Little Shop of Homicide: A Devereaux’s Dime Store Mystery

by Denise Swanson

  “Poppy’s smart as they come.” Tony nodded approvingly. “And Boone’s a good guy.”

  “Well, I don’t like Devereaux and St. Onge going off by themselves like that to confront a possible murderer.”

  Tony chuckled. “Nadine Underwood is pushing seventy. I’m pretty darn sure, between Dev and Boone, they could take her if she turned mean.”

  “Not if she had a weapon. She could have shot them both.” Jake clenched his jaw. “What’s the story with Devereaux and St. Onge?”

  “They’ve been friends since they were little kids. You should have seen…” Understanding dawned in Tony’s eyes. “You got the hots for Dev, don’t you?”

  Jake choked on the gulp of coffee he had just taken. Shit! The last thing he needed was his uncle deciding to play matchmaker. “What are you talking about? Of course not. I’m just concerned for her safety.”

  “Really?” Tony raised a brow. “Is that why you went to see her after she got home from the party? To check that she was okay?”

  “How—”

  “Last night one of the boys saw you turning into her driveway a little past ten.”

  “We had a lot to discuss.”

  “It must have been a real intimate kind of conversation.” Tony cackled. “You were wearing her lipstick and sporting a woody the size of a baseball bat when you marched through here spitting nails last night.” His thick white eyebrows met over his nose. “Looks like the hots to me.”

  Jake froze as a picture of Devereaux in his truck, her moist pink lips under his, popped into his mind. What would have happened if Meg hadn’t picked that moment to phone him? It was almost as if his ex-wife had ESP and had deliberately interrupted them.

  “You didn’t fool me back when you were a kid, and you don’t fool me now.” Tony snorted. “Hell, just admit you like her.”

  “Maybe I do.” Jake’s tone was stiff. “But I won’t be here long and it wouldn’t be fair to start something with her when I’m going back to work as a marshal as soon as I’m fit.” He mentally shook his head; his uncle was a good one to talk. Tony should have cleared things up with Devereaux’s grandmother a long time ago.

  CHAPTER 11

  As Poppy and I left the store, I headed toward Poppy’s Hummer, which was parked at the curb, but she grabbed my shoulder and said, “The mayor’s office is only across the square. It’ll be quicker to walk.”

  I was about to object when the thought of even the remote possibility of getting naked with Jake sometime in the near future made me change my mind. “You’re right.” I linked my arm with hers. “I should start getting more exercise. I know I’ll never be Cosmo Girl thin, but I could firm up my curves a little.”

  “Really?” Poppy looked at me questioningly, having often heard my negative opinion of any activity that involved sweating on purpose.

  “Maybe I’ll take up swimming. I hear the high school pool is available in the morning.”

  “I don’t buy it.” Poppy shook her head. “If swimming is supposed to be so good for your figure, how do you explain manatees?”

  “Excellent point.”

  As we hiked, Poppy said, “Boone told me all about your adventures with Nadine at the Lee Mansion fund-raiser.” Poppy cut her eyes at me. “I was surprised you didn’t call to tell me yourself.”

  “Sorry.” I stuffed my mittened hands into my pockets. It was freezing out and the wind was howling. “I was waiting to hear from Jake about what he’d found out from Anya Hamilton.” No need to mention that he was delivering the information in person. And I certainly wasn’t sharing what had happened in his pickup truck.

  “So, what did he have to say?”

  I summarized his report on Anya and the news that Joelle wasn’t Joelle.

  “Wow!” Poppy blew out her lips. “I sure didn’t see that coming.”

  “Yeah.” I lengthened my stride, trying to keep warm. “Joelle stealing someone’s identity is an excellent lead, but I was really hoping Anya would have more information on her bestie.” I paused. “Jake mentioned a woman named Gwen. Should we talk to her?”

  “Hm.” Poppy pulled her stocking cap lower on her head. “Maybe. She was tight with Joelle, though she didn’t seem as jealous as Anya, so I’m thinking some of the other Country Club Cougars, the ones who are lower in the pecking order, might have more to say.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “Cyndi Barrow.”

