Christina Freeburn - Faith Hunter 03 - Embellished to Death

by Christina Freeburn

  “You don’t want to talk? Then why in the world send me a text asking me to check into some agent named Morgan?”

  I cringed.

  “Either spill your guts, or I’m calling Bob to shake the truth out of you.”

  “He wouldn’t be the first person trying that today. Besides, Bob knows.”

  Ted drew in a sharp breath. “Wait a minute, did you just say Morgan’s laid his hands on you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where’s Davis? I can’t believe he’s allowing this guy to harass you.”

  “He’s resting. I wasn’t paying attention when I stepped into the road and walked into the path of a speeding car. Steve got hurt getting me out of the way.” I hoped my carefree words covered up the guilt and fear pushing in on me.

  “Just what have you managed to stumble into there?”

  “Why do you keep asking that?” I puffed out a frustrated breath.

  “Morgan is trouble. He’s known as the go-to guy for results. Morgan has no qualms using his fists or intimidation to get the right answer from his client’s target. Stay away from him.”

  “I’m not trying to be near him.”

  I glanced around with a surge of fear. So many places outside for Morgan to lie in wait. I hurried into the conference center. I was more concerned knowing the guy was not a federal agent. At least if he worked for the FBI, I could threaten to tell his boss if he got out of hand. Now, I had no leverage. I’d never have thought I’d rather tangle with law enforcement than a PI.

  “You need to give Davis a heads up so someone there has your back if this guy bothers you again. He’s dangerous. I’ll try to find out what he’s up to.”

  “I can’t tell Steve. If I do then I’ll have to explain the why.”

  “You know the why?”

  “He’s made it clear. I just don’t know who hired him.”

  “Faith…” Ted used his warning tone on me.

  “Let me find a secluded spot.” I glanced around. There wasn’t a true private spot in the foyer. The small hallway connecting the building worked. I walked down the middle of the corridor. I wasn’t too close to the bathrooms or either door. Pressing my back against the wall, I drew in a deep breath. Here went everything.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “He says he’s going to prove that I railroaded Adam and not the other way around.”

  “What?”

  “Apparently my sleuthing is coming back to bite me big time.”

  “Do whatever it takes to have this guy leave you alone. Scream. Set off a fire alarm. Tell Steve about your ex-husband.”

  “No on that last one.”

  “I mean it, Faith.”

  “I can’t have this be the way he finds out. How would you like knowing the woman you loved only admitted that kind of truth because she was in trouble, not because she trusted to share it with you?”

  “I’d rather find out because she was scared and came to me, than during her murder investigation.”

  I shivered, and wrapped an arm around my waist. “Come on. You really think he was hired to do me in?”

  “I’ve heard stories about this guy. He’s a blackmailer and will use violence to get the information his client needs. One day the guy will let his temper get the best of him and someone will get killed.”

  “Stories aren’t necessarily the truth.” I knew that better than anyone. Adam told a lie about me. Maybe all of these stories about Morgan were fabrications. But Ted didn’t have a reason to lie to me.

  Except to keep me safe.

  “He tried ruining Bob’s business,” Ted said. “Morgan is a bigot. He’s tangled with Bob and has also gone after Garrison in the past. You have to tell Steve. Morgan’s power is in having that information. Once he doesn’t have anything to use as blackmail, he’ll leave you alone.”

  I leaned into the wall and rubbed my forehead. The ‘I-should-I-shouldn’t-do-something’ argument battling in my brain was giving me a headache. “I’m not his only target. Can’t we stop Morgan? He shouldn’t be allowed to ruin people’s lives.”

  Ted cursed. “Don’t get involved, Faith. The man is dangerous. You haven’t been up against someone like Morgan. He uses information as a weapon and a means to make money. This isn’t a crime of passion, or about being wronged, or revenge. It’s about the fact that Morgan likes inflecting pain on people. It’s a job he enjoys. Hell, you can say it’s the man’s hobby.”

  SIX

  I had every intention of staying away from Morgan; I just hoped he cooperated and stayed away from me. How was I going to help Bob when I needed to look over my shoulder for Morgan? I also didn’t want to clue Morgan into Bob’s case, in case I was wrong about Morgan knowing about the identity thief.

  Hiding in the hallway and engaging in a round of poor-me wasn’t accomplishing my job of helping Bob or running Scrap This. Drawing in a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and headed into the cropping zone. I couldn’t let Morgan shake me up so much that I became useless to the people who needed me.

  Chatter and laughter floated around the crop room. Croppers hovered over scrapbooks as they contemplated pictures to use and the best placement for titles. So many things about a person’s life could be learned by simply offering advice and admiring another’s photos. Number of children. Pets. Where they lived. Jobs. Favorite vacation spots.

  Garrison, Darlene and Gussie cropped away, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. I even noticed Darlene sharing some of her coveted and hoarded stash of washi tape with Garrison. All around croppers shared their tools, supplies and lives with each other.

  Normally I would have felt happy at such a fun scene. But instead, everywhere I looked, I saw potential victims instead of just scrapbookers. I had to do something.

