by Adrianne Lee
I responded, What’s up?
Meg answered, Something is missing from the shop. She swears it was there after the jewelry incident. And she doesn’t want to call and report it to the police unless she has to. I’ll explain why when you get here.
I responded, Okay, be right there.
Gram strode in with a watering can. I told her and Seth, “I have to go out for a while. Can you cover for me, Billie?”
“Sure. Run along. If things get hectic, I’ll text.”
Before Seth could stop me or ask any questions, I said, “We’ll talk later, okay?”
“Yes. We will.”
The cryptic tone wasn’t lost on me. It had been a long shot asking for his help, but maybe I wouldn’t need it now.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
By the time I reached the wedding planner’s shop, I was in full-on detecting mode, my mind rolling ideas faster than balls in a bingo cage. Zelda claimed the missing item had been in the shop after the jewelry was returned, but that didn’t mean the thief hadn’t come back again and taken whatever it was. Did it? I supposed that would depend on whatever was taken. Obviously, I needed more information.
I entered the shop with my senses heightened, especially my audio acuity. I hadn’t noticed before but the door moved quietly on its hinges—no creak, no squeak, no cracking or popping like a lot of hundred-year-old buildings. Even more interesting was the lack of a bell or buzzer to signal customers coming in or leaving. In other words, it would be easy to sneak in and out without being noticed, especially if Zelda was busy. I wasn’t sure what, if any, role that played in the thief dropping the stolen jewelry here, but it was a detail worth noting.
I started to call out, then stopped when I heard a murmur of voices nearby. Peering into the reception area, I spied three women—the wedding planner and two clients—seated around a small circular table.
My gaze, like that of a small child’s, went straight to the brightest thing in the room. Zelda. Today’s look brought to mind a fruity cocktail, yellow hair, and a lime and peach blouse over a strawberry skirt. On anyone else, it would be gaudy. On her, it worked. The other two women, a twentysomething and her mother, wore varying items of faded denim with splashes of red and white. Patriotic farm girls with unfortunate overbites.
I knew these two. The Hewitt/Barackman wedding. We’d ordered Ms. Barackman’s gown, an old-fashioned lace, sans train, to accommodate her cowgirl boots. I remembered being told the theme was country chic, the reception being held in a barn that had been converted into a special events rental hall. The menu was barbeque and roasted pig.
Zelda seemed to be finalizing details for the shindig with them. She had set out props to show what she had in mind for decorations—a wagon wheel, a bale of hay, a pitchfork, and a cowboy hat. To each his own, I thought, suppressing a “yeehaw.”
I nodded to them in recognition but didn’t interrupt. Meg’s stepmom was deep into her sales pitch. Ten Mason jar mugs and a giant glass bowl sat on the small table. “I bought this punch bowl set years ago,” Zelda said, “and put them in a cupboard, waiting for the right bride and groom to come along. And here you are. I think this is perfect for your venue, Ms. Barackman.”
Mother and daughter each picked up a mug, nodding. I wasn’t sure which one of them said, “Perfect.” Or, “Oh yes.” It didn’t matter.
“Oh good.” Zelda put the punch bowl set back into its box, then placed a chocolate fountain on the table. “Do you think you’ll want one of these?”
I left them to it, slipping into the next room where Meg had shown us the crimson slippers. But I wasn’t thinking about wedding shoes. I was heading to the door marked PRIVATE, but I paused beside the bathroom. Could I believe the rumors about the jewelry being found in there?
My palms felt damp, my pulse jumpy. I peeked into the bathroom. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected to find. Undetected clues poking from behind the commode? Fingerprint dust on every surface? A sign that said THE JEWELRY WAS LEFT HERE with an X to mark the spot? I sighed, disappointed and more than a little surprised at how white on white and sparkling clean the compact space was. No clues, no fingerprints, and no X.
My stomach dipped. Investigating looked easy on TV, but in real life, it was hard. Then again, I didn’t have a script to work from or a prop department to stage the crime scene. If only I could see how this room looked prior to it being disinfected. Ah, but maybe I could. Seth had photos.