  “Why her?”

  “A couple of reasons.” Poppy stopped and held up a gloved finger. “One, she’s barely a part of the group. More of a hanger-on, really.”

  “And?”

  “And two, she’s engaged, so she was one of the few women not chasing Noah.”

  “Sounds good.” I tugged Poppy into moving on before we both became ice sculptures. “Who to, and when, is Cyndi getting married?”

  “Frazer Wren, and they’ve been engaged for five years, with no date in sight.”

  “That’s an awfully long time.” I frowned. “What’s the holdup?”

  “Frazer’s got Cyndi on the layaway plan, and I doubt he’s good for the balance.” Poppy saw my confused look and explained, “All the benefits of marriage with none of the drawbacks of the institution.”

  “Ah.” We crossed the square to the city hall, and as I pushed open the frosted-glass door for Poppy, I wondered out loud, “How in the heck does Geoffrey Eggers keep getting reelected?”

  “Cream isn’t the only thing that rises to the top. So does grease.”

  “Yeah.” The heat of the building hit me in the face as we entered, and I unwound the red and black plaid wool scarf from around my throat. “I guess it could be worse. At least he’s not an animal.” The neighboring town of Sparkville had elected a German shepherd to office after their last mayor was caught trying to sell a city council seat to the highest bidder.

  “Have you seen the DNA test that proves Geoffrey is human?” Poppy snickered, then added thoughtfully, “You know, Sparkville could end up having the last laugh on us if our mayor turns out to be a murderer.”

  The municipal building was divided into four spaces. A postage stamp–size reception area, the clerk’s tiny cubicle, and a fairly large conference room accounted for half of the small structure. The mayor’s office took up the other half. As we passed through the lobby, a Wagner opera was booming from behind the intricately carved oak door that separated His Honor from the commoners.

  A sign on the reception desk indicated that the city clerk would be back at noon, which was why Poppy had timed our visit for eleven thirty. With no one guarding the portal, we could pop in on the mayor unannounced. His Honor wasn’t good at thinking on his feet, and he often said things he shouldn’t when he was caught unawares.

  Poppy knocked once; then, without waiting for a response, she turned the knob, pushed the door open, and strolled over the threshold. I followed her, but hung back when she sauntered up to the nineteenth-century writing table the mayor used as a desk.

  Eggers had lurched to his feet at Poppy’s entrance, and he stammered as she trailed a fingertip along the tulipwood cross-banding on the tabletop. “Poppy, uh, what a surprise. Was I expecting you?”

  “Geoffrey Eggers.” Poppy pushed out her bottom lip in an adorable pout. “You sound as if you’re not happy to see me.”

  “Don’t be silly.” His Honor smoothed the sides of his black pompadour and tugged at the collar of his shirt. “You know I encourage all Shadow Benders to stop by, especially the pretty ones.”

  Either the mayor was ignoring me or he hadn’t noticed my presence. I was used to being eclipsed by Poppy’s ethereal beauty; it had been happening since our first-grade play when she got to be the Sugar Plum Fairy and I played a Christmas tree. So instead of being upset, I used the opportunity to study my surroundings. I’d never had a reason to visit Eggers’s office before, and I was shocked at how extravagantly it was decorated. Were the taxpayers footing the bill for this palace?

  Off to one side, a gold s
atin tuxedo-style sofa was positioned to face two Hepplewhite chairs upholstered in crimson damask. Between them, a Queen Anne table held curly willows arranged in a crystal vase. Behind the divan hung a gilt-framed Louis XV mirror that reflected the rich wood paneling on the opposite wall.

  Poppy was softening the mayor up with her coquettish act, so I wandered over to the fireplace and gazed up at an oil painting of His Honor above the mantel. He looked a little like an extremely dapper scarecrow. At well over six-six, with an estimated weight of less than 170 pounds, he appeared uncomfortable with his physical self. Even in his formal portrait, he was slouching and ducking his head.

