The ca-ching sound was music to her ears, but just as important was the steadily growing list of names of women interested in taking her various workshops. This wasn’t going to be a one-day wonder. She was actually drawing what might become regular customers. She caught Carrie’s eye at one point, as they crossed paths in mid-bustle, and Carrie gave her a thumbs up sign.
Things were going great - except, that is, for the miserable clown. He was in and out continuously with complaints: the music drove him nuts; the kids, the heat, the shoes drove him nuts; if his regular job paid him a decent wage he wouldn’t have to take these kinds of gigs. Carrie’s sullen teenager, Jo thought, would have been a regular David Letterman next to him.
Amazingly, though, Cuddles didn’t seem to be having a negative effect – except on Jo’s patience. His presence alone in his colorful costume, combined with the cheery music, appeared to be enough for the brief time her customers came in contact with him. One woman, astonishingly, even asked her for his name, explaining she’d like to have him for her child’s next birthday party. Jo stared at the woman open mouthed, suspicions of child abuse leaping to mind. But wide eyes returned her gaze innocently, so Jo suggested she ask Cuddles himself for his card, with hopes the prospect of another job might lighten him up some.
She continued to be busy enough to forget about this regrettable accessory to her grand opening, until, at two minutes to four, Cuddles came dragging in.
“My time’s up,” he announced, leaning one weary elbow on the counter.
“So it is.” Jo agreed in surprise after glancing up at the clock, whose hands, as far as she was concerned anyway, seemed to have spun around madly. She handed her latest customer her bagged purchase with thanks, and pulled open a drawer for her checkbook. “Who shall I make it out to?” The entertainment agency in Baltimore had never actually told her this man’s real name, and she presumed he wouldn’t want ‘Cuddles’ written on the check.
“Kyle Sandborn.”
Jo looked up. Somehow she’d never have picked him for a Kyle.
He misread her expression, saying, “You might have heard the name. I’ve acted at the Abbotsville Theater a lot.”
“Really? No, I’m new here and haven’t been to the theater yet. But I’ll certainly look for you in future productions.”
Kyle/Cuddles gave her his first genuine smile of the day, though it seemed to require his last reserve of energy, and reached for the check. “Mind if I change in your back room?” he asked, barely waiting for her answer before turning in that direction.
“No, go right ahead.”
He left the basket of handouts with her and flopped toward the stock room in his big shoes. Jo’s attention was quickly taken by another customer - a woman who, joyfully, had filled the store’s hand-carry shopping basket to the brim with items, many of them foam balls and cones, with packets of sequins and ribbons in Christmas colors.
“I know it’s only September, the woman bubbled, but I can’t wait to get started on Christmas projects. It’s always been my favorite holiday of the year.”
“Mine too,” Jo said, smiling. “In fact, I’ll be giving a class on making Christmas wreaths if you’re interested.”
No sooner had she packed the Christmas lady off, than a crashing noise pulled her attention to the opposite side of the store.
“Missy, I told you not to touch that!” A child’s wail rose up from the floor, and Jo hurried over to inspect the damage. A display Carrie had set up of handmade teddy bears dressed in the costumes of various movie characters had been pulled down and lay in shambles on the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” the mother cried. She struggled to calm her sobbing three year-old with one hand, while reaching for fallen bears with the other.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jo assured her. “They’re not breakable.” She picked up Rhett Butler and brushed him off, then found Scarlett, uncharacteristically shy and hiding in her green velvet gown behind the needlecraft kits.
“Jo, there’s someone here with a question about making beaded necklaces,” Carrie called out.
“Be right there,” Jo responded, and plopped the bears as best she could back on their stands, starting to feel like she had not stopped moving since she’d arrived early that morning. Had she had lunch? She wasn’t quite sure. She vaguely remembered Carrie’s eleven year-old, Amanda, showing up with a platter of edibles, but what they consisted of Jo couldn’t recall.
