by Julie Chase
Jack was at the coffee stand with a small blonde and two redheads when I arrived in search of a refill to go. One of the redheads was a natural strawberry blonde. The other had the kind of fiery vixen red that came only from the hands of a professional colorist. I admired her bravery. I rarely cut my pale blonde locks, and I never colored them. Too many bad things happened in the beauty parlors of my mind, like errant dye jobs that resulted in unchangeable wicked-witch green and bangs that barely reached my forehead.
Jack’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he noticed me, and the women all turned to see what had caused his sudden smile.
I waited while he brushed them off and made his way in my direction, looking like a million bucks in his tailored suit and black silk tie. “Good morning,” he said. “You look nice.”
“Back at ya.” I gave the tip of his tie a gentle tug. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the rich-guy look on you.”
“I’m always a rich guy.”
“Yeah, but there’s normally a badge right here.” I smoothed the tie against his chest where the detective shield usually hung and smiled.
“You prefer that guy?” he asked, a distinctly serious look in his eyes.
I chewed my lip, making a show of choosing my words, though they’d been ready since the moment he’d posed the question. “I think I just like you,” I said with a noncommittal shrug of one shoulder.
Jack rubbed a broad hand over his smiling lips. “Back at ya,” he said, repeating my words in a voice that made my knees weak. “How are you feeling this morning? You said you were fine last night, but a second threat in twenty-four hours is a lot to take in, and I didn’t want to press you. Sometimes things are a lot clearer in the morning.”
“I think that expression is supposed to mean we realize things are not such big deals once we sleep on them.”
He stared. “This is an enormous deal.”
I rocked my head side to side. “I know, but as far as threats go, I’ve had worse, and technically the notes aren’t threats. The first one only said STOP, and the second said I’d been warned, which wasn’t wholly accurate, and it also wasn’t a threat, just an incorrect statement.” I forced a tight smile, hoping the false bravado fooled Jack, but I knew it wouldn’t. Very little ever did. “I’m more worried about what to prepare for the Fall Food Festival than those notes right now. I’ve got zero ideas and the board wants to use the festival as a testing ground to gauge interest and opinion on a new line of pet-friendly products. I’m not convinced that anything I come up with will be as good once it’s been mass-manufactured, bottled, freeze-dried, or frozen. And if the flavor is lost in translation, I don’t want my name on it. Grandpa Smacker shouldn’t either. So, that’s a ton of pressure.”
Jack stepped a little closer. “You don’t have to worry about any of that anymore. I roped you into working here so we could catch a bad guy, and we did. You don’t have to stay. Your life is already busy enough without this place, and these guys can figure it out on their own.”
“I know,” I said, “but I like giving people safe nutritional options for their pets. In that regard, I’m helping to make animals healthier, and if I don’t make these products, someone else will, and the next person might not care as much about what goes into them.”
A warm smile graced Jack’s face. He’d told me once that it was my passion that had drawn him to me, even before we’d officially met. He’d seen me admiring my artwork on the window at Furry Godmother and taken notice. Of course, it’s that same passion that has put me on his bad side regularly these days. “Have dinner with me.”
I smiled. “I thought the dinner invitation was a lure to get me to come over and give you a written statement. I already did that.”
Jack’s steady gaze raked over me. “Have dinner with me,” he repeated.
My toes curled in my vintage pumps. “Okay.” The answer came more softly than I’d intended, but his smile inched a little taller on each side.
“Okay,” he said, eyes heated with pleasure. “It’s a date.”
I tucked a long barrel curl behind my ear and traded my coffee for a bottle of water because it seemed to be getting warmer in the narrow hallway. “How’s your investigation coming along? Anything new come up since you left my place last night?”
“Actually, yes,” he said. “I was planning to share the details over dinner, but since you asked, I doubt I can keep it from you that long.”
I grinned. “Go on.”
“I missed your marketing meeting because I was on the phone with someone from my team down at the station. They pulled Mr. North in for questioning first thing this morning.”
