by Laina Turner
“I guess so,” I said uncertainly. “But we didn’t pay more than two dollars for any books. So if there is something valuable here, even the people who brought it in didn’t know it, so how would anyone else?”
“Hmmm,” was all Clive said in response. “I’ll send the boys over here to dust the window for prints and get pictures. Other than that there’s not much to go on.”
“Can I still open the shop today?” I asked hesitantly, hoping his answer wasn’t going to be no.
“I don’t see why not. I will get some barricades out of my trunk and cordon off the area. As long as people stay away from this area until we’re finished, it won’t be a problem.”
Whew. I let out the breath I had been holding. “Thanks, Clive. We’ll make sure to keep people away.”
“Trixie, I would recommend that for a few weeks, anyway, you ladies make sure you aren’t in here alone. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I would feel better if you stayed in numbers until I figure it out.”
“Okay. We will.”
Clive set his things up to make sure no one tampered with the evidence of the break-in, and I finished getting things ready to open.
At eleven I opened the doors, anxious to get some customers in here to take my mind off things.
Chapter 7
I had just finished ringing up Mrs. Feldman’s purchase when I heard Berklie raise her voice and start screaming at someone.
“How in the hell is this my fault? I didn’t kill her?”
“Of course you didn’t kill her, that’s not what I meant. Can you keep your voice down?”
I heard Tom’s voice, and if Berklie was mad enough to scream at him, especially in public, there would be no stopping her. While I felt Tom probably deserved everything he got from her, cheating scum, I wasn’t thrilled with their screaming match taking place in the shop. We’d had enough things going on here lately for people to gossip about.
“It’s not my fault our kids formed an opinion of your mistress. I didn’t say a word to them. I wouldn’t do that,” Berklie said, her voice in a loud whisper. Low enough that I could barely hear her and luckily low enough all the customers lost interest.
“Then how do you suppose they came up with: ‘Sylvia deserved it because she was a whore’?” Tom said. “They’re kids. They probably don’t even know what whore means.”
I looked at Sophie, my eyes wide. Berklie was a good mom, so I was sure she wasn’t the one who’d said that in front of the girls, but it sure made me wonder who did.
“Who is that?” Sophie asked, pointing to a man standing by our self-service coffee machine, distracting me from Berklie and Tom’s discussion. He was of medium height with close-cropped, almost buzzed sandy blond hair and a trim goatee. He was wearing jeans and a blazer with a white collared shirt underneath. A good-looking guy.
“He’s not anyone I recognize, but our town’s not that small. There are people who live here I don’t know,” I said.
“Darn,” Sophie said. “I was hoping you could introduce me. He’s cute.”
“C’mon, I’ll introduce you, no problem,” I said, feeling frisky.
“But you just said you didn’t know him,” Sophie said, a confused look on her face.
“I don’t, but let’s be bold. C’mon.”
I walked over to the gentleman with Sophie behind me. “Excuse me, sir,” I said, and he looked up from the book her was holding, a used copy of the Iliad, making me assume he had somewhat of an interest in literature. No one picked that book up for easy pleasure reading by the beach. “Hi, my name is Trixie Pristine and this is my friend Sophie Taylor.” I held out my hand, and he shook it, doing the same with Sophie.
“Stephen Westner. Nice to meet you.”
“Are you from around here, Stephen?” I asked.
“Just moved into the area from Chicago a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, well, welcome to the area. Sophie just moved here a few years ago as well. She would be a good person to tell you all the high points and show you around.”
Stephen smiled, while Sophie looked both mortified and happy. A tough combination to pull off. “Oh look, someone is at the register. Sophie, why don’t you make Stephen feel at home.”
“Sure,” Sophie said to me sweetly. Too sweet. I knew I would hear later about this later, but by then maybe she and Stephen would have hit it off and she’d forget that I put her on the spot. Sometimes you just had to take a chance.
I was making a fresh pot of coffee about fifteen minutes later when Sophie finally made her way back over to me. I looked at her, and she seemed happy. “Well… how did it go?”
“I can’t believe you did that,” she exclaimed, hands on hips, looking indignant.
“What? Introduce you to a good-looking guy? What is wrong with that picture? It’s no different then walking up to a guy in a bar is it? At least here there’s a better chance the guy won’t be a nut job.”
“Well, no, but this is broad daylight. It was embarrassing.”
“Whatever,” I said playfully. “Did he seem nice or not? That’s the point.”
“I think so. I mean, we only talked a few minutes. I’ll have a better feel after dinner tonight,” she said nonchalantly.
I whipped my head around. “Dinner! You already have a dinner date with this man? You just met him.”
“So now you’re worried about me being alone with a stranger? You weren’t ten minutes ago.”
“You weren’t alone. I was here. And other customers. This is a public place.”
“And there will be people at Murphy’s tonight. He just asked me to join him for a casual dinner to tell him more about the area. It’s perfectly fine. Now I just have to figure out what to wear. I need something that makes me look amazing but gives the impression I just threw on any old thing.”
“Why do we do that to ourselves?” Berklie asked, walking up to the counter and catching the last part of our conversation.
“What?” Sophie asked.
