I frowned and gave a short shake of my head. “Okay, why? I told you everything yesterday.”
“It’s all part of the investigation,” he said. “Can you come down today? Say around two P.M.? Ask for me.”
“I suppose.”
“Thanks, Pepper. Your cooperation is appreciated.” He hung up.
I stared at the phone and frowned. Detective Murphy and I had a bit of a history. He swore he liked me. He said that I reminded him of his daughter, Emily. That said, we had a tendency to butt heads. While he was a slow and methodical pro, I tended to be a quick, hotheaded amateur. Not exactly a good team when it came to solving murders. Wait, solving murders was not what I did for a living.
I shook my head at my thoughts. I was a proposal planner, for goodness sakes—hearts and flowers and romantic fun. That thought made me think of Gage. He was in the prop business for the local theater scene. Plus he was a guy—what a guy. Anyway, he might have some thoughts on what I could do for Mary. I dialed his number without a second thought.
“Hey, Pepper,” Gage answered. The sound of his voice had me all jittery and jumpy. Crazy. I walked to the breakfast bar that separated my kitchen and dining area.
“Hi, Gage, do you have a minute?”
“I always have a minute for you, Pepper.”
Okay, now I had to sit down because my knees went weak. I climbed up on the edge of one of my wrought iron barstools.
“What’s up?”
“I have this female client who wants to propose to her boyfriend.” I ran my hand through my curls and pulled them away from my face.
“That’s different.”
“Right, that’s why she wants to do it. She said he’s a movie buff and I was thinking we could do something with the Music Box Theatre. I used to know Sherry Thornton out there. Do you have any connections?”
“Most of the people I know are in the live theater scene in town.”
“Oh.” I leaned my elbow on the bar and rested my chin in my hand. My little hope bubble burst.
“But I happen to love going to the Music Box Theatre. They played Moulin Rouge for New Year’s Eve. It was a blast. Do you like independent films? Film shorts? Anything like that?”
“Sure, kinda.” I blew out a breath and laughed. “I have no idea. I spent the last ten years doing whatever Bobby wanted, and that meant if I wanted to see a movie, I had to sneak in a matinee before I met him at The Naked Truth.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, sad, I know.” I sat up straight.
“We can fix that.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “We’ll make a date to go to the Music Box. They’re showing this great Polish film—”
“Maybe we should start with something small,” I interrupted, and rubbed my earlobe. “I’m not too certain I’m ready for subtitles.” He was quiet and my heart squeezed a little. I vowed not to worry about whether I should have just said yes and pretended to have fun like I did with Bobby. Except I knew where that went. “I want to keep things real, Gage. I really truly don’t know and I don’t want to pretend that I do.”
“That’s fair,” he said, his tone grew thoughtful and then brightened. “I’ll text you the name of my friend who knows someone at the Music Box. That way you’ll have another contact in case Sherry no longer works there. Okay?”
“Great.” My heart beat strongly in my chest. I had taken a small risk by saying no to his foreign film idea, and he didn’t hang up in a silent huff. So far this relationship was doing much better than my last—though that’s not saying much. “You are a great friend, Gage.”
“I want to be more than a friend, Pepper. I’m willing to take it slow. When you figure out who you are, you’ll find me right there beside you.”
Wow! Seriously, wow! “Just promise me one thing,” I said, as bravely as I could.
“Okay.”
“Don’t give up on me.”
“Trust me, Pepper. I’ve known you since before Bobby. I’m not going anywhere. That’s a promise.”
Now that was the best thing any girl, anywhere, could hear from a handsome man.
Chapter 5
“I’m here to see Detective Murphy,” I said to the officer at the front desk. The lobby, for lack of a better word, of the police station was a twelve-by-fifteen-foot room with glass windows at the front, uncomfortable plastic chairs against the walls, and what looked like a bulletproof glass sliding door that allowed the front desk to be cut off from the public.
“Your name?” The officer was a wide-faced blond woman with short cropped hair and big blue eyes. She wore a crisp blue uniform with the name Cullen on her badge.
“Pepper Pomeroy,” I replied, and flashed her a smile. “He’s expecting me.”
“Have a seat,” she said, and pointed to the plastic chairs. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Thanks,” I muttered. On the right side of me were two middle-aged people. The woman sat in the plastic chair and clutched her handbag, while the man paced angrily in front of her. Fall was unpredictable in Chicago, and the temperatures had plummeted to forty degrees. They both wore coats. His was a Chicago Bears jacket. He wore acid-washed jeans and his head was covered by a Cubs baseball hat.
She wore a lightweight navy wool coat that stopped at the hip. Under that was a white turtleneck with tiny red flowers and mom jeans. Her hair was cut in a short shag and dyed blond with lowlights underneath. Her face was thin and pinched, and her eyes were red rimmed.
“I told that kid this would happen,” he growled. “I’ve got a mind to let him sit in there and rot. Might teach him a lesson.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” the woman said softly.
“How the heck would you know how it works?” he asked her.
