“I’ll get it.” Ted said, the words almost sounding like a growl.
I waited for him to drag it outside before I followed. No way was I taking the chance of tripping over the hose and falling into him. I didn’t know if I could defeat temptation twice in less than two minutes.
Why should you?
The pout entered into my head. It was a good question. Why should I feel like I was betraying Steve? Steve and I weren’t officially dating. Then why did I get so bent out of shape—jealous—when Karen touched him. Was it because it was Karen, or because someone treaded where I thought only I belonged? And if I felt that way, why did I insist on keeping Steve at arm’s length?
I shook my head. I needed to get out there and help Ted not ponder my love life, or my determination not to have one. I could be here for days, months even, before I came up with an answer that made sense.
With Ted’s help, this chore would be done sooner and I’d get to church without my grandmothers knowing something was up. Until they read the newspaper, or Ted stopped by and asked them questions. I wondered if I could get him to hold off until tomorrow. The last time he questioned someone on the Lord’s day, Grandma Cheryl threatened to call Ted’s “real” boss...his mother...instead of Chief Moore. I bit back a smile and almost skipped outside.
Ted narrowed his eyes. “Do I even want to know?”
“Not likely.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Ted tugged on a pair of gloves and held out another pair. He either expected me or always came with a backup.
I took the gloves and put them on. “Where do you recommend we start?”
“I’ll take care of the door and the wall. How about you scrub the parking spaces and wipe down the dumpster. Blood can splatter.”
His no-nonsense tone left me cold. “Okay.”
Ted cringed and stopped me from walking by with a gentle hand on my arm. I jerked away as his fingers sent a shockwave through me.
“Faith, I’m sorry.” Ted caressed my arm once then removed his hand. “I shouldn’t have said that. Belinda was a friend of yours. This has to be upsetting.”
“I know you didn’t mean to upset me. Reality just sucks sometimes.”
We both knew then it was time to stop talking and work. For whatever reason, we brought out the worst in each other. A tension always seemed to hover over us and neither of us knew how to vanquish it without reacting to it for a bit first.
After filling up the containers with water and soap, I carried the bucket over to the dumpster and left the heavy tub with Ted. I noticed the small metal door was opened. I frowned. I knew it was closed when I left last night. Feral cats wandered all over town and if we didn’t keep the dumpster shut tight, we’d have a few taking up residence. I’d hate for a cat to get stuck in there and the waste management guys not notice before it was too late.
Did someone throw something away? Belinda? Why would she come to Scrap This to throw something away? Especially in the middle of the night. Cold pinpricks attacked my scalp.
I shot a glance over at Ted who was putting a lot of elbow grease into the bricks near the employee entrance. Would he find it suspicious that I brought up the possibility again of Belinda’s accident not being an accident? But, what if there was something in there that told me why Belinda came here alone last night. Maybe she was dumpster diving and when she tried getting out she slipped and hit her head.
Taking in a deep breath, I placed my scrubber into the pail. I tugged the handle. It squealed.
“What are you doing?” Ted asked his most often asked question.
“The door on the dumpster is open.” I yanked harder.
“It’s broken. Noticed that last night.” Ted dunk the brush into the sudsy water then went to town scrubbing down the door.
“You were here last night?”
Ted nodded. “There was a death here. I needed to come...”
He continued talking but I had stopped listening. Broken? I wandered back over and examined the door. It looked in working order to me. Though, the bolts holding the sliding panel looked newer than the rest of the dumpster. I guess our trash company worked even on Sundays when a complaint was made. That explained it being open.
“I should tip those guys at Christmas. They’ve already fixed it.”
Ted jerked upright, spun around and faced me. “What guys fixed it?”
“The waste management company. New door, or at least bolts, already installed. Thanks for calling them.”
Ted tossed the brush into the tub. “I didn’t call anyone.”
My insides tightened and my stomach went on a roller-coaster ride. Someone else who knew the door was broken called the trash company, or else fixed it themselves.
A person who needed Belinda’s accident to be the accident the police believed it was. I might be right about Belinda’s death being a murder.
I wanted to throw up.
Ted retrieved another set of gloves. This pair was thinner and a murky white. “Do me a favor and call the station. Tell them I need an officer sent here ASAP.”
I wanted to argue but the intense look on Ted’s face stopped me. Sometimes it was best to listen and not push an issue, especially when a person didn’t have a good reason to argue.
I pulled out my cell phone and made a quick SOS call to the police station. As often as I’d been calling it the last few months, I should put it on speed dial.
I hoped and prayed my suspicions were wrong. Maybe Belinda went to throw something away and the door handle broke while she tugged on it and that caused her to lose her balance.
I tucked the phone into my pocket and walked back over to Ted who was halfway inside the dumpster. “An officer is being sent.”
Curses floated into the air. A moment later, Ted emerged shaking his head a few times.
I edged closer. Wanting and not wanting to see what caused him to use those particular words. One thing I knew about Ted, he used profanity when he was angry. And the anger always stemmed from people being hurt by others.
“Faith...” Ted twisted, blocking my view of what he held.
