“We need them to stay. This retreat will go under.” I pressed my lips together. No reason to admit out here, where croppers could hear us, that there was an “and.” Especially when it was followed by “one of them could be Morgan’s murderer.”
Ted stared at me for a long moment before hooking his arm through mine. “Let’s go get breakfast.”
I sighed and allowed him to direct me toward the stairwell. I didn’t have to say “and” for Ted to hear it. He knew me too well.
“I could use some coffee.”
This was going to be one headache of a day. I needed all the caffeine I could get to get through it and deal with everything on my to-do list.
Ted tugged open the door to the stairwell, bowed, and rolled his hand in the air.
I rolled my eyes and stepped inside. “Thanks.”
The door thudded close.
“So, is everything all right?” Ted slid an undecipherable look at me.
“As all right as can be with attendees fleeing like the zombie apocalypse has designated this resort as its next stop.”
“How come you snuck out of your room instead of heading to breakfast with Steve?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Did Bell or Steve say something during the questioning that I should know about?”
“What is the other reason you don’t want people leaving? Sounded like you omitted a detail or two.”
A door opened and closed. Ted and I grew silent and waited. A few moments later we heard the sound repeated.
“I’m waiting for an answer,” Ted said.
I let out a deep sigh. “Because one of them might be Morgan’s murderer or Bob’s identity thief. Or maybe the thief is also the murderer.”
Ted groaned. “Faith, don’t. Bell isn’t going to take kindly to you helping him solve this murder.”
“I know that. He’s made it very clear.” I started down the stairs.
“And yet, you’re going to poke around for the truth.”
“I don’t have a choice. I got the feeling he was dismissing what I told him about Violet.”
Ted took hold of my arm, stopping me from taking one more step down. “A fact you hadn’t mentioned when he spoke to you after Morgan was killed. I wouldn’t be surprised if Bell got the feeling you were holding something back from him.”
“I think Violet is the identity thief Bob is looking for, Morgan came here to exact revenge for the last person who she pretended to be, and then Morgan planned on framing me for his crime.”
Ted moved to stand on the step below me. He looked right into my eyes. “And where, or from whom, did you get that idea?”
“Bob.”
“Why would Morgan threaten you numerous times, thereby tipping you off to his plan?”
“Because the next person she planned on being was one of my grandmothers. I’d have the best reason for killing the woman.” I told him about finding notes about my grandmothers in Violet’s bag. “Gussie’s making a celebration of friendship album for my grandmothers. It went missing for a few hours, and later turned up in a box with our clearance items.”
“Then why was she following you beforehand? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Because the Cropportunity website showed Scrap This was a vendor. There were also pictures of my grandmothers and Steve. She started doing her homework on us before the event.” A thought slithered into my head. “Does Bell know Morgan was here because of me?”
Ted shrugged, refusing to meet my eyes.
I lowered myself onto the stair and leaned my head against the wall. “Now who’s holding back? You know something I should know.”
“I can’t say, Faith.” Ted sat beside me. “I wish I could. I hate being a secret keeper when I know it’s best for it to be out. Some information is more painful when you hold it inside than when you let it go. It’s the keeping it quiet that eats at you, not what actually happened. I wish you and others had a little more faith in the people in their lives.”
“It’s not them. It’s what others will say and think about them that worries me.”
Ted leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Your grandmothers and Steve can handle it. They haven’t just lived with the roses and rainbows of life. They’ve dealt with the thorns and the storms that come with it.”
“So poetic this morning.” I placed my hands behind me and braced myself as I stretched my legs out. My ankles rested on the edge of the second step down.
“It’s what happens when I spend time with my brother and his boyfriend. It reminds me some people have to fight for the basic right to love somebody. Makes me realize we shouldn’t take love for granted when it’s so easy for us to grasp and hold onto.”
I pivoted, placing my back to the wall and drew my knees to my chest. “Sometimes love is hard and should be let go.”
Something flickered in Ted’s eyes. “Sometimes a person you love, yes… but not love itself. When a person who says they love you harms you, then let it go. But don’t let love go because someone hurt you.”
I hugged my knees tighter. Was Ted going to profess his feelings for me again? My heart raced. I loved Steve. I wanted to be with Steve.
Ted stood and held his hand out to me. “Let’s get the coffee and breakfast I promised you.”
I placed my hand in his. Ted drew me to my feet. “So, do you have any idea who might have killed Morgan?”
“Leave it alone.” Ted used his arms to box me in against the wall. “Sweetheart, I know you don’t want anyone else to get hurt. You have to realize the people who love you don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Not against everything and everyone. When I go on a case, I take back-up. I wear a bullet-resistant vest. I carry a gun. If I don’t check in, someone at the station sends out a distress call. Even though I can take care of myself, I don’t put myself in a situation where I have to prove it to stay alive.” Ted curled a strand of hair around his finger then tucked it behind my ear.
My breath hitched in my throat and my legs wavered. “I’m not putting myself in these situations.”
