Buried in Beignets

by J. R. Ripley

  I crept on, finally coming to a second open door. There was a light switch on the wall just outside. I flipped the switch.

  Bingo, this was their storeroom. Boy, was it big. And loaded with rack after rack of wedding dresses and bridesmaid dresses. Shelves along two walls held veils, lace and every other accessory a bride-to-be could want. All very neatly arranged and organized, of course.

  The industrial lights overhead cast triangular arcs of light down over the clothes racks. I stopped and touched a taffeta gown. Nice. This inventory must have been worth a bundle.

  I tiptoed up and down the aisles, pushing aside dresses now and again, looking for my two missing dining chairs. They could be hidden anywhere in here.

  I sighed. Searching this backroom could take hours. I couldn’t spare hours. Not only was I supposed to be back at the café helping poor Aubrey, but Clive and Johnny were right out front.

  My nerves were already shot and my heart pounding with fear of being caught. And what if I did discover my chairs back here? What would it prove? That Johnny and/or Clive are murderers?

  Then what?

  Confront them?

  Hopefully, even I wasn’t that stupid. No, I’d have to get out without them knowing and phone the police. I had Detective Highsmith’s cell number in my purse. Of course, my purse was back in the café.

  I turned toward the back wall, perpendicular to the alley. Still no sign of the chairs. Yet they seemed like the most likely ones to have taken them.

  There was my neighbor on the other side of the café, Salon de Belleza, run by that butinski Caitie Conklin. I was still sure it had been her who’d ratted me out to the police about my little argument – non-argument – with Rick Wilbur.

  Come to think of it, maybe Conklin had conked Mr Wilbur on the back of his head. No pun intended. After all, what did I really know about the woman? Besides the fact that she was a jerk, that is.

  And charged fifty bucks a pop for a haircut. I know because I’d called the salon soon after arriving to schedule a cut. But not at those prices!

  I mean, really, who charges fifty bucks a pop for a haircut? This was Table Rock for crying out loud, not Scottsdale. So far, I’d stuck to trimming my own locks. I used to cut the entire family’s heads, but since moving to Table Rock, Donna’s been cutting Andy’s and my nephews’ hair herself. And she was doing a pretty good job, too – for a grocer.

  Yeah, Caitie Conklin. Maybe I was barking up the wrong tree. I added her to my list of suspects and turned back toward the showroom. Time to get back to the café. Even if the chairs were here I might never find them.

  Something shiny on the floor caught my eye as I snaked through the narrow aisle of gowns. I bent and lifted it from the plank. It was a ballpoint pen with a Wilbur Realty logo. I’d seen pens like this before. Rick Wilbur handed them out like candy. I heard the sound of footsteps. I looked up.

  ‘Looking for something?’ Johnny Wolfe blocked my path.

  Tips On Choosing a Flattering Wedding Dress

  So, you’re getting married. Good for you – just don’t marry anyone named Brian. OK, maybe I’m being a little hard on the Brians of the world – don’t marry my dead ex-husband Brian.

  Though there are as many shapes and sizes of people and dresses as there are people and dresses, there are several general categories of each that you can use to guide your selection. Just remember, there are no right and wrong choices – well, I hate to sound like a broken record here, but do avoid Brian – other than that, if you love it, wear it!

  Now, if you had to describe your figure, what would you select: an apple, pear, straight, triangle, inverted triangle, hourglass, even a circle, perhaps? Note: if you answered hexagon or polyhedron, I can’t help you. You’re on your own. Your problems may be bigger than simply trying to pick a wedding dress. I mean, I wouldn’t even know what to advise when it came to socks for the polyhedronic! Tube? Anklet? I would avoid argyle – way too busy if you’ve got that many angles to cover.

  Here are some thoughts on silhouettes you might want to try.

  Ball gown: Let’s face it, we all want to be a princess. This style of dress works especially well for the pear/circle body type. Me, I always wanted to be a princess.

  A-line: Very similar to the ball gown but with more flare than poof. There’s not a body out there that this gown won’t flatter. Well, I’m not sure how Johnny Wolfe would look in this silhouette. Personally, I think he should stick with the ball gown. It not only suits his figure, it fits his personality.