  If only I’d been able to see the name on the prescription bottle. But if the bottle held a clue to her identity, Detective Bell wouldn’t have resorted to bullying to get hotel guest names from the clerk and manager. Unless, he was covering up the fact he wanted the list for tracking down the murderer.

  I headed for the Tote It All rep, a fifty-something woman who was organizing the totes she brought to sell. She wore a scrapbooking t-shirt, jeggings, and Crocs. Short gray hair was fluffed into a halo around her head.

  The woman moved totes from one section of her eight-foot selling table to another, then moved them back. A bag propped open on the table tipped over, flopping onto the floor. The catalogs on the edge of the table tumbled off like a river going over the edge of a waterfall.

  She sighed. “This was supposed to be easy.”

  I collected them, stacking them a couple inches from the end of the table.

  “Thanks.” She tore off the plastic from a small coin purse. “Please feel free to take a catalog.”

  I flipped it over. Barbie Harris. Morgantown local. I thumbed through the catalog. “This new style is really cute.”

  She leaned over and dug through a large canvas bag. “There’s a flyer in here somewhere with all the new releases. There’s a duffle bag, if I’m remembering correctly, and some sort of over-the-shower faucet thing for college students.”

  “New business?”

  “I’m doing this for my daughter. Her little girl woke up sick so I told her I’d handle her tote stuff today.” The mother stood and shoved wisps of bangs from her forehead. “I sure hope she can come tomorrow. My son-in-law couldn’t take today off so Barbie stayed home.”

  She was off my list. Though, she might be lying. I shouldn’t take anything at face value. I made a mental note to check and see if Barbie showed up this weekend. If there was one thing a grandmother liked doing it was showing off pages of their grandchild.

  “I’m sorry, I still can’t find it,” she said.

  “I’m managing Scrap This. If
you find it, you can drop it off or I can stop by later. I’d love to see what you’re working on anyway.”

  She beamed at me. “We just got back from Hawaii. I have some fabulous pictures.”

  After sharing a friendly wave goodbye, I went over to the jewelry booth. A nice crowd circled it.

  Velvet lined trays of small charms, beads, and crystals lined the table. Ribbons in a variety of colors hung from wire displays shaped like dresses. Clear round, square and rectangle lockets were placed in wicker baskets. I picked up a catalog and turned it over. May Webster.

  “Do you have children charms?” A blonde woman leaned over, closely examining the trays.

  “We have faces.” The consultant brought over a tray from the end of the row. “The boys are bald and the girls have curly cues etched on the top with a bow.”

  The blonde shook her head. “My little girl isn’t the bow type. She’s into overalls and bugs, not dainty things. A princess she is not.”

  Another woman nearby laughed. “I have one of those too. I wish the scrapbooking world realized all girls weren’t princesses into pinks and lavenders.”

  “I have some beads that can be added beside the charms. If you picked a girly color, people would know it’s a girl.” May smiled and heaved up a large bag filled with small round containers. She plucked one out and opened it. It was a recycled pill bottle, with labels still attached, filled with pink beads.

  The mother laughed. “That won’t do me any good either. Her favorite color is WVU blue.”

  “I do have blues.” May dug through her purse, placing a handful of plastic prescription type bottles on the table. “Denim. Baby blue. I know I had a navy in here somewhere. I packed it this morning. I bet it rolled under the car this morning when my bag tipped over. That’s what I get for trying to carry in everything at the same time.”

  Was that the plastic bottle I saw under the car?

  The women lost interest in the jewelry and made their way to a table at the far end. The crowd around the table thinned some more. Another cropper made a purchase.

  When she left, I spotted Lydia threading her fingers through the ribbons. The strands of color drifted through her fingers. She must’ve felt my gaze on her as she turned her head. “These all have a different texture. Some are coarser than others.”

  The consultant nodded and planted herself in front of Lydia. “Some of the ribbons are made from a thicker fiber and are actually three ribbons braided together for those who need a stronger necklace. Mothers love them, since it’s harder for little hands to tug and break them.”

  “My sister doesn’t like anything that has a rough feeling.” Lydia rubbed a light yellow ribbon between her index finger and thumb. “Even thin chains bother her.”

  “That’s a pretty color.” It reminded me of my grandmother’s favorite color—and their missing album. “I was wondering if you’ve seen an abandoned scrapbook anywhere.”

  “No.”

  “A friend’s album is lost and I was hoping someone mentioned seeing it.”

  “I’ll ask around.”

  “I got the prizes!” Marsha walked through the main doors, juggling baskets and totes.

  “I’d rather she finish the seating chart,” a woman muttered.

  Lydia flushed and jerked her hand away from the ribbon.

  I hurried over and took a few items from Marsha. Croppers strained their necks to get a glimpse of what was up for the winning this weekend.

  “Let’s put them at a table near Scrap This,” Marsha said. “We need to keep the prizes safe, and in an area where the ladies can easily browse them.”

  “But what about when croppers come to shop?” I followed Marsha. “It’ll make our area crowded. Isn’t there a better place?”

