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

by Denise Swanson

  Jake must have realized how close I was to losing it and telling the detective exactly what I thought of him, because he said smoothly, “The Parkside is one of the best hotels, and we were celebrating our new relationship. Don’t you believe in love?”

  There was a moment’s silence; then Woods started to applaud. “That was some performance. You had me going for a second or two.” He hitched up his pants and moved closer to me again. “I might even buy your story if there wasn’t a dead body in that room a week ago. A woman who was killed with items from your perverted gift basket, and who just happened to be the fiancée of your ex-boyfriend.”

  “Which might have given Devereaux a motive,” Jake interjected, “if she still had feelings for Underwood and was intent on getting rid of the competition.” He gave me a hug and beamed down at me with such love in his eyes, I almost believed the line he was giving Woods.

  The detective tried to interrupt, but Jake continued. “However, as you can clearly see, she’s in love with me now and had no reason to kill that woman.”

  “So you say.” Woods’s voice was skeptical. “This great love of yours seems very handy to me.”

  “Yes, and your knowledge of our whereabouts seems very handy to me.” Jake narrowed his eyes. “Were we being followed?”

  “No. We got an anonymous tip this morning.” Woods shook his head in disgust. “I only wish the department had those kinds of resources. Hell, between the bean counters not approving surveillance and the lawyers telling me I can’t say she’s a suspect, I might as well retire.” Woods shot me a look of pure loathing. “And I would if I still had any retirement money left.”

  I started to apologize, but Jake cut me off, intent on gathering more information. “Who tipped you off? Man or woman?”

  “Couldn’t tell,” Woods answered automatically, obviously responding to the command in Jake’s voice. Then he caught himself. “Now wait a goddamn minute—I’m the one asking the questions, so tell me again why you were at the Parkside.”

  “We already told you.” Jake faced the detective and crossed his arms. “So unless you have another relevant question, I suggest you leave.”

  Woods didn’t blink. “How long have you two been going out together?”

  I waited for Jake to respond since I didn’t want us to give different answers. Heck, I wasn’t even sure how long he’d been in town.

  “A month.” Jake’s tone was confident. “We met the day after I arrived at my uncle’s.”

  “How convenient.” Woods’s smile could have cut through a sheet of metal. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone who can corroborate that.”

  “My grandmother,” I said.

  “My uncle,” Jake said at the same time. Then he added, “We kept our relationship quiet at first, but recently we shared it with Devereaux’s friends Boone and Poppy.”

  Wow. Jake was smooth. I needed to remember that he was an even better liar than I was.

  As Woods took another step closer to us, a voice exploded into the foyer and Birdie burst from the kitchen into the hallway, holding a rolling pin in her raised hand. “I want you out of my house! I know my rights. Unless you have a search warrant, you need to leave right now and quit bothering these two lovebirds.”

  I froze. Shit! Shit! Shit! I had been hoping to keep Gran in the dark about all this—especially the part where Jake and I spent an evening in a hotel room alone together. How had I missed the sound of the bad muffler on Frieda’s old Chevy Impala? I had to have been really distracted by Woods and Jake.

  Gran was still wearing her coat. She must have returned from the casino, seen the police car—even unmarked cars had a distinctive license plate—and come in through the back door.

  “Now, Mrs. Sinclair,” Woods said, retreating a step, “I’m just asking a few questions.”

  Birdie darted up to the detective, a righteous grandmother protecting her young. She waved the sturdy wooden dowel at him. “And these kids answered you, so now it’s time to leave. I won’t ask you this nicely next time.”

  I caught Jake’s eye and tilted my head questioningly. All I needed was for Woods to take Gran into custody.

  Jake shrugged, but he was grinning and didn’t appear worried.

  “Fine.” The detective took another step back, plainly making sure he was out of rolling-pin range before adding, “But I’m going to get her this time. I’m this close to arresting her.” He held his thumb and index finger together with barely any space between them.

  “What’s changed?” Jake demanded. “What new evidence do you have?”