  Empire waist: With a waist line that sits right below the bust line this style is ideal for circle and pear shapes and the petite.

  Mermaid: This dress hugs your body tight, then flares out below the knee, creating a mermaid silhouette. It’s a good choice for you if you’ve got those hourglass curves. And yes, I’m jealous if you do. But you try standing on your feet all day in a beignet café and see what shape you are then. And despite its name, I wouldn’t suggest swimming in one. I saw this once on a beach in Mexico and it wasn’t pretty! I did get to see a lifeguard in action, though. It just goes to show what a lack of sleep, a hot sun and a couple of pitchers of strong margaritas can do to a woman’s sense of judgment.

  Sheath: This is just what it sounds like – slides right down your body and drops straight to the ground. Consider this if you are slim and/or tall.

  Trumpet: Similar to the mermaid, the trumpet hugs the body but flares out above the knee, giving that trumpet-like silhouette. This might be your dress if you have a straight, hourglass or inverted triangle figure.

  And the most important tip? Stay on budget. I didn’t and look what it got me. I ride a Schwinn, ladies …

  TWENTY-ONE

  I stumbled backward, my hands clutching my chest. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack!’ Great, instead of helping Mr Teller with his cat, I’d be sharing a hospital room with the man, probably end up feeding each other pabulum with plastic spoons. Wouldn’t that be both chummy and yummy?

  Johnny’s arms were folded across his skinny chest. His feet were planted shoulder width. ‘What are you doing back here?’ His voice came out as a cold whisper.

  I took another step back, my fingers wrapped tightly around the pen. I was alone in a dimly lit backroom with a potential killer. All these poufy gowns filling the space would probably muffle the sounds of my screams. And all this frilly fabric would be a great place to hide my body. Much better than an empty cardboard box. I looked at the pen. Maybe I could use ink defense – scribble the guy to death.

  ‘Johnny, you surprised me. Tell me,’ I said, my mouth getting the best of my brain, ‘did you surprise Rick Wilbur, too?’ Wow, I really might be dumber than I thought. Dumber even than my dead husband Brian thought. ‘Is that why you killed him?’ Yep, definitely proof there.

  ‘Are you mad?’ He came at me, grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me toward him. I yelped and pushed back. ‘Would you please—’

  I punched his arm. ‘You don’t think I’m going to let you murder me the way you murdered poor Mr Wilbur, do you?’ I punched him again.

  ‘Ouch! Stop it!’ he said, chafing his arm up and down. ‘You could hurt somebody like that.’

  ‘What on earth is going on back here?’ Clive leapt in front of us. ‘Maggie! What are you doing?’

  I freed myself from Johnny’s clutches. ‘Trying to get away from this mad serial killer!’ I panted. ‘And I found this!’ I thrust the pen toward them.

  Johnny turned to Clive. ‘I caught your friend rummaging through our backroom. I’m trying to get her to leave.’

  Clive said softly but sternly, ‘I think you’d better go, Maggie.’

  ‘Yes,’ shot Johnny. ‘Please do leave. You are disturbing our clientele.’ His eyes danced toward the showroom. ‘Don’t you have customers of your own to pester?’ His eyes were dark clouds of thunder.

  ‘I’m leaving,’ I said, my eyes on Johnny. ‘But don’t think you’ve heard the last of me.’ I waved the pen in his
face.

  ‘I’ll take that.’ Johnny snatched the pen from my hand. Wow, reflexes like a cat. The guy must still keep in shape. I’ll bet he could swing a rolling pin at someone pretty good.

  ‘OK, OK.’ I held my palms up. ‘No need for all this tension, guys. I was just taking a look around. All these lovely gowns, what girl could resist?’

  ‘Try harder next time,’ said Clive.

  ‘There won’t be a next time,’ was Johnny’s reply.

  I nodded and edged past the two men, then headed quickly for the exit. My shoulders tightened as I heard Johnny hiss to Clive, ‘I can’t tolerate having that woman as our neighbor. What are we going to do about her? She’s just crazy enough to—’

  ‘Don’t worry, Johnny. I believe Maggie is suffering from post-traumatic shock.’

