by Gayle Leeson
When we walked into Designs on You with burgers and fries, I told Grandpa, “This place always seems kinda eerie when no one else is here.”
“Yeah. You’d almost think it was haunted.” He smirked.
Max appeared in front of us and jutted out her hip. “Did I hear someone talking about me?”
“Almost, darlin’,” he said. “Almost.”
“Was it true?” She pursed her lips. “If not, make it an outlandish tale. I want to be remembered.”
“I don’t know how anyone who’d ever met you could forget you, Max,” Grandpa said.
“Neither do I.” I placed the bag of food on the worktable. “I need to talk with you both.”
“Uh-oh.” Max raised her brows. “This sounds serious.”
“It is. A little.” I put my straw in my drink and took a sip of my soda before announcing, “I’ve hired Zoe to work here on Saturdays.” I watched them both to gauge their reactions, but I was most interested in what Max thought.
“All right.” Grandpa drew out the words, as if he was wondering why I’d deemed that a serious topic of conversation.
“After seeing her in the hall with her mom and getting the impression that their relationship is particularly tense, I thought about what you said, Grandpa. If Zoe’s situation is bad, maybe she’ll confide in me. But only if she trusts me.” I unwrapped my burger. “She isn’t going to trust me if she doesn’t know me.”
“So, you hired her to work with you one day a week,” Max said. “That makes sense.”
“That, and I can definitely benefit from the help. I’ll have to go pick Zoe up before work on Saturday mornings,” I said, “and take her home at the end of the day, since she doesn’t have transportation. I mean, I suppose she could ask her mom to bring her, but I don’t really see her doing that.”
“Can you afford it?” Grandpa asked.
“I can since it’s for only for four hours a week. I told her that when I become better established—and she gets her own car, although I didn’t point that out—maybe we can negotiate something steadier.” I turned my attention to Max. “I hate to tie up our Saturdays like this—”
“But if it might help the girl, then you should definitely do it,” Max interrupted.
I smiled at her. “Thanks. I knew you’d understand. Plus, she’ll have to get her mother’s permission, and based on the way the woman behaved at the school, she might not allow Zoe to work here.”
“Hey, maybe Zoe could be my friend on social media.” Max smiled at the thought. “I have ten people liking me already, including the two of you.”
“Just wait,” Grandpa said. “Before you know it, you’ll have thousands of people liking you. I mean, who wouldn’t like you?”
“Truer words were never spoken, Dave.” She grinned.
As Grandpa and I ate our dinner, Max and I told him about Sandra Kelly’s cause of death and the weird case studies we found where people had poisoned their victims using nicotine.
“Since Connie said Sandra Kelly had an aversion to smoking, this definitely rules out her death being an accident,” I said.
“Not that we ever doubted it.” Max glanced from one of us to the other. “Well, I didn’t.”
WHEN I GOT HOME, I gave Jazzy some wet food. She’d had dry kibble in her bowl at the shop, but she was acting as if I’d starved her for a week.
I was getting ready to take a bath, put on my pajamas, and watch television when Jason called.
“Hi, there,” I said. “This is a nice surprise.”
He’d been so busy with school events lately that I hadn’t expected to hear from him until tomorrow.
“I have an even bigger surprise. I’m with Blake Talbot, and he wants to speak with you.”
“What?” Why in the world would Blake Talbot want to talk with me? “Okay...put him on.”
“We’d like to come over,” Jason said. “That is, if it isn’t too late.”
“No. That’s fine.” Curiosity would’ve made me say that even if it was midnight rather than eight p.m.
“Are you sure? We can try for tomorrow if you’d rather not have us barge in on you tonight.”
“Tonight is fine,” I repeated.
After ending the call, I wondered again what Blake Talbot could possibly want with me. I was only making some costumes for the play. I had nothing to do with the budget or anything concerning the production’s finances. Mr. Talbot had to know that Mrs. Berry had taken over all the administrative duties.
