by J. R. Ripley
“No,” Derek said quickly. I noted a hint of surprise in his voice as he straightened. “It’s not, all right.”
I stared at him. “You know it?”
“Sure,” he said, taking the phone from my hand and chewing his lip. “That’s Dad’s direct line, not the main office number.”
“Mason called your father? What did he want to speak with him about?”
Derek handed the phone back to me. “I have no idea. I didn’t know they had been in touch.”
“I wonder how Mason got Ben’s direct line. They didn’t know one another, did they?”
“Nope. Dad said he’s never met the man.”
“Doesn’t that make you curious?”
“A little, I suppose. But anybody could get that number, Amy. It’s posted on our webpage.” Derek reached for his computer keyboard and tapped some keys. “Your friend Mason could have wanted legal advice about anything. Maybe he wanted to update his will or get something witnessed.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. A contract, maybe?”
“Like a contract between Frank Duvall and himself?”
Derek rubbed his chin. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“You’re no help.” I stood. “Let’s go ask Ben what Mason wanted.”
Derek shook his head. “Not now. I’ve got an appointment, remember? And Mrs. Edmunds doesn’t like it when I miss my appointments.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t.” Derek and his father had been burning through temps in an attempt to find a permanent hire for the front desk. Mrs. Edmunds was the third in six weeks. “Can’t we make an exception just this once?”
“Nope.” Derek stood too. “I’d like to, but in this case, it wouldn’t matter. Dad’s not here.”
Derek led me back up the hall. “I’d really like to know what your father and Mason talked about,” I pressed as we reentered the reception area.
“Good afternoon, Mister Clemens. I’ll be right with you,” Derek called to a casually dressed elderly gentleman sitting next to my pink flowering plants. Derek turned to me. “Come back in about an hour, Amy. Dad should be back, and we can talk with him then.”
Derek escorted Mr. Clemens to his office, and I was left alone with Mrs. Edmunds. “Have a nice day,” she said, her eyes moving from me to the door in a clear attempt to get me moving.
“Actually,” I began, “would you mind if I leave my flowers here a little while longer? I want to step next door to the bridal shop.”
“I’m afraid,” Mrs. Edmunds sniffed, “I am allergic to flowers.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Her eyes were starting to look a little puffy. I picked up the box lid full of plants and pushed the door open with my back. “Tell Derek I’ll be back in an hour!”
I took Mrs. Edmunds’s cool silence as a yes.
14
As much as I loathed the idea, it was time to bite the bullet and talk to Amy Harlan for Jerry. I wasn’t sure what pull I had with the woman—other than her wanting to pull the trigger of a gun every time she laid eyes on me—but I had promised the man.
Besides, if I wanted to ply Jerry for more information, which I did, it would help if I had some leverage or some good news to report—like his wife getting a bargain-basement price on a wedding gown for her vow renewal ceremony. I’d never met a bigger cheapskate than Jerry Kennedy. He’d made me pay for my own snacks on our first and last date a million years ago—at least that’s what my junior year of high school felt like these days.
Once more balancing the plants in one hand, I pulled open the door to Dream Gowns. As I did, a woman tried to get past me. “Sorry!” I dodged to the left, which was exactly the wrong thing to do. The box lid tipped, and one of my plants slid to the edge and tumbled over the side.
“I’ve got it!” I lunged for the plant, spilling the remaining two in the process. A slender woman in a peach-colored dress and pearls glared down at me. “Good thing these pots are plastic,” I quipped.
I lined the three pots back together on the box lid, then fluffed the flower petals with my fingers. “They don’t look any the worse.” I smiled at the woman. Her skin looked like it had been formed with high-grade plaster. “Flowers sure are resilient, aren’t they?”
She was staring at the carpet. Potting soil had spread everywhere. “Oops.” I bent and quickly began scooping the damp potting soil back into the pots. Unfortunately, I was leaving brownish-black stains all over the pearl-white carpet. “If you’ve got some paper towels or a rag, I can clean this right up in no time.”