I hated that warning tone people turned my name into. I crept closer. In Ted’s hands was a copy of the latest Making Legacies magazine. Across Belinda’s face was the word LIAR in black letters. Tiny splats of a reddish-brown color looked out of place on the shiny, pastel colored cover.
I said the first thing that popped into my head. “I didn’t do it.”
“The right to remain silent, Faith. It can actually be a good thing.”
The ember of guilt mixed with self-righteousness inside of me burned bright at Ted’s words. “So you think I had something to do with it?”
“Not currently. But I’m sure you’ll find a way into it.”
I wanted to continue feeling outraged but I kind of had a history of making an investigation a little harder when he looked for evidence.
“There’s one question running through my mind right now.” Ted placed the magazine into a brown paper bag. “Why would Faith have thought Belinda’s death was a murder?”
I shrugged.
Ted narrowed his eyes. Apparently, he didn’t like that answer.
I shrugged again and added a smile this time.
His eyes closed even more, only a tiny slit of green showed.
“You were the one who told me I should remain silent.”
Ted rolled his eyes. “Now you decide to follow rules rigidly. Figures.”
“Am I free to leave or would you like to shove me in the back of your cruiser? Or do you plan on interrogating me here?”
Ted sighed. “Are you done yet with the dramatics? It was a simple and reasonable question. What made you start wondering about Belinda’s death?”
“I don’t really think I’m dramatic.”
“No. Of course not.”
“You accused me...”
“I didn’t accuse you of anything. You assumed that I did. Assumed the worst. Something I shouldn’t
be so surprised about.”
I shot him a triumphant smile. “You should know. You do the same thing.”
“Faith...”
I was testing his patience, and loving every minute of it. Served him right. “You’re assuming the worst about me, by assuming that I assume the worst. Something you believe is a character flaw. So, pot meet kettle.”
Ted looked a little shell-shocked, concerned, and confused. He shook his head. “Let’s stop with the assuming and just go with straight-forward. ‘Cause I don’t know what you just said.”
Truthfully, I wasn’t sure about what I just said either.
“I’ll just go straight to the question I really want answered. Who hired you?” Ted stressed the word hired.
Hired me? For what? I groaned and smacked my palm to my forehead. Ted thought I decided to give amateur sleuthing another try. Not going to happen. I learned my lesson last time I used my fledgling legal experience to help a friend beat a murder rap.
“No detective work for me,” I said, crossing my heart.
Ted groaned. “Please, stay out of this. Don’t make me shove you in a cell for your own good.”
Now I was getting offended. “Didn’t I just say I was staying out of it?”
“I’ve seen that look on your beautiful face before. What you say you’ll do isn’t compatible with what you plan on doing.”
Ted’s warning went into my brain and then right back out. But, the fact he called me beautiful made itself at home.
EIGHT
The late afternoon sun drifted through the windows in my crafting area. My grandmothers sat across the table from me, attempting to work on my pages, but like me, their hearts weren’t in it.
An array of scrapbooking items littered the table and floor in my craft area. I never did make it to church, though the news of Belinda’s accidental death now being a murder had worked its way through the congregation.
My grandmothers decided it was a good day for an impromptu cropping session at my house, telling me the sad news about Belinda made them want to focus on something happy. I think they wanted to keep tabs on me.
The last time a murder struck our town, I ended up inserting myself right into it.
Our cropping plan wasn’t working for any of us though. For the last two hours, we sorted through pictures and changed the focus of our session three different times. We went from catching up on holiday pages, to putting page kits together as giveaways at the Halloween crop, and now we moved on to layouts for the store. My mind kept returning to Belinda’s death. Why had she been at the store? I feared my grandmothers would somehow get caught up in this problem.
I arranged and rearranged the pictures on the white cardstock I wanted to use as my background. No matter where I placed the photos, nothing worked. It all looked out of place. Maybe it was the smiling faces from Marilyn’s birthday crop. Maybe it was the fact the image showed the very area where the signing was held, the event that might have been the catalyst for Belinda’s murder.
I shoved the pictures off the page and into the square fabric tote beside me.
“Which one of these pictures do you think I should use of Steve?” Grandma Hope held up two photos of Steve taken at our last singles crop.
I barely glanced up from the two pictures I snagged from Cheryl’s pile, “The one on the left.”
In one of the photos, Steve pretended to work on a layout and tried ignoring the young woman vying for his attention. I couldn’t remember the woman’s name who worked with Annette. In the background, Darlene shared a table with Oliver, Wayne and Wyatt. Darlene looked compressed. Her elbows held tightly against her body and all of her supplies in a one-foot diameter, almost like she was creating a wagon-circle around herself.
Wayne and Wyatt only came because their mother made them. It was a compromise. She’d stop asking about grandchildren and interviewing potential daughter-in-laws, if they attended the once-a-month singles crop. The brothers agreed. While they upheld their side of the promise, Gussie hadn’t. At the last crop, she walked around and handed out questionnaires to all the women.
Except for me and my grandmothers, everyone else was fair game.
