Scary Sweets

by Jessica Beck

  “Good afternoon to you, too, Suzanne. Hello, Dot.”

  “Gabby, it’s lovely to see you. How are you?”

  “Delightful, thank you for asking,” the shop owner said before she turned to me. “Now, what is it you want to know?”

  “The scarf in the window. When did it come in? Was it this morning, by any chance?”

  Gabby frowned. “Suzanne, there are over three thousand items in this shop. Do you honestly expect me to know when I took in each and every piece? I’d have to have an amazing mind to be able to do that, now wouldn’t I?”

  “I know you have a system with your notecards, Gabby, so don’t try to be coy with me. This is important.”

  “Why?” Gabby asked, clearly incredulous that a scarf’s status could be of any significance to me at all.

  “It might be tied to something that happened early this morning,” I said, trying to be as vague as I could manage.

  “This morning, you say?” she asked. “Tell me more.”

  Momma stepped up. “Gabrielle, suffice it to say that it matters to us, and we’d like an answer, if you please.”

  I hadn’t heard Gabby’s given name used in her presence more than three times in all of the years I’d known her. I was certain that Momma had used it intentionally to show her that we weren’t just asking an idle question. What was more, Gabby must have known it, too. “It was tied to my front doorknob this morning when I arrived,” she admitted. “I get donations sometimes, but I’m rarely able to use them. They are normally threadbare, soiled, or out of fashion, but being that this is Fright Week, I decided to add it to my dry-cleaning order, and I just received it back not ten minutes ago. It’s fetching, given the holiday. Why, would you like to purchase it?”

  I was about to refuse when Momma surprised me. “How much are you asking for it, considering you got it for nothing?” Was she dickering now for the sake of haggling on a price, or was there another reason she wanted it?

  “It’s a steal at twenty-five dollars,” Gabby said.

  “I’ll give you five,” Momma said without blinking an eye.

  “Why, the dry-cleaning alone cost me more than that,” Gabby answered, pretending to be offended by the mere suggestion.

  “We both know that you must get a massive discount on your cleaning bill, given the volume of clothes you have laundered, so if it was more than two dollars, I’d be amazed. I’ll give you seven,” Momma countered.

  “I couldn’t let it go for anything less than fifteen, and that’s taking advantage of me.”

  “I don’t mind a woman making a profit, but let’s be reasonable,” Momma said. “Nine?”

  “Twelve,” Gabby said, “and that’s my final offer.”

  Momma studied her for a moment, and then she pulled out her wallet and produced a ten and two ones. “Sold. It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

  To my surprise, Gabby smiled right back at her. “I like a woman who knows how to haggle. The pleasure was all mine. Let me get that scarf out of the window for you.”

  As she left to retrieve it, I asked my mother, “Was there a reason for that purchase, or were you just having a little fun?”

  “Gabby claims she doesn’t know who donated it, but I wonder,” Momma said softly.

  “Do you think she’s protecting someone?” I asked.

  She was about to answer my question when Gabby returned. “Enjoy it in good health,” she said as she wrapped it and placed it in a bag for Momma.

  “I shall,” my mother said.

  “Will there be anything else?” Gabby asked.

  “Not for the moment,” Momma said, and I followed her outside.

  “Would you mind telling me what we’re going to do with it now that we have it?”

  “I’m afraid the explanation is going to have to wait. We need to move quickly right now.”

  “Why is that?” I asked as Momma opened the bag, discarded the packaging in a nearby trash can, and wrapped the scarf around her neck.

  “We need to go to the Boxcar and see if anyone reacts to my new purchase.”

  “That’s a nice scarf you’ve got there, Dot,” Trish said to Momma the moment we walked into the converted train boxcar that now was my favorite spot to eat out in April Springs. “It’s really festive, isn’t it?”

  “I just bought it at ReNEWed,” Momma said proudly. “Why would anyone give this up at the beginning of Fright Week?”

