“Fine, you can tell Steve. We’ll just go have a chat with the clerk and settle this matter.” Bob draped an arm around my shoulder and led me into the hotel.
It might be settled for Bob, but it would be the beginning for me. I still had to explain the situation to Steve.
I had to make sure Steve understood why I needed to get involved. He didn’t approve of my ventures into sleuthing, but this time was different. I wasn’t trying to outwit a murderer, interfere in a police investigation, nor would I hide my involvement. There had to be some way we could use Scrap This as a way to ferret out the thief before she did any damage. This time, I needed and would ask for his help.
“After we’re done here, I need to finish setting up my cover,” Bob said. “I need to be in the cropping area along with my life partner. I know nothing about scrapbooking but he does.”
“There might be a spot or two left.”
“What do you mean left?”
“There are only a certain amount of spaces available for cropping. These retreats sell out all the time. With the Cropportunity retreat being new, they might have room for you and your partner.”
Bob groaned and switched directions, herding me toward the convention center side of the hotel. “I need two spaces. If I can’t get those spaces, I don’t know how else I’ll explain my presence.”
A perfect idea slipped into my mind. “You could work for me at Scrap This. We’re vending here.”
“That’ll be my last resort. I need to be able to move around the room and being tied to the store won’t allow it.” Bob pressed the lever on the door and held it open for me.
The carpet switched from deep red to beige, leaning toward brown, with a black filigree design. I wondered if the carpet people ran out of the original selection when they finished with the huge convention center foyer. Or, if an owner of the Eagle Mountain Estate liked the red better and agreed to a compromise of using it just in the connecting hallway. That deep red would’ve been overwhelming, bordering on creepy, if placed in the large foyer.
Conversation areas were staged throughout the area. The sofas and arm chairs were a mix of olive green, mauve, and mustard yellow. Coffee tables acted as the grounding piece for each set. Light poured through the windows framing the front of the building. Raised wood blinds let their cords dangle into the dirt of the large potted plants guarding the windows. Our trailer was still out front, a large toilet displayed to the world and all the croppers. I needed to unload and move it. We didn’t want other arrivals to think the resort had plumbing issues.
Three sets of large double doors were braced open. A trickle of wind found its way inside. Vendors volleyed for possession of four luggage carts. Thankfully, Steve had rounded up a few handcarts before we left Eden so we had our own. Sometimes it was best not to use community property items, especially when they were in short supply.
“The registration desk is by the door.” I maneuvered myself between two women tugging a cart and walked into the cropping room.
The vendors were placed like a corral with all the cropping tables in the middle of the room. An identity thief would occupy one of those tables. I hoped the set-up didn’t make it harder for Bob to investigate. He wouldn’t be able to search totes and bags without a vendor spotting him. Then again, a vendor could be the thief—what easier way to get information from a person than providing a service to them.
“I’m going to help them move the machine.” Bob leaned his head toward the left.
Pauline and Ellie struggled with centering their embossing machine on a table. They’d be the least likely ones to use the retreat as a means to get identities. Croppers brought their albums with them to the retreat and handed them to the embossers, picking them up later. There would be no reason for Pauline and Ellie to collect addresses. There wasn’t a scrapbooker I knew who’d send their album through the mail to get embossed, even if all the layouts remained at home.
The other vendors were from direct sales companies: a simple scrapbooking business, stamps, totes, and locket-style jewelry. I had met the other two owners of the crafting businesses. Nice ladies with established reputations in our little area of the crafting world. I crossed them off the list. I’d pick up a business card and catalog from the other two vendors and pass them to Bob.
The resort had pushed partitions into slots in the wall, opening up three small areas to make one big cropping space. Lydia stood in the middle of the cropping floor, running a French manicured nail against her bottom lip and scanning the large area created for the croppers. The issue with the crop retreat account must’ve been easy to solve.
Picture windows along the back of the building showed off the mountain range across the highway to perfection. It was a beautiful sight.
I gazed at the mountains, taken in by their beauty. As a teenager, I had run from the mountains in hopes of finding something more and better, and returned as an adult knowing everything I held near and dear was here. It wasn’t the state that held me back, but my idea of what made life perfect, adventurous, and worth living.
Scrap This was located near the windows. I grinned and refrained from doing a snappy little cheer. I got the space I wanted. Finally, something was going right this morning. Scrap This was placed “sideways” so we didn’t block the light coming from the wall of windows, and had use of the permanent wall for our paper racks. With one sweeping glance, I could take in the whole room without having to leave my seat, a helpful placement for keeping an eye on any suspicious behaviors.
Even better than our location was the fact that Darlene and Gussie had arrived and had started setting up the store. Gussie must’ve had a key for her sons’ trailer. Even with her boys approaching thirty, Gussie still liked knowing what they were up to. Wayne and Wyatt were the act now, think later type. And unfortunately, their actions usually resulted in misdemeanors and time spent behind bars—sometimes for their own protection.
Two hotel employees were helping Darlene center and brace the last shelving unit. My friends had arranged all the tables and some of the items were out on display.