“Why do women go to all sorts of effort just to look as if they put in no effort at all?”
“I blame it on society,” I said, teasing.
“Seriously, it’s so silly, yet we all do it.”
“It’s just part of being a woman,” Sophie said. “The same reason I run or swim every morning. I want to stay in shape so I can snag a husband and have babies.”
“I say enjoy being single with no dependents,” said Berklie. “Men and kids? Nothing but trouble.”
“Oh stop, you don’t mean that,” I said to her.
She sighed. “You’re right. They aren’t anything but trouble most of the time, but the few times they’re good makes it all worth it.”
Chapter 9
Are you sure we won’t get in trouble for this?” Berklie asked me as I searched around the front door of Sylvia’s house to find a key to the front door.
“By who, Clive?”
“Well, he is a policeman, and we are technically breaking into someone’s house.”
“Since when were you such a scaredy-cat? You’re the risk-taker of the group.”
“I’ve never broken into someone’s house,” Berklie said.
“What about that time in junior high when you were dating Bobbie Chambers and you thought he was cheating on you? Remember, he was at the bonfire flirting with Alice Hornsby, and we snuck over to his house…”
“We were sixteen!”
“I’m just saying. Besides, it’s not technically breaking in when you have a key,” I said, standing up from where I had been hunched over the flower pots on the front porch, lifting them up one by one to look for a key hidden underneath—until I finally got lucky. People were so predictable. I dusted off the knees of my jeans and held the key in front of Berklie.
She got a surprised look on her face. “How did you know it would be there?”
“I didn’t. I was just hoping she was like the majority of us suburbanites and kept a key hidden in plain view.”
“What was your plan if there wasn’t a key?”
“A rock,” I said deadpan.
“No way? You were going to break into Sylvia’s house by throwing a rock through the window? Trixie this is a whole new side of you,” Berklie said, looking at me with admiration. “Sassy and not afraid. I think I like it. Kind of like the chick in the David Lee Roth video.”
“You mean Hot for Teacher? I think that’s going a little far. I’m not about to start a striptease. I just want to find out what Sylvia was hiding, and this seems like the only way I am going to do that.” I put the key in the lock and opened the door.
“It’s kind of creepy walking in here knowing she’s dead, especially in the dark,” Berklie said, looking around the house from where we were standing in the foyer. “Should we take off our shoes?”
I handed her a flashlight. “Are they dirty?”
“No, but everything in here is so clean and white.”
“And floral,” I said. “This is not at all what I would have expected Sylvia’s house to look like. I would have expected more of a modern look. Not country grandma.” It was very clean and organized and decorated in whites and pastels. Very feminine and a more mature look than I would have expected out of someone Sylvia’s age. I slipped the key into my pocket so I would have my hands free and pulled a couple pairs of kitchen gloves out of my purse. I handed a pair to Berklie. “Here, put these on. Just in case. We don’t want to leave prints.”
“Just in case what?”
“I don’t know, Berklie. Just put them on. You start looking around down here, and I’ll go upstairs and see what I can find.” I headed up the stairs, grateful I wore ballet flats that had rubber soles and didn’t make a lot of noise on the wood floors.
The stairs ended at a small landing, which Sylvia had set up as a sitting room. There was just enough room for a small table and rocking chair next to a big rectangular window that offered sunlight and a pretty view of the park in the middle of the subdivision. I noticed a book sitting on the table. It was the new one by D.D. Scott, Carats & Coconuts. So Sylvia liked rom/com. Good to know. That was probably the only thing we had in common, as I loved D.D Scott books, too.
I walked past a small bedroom, which I assumed was her workout room, since it had a treadmill and some weights. There was another room at the end of the hall that must have been the master bedroom. I reached it and was right. Interesting though, her bedroom was decorated in a vastly different style from the rest of the house. This was done in a boudoir style: the main wall painted crimson, the others a cream, and her bed set was in jewel tones. Dark purples, blues, and reds with gold trim. The effect was sexy and much more like Sylvia than the downstairs.
I opened the drawer of her nightstand. Nothing but a couple magazines—People and In Style—and nail polish. It was just as neat up here as downstairs. I looked in her dresser drawers, that was what detectives did in the movies, right? I checked around the bathroom. Nothing. I walked back down the hallway to the stairs. “You having any luck, Berklie?” I called to her as I chugged down the stairs.
“Not yet. But I have to give this girl credit. She is—was—a neat freak. No clutter, no stuff just lying around. I don’t even see any mail. Everything has a place. If only my house looked this good. The only thing that shows any kind of insight to her personality is this over here.” Berklie led me to a little room off the kitchen. Almost like a really big pantry. The room was filled with snow globes.
“Wow. I’ve never seen this many snow globes outside a store,” I said. “What is she doing with all these?”
“She must have made them as a hobby. This table over here has all sorts of tools and parts.”
“So that’s what people without kids do. They have hobbies,” I said, joking. “I had forgotten what that was like.”
“What might make this searching easier would be knowing what you are looking for or hoping to find,” Berklie said to me.
“I’m not sure. I just have a weird feeling about her past. That maybe she’s hiding something and that’s what got her killed. I guess I was hoping something would just jump out at me.”