  At first, I didn’t think Woods would answer. Then with a great deal of pleasure he said, “The same person who told us Ms. Sinclair was at the Parkside yesterday told us they saw her there the previous Saturday night as well.”

  “That’s a lie!” I looked at Jake. Did he believe Woods?

  Jake smiled reassuringly at me, but before he could speak, Birdie screamed at Woods, “Sweet Jesus! Did you even stop to think your anonymous tipster is probably the real murderer?”

  He ignored Gran’s question. “You can’t protect your granddaughter forever, Mrs. Sinclair. No one can.”

  “Maybe. But I’ll die trying.” Birdie looked him up and down. “And I might take you with me since without Dev I have nothing to lose.”

  “All of you are crazy!” The detective’s bellow made the glass knickknacks on the hall table rattle. He turned to Jake and me. “This isn’t over.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Jake’s expression was implacable. “And here’s something for you to think about on your way out. Maybe your immediate superior knows about your bias in this matter and doesn’t think it’s affecting your investigation, but it’s time to take the issue up the food chain. Do you think the chief of detectives will allow your personal vendetta against Devereaux to continue?”

  Woods’s face turned the color of a ripe eggplant. He sputtered, spun on his heel, and flung open the front door. “You just made a dangerous enemy, pal.” He stomped out, slamming the door behind him.

  CHAPTER 23

  “Well.” I blew a curl out of my eye. “That was certainly fun.”

  Gran had disappeared into the kitchen with a wink and a nudge. No doubt she was already on the phone to Tony, spreading the news of Jake’s and my romance.

  “Yeah. Real amusing.” Jake stood with his hand on the doorknob. “Woods’s guitar strings are tuned a little too tight.”

  “Uh-huh. Let’s just hope we aren’t around to get hurt when they break.” I felt awkward with Jake after all that had happened, both last night and this morning. “So, are you really going to notify the chief of detectives about Woods’s prejudice against me?”

  “Yes.” Jake grimaced. “I didn’t do it earlier because going up the chain of command is the last thing a law enforcement officer wants to do to a fellow officer—it’s a good way to get labeled a snitch—but I think it’s time.”

  “I can have Boone make the call,” I offered, not wanting Jake to ruin his reputation on my account.

  “No. It’ll be more effective coming from me.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I didn’t have the luxury of turning down his offer. If I went to prison, Birdie would end up in an assisted-living facility. And after spending her whole life in the same house, she’d hate that. “And thanks for coming over so fast.”

  “No problem.” Jake’s tone was distracted. “Good thing you phoned when you did. I was getting ready to leave for St. Louis. I got a message that I need to be at headquarters Monday at nine o’clock, so I’m driving up today and spending the night at my apartment.”

  “Is it about your injury?”

  “No.” Jake twitched his shoulders. “A case I worked on a couple of years ago, involving a guy who escaped from prison and took a Sunday school class hostage, is finally going to trial, and they need to prep me before I testify.”

  “Right. You don’t want a scumbag like that getting off on a technicality.” I hoped my voice didn’t sound
as forlorn as I felt as I added, “So, you’ll be gone a while.”

  “Not too long.” He shrugged. “A day of prep and a day or two at the trial. I should be home by Wednesday, Thursday at the latest.”

  “Oh.” At least he had said he’d be home, implying Shadow Bend was where his heart was.

  “While I’m there I’ll see if Meg’s had any luck finding out Joelle’s real identity.”

  “Great.” Yeah. Just peachy. He was going to spend some quality time with his ex-wife. Even though I was confused about my feelings for Jake, there was one thing I was sure about. I didn’t want him alone with Meg. “While you’re gone, I’ll find out if Poppy ever talked to Cyndi Barrow.”

  “Good. And if you get a chance, check out the housekeeper, too.” Jake opened the door and stepped outside. “We’ll tackle the mayor and Underwood together once I get back. I don’t want you interviewing them alone, since either one could be the killer.”

  “I can understand that.” I recognized his concern, but I wasn’t making any promises. Not after Woods’s claim that he was close to arresting me. “Have a good trip.”