  It was all I could do not to turn around and yell at the two men. In the end, I figured that would just be giving them ammunition. Frankly, I was keeping their ammo belts pretty full already.

  ‘She’s your responsibility,’ Johnny said.

  I didn’t hear Clive’s answer. I was too far away.

  I popped back into the café and told Aubrey that I had to run to the real estate office to drop off a check. There were two men standing in front of her at the register and she was looking flustered.

  One of the men turned my way. ‘No need,’ he said. ‘I’m heading that way myself.’ He held out his hand. ‘I can take that for you.’

  I squinted my eyes together. ‘You’re Tommy, aren’t you?’

  He smiled. ‘Right the first time. Tommy Henson.’

  The infamous Tommy who wanted a job at his uncle’s real estate office but apparently Uncle Rick had not wanted him. ‘I remember you.’ I also remembered his attitude. And his mole.

  He slipped the check from my fingers before I could even think to protest. ‘I remember you, too. But then, it’s hard to forget a pretty lady like yourself.’

  I ignored the compliment and hurried behind the counter, dropping the hinged top down behind me like a defense mechanism. ‘What are you doing here?’ So far, I wasn’t a fan of Tommy or his mother, Natalie – after all, she’d been the one to send that letter threatening to have my café padlocked.

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

  ‘If you’re still looking for a job, sorry, but I’m not hiring.’

  Tommy laughed. ‘That’s OK, I’m set.’

  A sudden thought itched at my gray cells. Were Tommy and his mom involved in Rick Wilbur’s murder? Were they mother and son accomplices? Weirder things had been known to happen. I’d have to dig a little deeper into their respective backgrounds as well. Suddenly, Table Rock seemed to be filling up with suspects.

  Come to think of it, was it any coincidence that Natalie Henson was suddenly in Reno visiting her eldest boy, or had the trip been an excuse to get out of town while the police were investigating Rick’s death? Natalie was Patti’s sister. And Patti was taking a sudden interest in Wilbur Realty. I felt a headache unfold over my right eye.

  He read the check. ‘Wilbur Realty. Three thousand dollars. For Maggie Miller, but written on a Hitching Post check.’ Tommy looked from the check to me. ‘What’s that all about?’

  ‘I seem to be having a slight mix-up involving the bank and the realty. Your mom knows all about it.’ Come to think of it, had she written me that threatening note as well? Writing threatening notes seemed to be a favorite pastime of hers. Was she really even in Reno? ‘Just see that somebody in the office gets the check.’

  ‘Will do.’ He folded the check in two and slipped it into his shirt pocket.

  ‘Ouch.’ I looked at my little finger. I’d managed to run the dough cutter over it. Fortunately, I hadn’t broken any skin. I refocused my attention on the task of making beignets, aware of Tommy staring at me over the glass. He still hadn’t told me what he was doing here. ‘Are you going to tell me what you want?’

  ‘You sell beignets, right?’ He licked his upper lip. ‘That’s what I came for.’ He leaned over the glass and faced me over the fryer. ‘And to see where, you know, it happened.’

  Wow, that seemed particularly gruesome. I resisted the temptation to drop an ice cube into the hot grease and give Tommy a burning sensation that he wouldn’t soon forget. A sudden realization hit me. ‘Wait, are you working at the realty now?’

  Tommy shrugged. It was his turn to order. He ordered a plate of beignets and a small coffee and handed Aubrey a credit card before answering. ‘Aunt Patti hired me herself.’

  This was news. Rick Wilbur dies and the black sheep nephew finds himself in the line of the suddenly employed. It appeared Uncle Wilbur’s loss had been Tommy’s gain. I really wanted to learn more about Patti and Natalie. Why was Patti showing an interest in the business that, according to Moonflower, she’d never shown before?

  ‘Sounds like your uncle’s death hasn’t hurt you none.’ My mind spun in larger and larger circles. I was beginning to wonder how well off the Widow Wilbur would now be with her husband gone.

  Tommy lifted a shoulder. ‘What can I say? I’m just lucky, I guess.’ He scooped up his order and headed for the door. He waved my check from The Hitching Post in the air. ‘Don’t worry, Maggie, I’ll be sure this gets in the right hands.’