“Will you use a rag to clean this, too?” The young woman reached over me and tugged at a beautiful white lace and taffeta ball gown.
That is, it had been beautiful. Now it was soiled from waist to hemline and looked like the bride who’d worn it had spent her honeymoon mudwrestling.
“What’s going on?” I heard a soprano voice from deeper within the store call.
I cringed. I knew that voice.
“Some…woman selling plants door to door has ruined our new carpet and a Paul Duberg original,” tattled the woman looming over me.
Amy Harlan marched to the front. “You!”
“Hello, Amy.” I rose slowly, carefully balancing my flowers lest I spill them once more.
“What are you doing here? What do you want?” Before I could answer, Amy the Ex turned to the first woman. “It’s okay, Liz. I’ll handle this.”
The woman named Liz hitched her designer purse over her bony shoulder and went out the front door to a polished black convertible.
Amy the Ex planted her hands on her perfect hips. She had gone blond, and her eyes were bluer and her figure even more voluptuous than the last time I’d seen her. How was that even possible? I wanted the name of whatever wonder pill she was popping or fountain of youth she was bathing in under a full moon.
“Is there something I can do for you?” She looked with distaste at the pink flowers. “You aren’t really selling those hideous things door to door are you?” She shook her head. “They’re hardly appropriate for a wedding ceremony.” She wore a tight-fitting blue dress and matching heels. I was lucky on days I could find a matching pair of socks.
“No. I picked these up at the farmers market. Beautiful, aren’t they? Have you ever been?”
“To the farmers market? No, I have not. I am rather busy, Ms. Simms. We’re planning for our grand opening. There is quite a lot to do yet.” She looked at the door. “So, if you don’t mind?”
“Actually,” I said before she could toss me out on my ear, “that’s why I’m here. A friend of mine was interested in one of your gowns.”
“You have a friend?”
I ignored the insult. “Well, sort of. That is, Jerry Kennedy, Chief Kennedy—”
Her nose wrinkled as if a skunk had just crossed her path. A telephone rang in the bowels of the store. “I have to get that. Follow me. And please,” she said, pointing a manicured finger at the flowers, “put that box down and leave it here before you do any more damage.”
I set the box just inside the door and followed. Though I tried, my hips didn’t seem capable of sashaying half as well as Amy the Ex’s did. I could have followed her with my eyes closed simply by following the scent of magnolia, honey, and lily of the valley that trailed in her wake.
I waited while Amy the Ex wrapped up a brief and mostly one-sided conversation with what sounded like a vendor of some sort. She seemed to be haggling over dates and prices.
I sensed that Dream Gowns was going to be very Southern in style and very hard on the pocketbook. The salon’s walls had been painted off-white, and fashionable gowns hung on long, chrome clothes rods along the walls. Several low glass tables held a small assortment of accessories, including veils, belts, and crystal-covered shoes. There were two rows of pale pink satin-curtained dressing rooms toward the rear with a riser and three full-length mirrors between them along the back wall.
As I continued waiting, a man came in from the rear dressed in a
green delivery uniform. “I’ve got a couple of boxes for you.” He held out an electronic pad. “Sign here, please.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t work here,” I answered.
Amy the Ex made a face at the two of us that clearly meant for us to keep our voices down. He extended the pad toward her. She held up a finger to indicate he should wait and she’d be done in a moment.
Three minutes later, during which the deliveryman and I spent awkwardly avoiding eye contact with each other, Amy the Ex hung up. She snatched the pad from the driver without a word and signed. “Leave the boxes in the storeroom, please. That’s a dear.”
I nodded toward the man’s retreating back. “That’s dangerous, you know.”
“What is?”
Amy the Ex narrowed her eyes.
“That is, I heard that several merchants around town have had things stolen from their shops. The police think the perpetrator or perpetrators are coming in through the service entrances.