Gussie was going through a box in a haphazard fashion. Not like her at all. Was something missing to put up the last shelf? Or had I forgot a scrapbooking line I promised to bring?
A vaguely familiar attractive blond man walked up to me. He smiled and held out his hand. “I’m Garrison. I’m assuming you’re Faith. I saw you walk in with Bob.”
He must be Bob’s significant other. About a year ago, I went to Bob’s office in Morgantown to get some information and saw a photograph of Bob and a friend on vacation. I shook his hand. “Yep, I’m Faith. My friend looks like she needs some help.”
“If you need anything, let me know. I’m going to go let Bob know I’m here.”
Lydia stormed over to a woman arranging items on the newly placed check-in table, and had a few choice words with her. I couldn’t hear the conversation, but the helper turned about three different shades of red. Her lips looked shoved into her mouth as, I assumed, she refrained from telling Lydia off. The woman at the check-in spot was probably one of the “free registration and board” workers. If she told off Lydia, she’d have to pay the three hundred dollars for the retreat rather than just putting up with a cropzilla.
I hurried over to Gussie. She leaned over a box, bubble wrap and brown wrapping paper littered the floor around her. “Is something missing?”
Gussie startled, nearly ramming her head into my chin. “There you are.”
“Thanks for all the help. Things got a little hectic this morning.”
“When we pulled up and saw the police out front then noticed the empty space, we figured we should unload the trailer. Thought you might be a little busy.”
I pushed down the lump building in my throat. “Some reckless driver killed a woman and almost hit me. Steve got me out of the way and hi
t his head on the asphalt. He’s resting in the room for now.”
Gussie hugged me. “That’s horrible. Are you okay?”
“Yes. Did I forget something? You seem to be on a treasure hunt.” I pointed at the mountain of packing material beside her.
“My gift album. I know I brought it inside and now it’s gone. I’m afraid someone accidentally put it in the recycling stack.”
“Where was the last place you had it?”
Gussie pointed to a small table placed in the corner of the retreat Scrap This. “Your mock-up plan showed you wanted the point of sales system there, so I figured my album would be safe beside it. Since we were almost done with everything else, I went to move it and noticed it was gone.”
“Did you find it yet?” Darlene walked over to us.
Gussie shook her head. “Where could it have gone off to?”
“It’s somewhere in the store. Once we get everything set-up, we’ll find it.” I hoped my words brought some comfort to Gussie. She looked so sad.
“Faith’s right.” Darlene patted Gussie’s shoulder. “Who would want to steal a scrapbook?”
An identity thief. We needed to find that album before someone else did. “What does it look like? Is there anything embossed on it?”
“It’s a buttery yellow fabric covered album. I was going to get it embossed this weekend. It’s a friendship album I was working on for your grandmothers,” Gussie said. “This weekend was perfect to finish it up. They aren’t here, and you are. There are just a few stories of theirs I don’t have.”
“Their story?” I fought back the tremble in my voice.
Darlene beamed and nodded. “Your grandmothers have been best friends for over sixty years. That’s amazing. They do such much for everyone else, Gussie thought an album celebrating them, made with love by their friends and granddaughter would be perfect as a Mother’s Day gift. Gussie and I have collected stories and memories from everyone in town.”
Oh God, no! Not my grandmothers. They had lost so much already. Their spouses. Their children. Now someone wanted to claim their memories and identity. I wouldn’t let it happen.
“Where’s Marsha?” Lydia hustled over to us, cell phone clutched in her hand.
“She went to pick up the items she left in her car,” I said. I needed to get a hold of Bob. We had to find that album before the thief did—if they didn’t already have it.
A nerve in Lydia’s jaw twitched. “She has the credit card reader with her. I have a few onsite registrants that want to use a credit card.”
“They could use a cell phone or tablet to Paypal the amount to you.”
Lydia tapped the phone against her chin. “That could work. The connection down here isn’t that good.”
“It’s just as likely to interfere with the card reader as it would using Paypal.”
“What are you using for credit card sales?” Lydia asked.
“We have a mobile point of sale system. Eliminates having to do inventory before we leave the retreat or once we get home.”
“Is it secured? Might be something I should consider getting for the retreat.”
“From everything I read, the mobile POS is more secure than credit card readers in stores,” I said.
“We wouldn’t need it for inventory but if we’re going to have onsite registrations…” Lydia halted and rubbed at a spot on her forehead. “Though I’m now thinking it wasn’t such a good idea. I only have a few places left and if someone comes after I’ve officially sold out, I’m doomed.”
“I have two extra helpers that could use a cropping spot. They got roped into donating their muscles for lifting and hauling, so I figured I’d ask before all the spots are gone.”
“Names?” Lydia poised a pen above the clipboard.
“Just put them down as Scrap This. I’ll pay for the spots.” I wasn’t sure if Bob wanted his name on the list since he was here undercover. And Detective Bell might have something to say, or do, about Bob signing up for the retreat.
