by Meg Macy
“Lease the Hippie Bear?”
“Yeah. I guess there’s a group in San Francisco who want to create a hippie museum,” she said. “They’ll use the bear as publicity to raise money. I’m happy for him.”
“If this group is legit, you mean.” It sounded hokey to me.
“They want to put the bear in Cleveland’s Rock and Roll Hall of Fame first, in order to raise money, and then ship it to California.” Maddie sounded morose. “So Kip wants to get back together, of course, and celebrate.”
“Are you going to cave? I’m staying neutral, in case you’re wondering.”
“I can’t do it, Sash. If I give in, I’ll set myself up for more disappointment. I didn’t like him pushing me the other night after the Polka Bear was ruined. Or how Kip yelled at me, telling me I was painting all wrong. Like I’ve never handled acrylics before! Please. I thought he was kidding, but nope. So that’s another factor.”
“You’ve worked in all kinds of media,” I said, surprised.
“More than he has, although I never told him about my degree.”
“What about all the classes at Cranbrook, the BBAC, and Pewabic Pottery.”
“I know. But at least he’s trying to apologize, in his own way.”
I stopped Maddie, right in the middle of Archibald Street. Other pedestrians streamed around us. “Stick to your guns,” I said. “You deserve respect for your artistic talent.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I like Kip, though. So much.”
“I do, too, but—oops, there’s Jay. Come on.” I pulled her along the street. “Looks like Emily’s band is playing tonight.”
We rushed to join him. We both waved to Emily Abbott, warming up with the other musicians on the courthouse steps. Remyx, according to the large bass drum’s printing, although I hadn’t noticed their name at the pub; Emily wore her usual pale Goth makeup but with red lipstick. Her leather dirndl—as short as Holly’s, but with dangling chains—flared out below a plain white T-shirt and spiked dog collar. The black felt top hat on her long, purple-streaked hair sported a long black-dyed ostrich plume. She pointed to the leather-jacketed silver teddy that sat atop a huge speaker to her left.
“Hey! How do you like Hairy Bear?” She waved him in the air. “Turned out so cool.”
“Great,” Maddie called back.
The lead guitarist plugged the soundboard in and then checked the volume levels of all their instruments. Maddie headed to the beer tent, while Jay and I headed to the roped-off section of Main Street. Five padded seats for the judges sat in front of the Regency Hotel.
“Folding chairs,” Jay said. “Perks for volunteers.”
I laughed. “I thought there were only four of us. Maybe there’s five in case we don’t agree? They must think it’s better to have an odd number of judges.”
“Not all of us will be around for every dance.” Isabel French settled on a chair. “Kristen is supposed to judge, too, taking turns with her boyfriend, but she’s also helping her dad pass out campaign flyers. Poor Mayor Bloom! I hear Holly Parker has a good chance to win.”
“All because he’s a murder suspect,” I said bitterly. “Doesn’t seem fair.”
“Maybe you could do something. Don’t you have an in with the detective handling the case?” Isabel asked. “That’s what I heard, anyway.”
I didn’t answer, too annoyed. Instead I smiled at the dark-haired woman who perched on the last chair. “Hi, I’m Sasha Silverman.”
“Lacey Gordon. I bought a graduation teddy bear at your shop, back in May,” she said. “For my daughter. I’m glad I wore my sweatshirt today. It’s good football weather.”
“Sitting here all afternoon, even with the sunshine, I’ll freeze,” Isabel said. “It’s not even getting to seventy degrees today.”
“Too bad we can’t dance,” Lacey said. “This band is really good. So I heard you talking about Mayor Bloom. I thought he’d get re-elected easy next month.”
“Things changed since the murder,” I said.
“And Holly Parker is going gangbusters, collecting donations and setting up lawn signs,” Isabel added. “I’ve heard some odd things. Is it true, Sasha, that you took out a PPO against her? So did Lisa Blake. What’s that about?”
Wow. Word traveled fast already, and I wondered if Holly had spread it to gain more sympathy. “Yes, I did. But I can’t explain right now. I’ll be right back.” I’d caught sight of my college friend Laura Carpenter, and rushed to overtake her. We’d been playing phone and text tag for over a month. “Laura! Hey, Carpenter. Wait up, girl.”
