by Oust, Gail
Jail? Hanging? Lethal injection?
These days, my thoughts seemed to be running around and around the same morbid track.
“Yoo-hoo,” a sugar-coated voice called out.
I looked up from my perch behind the counter to see Amber Leigh Ames stroll into my shop. All mile-long legs, sparkling choppers, and a perky Southern charm that flicked on and off like a bug zapper in July.
I plastered on a smile as superficial as Amber herself. “Hey, Amber. You looking to spice things up a bit?”
Amber refused to take the bait. “Where’s Lindsey?” she asked, frowning.
“You just missed her, but she ought to be back soon.”
“I told CJ I’d swing by and pick her up on my way home. Diane Cloune had a dentist appointment so our meetin’ ended early.”
I restacked an already neat stack of catalogs. “What meeting was that?”
“Diane and I are cochairing the garden club’s silent auction to raise money for a gazebo in the town square.” Amber rummaged through a squishy leather satchel. “Where is the girl, anyway?”
“Lindsey finished her report and took the dog to the park.”
Amber fished out a compact and flipped it open. “I don’t understand why that witch of a teacher came down so hard on the poor child when everyone knows school’s nearly over for the year. Book reports and essays are so … passé.”
I gritted my teeth. “That’s precisely the point. The school year’s almost over, and I, for one, am grateful Lindsey has a chance to bring up her grade.”
“Whatever.” Amber examined her already flawless makeup in the tiny mirror. “What book did she get stuck readin’?”
“To Kill a Mockingbird.”
Amber snapped the compact shut and dropped it in her bag. “That old thing? I read that way back when I was in high school.”
“‘Way back when’ isn’t all that long ago,” I reminded her.
“True.” She smiled sweetly. “At least not if you compare it to when you were in high school.”
I returned the smile—minus the sweet.
“I, for one,” Amber continued, unfazed, “will be overjoyed when CJ returns Lindsey’s car keys. Her not being able to drive is a major inconvenience. I tried to convince him it was more punishment for me than it was for her. But my opinion didn’t matter much after Miss Melly gave him a talkin’ to. Seems she heard rumors while gettin’ her hair done.”
I added “thank Melly” to my to-do list. “Sorry it’s inconvenient, Amber, but we’re trying to get the point across that actions have consequences.”
Amber darted a quick look at the door. Still no sign of Lindsey, but she dropped her voice anyway. “Can we talk, Piper? Woman to woman?”
I shrugged. “I’m all ears.”
“I understand you’re upset on account of CJ leavin’ you for a … younger … woman. That being the case an’ all, I hope you won’t try to influence Lindsey against me. It’s not my fault her daddy doesn’t want her hangin’ around all the time.”
I all but fluttered my lashes in feigned innocence. “Why, Amber, the thought never crossed my mind. I’m certain you’d love nothing better than having a teenager underfoot all summer. Being as you’re so close in age, I’m sure the two of you must have a lot in common.”
Amber looked at me as if to say “are you being sarcastic?” but didn’t know me well enough to decide. “I’m fond of Lindsey, I truly am, and I don’t want to be the wicked stepmother. As long as we’re on the subject of your children…” After casting another quick glance at the door, she plunged ahead, “I’d like to speak to you about your son.”
“What about Chad?” I asked. “You’ve never even met him. When he was home on spring break, you were in Aspen skiing.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure I’ll meet him when he comes for his daddy’s weddin’. But in the meantime, I’ve been thinkin’…”
I folded my hands primly to keep from reaching out and choking her. “Thinkin’” obviously didn’t come with any regularity to Amber. It was more of an event than a happening.
“I was thinkin’,” Amber continued, “it might be best if your son accepts the summer job he’s been offered in Chapel Hill. Bein’ a lifeguard at a wellness center sounds perfect for a young man. Keeps him out in all that fresh air and sunshine. Lets him do lots of swimmin’. Get a nice tan.”
I cocked my head to one side. “And gives you and CJ even more privacy.”