“I’ll save two of them. And since I’m going to do that for you, I’ll need you to do a favor for me.” Lydia glanced around the room. She wiggled her finger at me and speed-walked toward the back of the room.
The sun pouring through the windows heated my skin. I wished I brought a portable fan. I had a feeling our space would get uncomfortably warm in the afternoon and there was only so much apparel a gal could take off before it became inappropriate.
I followed Lydia down a faux hallway that stretched from one end of the conference center to the other. Half-closed partitioned walls and the picture windows bracketed the passage way. At one end of the hallway was a solid wall separating the conference center from the resort, and at the other end there were two metal doors with kitchen written on it in bright white one foot letters.
Lydia headed toward the kitchen. She stopped in a secluded area away from general traffic and the sun. She heaved out a huge sigh.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
She scanned the empty hallway, taking hold of my arm and drawing me closer.
“Is everything okay?” I repeated, keeping my voice just above a whisper.
“For now yes,” Lydia said. “But I’m worried it might not be.”
My brain and nerves hummed. I pressed my mouth closed to make sure I didn’t blurt out any questions that had nothing to do with Lydia’s concerns.
“I hate saying this and being a gossip but it’s about Marsha. I just need someone to keep an eye on her.” Lydia used her fingers to scoop her hair away from her face. “I have some errands to run and I’m concerned since Marsha seems to be struggling today. I don’t want to tell anyone, but since it slipped out earlier, I figured you were safe.”
“Maybe it would be better to reschedule your errands. If Marsha isn’t feeling well,” I went with a less judgmental term, “it might be better for you to be here if anything comes up.”
“That’s the whole point. I want Marsha feeling well and if she’s in charge, she’ll have to handle it herself. She can’t bail on me. I need you to keep an eye out on her.”
“I have the store to run.” And an identity thief to zero in on.
“You have a helper.”
“He’s out of commission right now. Besides, my main job needs to be managing my store. The owners are counting on me and I need to show them I can handle it. If I’m playing babysitter, I’m not running it.” At least looking for an identity thief protected our business. Babysitting Marsha, not so much.
Lydia covered her face with her hands and drew in a shaky breath. “I didn’t want to admit this, but I need to go the bank.”
“Now?”
She nodded, hands still hiding her face. “Our credit card was declined by the hotel. I called the bank and they said I need to go in person to straighten it out.”
“Okay.” This was the first real clue the identity thief arrived at the crop.
“Thank you.” Lydia hugged me then pulled out her phone. “I’m going to confirm my appointment right now. You’re a life saver.”
There was one change I was making to our procedures for the weekend: running credit cards through either at time of purchase or each night. Usually at retreats, vendors would let a customer run a tab all weekend and then check them out on the final day. But knowing one of the croppers planned on paying with someone else’s credit, that method suddenly didn’t seem like the wisest plan of action.
Maybe a discount would settle down any annoyance. Either that or I’d tell the croppers Steve didn’t know how to operate the credit card machine so it would be better if I ran them through a little at a time. I just hoped no one questioned why I planned on having him run the store rather than packing up the supplies and carting them into the trailer. I’d go with the excuse that Steve wasn’t good
at color coordinating and I didn’t want him to mix up all the hues. Sometimes the most clichéd reason was the one least questioned.
Lydia hustled down the hallway, straight for the other side of the building. Either she planned on speaking to the manager first or planned on going out the hotel portion of the resort doors. It was the better option for getting away before a cropper spotted her and waylaid her into a conversation. Lydia’s face was the face of Cropportunity. She’d turned herself into a mini-scrapbook celebrity in our part of West Virginia.
“I can’t believe someone parked that disgusting truck out there.” A woman exaggerated a shiver. “A toilet.”
“That guy did say it was one of the vendor trucks and not because of plumbing problems at the hotel.”
“Just think of the type of stuff normally carried in the back of that trailer. Toilets. Plumbing equipment. And now, products being sold to use on our photos are in there.”
I flinched. The trailer wasn’t good advertising for the resort or Scrap This. I hoped I could find a place to park it where it wasn’t that noticeable. Heck, I hoped I could actually park it. Arriving croppers glared at our truck and trailer. It was taking up a large portion of the unloading zone. Not a good idea to tick off your potential customers.
Sneaking outside, I peered into the trailer: three boxes and a handcart. No problem. Using all my strength, I lifted and pushed the lift gate into place. I stood on my toes and secured the safety latches. Fortunately, they weren’t at the top of the trailer like the handle. I surveyed the parking lot. There were four spots at the furthest end of the lot on the convention center side. A row of trees shaded ten spaces. It looked large enough for me to park there, and there was a curb I could stand on and reach the handle. I’d have to make a longer trip to the convention center, but I had a handcart. I hoped the manager didn’t mind I filled up all those spots with the truck and trailer. There was no way I’d be able to fit it anywhere else without damaging something.
Taking in a deep breath, I yanked open the driver side door.
Christina Freeburn - Faith Hunter 03 - Embellished to Death Page 5