“North?” I felt my eyes go wide. “What did he say? Was I right? Was there money in that envelope?”
Jack nodded. “It was a bribe. North called it ‘padding palms’ and confirmed bribery as part of the pageant culture. Apparently, he and Viktor had an arrangement for special treatment and placement of North’s cat. So, when Viktor died, North knew the money had been wasted, and he needed it back to try to make a similar arrangement with someone else.”
“North tossed the room because he was in a hurry to find the money before someone caught him in there,” I said.
“Yep, and he claims not to have known how much was in the envelope when he took it. He’d only expected to get the five grand back that he’d given Viktor.”
“Five? So others were paying Viktor too.” I’d assumed the whole thirty-eight large had come from Mr. North, but it made sense that no one owner would pay so much for the fifty-thousand-dollar prize, now that I thought about it. Though the sponsorships and opportunities that came with the win would’ve amounted to much more. How many other owners had Viktor lied to? “Wait a minute. There will only be three finalists, and one of those gets crowned as the pageant winner, but if each briber gave Viktor five grand, then why did he have more than fifteen in his desk?”
Jack watched me as I worked it out for myself.
“He was taking advantage of people,” I said. “As if taking bribes isn’t bad enough, he let more than three people bribe him knowing full well they couldn’t all be finalists, and no one could tell on him because what they’d done was illegal. This pageant is totally corrupt,” I said sadly. Why couldn’t people just be honest, do their best, and accept the results?
“I agree,” Jack said, “North and his cat were pulled from the lineup. They’ve been disqualified for unsportsmanlike behavior and banned for life. It’s a good start toward cleaning things up over there.”
“I’m glad,” I said. “Mrs. Smart will be happy to know that kind of thing won’t happen again, though I think she’ll be brokenhearted to know it happened at all. She’s nearly as uptight as my mother when it comes to her husband’s pageant.” I checked my watch. “I bet one of the more than five people who tried to pay Viktor off found out what he was up to and lashed out. I want to stay and talk, but I have to go. I need to fill the bakery display at Furry Godmother before I open, and I’m sure traffic has picked up by now.”
Jack wet his lips and shifted his weight. “There was something else I’d planned to talk to you about later,” he said, “but it’s probably best I let you know in case something happens between now and then.”
I froze, unable to imagine what had made Jack look so uncomfortable. “What?”
“The case we have against Eva is getting stronger the more we dig, and she’s not talking, which makes her look like she has something to hide. If she doesn’t fill in the blanks or find someone to corroborate her claim that she walked onto the balcony after hearing the crash, I might be forced to arrest her. Right now, all we have in her defense is her word, and it won’t be enough much longer.”
“I’ll talk to her,” I said.
Jack nodded. “See you later?”
“Yeah.” I capped my water bottle and hurried back through the lobby and into the beating sun. I’d been so preoccupied with the personal threats, the increased business at my sho
p, and my promotion to judge that I hadn’t taken the time to talk to the one person who could shed some light on what the heck had happened in that balcony.
My daily to-do list was already filled to capacity, but I was suddenly itching to add one more thing to the schedule.
I needed to talk to Eva.
Chapter Eleven
Furry Godmother encourages good posture; otherwise the crown slips.
I had to park around the corner from Furry Godmother, but I managed to snag the last spot on the block, so I called it a win. I’d hoped to arrive in time to fill the bakery display and tidy up after yesterday’s crowds, but I’d spent more time talking to Jack than I’d realized, and it was nearing ten when I landed on Magazine Street. Instead of having my pick of parking, I had to outmaneuver every other business owner and employee who was also running a bit late for a ten AM opening. Early-bird shoppers were already drifting through the doors of local cafés, toting iced coffees and pastry bags with their leftover breakfast items inside. I had to hustle if I was going to make my shop presentable before it got too busy to bother.
Much as I wanted to grumble about people who rolled out of bed ready for a public appearance and a little shopping before noon, I could appreciate the benefits. Like being able to breath the air instead of bathe in it.
My meticulously blown-out hair was stuck to my neck, cheeks, and forehead before I rounded the corner at the Frozen Banana smoothie shop. I stopped in front of the open glass doors, and the arctic blast of air-conditioning called to me. Sweet scents of spun sugar, fresh-baked waffle cones, and homemade fudge rolled out and tugged me closer. Frozen Banana was delicious any time of day and my favorite place to go when I was in a mood. For two extra dollars, they’d add a shot of coconut rum to my pineapple-and-orange smoothie. No judgment. And it was amazing. I slowed at the threshold, debating a frozen coffee but unsure how I’d carry it with the stack of bakery boxes already in my hands.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” a scratchy voice asked. The sound was about three octaves lower than any I’d ever heard pose the question.
I stepped back a few paces and twisted at the waist in search of the person that went with the voice. A homeless man under a pile of coats despite the raging heat sat beside the Frozen Banana’s door. I craned my neck for a look at him around my stack of boxes. I hadn’t noticed him until he spoke, but now he had my full attention. “Actually, I do,” I answered, leaning in for a better look at the shiny crown on his ratty hair. The little silver accessory was strikingly familiar, and the design pattern of its Swarovski crystal accents bore an uncanny resemblance to a crown I’d had inside my little pink tackle box last night. The thought made no sense because I’d lost the tackle box at the Tea Room near the zoo, a long way from here. Though he certainly could have taken a walk in that direction, it seemed strange that he’d wound up on the sidewalk so near my shop.
“I like your crown,” I said.
“Thank you.” He stuck his hands out at me, as if to show off a new manicure. “Do you like my new rings?”
I squinted against the sunlight and dropped into a squat just out of the man’s reach. His breath nearly knocked me over, more from the sharp tang of alcohol than poor hygiene, which was another issue all its own. From my new vantage point I could clearly see a row of sticky-backed gems clinging haphazardly to his dirty forehead and a shimmer of glimmer paint across his bronzed skin. I’d used gems exactly like his to decorate Penelope’s hard plastic carrier. They’d been in my tackle box too, along with a matching bottle of shimmer.
The man’s eyelids drooped, then his head, and he began to snore.
“Sir?” I said. “Excuse me, sir?”
He didn’t respond, so I stood and nudged him with the toe of my white leather pump, lightly at first, then a little harder.
“Hey!” I gave his thigh a series of little kicks until his eyes opened again.
“Do I look pretty?”
I put my foot securely back under me and baby-stepped away. “Yes. Very pretty. Can you tell me where you got your beautiful tiara and makeup?”
“They were gifts from Her Highness.”
“Who?” I scanned the street for signs of someone fitting the regal description. All I saw were tourists. “Who is Her Highness?”
“The paper lady,” he said, swinging an arm in the direction of my store.
“Paper lady?” I took a few steps in that direction, and my overturned tackle box came into view on the ground beside the bench outside my shop door. The shadow of someone just inside sent a rush of panic through me. “Thank you,” I told the man as I speed-walked toward Furry Godmother, trying not to topple my bakery boxes in the rush.
I stopped, speechless, a moment later and stared.
There was no one inside like I’d thought. The shadow I’d seen was only a near life-sized paper cut out in the shape of a person taped to my door. She was covered in sticky beads, wore a scribbled-on paper crown, and had dark-black Xs for eyes, like the ones stitched onto the stuffed cat I’d been delivered. Unlike the cat, the paper lady had a lolling red tongue hanging from the straight line that represented her mouth, and she’d been thoroughly hosed over with red craft paint.
The part of me who was still grasping at straws insisted this wasn’t a threat either, it was just really bad art, but the rest of me wasn’t listening to the lie.
My knees knocked painfully as I lowered the boxes onto the bench and freed my phone from my handbag. I took photos of the threat, as was my new daily routine, and sent them to Jack, then sat beside my bakery boxes. I wasn’t sure if opening the door and going inside would contaminate the crime scene.
What I knew for sure was that it was going to be a long day.
Jack arrived nine minutes later and drove partially onto the sidewalk instead of looking for a proper parking space. He jumped out in jeans and a T-shirt, detective badge in place, mirrored aviators hiding his eyes. “You okay?”
I nodded to assure him I was, but my mouth still said “No.”
“You’re smart to sit out here and keep watch,” he said. “You’re safer in public, and your presence probably kept some derelict from taking any of the evidence.”
I went along with the idea I was “keeping watch” instead of what I really was, too scared to move.
He crouched by the toppled tackle box. “This the one you were missing?”
“Yep.”
“Any witnesses?” he asked, looking at the curious faces all around. No one spoke up.
I pointed to the heap of coats by the Frozen Banana. “That guy is wearing one of my crowns, and he told me about the paper lady. I don’t know if he saw anything or if he helped himself to the bling.”
Jack stretched onto his feet. “All right. I’ll bag this up, then you can go ahead and open for the day, if that’s what you want to do. I’ll talk to the guy with the crown when I finish. Doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere.”
I watched while Jack returned to his truck and pulled his black shoulder bag out with a yank. He snapped on blue latex gloves and bagged the items on the sidewalk first, smoothing yellow labels over each and scratching his initials in the corners.
Imogene stepped through the little cluster of people at the corner beside Jack’s truck and gasped long and loud when she saw the mess. She grasped the pendant on her necklace as she inched closer to the door. “Have mercy,” she whispered. The paper lady was about Imogene’s height, and the two seemed to stare one another down. “This meant for you?” she asked, flicking her gaze in my direction.
“Unless you’ve got a crafty enemy,” I said hopefully.
Imogene looked into the sky, closed her eyes, and mumbled something incoherent with one hand raised overhead. Then she got busy digging through her mammoth handbag.
Jack peeled the paper lady off the window and rolled her carefully. “This paint is getting all over.” He looked at me as he stuffed her into a large bag. “Paint that hasn’t fully dried in this heat couldn’t have b
een here too long.”
That sparked another question in my mind. “How’d you get here so fast?” I asked. He must’ve left Grandpa Smacker’s right behind me to have changed and gotten here so quickly. My search for parking and chitchat with the homeless prince hadn’t amounted to more than ten minutes.
“I left right after you. Got the texts that you needed me when I was already en route to the Tea Room.”
“You were in a suit thirty minutes ago. How’d you have time to change? Do you keep an extra detective costume at the office?”
He looked down at himself and frowned. “I keep a couple of suits at the office. I like to come and go in my detective costume.”
I smiled.
Jack stuffed the evidence into his black shoulder bag and rolled his shoulders. “You’re going to need to lay low until I can get a handle on who’s doing this,” he said. “I know you’re going to argue, but please don’t.”
“How am I supposed to lay low?” I asked.
He blew out a gust of frustration.
“I’m a judge at the pageant that got this nut’s attention to start with.”
“Quit.”
“Can’t. My mother will kill me.” Better to take my chances with the murderer.
He smiled.
Imogene pulled a stick of wood from her handbag, then flicked a sliver lighter to life and lit the stick’s end.
Jack and I watched, dumbstruck.
“You carry sticks in your purse?” I asked.
She waved it at me. “This isn’t a stick. It’s a plane of Palo Santo, holy wood. It’ll help clean up all that bad juju you’ve got going on right here.” She dropped the lighter back into her purse, then swung her empty palm in giant circles, indicating my entire self.
I choked on the string of stinky smoke coming off her stick as she marched around me.
“Stop,” I whined, gagging on the cloudy air.
Jack stepped out of her way as she went for a second pass.
Imogene stopped on the third trip and stood in front of me to blow out the stick. She held it across her palms like an offering. “Spit on it, then keep it under your pillow and light it as needed to defend your juju.”