“They just happen?”
I nodded.
Ted ran a thumb over my lips. “When will you believe the people who love you don’t need you to continually test yourself to prove you’re good? They already know it.”
“I’m not testing myself,” I said even as Ted began caressing my bottom lip.
“Then are you testing us?”
“No.” I held Ted’s wrist, stopping the touch creating a desire in me I shouldn’t have for the man I didn’t choose. “Helping people is what I have to do. It’s part of me. Who I am. I can’t turn away when someone’s life will be altered because of someone else’s choice.”
Ted stepped away from me and crossed his arms. “If that’s who are, what you need to do with your life, then do it. But do it right.”
SIXTEEN
Croppers congregated in the hallway. Harsh whispers flowed from one group to another. I stopped and sipped my hazelnut coffee, hoping to catch a few words. My interest increased when I spotted Detective Bell talking to a group of four women. One waved her arms around in exaggerated motions, and the other nodded to whatever statements the other woman’s gestures emphasized.
Detective Bell’s gaze clashed against mine. I hurried over to the closed door. Great, now I’d have to juggle my coffee, my eavesdropping attempt, and open the door. I prayed I didn’t splatter any of the steaming liquid onto my hand.
“I’ll get it.” A woman grabbed the handle and tugged it. “The croppers last night sure were a rowdy bunch. I thought the manager was going to flip when he opened the door a few minutes ago.”
I froze in the doorway. Paper, stickers, candy wrappers, and confetti littered the floor. The
entertainment last night must have gotten a little out of hand.
Two security guards, real ones, patrolled the perimeter of the cropping room. With Bell talking to croppers in the foyer, I wasn’t sure if the manager stationed the guards in here to protect someone, or keep us contained. I was opting on herding us in as the police were under the assumption the murder was caught, and so far our presence here had only caused the manager headaches. And more than likely multiple nighttime phone calls.
On my way to Scrap This, I shifted my coffee mug to my other hand and picked up some of the empty packages and discarded embellishments off the floor. I placed the outer plastic wrappers into the trash and the abandoned embellishments into the “Lost and Found” box I created last night.
I was surprised to see Violet’s items at her cropping spot, looking untouched. Hers was the only clean section at the table. Bell didn’t hold much stock in what I said. He should have at least gone through her bags to see what else she hid in there, unless he figured I already procured all the evidence.
Amanda’s cropping spot was a mess so I had a reason to go over do some cleaning, and more investigating. I scooped up some small scraps of paper and dropped them into the brown paper bag taped to the side of the table. A replacement bag had been left on Violet’s chair. I started to exchange the new bag for the used trash bag.
A small bottle of grape soda peeked out from the litter I placed in the bag. Blech! I don’t know how anyone could drink the stuff. It tasted like cold medicine.
Wait! Marsha insisted she hadn’t been drunk last night when Garrison and I found her. Nor had she consumed the alcohol she’d been purchasing in the bar. This bottle was the same brand Marsha had in her room.
What if there wasn’t just grape soda in the bottles?
I stared at the bottle. Could Violet have put a nighttime cold remedy into the bottle without Marsha knowing it? Had the credit card numbers and the membership card been planted in Marsha’s room?
There was only way to find out: give the bottle to Ted.
I glanced around. No one was watching me. Using one of the plastic wrappers from a sticker package, I rescued the plastic bottle and placed it in the clean brown paper sack. No way was I going to put my prints on it. I hurried over to Scrap This and stapled the top shut so no one could “accidentally” see what I put in without me knowing about it. I texted Ted. I wanted it safe in a room as soon as possible.
I sipped the coffee in my covered mug. A mug I left alone on the table while I went on my semi-covert mission. Quickly, I shoved it away. I scanned the room. The few women in there were cropping away. No one looked like a murderer. Then again, most murderers didn’t look like one. If they did, the crime rate would drop drastically as the police could lock them up the moment they showed their face.
A cropper wandered into the store, smothering a yawn.
“Late night?” I smiled at her.
She nodded. “The last time I stayed up past one in the morning it was because of a colicky baby. And that was fourteen years ago.”
“Looked like it got a little wild in here last night; there are scrapping cast-offs everywhere.”
“I’d blame that on the alarm, police cars, and ambulances showing up.” She held two different shades of purple cardstock out toward the natural light coming from the windows. “Everyone left in a hurry.”
Except for Violet. When I poked around her area, there had been some crafting supplies out. Either Bell took the few things she hadn’t packed, or Violet had returned last night.
The cropper nodded, placing one sheet back and delicately holding the other one while she eye-browsed the packages of themed stickers hanging from the display rack. “We were worried the hotel was being evacuated. We grabbed our albums and headed out.”
A scrapbooker would flee without her wallet and electronics if it meant saving her albums. Money and gadgets could be easily replaced; the way a memory was showcased would be hard to reduplicate, especially if some of the pictures were heirlooms with no negatives to make another copy.