Oliver White started coming a few months ago. He was more interested in getting some of the experienced scrapbookers to help him put together a grant proposal slash scrapbook about the library rather than finding himself a woman. His seat of choice was always near Darlene. It kept all the women away and gave him access to peek at her layouts. To shut him up, Darlene had “helped” him a time or two.
Hope shoved Steve into my face. “Are you sure? He looks a little angry in that one.”
I piddled with the pile of brads dumped out in front of me. “I’d say he’s more moody than angry. Women like that.”
“Then I’ll save this picture for you.” Hope put it off to the side.
“I’ll blow it up to a nice five by seven size.” Cheryl pulled out her iPad. “I have it on here. I’ll just run upstairs and use Faith’s printer.”
“Why not download the photo to Faith’s computer?” Hope placed the other picture of Steve onto her background page. “Then she can also have it as a screensaver.”
“Even better.” Grinning, Cheryl rose.
I didn’t clear the history from my computer last night. I didn’t want my grandmothers seeing the message board and what people had been saying about our store. Or more likely, my grandmother seeing the image of the screen shot in my photo folder when she put Steve up on my screen.
I pushed back from the table and reached for the iPad. “I’ll do it.”
Cheryl twisted, putting her device halfway behind her back. “I’m quite capable of transferring the picture.”
“I know that. I just want to do it.” I smiled big and bright. Big mistake.
Hope and Cheryl exchanged a look. I knew it well. It was the secret look they shared when they both thought I was hiding something and they were debating with their eyes on which one of them should confront me.
What excuse would they buy and I wouldn’t forget? Whatever I said, I knew my grandmothers would bring up later. A Christmas present was the perfect cover-up for why I didn’t want them on my computer...besides the truth. I hated lying to them, but the truth would hurt them so much more than my small covert operation. And it wouldn’t be an out and out lie as I intended to make them a gift using my computer...maybe a calendar with monthly crop dates.
I forced out a pout. “It’s just that I have a project on my computer. A surprise.”
A soft smile emerged on Hope’s face. Cheryl still seemed skeptical. One grandma out of two wasn’t bad.
“If you want to ruin your gift...” I trailed off. I started to increase my pout but stopped. If I got too dramatic, I’d sway Hope over to the side of doubt.
Cheryl sighed and handed over the iPad. “Fine. But I want to see the screensaver.”
I hurried upstairs and went into my office, making sure to close the door. I didn’t want to lock it because that would set off warning bells and flares in my grandmothers’ minds. Having them sneak upstairs and peeking at the computer wasn’t a good idea either. While Grandma Hope loved surprises, she also had some snoop in her.
I turned on the computer. After a few minutes, it was up and running. I had a little time before my grandmothers came looking for me. First things first, I got Steve transferred from the iPad to the computer.
It really was a great picture of Steve. I wouldn’t mind staring at him every time I worked or scrapbooked on my computer. I was trying my hand at digital scrapbooking. I loved paper scrapbooking but was enjoying the process of learning a new technique, and digital scrapbooking would be easy to do on the road. Once I got a laptop. Lugging around a desktop wouldn’t be easy.
I took a flash drive from my desk drawer and transferred the screenshots of the message board threads I took last night. I wasn’t sure if any one of them would come in handy, but there might be something in there. I leaned forward and scanned the comme
nts again. Nothing hinted at the horrible events that would take place.
Or did they? I slowed down and read them again. My heart raced. I read one section again. And again.
You mean, Faith? You think she had something to do with my layouts being swiped?
Maybe that, too.
What had Little Lamb meant by that comment? Was she referring to me being in cahoots with Belinda and helping her “steal” Darlene’s pages? But, this person had also mentioned the last murder.
I shuddered. Last murder. Now we had two. Did I really want to get involved in this again? Wasn’t I already? This person mentioned me. Mentioned that case. Why would they unless they wanted to point the finger at me? Did they kill Belinda and wanted the focus off themselves?
No. Belinda was still alive when this person posted. I didn’t get a call from the alarm company until a few hours later.
I didn’t like this one bit.
“Faith? What are you doing up there?” Grandma Cheryl’s voice carried up the stairs.
Darn it. I lost track of time. Okay. No jumping to conclusions. Close everything down and go back to scrapbooking. Digging up information on the internet led me to a wrong suspect last time. Besides, as I told Ted, I wasn’t investigating. I tried my hand at sleuthing and it didn’t work out well.
Okay, a little well as Marilyn was home with her family instead of in prison, but my investigation ruined a lot of relationships.
“Faith.” There was an edge to Cheryl’s voice.
Quickly, I deleted the history then logged off. I took the flash drive out of the USB port and shoved it into my pant pocket before my grandmother poked her head into the room.
“Do you need my help?” she asked.
“Nope. I have everything under control.” I smiled and turned off the monitor. “All done.”
She frowned and looked at the printer tray. “Why did you turn off the computer? I wanted to see Steve. And where’s my print?”
Good reason. Come on brain, spit one out.
“Out of ink. I was trying to eliminate a distraction. Seeing Steve’s picture made me think that he probably got called into work and will be eating a frozen dinner. I’m thinking I should bring him something to eat.”
Designed to Death Page 7
