“Now, I must ask the both of you to leave.”
“But my fondue set.” Darlene clutched the purse to her bosom. “I can’t go home without it. My mother has all the ingredients ready. What is a party without food?”
“I’m sure you can stop and buy one.”
Darlene shook her head. “No. They don’t make that set anymore. We must use the Halloween fondue set at Halloween. It goes with my decor.”
“You’ll just have to make do,” Ted said.
I could see his patience growing thinner and thinner.
Darlene paled. She grabbed a folder from a long, high table located right behind the couch and fanned herself.
“Use the Thanksgiving fondue set for Halloween. No. No. No. That won’t work. The color scheme is all wrong. The burnt orange plates, bronze pot and the sticks with the turkey, pilgrim, cornucopia, and pumpkin clash with the black and bright orange decorations I have out.”
Darlene looked totally “aghast” about the situation.
“It’s orange.” Ted took hold of an arm of mine and Darlene and steered us toward the door.
“Oh no, it’s not.” Darlene grounded to a halt. Outrage splashed across her face. “Thanksgiving orange is not the same as Halloween orange. Thanksgiving orange is more muted, softer, a peaceful rather thankful color.” She moved her hands through the air as if they were boats floating on calm seas.
Ted rolled his eyes.
Darlene narrowed hers. “Halloween is bold. In your face. Vivid.” She displayed the color by flicking her fingers out and waving her hands in a big circle over her head.
“It’s orange,” Ted said.
“Colors are not one-dimensional.” Darlene’s left eye twitched.
“I can vouch the man does not understand shades. He thinks neon...” I stressed the hue, “green is perfectly suited as the background for a layout.”
Darlene gasped and shook her head. “Background. That will not do. A mat and embellishments are fine, but not for the background.”
I crossed the top half of my body over Ted’s so I could speak to Darlene. “I know right? I’m thinking we need a class on hues at the store. Green is not just, well, green.”
Darlene nodded. “That’s a fabulous idea. Gear it toward men. Use simple terms or men speak.”
“Men speak?” Ted opened the front door.
Darlene pointed at the cruiser. “Siren red instead of Christmas red. Pittsburg Steeler yellow as opposed to WVU yellow.”
“Those colors are a little different,” Ted said.
I stared at Ted for a little while, the wheels in my head spinning. I think Darlene was onto something. Something seemed to click in Ted’s brain and I caught a little bit of a “that’s what women mean about hues and shades,” vibe of understanding.
Ted gave me a gentle prod out the door. “Call me when you schedule that class. I’d be interested in it. If for no other reason than my ex-wife’s eyes will stop bulging out when I buy clothes for our daughter.”
“Faith could always go along with you.” Darlene said. “She’s always color-coordinated.”
Ted checked out my all black outfit one more time. “I can see that. That might be a good idea.”
“Are you sure I can’t run in and get my fondue set.” