Myrtle took to laughing.
“No, I mean it; he actually shit himself. At least that’s what I was told.”
Both women laughed at this and then Emma continued. “The police are holding her, but I don’t think they know what to do with her. I hear they can’t decide what to charge her with, if anything at all.”
“Poor Stella,” Myrtle replied, who didn’t really sound all that sympathetic.
“I called them this morning because I want them to send her to the rehab centre, but they said they couldn’t just yet.”
“I’ll call the girls to cancel today’s session,” Myrtle said.
“See if they want to have it tonight,” Emma directed. “Ask them and let me know.”
Bill lowered his binoculars and gave Emma a dirty look that she knew meant that he didn’t approve of them meeting that night. He didn’t approve because they had plans that night that involved being home alone. Plans that now had to change because Emma had juicy gossip that couldn’t be put off too long, as juicy gossip only stayed juicy for so long. Juicy gossip had a short lifespan and a fast approaching expiration date. His plans would have to wait until Emma was good and ready, as usual. Nothing much he could say about that. He sneered at Emma, sipped some tea, and then went back to his binoculars. Emma ended her call with Myrtle and then dialled another number. She just had to call Agatha and see if she knew about the flowers being left at the bottom of the steps of the late Charlie Baker’s old apartment. A part of her hoped Agatha didn’t know, so she could be the one to tell her. Emma smiled as Agatha picked up the call.
“You’ll never guess what I’m looking at,” Emma exclaimed to Agatha.
“What now?” Agatha replied in frustration as Emma burst into giggles.
23
“Where the hell were you?” Trudy barked as she closed the bedroom door so her daughter couldn’t hear them.
“I texted you earlier that I had a last-minute showing to do,” Marci replied as she slipped off her battered, brown leather driving gloves while Trudy watched angrily.
Trudy hated those stupid brown driving gloves. Marci always dressed sexily, which was one of the things that had attracted Trudy to Marci the most. Before they had started seeing each other Marci had always come to Trudy’s office in tight business suits, showing off her curves and those long legs. But those stupid driving gloves always clashed with the outfits and Trudy hated them. She even bought her a new pair of black leather gloves. Marci had thanked her for them. Then she had proceeded to tuck them away in her underwear drawer and kept on wearing those stupid battered ones. Marci never admitted to Trudy that the black gloves she had given her were cheap, stiff imitation leather and so she didn’t like them.
“That was two hours ago!” Trudy screamed. “You know I worry.”
“I know,” Marci replied. “But you don’t need to.”
“You’re cheating on me, aren’t you?” Trudy asked, tears running down her face.
“You know that’s not true,” Marci replied. “I flirt, yes. But you of all people knew that when you and I started seeing each other.”
“I know,” Trudy said.
“It makes me feel good,” Marci said, referring to her flirtatious nature. She faced Trudy and gripped her shoulders. Trudy, who was already shorter than her lover, shrunk a little in her grasp as Marci spoke on. “Flirting makes me feel alive. I can’t help it.”
“I know that but I just wish I was enough for you.”
“You are more than enough. I flirt but I’d never cheat on you.”
“How am I supposed to know that?” Trudy replied.
Marci hooked her fingers in Trudy’s waistband, pulled her close, and kissed her passionately. She did this before Trudy could say another word. Marci was tired of fighting.
24
A small sign sat in the front window just under the big red letters that read Vernon’s Meats. The small white, neatly hand-printed sign read Sale on Sausages. Vernon was behind the counter in a blood-stained apron, talking to a customer about his hand-made sausages and how he had a secret combination of spices that made them like nothing else on the market. His secret was really some spices and a red wine marinade and not even his wife knew that. The only person who knew this was his accountant because he saw the receipts for the wine and had asked about it. That’s when Vernon told his accountant that if he mentioned this to anyone about the wine marinade, he would kill him. And kill him he would and make sausages out of his fat ass. Vernon was a burly, imposing man, and although he would never hurt a fly the accountant got the distinct impression that Vernon might just have meant that threat, and so it was best to keep the butcher’s secret. It’s always a good idea to be nice to the man with the big, sharp knives who carved meat for a living.
Sadie walked in, clutching her large purse to her side, and went directly to the freezer where Vernon kept the meat pies he made using his late mother’s recipe. She took out a beef pie, looked at it sourly, and exchanged it for a chicken meat pie instead.
“Hey, hon,” Vernon said in his gravelly voice. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
Sadie knew exactly what he meant as she watched the older lady whom he had been serving walk past her and leave with her purchases. He was wondering why she wasn’t at the daycare, tending to the kids, where she ought to be.
“I left early,” Sadie replied. “I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Is that supper?” Vernon asked, gesturing to the meat pie Sadie was holding.
“I just told you I’m not feeling well and so I really don’t feel like cooking.”
“There was an article with a picture of flowers in front of Charlie Baker’s place in the paper this morning.”
“What are you saying?” Sadie asked.
“Remi, our neighbour, told me he saw you leaving flowers at Charlie Baker’s place this morning.”
“So?” Sadie asked.
Vernon was nonplussed at Sadie’s lack of reaction. “People are talking, Sadie.”
“I don’t give a royal shit what people think anymore,” she barked.
Vernon was a little surprised by how blunt Sadie was being. She was always the meek little mouse when in public, but she hadn’t been herself since that Charlie Baker died. Sure, he knew she had been sleeping with Charlie. But he would never have said anything. Vernon was the type who was always concerned about what people thought, and so giving them fodder for gossip was not something he wanted to do. Plus, while she was sneaking out to see Charlie, Vernon had been sneaking out, too, to hook up with a man named Dave he’d met on a website.
“But, honey, think about the kids,” Vernon replied, who knew damned well this was her weakness. The kids at the daycare were her life; especially since they had never had any of their own. He knew she would be more concerned about them being affected than anything else. He knew their old understanding that reputations could affect both their businesses was a thing of the past for Sadie now.
“I’m not feeling well,” Sadie stated, in a serious tone. “I’m going home to lie down.”
“You ate too much chocolate,” Vernon quipped as he watched her clutch her purse a little tighter when he said that. “That’s why you don’t feel well.”
They both knew he was right. Sadie ate chocolate when she was upset. She had switched to dark chocolate years ago because she could say it was good for her, an excuse she used constantly to help justify it.
Sadie turned and walked towards the door, paused, and whirled around quickly. With one swift motion, she threw the frozen meat pie at her husband. Vernon ducked and the frozen pie made a loud cracking noise as it hit the wall behind him and then crashed to the floor. By the time Vernon felt it was safe to peek from behind the counter again, he saw the glass door closing behind his wife. She got in her car, slammed the door, and squealed the tires as she pulled out of the parking lot.<
br />
25
Frustrated at the progress of the case, Tilley had left the station early and was on the hunt again. Only this time she was on the hunt for the perfect grapefruit. She groped, gently squeezed, shook, and smelled them in some strange process of elimination. Finally selecting one that would do, she put it in the small shopping basket that hung in the crook of her arm.
Detective Tilley’s best ideas always came to her when she wasn’t trying. This case simply had too many potential suspects and nothing to help zero in on any one suspect. This frustrated her to no end. But the most frustrating thing about it was that this didn’t seem to bother her partner at all. Detective Franklin Dodge was too calm about everything related to this case and it was starting to get under her skin. Perhaps it was his many more years of experience as a detective, but Tilley wanted leads. Lemkie and Calvin were giving them nothing. Lemkie was too busy making fun of Calvin having to watch hours upon hours of homemade porn. Lemkie had left an arm sling, some topical pain reliever, and a box of tissues on Calvin’s desk as a practical joke; although the look on Calvin’s face had been sort of funny, thought Tilley. Especially when he actually took the cream for the pain, flipped Lemkie the bird, and walked away. That was funny, thought Tilley. She hadn’t even realized she was smiling when she heard a voice that pulled her back to reality.
“What?” Tilley asked as she turned around to see who had spoken.
“I said, what’s so funny?” Ms. Weatherbee inquired.
Tilley’s smile faded as, in her mind, she heard her old teacher finish that sentence with her patented exclamation of the words, “young lady”.
“I was just remembering something,” Tilley replied.
Ms. Weatherbee blushed slightly and looked around to see if anyone was within hearing distance.
“Don’t you dare make fun of me, young lady!” Ms. Weatherbee said in a firm yet low tone of voice. She picked up a grapefruit of her own and pretended to be examining it carefully, not wanting to make eye contact with her former student.
Realizing that Ms. Weatherbee had thought that Tilley was recalling seeing her at the door to Charlie Baker’s apartment, she said, “It was just something a co-worker… never mind.”
“I hope you don’t think of me as some sort of slut,” Ms. Weatherbee said, who was still avoiding eye contact.
“I think you’re human,” Tilley replied. “At least I think that now,” she added with a smile.
Ms. Weatherbee smiled and looked up at Tilley. “He just kept coming on to me. Every time I’d see him in town, he’d flirt with me.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Tilley replied, before remembering that she was now the person of authority in this conversation. “Well, actually, maybe you do, but you know what I mean.”
“I never slept with him, you know.”
Tilley’s brow furrowed slightly, as if to ask without asking.
“I mean, I would have that morning.”
Tilley said nothing, knowing full well she didn’t need to as it was obvious Ms. Weatherbee needed to get this off her chest.
“I mean, a woman does have needs, too,” Ms. Weatherbee said as she blushed. “But I’m no whore,” she boldly declared.
“I never said…” Tilley started before being cut off mid-sentence.
“I just heard he was so damned good and I was so frustrated!”
Ms. Weatherbee looked down at her hand to see that her fingers and thumb had broken the skin of the grapefruit and its juice was running down her arm.
“Can you tell that Detective Dodge I’m no whore?” Ms. Weatherbee asked as she put the grapefruit back in the pile and wiped her hand on her pants without realizing what she was doing.
“He’ll be happy to hear that,” Tilley replied.
“Sure,” Ms. Weatherbee replied as she looked around to see if anyone could hear them talking.
“I have to ask, though,” Tilley replied. “Did you see anything weird that morning? Anything you might consider out of the ordinary?”
“I don’t remember,” Weatherbee replied. “I was so nervous; I barely remembered flashing you and that partner of yours until I got home.”
“Understood,” Tilley replied, trying hard not to smile.
Ms. Weatherbee turned to walk away as Tilley spoke.
“Thank you for coming to talk to me,” Tilley offered, knowing full well Ms. Weatherbee was no longer listening. She marvelled at how flustered Ms. Weatherbee had looked. She had never seen her like this.
Tilley turned to see Sadie Cross pushing a small shopping cart towards her only to freeze in mid-step and change directions and walk away. In her shopping cart there were six cans of Alphagetti and four giant slabs of dark chocolate. The biggest chocolate bars Tilley had ever seen.
Tilley turned towards the vegetable department and spotted Marci Grant standing in sexy heels, holding a cauliflower in her gloved hands while looking directly at her. Tilley had a moment of self-consciousness, feeling completely exposed, and shuddered at the thought of having Marci looking at her with such intensity.
Then, in the blink of an eye, Trudy emerged and grasped Marci by the arm, dragging her away. Tilley could hear Trudy’s tone and it sounded harsh. It sounded like Trudy wasn’t pleased at all and was voicing it right there in the Food Emporium, not holding anything back.
“Not making any friends, am I?” Tilley said to herself as she walked off into the produce section.
“No, you’re not,” Tilley heard coming from behind her where Ester emerged, pushing an empty shopping cart, braced on it for extra support as she walked past. Ester was smiling her little coy smile that told Tilley she had most likely heard the entirety of the conversations, and she couldn’t wait to share at the next Naughty Knitters meeting.
26
Calvin plopped himself into his chair, set his newly filled cup of water down, and woke his computer from sleep mode as his phone rang. He typed in his computer password as he answered the call.
“Hey, Tilley,” Calvin said, recognizing the number on the phone’s display screen. “Where’d you run off to?”
“I needed to think,” Tilley replied. “That and I went to get a few things at the grocery store. Hey, are you still compiling pictures from Charlie Baker’s hard drive?”
“Yes, he is,” she heard Dodge say.
“Am I on speaker phone?” Tilley asked with frustration in her voice.
“Sorry,” Calvin replied. He knew that doing this to Tilley without telling her would seriously upset her, and now he heard it in her tone of voice. “Where are you?” he asked.
“I’m still at the grocery store,” Tilley replied.
Dodge retrieved pages from the printer near Calvin’s desk. Standing behind Calvin, he said, “Calvin was just printing me some of the pictures he’s compiled.”
“I’m putting them in a folder for you now,” Calvin added.
“That’s great,” Tilley replied. “Thanks.”
“What was it you wanted to know?” Dodge asked.
“Well, let’s just say something just happened that made me wonder if a certain redhead was one of the women on that hard drive,” Tilley said as she watched Marci Grant and Trudy Wilkins push a shopping cart to a white car. They were too busy being angry with each other to notice the detective watching them.
“Red?” Dodge asked.
“Marci Grant?” Calvin asked. “I didn’t find any pics of her.”
“Okay,” Tilley replied. “It was just a thought.”
“Dodge said Charlie wasn’t her type,” Calvin said, happy to deflect some of the jokes away from him for a change. “He said you were more her type.”
Dodge gave Charlie a dirty look that said he wasn’t supposed to repeat that, especially not to Tilley. Dodge leafed through the printed pictures before speaking.
“I�
�m not sure why you’d think that,” Dodge replied. “She told us she was talking to him about the Turlington house.”
“I know, I was there when she told us,” Tilley replied. “I guess I was just wondering if she and Charlie had ever hooked up.”
“If they did, I don’t think Charlie got it on video,” Calvin said. “But there was lots of footage of Lucy Shaffer with Charlie. I think that’s what the hackers were after.”
“The hackers?” Tilley inquired.
“Calvin was telling me hackers tried to get at the files on his computer,” Dodge said.
“The files weren’t on it and so they didn’t get those.” Calvin explained, referring to the extra computer servers he’d set up during the lull after the Panty Bandit case went cold.
“I figure someone wanted to know who Charlie’s lady friends were,” Dodge said.
“I’m thinking they wanted pictures of Lucy Shaffer with Charlie. Or better yet, video,” Calvin said. “A lot of tabloid websites would pay big money for that.”
“True,” Tilley replied. Lucy Shaffer’s career was on a high note after making a few hit movies. Lucy was a red-blooded woman just like all the others, but her being famous made the rumours even juicier. A few tabloid reporters had been seen near the rehab centre, asking questions. She knew Calvin was right about the tabloids paying big money for proof. For a brief second she wondered just how much such evidence might be worth before dismissing the thought.
“Dodge?” Tilley said.
“Yes?” Dodge replied as Calvin looked from the phone to Dodge and back to the phone.
“Did Calvin find any pictures of Ms. Weatherbee?” Tilley smiled as she asked this. She knew Dodge was probably in Calvin’s office looking for exactly that.
Dodge flushed slightly but didn’t acknowledge the fact that Tilley was right. He was in fact looking to know if Ms. Weatherbee had slept with Charlie Baker. He assumed she had not from the body language she’d displayed on the morning they found the late Charlie Baker. Dodge wanted to know if his young partner’s former fifth-grade teacher had known Charlie intimately. He had to know. He was conflicted about this, as finding her picture would mean he would have reason to talk to her. But not the reason he would prefer.
Poplar Falls Page 7