  “Beats me,” Trish said as she touched it lightly. “The behavior of the common man continually baffles me.”

  “Or common woman,” I added.

  “I’d love to get its history,” Momma continued. “Have you ever seen it before, Trish? I’m dying to meet the last owner.”

  “I can’t say that it looks all that familiar to me,” Trish conceded.

  Momma looked disappointed, but I knew how many dead ends and wastes of time investigations tended to have. “Thanks, Trish,” I said. “If you think of anybody, let us know.”

  The grill owner lowered her voice and moved closer toward us, though no one else was anywhere near the cash register up front at the moment. “Is this about the man you found this morning, Suzanne?”

  “It might be,” I conceded. It was better to get Trish as an ally right up front than to mislead her and have to ask for forgiveness later.

  “He wasn’t wearing it, was he?” she asked in a surprised voice as she studied it again. “I suppose a man might choose to wear that out in public, but he’d have to be braver than most of the men I know.”

  “No, he wasn’t wearing it, but whoever donated it to Gabby might have seen something at the crime scene without even realizing it,” I said.

  Momma looked surprised by my explanation, but I doubted that Trish could tell. I’d learned long ago that it was easier to get information about a potential witness than it was a possible killer. Folks were more apt to talk when it didn’t directly involve whatever bad guy we were looking for at the time. “Doesn’t Gabby know who she bought it from?” she asked.

  “She claims that somebody left it tied to her doorknob this morning, so she had it cleaned and put on sale by the time we got there ten minutes ago,” I said.

  “So you bought it? What makes you think that it might be tied to a witness?” Trish asked, keen to get the inside scoop on our investigation.

  I knew that I could trust her, but there were a great many folks in the diner at the moment, and I wasn’t at all sure they couldn’t overhear our conversation, given the propensity of our little town towards gossip. “Suffice it to say that someone spotted it this morning, but they couldn’t see who might have been wearing it,” I said, barely above a whisper now.

  “Got it. So, it could have belonged to the killer. I have a question, if that’s the case. If Stevie saw someone wearing that this morning, why would someone ditch it at Gabby’s? Why not stick it in the bottom of the closet, or better yet, put it in a trash bag and throw it into the nearest dumpster?”

  I knew that something had been bothering me about the scarf’s sudden appearance in Gabby’s front window, and Trish had just put her finger on it. “That’s exactly what we want to find out,” I said.

  Momma was frowning yet again, but I was making it up as we went along now. There were no neatly laid out scripts in my investigations. I was a firm believer in going with the flow and seeing what might turn up.

  “Okay, but don’t go telling everyone the same thing you told me. It wouldn’t be fair to Stevie to put him on the spot like that.”

  I was surprised for a moment by her accurately naming our source, and I was about to deny it when Momma beat me to it.

  “You must understand that we can’t confirm or deny any potential witness we may have spoken with,” she said.

  “You don’t have to,” Trish said with a grin. “Who else would be out at that time of morning besides you, Suzanne? I’m assuming you didn’t spot the scarf yourself.” I was about to protest, however feebly, when Trish put her finger t
o her lips and added, “You know you don’t have to worry about me. Mum’s the word.”

  I was about to answer when I scanned the room and found someone in particular trying very hard not to stare at Momma’s scarf and failing miserably at it. It was Jenny Preston, the woman who owned For The Birds, and when we made eye contact, she practically leapt up from her table, her meal still half eaten, and pushed her way past us with nary a word.

  Momma and Trish had missed the exchange, but I wasn’t about to let it go. I tapped Momma’s arm as I pivoted and headed for the door myself.

  “Was it something I said?” Trish asked.

  “We’ll be back,” I said.

  Momma, to my great relief, didn’t ask me a single question about my abrupt behavior.

  She simply followed my lead.

  CHAPTER 6

  “Jenny! Wait up!”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you,” Jenny Preston said as she finally slowed enough for us to catch up with her. “I apologize, but I can’t really talk at the moment. I need to get back to the store.”