  Eggers must have finally spotted me, or maybe he decided he’d been as rude to a voter as he could afford to be, because he suddenly appeared beside me and said, “Ms. Sinclair, Devereaux, I’m honored you’ve taken time from your store to come visit me. Please sit down and tell me what I can do for you ladies.”

  Poppy and I allowed him to seat us on his prized antique chairs; then she said, “Geoffrey, we wanted to get your opinion of Joelle Ayers’s murder. Did my father fill you in on the situation?”

  “Of course he did.” Eggers sat awkwardly on the edge of the couch; he was too tall for such a low piece of furniture. “The chief knows I like to be kept apprised.”

  It was all I could do to keep a straight face as he talked. With his knees sticking up almost to his ears and his hands pressed together from fingertips to palms, His Honor looked like a praying mantis.

  “And?” Poppy prodded him.

  “That poor girl.” Eggers’s expression was solemn. “Her death is a tragedy, of course.”

  “Any idea who may have wanted her dead?” Poppy crossed her legs.

  The mayor licked his lips, watching Poppy swing her foot back and forth. She was wearing tight leather boots over black leggings, and he appeared hypnotized by the sight of her shapely calf.

  Finally he focused and answered her question. “I couldn’t say. I didn’t know Ms. Ayers all that well, so I have no idea if she had enemies.”

  “Now, Geoffrey.” Poppy wagged a finger at him. “How can you say that when you caused that huge scene at the New Year’s Eve ball?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice rang with ersatz honesty.

  “I was there.” Poppy’s tone was no-nonsense. “As were at least a hundred other Shadow Benders and their guests. We all saw you.”

  His Honor opened his mouth, closed it, and repeated the process. In his eyes, I saw his thoughts as clearly as if I were reading them from a teleprompter. He was searching for a plausible denial.

  When the mayor didn’t speak, Poppy prodded him again. “Come on, Geoffrey. You got drunk and challenged Noah Underwood to a duel.”

  Knitting his scraggly eyebrows together over his beaklike nose, he pursed his thick, rubbery lips and thought hard—at any rate, as hard as he was capable of thinking. At last His Honor said, “I admit it. I admired Joelle, and I thought she returned my feelings.”

  “Even though she was engaged?” I asked, finally joining the conversation.

  “Yes.” The mayor smiled at me condescendingly. “Although you might think highly of Dr. Underwood’s charms, Joelle indicated that she was reconsidering her choice. She wasn’t certain the good doctor was right for her, but he refused to listen to her when she told him she thought they should call off their engagement until she was sure.”

  “Did you hear anything about that, Poppy?” I asked. “Any talk about Joelle wanting to end things with her fiancé or him giving her a hard time about it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Be that as it may.” His Honor shrugged. “The humiliation of my indiscretion on New Year’s Eve made me reconsider my affection for Joelle, and I never approached her or Dr. Underwood again.” Eggers straightened his silk tie. “Why would I? I’ve always been popular with the ladies and definitely don’t have to pursue a woman who doesn’t return my interest.” Before he could continue, the phone rang and he excused himself to answer it.

  While he was gone, I whispered to Poppy, “Why would Joelle flirt with someone as unattractive and old as His Honor when she already had Noah?”

  “Hedging her bets?”

  “That would mean Joelle was using Eggers.” Frowning, I added, “Which makes me feel a little sorry for him.”

  “Don’t.” Poppy smiled maliciously. “The mayor may have learned a valuable lesson. If you’re going to go flitting from flower to flower, you should expect to be treated like a son of a bee.”

  “He does seem extremely confident of his romantic prowess.” I peeked over my shoulder and watched him paw through the stacks of papers covering his desktop. “What in the world do women see in him?”

  “His position and his family’s money.” Poppy succinctly summed it up. “He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.” She blew out a deep breath. “Too bad you can’t return him for a nice cashmere sweater or a designer purse.”

  When the mayor rejoined us, he said, “As I was about to advise you before the phone interrupted, I’ve recently begun dating a lovely young lady, and we were together right here in Shadow Bend during Valentine’s Day weekend. So, as I stated before, I no longer had any interest in Joelle.”