  Yeah, probably his, I thought. I’d call the office later and make sure those right hands belonged to someone more responsible. Tommy and Brian crossed paths at the door.

  Great, one jerk leaves and another comes in to fill the vacuum. Nature in action, I guess. They do say nature abhors a vacuum.

  But not as much as I abhorred my ex-husband, I’ll bet.

  TWENTY-TWO

  I called out, ‘We don’t serve jerks!’

  ‘Maggie!’ Aubrey gasped in a loud whisper and shot me a funny look.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I waved a hand in her direction. ‘It’s only my dead husband.’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Aubrey banged the register drawer shut. ‘One minute you’re walking in here with a wedding dress and a little while later you announce that that’s your dead husband walking in the door.’

  She pointed at Brian. ‘Would you mind explaining to me what’s going on?’ Aubrey looked from me to Brian and back again.

  ‘I’ll be glad to,’ said Brian, laying his hands atop the register. ‘First, I think I’ll have a cup of coffee and an order of beignets, please.’

  ‘Your money is no good here, Brian!’ I moved toward the register.

  ‘Wow, really?’ Brian rubbed his hands together. ‘That’s nice of you, Mags.’ He winked at Aubrey. ‘Guess I should’ve made that two orders of beignets. Too late to change my order?’

  ‘Too late to change my answer when you asked me to marry you?’ I growled in reply.

  ‘OK,’ Aubrey said, grabbing a glass of water. ‘Things are getting a little crazy,’ she said, heading for the storeroom. ‘I think I’m gonna take a short break, if you don’t mind. Call me when normal returns or if things get too busy out here for you.’ She wiggled her fingers in the air.

  I rested my hands on my hips and watched Aubrey go. I could have insisted she stay but then I might have felt compelled to watch my manners and my mouth in front of her. Impressionable young minds and ears and all that.

  I filled a cup of coffee, then placed three fresh beignets on a plate and sprinkled them with sugar. ‘That will be ten dollars.’ I held out my palm.

  ‘What?’ Brian took a step back and looked up at the menu board. ‘That’s too much!’ He pointed at the sign. ‘That’s double what it costs!’

  I smiled. ‘You want to go for triple?’

  ‘Fine.’ Brian frowned and pulled out his wallet. He grumbled the entire time but finally forked over the ten-dollar bill. ‘Keep the change.’

  I knew sarcasm when I heard it but it didn’t bother me. I shrugged and dropped the money in the till. Brian headed for a table and I helped my next customers. I also kept one eye on Brian. I didn’t place a lot
of trust in the man. Could you blame me?

  Brian had a degree in finance from Arizona State. When we’d met, he was working in a bank. Then one day, he came home and announced he was giving up banking to drive a truck, which was fine by me until he started parking that truck outside Anita Lawrence’s house. He said they were just friends and maybe they were. But now they were man and wife.

  When I’d found out Brian had quit the bank, I had put it down to no ambition and disdain for the corporate world. When Mom found out he’d given up a solid career in banking to haul freight, she’d put it down to, and I quote, ‘No brains.’ She claimed two letters in his name only needed to be switched around to prove that. And since he’d dumped me for Anita Lawrence, you can see why Mom is, to this day, not Brian’s biggest booster.

  The way I see it, it serves him right that I tell everybody he’s dead. So why couldn’t he stay dead? What on earth was he doing here in Table Rock?

  With no further customers, I grabbed a clean towel and a spray bottle of pink disinfectant and started wiping the tables.

  Brian had polished off his beignets and half his coffee. ‘Ah,’ he said, patting his belly lovingly while looking at me. ‘Brings back the old days.’

  ‘If you’re talking about our honeymoon, I’m under doctor’s orders to forget.’

  He shook his head. ‘Still holding a grudge, eh? Just can’t let go.’ Brian shook his head some more. I felt like shaking his head myself, like a piggybank, and seeing what fell out. Probably not two cents’ worth of brains.

  ‘Don’t you have someplace to be?’

  He grabbed a paper napkin from the tabletop dispenser and wiped his chin. ‘As a matter of fact, I do. I’ve got a truckload of computers to deliver.’ He jerked his thumb toward the alley where his truck was parked. ‘Then it’s back to Phoenix.’