I decided I had heard enough of their conversation and moved to the opposite side of the room. There were five chairs lined up by the remaining wall. At one end of the row was a teenage boy with his pants around his thighs. He wore a black T-shirt with a picture of some young singer bent over and sticking her tongue out. He was absorbed in his cell phone.
Sitting down at the opposite end of the row, I dug my own cell phone out and saw that, true to his word, Gage had sent me the name and number of a contact at Music Box Theatre. Which reminded me, I wanted to contact Jimmy, the gate security guy at the executive airport with a sweet tooth, and ask him whom I should contact to find the best place to produce Alexander’s parachute proposal. I was calling it Project Jump.
Looking up from my phone, I noticed a copy of today’s Daily Herald on the seat next to the kid. “Excuse me, is that yours?” I asked him, pointing to the paper.
He scowled at me for the interruption and shook his head, then went back to his game. I took the paper and found the picture. Mary had been right. I was in the photo just outside the crime-scene tape. The photographer caught me heading back inside the doorway from the alley to the shop. The paper said that the article was on page three.
I flipped the pages to find it. “Woman Found Dead in Alley” was the title of the article. The woman was not yet identified when the paper went to print. At least no one mentioned who had found her. Seriously, I needed to keep my name out of these things. Romance and murder did not mix. It was bad for business.
“Pepper?”
Detective Murphy stuck his head out the door that led to the back. He was a solid figure of a man. Nice looking for a guy who was my dad’s age. We might have our differences, but I liked him and, even better, I trusted him.
“I’m here.” I stood and folded the paper and tucked it under my arm, before hitching my purse over my shoulder and heading his way.
“Thanks for coming down,” he said as he escorted me down the hall and into the area that opened up into cubicles and rows of desks. The space smelled of old aftershave and even older coffee. Detective Murphy’s office was
all the way in the back. He had glass walls so that everyone could see into his office and he could see out. Inside was a wide desk and a row of filing cabinets, and across from the desk, two more uncomfortable plastic chairs. “Have a seat.”
I sat in the chair closest to the door. His desktop was neat with a black plastic stackable in/out box, a desk calendar, and pictures of his daughter and his wife. He had a big old computer monitor that looked like it was from the 1990s and a keyboard and mouse. “I saw the article in the paper.” I put the folded paper down on top of his desk. “Did you identify her? I feel terrible that I didn’t even know her name.”
“Yes.” He said and ran a hand over his face. “Her name is Eva Svetkovska. Is that who your appointment was with?”
“Oh, my goodness, yes. I called and talked to Eva. She was who our appointment was with. Was she a sales girl?”
“No, she was the owner of Bridal Dreams.” He leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk. “I’d like to go over the details with you again. You and your mother and sister were at the store because . . .”
“We were out wedding dress shopping for Felicity. She had made appointments at four shops. That one was our last for the day.” I clutched my giant handbag. Then realized I must look like the woman in the waiting room, so I relaxed my fingers. I liked leather bags large enough to put my life inside. Felicity liked to tease me that I was like Mary Poppins—anything and everything could come out of my handbag. It didn’t help my Mary Poppins image that I disliked jeans and instead preferred to wear black tights, penny loafers, a casual corduroy skirt, and sweater.
“What time was your appointment?”
“It was set for four P.M., but we were late.”
“What caused you to be late?” He asked.
“Felicity was having a bridal meltdown and I encouraged her to take a break. We got coffee at the little coffee place about a block and a half from the bridal shop. It made us about fifteen or twenty minutes late. Felicity was worried, but I figured with the price of dresses at the same price point as a new car, the saleswoman would have to be patient.”
“And was she?”
“Actually, now that I think about it, Felicity was about to have a second meltdown about being late, so I called and left a message. It sort of pacified my sister.”
“I see. Do you know the exact time you got there? It would be helpful.”
I pulled out my phone and checked the recent calls lists. “I called at four fifteen P.M.”
He took note of the time. “Who did you speak with?”
I frowned. “No one answered, so I left a message.”
“Okay, good. I can verify that. How far out were you when you called?”
“Not far. Felicity was a mess, so I checked my phone right before we walked in to show her we weren’t that late. I think it was about twenty after four.”
“Great.” He wrote that down. “Walk me through what happened when you got there.”
“Like I told you yesterday, we arrived and no one was there. I rang the bell but no one answered, so I went looking. I thought maybe they just couldn’t hear the bell . . . Wait. I remember something else. I may have mentioned it yesterday but it might not mean anything.”
“Anything you remember might be a clue.”
“Well, when we first walked into the shop, the door slammed behind us, you know, as if there was another door open and the wind sucked it closed. I didn’t think much about it at the time, but I don’t think it slammed again until the first responders were coming and going through the front and back door at the same time.”
“Hmm,” he said, and wrote it down next to the timeline I had given him.
“Do you think the back door was open when we came in?”
“Could be.” He studied the notes. “Thanks.”
“Wait, you don’t think it was the killer leaving, do you? We did make a lot of noise when we came in.”