  “I thought it’ll be a good advertisement for you. When they come to take a peek at what they could win, they’ll see all the cool stuff in your store.”

  True. There were only three baskets and one tote bag. It wouldn’t take up that much space. “So, how do they win them?”

  “I decided to make it easy. We’ll play a combination of a twenty question game and a scavenger hunt. We want the attendees to get to know each other so we’re giving out tickets for each question they answer.”

  My stomach felt like it dropped down to my feet and bounced back up. “What kind of questions?”

  “If you’re married. Have kids. Work in a hospital. Whatever questions we happen to come up with.”

  No. No. No. Bad idea. How could I sway Marsha away from the game without tipping her off to Bob’s investigation? “Maybe a less invasive game would be better.”

  Marsha frowned. “Less invasive?”

  “That game sounds like it’ll take a lot of time away from scrapping.” I over-exaggerated a shudder. “Attendees will not like that at all.”

  “We won’t ask questions throughout the day,” Marsha continued to explain. “We’ll ask a few times and allow the croppers to put tickets into the baskets in front of the prizes. I’d like to get this game started soon. I’d rather have the ladies discussing the game, even being annoyed by it, than talk about the woman killed in the parking lot.”

  “Only a few people were here this morning. I don’t think it’s something anyone wants to bring up,” I said.

  Marsha settled a fearful gaze on me. “I can’t have anyone bring it up. It’s bad enough what… Well, I just don’t want people spreading it around.”

  I hadn’t heard anyone talking about the accident and the death. Then again, I had been preoccupied with Morgan’s threats, and hadn’t spent much time in the cropping room.

  “These women paid quite a bit to have an enjoyable weekend. It’s our responsibility right now to change the mood. I need to lighten the atmosphere around here.”

  My heart ached for the victim. It was a horrible experience but ending the event wouldn’t change what happened, and might even result in the criminal getting away. The police needed everyone here while they investigated the hit-and-run, and Bob needed to bring the identity thief to justice.

  “Which table will you use for the prizes?” Marsha scanned our product tables. “I don’t see enough space here. Can you pack up some of your inventory?”

  Great, now my grandmothers’ bottom line would be affected.

  Gussie hustled over. “Darlene and I both brought an extra table for our die-cutting machines. I can give up my table. I’m sure Darlene will be okay with sharing her machine since I shared my truck with her.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled at Marsha. “Crisis averted.”

  Gussie packed up her electric cutting machine. Darlene used a box cutter to break down some of our boxes, storing them neatly under one of the tables.

  “Thanks.” I supervised my helpers while Marsha oversaw my management.

  Darlene nodded. “One must do what they can to save the environment and money.”

  Lydia wandered over, a clipboard held tightly in her hand. She poked Marsha in the shoulder with the clipboard. “Why don’t you go finalize the seating chart? A few croppers still aren’t on the chart.”

  “Sorry. I thought I got them all.” Marsha flushed and scampered away.

  “The crop just officially started and it’s already a nightmare.” She sent a sad smile my way. “Thanks for finding Marsha for me. I guess you found her where I’d thought she’d be.”

  “Yeah, but the only thing she was drinking was grape soda.”

  “That’s good. Hopefully, last night was a one-time slip-up.” Lydia jotted something down on a sheet of paper attached to the clipboard. “Are you looking into the accident in the parking lot?”

  My eyes almost bulged out of the sockets. Why would Lydia think I’d get involved in the matter? “That’s an odd question.”

  Lydia blushed, casting a
quick glance at Darlene. “I’ve overheard whispers about the cases you’ve solved. Your friend seems quite proud of you.”

  I needed to have a talk with Darlene. My sleuthing activities weren’t something I wanted to be known for, especially now.

  “No. The police would rather that civilians stay out of the matter. Do you know if the police have been able to identify the victim yet?” If anyone would know, it would be Lydia. Bell had gone to get the names of the attendees from her.

  Lydia flipped through sheets of paper on the board. “So you told the police to talk to me?”

  “I told Detective Bell that you and Marsha had a list of those attending and could narrow down who was coming alone.”

  “Unfortunately, we can’t know until the end of the day when someone who planned on coming doesn’t show up.”

  A cropper arrived, set a small lamp onto a table, then unwound a large extension cord. She crawled underneath the table and plugged it in. Another cropper used duct tape to secure an extension cord to the carpet.

  “I better go check in with the manager.” Lydia scribbled something on the top sheet. “I think I might need more portable outlet extensions and clear it with him that we can put tape on the carpet.”

  I kept my attention half on the customers browsing in the store and the other half on the group of woman cropping away. Some already started working, while others were in the process of decorating tables or gawking at the stuff they brought and trying to figure out where they’d put it all. The crop event was almost in full swing.

  I hoped Bob figured out who was the identity thief before everything got underway. I didn’t want to see anyone else get hurt. It was bad enough there was an off-balanced private investigator roaming around. We sure didn’t need a criminal added to the mix.

  “Steve isn’t going to like this.” Gussie frowned at me.

  “What?” How much of the conversation between me and Lydia had Gussie heard?