  “That’s fine. We’ll walk with you,” I said as I tried to match her pace. Momma found a way to keep up with her more easily than I did, which peeved me a little, since her legs were quite a bit shorter than mine.

  “Suit yourself,” Jenny said as she hurried down the block toward her shop, one that catered to bird lovers by offering all kinds of goodies from sunflower seed blends to ornately crafted feeders to more varieties of suet blends than I’d ever thought possible. I wasn’t sure how she stayed afloat in our small town, but she seemed to be doing just fine.

  “Tell me what made you react to Momma’s scarf back at the Boxcar Grill,” I said.

  Jenny hesitated for a few moments before answering, but she took too long to respond to be credible in her denial. “I’m certain I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “There’s no use denying it. I saw your face the moment you saw it wrapped around her neck,” I said. “So I’ll ask you again. Why the intense reaction?”

  “I’m sure it was just your imagination,” Jenny answered, trying her best to sound casual and utterly failing.

  “And I’m just as certain that it wasn’t,” I said firmly.

  We were at her shop now, and Jenny looked almost relieved to be there. “As I said before, I’m really sorry, but I really can’t talk. I have inventory to do.”

  “In late October?” I asked her.

  “We run on a different fiscal calendar than most folks do,” she said after a few moments.

  I didn’t believe her for a second. “But you’re still open for business, right? The reason I ask is that I see at least three people inside shopping right now, and Margaret is waiting on them. How long has she been working for you, by the way?”

  “A while now,” Jenny said.

  “What about the shoppers still inside?” I pressed.

  “We’ll just have to ask them to leave, since we’re about to close for the day,” she said, nearly choking on her words.

  “Then Momma and I will come in and shop until you do. That will give us a chance to chat about the scarf a little more. You don’t mind if anyone overhears us, do you?”

  I could tell in an instant that Jenny would mind that very much, but she couldn’t exactly deny us entry without throwing her legitimate customers out at the same time. “Fine. I’ll tell you. I don’t know why I reacted the way I did. I suppose it was because I never expected to see it on your neck, Dot,” she said as she looked at Momma. “When I saw it at ReNEWed, I thought it would make a perfect gift for a friend of mine, but when I tried to buy it, I was told that it wasn’t for sale.”

  That didn’t sound right. Gabby often boasted that she’d sell the entire building if the price was right. “Who told you that it wasn’t available for purchase?” I asked her.

  “Gabby said so herself. It was in one of the bins, but when I tried to buy it, she told me that I couldn’t, because she was keeping it for herself. Gabby made some flimsy excuse that it had gotten out onto the sales floor by accident, and that was that. Or so I thought.”

  “When exactly did this happen?” I asked. Had Jenny approached Gabby just before we’d arrived? If so, why did the shopkeeper refuse to sell it to her but then offer it to us a little later? Things were just not adding up, and in my world, I preferred things to make sense. Honestly, who didn’t?

  “It was yesterday afternoon, just as she was beginning to close for the day,” Jenny said.

  “That’s impossible,” Momma blurted out. “Are you sure you aren’t mistaken?”

  “Dot, I know today from yesterday. The reason I kept staring at you at the Boxcar was because I really wanted that scarf to give as a gift, and when I saw that Gabby had sold it to you instead, it just got under my skin.”

  “Tell you what, when this is all over, I’ll sell it to you myself,” Momma said. “In fact, it will be a gift from me to you.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t honestly want it under those conditions. It’s a bit tainted for me. Now I really do have to get back to work.”

  “Go on, and have a good inventory,” I said.

  Jenny stumbled for a moment as she struggled for a reply, and I was happy to see that she was so unused to lying that she could barely bring herself to do it competently.

