Designed to Death

by Christina Freeburn

  “Don’t lie to me. Or yourself. You don’t mind talking as long as the conversation doesn’t steer toward defining what we are to each other. “

  “You’re important to me. We’re friends.”

  “I want more than just being your friend.”

  I knew that. So did practically everyone else. I wanted more but then I didn’t. “You don’t want to be friends?” I gave him an innocent smile.

  “I’d like more than friends.” Steve settled back into the driver’s seat. “If friends are all we’re meant to be, let me know. I’ll respect your decision.”

  Why did I have to make a decision right now? I liked being friends and the flirting. Liked the will-we-or-won’t-we become an actual item aspect of our relationship. How long would Steve keep waiting for me to make some kind of declaration? Did he want the type of relationship I was satisfied with? Were all my confusing signals fair to him?

  Karen was making her intentions quite clear. So was Steve. He wanted a real relationship. Get married someday. Have children. Steve was a great guy. Successful. Nice. Considerate. Honorable. Hot. I couldn’t blame Karen. I’m surprised there weren’t a few more women trying to win his heart.

  He deserved more than my insecurities. Heck, I deserved more than my insecurities and allowing Adam control of my life. People made decisions all the time and changed their minds. I married Adam, realized the huge error of that choice, and got it annulled. If I could alter that, I could decide to edit my rule about no more romantic relationships ever. Life should be more than living from guilt. Everyone made mistakes and deserved forgiveness. Including forgiving myself.

  I undid the seatbelt and gave into the impulsive thought zipping through my head. Kneeling on the passenger seat, I leaned over the console separating me from Steve. I placed my hands on his shoulder for balance and kissed him. Good. I wanted him to know I was interested. Very interested in him.

  Steve’s hand tangled in my hair, encouraging me. My blood was getting way too heated considering our location, a parked car near Scrap This. I did not want to be caught by Ted, or anyone else, making out in a car behind Home Brewed.

  “Thank you.” I whispered the words onto his lips before pulling back. “I should go.”

  I needed to tread carefully. Not for my sake, not because I viewed all men as untrustworthy, but I didn’t want to break Steve’s heart. He didn’t deserve it. When I made a commitment to him, I wanted to jump into it with my whole mind, heart, and soul. Not holding anything back.

  I scrambled from the car and quickly entered my own vehicle. The scent of garlic hit me. Steve’s dinner. It was probably spoiled. No sense giving it to him. Plus, I didn’t want to have to add this part of the evening into what happened tonight. He might think I planned on meeting Darlene at Scrap This and used him as a cover. I spotted a pair of headlights at the other end of the parking lot. Ted checking up on us. Me anyway. I don’t think he had any reason to suspect Steve.

  I thought about driving by the car and giving a cheerful wave, but toying with an already aggravated homicide detective wasn’t a good idea. I left the parking lot and headed straight home, though the smell of the food was making me hungry. A slice of pizza with oozing cheese flashed into my mind. My last detour didn’t work out for me, so I kept my intended destination and went home.

  I pulled into my driveway. After slipping out of my car, I waved at Steve and made a show of rummaging around in my purse. I hoped he’d go in rather than wait for me to make it safely inside. I didn’t want to explain the picnic basket. I snuck a peek. He went inside.

  Good. I hauled out the basket and unlocked my front door, doing a quick check to see if Karen sent Leonard to follow me. I was alone. Thank goodness. I shoved the door open. The scent of garlic trailed after me. I threw out the food, not wanting to take any chances, and carried the trash bag outside.

  I returned to the kitchen. The smell of the food clung to me. My clothes had absorbed the odor. I headed to the laundry room adjacent to the kitchen and stripped off my jacket, shirt, and jeans. I dropped them into the washer and closed the lid. I’d try and rustle up some more laundry tomorrow night and get the machine started. I hated running the washer when it wasn’t full but I also didn’t want the garlicky clothes sitting in their very long.