Did the ditz really think I was going to fall for the “fresh air and sunshine” routine? Having not one, but two, young people hanging around would certainly put a crimp in CJ’s love life. Amber refused to meet my gaze.
I slipped off the stool and stood tall, maximizing every centimeter of my five-foot-two-inch frame. “I’d dearly love to have my boy home for the summer, but the final decision rests with Chad. I’m not about to interfere with my son’s plans for a summer job.”
Thanks to Lindsey’s timely return, we were spared more verbal sparring.
Spying Amber, Casey broke free of the leash and bounded over to greet her. A prime example of puppy exuberance. Amber quickly sidestepped. “Can’t you control that animal?” she snapped.
“Don’t like dogs?” I asked, recovering the leash. Casey, sensing he was persona non grata, allowed me to corral him behind the baby gate I’d installed between the shop and the storeroom.
“I had a poodle once,” she retaliated, sounding defensive.
“What happened to him?” Lindsey instantly wanted to know.
Amber waved a dismissive hand. “We had to get rid of him. I’m allergic.”
Maybe CJ and Amber were soul mates after all. Neither was overly fond of animals—or children. A match made in heaven.
“Lindsey, I was just telling your mother about the committee I’m cochairing with Mrs. Cloune,” Amber said
“Cool,” Lindsey replied. “My friend Taylor said Mrs. Cloune and the dude who got killed had the hots for each other. That true?”
“Lindsey!” I scolded.
“Oh, that’s quite all right,” Amber interrupted, before I could launch into a lecture on the perils of gossip. “Lindsey and I are pals. No secrets, right, honey?”
She winked at Lindsey; I wanted to vomit. No secrets, my foot! I wouldn’t trust the woman as far as I could throw her.
“Actually”—Amber inspected her French manicure for flaws—“Diane is still quite distraught over Mario’s death.”
“Distraught?” This time it was me, not Lindsey, who was the victim of rabid curiosity. Shame, shame. I’d lecture myself—later. “Why?” I asked. “From everything I heard, I thought their … friendship … ended ages ago.”
“That’s what they wanted folks to think,” she explained, looking smug. “After Mario’s … dalliance … with Vicki ended, Diane and Mario resumed their affair. They’d meet sometime in Atlanta, sometime at the motel on the outskirts of town. I recognized their cars on more than one occasion.…”
I fought the urge to clamp my hands over my daughter’s ears. Block out the tawdry image. “I think we get the gist.”
Amber frowned down at the slim gold watch circling her wrist. “Time to get a move on, Lindsey. I want to stop by North of the Border on the way home to pick up an order I phoned in.”
Lindsey stuffed notebooks as well as a variety of pens and highlighters into a shocking pink-and-gray backpack. “Takeout again?”
Amber fluttered her fingers good-bye at me. “Honey, I thought you loved takeout,” I heard her say as the two of them headed for the door.
“I do, but…” Lindsey’s voice trailed off.
Maybe it was time to for a little home cooking. Lindsey always loved my lasagna.
* * *
Spice It Up! seemed unnaturally quiet after they’d left. I gazed at the regulator clock that I’d purchased at Yesteryear Antiques along with my old-fashioned cash register. It was only four forty-five. Too early to lock up for the night. Too late to manufacture busywork. I
settled back on my stool and clicked on Solitaire, content to drop and drag for fifteen minutes.
Red queen of hearts on black king of spades. A king who, minus the mustache, bore a vague resemblance to Wyatt McBride. Next, I tried placing a red six on a red seven. A message sprang up. INVALID. Common sense warned me that even thinking about Wyatt McBride was an invalid move.
My head popped up as Diane Cloune entered the shop. Guiltily, I pointed the mouse at EXIT. Wouldn’t do for customers to think I had nothing better to do than wile away the time playing a silly card game.
“Hello, Piper,” Diane said. “Glad I caught you before you closed for the day.”
Rising, I smoothed my sunny yellow apron. “Hello, Diane. How can I help you?”
“Since the garden club meeting finished early, Dwayne and I were able to finalize the menu for a dinner party we’re hosting for potential campaign backers. After some arm twisting, Tony Deltorro agreed to cater it—with one caveat, which brings us to why we’re here.”