Laura skirted the dancers standing by the registration table and then met me halfway. Two silver clips held her red hair in place. She wore a jean jacket over a floral minidress, black leggings, and leather boots. Laura hugged me with enthusiasm.
“Hey, don’t you look like a million Deutschemarks! Euros now,” she said with a grin. “We have got to catch up, Sasha. Looks like you’re working today, though.”
“Beer wench yesterday, dance judge today. How was Door County last month?” I’d been jealous hearing about her vacation. We’d once gone there together several years ago to take in the lighthouses and wineries. “You had great weather for it.”
“We did. Greg and I had a blast. I posted a few photos on Facebook.”
“I’ll check ’em out. Haven’t had a chance to do anything online with this event, the teddy bear tea party a few weeks ago, and the Bears on Parade.”
“I saw some of the sculptures, how cool! I thought Maddie did one—”
“She did, but,” I interrupted, and kept my explanation about the vandalism brief. I didn’t hold back in sharing my suspicions, however, without actually naming my school rival. “Maddie worked so hard on the Polka Bear, too.”
“Here I thought the hospital had backstabbing to an art form.” Laura introduced me to a younger woman who joined us, with pageboy-styled dark hair and a slender figure. “Sharon Edwards owns a scrapbook and stationery shop over in Plymouth. She also teaches classes and weekend workshops.”
“You both ought to try a class,” Sharon said, and frowned at Laura’s pained reaction. “Oh come on, don’t give me the same excuse that you’re all thumbs, or without a crafty gene in your body. Anyone can peel a sticker or arrange a few photos on a page.”
“I guess you didn’t see the pitiful one I made at a wedding shower.”
“A scrapbook shop?” I caught sight of Holly Parker across the street, this time near the Time Turner, passing out campaign flyers. “Do you know that woman in the red miniskirt over there—the embroidered one?”
“Oh yeah, I know Holly Parker.” Sharon’s tone had swiftly turned acerbic. “A while back, we started a scrapbook store together in Elmwood Township.”
I blinked. “Where’s that?”
“Just north of Traverse City. We called it Scraps,” she said. “I first met her here in the Detroit area, when Holly worked with me and my sister. We took several vacations together up to Petoskey, Charlevoix, and Traverse City. She was so friendly then. I had no clue about the tricks she could pull. I count her as an enemy now.”
“Wow. That bad, huh.”
Sharon hesitated. “Holly Parker ruined our scrapbook business. On purpose.”
My blood pounded in my ears. I glanced several times across the street to make sure Holly hadn’t noticed us. I didn’t want her to interrupt or make a scene like last night. That would be the last thing I needed right now.
“I’d like to hear how she managed that.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Why did you choose Traverse City, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Sharon shrugged. “We both loved the area, and visited the Cherry Festival several years in a row. It’s always crammed with people, and in winter, the residents get so much snow people are housebound. Older women were our biggest customers at Scraps. They’d make it to weekly classes, no matter what the weather, except in blizzards when the roads were closed.”
“Brr.” Laura rubbed her arms. “I’m cold thinking about that one day I stopped by your shop, remember? Mid-July and only sixty degrees, raining like crazy. But I loved seeing the shelves of unique papers, stickers, the stamps and punches, and all the fancy embellishments. What didn’t you carry?”
“It all fell apart,” Sharon said, “a year and a half after we opened.”
“So what happened?” I asked.
“You told me Holly stole a little bit of inventory every month,” Laura said. “That she must have been selling it online.”
“With a friend who was savvy enough with computers to help. I didn’t have a shred of evidence, though. I think Holly cooked the books, too—”
“You’re a liar!”
I twisted around in dread. Holly stood there, her cleavage straining her blouse, cheeks as apple red as her skirt. She carried a stack of Holly Parker for Progress flyers.
“You’re calling me a liar?” Sharon faced her head-on. “How else could you explain all that missing inventory? You must have kept a second set of books. And profits went to hell, so we couldn’t get a loan to pay our creditors. They zoned in like sharks in bloody water.”
