right a wrong.”
“What wrong?” Connie asked.
“They thought someone at Winter Garden was stealing.”
“That makes sense.” She slowly nodded. “When we were in college Sandy was the victim of identity theft. She had the worst ordeal trying to get everything sorted out and her credit repaired. She’d have done everything in her power to take down a thief. Do you think—?”
Holding my gold coloring pencil between my middle and index fingers, I raised my hand slightly. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Remember, Detective Cranston only said it appeared Sandra was murdered. “That hasn’t been confirmed.”
“Yes, it has,” she said. “He called me this morning and said the poison had been identified. It was nicotine.”
“Is there any way Sandra could’ve accidentally poisoned herself?” My mind scrambled to figure out how someone could inadvertently smoke too many cigarettes, but I drew a blank.
“No way. Her grandmother died of lung cancer after chain smoking for years. It made Sandy physically ill to even be in the same room with someone who was smoking.”
“I’m sorry. You came over to have a nice chat, and I’ve gone and made it stressful for you,” I said.
“No, you didn’t. I won’t breathe easily again until Sandy’s killer has been arrested.” She stood. “Hopefully, Blake Talbot can help the police make that happen. I’ll talk with you later.”
“How do you kill someone by smoking at them?” Max demanded after Connie left. “Is that even a thing?”
“I suppose the killer could do her in with secondhand smoke, but that wouldn’t be a speedy or effective cause of death.”
Placing her hand on her chest like a Shakespearean-trained actor, she said, “I shall see if there’s a murder club on here who can tell us how one would smoke another person to death.”
“Please don’t.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. Yeah, online Max might turn out to be a total nightmare.
“You’re right. Had I been clever enough to find a way to smoke someone to death, I might join a murder club to see if anyone brought it up. My asking about it could sound the alert.” She began to pace. “Where can we discover methods of smoking people to death?”
I lowered my hand and opened my eyes. “There are other forms of nicotine, you know. The killer wouldn’t necessarily have to use cigarettes.”
She looked at me as if I were crazy. “Nicotine in something other than a gasper? You mean, a pipe?”
“No, I’m talking about nicotine patches, for example. They’re designed to help people quit smoking.”
“A patch filled with nicotine to get you off gaspers?” She threw back her head and laughed. “What do they give people who want to get off the hooch—a martini?”
Rather than follow Max down that rabbit hole, I gave her a shrug and turned my attention back to the teacup. “What border do you think I should put on the cup?”
“The same one you put on the pot. They’re a set.” Anchoring her hands to her hips, she asked, “Are you going to help me figure out how this nicotine poison thing works, or not?”
I put down my pencil and opened my laptop.
{ }
Chapter Nineteen
F
rank rode with Grandpa and me to the school after work, so I didn’t get to tell Grandpa about nicotine poisoning being the cause of Sandra Kelly’s death or about the case studies Max and I discovered online. The yuckiest instance of poisoning we read about was where someone had soaked cigarette butts in water and then poured the water into something the victim drank. I believe the beverage used was some kind of hard liquor, but I found it hard to believe that anything could cover the taste of something as nasty as cigarette butt water.
Grandpa glanced over at me as he stopped at an intersection and said, “I accepted a social media connection from your friend Max today.”
Before I could respond, Frank said, “Ella is into all that stuff, but I don’t have much use for it myself. Oh, I do reckon it helps with the business—we see more people come in when we offer specials or discounts online—but I don’t feel the need to let people know what I’m doing every minute or to show them what I’m having for lunch.” He grunted. “Today, they’d have gotten to see a picture of a pack of peanut butter crackers.”
He went on to soliloquize the pros and cons of social media the entire way to Winter Garden. I was bored silly but impressed, nonetheless. I’d never heard Frank talk so much about anything.
When we arrived at the school, Frank was the first person out of Grandpa’s truck. I’d left Jazzy at Designs on You with Max and would get her when Grandpa dropped me back off. Ella had
taken her and Frank’s van home, so Grandpa had said he’d give Frank a lift after we finished up with rehearsal.
I hung back with Grandpa as Frank barreled through the door. “I believe he’s excited about this.”
“You think?” Grandpa grinned a he opened the door for us.
I spotted Zoe first thing. She was standing in the hallway talking with a haggard-looking woman with dishwater blonde hair. Zoe tried to walk away from her, but the woman gripped her arm.