“We…?”
“Oh,” Diane said with a laugh. “Dwayne had to take an important call. He’ll be along shortly.”
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Dwayne out on the sidewalk, talking on his cell.
“Tony’s busy readying his new restaurant for its grand opening, but we made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.” Diane smoothed a stray wisp of hair into the clip holding her low ponytail. And that was when I noticed something different about her. She wasn’t wearing her signature diamond studs. I racked my brain but with no success, trying to remember the last time I’d seen her wearing them. Before Mario was killed? What about after?
I smiled and tried to sound casual. “It’s rare that I see you without your diamond earrings.”
“I’m having them appraised,” she said, her tone frosty. Reaching into her shoulder bag, she pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to me. “Here. Tony insisted Dwayne and I handle some of the details. He demands only the freshest ingredients.”
“I’ll be happy to help any way I can,” I murmured, scanning the list.
“Naturally, we thought of your little store. It’s our practice to patronize the local merchants whenever we can.”
And patronize was present in every syllable.
“How thoughtful.” I smiled tightly. “As it happens, I stock all the spices Tony needs. And, I can give you the name of a local grower for the herbs.”
I soon had one of the small wicker baskets I kept handy for customers’ use filled with the items on Diane’s list. Coriander, cardamom, caraway seeds, along with dried vanilla beans. In the meantime, I couldn’t help but wonder. Were her earrings really at a jeweler’s being appraised? Or had one of them been lost and not yet replaced?
I had just returned Diane’s Visa Gold card when Dwayne, his phone conversation over, entered the shop. He gifted me with his patented politician’s smile, then smoothed his slicked-back hair and rested a hand on Diane’s waist. “Shopping completed, sweetheart?” he asked his wife.
His elbow inadvertently knocked my neatly stacked catalogs to the floor. The sound startled Casey, who had been snoozing on the other side of the baby gate, from canine dreamland. A growl started deep in the little dog’s throat. I watched in stunned amazement as my overly friendly pet crouched low and bared his teeth.
“Is something wrong with that animal?” Diane asked in alarm.
“No, no, he’s fine.” I started toward him, intent on soothing. “Casey isn’t usually like this. Must be something he ate.”
Not about to be placated, Casey hurled himself at the gate, barking ferociously.
“C’mon, Diane,” Dwayne urged. “It’s almost closing time. We don’t want to make Piper work overtime.”
But Diane wasn’t about to let it rest. “You’re going to have to restrain that mutt before it bites someone. You don’t need a lawsuit in addition to your other problems,” she added snidely.
“My wife makes a good point, Piper.” Dwayne picked up the bag of spices. “The Board of Health would frown on the idea of an animal in a place where food is sold.”
“Spices are hardly in the same category as food.” My words were lost on them. They were already out the door.
I unfastened the baby gate, picked Casey up, and petted him. Beneath my hand, I felt the dog’s small body quiver with tension as I stroked his fur. “What was that all about, fella?” I murmured. Strange behavior, I thought, coming from a mutt who loves most everyone. Or was it? I thought about the missing earring, the two sets of shoe prints. Could Diane have stabbed her former lover then called her husband to help cover up the crime? I had difficulty envisioning a woman committing such a violent act, but who knows what we’re really capable of until the moment arises. Wish I knew if Diane had an alibi for the night in question.
CHAPTER 33
AFTER THE CLOUNES’ departure, I was in the process of turning the sign on the front door from OPEN to CLOSED when the phone rang. I stared at it, hoping the incessant ringing would stop. I’d had all the social interaction I could handle for one day.
Whoever was on the other end was as persistent as I was hesitant. Eventually persistence won. Trudging over to the counter, I picked up the blasted phone. Much to my delight, I heard Doug Winters’s voice, and not Precious Blessing’s.
“Hey, Piper,” Doug greeted me, sounding chipper. “Just wanted to call and tell you I’ve been thinking about you. How’re things going?”