  My cell phone rang from the washer. Ugh! Good thing someone called me this late or else I’d be buying a new one. I retrieved the phone from my jacket then dropped the garment back into the washer.

  “Hello.” I walked up the stairs.

  “Tomorrow, I’ll tell you our next step,” Darlene’s voice flowed over the line.

  I hung up. There. I stayed out of it. Steve and Ted should be proud.

  TWELVE

  I scrambled inside the store Monday morning. I had fifteen minutes before my grandmothers arrived. I wanted to do a quick check before they or any customers entered the store. Flipping on the light caused a cascade of colors to glitter from the floor.

  A quick vacuum job gathered up most of the glitter, and almost sucked up a heart necklace, a thin friendship bracelet and a library card. I snagged those items and tossed them into our lost and found basket. I’d work on locating the owners later.

  I scanned the class kits and found nothing out of the ordinary or missing from the student ones left behind. It looked like the only one who took a little something was Belinda. I boxed up the kits and placed them into a corner behind the main counter. Some of the attendees might come back for their kit. Get something for their money.

  I tugged open the blinds. Two pieces of cardboard were taped to the window. I unlocked the front door and walked outside. There was a tinge of cold in the air with a promise of some warmth later in the day. The beauty of October in West Virginia, one never knew if it was skiing or golfing weather.

  One handmade sign had a hastily drawn skull with a red slash through it and the word “Danger” written in a shaky block style print was under the skull. The other sign said “Do Not Enter” and had a picture of Scrap This that had been in the newspaper. It also had a red slash going across it.

  A horn tooted.

  I turned. Hazel had parked facing Scrap This, her mammoth white truck taking up four spaces. She gunned her engine.

  I gave her a half-hearted “I surrender” wave then took down the signs. I wasn’t worried about obvious displays of crazy. From my past experiences, you had to worry about the people who didn’t act like they were out to get you.

  I flipped the open sign over. Tearing up the cardboard signs, I walked toward the storage area. I wanted to throw the signs into the dumpster so my grandmothers didn’t see them.

  The back door rattled.

  I tossed the pieces of cardboard behind the boxes of the pattern paper we received. I needed to work on getting the merchandise out this morning. This way, I could hide the signs among the other cardboard going to the recycle center.

  My grandmothers walked into the store.

  I hid my hands behind my back.

  “Busy I see,” Cheryl said.

  “I was vacuuming.” I pointed into the main area.

  Cheryl eyed the vacuum.

  “The floor was kind of sparkly.”

  “Put it away before a customer trips over the cord.” Cheryl brushed past me muttering under her breath.

  What had made it into the paper this morning? Cheryl and Hope were usually morning people.

  “I’m going to search on the internet.” Hope headed for the small hallway leading toward the office and employee lounge. “I know there’s going to be somewhere this talk started over the weekend.”

  “What talk?” I followed after Cheryl. Did they find out about Darlene’s ranting on the message boards?

  “I’m starting to think we need to take a seminar on damage control.” Cheryl grabbed an armload of Making Legacies and placed them behind the counter. “Ms. Amtower called. There’s some talk at the publishing company about recalling the magazines. Their blog has been hit with thousands of
messages regarding what happened here this weekend.”

  “The murder?”

  Cheryl narrowed her eyes on me. “That Belinda admitted she stole those designs and now every designer in that issue is being accused of cheating.”

  “I guess it makes sense to recall the issue. Or at least not sell it anymore.”

  Cheryl’s shoulders lifted and dropped as she drew in a deep breath then released it. “This whole fraud thing could bring down the entire magazine.”

  Wow. I knew it would be bad for them but not that bad. Had Belinda thought about that when she concocted her scheme? Brilliant idea the more appropriate term as Belinda wasn’t much of a schemer.

  I barely got settled behind the counter when the phone rang. I snagged the receiver. “Scrap This, how can—”

  “I want a refund for Saturday’s class.” An irritable voice barked at me.