Hurrying toward them, I said, “Hi, Zoe. Is everything okay?”
The woman released Zoe’s arm and turned baleful brown eyes on me. “Who’re you?”
“I’m Amanda Tucker. I’m doing costuming for the play.” I offered my hand but lowered it again when the woman ignored it.
“I’m Maggie Flannagan, and I’m trying to have a private conversation with my daughter.”
I looked from Maggie Flannagan to Zoe.
“I’ll be there in just a minute, Ms. Tucker,” Zoe said.
“All right.” I turned and headed toward the auditorium, but I walked slowly and kept my ears attuned to the hissed conversation behind me. If Zoe so much as gasped, I was going back.
“Everything good with Zoe?” Grandpa asked softly, falling into step beside me.
“I don’t know. She and her mom are having a pretty tense conversation.” I inclined my head. “Of course, Mom and I also have heated discussions. But after Sandra mentioned she didn’t think Zoe had a happy life at home, I guess I’m more inclined to look for signs of abuse or neglect.”
“Zoe’s a smart girl, Pup. If she needs help getting out of a bad situation, she’ll let you know.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I want to make sure she has plenty of opportunities.”
Zoe joined us in the auditorium a few minutes later.
“Hey, I’d like to talk with you after rehearsal,” I told her.
Her face hardened. “About what?”
“About the possibility of your helping out at Designs on You on Saturdays. I could use some help, but I don’t want to suffer through job applications and interviews, especially since the job is for only one day a week—and not even a full day at that.” I watched her expression relax and become hopeful. “Would you be interested?”
“Definitely!” She smiled.
“Good,” I said. “We can talk more about that later. At the moment, I need for you to round up our ottoman actor.”
“On it!”
As Zoe hurried off to find Carter Anthony, I pulled Frank away from Grandpa and Ford long enough to get an idea of how he wanted to create the cage part of the costume.
Zoe returned with a boy half a head shorter than she was. As I measured Carter from hip to ankle and from shoulder to hip, Frank walked around the two of us muttering to himself.
Once I’d finished noting the measurements, I asked Frank his opinion.
“Now that I’ve met the young man who’ll be tackling the role of this footstool and have seen the living room set, I’m poised to help make an exquisite costume.” He extended a hand for Carter Anthony to shake.
The young man with the sweet elfin face and square glasses looked at Zoe and me as he shook Frank’s hand with more than a little hesitancy because, in the blink of an eye, Frank Peterman had morphed into Pierre-Auguste Renoir. Or Edith Head. Or some strange combination of the two.
“Thank you, Frank,” I said.
“Happy to help. I’ll work on my design this evening when I get home.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Now, I need to go see if Dave and Ford need me. See you later.”
Zoe scrunched up her face after Frank left to join the other men in the hallway where they were working on the sets. “He’s kinda weird.”
I smiled. “I believe he’s delighted to be doing something challenging.”
“Cool.”
“Do you need me for anything else, Ms. Tucker?” Carter asked.
“No, thanks. I appreciate your patience, and I think you’re going to love your costume.”
He nodded. “Cool.”
I was glad to see the younger generation—even though they weren’t that much younger than I—still used our most common byword.
“So, who’s the next costume on our list?” Zoe asked, as Carter rejoined the rest of the cast.
“It’s the teacup,” I said. “Is Joey Conrad here?”
“Yeah, I saw him and his mom in the hall earlier.”
As Zoe went to track down our modern-day Dennis the Menace, I recalled my previous experience when he visited Designs on You. He’d brought his two ferrets—Biscuit and Gravy—into the shop in his backpack. They’d escaped and ran all over the first floor of Shops on Main, leaving quite a bit of excitement in their wake before Joey and his mother caught them.
Joey came in wearing his denim backpack along with jeans, a red and white striped shirt, and red sneakers. He beamed up at me. “I know you. You’re the lady who makes dresses.”
“That’s right, and I’m going to make your teacup costume.” I nodded toward the backpack. “I hope Biscuit and Gravy are at home watching TV today.”
“Heck, no. They’re right here. Wanna see?”
“No—” I began, but it was too late. Joey was handing me Biscuit, the albino ferret.
