by Laina Turner
“Well, hi, Trixie. Nice to see you two days in a row. What brings you in again?”
“Actually, I came to see you.”
“Really? What do you want?” She looked at me suspiciously but in a friendly way.
“Sarah, what makes you think I want something?” I said, smiling.
“Maybe because I wasn’t born yesterday,” she said, smiling back.
“Okay, you got me. I was hoping you might know something about the Sylvia Barester murder case.”
“Why is that any of your concern?”
“It just seems weird to me that no one seems to be making any progress, and I’m curious. Clive said yesterday that her past stops when she got here, and I find that odd.”
“It is odd but not completely unique. Lots of people reinvent themselves and make a fresh start. That doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with their past.”
“No, you’re right. But then most of those people don’t go getting themselves killed either.”
“True.” Sarah paused thoughtfully. “You know there is one thing that is pretty unusual about this case, but you have to promise you won’t say anything. It’s information that can’t get out or it could impede the investigation.”
“I promise. I just want this for my own personal need. I am going crazy trying to figure out why she was killed and since is happened in my shop, well, you know I need some closure.”
Sarah looked at me and nodded her head understandingly. “Clive said her social security number was new. Now that isn’t something that is as easy to come by. She had to be really motivated to figure out how to accomplish that.”
I felt some excitement. Finally some information. Now if only I knew what to do with it. “Does Clive have any idea what reason she could have had?”
“No. That’s something he’s working on, but in my opinion she must be running from something or someone big.”
“You think maybe that someone caught up to her?”
Sarah shrugged. “I don’t know, but it would make sense.”
*****
I took a sip of my wine and kept scrolling through the Google pages. I was looking for information on how to obtain a new social security number. Sarah had been right. It wasn’t easy. There weren’t many legitimate ways to do so, which led me to believe that maybe Sylvia, if that was even her real name, had illegitimate ways of getting things done. I felt it safe to assume that someone with those resources and inclinations might be in danger of pissing off the wrong people. What was she hiding from?
I heard a noise behind me and saw it was my son, Cody. “What are you doing up, little man? It’s almost eleven o’clock. You should be sleeping.”
“I’m thirsty.”
“Okay, let’s get you a drink of water and then back to bed.” I took him to the kitchen and got him his water and settled him back in his bed. He fell right to sleep when his head hit the pillow. How I wished I could do that.
I went returned to my computer search and decided to change tactics. I typed Sylvia’s name in the search bar to see what came up. Nothing. Not even a Facebook page. How odd was that? Sylvia was not quite thirty, so to not have a Facebook page was unusual. I became more and more convinced that Sylvia wasn’t her real name. But how on earth could I figure out what her real name was?
Snow globes! Maybe that was the key. Maybe there was a “snow globe fanatics of America club,” and she was a member. Maybe that was where her friends were.
I typed in snow globe associations and half expected to get a “nothing found” message. To my surprise there was an entire page of snow globe clubs and groups that popped up. Who would have thought there were actually clubs for people who made snow globes? Though I guessed everyone had to have a hobby.
I clicked on the club listed at the top of the page. Wow, it had over a thousand members. I tried going to the discussion area, but it was for members only. Guess I was about to become a member of the snow globe society. After several steps I was finally about to log into the members only areas. I wasn’t sure what I was exactly looking for. Maybe just to find Sylvia on the member’s list of discussion boards to get some insight to who she was.
I spent the better part of an hour on the site and then went to a few others to no avail. I couldn’t find a mention of Sylvia anywhere. I decided to try a different tactic. I would post a request for information about Sylvia. There seemed to be a lot of conventions and events. Maybe Sylvia went to those and someone would know her and contact me. It was a long shot but worth a try.
That task done, I looked up from the computer and noticed it was almost two a.m. I groaned. I hadn’t realized it was that late. The morning was going to come way to soon.
Chapter 14
I looked up when I heard the bell chime signaling someone was walking in the front door of the shop. I was drinking what was probably my tenth cup of coffee, trying to wake myself up after the late night last night. It was Stephen, looking pretty handsome in dark blue jeans with a green button-down shirt, open enough to show a white tee underneath. Very casual but in a good way. I looked down to his shoes and saw he was wearing dark brown leather shoes with light brown stitching. The pattern was a good effect and really said a lot about his personality. Men who just threw on tennis shoes didn’t care enough about the little things as men who actually sought out shoes with details and embellishments—at least in my opinion. I much preferred a man who had good taste in shoes.
I smiled. He must have come here looking for Sophie, which meant he must be interested. Good for her. “Hi, Stephen. Sophie’s not here. She won’t be back until later this afternoon.” It was going on noon, and Sophie had made a run to the printers to look at our paper options for flyers we were going to put up around town. I was so glad she was taking care of those details, since I couldn’t tell one kind of paper from another, nor did I really care.
“Darn. I was hoping to talk her into taking a coffee break with me.”
“You’ll just have to come back, then.”
“I will. I did have a few questions I wanted to ask you while I was here, though.”