  My heart dropped. I shouldn’t be surprised about this turn of events. Of course, attendees would want their money back as there hadn’t really been a class.

  Normally, we don’t offer refunds on the classes but this was a time to make an exception, and by the end of the day I’d probably make a lot of them. First, I’d try and see if we could switch her fee to another class or give her store credit.

  “Would you like to transfer the fee to another class?” I searched through our ordering history, looking for some new products to tempt her with. Nothing exciting expected until the end of next week. The shipment we got in was a reorder of a line. “I have the class kit packaged up for you to take home.”

  “I want a refund. In cash, just like I paid.”

  “Normally, we don’t offer cash refunds...”

  “I don’t shop at stores that breed killers. I’ll be by this afternoon to pick up my refund and also return the magazine I bought.”

  “Magazines are non-refundable.” I planted my elbows on the counter and leaned forward. This was going to be a long day.

  “I refuse to pay good money for Making Legacies when the featured artist is a fraud.”

  “Our store had nothing to do with that. I’m sure if you wrote the company—”

  “I bought it from you. You bought it from the publishing company. You should deal with them, not me.”

  The woman hung up. I had been tempted to ask her if the book had been written in by anyone, another reason to not offer the refund, but it would only have irritated the customer more. And, I’d have offered the refund anyway.

  I made a note on the clipboard at the register so Marilyn and Sierra knew the refund had been authorized, and for them to go ahead and issue on to any customer that requested one. First, switch to another class. Second, store credit. Third, refund in method they paid.

  I picked up the phone and dialed the extension to the small office in the back of the store.

  “Scrap This—”

  “Hi Grandma, it’s me.” I explained the situation and the decision I made.

  “I’d have done the same thing.”

  “I didn’t think it would be good to go back and forth with her.” I made a note to send out an email about the found items. Maybe I should ask Oliver to read it over for content.

  “Let’s hope our other customers are a little more understanding about the magazine issue. The class I totally understand. Once Sierra gets in, see if you can brainstorm a couple of fun and unusual classes that might entice people to switch their fee over.”

  What would entice angry customers to take another class from us? Maybe one done by a hot guy. “I can see if Steve will give a photography class.”

  “Perfect! If the customers aren’t interested in the topic, they might be in staring at the teacher.”

  Too bad, I couldn’t figure out a way to get Ted to teach something. But the man didn’t know much about scrapbooking and I didn’t think crime techniques were something our clientele would be interested in. Though, with the ways things were going around Eden lately, a class on self-defense might be a good idea.

  I drummed a pencil on the counter top. I needed some more good ideas before Sierra came in.

  Not that I didn’t think she couldn’t come up with any, but I wanted to pass them on to grandma before Sierra shot them all down. This battle between us, that I didn’t want to participate in, wore me down. Maybe I’d call Marilyn and see if she could stop by this morning and brainstorm. I needed a buffer between me and Sierra.

  The most advance scrapbooker I knew, and who was on top of all the new trends, was Darlene. The problem was most locals would rather not know something then hand over some of their hard earned money to Darlene. Customers from outside of town might be interested. I’d have to run the idea by my grandmothers first. They’d be the ones to suffer through the complaints and fall-outs of allowing Darlene to teach.

  It was a shame Darlene’s abrasive and know-it-all attitude preceded her. She’d make a great teacher if she wasn’t so condescending and well...a know-it-all. Darlene had some great ideas and was good at explaining them...if you could get past the sighs and eye rolls accompanying the directions.

  One more refund and two store credits later, Sierra arrived. I glanced over at the clock.

  “I’m late. Want to make an issue of it?” Sierra shoved her purse under the counter. “It’s not like it’s busy in here.”

  “It would be nice to know if you’re running behind,” I said, keeping the majority of my opinion to myself.

  “This wasn’t a planned delay. Something came up.” Sierra pulled the clipboard from the peg and started reading.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Like you really care.”

