Christina Freeburn - Faith Hunter 03 - Embellished to Death

by Christina Freeburn

  “Under the bed. Quick.” Marsha laid back down.

  Why not? Maybe I’d learn some information about the partners. Like why Lydia worked with someone she knew was an alcoholic.

  I shoved the clothes off the bed, making a pile of garments to cover the space between where the box spring ended and the floor began.

  The door opened.

  “There you are.” Lydia’s angry voice preceded the slamming of the door. Marsha moaned.

  The mattress pressed down and the bedsprings squeaked.

  “You can come out now,” Lydia said.

  Who else was in the room? I held my breath.

  Marsha snored and snorted a few times. I figured she wanted to distract Lydia and give me time to burrow further under the bed.

  “I know you’re here, Faith. You don’t think the lady mentioned that your friend and you helped Marsha? He’s downstairs and you’re not. And someone was enjoying a cold beverage not too long ago.” Lydia sighed. “Fine. We’ll play hide-and-seek.”

  A loud retching sound turned my stomach.

  Marsha moaned.

  “Get in the bathroom,” Lydia said. “I warned you. Geez, you can’t even stand on your own.”

  The gagging sound erupted again.

  “Don’t you dare throw up on my shoes.”

  I heard a door close.

  I scrambled from under the bed and scuttled to the door on my hands and knees. If Marsha and Lydia came out anytime soon, I’d say I left to get a snack and a drink. Hopefully, they’d ignore the fact I had neither.

  Quietly, I opened the door and slipped into the hallway. I delicately shut the door. I released my breath and started down the hallway.

  The ice and vending machines hummed. The sound helped soothe the pounding of my heart. Now I had to decide if I should go find Bob first, or check in with Steve.

  I heard a bing from a few yards away. Bob stepped out from the elevator. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Lydia showed up. Marsha didn’t want her partner knowing about her drinking, or sleeping on the job. Marsha insists she hasn’t been drinking, and had me hide. I snuck out while Marsha was emptying her stomach.” I slipped into the alcove housing the vending machines. I tugged out the membership card and held it out for Bob. “I found this and thought it might help you out.”

  “Found?” Bob eyed me suspiciously before taking the laminated card.

  “I was looking to see if Marsha was on any medications that weren’t wise to mix with alcohol.”

  “And you found this?” Bob examined it.

  “If someone is trying to steal Marsha’s name bit by bit, this card might help you track them down. They have to be here if Marsha found the card here.”

  “How do you know it’s not hers?”

  “Because why would she accept a card with a creative spelling of her name,” I said.

  “You don’t think Marsha will notice that it’s missing?”

  “If she’s asks, I’ll fess up. I’ll tell her I thought it was something that would help her. She thinks her ex-husband is after her.”

  “After as in—”

  “Kill her. She’s afraid the woman run over this morning was supposed to be her.”

  Bob taped the card on his fingernails. “Marsha might be taking the first steps to create a new life.”

  “What?”

  “Sometimes the only way to get away from an abusive spouse is to vanish. There are how-to disappear books on the market and the first piece of advice is to create a new identity by changing just a few letters in your name.”

  “Do you think Morgan’s here to hurt her?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll run this name and address and see what I can find out. I might finally have an address to tie to the identity thief. Unless it’s just because a retail clerk got bored and pranked her.” Bob placed the card into his wallet. “Now, you better get back to the crop before someone starts finding your behavior suspicious. Bell believes Marsha knows something and is withholding it from him, and you hanging around her isn’t going to endear him to you.”

  “I seem to be good at bringing out the worst in homicide detectives.”

  TEN

  The front doors to the cropping area were still open, allowing the last hour of sun to trickle into the room. The foyer already looked darker and more sinister with the waning sunlight. My fingers itched to turn on all the lamps in the multiple living room cluster set-ups. Knowing Morgan was lurking about made me want to have light filling every possible space, especially dark corners and hallways.

  I stepped into the cropping area and saw a pool of layouts behind Pauline and Ellie’s vendor’s space. The women were frantically picking them up. I rushed over and helped. “Looks like an album exploded.”

  “Something like that.” Ellie cast a quick glance over her shoulder. “I want to get these up before the owner returns.”

  Pauline placed a handful on the table. “This is why I told you to only accept the covers and not the entire album.”

  “The woman’s arthritis was acting up.” Ellie flipped through the stack pages and rearranged them. “I hope I’m putting these in the right order.”

  My heart went out to her. It was hard running a small business. Any mistake, even when trying to be helpful, could result in bad press. But even worse than the mistake, was fixing the issue and creating a worse mess. “It might be best to let her know the pages fell, so she can organize the pages.”

  Ellie sighed. “You’re probably right.”

  “It’ll be okay,” Pauline said. “If she gets upset, we’ll offer a discount on the embossing service.”

  “I should’ve listened to you.”

  Pauline hugged her friend. “Sometimes the heart needs to win out over the business.”

  “Pauline’s right.” I handed her the pages I picked up off the floor. “Sometimes doing the kind thing is the best decision, even if it goes against policy.”