Yeah, like he’s going to show you those. Maybe sleuthing meant covert spying. Maybe I was a bad girlfriend.
My gaze went to the toilet tank. Was that where the thief left the jewels? Nah. Zelda wouldn’t have had any reason to look in there unless the works weren’t working. Unless the jewels caused it not to flush. The mirror wasn’t the kind with a medicine cabinet, rather one set in a filigree frame. There was a cupboard beneath the bowl sink, but it only contained a couple of rolls of TP, cleanser, and deodorizer. I checked behind the base of the toilet, then got to my feet, my gaze going back to the lid. Maybe I should check the tank just in case the cops missed something. Jessica Fletcher would do that. Right?
I reached for it with both hands.
“What’re you doing?” Meg asked.
I jumped three feet, my heart landing in my throat. “Don’t do that.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you. What’s wrong? Is it running or something?”
“No. No.” My cheeks heated with the guilt of a child being caught doing something I shouldn’t. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
She frowned. “Daryl Anne, what’s going on?”
I shrugged, pressing my lips flat. I needed to fess up. “I was just, you know, wondering about where the jewelry was found.”
Meg made a face. “Not in the toilet tank.”
“Do you know where?”
Zelda bustled in from the reception area.
“Oh, thank God, you’re both here to help me look. I thought for a while there I’d lost my mind.” Her plaintive voice echoed through the small shop. She waved a white sheet of paper like a surrender flag. “But see? The invoice. Those invitations are here somewhere.”
I took it that the Barackmans had finished and departed. “Whose invitations are missing?”
Meg grabbed the invoice from Zelda’s hand and read it, biting her bottom lip as she looked bug-eyed at me. “You won’t believe it. It’s Dillon and Willa Bridezilla’s.”
My eyes rounded. “Oh my God.”
Zelda gazed from one of us to the other, worry in her voice. “Bridezilla? What do you two know that I don’t?”
Meg and I exchanged wary glances that asked the silent question, Should we tell her?
I decided she had to know. “It’s just that Willa can be a little demanding.”
“Well, I’ve noticed she is a bit particular,” Zelda said.
“Selfish,” Meg said, sneering.
“High maintenance,” I said as a counterpoint. Okay, let’s face it. I was sugarcoating it.
“Well, her father likes to spoil her,” Zelda said.
“Fiancé-stealing. Bitch. On. Wheels,” Meg said.
“Oh, dear me. And she’s due here any minute to pick up the invitations.” Zelda seemed on the verge of hysteria.
Considering the meltdown she’d had the other day when the jewelry was found in her shop, God knew what this might bring on. I strove to keep her focused. “When is the wedding?”
I hoped the date allowed Zelda the time to reorder the invitations and spare her the wrath of Willa Bridezilla.
Zelda gave a shudder. “Three months. Plenty of time, but if she reacts as the two of you’ve suggested…”
“Oh, don’t mind us. We were just teasing.” Meg gave her stepmother a hug. Then she studied the invoice and read out loud, “The box contains two hundred wedding invitations.”
“About what size would the box be?”
Zelda rattled off dimensions, making hand gestures for emphasis and then pointing to a small stack of boxes in the c
orner. “Like those.”
I assumed she’d already checked each of those cartons, but fresh eyes sometimes found what panicky ones couldn’t. Meg and I went through them again, reading the labels, lifting the lids and checking to be sure the customer name on the outer packaging matched the names on the invitations. The search proved fruitless, but we weren’t giving up.
“When did you take possession of the now-missing invitations?” Maybe recalling the day the invitations arrived at the shop would jog her memory.
She considered, then said, “The same day I found the jewelry in the bathroom.”
“Same time of day?”
“No. Around noon. I didn’t find the jewelry until much later.” Zelda moaned. “Why can’t I recall what I did after signing for the shipment?”
“Where else might you have put that box?” Meg asked.
Zelda wrung her hands, panic sweeping through her eyes. “In the storeroom or the cupboard, but I’ve already checked there.”