“Bead necklaces, you say?” she said to the interesting-looking woman at the front of the store, who had long, unnaturally black hair, and '70s, hippy-styled clothing despite a youthful, twenty-something face. An Abbotsvillian, Jo wondered? If so, she had much still to learn about her adopted town.
That customer was replaced with another, and then another, and Jo could hear her voice beginning to crack in her dry throat from all the explaining, directing, responding and thanking she had done over the hours. Finally, the dinner hour approached, and the crowd thinned.
“Thank you, ma’am, and do come again,” Carrie said to their final customer, then followed her to the door, clicked off the circus music, and turned the lock. She spun around to face Jo and threw up her arms. “It’s over! You’re grand opening was a success. You did it!”
“We did it,” Jo corrected. “My gosh, what a day! I can hardly believe it.” Jo ran her hands through her hair and plopped down on the stool. She picked up the stack of sign up sheets from the counter and grinned. “Customers! Real, live customers, who want to come back again and buy my wares.”
“Well, of course! How could they not, with all the beautiful things they can make from what you have here.”
“And the sales today! I could barely keep up with it.”
“We were both running our legs off, and we deserve a reward. I’ve already talked to Dan. He’s taking us out to dinner to celebrate.”
The idea sounded great to Jo, but as she watched Carrie turn off lights, and saw Dan’s black Chevy Blazer coming down the street, it occurred to her she had a lot of cash sitting in the drawer.
“Just a minute.” Jo pulled bills from the drawer and began stuffing them into a canvas bank bag.
“You’re not taking that along, are you?”
“Uh-uh. I’m going to stash it where a burglar wouldn’t think to look. Right behind the needlepoint kits. What do you think? If you were a burglar, would you find it there?”
“You really need a safe.”
“You’re right. I guess I just never truly believed I’d have money to worry about. Until now.” Jo grinned, and grabbed her pocketbook.
“Dinner at Alexander’s,” she said, “and it’ll be my treat.”
The last light she saw Carrie flick off, before hustling up to the front door, was that of the store room.
CHAPTER 2
Alexander’s was a welcome change from the noise and bustle of the last several hours. Jo had chosen this out of the way restaurant for that very reason and glanced around blissfully at its muted decor of dark browns and greens. Soft music caressed her ears, which still buzzed from the endless calliope tunes.
“This place is weird,” Amanda declared.
“Amanda,” Carrie admonished her pre-teen, but Jo laughed.
“Try to bear with it, honey. Your Mom and I need to decompress.”
“They have weird food, though,” Amanda persisted. “Stuff like Vitello allo, uh, Scalogno. I don’t even know how to say it.”
Charlie slouched in his chair sullenly. “Can I send out for a cheeseburger and fries?”
“No, you can’t.” Dan scowled at his son. “And sit up straight. Miss Jo is celebrating tonight, and the least you can do – ”
”How about we all stop at Baskin- Robbins for ice cream on the way home?” Carrie jumped in, calming the waters as Jo had seen her do more than once, lately. Charlie, at fifteen, seemed bent on alienating all around him. Jo remembered her godson as a bright and engaging child, but it seemed hormones had sent most of his charm packing
and put him at odds with both parents – particularly his father.
Dan had enthusiastically coached Charlie’s early soccer games and elementary basketball efforts. At thirteen, though, Charlie dug in and flatly refused to participate anymore. Carrie confided that Dan was not happy, especially since he saw Charlie putting energy into very little else, least of all his school work. Carrie was growing very worried about him, Jo could tell, though she tried her best to be upbeat.
Jo regretted choosing this teen-unfriendly restaurant, but it was too late now. “They do have spaghetti and meatballs,” she suggested. “They call it Pasta Alexander here.”
Amanda brightened up, and Jo thought she saw a flicker of interest in Charlie’s eyes which he quickly covered with gloomy resignation.
“Well,” Jo said, closing her menu, “it looks like Jo’s Craft Corner just might be around for a few more weeks.”
“Not just around, Jo, you have a hit!” Carrie cried. “It was like Abbotsville has been just drooling for you to show up and open that store.”