  “I just hope no one else asks for us to take a strap-hinge album apart.” Ellie scanned the room. “It was a pain.”

  I looked at the stack of covers placed inside clear plastic bags beside the embossing machine. “Looks like business is booming.”

  Pauline smiled and picked up the first sleeved cover. She pulled out a form and a large wooden tray from what looked like a mechanic’s tool chest. “We’re going to need to buy some hunting dies. I never knew so many croppers had albums dedicated to that sport.”

  “If you’d like, I can send a list of what themes sold the most this weekend,” I said.

  Ellie beamed at me. “That would be great. It’ll help us decide on the priority of new dies to add to our business.”

  “We small businesses need to stick together.” I picked up a business card and one of their forms. Maybe we could have them come out to the National Scrapbook Day crop at Scrap This next year. I had a feeling Cropportunity was going to be short lived. I looked over the embossing options Ellie and Pauline offered. Vacations. Sports. Wedding. Anniversary. Seasons. Beach. Mountains.

  A stack of albums with order sheets were piled up on the table. Would they tell me if Violet was getting an album embossed? Or, I could just take a peek for myself and not have them wonder why I was searching out information on one cropper.

  “Mind if I take a look at the completed ones? I’m trying to decide what I’d like to put on an album.” I wandered over and stood in front of the finished section. I couldn’t think of any reason why I should ask to go through the pending orders.

  “Sure,” Ellie said.

  Pauline settled into the chair behind the embosser and changed a die.

  I looked at the top album. It had a picture of a sandcastle and the year 2009 with no name. I guessed a vacation album. I gently lifted i
t and placed it on the side. The next one was a diploma with the name Mandy in a cursive font. The order sheet slipped out. I scanned it before putting it back in. Violet didn’t order this one. It seemed the only way to know if an album was Violet’s was to look at the order sheet. This method wasn’t as subtle as I wanted.

  “Time for a scavenger hunt!” Marsha bellowed. “If you have the item, or a picture of it, bring it over to Scrap This and collect a ticket. Write your name on the back of the ticket then place it into the basket in front of the prize you’d like to win. Scrap This will show off the baskets now.”

  She felt better real quick. Or else wanted to prove to me she wasn’t drunk… or was trying to pretend she wasn’t. She spoke louder than needed and her walk had a little sway to it.

  Croppers looked around room. I followed their gaze, trying to see what they were staring at. Had Detective Bell walked back into the room, or was Lydia standing in a corner glaring at her partner? I saw neither.

  Ellie lightly bumped her shoulder into mine. “I think your man is trying to get your attention.”

  I glanced over. Steve looked a little annoyed with me. I wasn’t sure if it was because of something I had done or something I wasn’t doing—managing the store. Someone should be helping croppers, and someone else needed to trot around the baskets.

  I skedaddled over. I felt a heated gaze on me. Looking over my shoulder, I meet Lydia’s hard stare. She had materialized near the entrance to the hallway for the kitchen. “I’m going,” I mouthed, hoping it cut down on her ire. It wasn’t my fault I wasn’t ready. Marsha hadn’t given me a heads up when the game started.

  Or maybe Lydia was upset that my “keeping an eye on Marsha” had been an utter failure. The woman had managed to get drunk and then made her way back downstairs to boisterously start the game. I told her I had too much on my to-do list and couldn’t really add on another item.

  “Sorry. I got detained with some other matters,” I whispered to Steve.

  “I know,” he half-growled.

  I held up the first prize collection containing two dozen packages of Thickers. “Here’s one collection of scrapbooking goodies you could win.”

  The crowd oohed and ahhed.

  I picked up the next basket, tilting my head at the last prize. It was a large turquoise blue tote bag stuffed with scrapping goodies. Ribbons in a cascade of colors dripped over the side of a large tote. “Steve, can you hold that one up? The sooner we show off the prizes, the sooner the game ends.”

  He held up the tote.

  Croppers craned their necks to get a look at it. While the bag was impressive, it was what was inside that would melt their hearts.

  I peered into the tote, calling out the items. “A binder filled with gem embellishments. Twelve small bottles filled with brads. A cup holder to attach to your crop space, along with a coordinating insulated mug. And last but not least, a smaller tote in a coordinating pattern. Great for storing pens or other small items on your table.”

  Women placed their purses on their laps and splayed out pictures across their work surface. They were ready for the game to begin.

  My gaze drifted over to Violet. With headphones shoved in her ears, she looked at her table top, not interested at all in the game. After placing down the basket of supplies I cradled, I discreetly withdrew my cell phone. If not Violet, someone would be interested in what these women were revealing about their lives and I planned to capture it on video.

  “If you have lip balm, bring it to Faith and get a ticket,” Marsha’s half-giggling voice echoed around the room.

  Croppers rushed the table.

  The error of my plan hit me. I couldn’t film and hand out tickets. I’d have passed on the ticket job to Steve, but he was taking care of the paying customers. I turned off the phone and placed it back into my pocket. I’d just have to make mental notes along the way and hoped I remembered everything. I ripped off tickets from a large roll on the prize table.