The cute little creature was too curious to be held, and it scurried over my shoulder and down my back. I squealed as Joey broke into a fit of giggles and Zoe dove for—but missed—the ferret.
By this time, Joey was holding the brown ferret—Gravy—who immediately spotted his companion dancing sideways across the back of the stage. Not wanting to miss out on the fun, Gravy scrambled out of Joey’s arms, grabbed my yellow tape measure, and skittered off to show Biscuit what it had stolen.
“Hey! Bring that back here!” My protest fell on deaf ears.
Alerted by the commotion, Sarah Conrad hurried over to try to ameliorate the situation. “Joey, I told you to leave Biscuit and Gravy at home.”
“Aw, Mom, they’re my best friends. They don’t like to be left out of stuff.”
With a sigh, she told him, “Help me round them up.”
“Zoe, please close the door going into the hallway but ask the men first if either of the ferrets came out there,” I said.”
“On it,” she said, making a beeline for the hall.
Hearing a scream, Sarah and I shared a quick look and then decided that was where we were most likely to find the ferrets. And we did—one of them anyway.
Gravy had lodged itself inside Kristen’s v-neck t-shirt and was struggling to get out.
“Get this thing off me!” Kristen shrieked. “It’s in my bra!”
“Do you blame it?” one of the guys joked.
“Hey, it has great taste, Kristen,” another teased.
“That’s enough,” I said. “Kristen, calm down and walk over here with me.”
“It’s scratching me!”
“Calm down.” I put my hand on her back. “Your panicking is scaring it.”
“I’m scaring it?” she demanded. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours, Kristen.” I rolled my eyes at Sarah Conrad who suppressed a smile as she shielded Kristen from onlookers. I took hold of Gravy. “Kristen, can you unhook your bra for a second?” Although I’d whispered the words, a whoop went up from the boys. “Guys, that’s enough!”
Kristen shook her head. “No way am I undoing my bra here.”
“Then we’re either going to have to walk over there to the fitting area or go to the ladies’ room,” I said.
“No!” She was adamant.
“Sweetie, you need to help us,” Sarah said softly. “Gravy is stuck.”
“I don’t want to touch it.” But she did manage—through her shirt—to get Gravy’s tiny paws extricated from her bra.
I lifted Gravy out and handed him to Sarah. “One down.”
“Seems like déjà vu, huh?” she asked.
With a smile, I resumed looking for Biscuit. I also ke
pt an eye out for my measuring tape that Gravy had absconded with. Dare I ask Kristen if it’s inside her shirt? One look at her murderous expression told me no...she’d return it later if she found it.
When we went back to the fitting area, Joey was sitting on a stool holding Biscuit. My tape measure was there on the floor. I was guessing Biscuit had taken the tape away from Gravy and hightailed it in the other direction.
Sarah held her hand out for the backpack. Joey gave it to her and hugged Biscuit before turning the ferret over to his mother.
“You can’t keep taking these ferrets everywhere you go,” Sarah told her son. “One day, something bad is going to happen to one of them.”
He nodded. “I know. I heard that girl screaming about Gravy getting in her bra. I never meant for him to get caught in a booby trap.”
Zoe burst out laughing and gave Joey a high five.
“You know, I bring my cat to work with me every day,” I said. “I bring her in a carrier. I bet you could find a small carrier for Biscuit and Gravy, Joey. They could see what’s going on and be right there with you, but they wouldn’t be able to run away and maybe get hurt.”
“Or wind up in booby traps,” Zoe added.
“He could leave them home like I tell him to,” Sarah said.
We all knew Joey wasn’t going to do that.
{ }
Chapter Twenty
I
insisted Grandpa take Frank home before taking me back to Shops on Main to get my car. He knew me well enough not to argue, even though he was going a fair distance out of his way to take Frank home first.
“Ella probably has his dinner waiting,” I said.
“Maybe.” Frank smiled slightly. “Probably. She’s a good woman, you know. I probably don’t show her enough appreciation.”
I thought it was more likely the other way around, but I didn’t say so. We dropped Frank off, waved goodbye, and headed back to Shops on Main.
“So, what’s on your mind, Pup?”
Since we hadn’t eaten before rehearsal, my stomach was beginning to think my throat had been cut. “Let me buy us some food to take back to the shop. I want to talk with you...and with Max, if she’s there.”