It might be good to branch out into business. My grandmothers had already hinted they might take more of a “back seat” approach to running Scrap This and I needed to learn how to run the store. I might also brush up on managing employees as my techniques failed with Sierra.
Of course, thinking an employee’s spouse was a murderer wasn’t a topic likely covered in a business book.
I scanned the titles in the scrapbooking section. Technique books but nothing on the industry side of scrapbooking. I plucked a book about digital scrapbooking I had intended to buy off the shelf.
More money for scrappy goodies.
“The library closes in ten minutes.” Oliver stood at the end of the row and tapped his watch. “You should bring your selections to the desk.”
“Where would I find a book about the publishing industry? Particularly on putting together a magazine for a hobby.”
Oliver tilted his head. “Is Scrap This going to be putting out its own idea book?”
An intriguing idea I’d pass on to my grandmothers. An eBook might be doable, or publishing customer layouts on the store website. Kind of have our own design team.
“No. I’m just thinking it might be good to figure out one of the other sides.”
“The other side of what?” Oliver crossed his arms.
“Of the industry. We have the memory preservists, the artists, business owners who sell supplies, and the publishing side of scrapbooking.”
“You’re not interested in venturing into the publishing area but still want to learn about it.”
I smiled. “Sure. It’s always good to learn.”
“This learning wouldn’t have anything to do with Belinda’s murder?” Oliver’s eyes narrowed.
Heat scorched my cheeks. Caught. Why did he care anyway? I wasn’t going to admit or deny anything. “Do you have anything about it?”
Oliver closed his eyes and tapped the side of his head with his index finger. He raised his finger, shook his head, then returned to tapping his forehead.
The tick tocking echoed in the room. Was Oliver deliberately withholding information so I couldn’t get what I wanted? Stop being ridiculous. Why would Oliver care about what I wanted to read? As long as it didn’t make him stay open later.
Oliver snapped his fingers. “I’ve thought of a few titles that might be useful.”
“Great.”
Oliver weaved through the stacks, pausing long enough to snag a book from the shelf, before moving on to the next section. We had gone through the 800’s, 700’s, and 600’s at speed reserved for the 100-yard dash. When we reached the 300’s, my cell phone sang about the acknowledgment of one’s sexiness.
Oliver halted. Slowly, he turned and glared at me.
Juggling my phone, I hit the answer button. “Hi.”
My greeting came out louder than intended as I still struggled with getting control over my gymnastic performing breath.
“We are done.” Oliver stalked over to the checkout desk.
“What’s going on?” Steve asked.
He must have heard Oliver’s annoyed tone. “Talking loudly in the library. I came by to check out some chick-flicks. Since my date dumped me.”
“Sorry.” Steve sounded apologetic. “I just got caught up with something at work. I can’t walk away from it and it had to be done tonight.”
“I understand. Is it about the case? Belinda’s murder.”
Oliver slowly scanned the checkout codes on the books he selected for me.
“You know I can’t answer that.”
I motioned for Oliver to hurry up. He glared at my hand not holding the cell. Oops. Forgot about the movies. I placed them on the counter. I did know Steve couldn’t answer my question but I couldn’t not ask.
“Hey, if you’re done...”
“I’m wiped out, Faith. I won’t make good company tonight.”
I heard the weariness in his voice. I wanted to push it, but would hate it if my wishes weren’t respected.
“I’m going to stop and get some take-out. I’d be happy to grab you something too.”
“I already ate. Thanks anyway.”
I clicked off the call and dropped the cell into my purse. I snatched the books from the counter. “Thanks.”
“The books are due in three weeks and the movies two days.”
“I know.”
“And the library closes at eight. Next time, come earlier if you have a large request of items needed.” He shot a glare toward the magazines. “Have you made your final choices?”
“Still have one minute.” Leonard fluttered the pages of the magazine.
