by J. R. Ripley
Caitie grunted, focusing on my bangs. Wait! Since when did I have bangs? I groaned. What the heck was this woman doing? ‘What was your relationship with your ex like?’
‘Rick and me divorced over twenty years ago. It took a while, but we were friends eventually.’
‘Did you cut his hair?’ Recently?
‘As a matter of fact,’ Caitie answered, ‘I did.’
‘What about Johnny Wolfe?’
Caitie stood behind me now, facing the mirror while she worked in the back. We looked at each other’s reflections. ‘Yep, I cut his hair, too. You just saw it.’
‘I was wondering if you thought Mr Wolfe might have had any reason to want to see your ex-husband dead.’
Caitie stepped back and looked directly at me. ‘Why on earth would Johnny want to kill Rick?’
I shrugged lamely. I honestly had no idea. But what was going on between Caitie and Johnny? And what was going to happen in three days? Were they going to be skipping town? Getting out before the police caught up to them?
I tried another tack. ‘I couldn’t help noticing your salon hours before I came in. Weird, huh? You must have been open at the time of the murder.’ I watched her face.
She wiped around my ears with a small towel, then dried her hands. ‘I guess that’s right.’ She nodded. ‘I guess I was here.’
‘So did you see or hear anything?’ The room seemed to have an electric charge suddenly.
‘Not a thing.’ She untied my smock and shook it out. I watched my beautiful red hair fall like silent rain drops. She grabbed a boar bristle brush and combed me out.
‘How about your other stylists?’ I asked. ‘Did any of them see anything?’
Caitie smiled at me as she laid down her brush. ‘I think we’re done here.’
‘Oh, OK.’ I rose.
‘And to answer your question, I was alone in the salon. No staff, no customers.’ She led me to the cash register. ‘I didn’t see anything and I didn’t hear anything.’ There was a hard edge to her already hard voice. ‘That’ll be sixty-two dollars and fifty cents.’ She held out her hand, palm up.
As I paid and headed for the open door, Caitie said, ‘Rick and I split up years ago, Miller. So I had absolutely nothing to gain killing the man.’
We stared at one another for a long moment. She really was one tough cookie.
Caitie slammed the register shut, my hard-earned money in its bowels. That was sixty-two fifty I’d never see again.
And now I had bangs! I hate bangs!
She grinned slyly. ‘Now, that vixen, Peggy, on the other hand …’
THIRTY
By the time I made it to Laura’s Lightly Used, it was nearly six and I was completely deep-sixed, drained. I’d have been sweating profusely but this darned ‘dry heat’ wouldn’t allow me the pleasure.
With the Schwinn back at the apartment, I’d been forced to walk. The last time I’d walked this much it had been at the Scottsdale Fashion Square – two million square feet of paradise – the week before Christmas. I could have detoured back to the apartment for my bike, but I knew Laura closed at six on Sunday and I really wanted to catch her before she left for the day. The side trip might have been cutting it close.
I’d seen what very likely had been my missing two chairs – the two chairs that would have had to be removed from the box to stuff poor Rick Wilbur inside – the other day at Laura’s Lightly Used.
Heck, I’d sat in one of those chairs crying my eyes out and sipping iced tea.
Not a pleasant thought at all.
I hung under the big turbo-sized fan at the store entry for a moment, luxuriating in the blast of cool air as it pummeled me. Who knew when I’d get this much cool air in my bedroom again?
Feeling recharged, I went in search of Laura. An assistant was stacking flower pots near the door.
‘Is Laura here?’
The floor clerk looked about and pointed toward the far corner. Following her arm, I spotted Laura chatting with a customer in the women’s clothing section. She caught my eye and nodded in my direction. I waved and headed for the back. That’s where the two chairs were.
Who knew? Maybe the killer had left fingerprints on the chairs. I couldn’t wait to telephone Detective Highsmith and tell him to get his butt down here and tag and bag them or whatever it is that detectives do with evidence the size of dining chairs.
But when I got there, the chairs were gone. I stood staring at the spot, my head down, my hands drooping at my sides.
Laura laid a hand on my shoulder and I looked up. ‘Something wrong, Maggie?’