  After Jake left, it took me a while to answer all Gran’s questions. As I explained everything, I tried to dissuade her from the idea that Jake and I were an item, but that was a futile effort. She’d heard what she wanted to hear, and wasn’t willing to let me change her mind.

  Finally, a little after noon, I got a chance to shower, dress, and call Poppy. She apologized, telling me she had never caught up with Cyndi, but asked if I could meet her at Brewfully Yours in a half hour. The Country Club Cougars would be there and we could talk to Cyndi together.

  When I pulled up to the coffee shop, I was surprised to find the parking lot nearly full. A Sunday afternoon crowd was unusual, but the banner over the doorway announcing a tasting explained the café’s sudden popularity.

  For twenty-five dollars, half of which went to the animal shelter south of town, thimble-size cups of coffee were passed around and folks pretended they could tell the difference between Folgers and some expensive-label beans. The real reason everyone was there was for the brownies and other pastries that were being served along with the coffee. Since the goodies were considered a palate cleanser, and the event was for charity, the women felt free to eat. Guilt-free calories are hard to come by.

  Poppy met me at the door and we walked in together. She was right; the Cougars were out in force. We paid our money, slipped on the lime green wristbands that indicated we weren’t deadbeats, and headed toward the women.

  It was clear who was who in the social hierarchy. Anya and Gwen were seated in two armchairs with their backs to the wall. Half a dozen women, those next in the pecking order, had arranged the café’s wooden chairs to face them. Among those I recognized was the petite blond Country Club Kitten who had been clinging to Noah at the shelter committee meeting.

  A couple of wannabes, including Cyndi Barrow, sat in the last row on metal folding chairs. Poppy and I took the two seats on either side of our quarry, bracketing Cyndi like hunters running down a wild boar.

  I made the mistake of murmuring hello to Cyndi while Anya was speaking, and she and Gwen swung disapproving gazes in my direction. A calculating look settled on both women’s faces, and after a silent communication, Anya gave Gwen a slight nod.

  Gwen homed in on me like a stealth missile. “I can’t believe my eyes,” she said. “Devereaux Sinclair—you never hang out with us. What brings you here today?”

  “This wonderful cause, of course. What else?” I bared my teeth in a fake grin. “I wouldn’t miss it. I’m a big animal lover.”

  “And not just the four-footed variety.” Gwen’s smile was full of innuendo. “Word around town has it that you’ve been taking a walk on the wild side with Tony Del Vecchio’s hot nephew.”

  I would have let that comment pass, because even annoying people can be informative, but Poppy said, “Maybe she has. But at least Dev’s not giving guided tours of the jungle like I’ve seen you doing at Gossip Central.”

  Gwen sniffed, turned to Anya, and whispered furiously in her ear, all the while darting vicious looks at Poppy and me.

  “Was that really necessary?” I hissed at my friend.

  “Definitely.”

  “You’re really good at making enemies, aren’t you?” She could be so exasperating.

  “Yep.” Poppy smirked. “Which is why I’m divorced, unlisted, and own a gun.”

  While the coffee samples were being served, I studied the beautiful vacant faces of the women who’d gathered there. They chatted among themselves as they sipped, but they quieted immediately when either Anya or Gwen spoke.

  The event was winding down, and I was wondering how we would get Cyndi alone so we could question her, when Poppy got up and wandered over to Gwen and Anya. She leaned close to them and spoke for several seconds in a voice too low for me to hear. I was thinking about moving nearer, but whatever Poppy was saying launched Anya and Gwen to their feet.

  They swept the circle of women in front of them with twin glares, scooped up their Louis Vuitton bags, and marched out of the coffee shop. The rest of their entourage followed closely on the heels of their Prada peep-toe platform pumps.

  When Cyndi tried to join the others, I put a hand on her arm. “Do you have a minute? I wanted to talk to you about Blood, Sweat, and Shears.”

  “Sure.” Cyndi’s smile was tenuous as she sank back into her seat. “Is there a problem with the group? You’re not kicking us out of the dime store, are you?”