  I pulled the clipboard from her hand and placed it on the counter. Hard. “I do care. I’m sorry about what happened. I really am. For no other reason than it hurt you. But, I didn’t just throw a dart at a wheel of suspects I keep in my house. I had reasons.”

  “You said he hurt you. Hank would never—”

  I held up my hand and shook my head. “No, I didn’t. Someone else told Ted that. Remember?”

  I zeroed my gaze directly into hers, keeping contact and hoping she’d remember all the details of that horrific time. It wasn’t fun for any of us having our friend and co-worker accused of murdering her husband. Heck, it wasn’t fun for me since my investigation placed me into the path of the killer.

  And on the radar of a very annoyed homicide detective.

  Whether Sierra wanted to admit it, Hank crossed a line and deserved to be on the hook. Since Hank and I didn’t have anything to do with each other, and there were no plans for us ever being friends again, I’d let it go to salvage a friendship with Sierra.

  “You didn’t tell the detective the information was wrong.”

  “At that time, all Ted believed about me was I was trouble. You think me vouching for Hank would’ve helped?”

  Sierra smiled. “That is true. You weren’t on the detective’s list of favorite people.”

  “No kidding. I topped his most annoying and most likely to be shoved into a jail cell list.”

  The bell went crazy and the door nearly slammed into the wall. Leslie Amtower stalked into the store, papers clenched in her hand.

  “Where are the owners?” She waved the stack of printouts under my nose, shaking them for emphasis.

  “They’re working in the office this morning,” I said.

  “I want to speak to one of them right now. If you think you’re going to get away with this you’re crazy.” She pointed a trembling finger at Sierra. “Go get her right now.”

  Sierra slid an I-don’t-think-so look toward me. If there was one thing Sierra didn’t like, it was being bossed around. If this woman thought she could march into Scrap This and issue out orders like a power-tripping drill sergeant and have them complied with, she was the one out of her mind.

  “I’m sorry, but you became my employer when?” Sierra crossed her arms and glared at the woman.

  “I need someone to get her and I don’t trust this one.” Les
lie now jabbed her finger at me.

  This one? I didn’t know if I should be more irate than curious. What had I done to upset the woman so much? Okay, the class didn’t go off without a hitch on Saturday but that was more on her than on me. If anyone should be fuming, it should be me and my grandmothers.

  I caught Sierra’s eye and nodded my head toward the back of the store. She shrugged and went to get Hope or Cheryl.

  “I don’t have a clue what issue you could have with me...but we sure have one with you.”

  “With me?” Leslie sucked in a breath and placed a hand on her chest.

  “Yeah, you. Your choice of one of the life artist divas has made a lot of our customers unhappy. They want to return the magazine.”

  Okay, one person so far but she didn’t need to know that.

  “You’re going to turn that on me after what you did.” Leslie planted her hands on her hips and glared at me. “Not going to happen, honey.”

  Honey...well, I could play this game also. “Listen, sweetie, you asked us to host Belinda and we were happy to do so since she was a local woman—”

  “Ah ha!” Leslie grinned so broadly her face looked like it was splitting apart. “Local woman. That right there. She cropped here. Shopped here.”

  “She was mainly a home cropper.”

  “Don’t mince words with me. She came here and so did her cousin. That awful woman Darlene.”

  I wouldn’t argue with that assessment. “Just because they’re both local women, doesn’t mean I’m wrapped up in whatever happened.”

  “But all this points to it.” She tapped the sheets.

  I let curiosity get the best of me and looked at it. A stack of printouts from the message board. I scanned it. I felt the frown stretch my mouth down as uneasiness wormed through me. This wasn’t the entire thread. Some posts were missing, plus a few had been changed.

  “Anonymous posts on a message board.” I shrugged. “Good luck in a court of law.”

  Leslie sneered at me. “What about public opinion?”