I ignored Oliver and gave Leonard a jaunty wave goodbye as I left. Oliver really needed to read a book about customer service. I unlocked the car and got inside. Twisting, I placed the materials on the passenger seat. A bright orange cover caught my eye. I pulled it from the stack.
The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Private Investigating. Thanks a lot Oliver. I tossed it on top of the other books then slowly backed out.
I followed every speed limit and sign to a tee. There was no way I wanted to get pulled over with that book in my car. Ted would never believe I had nothing to do with the selection.
FIFTEEN
Thunder boomed through the house. I gazed out the window on a dreary Tuesday morning into my backyard, watching the lightning dance across the sky, wishing it was my day off. The plan I had for yesterday evening fell through and my mood matched the weather. The books Oliver chose for me were about writing crime novels, and self-help books on judging people. Not very helpful at all.
Last night I looked online and couldn’t find any magazine publishing information that would tell me why Leslie was targeting us.
Steve’s attitude also worried me. It was so not like Steve, I didn’t know how to feel. I wasn’t sure if anger was the proper response. I couldn’t see the harm in me bringing him dinner. It was like he wanted nothing to do with me and went with whatever lame excuse popped into his head. Had Karen turned his eye toward her?
Or was he worried about me picking another fight with him? Maybe the universe was telling me to go with my first inclination of not getting involved.
I had thirty minutes to get to work. I didn’t want to go. Should I call in sick? I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to deal with more demands of refunds and apologies.
No. Lying to my grandmothers wasn’t the answer. Plus, I’d just sit around the house trying to answer the unanswerable question of why Leslie and Hazel thought we conspired with Belinda, or were in cahoots with Darlene, depending on which of the finger-pointers I happened to fixate on.
I snorted and turned from the window.
Yeah, like my grandmothers and I planned for Belinda to pull off a scheme, then a wrestling match with Darlene. In a way, it worked out for Belinda. She didn’t have to teach the class and prove beyond a doubt she didn’t know how to do her “own technique.” Darlene trying to ruin Belinda’s reputation had actually helped her save a little face.
I paused with a mug of water over my coffee machine. My mind whirled like the wind outside. No. No. No. Don’t go there. Gossip was bad, even if it remained between me, myself, and I.
The thought wiggled and squirmed, demanding my full attention. What if Belinda and Darlene had planned it? It didn’t really make sense. Then again, the entire relationship between the cousins didn’t make sense. They were bitter enemies and also best friends forever. It could be Darlene burned all the bridges in the scrapbooking publishing world with her behavior at expos. All industries black-balled people, the crafting industry was no different. There might be a rule that a layout, no matter how incredible, unique, and trendsetting it was, would never be chosen with Darlene Johnson’s name on it.
My theory got tangled up in knots when I added in the fight. If Darlene used Belinda to get her work out there, why get into a brawl at Scrap This? The only thing that made sense was to stop the class, though Belinda’s confession made it impossible for
Belinda to ever submit anything again either.
Maybe Darlene hadn’t expected Belinda to admit to it, or for the fight to get out of hand. It did look like the necklace came off easily. Maybe Hazel participating in the throw down with Darlene hadn’t been expected. Hazel’s role was an ad-lib.
What had the cousins been up to?
The only one alive with the answer was Darlene—the one woman I planned on staying away from.
The lights flickered. Thunder shook the house again and rain poured down. I didn’t want to leave today. I yearned for a day when I had a good excuse to hole up in the house and not venture out. The washing machine was full and I had to wait until I had at least an hour free. My grandmothers taught me to never have appliances running when no one was home. Without proper supervision, machines had a habit of breaking and creating a worse mess than if someone had been around to contain the flow of water.
Rain slapped the windows. I kept my longing gaze from the dining/craft room area. I had some new goodies I wanted to try out and the perfect pictures to go with the new washi tape.
My cell phone squawked at me. I needed to change the ringtone for when I woke up or I’d toss it out the window one day. Not a good choice when I paid a small fortune for the phone.