“I carried Scraps by myself, when you were too busy to bother.”
“My brother’s wife was going through chemo,” she snapped back. “I had to help them. And he worked double overtime to pay their medical bills.”
“I did the best I could, by myself, while you were off playing nursemaid,” Holly said. “And then you claimed you never signed that change in our partnership—”
“I never signed anything! You talked one of your friends into notarizing that change after you forged my signature. You also slept with my lawyer so he wouldn’t file a lawsuit against you. Perfect timing, I’d say.”
“You’re full of—”
Spewing profanity, Holly stormed into the crowd of the shocked onlookers. I breathed a sigh of relief. I definitely believed Sharon’s story, despite the “she said, she said” aspect. What a mess to deal with at the wrong time in Sharon’s life, too. And I could guess who the savvy but now deceased computer expert was, too—Gina Lawson. Another convenient piece of the puzzle. If only Mason would listen. Holly was now number one on my suspect list.
“So that little liar came back here,” Sharon said. “Where she grew up.”
“That’s not the whole story,” I said.
Sharon and Laura listened with rapt attention while I described Holly’s competition with the Silver Bear Shop & Factory and The Cat’s Cradle, plus how Gina Lawson’s borrowing the “Think Pink” hoodie led to her tragic demise. I added my theory about Holly taking revenge, and how she may have destroyed the Polka Bear and poisoned my dog.
“Who else would target us,” I said. “And she’s running for mayor, too.”
“I hope to God she loses,” Laura said. “Imagine her getting into power.”
“That’s how Holly operates.” Sharon shook her head. “I bet she has plans for a lot worse against you. Her MO is profiting from other people’s troubles.”
“I’m curious. You said things went missing from your store, right? How about a sample scrapbook that you could show customers,” I added.
“One of our best, yes.”
“I saw it,” Laura said quickly. “Gorgeous. Pale blue pages with a beach theme.”
“Bingo. The detective found it at Holly’s shop, along with other stuff she kept. Like a trophy collection,” I said. “Items to prove her victories.”
“Wow.” Laura glanced at Sharon. “Good thing you only lost your business instead of your life. Oh, sorry. Holly allegedly killed Gina Lawson, but I hope the cops find evidence to stick her with it. Then she can collect trophies in jail.”
“We’ll see.” I glanced around, wondering where Holly had gone, but saw no sign of her. “Listen, I’d better get back. You two be careful.”
Laura and I parted after promising to meet for coffee or dinner next month. Then I sat down with the other judges, apologized for missing the first few dances, and watched a darling ballet performance. All the young girls in pink tutus held silver teddy bears with pink ribbons. Shivering in the bitter breeze, I thought over Sharon’s story about Scraps.
Jay slid his arm around my shoulders. “Cold? I brought a windbreaker.” He pulled out a small nylon package, unfolded it, and then held it out. “Kind of dorky.”
“Better than nothing.”
I struggled into it, not wanting to stand up and draw attention to myself. A group of toddlers in miniature dirndls, white blouses, vests, and flower crowns careened on the street, prancing with little boys in lederhosen. They ended the dance by throwing kisses at the crowd.
“Look at this next group,” Jay said. “Impressive.”
Emily’s band had started playing “All That Jazz” from Chicago while five teens, two boys and three girls, did a sultry rendition. Only Isabel noticed a few mistakes.
“Not bad, though. My daughters are in competitive dance,” she said with a sigh. “All those costumes cost a fortune, but they love it.”
To my surprise, Deon Walsh was up next with a tap dance, accompanied by a taped saxophone solo. His feet flew, his specialty shoes rapping in rhythm; no wonder he listened to music while he worked at the factory. Everyone clapped with enthusiasm when he finished. Jay caught my arm when the noise died down.
“So who were you talking to a while ago?” he asked.
I launched into Sharon’s story about Holly Parker and the scrapbook store, keeping my voice low. “No different than here, playing the same game. However it profits her.”
“No wonder she wants to run for mayor,” Jay said. “I remember Kip telling me about Scraps. He lived up in Traverse City, and knew Holly. Kip called me last night. Said he wasn’t going to let Holly hurt you or your sister again.”