“There have been no signs of broken locks or busted windows. You should keep your back door locked, even during business hours. You have a lot of expensive-looking bridal wear here.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Derek’s ex took a seat in a black velvet chair against the wall and crossed her legs. She eyed me expectantly. Though several other chairs were spread nearby, I was not invited to sit.
I cleared my throat. “Speaking of police, as I said, Jerry Kennedy and his wife, Sandra—do you know Sandra?”
Amy the Ex shook her head. “We’ve not had the pleasure.”
I cleared my throat once again. I felt like I’d swallowed a frog. Why hadn’t I told Jerry to do his own dirty work? “They’re planning a vow renewal, which I’m sure will be lovely, and of course, he expects Sandra will want to patronize Dream Gowns for her dress.
“I told him I would reach out to you.” I smiled grandly, hoping she’d smile back, though I wasn’t sure if such a thing were possible. “We business owners need to stick together, right?”
She looked down her perfect nose at me. “I’d hardly equate selling birdseed with selling couture gowns.”
“No, of course not. The thing is, Jerry is really hoping you’ll give him a professional discount.”
She threw back her head and laughed. “And he sent you to ask me?”
I shrugged lamely. I was going to kill Jerry for talking me into coming down and asking a favor of this vile woman.
Amy the Ex stood, and I took a step back. She tilted her head, then paced the carpet a moment before stopping inches from me. “I’ll tell you what, Ms. Simms. You can tell Chief Kennedy that I will be very happy to give him a professional discount.” She grinned, but I sensed evil behind those perfect white teeth. “Shall we make it thirty percent?”
“That sounds wonderful,” I said. Had she really agreed to give Jerry a discount? A thirty percent discount? Was the ice between us caused by me taking up with her ex-husband finally thawing?
“Chief Kennedy,” I said, “and his wife will be delighted to hear it. I’ll be sure to let them know. I can see that you aren’t quite open officially to the public yet, but maybe Sandra could stop by sometime and discuss what she’s looking for in her gown?”
“Of course,” Amy the Ex said, folding her arms over her hard-to-miss bosom.
“Thank you, Amy. I can’t wait to tell Jerry the news.” I turned to leave.
“Oh, Ms. Simms.”
I turned. “Yes?” I asked lightly.
“There is one little thing that I’ll need you to do for me in return.” She pinched her thumb and index finger together.
“Of course.” I smiled. “What’s that?”
“I’ll need you to stay away from Derek.”
15
“She really said that?” Kim looked at me in wide-eyed wonder.
“Yep. She really said that.” I mounded some black soil beneath the plant with my bare hands and tamped it lightly. I had just finished telling Kim about my day and what Amy Harlan had demanded of me in exchange for giving Sandra Kennedy a discount on her gown.
“What did Derek say when you told him?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Actually, I haven’t told him yet. Frankly, I’m not sure if I’m going to.” After my conversation with Amy the Ex, I’d been so flustered that I hadn’t even gone back to Derek’s office like I was supposed to. I’d come straight home and started planting the flowers Frank Duvall had sold me.
“Amy!” cried Kim, looking down on me from the porch. Her hands gripped the front rail. “You’ve got to tell him.”
I glanced up at her, then grabbed the trowel and dug another shallow hole. “And have him think I’m some jealous little girl? No, thanks.” I stood and wiped my hands. “They look nice, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, yeah. More flowers, very nice. Don’t change the subject.” Kim followed after me as I picked up my trowel and gardening tray and carried it around to the small shed against the back of the house. “Your boyfriend’s ex-wife just warned you to stay away from him. What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing,” I said. I set the gardening tools away and locked the shed. We went into Birds & Bees through the back door. It seemed we were just as guilty of leaving our service entrance doors unlocked as everybody else.
“Don’t you think Derek’s going to wonder why you never returned to his office as you said you would? I thought you wanted to talk to Ben Harlan to learn what Professor Mason had contacted him about?”