‘The chairs,’ I wheezed. ‘What happened to the chairs?’ Not even the table that had been set between them was there. The whole area had been rearranged. There was a freaking canoe with a couple of paddles sticking out filling the space where the chairs had been just a couple of days ago.
I felt her arm across my shoulder. ‘You need to sit?’ She guided me toward the right side of the store. ‘Come on, Maggie. I’ve got some chairs back here. You poor thing. You really do look like you need to sit down.’
She led me to the furniture section and pushed me gently down in a brown leather recliner. Laura took a seat in a matching loveseat and patted my knee.
‘Feeling better?’ She looked at me with concern written on her face. ‘Can I get you anything?’ She leaned forward. ‘What happened to your hair?’ She gasped. ‘Did somebody attack you?’
This was not the time to discuss Caitie Conklin’s butchery. I pointed to the aluminum canoe. ‘Laura, there were two chairs over there the other day. What happened to them?’
She looked at the space I was pointing to and shrugged. ‘Sold them, I guess. Why?’
‘I think – no, I’m certain those were my chairs.’ A sick feeling filled my stomach. Once again, proof of my innocence, this time in the form of potential fingerprints that might point to the true perpetrator, had slipped from my grasp.
‘Your chairs?’ Laura tugged at her ear. ‘I don’t understand.’
I took a deep breath and stood, my eyes scanning the cluttered store. Perhaps the chairs were still here. They could have been moved. ‘Are you sure you sold them? Maybe they’re around here someplace else?’
Laura stood with me. ‘No, I remember now. I’m certain we sold them. We’ve sold a number of chairs today.’ She shrugged. ‘Some days are like that, you know? What’s so important about those chairs?’ She spread her arms. ‘You need chairs? I’ve got plenty of chairs around here. Let’s pick out a couple.’
I shook my head. ‘You don’t understand.’ I grabbed her arm, as much to get her to listen as to steady myself. ‘I think those chairs were the chairs Rick Wilbur’s killer removed from the carton to make room to stuff the body in.’
Laura sucked air through her teeth. ‘Oh, no!’ She shook herself. ‘That’s awful!’ Her hands compressed her cheeks.
I nodded. ‘Think, Laura. Who sold you those chairs?’
Laura paced the shop floor up and down, then stopped, shrugging helplessly. ‘I wish I could tell you, but I’m not sure.’
Wasn’t she? Or was she hiding something? I watched her closely for signs of prevarication. She might have taken the chairs herself, making her the killer. What better plan than to take the chairs with her after murdering poor Mr Wilbur and then hiding them in plain sight in her vintage store?
It was perfect. And I’d been fool enough to sit in one of them, oblivious to the fact that I was sitting on evidence. Oh, how she must have been laughing at me.
I groaned inwardly.
Laura went to the checkout counter and pulled out a big book. ‘This will tell me who we bought the chairs from and when. I note all the store’s transactions here.’
She flipped the lined ledger open on the counter and ran her finger down the page. ‘Hmm.’
‘What is it?’
‘The chairs came in the day after the murder. See?’
I glanced at the ledger. There it was, in thick blu
e ink. Assuming Laura wasn’t so clever as to have doctored the ledger in case anyone came checking, this meant she was no killer.
That would be a relief, because I was really growing fond of the woman and I’d hate to have to continue this friendship via visits to the state pen. I wasn’t certain, but something told me that was more than a bike ride away.
‘It doesn’t say who you bought them from.’ That was disappointing.
‘No, it doesn’t,’ Laura answered. ‘But it does tell us who conducted the sale. ‘See these initials?’
I nodded once more. The ledger also revealed that Laura’s Lightly Used had only paid out ten bucks for both chairs! Sheesh, I’d paid forty apiece for them. Laura’s Lightly Used appeared to be quite the little goldmine.
‘RP. Robin Pahe.’ Laura snapped her fingers and called over the clerk I’d seen earlier by the front door. ‘Robin,’ she said as the young Navajo woman looked at us expectantly. ‘You remember those two dining chairs – the ones that were right up front by the counter?’