“Isn’t that for Clive to figure out?”
“I’m not trying to do his job; I just can’t stop thinking about it. I mean, it happened at our shop. I’m uneasy knowing there’s someone out there who killed a person in our place.”
“Yeah, me too. I just wish it would go away, and we could pretend it never happened, but I know that’s not reality.”
“Exactly why I wanted to come over here tonight. I want to get this mess behind us.”
“But, Trixie, I’m sure that Clive and his guys have been over here. They probably already found anything that might have been relevant.”
“You never know. We have different perspectives. Just look at how her house is decorated. It’s in complete contrast to her personality. Do you think a guy like Clive would notice that?”
“Maybe not, but how is that relevant?”
”It’s probably not. I was just making a point.”
“Do you see anything else around here you think the cops might not notice?”
“Unfortunately, no,” I said regretfully. “We might as well go. Nothing here seems like a clue to her murder.”
Chapter 10
Uh oh. Don’t look now, but here comes trouble,” Berklie said to Sophie and me. We were at the shop brainstorming some marketing ideas. It was early afternoon, and we only had one customer, who was drinking coffee and reading a book. Exactly what we wanted people to do here. I looked up to see what Berklie was talking about.
A young blonde, probably about twenty-two, in distressed jeans and a royal blue strapless top. She had to be cold. It was only in the fifties. “Who is that?” I whispered to Berklie.
“That’s her. The mistress. The second one. The one I found Tom cheating on Sylvia with. His new assistant who appears to assist him with more than just paperwork.”
“Oh.”
“What do you think she wants, Berklie?” Sophie asked.
“I have no idea.” She sighed as the blonde reached us.
“You! You are despicable!” the girl said to Berklie, holding her finger out and shaking it at her, while tottering on ridiculously high heels. She was tiny but very big chested, and on those heels she looked like her top-heavy frame might fall over at any minute. I could see goosebumps on her arms. I knew she was sacrificing warmth for looks.
Berklie lifted her hands up in question. “Me? What on earth could I have possibly done to you? I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Vicki. With an “i,” and you sicced the cops on me!”
“Listen, Vicki with an “i,” I did not sic the cops on you. I simply answered the questions they asked me, and they took it from there. I didn’t even know your name, so how could I send them your way? If you want to be mad at someone be mad at Tom. He’s probably the one who told them who you were. I just told them Tom was screwing another blonde bimbo besides Sylvia.”
“I am not a bimbo!” Vicki shrieked. “He loved me and was going to leave Sylvia as soon as he could figure out how.”
“Honey, if you can’t see a pattern here with Tom, you’re dumber than I thought,” Berklie said. “If he was going to leave Sylvia for you, how long do you think he would have stayed with you before he found someone else?”
“No, he loved me. I know he did!” Vicki shouted.
“Can you stop shouting? This is a business,” I said, looking over at our one customer who had stopped reading his book and was watching the scene unfold in front of him. Not exactly the type of entertainment I wanted to provide in Read/Wine, but I guessed I should be grateful that it wasn’t one of the town gossips.
“You just need to keep your nose out of my business, Berklie!” Her faced flushed with anger, Vicki took it down a notch but still spoke well over the normal range.
“And if I don’t?” Berklie asked. I could tell she was playing with this poor girl. Berklie had always been a
master at confrontation. Always knowing the right thing to say while staying calm and collected, where as I got flustered.
Vicki’s eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t take that chance if I were you.” She turned on her heel and flounced out.
“Wow, that was fun,” I said sarcastically, looking over my shoulder at our lone customer, who smiled at me and turned back to his book. “You’d think we could go at least a day without confrontation of some type.”
“I can’t believe she had the audacity to come in here,” Berklie said. “I’m going to have to have a word with Tom about controlling his whores.” She dropped her head in her hands. “I can’t even believe I am saying that. I would have never thought ten years ago, even two years ago, I would be having this conversation. This is not the fairy tale ending I had envisioned.”
“She has a pretty hot temper. Maybe she’s the one who killed Sylvia,” Sophie said.
“I don’t know. Sylvia seemed like the type who could hold her own with a blonde thing like Vicki with an “i”.
I started laughing. “That was classic.”
“Leave it to Tom to pick that one,” Berklie said shaking her head.
*****
I had just gotten Cody to bed and settled myself down with a good book and a glass of wine, trying to relax a little. My days lately had been a lot busier and more tiring than my days at the library, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything. It was so rewarding to be working on something that gave me such satisfaction. Even the tiniest task was important because it got me that much closer to being a successful business owner.
The doorbell rang. Who could that be at this hour? I had talked to Berklie and Sophie earlier tonight, and they’d been just as tired as I was and were both headed home to relax. I set my book down and went to the door. I opened it to find Jordan, my ex, on the porch. “What are you doing here? Cody’s already in bed.”
“I figured he would be. I’m actually here to talk to you.”
“Okay, come on in.” I couldn’t imagine what he wanted and was hoping it wouldn’t take long so I could get back to my relaxing. I led him to the kitchen, and we sat down. “What do you want?”