“Eva was murdered in the alley,” he said, and studied me with seriousness. “Did you see or hear anyone when you entered the shop?”
“Um.” I felt a cold sweat wash over me at the idea that the killer was in the shop when we were. “Wow, no. Not that I remember.” A tinge of relief followed the fear as I told myself to breathe in and out and think. “In fact, I distinctly remember that the shop had that weirdly empty feeling.”
“Weirdly empty?”
“You know, it’s a shop so there are usually two or three salespeople and clients inside, talking and laughing or crying or arguing, whatever.”
“But you heard none of that.”
“No, there was no sound at all. Come to think of it, I remember expecting to hear soft music at the very least and there was nothing . . . except for the door slamming behind us.”
“So you are certain no one was in the building except for you and your sister and mother.”
“I’m as sure as a person can be.” I studied him as I thought. “Yes, I’m positive there was no one else in the shop.” I blew out a long breath and relaxed. “You know, for a moment I was afraid we could have been caught up in the crime.”
“You and your family were very lucky,” he said. “Is there anything else you can remember?”
“Not really. Isn’t it odd that no other salespeople were there when we got there?” I pressed. “I mean, a place like that should have a receptionist or something, right? What about the other girl who came in late? Is she okay?”
“I can’t share details with you, Pepper, you know that.” He sat back. “It’s an ongoing investigation.”
I bit my bottom lip. “But the woman was so distraught. I heard her call out Mom when she saw us in the alley. Was the victim her mother? Can you at least tell me if she’s okay? Is there anything I can do for her?”
“Fine, I can confirm that the victim was her mother.”
I gasped and covered my mouth. “How horrible.” I couldn’t imagine walking in and discovering my mother had been murdered. “But the paper said that the identity of the woman was being held until the family was notified. If the other woman—what was her name?”
“Vidalia.”
“If Vidalia was the victim’s daughter, why didn’t the paper identify her?”
“Vidalia said her mother came over to America from Russia as a teen. Most of her family is still in Russia or scattered around Europe. She asked that she be able to tell her father and the rest of her family before her mother’s name is splashed all over the Internet.”
“Oh, of course, that makes sense.”
“Listen, Pepper, are you absolutely certain you didn’t see anyone else at the shop? Would you be comfortable swearing to that in a court of law?”
“Yes, I’m certain there was no one else there. It’s why I went outside. It was so strange not to have anyone in an open shop. Especially one where appointments are made. I thought maybe whoever was waiting for us had gone outside for a smoke. It sort of made sense since the door slammed behind us when we went inside.” I remembered the scene as clearly as possible. “Wait, that doesn’t make any sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense?”
“If only the victim and her daughter were working, then why did her daughter have three beverages?”
“What? What beverages?”
“When she came through the door, Vidalia was carrying a beverage tray like the ones I saw at the coffee shop. I could have sworn there were three drinks in the paper tray. I mean, why else would you need a tray? Usually if you are carrying two drinks, they don’t give you a tray.”
“Good point,” Detective Murphy said, and made another note. “Was she bringing drinks for your sister?”
“No.” I shook my head and drew my eyebrows together. “Unless . . . since there were three of us she might have thought she’d get us coffee if they do that for customers . . . Wait, no, we didn’t order anythi
ng. How would she know what to bring?”
“Good question,” he said. “Anything else come to mind?”
I scrunched my face. “No, that’s it.”
“Great.” He paused and studied me for a moment. “Look, I didn’t ask you here only because of the investigation.”
“You didn’t?”
“No.” He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Can I get you some coffee or something?”
I could tell he was feeling awkward and out of his element. “Water would be good, thanks.”
“Great, I’ll be right back.” He practically ran out of the room. His nervousness caught more than my attention. The people sitting near his office asked him how he was and he waved them off. He went around a corner and came back a couple of minutes later with two bottles of water and a paper cup.
“Is everything okay?” I asked as he handed me the cup and a cold bottle of water.
“Yeah.” He hitched a hip on the corner of his desk, opened the bottle in his hand, and took a quick swig. “Look, this is weird, I get that, but you know my wife is dead, right?”
I glanced at the photo on his desk. “Yes, I remember. How long has it been?”
“Six years.” He took another swig.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He shrugged. “You know, you remind me of my daughter, Emily, right?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “You said that.” I couldn’t help feeling a little relieved that he wasn’t going to ask me out. No man asked a woman out after comparing her to his daughter.
“You told me you broke up with that guy—what was his name?”
“Bobby. Yes, we’d been dating since high school, but it wasn’t going anywhere so I broke it off.”
“How are you doing with that? Are you okay?”
“Is this what this is about?” I shifted. Maybe I had it wrong. Maybe he was going to ask me out. Not that he wasn’t a bad-looking guy. There was something appealing in his confidence and bad-guy-fighting demeanor.
“It’s about my daughter, Emily.” He got up and paced. “I need some advice.”
Bodice of Evidence Page 6