‘Of course, I took them in myself.’ Robin wore denim shorts and a loose black tank top with moccasins and had liquid brown eyes.
‘That’s right,’ Laura said. ‘Do you remember who brought them in?’
‘Gosh, Laura.’ Robin rubbed her nose. ‘Can I see that?’ Laura handed her the ledger. She shook her head slowly side to side, then looked up at her employer. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I guess I forgot to write it down. I know you say we’re always supposed to.’ Her eyes fell to the floor.
‘That’s OK,’ Laura replied. ‘But do try to remember in the future.’
I stepped forward. ‘Think, Robin. Are you sure you don’t remember who sold you the chairs?’
She shrugged helplessly. ‘Sorry.’ She shook her head some more. ‘He was just some guy, you know? Sort of scruffy.’
Some guy. Well, that was something. Now we were cutting the field of suspects in half!
Laura thanked Robin and told her she could get back to what she’d been doing. ‘Sorry I couldn’t be more help,’ Laura said, putting the ledger back in its place.
‘Hey, you tried. What more can I ask?’
Laura smiled. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ She looked at me inquisitively.
I brushed at my bangs. My bangs! ‘Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks for trying.’
‘Anytime.’ Laura walked me to the entrance. ‘It’s too bad you don’t want to know who bought those two chairs,’ she chuckled. ‘That I could answer.’
I stopped under the big fan, feeling the air run up and down my flesh. I bunched my brows together. ‘Who bought the chairs?’
Laura laughed. ‘Trish Gregory. And you should have seen the look on her face when she saw them there. You’d have thought she won the lottery! She was so excited.’
‘That’s right,’ put in Robin. ‘Said she just had to have them. I helped her load them into her van.’
Trish Gregory. A woman, not a man. So much for cutting down the field of suspects.
THIRTY-ONE
‘Let me get this straight,’ I said. ‘Trish Gregory from Karma Koffee came in here and bought my two dining chairs?’ Why on earth would the woman do that? It couldn’t be because she and Rob needed a couple more seats at their coffee shop. Even if they did, they wouldn’t want my chairs. My chairs didn’t match their fancy décor at all.
‘That’s right,’ Laura answered. ‘She offered me fifty dollars apiece for them before I could even name a price.’ She leaned in. ‘To tell you the truth, that’s double what I would have asked.’
I realized then and there that I might be in the wrong business. Maggie’s Modestly Used. Yeah, it had a certain ring to it. ‘When exactly was this?’
Laura looked at Robin. ‘What do you think, about two hours ago?’
‘Sounds about right,’ Robin replied.
‘No offense, but Trish Gregory doesn’t strike me as the type of woman who shops at secondhand stores.’
‘None taken,’ Laura replied. ‘Trish comes in every once in a while and browses around. Occasionally buys a dress or some other bit of clothing.’ Laura looked again at Robin.
Robin nodded. ‘Mrs Gregory is into vintage stuff.’
I twisted my lip up. There was certainly nothing vintage about those chairs. They were brand new, generic restaurant chairs.
‘She’d tried on a vintage eighties pair of Calvin Klein jeans – like the ones Brooke Shields made famous in those ads – and was bringing them up to the register when she spotted the chairs,’ Robin explained.
‘I was standing behind the register.’ Laura looked at her watch and turned the Open sign to Closed. ‘Mrs Gregory spotted the chairs and squealed. The next thing I knew, she was buying them, too.’
A car honked. Donna waved from the Mini Cooper. I’d called her on my way over knowing that she was at Mother Earth/Father Sun Grocers and would be closing at six p.m., too. Most businesses downtown closed up early on Sunday.
‘That’s my ride,’ I said. ‘One more thing,’ I cried, climbing in on the passenger side. ‘What can you tell me about Rick Wilbur’s relationship with his ex-wife, Caitie Conklin, or his widow, Patti?’
‘From the hair salon?’
I nodded.
Laura shrugged. ‘Sorry,’ she said with a shake of the head, ‘that’s all before my time. I didn’t even know Caitie Conklin was his ex.’
‘That’s OK.’ I waved. ‘Thanks, you’ve been a big help!’