Dan nodded. “Looked like a pretty good opening.”
“My friend Lindsey and I are going to make matching friendship bracelets,” Amanda announced. “Mom’s going to show us how. I think they’re neat, and maybe everyone else – the girls, I mean – at middle school will come in to buy your beads and stuff, Aunt Jo.”
“Amanda, that would be so great.” Jo beamed at this girl who seemed to be following in her mother’s footsteps, taking pleasure in cooking and home crafts. She had yet, though, Jo reminded herself, to enter the scary teens. With that thought, Jo glanced once more at Charlie, who now stared at the ceiling, possibly hoping for an out-of-body experience to survive his current ordeal. The arrival of the food, however, livened him up enough to joke around with his sister over slurping up the spaghetti, which Carrie wisely ignored as long as no one at the table – or nearby tables – was getting splashed with red sauce.
Jo, Carrie and Dan launched into ideas for the future of the craft store, and Jo allowed herself to start feeling optimistic, something she had resisted for weeks. Too much confidence, she was convinced, almost guaranteed failure. Look, after all, what had happened in New York. She and Mike were doing great. Mike was getting gallery shows for his sculptures, and orders were increasing for her jewelry. Jo was convinced their future was set. Then boom, it all went up – literally – in smoke. Jo swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. It was much safer, she reminded herself, not to tempt the gods, so to speak, with high expectations. But from today’s results, things did look promising.
By the time she sipped her coffee, Jo’s mood was mellow. The glass of excellent merlot earlier, didn’t hurt. The check came and Jo snatched it before Dan could, saying, “This is my treat. A very small way of saying thank you to you guys, for all the help you’ve been giving me.”
A chorus of “We were glad to, it was nothing, don’t be silly” rained down, and Jo ignored it all with a grin, scribbling her signature on the dotted line.
They squeezed back into Dan’s car and headed to the store where Jo’s Toyota waited, all thoughts of Baskin-Robbins forgotten after Alexander’s excellent dessert cart had appeared. She hugged everyone – even a stiffly resisting Charlie – before waving good night from beside her car, whose door remained shut. Jo planned to take a final look inside her store and had avoided mentioning that to Carrie, instead implying she would drive straight home. If Carrie suspected Jo would go back in the store, she and Dan would have insisted on coming in as well, for safety’s sake, dragging the kids along too. And it would have been totally unnecessary. Besides, Jo wanted – perhaps selfishly – this quiet moment to herself. She wanted to bask in the golden memory of her store flooded with customers, of people thrilled with her beautiful craft supplies, and many enthusiastically buying.
She unlocked the front door, then re-locked it behind her, switching on one low light which allowed her to see most of the store, although dimly. She then strolled the aisles, thinking over the highs and lows of the day, but mostly the highs: the woman who claimed she belonged to a knitting club and would bring her entire group to see Jo’s beautiful yarns. Jo credited Carrie with doing a wonderful job overseeing that department.
Then there was the man who asked Jo to come see him about setting up a craft show at the country club in October. Its purpose would be to draw new members to the club, but it would be great exposure for Jo’s Craft Corner as well.
When she came to the needlework kits, Jo checked on her cash bag. She wondered if she should take it home with her, but then noticed that supplies had thinned in the nearby stamping section, many of the papers apparently having sold well. She might as well double check that they had plenty in stock, she decided, and she continued on to the back room, bending down on the way to pick up and replace a fallen wreath form. She flicked on the store room light and paused, considering where the stamping papers would be. Her gaze wandered the shelves until something caught her eye near the end of one of the rows, something colorful on the floor. Gradually, it registered that what was on the floor was not store stock, and she focused more carefully. It was something, no, it was two somethings. Eighteen inches high, fuzzy, and with swirling reds, golds, and greens. Cuddles’ big floppy shoes? Had he left his costume behind?