  “Of course not. Your group does such wonderful work for charity.” I patted her knee. “I just wanted your opinion.”

  “On what?”

  “Uh…” I thought fast. “What kind of serger to buy for the store.”

  “I think the best brand is Brother, though some people like Singer.” I could tell from Cyndi’s voice that she wasn’t expecting anyone to give much credence to her suggestion. “You really should check with Winnie.”

  “Thanks.” I looked at Poppy as she rejoined us, indicating she should take over. “I’ll do that.”

  “So what do you think got Anya and Gwen in such a tizzy?” Poppy asked. “I was trying to apologize to Gwen for the snarky remark I made earlier and all of a sudden they both ran out of here like I had shot them.”

  “They don’t really forgive and forget very easily.” Cyndi’s brow furrowed. “She and Joelle and Gwen always said forgiveness is for priests and losers.”

  “Wow!” Poppy’s angelic face shone with false innocence. “That’s way harsh.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.” Cyndi leaned forward, closing in on her point. “I thought they might have been kidding when they first said it, but they really meant it. You don’t want to make a mistake around them.”

  “Were there women in your group that they wouldn’t forgive?” I asked. “Maybe someone who became angry enough to kill Joelle?”

  “No.” Cyndi chewed a thumbnail. “No one ever dared cross them.”

  “Were Anya and Gwen jealous when Joelle snagged Shadow Bend’s most eligible bachelor?” I asked, forcing a giggle.

  “Oh, yeah.” Cyndi giggled with me. “You could see they were hopping mad, though mostly they pretended not to be. At least they pretended when Joelle was around.”

  “What did they do behind her back?” Poppy asked.

  “For a while they were hell-bent on finding some dirt on Joelle to show Noah’s mother.” Cyndi shook her head. “But they must not have ever found anything, since Joelle and Noah were still engaged when she died.”

  Poppy had to get back to her bar by three, but before she left, we sat in my car chatting. First, she told me what she’d really said to Gwen and Anya to make them so angry: that if they didn’t pay their bar tab by the end of the week, they’d be cut off. For the next half hour, I updated Poppy on Woods’s visit and what Jake and I had discovered on our visit to the hotel. After that, I spent the rest of the time fending off her interest in my love lif
e.

  Finally, Poppy had to leave. As she got out of the Z4, she said, “Those Cougars need to be taught a lesson. They think life is just a bowl of cherries. What they don’t realize is that life is really a can of hot peppers. And what you devour one day will scorch your ass the next.”

  I nodded my agreement, and with a promise to keep her informed, I drove away.

  That morning, Gran had told me that Joelle’s housekeeper was Irene Johnson and that she lived a few miles north of town. When Gran had described the property and given me directions, I’d known exactly where she meant because Irene’s place had always reminded me of a dollhouse. It was painted a delicate butter yellow with sage green trim and a white porch. It was tiny, but every detail was perfect.

  It took only a few minutes to reach my destination. After parking my car on a concrete apron beside an immaculately maintained older-model dark blue Taurus, I made my way to the front door. I could hear Billy Ray Cyrus singing about his achy breaky heart, but there was no response when I rang the bell.

  Hmm. Maybe Irene couldn’t hear me over the music. I tried several more times with the same result, then followed the sidewalk around to the back door. I cupped my hand and peered through the window. Mr. Coffee’s ON button glowed red and a big pot of something was cooking on the stove, so Irene had to be home.

  I tapped my knuckles against the wood, then knocked harder. A second or two later, Irene hurried into the kitchen. She was a tall, solidly built woman, and she leaned against the doorframe before she asked, “Can I help you?”

  “Ms. Johnson, my name is Devereaux Sinclair. I’m Birdie Sinclair’s granddaughter.” Everyone knew Gran. “She told me where you lived.”

  “Oh, sure.” Irene opened the door. “You bought the old dime store. Everyone in town was so relieved that a local took it over and that you kept it like it always had been. We all just love that store.”

  “Thank you. I love it, too.” I flashed a big smile. “If I’m not interrupting anything, Ms. Johnson, could I talk to you for a few minutes?”