Just the same, Meg and I double-checked both places, as well as everywhere Zelda suggested and some areas she didn’t. Willa Bridezilla’s box of invitations was nowhere in the little shop. Not in Zelda’s car either. There was only one conclusion.
“Why would anybody steal a box of printed invitations?” Zelda said, sinking into a chair, a stunned expression clouding her usually sunny face. “It doesn’t make sense.”
I didn’t get it either. “It’s not like they could use them at their own wedding.”
Meg smirked. “Unless their names are Dillon and Willa.”
“Are you going to call the police?” I asked the question that had to also be running through both of their minds.
“Absolutely not,” Zelda cried, getting to her feet. “But I am going to call Whitey about getting a couple of security cameras installed. Why didn’t I take him up on that last week?”
Her words sent an unexpected chill through me.
* * *
The hot afternoon sun did nothing to eliminate the chill inside me. This was the second or third time that someone had hired Mom’s boyfriend to install a security system after being robbed. Was Whitey robbing stores to drum up business?
“You still thinking about Willa?” Meg asked in a lowered voice as we settled at a table in Pre-Wedding Jitters, our favorite espresso drinks in hand.
I shot a sideways glance at Lisa Marie. She was busy waiting on a customer, the hissing of the espresso machine probably drowning Meg’s question. Just the same, I was disinclined to pursue a conversation within the barista’s earshot, about the woman who’d stolen her fiancé. I didn’t want to talk about what was bothering me either. “No. Not her.”
Meg narrowed her gaze, studying my readable face. “Then what has you looking like you’re about to lose your best friend? Oh my God, you’re not dumping me as your best friend, are you? I mean I know I’ve been a pain lately, but—”
“No. Absolutely not. Never.” I couldn’t believe she’d think such a thing, and I was pretty sure she could see that in my expression. I busied myself poking a straw into the lid of my drink—like that would make my suspicions about Whitey disappear. I’d considered sharing my secret worry with Seth, but his connection with the police had held me back, and what if I was wrong? What if my mother’s boyfriend was innocent, and I put him on Sheriff Gooden’s radar? I needed Meg to talk me off this wall. I had to confide in her. She always kept my secrets. Only this time I’d be asking her to keep something related to a police case from Troy. I jammed my hand through my hair, choking back a feral scream.
Meg grasped my hand. “Seriously, Daryl Anne, if you won’t talk, you’ll force me to guess.”
I sighed. “It was what Zelda said about having Whitey install a security system in her shop.”
“And…?”
“And, this is like the second or third time a Weddingville merchant has decided to hire his services after being ripped off.”
Meg gasped, making the leap without my filling in the gap. “You think Whitey is the thief?”
“Shhh. Someone will hear you.”
“Sorry.” Meg’s eyes were huge as she leaned across the table, her voice a whisper. “Oh, your poor mom.”
“Then you don’t think I’m wrong or that it could just be coincidental?” I really, really wanted her to tell me that I was jumping to conclusions.
“Yeah, if it had happened once. Or even twice. But three times?”
I groaned.
A dawning look filled her eyes. “Oh, that’s why you were looking so distraught. Your mom. You were wise not to go straight back to the bridal shop. She would’ve taken one look at you and you would’ve caved in less than twenty questions. You’re not a good liar, Daryl Anne.”
“I don’t want to lie. I just want to be wrong. This is the first guy she’s dated in all these years.”
Meg bit her bottom lip. “Maybe Troy could—”
“No. You have to promise that you won’t say a word to anyone, especially Troy, unless we can find proof.”
“Proof? What are we going to do, break into his house or place of business?”
“Maybe.” I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but it wasn’t like it would be the first time the two of us had bent the law for a good cause. Or searched a suspect’s abode. “Maybe there’s something in his van that would tell us what we want to know.”
“Have you forgotten that you’re talking about a security expert? His home, office, and van will all be impenetrable by the likes of us.”
Oh sure. Throw facts at me. “God, you’re right. Maybe we could follow him around.”
“For what reason? To catch him in the act?”
“To see if the next person he approaches ends up burglarized.”
The door of the coffee shop opened, and Meg visually cringed. “Don’t look now, but it’s the Gossip Sisters.”