“I called their receptionist and told her to relay to Derek that something had come up. And yes, I do want to know what business Mason might have had that required him to contact a lawyer while here.” I’d just been too flustered to deal with it then.
Kim followed me upstairs to my apartment. “By the way, Dan told me that Jerry wants to talk to you.”
I went to the bathroom and turned the faucet on full blast. Kim leaned against the doorframe.
“Again?” I said, scrubbing my hands with soap and water. I toweled dry. “If it’s about the dress, forget it. I’m done being his intermediary. If he wants a discount from Amy Harlan, he’s either going to have to ask her himself or arrest her and force it out of her.
“Personally,” I added, squeezing past Kim and heading to the kitchen, “I hope it’s the latter.”
“It’s not about that,” Kim said, gladly accepting the tumbler I handed her and holding it out while I filled it with chilled sangria.
“What’s it about then?” I took my own glass and sat at the kitchen table. I was still upset over my encounter with Amy the Ex. What was I going to do about it? What was I going to do about her? And why did she have to open her bridal salon right next door to Derek’s law office? Were there no empty storefronts available in Charlotte? Or on the moon?
“It’s about that laxative found in Professor Livingston’s stomach.”
“Yeah, weird, huh?” I stood on tiptoes and rummaged through the cabinets. There was a bag of tortilla chips around here somewhere. I found it on my third attempt and ripped the bag open, setting it between us on the table.
“No salsa?” Kim asked.
“I’ll look.” I got up from my chair and threw open the fridge. I found an open jar on the middle shelf of the refrigerator door and took it to the table. It looked a little sketchy—a bit too green and goopy for a red salsa. I unscrewed the lid and took a sniff. “A little iffy maybe,” I said, “but I don’t think it will kill us.” I pushed the glass jar toward her. “You first.”
Kim shrugged off my concerns, dipped a chip, and took a bite. “Seems fine.” She chewed, and her eyes got all fluttery. A moment later, her hands flew to her neck, and she began gasping.
I folded my arms over my chest and rolled my eyes. “You’re a worse actor than Cousin Riley.”
“Fine,” Kim said, giving up the act. “I can see I won’t be able to count on you when some psycho poisons me.”
“I guess we’ll jus
t have to wait and see.” I dipped a tortilla chip in the jar. “Now, speaking of poisons, finish telling me what you started to say about the laxative that showed up in Mason’s toxicology report.”
“Dan says that Jerry says the laxative had to come from either the wine or . . .”
“Or what?”
“The chocolates you gave to the professor.”
“Why my chocolates?”
“Because wine and chocolate-covered cherries were the only contents of the professor’s stomach, according to Dan.” I had to admit, having Kim dating Officer Dan Sutton was not only good for her love life, it was turning out to be a great way for me to glean inside information.
“Esther bought those chocolates for me at Otelia’s. You know that. I can’t imagine for one second Otelia suddenly taking to lacing her chocolates with—” I tapped my glass. “What was it Anita called it?”
Kim scrunched up her nose. “Biscuit something?”
“Bisacodyl,” I remembered suddenly. “That’s what it was.”
“If you say so.” Kim helped herself to a handful of chips, then leaned back in her chair. “All I know is, Jerry wants to talk to you about it.”
“Fine. It can wait until tomorrow.” I stood. “Don’t fill up on chips.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want you to spoil your appetite.”
“Don’t worry,” Kim replied, shoving two chips in her mouth at once. “You know me, I can always eat.”
I knew that. What I didn’t know was how she maintained her figure. “Good, because I’m treating you to dinner.” I selected a light green sweater from the coat closet near the apartment door and took my purse and keys from the table.
Kim followed me. “Great. Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
I drove. Kim played with the radio incessantly. I preferred Broadway musical show tunes. She preferred country and western. She won, if only because I had my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road.
“Truckee’s?” Kim gaped.
“Yep.” Truckee’s Road Stop sprawled over several acres of pitted blacktop and several more acres of gravel and dirt. The truckers came because it was close to the highway with easy on and off access.