“Oh.” Maybe he wants to grill me about Sophie, I thought.
“Have you guys received any rare or collector’s books here?”
I guess this wasn’t about Sophie. “Not that I know of, but I’m not an expert in rare books. So if someone brought one in, and they didn’t know it was valuable, I probably wouldn’t either.” Why was he asking me this? It seemed a strange question for him to be asking.
“Nothing?” He pressed further. “You mean out of all these books, no one brought in anything worth more than a few dollars?”
What was he getting at? “No. We didn’t have the money to purchase expensive books even if someone had brought one in. Though, come to think of it, there was one.”
“Really, which one?” He leaned in closer and seemed a little more excited than he should have been. I really didn’t know where this was going.
I took a small step back to reclaim more of my personal space. “A collector’s edition of Gone with the Wind. One of our friend’s mother’s donated it to us as a gesture of support for our new venture. Why?”
“Do you still have that book?” he asked excitedly.
“No. Unfortunately, it was used in a crime, and the police took it.”
“Oh.”
He sounded disappointed, and that didn’t seem right. Why would he care about a book the police had? “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. I am what you could call a collector of sorts.”
He was saying the right things, but it just didn’t set right with me.
“Tell Sophie I’ll stop back if I can later, okay?”
“Sure, Stephen.”
*****
“You’re new boyfriend was here earlier,” I said to Sophie as she came in and set down the box of flyers she had in her hands. They were a beautiful shade of what I would call melon.
“What boyfriend?” she asked sliding her pu
rse and computer bag behind the counter. “I feel like a pack mule.”
“That Stephen guy.”
“What did he want?”
“It was weird. I told him you weren’t here, and he did say he might stop back this afternoon to see you, but then he started asking questions about if we had any rare or collector’s books. He was being really nosy, and it just seemed off.”
“Did he say why he was asking?”
“He just said he was a collector of sorts.”
“Hmmm. He didn’t mention that when we were talking the other night. But I’ll ask him about it when he comes back in. Where’s Berklie?”
“She went to talk to Tom. She left about two hours ago. I would have thought she’d be back by now.”
“I feel so bad for her. Dealing with all his crap must be a huge pain in the you-know- what,” Sophie said.
“No joke. My ex can be a pain, but at least I don’t have this level of drama.”
At that moment Berklie stormed into the shop and tossed her purse on the counter. I could tell she was ticked off about something.
“Mystery solved. At least one, anyway, thanks to that jackass I was married to.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, concerned.
“I found out what Sylvia had on him that Vicki with an “i” was talking about. I can’t believe I was married to that man. I know I’ve said it a million times, but he just continues to amaze me with his deceit.”
“Tell us what happen!” said Sophie.
“He was hiding money so he wouldn’t have to disclose it for the settlement. Can you believe that? I worked for his business since the day it started and am the mother of his children. I left him because he was cheating and now he wants to hide money from me? He is so lucky I didn’t kill him when I found out!”
“So, let me get this straight. He was hiding money, and Sylvia knew it, and was going to tell on him?”
“Apparently. According to Tom, she thought what he was doing was wrong and said if he didn’t tell me she would.”
“Really?” I asked. “That doesn’t seem like the Sylvia we know.”
“What he was planning on doing was wrong. Maybe she was a good person after all, even if she was a home wrecker,” said Sophie. “How did you find out about this, anyway? Him hiding the money.”
“Oh, you’re going to love this. Last night I went for a drink with Jack’s partner Sam Appleton. To see if he knew anything about Sylvia and why she had been at the law firm. A story you’ll also be interested in, which I will tell you in a minute. As soon as he had a few drinks in him, he just started blabbing. That guy is a lightweight. He only had two Jack and Cokes and wouldn’t shut up. Anyways, he told me how Tom didn’t deserve me and how he was glad I left him. All things that were nice to hear. You know his wife cheated on him, too, which is why they got a divorce. Did you know that?”
“No.” I prodded her. “Please get on with the story.”
“Okay, okay. Eventually he tells me he has a secret to tell me, but I have to swear not to tell anyone, or he could be in big trouble. Of course, I swore I wouldn’t say anything.”
Sophie and I looked at her.
“What?! I crossed my fingers when I said it, so this doesn’t count. Besides, by that point he was too drunk to remember what I said. He leans over and whispers to me that Tom has been sending his brother money to hide for him. So not only is Tom an asshole, but his brother also is in on it. Just wait until I tell his wife. Doreen will be livid.”
“Where is the money coming from that he’s hiding? Wouldn’t there be a paper trail of it coming in, even if he didn’t deposit it? You know, cancelled checks or something?”
“Sam didn’t know all the specifics. He just had overheard Tom talking to Bill Gilroy, his accountant, at the country club bar a few weeks ago. So today I went straight to the source.”
“Does Tom know how you found out?” I asked.
“Not at all. He was so shocked I had found out he didn’t even think to ask.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Sophie.