  “What is going on, Suzanne?” Momma asked me a moment later. “This doesn’t make sense. First Trish points out that there is no reason for that scarf to show up at ReNEWed this morning, and then Jenny tells us that Gabby had it yesterday, not this morning as she reported to us, and what is more, she refused to sell it to Jenny so she could keep it for herself. Was she the one Stevie spotted this morning? I find it hard to believe, but we have to consider it a possibility. The truth is that I don’t understand any of it.”

  “Neither do I,” I said. Could Gabby have had something to do with the stranger’s demise, if it had indeed been murder? I could hardly imagine her just out for a late-night stroll. There were questions that demanded answers, and only the owner of ReNEWed could provide them. “That’s why we’re marching straight back to Gabby’s shop and talking to her again. We’re not leaving until we get answers, either.”

  “Agreed,” Momma said.

  We were to be thwarted in our goal, though.

  When we got back to ReNEWed, though we’d only been gone from there for less than half an hour, the CLOSED sign was in the window, and the front door was locked.

  Apparently it wasn’t going to be as easy to talk to Gabby as I’d hoped.

  “I’ve got to say that was odd behavior earlier, even from the pair of you,” Trish said when we walked back into the Boxcar. “You both took off out of here as though your hair was on fire. What was the hurry?”

  “I wanted to check something out while it was still fresh in my mind,” I said, which wasn’t a complete lie.

  “What did Jenny have to say about the scarf?” Trish asked with that wicked grin of hers.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

  It just made Trish’s grin even broader. “Seriously, Suzanne? You’re going to try to play dumb with me?”

  “I just wish it was playing,” I said. “Okay, I did want to speak with Jenny. She spotted Momma’s scarf the moment we walked in, and she couldn’t take her eyes off of it the entire time.”

  “Was she your mystery witness this morning? It wasn’t Stevie?” Trish asked eagerly. She really did yearn to be involved in one of my investigations, but the timing hadn’t been right for us, at least not at that point. Who knew what the future might hold?

  “No, but she told us something intriguing,” I admitted. I was about to say that I couldn’t talk about it when Momma said, “Suzanne, that table over there is free. Let’s have a late lunch, shall we?”

  “Sure. Why not?” I asked, frowning at her odd interruption.

  Trish put a hand on my arm before I could go, though. “I’m dying to know. What did Jenny tell you?”


  At that moment, Cal Jeffries approached the cash register with his bill and a ten in his hand. I could tell Trish wanted to blow him off, but she wasn’t about to let money she’d earned walk through the door. “We’ll catch up on the rest of it later.”

  “That’s really all there is to it for now,” I said.

  “Should I believe you?” Trish asked.

  “Hey, Trish, I can’t wait forever,” Cal said. “Should we just settle this up later?”

  “No, I’m coming,” she said, her business taking precedence over her curiosity, at least for the moment.

  As we sat down at the free table, Momma said, “You can’t tell her everything we’re doing and thinking, Suzanne. It’s not appropriate.”

  “Momma, I trust Trish with my life, but I wasn’t going to tell her about Gabby, especially not before we had a chance to speak with her again ourselves,” I explained.

  “Oh. Sorry. I may have jumped the gun.” It was an outright apology, something I wasn’t accustomed to getting from my mother.

  “No worries,” I said, letting it slide. I appreciated the gesture, and what was more, I knew that if I made a fuss about it, it would be a long time before she did it again. “After we eat, we can check back on ReNEWed and see if Gabby has returned.”

  “And if she hasn’t, we can always just hunt her down,” Momma said.

  “I’m not sure I like the word ‘hunt’ in that context,” I countered. “At the moment, we don’t have any reason to suspect her of committing murder.”

  “I’m not at all certain that we should be so willing to discount the prospect that it might be true,” Momma said.

  “Do you honestly think that it was Gabby Stevie saw this morning leaving the scene?” I asked her softly.

  “We must consider the possibility that it’s true; that’s all that I’m saying. Suzanne, I know you are fond of her, but we must put that aside if we’re going to do a proper job of this. In all of my years, I’ve learned that I must subjugate my feelings and judge things based on facts, not suppositions.”