“We tried coming back in a little later but all the doors to the convention center were locked.” The woman selected a few packages of WVU stickers then brought them over to the register area. She removed a fifty from her pocket.
I went for the cash box. It wasn’t at the table. I had left it in the room. “I’m so sorry. The cash box is with my co-worker. I’ll just add this to your tab and you can pay later.”
“I need to stay within my budget so I’m buying as I go.”
I tallied up the items then handed the purchases over. “As soon as a helper arrives, I’ll go upstairs and get the box and we can settle up.”
“Okay.”
Once again, my sleuthing was getting in the way of managing the store. I took in a deep breath to settle my nerves and hopefully quiet the berating I was giving myself. No big deal. This was more of a problem in my head than in reality. I settled into the chair and hoped Gussie or Darlene showed up soon.
Minutes limped by. Come on. Come on. Of course, I could text Steve and ask him to bring the money box but he needed his rest.
Gussie and Darlene walked by and waved.
“You’re here!” I jumped up and held back from clapping.
“About time I got a proper greeting.” Darlene repositioned her cropping cushion.
“Can one of you please watch the store? I left the money box upstairs.”
“That’s a silly—” Darlene ended her sentence with the help of an elbow to the shoulder from Gussie.
“Of course I will,” Gussie said.
“Thanks. I’ll be back soon.” I snagged the paper sack. Might as well keep the evidence safe in my room until Ted showed up. He was probably at the police station trying to get his brother released. If Bob hadn’t been set free last night, which I was having serious doubts on that scenario.
Gussie eyed the package.
“Breakfast for Steve.”
I ran out the side door and down the hall, hugging the evidence to me like a baby. My footsteps echoed down the small corridor separating the convention center from the resort. I bumped into a cropper, my jostling combined with the large purse she carried, sent her careening into the wall. “Sorry.”
I bypassed the elevators where a couple of guys with the hotel’s large luggage carts stood waiting. I headed for the stairs. The cropper’s story of what happened last night tickled my brain. What was bothering me? What was I missing?
As I started up the second flight, a hand squeezed my shoulder. I jerked away, throwing myself off balance. As both my hands held the bag, I didn’t have one on the railing. With a startled cry, my body fell forward, colliding into the solidly built stairs. My forehead stuck the edge. Darkness drew close.
“Oh my God! I’m sorry.” A voice floated into my head and then out.
Light trickled in as I struggled to keep my eyes open. Thoughts and words drifted into my brain. I tried grasping onto them but they slipped away. There was something in those fleeting memories I needed.
“You’ve got to come help me.”
I knew the voice. Marsha. I blinked a few times and tried to focus on her.
“Are you all right?” She grabbed one of my arms and draped it over her shoulders. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
I couldn’t figure out much right now, but I knew not to trust Marsha. I made a feeble attempt to swat her away.
Marsha hauled me to my feet.
My head pounded. I heard a door open. The world wavered and grew fuzzy again. A figure stood on the landing. I couldn’t make them out.
“Help me get her upstairs.”
An arm went around my waist. My free arm was limp. I felt limp. I drew in a breath to scream. All I managed was a whiny moan before the world went dark.
SEVENTEEN
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br /> A dull ache in my head woke me up. I was lying on something soft yet firm. A mattress. Someone was holding my hand, closing it around something. The pain wanted me to keep my eyes closed, but I needed to see what was going on. Marsha had taken me somewhere. And she had help. I fisted my other hand and moved it slightly. Good. I wasn’t restrained. Now, I’d just lie still and wait for the right moment.
The mattress shifted. I opened my eyes a slit. Marsha was turned away from me. Now was my chance. I threw a punch. My floundering aim had me hitting her in the neck.
She screeched and tumbled to the floor.
I pushed myself to a sitting position. The room rocked and rolled. The sharp pain in my head had me collapsing back onto the mattress as nausea gripped my stomach. No matter what, I was getting out of here. I rolled off the bed onto the floor.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Marsha said.
I crawled under the bed, my only option. All I needed was enough time to text Garrison. He helped me take Marsha to her room. He’d know where to find me. I squished myself against the wall, giving myself time to gather strength and wits to fend off Marsha. Normally I could take her with no problem. But I felt anything but normal. As I had a massive headache and was fighting the urge to puke, the advantage went to Marsha.
I shoved my hand into my right back pocket. No phone. I tried the left. Empty. Marsha had it. Now what?
My whole body trembled. Hysteria wasn’t going to help. I needed a plan. There was plenty of stuff to throw at her. When she came after me, a well-placed kick to her head should give me enough time to crawl out of the room.
I felt stronger already. Having a course of action always made me feel more in control and confident. I’d stay here and wait her out. If she wanted me, she’d have to venture underneath the bed.
A knock sounded on the door.
Even better!
“I’m going to throw up! Leave it!” Marsha shouted.
The door opened then closed. A few moments later, the comforter lifted.
Christina Freeburn - Faith Hunter 03 - Embellished to Death Page 19