“Make his life miserable. I told him to expect a whole new list of demands that he would be giving in to in our settlement. The current one, the one where I was more than fair, is out the window. He thinks I’ve been a bitch? He ain’t seen nothing yet.”
“Before all this, I liked Tom. I can’t believe he would stoop to such levels,” I said.
“Especially if Sylvia wasn’t egging him on,” said Sophie. “And it kind of seems like she might have been halfway decent. I’m sorry, Berklie.”
Berklie shrugged. “He’s changed. He’s not the man I fell in love with and married. Can’t do anything but move on. And collect what he owes me.”
Chapter 15
Does someone in here own a red Lincoln Navigator?” one of the patrons of Murphy’s yelled to the crowd from the front door.
“Berklie, that’s your car,” I said, nudging her as she was concentrating on eating her French onion soup and didn’t hear the man.
“What?” she asked.
“That guy just asked who owned a red Lincoln Navigator. You probably left your lights on or something.”
“I have an automatic shut off,” she said to me. She turned toward the front of the room and yelled, “I own a red Navigator, why?”
“There’s someone out there trying putting shaving cream on your windows,” the man said, as if this was an every day occurrence for him.
Berklie jumped up. “What?!” She started walking toward the door, and Sophie and I followed.
She pushed open the door and went out to the parking lot in the direction of where her car was parked. Vicki with an “i” was emptying what looked like her fifth bottle of shaving cream on Berklie’s windows. I couldn’t help but laugh. I hadn’t seen this since high school. Though, judging by the age of this girl, it wasn’t surprising that this was her mode of torment. She probably hadn’t been out of high school that long.
“What do you think you are doing?” Berklie shouted at her.
“I told you if you didn’t watch it, you’d be sorry.”
“And you’re making me pay by putting shaving cream on my windows? You know that will wash right off, right?”
“I didn’t want to do anything illegal,” she said petulantly. “What kind of person do you think I am?”
“A crazy one. For godsakes this is ridiculous.” A few people had followed us out of the restaurant to see what was going on, and there were a lot of chuckles going around, which wasn’t making either Berklie or Vicki with an “i” too happy. For different reasons, of course.
“It’s still considered vandalism, and with what you’re wearing, probably indecent exposure, too. How can you not be freezing?”
Vicki with an “i” had on a tiny bikini and the temperature was in the forties. “I didn’t want to ruin my clothes with shaving cream stains. Especially when it contains menthol, which was all they had,” she said in a way that implied we were stupid for not immediately getting that.
“Of course,” Berklie said sarcastically, which Vicki with an “i” didn’t notice. “I’m not sure at all what you hope to accomplish by this childish behavior, but believe me, you can have Tom. He’s all yours, honey.”
Vicki with an “i” looked puzzled. “But Tom said you wanted him back and that’s why he couldn’t see me anymore because you two were getting back together.”
Berklie busted out laughing.
“What are you laughing at?” Vicki with an “i” demanded.
“The notion of me ever getting back with Tom. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean Tom’s lying to you. I don’t want him back. Trust me, that ship has sailed and it will never happen.”
“Tom wouldn’t lie to me.”
“I don’t care if you believe me or not, but we aren’t getting back together. You need to open your eyes and see this for what it is. A brush off.”
>
Vicki with an “i” just looked at Berklie. For a moment I could see she wasn’t wanting to believe Berklie, but even she wasn’t ditzy enough not to see what was right in front of her.
“Watch out, Berklie. Let me clean off your windshield,” one of the guys from the restaurant said, walking up with a pail of water and throwing in on the car to get the shaving cream off the windshield so she could at least see to drive home.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” He shrugged. “Always like to help out damsels in distress.”
“Who is that?” Berklie whispered into my ear.
“No idea.”
“I will have to find out. He’s cute.” She turned back to Vicki with an “i”. “Look, I know you think Tom loves you, and it’s clear you’re in love with him, but can you please leave me out of your drama? I can assure you I’m not at all interested in him anymore.”
I could tell Vicki with an “i” was still confused by the way she was hesitating. “He does love me,” she said again but not with the same amount of conviction she’d had a few moments earlier. “Okay. I won’t bother you again.” She then turned to pick up her cans of shaving cream.
“Well, that certainly was interesting,” I said, watching Vicki with an “i” walk away and looking at Berklie’s shaving cream-covered Navigator.
Berklie shook her head. “I feel like I’m living in someone else’s life. How can this shit be happening?”
By that point the police had shown up. Someone must have called them.
“So which one of you lucky ladies is the proud owner of this vehicle?” the cop said, walking up to us.
“That would be me,” Berklie said with a sigh. “And you’re…?”
“Officer Calhoun. Someone from the restaurant called and said there had been some vandalism.”
“If you can count shaving cream as a weapon. But I wouldn’t.”
“Ma’am, it’s attempted destruction of private property. It still counts. Now, if you know who did this, you can file charges.”
Berklie started laughing. “That won’t be necessary. I think it’s handled, and I don’t foresee anything else happening in the future.”