Fortunately, I didn’t have long to wait. Jason and Mr. Talbot must’ve been nearby. Upon reflection, Jason had likely phoned me on the way to my house, knowing I’d agree to meet with them. Did that make me a pushover? I hoped not, but I decided I’d worry about that later. Tonight, it suited my purposes to rearrange my plans—such as they were—to accommodate a man I wanted to interrogate.
When the men arrived, Jason greeted me with a peck on the lips before introducing me to Blake Talbot.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Talbot,” I said.
“Please call me Blake.” His eyes darted around my living room as if he was trying to ascertain what sort of person lived here. Well, the joke was on him. This had been my parents’ home before they’d moved to Florida, and I’d left the house much the same. The only rooms I’d redecorated were my bedroom and the guestroom, which I’d turned into a sewing room.
“Would either of you like something to drink before we sit down?” I asked.
Both declined. Jason sat on the sofa, and I sat beside him. Blake perched on the edge of the armchair facing us.
“I realize how strange it must seem for me to ask to see you this evening,” Blake began. “And before you ask, no, Jason and I were not out drinking again.” He gave an uncomfortable chortle.
“I wasn’t going to ask.” What business was it of mine whether he and Jason had met at a bar or not?
“Oh...right. Well.”
I wanted the man to quit floundering and get to the point. “Go ahead and spit it out,” I prodded, smiling to soften my words.
“All right. Jason said he told you Sandy and I were working on taking down an embezzler.”
“He did. I understand you believe the bookkeeper is the one stealing funds,” I said.
“Right. We don’t—” He sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “We thought it had to be Kramer. No one else has the access he does.”
“Are you sure about that?” I thought there were always checks and balances in place to ensure no one could easily steal from a school. Of course, I could be wrong.
Blake spread his hands. “He’s the most likely culprit.”
“Please pardon my ignorance,” I said, “but I don’t see how I can be of any help in this matter. I have nothing to do with the finances for the play. Mrs. Berry is in charge now. Have you spoken with her?”
“No.” He lowered his eyes. “Mrs. Berry doesn’t care for me very much.”
“The woman was vocal in expressing her disdain for Blake’s friendship with Sandy,” Jason explained.
Blake nodded. “Yeah. She made it clear loudly and often. But I wondered if Sandy had discussed any of this with you?”
“No,” I said. “I only met her twice—once at the school and then for lunch at the Down South Café where we discussed the costumes the day she was...found.”
“I understand.” Blake still didn’t raise his head.
Turning to Jason, I asked, “You mentioned the band director?”
“I did,” Jason confirmed. “Blake talked with him earlier today, and he said he’d go back through his ledger.”
“So that’s promising.”
“Not really,” Blake said. “He wasn’t convincing. Everybody thought Sandy and I were having an affair and that I’ve concocted this story to explain why we were together so often...you know, now that she’s gone.”
“Does everybody include your wife?” I asked.
Jason gaped at me, and Blake finally looked up. M
ax would’ve been proud of me.
“Martha didn’t know how much time I’d been spending with Sandy.” Blake’s eyes filled. “I tried to keep it from her.”
He tried. Sounds like maybe he didn’t succeed. I’d love to know what Martha Talbot is thinking.
AS SOON AS JASON AND Blake left, I logged onto social media and checked the message feature to see whether Max was online. She was, so I sent her a video chat request.
She accepted but didn’t know quite how it was supposed to work at first. “Hello? Are you—? Oh! Yes, there you are. I can see you!” She laughed. “Do you see me?”
“I do. I’m glad you’re online.” I told her about my meeting with Jason and Blake Talbot.
“The wife knows,” she said. “I’d bet my last sawbuck on it. You didn’t happen to see a pack of gaspers on the guy, did you?”
“No, I don’t believe he smokes.” I recalled how he’d teared up when I’d asked about his wife. “Why do you think Blake killed Sandy?”