  “Really. I’m surprised I haven’t heard about it.” Cynicism turned Poppy’s angelic amethyst eyes to gunmetal gray, and scorn curled her perfect rosebud mouth. “What’s your new girlfriend’s name? Is she from around here?”

  “I see no reason to share my personal information with you.” He produced a white handkerchief and a snuffbox. Taking snuff was one of his many unpleasant eccentricities. “And I certainly don’t want my friend’s privacy invaded.”

  “Say we believe you.” Poppy shot me a glance that said he was right—there was no way to force him to tell us anything. “Then who else might have had a motive to kill Joelle? Were there other men interested in her? Maybe someone from before she moved here?”

  “She never talked about her past, and the one time I was in her condo, there were no personal items of any kind visible.” Eggers took a pinch of snuff, inserted it in one nostril, sneezed, and blew his nose. “I got the impression this was a fresh start for her, and she didn’t want any reminders of before she arrived in Shadow Bend.”

  CHAPTER 12

  When I got back to the dime store after talking to Geoffrey Eggers, Mrs. Ziegler, the high school principal, was standing in front of the locked door, pulling on the handle. Her face was twisted into an impatient frown; evidently she assumed the CLOSED sign in the window was intended for mere mortals and not for her.

  She had been the principal of Shadow Bend High even before I graduated from its esteemed halls of learning. Although she’d always been addressed as Mrs. Ziegler, no one seemed to remember a Mr. Ziegler. And believe me, nobody had the nerve to question her about him.

  “Mrs. Ziegler.” I approached her cautiously. She wasn’t someone you wanted to offend or provoke. “Let me open that for you.”

  “Thank you.” She nodded regally and stepped out of my way. “The placard states that this establishment’s hours are from nine a.m. to nine p.m. on Wednesdays.” She crossed her arms. “Is it incorrect?”

  “No, ma’am.” I searched my mind for an excuse.

  “I only have a few minutes and I need to discuss something with you.”

  “I’m terribly sorry.” Deciding to go with the truth, or at least part of it, I explained, “I was called to a meeting with the mayor.”

  She sniffed, the tilt of her nose indicating that her opinion of His Honor matched mine.

  I finally managed to insert my key into the lock and turn it. “There you go.” I held the door open for her while she swept past toward the back of the store with me trailing her like a baby duck. I wondered what was up, but kept my mouth shut.

  While I admired Mrs. Ziegler, she scared the crap out of me. I had never seen her less than immaculately dressed in a well-tailored skirt, a perfectly pressed
blouse, and impeccably shined shoes. I halfway believed she wasn’t entirely human.

  Pointing to my worktable, where I, thank God, was assembling the basket for the Cline baby shower and not the one for the Stewart bachelorette party, she announced, “The high school needs you to show the Athletic Booster Club members how to make Easter baskets for their equipment and uniform fund-raiser.”

  I had automatically opened my mouth to refuse, since teaching others how to become my competition didn’t seem like a very smart business move, when I realized that pissing off one of the town’s most respected citizens was not good business, either.

  Thinking fast, I said, “I could do that. Or I could put together three samples, take photos, and design a leaflet from which the Boosters could sell the baskets for twenty or thirty percent over their cost.” I didn’t mention that their cost included my profit.

  “Hmm.” Mrs. Ziegler tapped the toe of her low-heeled black pump.

  “Think about it this way.” I could tell she wasn’t sold on the idea, so I upped the ante. “If we do what I suggest, there’s no capital outlay, there’s no storage problem, and there’s no mess.”

  “Well.” Mrs. Ziegler slapped her leather gloves against the palm of her hand. “That group does tend to be untidy.”

  Seeing that she was close to agreeing, I went in for the kill. “And I’ll donate a deluxe basket that they can raffle off at their next event.” I’d hide the cost of that prize in the price of the other baskets.

  “It’s a deal.” Mrs. Ziegler adjusted her purse strap to sit more securely on her shoulder. “I’ll expect the brochures on my desk first thing Monday morning.” She paused, tapping the index finger of her ringless left hand on her chin. “Two hundred and fifty copies should be sufficient.” She turned to go. “No, better make it five hundred.”