An unfamiliar number.
Frowning, I answered. “Hello.”
“Today is the perfect day to go to Belinda’s. With this storm, no one will be out and about.” Darlene’s voice grated against every nerve in my body.
I tightened my hold on the phone so I didn’t chuck it across the room. “I don’t care what you’re doing today.”
“You were serious when you said no.”
“Yeah.” The woman was either very obtuse or didn’t think no’s of any kind applied to her.
“I thought you were just mad at me.”
She did pick up on something.
“Darlene, I’m not a private investigator now or ever. It’s not what I want to become my life’s work.”
“And being an assistant manager of your grandmothers’ scrapbook store is?” Darlene emphasized grandmothers.
I opened my mouth to fire off a retort. Instead, I clicked the lovely, wonderful button that ended the call. I refused to explain or defend myself to Darlene of all people. What I did with my life was my business. I liked working at my grandmothers’ store. I loved living by them. I liked the safe world I created and didn’t want to risk it for Darlene.
For Marilyn, sure. For my grandmothers if need be, no hesitation at all. For an annoying customer who liked to insult me and everyone else with the misfortune of meeting her—never.
I placed my coffee into a to-go mug and headed out the door into the storm. The wind whipped rain at me. This would be a slow day. I’d call Sierra when I got into work and let her choose if she wanted to come in or stay home. With three rambunctious boys and a husband, she didn’t get much alone time for scrapbooking. She might like staying in rather than braving the weather.
I carefully made my way to the store. My cell phone buzzed from the cup holder. Once I parked beside my grandmothers’ car, I retrieved the phone. I groaned. The number on the display was becoming too familiar to me.
Darlene. Again.
She might have to become familiar with the term “restraining order.” Or maybe I’d tell Cheryl about Darlene bugging me. Let Cheryl and Darlene’s mom, Eliza, go at it.
Ignoring the beep announcing a voicemail and the umbrella in the back seat, I scooted out of the car. I ran for the back door and got inside in record time. I shook the water off myself like a dog.
Grandma Hope peered into the storage room and frowned. “Did you forget your umbrella again?”
“It’s in the car. It would take me as much time to open it as it would to get inside. Seemed better just to run in.”
Hope sighed. “Go dry off in the employee lounge. I don’t want you dripping all over the inventory. I don’t think water spots on paper will ever be a trend.”
“Yes, grandma.” Sometimes it wasn’t worth arguing, and the fact I left my drink in the car meant I needed to use the coffee maker in the lounge. No sense playing in the rain when a coffee pot was in the building. I liked making the easiest and well-thought out choice, contrary to some of my other decisions.
After getting my caffeine, I went straight to work. Since the store was empty, a fact I decided to attribute to the downpour, I took out my sketch pad from under the counter and brainstormed some other class ideas.
I circled the idea about Steve doing a class. I should call and make sure it was okay with him. I know I wouldn’t like being volunteered for something. My grandmothers might do it to me on occasion, but they signed my paycheck.
What else? I needed something so inspiring that women would flock in to have their fee transferred rather than refunded. Christmas gift tags? Possible.
The phone rang. I snagged it from the receiver and tucked it between my chin and shoulder. “Scrap This, how can I help you?”
“You didn’t return my call,” Darlene said.
“I know.” I hung up and dusted off my hands. Hopefully, I took care of the problem of Darlene this time.
The morning held a theme. The phone rang. I answered. Darlene spoke. I hung up. You’d think by the fifth time Darlene would receive the hammer-to-the-head hint I wouldn’t speak with her. Not only was the routine old and annoying, but it kept interrupting my thought process and I still had no other ideas for new, unique classes.
The rain pounding the sidewalk hinted at what I wanted to do to Darlene, if I was that type of girl, which I wasn’t.
Yet.