“I didn’t say that, darling. Imagine what delicious revenge the wife could have if she killed the woman she believed to be her husband’s lover and framed him for the murder.” She rested her chin in her hands. “But since he doesn’t smoke, it appears that bucket has a hole in it.”
“Actually, Max, your theory could still hold water. I wonder if Martha Talbot is a smoker?”
{ }
Chapter Twenty-One
I
’d had an idea sometime during the night, so on Tuesday morning, I went up to see Jason as soon as I’d gotten Jazzy settled.
“Hi.” I smiled at him from the doorway as I watched him packing up his gear for the day.
“Hi, yourself.” He walked over to me. “You look stunning.”
“Thank you.”
He pulled me into the studio, closed the door behind us, and gave me a proper kiss. I almost forgot what I’d gone there to tell him. Almost.
“I had an idea last night,” I said. “What if Blake asked his wife to help with the play? I don’t know what her strengths are, but maybe she could befriend Mrs. Berry and let her know Blake’s suspicions about Kramer. It could also help save his marriage.” I shrugged. “He didn’t say so, but I believe he’s concerned about it.”
Jason nodded. “He’s afraid of losing everything. He’s already lost Sandra—even though they weren’t having an affair, he loved her once...maybe still—and he doesn’t want to lose his family.” He caressed my cheek and ran his thumb over my lower lip before kissing me again. “You’re wonderful, you know that?”
“I try.” I nodded toward the equipment. “Where are you off to today?”
“John S. Battle High,” he said. “I hope to see you later.”
“I hope so too. But for now, we’d both better get to work.”
I HADN’T SEEN MAX ALL morning. I imagined that she’d used up too much energy last night exploring the world of social media.
While I was cutting out the teacup pattern, I heard someone come into the reception area. I put down my scissors and went to the front room.
“Hi, there. Welcome to Designs on You,” I said. “What can I help you find?”
The woman, who was in her mid- to late-fifties and dressed in a floor-length fur coat, said, “I want an extravagant Cleopatra costume for Halloween. I’m talking Liz Taylor in the 1963 movie with Burton.” She spread her hands. “Gold cape, headdress, the whole nine yards.”
“All right.” I went over to the desk and got my laptop. “Let’s have a seat and make sure we’re on the same page.”
I sat on one of the navy chairs by the window, and the Cleo wannabe sat on the other. I opened the laptop and did an image search for the Cleopatra movie starring Elizabeth Taylor. And, there she was in all her glory.
Max popped in to look over my shoulder. “Oh...Elizabeth Taylor. She’s the one you compared Jason’s ex—the tomato—to?”
Nodding, I turned the screen around to my customer.
“I see it,” Max said. “A little. Carla isn’t as pretty as this woman.”
I silently agreed. The more I got to know Carla, the less attractive she became to me.
The woman I was now referring to in my mind as Cleo turned the screen back toward me. “Yes. That one right there—the dress with the one bare shoulder—that’s the one I want. But I also want the gold cape and the headdress just like in the picture to the right of this one. Can you do that?”
“I can.” I stood and placed the laptop back on the desk. “Let me get my notebook and tape measure.”
Cleo’s words stopped me before I got to the atelier. “How much is this gonna set me back? Fifty to seventy-five dollars?”
Max guffawed. “In her dreams maybe.”
I turned back toward Cleo. “There’s no way I can design a custom gown so inexpensively, especially not one this intricate.”
Cleo gave me an exaggerated blink. “It’s. A. Halloween. Costume.”
It was incredibly hard for me not to throw her condescending attitude right back in her entitled face. “It’s an intricately-designed and made gown. And a cape. And a headdress.”
“I saw something similar on a costume site for just over forty dollars,” Cleo said.
“Then I think you should probably buy it,” I said.
“Well!” And with that, Cleo dramatically stood and flounced out of Designs on You.
“Now you’re on the trolley!” Max exclaimed.
