by Lois Winston
For all I knew, he did have an affair with Marlys. Maybe she'd been systematically working her way through each colleague's husband just for kicks. And only because she knew she could, knew the power she wielded whenever she set her sights on any man. I glanced down at my cellulite-dimpled, pear-shaped body and wondered what having such domination over the male species must feel like.
Tears welled up behind my eyes. What a mess! I was a prime candidate for a Lifetime Channel movie-of-the-week. Under the circumstances, concentrating on Fourth of July craft projects proved next to impossible.
However, since I couldn't run the risk of losing my job, I forced myself to leave the pity party and get back to work. Snuffling the tears into submission, I turned my attention to a no-brainer task, tackling the stack of reader mail that had accumulated over the past several weeks.
Once caught up on my paperwork, my mind had clicked sufficiently into work mode to concentrate on the July issue. I cobbled together a three-project proposal and attached an assortment of fabric and color swatches to it. Jeanie Sims, our decorating editor, had left me a memo about having found pre-made bandana toss pillows to incorporate with the denim furniture she planned to feature, so I concentrated on patio crafts.
Naomi insisted on two criteria for all the craft projects that appeared in American Woman: quick and easy. Our readers weren't die-hard crafters. I needed to come up with ideas where even the novice, most-all-thumbs reader would feel like Martha Stewart when she gazed at her finished project.
Naomi also liked a variety of mediums in each issue, so for the Fourth of July spread, I included ideas that incorporated sewing, painting, and scrap crafts.
RECYCLED JEANS PLACEMATS
Stop! Before assigning those favorite but now threadbare jeans to the rag heap, carefully cut out the back pockets for these nearly no-sew, perfect-for-a-picnic placemats.
Materials: denim fabric (1 yard will make 6 placemats); one jeans back pocket per placemat; red bandana fabric (11/3 yards will make 6 napkins); red and blue sewing thread; basic sewing supplies; fabric glue.
Directions: Pre-shrink denim and bandana fabric. For each placemat, cut denim to 15 x 18-inch rectangles. Machine stitch around perimeter of denim, 1 inch from cut edges. Fringe all four sides of placemat to stitching. Position pocket at lower left of placemat. Glue in place around sides and bottom edges.
For each napkin, cut bandana fabric to 16 x 16 inches. Machine hem all four edges. Fold napkin and insert into pocket. Place silverware in pocket over napkin.
NOTE: For an even quicker project, use store-purchased napkins instead of bandana fabric.
FOURTH OF JULY CLAY POT CANDLES
Party the night away by the light of these easy-to-make patriotic candles.
Materials: 4-inch diameter clay pot and matching saucer; white primer spray paint; red, white, and blue acrylic paints; satin spray varnish; paint brushes; 1-inch square compressed craft sponge; tacky glue; pencil; scissors; 3-inch red pillar candle.
Directions: (NOTE: Allow paint to dry thoroughly between steps.) Spray paint cup and saucer with primer. Paint inside and outside of saucer red. Paint inside of pot and outer rim in red. Paint remainder of outside of pot blue. Paint white vertical stripes around pot rim.
Draw a star on a compressed (dry) sponge. Cut out. Wet sponge to expand. Using white paint, sponge paint stars randomly around blue portion of pot.
Glue pot to saucer. Apply several coats of varnish. Insert candle.
DECOUPAGED FLAG TRAY
In just a few easy steps you can turn fabric scraps and an unfinished wooden tray into a red, white, and blue patriotic masterpiece.
Materials: unfinished rectangular wooden tray (available in craft and hobby stores); white primer spray paint; blue spray paint; clear acrylic varnish; scrap of red bandana fabric large enough to cover inside of tray; scraps of blue print fabric and white fabric measuring one-quarter the size of tray; pencil; scrap of cardboard one-quarter the size of tray; scissors; decoupage medium; brush.
Directions: (NOTE: Allow paint to dry thoroughly between steps.) Wash fabric to remove sizing. Spray paint tray with primer, then two coats of paint.
Using the tray bottom as a template, cut a piece of bandana fabric to size. Place inside tray. If necessary, trim fabric slightly until it fits within tray without puckering.
Make a star template with the cardboard and trace the shape on the white fabric. Cut out star. Position blue fabric in upper left corner of tray. Center the star over the blue fabric. Adjust dimensions of blue fabric and star until satisfied. Remove fabric from tray.
Brush the inside of the tray with decoupage medium. Position bandana fabric, right side up, inside tray. Brush right side of fabric with more decoupage medium. Repeat for blue fabric and star, applying decoupage medium over entire fabric surfaces each time. Allow to dry. Apply two coats of clear acrylic varnish to entire tray.
By the time I finished the proposal, everyone else had gone for the night, including the cleaning staff. My jaunt into the city to question Gina had resulted in another late evening at the office. I grabbed my purse and coat and headed down the hall to Naomi's office to drop the proposal in her IN basket before I headed home.
With any luck, the fickle Goddess of Working Moms was on duty tonight and had intervened on my behalf, persuading Mama or one of the boys to fix dinner. No matter how hard I prayed, though, the Goddess of Working Moms had no influence over Comrade Lucille. However, having tasted some of Lucille's culinary messterpieces in the past, perhaps that was a good thing, and in her own way, the Goddess of Working Moms was looking out for me and my kids.
As I rounded the corner, I realized I wasn't the last to leave the office, after all. Angry voices rose from behind Naomi's closed door.
"Damn it! If your brain hadn't been dangling between your legs-"
"Don't go there." Hugo's voice, normally soft and fatherly, took on an ominous edge.
Creeping closer to the door, I morphed into full Jane Bond mode. Normally, I would have respected Naomi's and Hugo's privacy, but these were not normal times. A murderer was still on the loose, and in the eyes of Batswin and Robbins, I was still Suspect Numero Uno.
A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to save her tush, even if it means turning into a full-fledged, ear-pressed-to-the-door snoop.
"Why not?" yelled Naomi. "It's all your fault."
"I'm warning you-"
"Or what? You'll kill me?"
"Don't be stupid. Everything will work out. I made a mistake. There. I admit it. Satisfied?"
"A mistake?" Naomi's shrill decibels reverberated through the closed door and into my eardrum.
"Yes, a mistake. Nothing more. It's over. Forget about it."
"Over? We're smack in the middle of a gargantuan dung heap."
"Not if we play our hand right."
"What are you suggesting?"
"That you let me handle things. Okay?"
Naomi mumbled something I couldn't make out.
"Listen," continued Hugo in a pleading tone, "we have a chance to set things back on track."
"Not with this new situation."
"A minor wrinkle. Trust me."
Once again I couldn't make out Naomi's reply.
"Grab your coat," said Hugo. "Let's get out of here."
I froze.
Even if I morphed into Marion Jones, I'd never be able to sprint back to my cubicle in time. Naomi and Hugo would see me as they rounded the corner.
I also nixed the idea of ducking into one of the surrounding empty offices. They'd notice my car in the parking lot and realize I may have overheard their incriminating shoutfest. I had but one option.
I waited until I heard Hugo approach the door. Pasting a smile of innocence on my face and forcing a sing-song lilt into my voice, I raised my fist and rapped twice. "Naomi?"
The door flew open.
Panic covered Hugo's face, but I pretended not to notice. I spoke over his shoulder to an equally panic-stricken-loo
king Naomi. "Hi. I thought I'd drop off the July spread proposals before I left."
"Oh, Anastasia. Uhm ... fine. Thank you." She pointed to a wire tray on her desk.
I forced myself not to stare at her shaking hand and ignored the guilt-riddled glances she exchanged with Hugo, but being fibchallenged, I was at a genetic disadvantage. My defective Prevarication Gene caused me to break out into an involuntary smirk whenever I lied. If I could pull off this act straight-faced, I was a shoo-in for an Oscar.
"I'll go over it first thing tomorrow," said Naomi.
Hugo stepped back to open the door wider. Projecting what I hoped appeared as naive innocence, I bounced into the office, deposited the folder in the tray, and waved as I retraced my steps. "See you tomorrow."
As I crossed the threshold, Hugo reached for my arm. "We're on our way out, as well. After what happened the other night, I don't feel comfortable with you walking alone to your car."
He turned to Naomi. "Ready?"
She swung her Fendi purse over her shoulder and fiddled with the strap for a moment. "Coming"
The three of us walked in silence to the elevator, with me smack in the middle of a triple-decker, high-anxiety sandwich. Part of me wanted to make small talk to dispel any indication that I may have overheard something incriminating. The other part of me feared saying something that might indict me. All of me wanted to believe there was some other explanation for their damning words. I didn't want to believe Naomi and Hugo were involved in Marlys's murder, but how could I not suspect them after what I had heard?
The elevator opened seconds after Hugo pressed the button. "After you, ladies." He swept his arm to indicate we precede him. I ordered my leaden feet to comply.
As the elevator made the short descent, Hugo placed his hand on my shoulder and cleared his throat. "I'm not sure I conveyed how sorry I was to hear of your recent loss, Anastasia."
I inhaled a deep, shaky breath, relieved he had presented me with an opportunity to direct my emotional turmoil to an appropriate topic. At the same time, though, I couldn't help but wonder how calculated his concern was. Why now? Hugo had had plenty of opportunity to offer his condolences over the last few days.
I offered him a sad smile. "Thank you, Hugo. The flowers you sent to the funeral were lovely. I appreciated the gesture."
He slid his hand down to my forearm. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to come in person. I'm sure it hasn't been easy for you. If there's anything Naomi and I can do ... anything ... please don't hesitate to ask." He glanced at Naomi for confirmation.
"Of course," she said, her lips curling into a benevolent smile. "Anything at all."
Hugo and Naomi walked me to my car. They waited until I had locked myself in and started the engine. Then they proceeded to Hugo's Mercedes, the only other car in the parking lot. That in itself raised my eyebrows-along with my curiosity.
Not to mention my suspicions.
I could only think of one reason for Naomi and Hugo to be traveling together, and it had nothing to do with carpooling to save on fuel.
The big questions, though, were when had Naomi and Hugo gotten back together? And what connection did it have to Marlys's murder?
THE NEXT DAY CLORIS was off interviewing Donna the Donut Diva. She arrived back at the office, her arms brimming with bakery boxes, shortly before three o'clock. "We need to talk," I told her.
"Sure" She dumped the boxes on her counter, opened one, and passed me a glazed donut the size of Rhode Island. "Here. Try this. Maple sugar with blueberry filling."
How could I, the willpower-challenged Queen of Cellulite, refuse such an offer? I accepted the donut and took a bite. And another. And yet another. After practically inhaling half the donut, I told Cloris about the argument I'd overheard the previous night.
She chewed on both my words and a sugar-sprinkled cruller. "The plot continues to thicken."
I polished off the remainder of my donut, washing it down with a gulp of coffee. "I feel like I've been sucked up into an Alfred Hitchcock vortex. Conspiracy to the left of me, conspiracy to the right of me. I don't want to believe Naomi is involved in Marlys's murder. I like her too much. But I also know I didn't kill Marlys."
"Me, too. But you've ruled out most of the other suspects."
I started work on a second donut, raspberry glaze with vanilla cream cheese filling, speaking around the fat and calories. "Except Gina."
"With Erica as her accomplice?"
"Highly unlikely." I dropped into the spare chair in Cloris's cramped cubicle and licked the sugar off my fingers. "But then, so is the idea of Naomi and Hugo as killers."
"At this point anything's possible. Someone killed Marlys."
"True. She obviously didn't drug herself and commit suicide by glue gun."
Cloris opened a second bakery box and held it out. "Ginger orange spice. What are you going to do?"
I waved the box away. One more donut and I'd start looking like a Sumo wrestler. "I don't know."
Ratting out Naomi and Hugo might get Batswin and Robbins off my back, but a huge part of me still doubted their involvement, no matter what I'd heard to the contrary. "Neither one of them admitted killing Marlys. They could have been arguing about something else."
"Like what?"
That question had kept me awake most of last night. "Something. Anything. I don't know. But it's not fair to use them to exonerate myself unless I have more proof."
"If you don't report the fight, is it withholding evidence?"
I hadn't thought of that. Ralph's squawks echoed in my brain. Double, double toil and trouble. Macbeth. Act Four, Scene One.
Keeping new evidence from Batswin and Robbins could land me in a cauldron of bubbling trouble. One more black mark against me might be all the proof they needed to haul my tush off to the county jail. "But is what I heard evidence or hearsay?" I asked Cloris.
She opened a third box and popped a boysenberry donut hole into her mouth. "Don't look at me, Sherlock. I'm no walking, talking legal library."
"I think there's a difference between refusing to answer a question and not volunteering information."
"Yeah, it's called dancing on the head of a pin."
With two left feet, I thought.
Before we could speculate further, Daphne arrived, summoning me to the conference room. "Those detectives are back snooping around," she said. "They want to speak with you again."
"Thanks," I said.
She hugged her middle. "Those two give me the creeps. Especially the guy. Like I half expect him to whip off one of those cartoon ties he wears and use it to strangle a confession out of me. You know what I mean?"
Cloris and I exchanged glances. "Is there something you haven't told us?" I asked.
Daphne's eyes bugged out as she stepped away from me. "No! I didn't ... I mean ... that's not what I..."
Cloris doubled over with laughter. "She's pulling your leg."
Our shared assistant eyed me. "For real?"
"For real. I thought you could use a laugh, but it was a bad joke. Tell them I'll be right there, would you?"
"Uhm ... okay. Sure." She nearly tripped over her feet as she jogged down the hall toward the conference room.
"Looks like I won't solve my financial problems by moonlighting as a stand-up comic."
"I don't think Whoopi Goldberg has to worry about you breathing down her neck any time soon," said Cloris.
I started to leave, but she grabbed my arm. "Seriously, before you go in there, think about this: if the situation were reversed, would Naomi and Hugo protect you?"
Probably not.
Batswin and Robbins hadn't come to ask more questions, though. They had come to deliver the sting money. "Nervous?" asked Batswin.
"I'm used to playing with craft materials, not playing Mata Hari" I stared into the navy canvas duffel she handed me and gulped.
"Something wrong?" asked Batswin.
"I've never seen this much money before."
"Don't get any ideas,
" said Robbins. "The bills are marked."
My head shot up. "Contrary to whatever erroneous opinion you have of me, Detective, I'm a law-abiding citizen. I've never stolen anything in my life, and I don't plan to start now."
He puffed out his chest and glared back as if in challenge, but his tightly pursed lips didn't move.
Batswin handed me a white business envelope. "The only bag at Burberry that comes close to what you said Ricardo described is four hundred dollars. This contains four hundred twenty-eight dollars. Get a receipt."
"Of course." Accountants rule the world, no matter what your line of business.
I was glad that Batswin had thought to calculate the tax and add it to her catch-an-extortionist request from petty cash. The tax had slipped my mind. I knew I didn't have an extra twentyeight dollars in my wallet. Twelve or thirteen maybe. Definitely not more. Imagine the fiasco at the Burberry counter had I come up short.
"We're working in conjunction with the Essex County police," said Robbins.
I turned my attention back to him and for the first time noticed the dark red stain on his Green Hornet tie. Spaghetti sauce? Or blood from another murder case?
"Officers will be positioned throughout the mall, in the store, and in the restroom," he continued.
Batswin took over. "When Ricardo calls to give you instructions for the drop, repeat what he says."
"So the officer in the restroom will hear me?"
"Exactly."
"Will someone follow me to the mall?"
"Several unmarked cars will tail you," said Robbins. "Why?"
Was I the only one among us who watched television? "In case all this cloak and dagger is Ricardo's way of foiling a possible sting."
They both stared at me, their faces impassive. I spelled it out for them. "I don't know what this guy looks like. What kind of car he drives. Neither do you. For all we know, he's lurking in the parking lot at this very moment. Maybe his real plan is to force me off the road somewhere between here and the mall."
That triggered a more ominous thought, which launched a lump of dread pinballing around my insides. Woods and fields hugged many of the roads that connected Trimedia to the mall. Woods and fields perfect for body dumping.