  “A picture of a car,” Marsha announced the second item, following up with the third. “If you’re married.”

  “I’m married and have lip balm.” A cropper waved her cherry-flavored gloss at me.

  I handed over tickets.

  Marsha continued to add to the list. I was barely able to check items and pass out tickets at the same time. I hadn’t been able to take a look around and see if anyone appeared to be taking notes.

  “Band-Aids. Green marker. A picture of a birthday party. Between the age of thirty-five and forty-five.”

  “Slow it down,” a cropper said, flipping through a packet of photos with one hand and digging in a large purse with the other.

  I glanced at Violet. She continued working on a project, oblivious to what was going on.

  “And the last one, which will earn you five tickets, is a layout of an embarrassing moment,” Marsha said. “Remember, you must take it over to Faith.”

  Just what I wanted, a front row seat to moment’s best not documented. I watched and waited.

  Croppers settled back into scrapbooking. Electronic die cutters chugged. Trimmers whooshed through papers. Tabs on soda popped. No one made a mad dash toward the table with a layout. Either no one documented an embarrassing moment, hadn’t brought the layout with them, or thought it best not to advertise the fact.

  Disappointment flashed on Marsha’s face which she quickly covered up with a bright smile. “Stay tuned for another chance to win tickets later this evening.”

  “You kind of took a long break earlier.” Steve rang up a customer. “Was something going on?”

  “Marsha drama. Garrison and I handled it.” I tore the receipt from the machine, had the customer double-check it, then stapled it to her tab sheet.

  Steve studied my movements. “Bob helped here for a bit.”

  “That was nice of him.” I turned to help a customer deciding between standard baby blue and glitter baby blue for her background page.

  “We had a little down time so he filled me in on some happenings around here.”

  The customer decided on using both to make a mix of texture and shades. Steve calculated her total.

  “Crops can have some interesting thing happen.” I fiddled with the paper in the racks. “It’s amazing what will cause a drama. Spilling a drink. Sitting at the wrong table—”

  “A man accosting a woman in the hallway.”

  I knelt and reorganized the trimmers. “Bob needs to mind his own business.”

  “From what I’m gathering, it’s Bob’s business you’re minding.” Steve took hold of my elbow and got me to stand.

  I blew out a frustrated breath and pushed my hair from my eyes. “He asked me for some help. That’s all I was doing. This other guy, this PI, is possibly here for some totally different reason.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why do you always hide things from me?” Steve dropped into a chair.

  “I don’t. Not always. I don’t want you to worry because of your head injury. That’s all. I think Bob has the situation handled.” I gave Steve a one-armed hug. “I wanted to handle it myself. Needed to handle it myself. Okay?”

  “Yet, you had no problem going to Bob.” Steve settled a searching gaze on me.

  “I didn’t go to Bob. He witnessed the guy bothering me.”

  “You should have told me.” Steve looked so despondent. “I just can’t figure out why you wouldn’t.”

  This was the opening I’d been telling myself I was waiting for, but I couldn’t tell Steve about Adam in a room full of people. I needed some place quiet and private but with the crop in full swing, and Darlene and Gussie in the scrapping zone, now wasn’t the time.

  Chicken.

  The concern still showed on Steve’s face. The last thing he needed was
to worry about me.

  “I knew you’d protect me. I didn’t want you going after the guy because you were injured earlier.” I kissed him.

  “That’s the only reason you didn’t tell me?”

  No one was in the store. I sat on Steve’s lap and draped my arms on his shoulders. This was the opportunity to broach the truth without hammering Steve with it all at once. “No. Morgan—”

  “Morgan?” Steve tightened his arms around me.

  “That’s the name of the man Bob saw harassing me. The guy is a PI. He said he was going to tell the police the reason I solved murders was because I committed them.”

  Steve cradled me to his chest, caressing my back. “Don’t worry about that, darling. The man can’t prove you’ve ever done anything wrong.”

  Someone nearby cleared their throat. Reluctantly, I left Steve’s embrace and helped the customer find embellishments and the perfect color cardstock to complement her pictures. More croppers trickled into the store.

  Steve manned the register, scanning the items then stapling the print-outs to the ledger sheets, unless the shopper preferred pay-as-you-go instead of all the purchases hitting their pocketbook at once on Sunday.

  Violet picked up a bottle of glitter glue and stood in line at the register. No browsing. No comparing colors. She was either a woman who knew what she wanted, or really didn’t care what she bought as long as it fit into her cover of being a scrapbooker.

  The woman in front of Violet placed down an armload of pattern paper, cardstock, and letter stickers.

  How could I get Steve away from the register so I could ring up Violet? I had suspicions on Marsha and Violet and this was a perfect way to take Violet off my list. If I could confirm she was Violet Hancock, my attention could turn fully to Marsha. Though, I didn’t know how Marsha planned on pulling off any “thieving” when she kept hitting the bottle. Maybe her conscience was getting to her and Bob and I could get her to crack before she victimized another person—if Marsha was on the prowl for another identity. The only hang up with that theory was Lydia. How couldn’t she know her partner wasn’t on the up and up?