The bane of my existence went off again. I moaned and picked up the receiver. Closing my eyes, I began my spiel. “Scrap This, how can I help you?”
“Faith is that you?”
“Yes...” Suspicion raised its ugly head with the use of my first name and the lack of introduction from the caller.
“I hate to bother you at work, sweetie, but some person has been driving up and down the block a few times now. They seem really interested in your house. You aren’t moving are you?”
The hopeful tone gave away the caller.
Mrs. Barlow wanted her daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter to move to Eden and she had her eye on the townhouse I lived in. What she refused to accept was her daughter wanted nothing to do with the town of Eden, and my grandmothers would never sell the townhouse in hopes that if I ever left again I’d return.
“No, I’m not moving.”
“I wonder why someone is keeping an eye on your place.” She drew in a sharp gasp. “The murder. Are you trying to solve this one too?”
“No.” I had an idea who decided to skulk around in a car instead of on foot. Hazel probably thought she’d be better at that method of spying. “Maybe someone lost their pet and is looking for them.”
“Oh. That sounds practical.” Now, she sounded disappointed.
I hated trampling on her parade. Mrs. Barlow didn’t have much excitement in her life and she loved being in the thick of things. I should at least try and make someone happy.
“You know...someone might think I’m involved.”
Like Darlene. I grinned. I wouldn’t put it past her to stalk my house in hopes of finding me home and trying to talk me into helping her. The woman was relentless. Whether it was Darlene or Hazel, a talk from Ted might work better as neither woman listened to me.
“Do you think so?” Mrs. Barlow’s voice got breathy.
“It is possible. The murder happened at the store, and I did help Marilyn. Someone might think I’m involved in finding the killer.”
“Yes. Yes you did. And you did a wonderful job,” she gushed.
“It might be good for you to keep an eye out. If the car shows up again, call Bobbi-Annie. Or ask to speak to Detective Roget. He’s handling the case.”
“I don’t know if I should bother the detective. It might be nothing.”
“Of course he’d want to know. Your inf
ormation might be just what he needs to solve the case. Matter-of-fact, I wouldn’t trust telling him over the phone. It’s too important. With the weather, the phone lines get a little fuzzy. Ask him to stop by your house.”
I grinned. Okay, it wasn’t really nice to toy with Ted but he deserved it. He did drag me down to the police station.
Mrs. Barlow loved two things in life, family and drama of any sort. Real, television, or self-created. She’d love nothing more than having the town’s homicide detective show up at her door. She’d definitely win the most-heart-attack-inducing-event at the weekly bingo game.
“Faith, there’s some guy here to see you.” Sierra tugged back the maroon curtain blocking off our storage area.
“Guy?”
I opened a box containing an older idea book we had planned on sending back. It was better to have a book considered “dated” than an empty spot on the book rack.
“Yeah.” Sierra held a business card in front of her face. “Leonard Blue. He’s a photographer with the paper. Has a couple of questions for you.”
My heart pounded. Questions? For me? Was Karen now enlisting other members of the paper to help in her quest to turn me into front page news? Did she think I’d let my guard down around someone else?
She didn’t know me very well. I grabbed a stack of the idea books for beginning scrapbookers.
“I’m coming.”
I slipped past the curtain and headed for the book rack located near the door. I nodded at Leonard.
“Be with you in a moment.”
Why would he show up with his camera? In the rain? Did Karen need a picture to go along with her exposé and thought a stormy background worked best?
“I’ll just look around.”
Leonard shuffled along the perimeter, checking out the patterns. He stopped in the pink section and squatted down, examining the bottom row of papers. The fuchsias, neon, and bubble gum shades of pink. Our least sought after colors, but ones that had a little bit of a following.
I placed the books into a slot then fiddled around with rearranging the placement of the rest. I really wanted to get an idea of the quest Karen sent Leonard on. So far nothing. Unless she wanted to know exactly what colors and textures of papers we had on hand.
Designed to Death Page 14