I didn’t have to look. They sneaked up behind me before I could turn around. Velda’s voice hit my ears like a nail file on metal. “What are you two conspiring about on this lovely summer afternoon?”
“Yeah,” Jeanette said. “We figured you’d be at work, like Wanda.”
They’d figured? Why were Meg and I even a topic of conversation between these women? Not wanting to encourage their curiosity, I kept my answer brief. “Slow day.”
“Hot day, you mean,” Velda said. “My throat’s parched. Lisa Marie, I’ll take one of your special iced coffees. Bigger the better.”
“Ooh, wait for me, Velda,” Jeanette said, scurrying to the counter. “Make mine a Creamy Strawberry Frappé with lots of whipped cream on top.”
“Must be nice to never have to worry about your weight.” Meg nodded toward the bony Jeanette.
“Or diabetes,” I said, thinking of Gram and then realizing I really needed to get back to work. “We should go.”
“What are you going to do about Whitey?” Meg asked.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Be careful. If he is doing this, he could be dangerous.”
I hadn’t considered that. It was bad enough that I even suspected him, but if he was capable of committing a crime to increase his business, what might he do to keep from being exposed? Was Mom in danger just dating Whitey? Maybe I should reconsider enlisting Seth’s help. “I guess I need a foolproof plan.”
“You need a poker face.” Meg sipped her drink. “And now that the Gossip Sisters have their drinks, we should go.”
We gathered our to-go cups as Lisa Marie set Jeanette’s drink on the counter. The whipped cream was two inches high.
The door to the shop banged open. I jumped, nearly dropping my latte. I spun toward the new customer and froze, as stunned as if Elvis himself stood there. But it wasn’t the ghost of the king of rock and roll. It was Willa Bridezilla. The tiny brunette’s face was as red as the strawberries in Jeanette’s Frappé.
She spied Lisa Marie and bristled. If I were casting a movie about the “other woman,” I couldn’t have chosen more perfectly. Lisa
Marie was dressed in cutoff jeans, her long legs tan and lean, her tank top barely holding in her generous curves. Sexy barista.
Willa, on the other hand, wore white slacks and a navy silk T-shirt, heavy gold jewelry, and strappy espadrilles. Rich princess.
The air vibrated with tension, holding everyone in place as still and lifeless as the giant cardboard Elvis near the counter.
“You bitch!” Willa screamed, pointing at Lisa Marie. “You stole them, and I want them back now.”
Lisa Marie went as stiff as the handle on the espresso machine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And for the record, I don’t take what doesn’t belong to me.”
“Liar!” Willa shrieked. “Give me back my invitations or I’ll have you arrested, bitch.”
Lisa Marie shifted her head as if taking in and digesting the accusation. “Someone stole your wedding invitations?” She started to laugh and laugh. “Thank you, Karma.”
“I want my invitations back. Now.” Willa barreled toward the counter like a mini-steamroller without any care who might be in her path.
“You bat-shit crazy skank, get out of my shop.”
I should’ve stayed out of it, but as much as I often resented Gram’s Bunko buddies, I couldn’t leave them in harm’s way. I wasn’t quick enough. Willa snatched Jeanette’s Frappé, elbowing the poor woman aside, and hurled the drink at Lisa Marie. Bull’s-eye. Strawberries and ice cubes slammed into the barista’s head, turning her hair a bright pink as if she were bleeding from a scalp wound. Whipped cream slid down her nose to cling at its tip.
Jeanette didn’t fare much better. She hit the wall and slid to the floor, her eyes glazed.
I was unable to stop my forward momentum. I bumped into Velda. She yelped, tossing her hands skyward. Her iced coffee launched straight toward the ceiling, seemed to hang there for a nanosecond, and then began to fall, the lid flipping free. Splat. Tan liquid spattered across Willa’s white slacks. Somehow Velda and I ended up sprawled on the floor with the cardboard Elvis. The full skirt of my sundress absorbed the gooey, chilled coffee like a sponge, wetting my bottom. Velda mirrored the dazed sensation gripping me.