‘Any time!’ Laura said, pulling the door shut after me.
‘What did you do to your hair?’ Donna asked, taking her eyes off the road to get a better look at me.
‘I’m trying something new,’ I answered between gritted teeth.
Dinner was waiting for us when we got to the house. With Donna having been minding the store most of the day, we’d be eating Andy’s cooking.
Tonight it was grilled cheese sandwiches on fresh sourdough bread with homemade French fries. The potatoes were organic, of course, and tasted like they’d been fried in used motor oil, and the ‘cheese’ was something made out of compressed soybeans curds or something equally suspect. Sadly, Andy and Donna didn’t believe in Velveeta or good old American – but still, not bad. I’d take it over rattlesnake any day.
Andy and the boys kept stealing looks at me and I knew exactly what they were thinking. My eyes dared them to say anything at all about my hair – just one word. Lucky for them, they remained silent. Donna must have warned them.
The boys ate up or got sick of eating and disappeared to their rooms to play video games. ‘So,’ said Andy, ‘you look like you’ve been itching to talk since you got here, Maggie. What’s going on?’
‘Should I tell him or you?’ I said to my sister.
‘Definitely you,’ Donna said, reaching for a homemade flaxseed and carob chip cookie.
I nodded. I’d already filled her in on all I’d learned. I got Andy up to speed, telling him about my conversations with the Gregorys, Caitie Conklin and Laura Duval.
‘Wow.’ Andy leaned back in his chair. ‘You’ve been busy. Not that that’s a good thing. You really need to let the police handle this, Maggie. Don’t you have enough to do just trying to manage your new business?’
I blushed. He was right, of course. Open only a couple of days and already I was neglecting what should have been the most important thing in the world to me – my business, my livelihood. My one chance to save up enough money to move out of the apartment I was renting from the Gregorys.
But how could I concentrate on running my business when there was a vicious killer running around Table Rock?
A killer who had left his or her victim stuffed in a box in my storeroom!
‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘Maybe I got carried away.’
Andy barked out a laugh and the legs of his chair hit the ground. ‘You think?’ He laughed once more.
He pointed a half-eaten cookie at me. But I wasn’t afraid of any cookie. I was afraid to try one – was that bi
ts of chopped up zucchini sticking out of that middle layer? – but I was not afraid of it on an intrinsic level. ‘You need to go to the police and tell them your theories and what you’ve discovered. Let them handle things from here on.’
‘I agree,’ Donna said softly. She covered my hand with hers. ‘Someone has already tried to kill you once,’ she said. ‘What if they try again?’
Donna was right. They were both right. Even Caitie had warned me that if I kept sticking my nose in where it didn’t belong, I might get hurt. I might end up dead. Worse yet, Donna, Andy, Mom or even the boys might get caught in the crossfire.
I promised to change my ways. I pushed back my chair and turned to Donna. ‘Can I borrow the Mini, Sis?’ I knew better than to ask Andy to borrow his precious truck – not that he’d say no, he was far too nice for that – but I knew that every second I was gone he would be worrying to death.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Whatever for?’
‘I’m going down to the police station. If Highsmith isn’t there, I’ll talk to whoever is.’ I also planned on doing a little snooping on Trish Gregory. I couldn’t very well tail a suspect on a Schwinn.
‘Keys are in my purse.’ Donna pointed to the small table beneath the phone.
I dug out her keys and shook them. ‘Thanks. Then I’ll swing by the apartment and pick up a few more things. But this is the last night I’ll impose on you two.’
‘You’re not imposing,’ Donna scolded.
‘Not at all,’ chimed Andy.
‘I know, I know. But I should have a new air conditioner any time now and it will be good to sleep in my own bed.’
I also couldn’t live with myself if the killer tried to strike again while I was camping at Donna and Andy’s house. If anything happened to them or the boys …
THIRTY-TWO
I swung by my apartment and grabbed a change of clothes and some toiletries and tossed them all in a pillowcase. I’d left my one and only suitcase at my sister’s house. The entire apartment still smelled like smoke and not the smoky, mouthwatering barbecue kind – the ‘I could have been burnt to a crisp in my bed’ kind.