“I’m adopting a new policy around here: don’t ask, and I won’t tell.”
Doug chuckled. “That bad, eh?”
I smiled in spite of myself. “Worse.”
“You sound as though you could use a diversion. How about a burger and a movie on Saturday night? I’ll even sit through a chick flick if that’s what you want.”
“Um, I don’t know, Doug,” I prevaricated, reluctant to inflict my ill humor on such a sweet guy. “I don’t think I’d be very good company.”
“Consider it doctor’s orders. So how about it?”
Who was I to question doctor’s orders? A night in Doug’s company would act as an antianxiety, antidepressant, and mood elevator all rolled into one. “All right,” I said with a sigh. “It’s a deal.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up around six.”
My spirits felt lighter when I put down the phone. Switching off lights as I went, I made my way toward the rear of the shop. I’d already started up the stairs when I remembered the trench coat still hanging in the cupboard. I’d yet to examine the damages done when I vaulted over my Beetle. Retracing my steps, I plucked it off the hook and slung it over my shoulder. Casey scampered along behind me.
Once inside my apartment, I peeled off the protective plastic covering. The grass and mud stains on the front panels were barely visible. Mr. Proctor was to be commended for the splendid job he’d done. I flipped the coat over. At first glance everything seemed intact. Maybe the tear wasn’t as bad as Bitsy made it out to be. Maybe the waiver releasing Proctor’s Cleaners from responsibility was merely a formality. I was about to heave a breath of relief when I saw it. A small piece of cloth torn from the hem of the back vent.
I spread the coat on the kitchen table for a better look. A triangular bit of fabric had been ripped away, leaving a ragged edge. I sank down on a chair—the very one Wyatt McBride had occupied when he’d lapsed from foe into almost friendly—and closed my eyes. I replayed the events leading up to the tear.
Memories unwound like the spool of one of those old-fashioned eight-track tapes my father used to own. It had been raining that night. Doug insisted on giving me leftovers: tandoori chicken and cucumber salad. I half-turned, container in hand, when I’d been blinded by the glare of headlights and deafened by the roar of an engine. Out of nowhere, a sleek black car raced toward me. I could still smell its exhaust fumes. Feel the heat from its engine.
I idly fingered the frayed tear. The bumper must have grazed the hem of my coat and torn off a small fragment. That was the on
ly logical explanation I could come up with. I broke into a cold sweat, knowing how close I’d come to nearly being squashed like a bug.
Mario Barrone’s killer clearly didn’t like me snooping around. Asking questions. Poking into alibis. In fact, he disliked it so much that he sought to silence me—permanently. Then, another thought occurred to me. My eyes popped open. I sat up straighter. What if the scrap of fabric was still wedged in the car’s bumper? All I had to do was find the car. Piece of cake, right?
Find the car. Find the killer.
I reached for my cell and did what any sane woman would do in the similar circumstances. I dialed my BFF.
* * *
“Takeout again,” Lindsey had whined earlier when leaving with Amber. Takeout versus home-cooked. Her complaint had seemed valid. Yet here I was at the Pizza Palace once again. My daughter’s words conjured up visions of the home-cooked meals I’d served my family on a regular basis: savory stews, mouthwatering meat loaves, tender roast chicken, spicy lasagna. CJ confided once he preferred my pot roast to his mother’s. His compliment made me feel I’d been crowned Queen of the Kitchen. Somehow, though, home-cooked meals weren’t as tasty when eaten alone. I confess these days I often resorted to take-out menus and frozen dinners. But pizza, when devoured in a restaurant, really wasn’t the same as takeout, I rationalized, as I waited for Reba Mae to join me.
I’d just taken a sip of wine when my friend pushed through the door. Reba Mae looked as tall and formidable as an Amazon as she strode toward me in her espadrilles with three-inch wedge heels. She’d taken the time to change from work clothes into form-fitting black crop pants and a bold-striped shirt. Chandelier-style earrings dangled nearly to her shoulders. By comparison, I could pass for a wallflower in my denim capris and yellow knit V-neck.