“Thank you.” I laughed. “I’m glad I didn’t waste much time on that endeavor. And I’m happy to see you. I’m guessing you had a long night.”
“I was exhausted when I finally faded out of here sometime in the wee hours of the day. I’m going to have to learn to pace myself,” she said. “But there are so many fascinating things on that social media thing.”
Jazzy heard Max talking with me in the reception area and got out of her bed to join us.
“Hello, lovely.”
The cat sat and looked up at her.
Max sighed. “I wish I could hold her.”
“The fact that you can’t might be the reason she loves you so much,” I said. “By the way, I had a thought about Martha Talbot. I mentioned to Jason this morning that he might speak with Blake about having Martha become involved in the play. I thought it could help expose the embezzler, but it would also mean I could learn more about her.”
She smiled. “Ah, Nancy Drew, we’re at it again.”
“Speaking of investigations, I forgot to tell you I’ve found more out about Dot’s son, Dwight,” I said. “He was an auto mechanic and married a woman named Penny Sue Delp.”
“Did they have children?” she asked, leaning forward.
I nodded and felt a lump form in my throat. “Three. Two daughters and a son. Maxine, Grace, and Dwight.”
“Maxine.” The word emerged as a whisper. “For his sister, of course.”
“And, I imagine, for his mother’s beloved sister.” I patted her hand, but of course, I was touching thin air.
FRANK DIDN’T ACCOMPANY us to rehearsal that evening. He said he planned on staying at home in his workshop and painting the ottoman fabric. I was glad to have Grandpa to myself so we could speak freely about Max, Sandra Kelly’s murder, and anything else that happened to cross our minds.
When we parked at the school, I spotted Blake Talbot standing by the door talking with a woman. She was slightly plump, had dark hair, and wore sunglasses. I realized they were standing outside because she was smoking. A chill snaked down my spine.
I exchanged a glance with Grandpa before we walked toward the door.
“Mrs. Talbot, I assume?” he said under his breath.
“That’s my guess.”
When we got to the door, I saw that the woman wasn’t smoking but, in fact, vaping. I wasn’t sure what the difference was except I knew vaping involved electronic cigarettes.
“Amanda.” Blake greeted me with a broad smile. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Martha.”
&nb
sp; “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said. “This is my grandfather Dave Tucker. He’s also helping out with the production.”
“Don’t worry—I’m not making dresses,” Grandpa said. “I’m just helping with the sets.”
Since Martha hadn’t made an effort to speak to us yet, Blake filled in the gap. “Sweetie, Amanda is Jason’s girl. Remember? I told you about her.”
“Yeah. Sure.” She puffed on her vape pen, which looked a lot like a USB drive.
He tried again but lowered his voice this time. “It was Amanda’s idea to have you get involved with the play so that you can tell Mrs. Berry you suspect Kramer of embezzling.”
“Joy,” Martha said flatly.
“We’d better get inside,” I told Grandpa. “Blake, nice seeing you again. And, Martha...” I didn’t want to say it was a pleasure meeting her because it certainly hadn’t been. “See you in the auditorium, I guess.”
Once the door had closed behind us and he felt confident we were out of earshot, Grandpa said, “Well, Martha is a pure delight.”
“Isn’t she though?”
{ }
Chapter Twenty-Two
I
met up with Zoe in the auditorium. I still needed to get measurements for the wardrobe, clock, and candlestick.
“Would you mind gathering up the actors for our remaining costumes?” I asked. “After tonight, I should be out of your hair for a while.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, I thought I could work on the costumes at my shop in the evenings and get them finished quicker.” I took out the notepad where I was keeping my measurements and then took a pen from the pocket of my tote.
“But...” Zoe hesitated. Looking back, I realized she was coming up with an excuse for me to have to be there at the school. “But won’t you need to be here if your volunteers have questions? And what if an actor gets sick or something, and you have to make last-minute adjustments to your measurements? Wouldn’t it be better to do that before you make the costume?”