“She can’t. Not with that PPO,” I said. “Mike texted me that he filed it yesterday with the court. We can go straight to the police the next time anything happens.”
“Let’s hope that stops her cold. Oh, no!” Jay groaned and waved his cell. “Michigan fumbled the punt! Are you kidding me? Unbelievable!”
“What?” I peered at his tiny phone screen. “No way! They were winning.”
We watched in disbelief. I hadn’t been paying that much attention to the game’s score, confident that the Wolverines would beat the Spartans. We’d planned to watch the highlights later that night. Now my heart sank as the replay showed a shocking touchdown in the very last few seconds of the game. UM’s receivers had fumbled the punt, and bam. Game over.
That sent my mood into a downward spiral.
Chapter 25
“Wow, look at those kids move.” Isabel French clapped when little boys in suits twirled girls in fancy ribbon-trimmed dresses around in a circle. “A quadrille, not easy to learn. And look at that adorable little blond boy. He must be four years old, if that.”
Instead of paying attention, I’d been replaying past conversations with Holly Parker in my head. Oops. I snatched up a grading form and filled it out with the group’s information, since Lacey had done the last one. But everything I’d learned over the last few weeks crisscrossed together. The theft of Mom’s Minky Bear and Jay’s carved bird, the scrapbook store fiasco, even Gina’s bad habit of borrowing. It all fit. But did it add up to Holly being a murderer?
Maybe Gina knew too much, and Holly had to get rid of her.
The sun sank toward a bank of clouds on the horizon. Long shadows stretched to the east, across the paved street where the dancers twirled around one another. When I stood to stretch, Jay’s light jacket slipped off my shoulders. I grabbed it, but it hit the ground with a loud clunk.
“What’s in your pocket?” I draped it over my chair while Jay chuckled.
“My phone. Going somewhere?”
“I thought I’d stretch for a bit. Walk around.”
“Isn’t that your uncle? He’s next up to dance.”
Twisting around, my j
aw dropped. I hadn’t recognized Uncle Ross, not in a gray wool blazer, embroidered vest, green knickers, knee-high socks, and a feathered hat. Aunt Eve’s blue-, green-, and beige-striped dirndl looked sweet beneath a buttoned corset, white blouse, and short wool jacket, plus she wore a knotted scarf around her neck. Her blond hair was pinned back in a severe bun, but she wore a pink flower above one ear. At their signal, Emily flipped a switch on a boom box. I was surprised again to hear the lovely strains of a waltz.
My aunt tipped her head back when Uncle Ross led her around, stepping gracefully, with fast twirling steps. They were marvelous to watch. Now I understood why they’d spent so much time practicing. I was sure it had also led to my uncle’s proposal.
“They sure seem to belong together,” I murmured.
“You’re right.” Jay slid an arm over my shoulders. “A unique pair, him with that vintage Olds, and her vintage fashion. She always looks terrific.”
The music ended sooner than the audience expected. Their thunderous applause brought a pinker glow to Aunt Eve’s face. She smiled and curtsied while Uncle Ross bowed. To the cries of “Encore!” he twirled her around again for another minute, but then nodded to Emily. Once they departed, she and the band played a traditional German song. Two men in faded lederhosen led a woman in a dirndl out, who was soon forgotten while the men circled each other, slapping their knees or feet, before they launched into a pretend fight. The crowd laughed and clapped.
Next up, I recognized Walter in a spiffy tux along with Shirley, who wore a slinky black and white satin dress. They danced a rumba, although Isabel pointed out a few mistakes. I let her fill out the grading form. Uncle Ross led Aunt Eve to where I sat with Jay.
“That was wonderful, you two lovebirds! I’ve never seen a prettier waltz,” I said.
“We’ve had great dancers today,” Lacey Gordon said. “Oh, I love Irish step dancers. What great costumes, too, all green and white.”
“Irish step dancers at an Oktobear Fest?” Jay shrugged. “Why not?”
“It’s good exercise—”
Someone half-dragged me, up and out of the judging circle of chairs. “Sasha, I need your help.” My cousin Matt looked frantic. “This way, come on.”