Jo had no memory of Cuddles/Kyle actually leaving the store once he had been paid. She did remember his request to change here in the back. An ominous feeling took root in the pit of her stomach, and Jo moved closer to the odd shoes apparently standing there on their own. Why would he just drop his costume and leave it? Would he be that careless of something that could be quite costly to replace? Jo came to the end of the shelf and the answer to all her questions. Her hands flew up to her mouth, stifling a cry.
Cuddles had not left his costume on the floor. In fact, Cuddles had not left his costume at all, but still wore it as he lay there, huge shoes pointing to the ceiling, baggy pants spread wide on the floor, and a new, dark red stain added to the colors in his shirt.
Cuddles, despite the wide grin still painted on his face, would smile no more. Cuddles was dead.
CHAPTER 3
Red lights flashed and radios crackled as strangers trampled in and out of her store, most brushing past Jo as if she were invisible. Hovering just outside the front door, Jo clutched her arms tightly to keep from shivering, the cool night air not as much a factor as the shock over what she had recently discovered.
Cuddles the clown really was dead. Denial had leapt up protectively at first, trying to convince Jo that the clown was simply sleeping, passed out, or, least likely, joking. But the relentless sight of the blood on his chest, plus one awful touch of Cuddles’ lifeless, cold hand convinced her otherwise. Jo had stumbled backwards and staggered to the front of the store where she left her pocket book, fumbled for her cell phone, and called 9-1-1. Afterwards, she waited there, numbly, until finally hearing sirens. Then mass confusion had taken over. Now she watched helplessly through the window, while others took command of her store.
As a parade of people tramped in and out of the back room, doing God knows what to the poor dead clown back there, a tall man of about forty arrived whom she overheard identified as Lieutenant Morgan. He quickly disappeared into that room himself.
Someone put a paper cup of coffee in her hand and she thanked him, holding the cup but ignoring its contents. More coming and going, and Jo’s coffee cooled. Finally, she set the cup down on the sidewalk and grasped her arms tightly once more.
“Jo! Jo, are you all right!”
Jo turned to see Carrie running down the sidewalk with Dan close behind her. Both soon engulfed her in a hug, making her aware of just how badly she had needed one.
“Bonnie Smithers called,” Carrie explained. “She said police cars were all over the place here. We were scared to death something had happened to you.”
“It’s Cuddles. The clown. He’s back there, dead.”
Carrie looked toward the store room w
ide-eyed. “My God! And you found him?”
Jo nodded.
Dan’s mouth pressed grimly into a straight line. “What happened?”
Jo shook her head. “I don’t know. There was blood. I don’t know if he fell on something or what.”
“Oh, Lord.” A strange look passed over Carrie’s face.
“What? What are you thinking?” Jo asked.
“Nothing. I mean, oh, I don’t know. It’s probably terrible to think of at this time. But I just wondered if your insurance covers something like that? Things like accidental death on your property?”
Jo stared at Carrie, not getting it at first. Then she got it. “Oh, Lord,” she echoed. “You mean, maybe I could be sued?”
Carrie nodded.
“I have no idea if that’s covered. But what could have happened there that would be my fault? I keep paper and paints back there, not spears jutting upwards, for heaven’s sake, waiting for the unsuspecting to fall onto.”
“You said there was blood. Did you see what might have caused it?”
“No. But I didn’t hang around too long looking.”
A uniformed officer came up to them. “Mrs. McAllister? Lieutenant Morgan wants to talk to you.”
Carrie and Dan started forward with her but were stopped by the officer. “Just Mrs. McAllister for now.”
“We’ll be right here,” they said to her, and Jo nodded gratefully. She still felt shaky, and now began to worry about exactly what had happened to the hapless clown in her storage room. The officer led her to an alcove of the store, near the yarns. The lieutenant stood there, appearing, oddly, to be in search of the perfect set of knitting needles for his next project. He turned at her approach and held out his hand.
“Mrs. McAllister? Russ Morgan” He shook her hand briskly, then looked down at his notebook. “This is your store?”
Wreath of Deception Page 2
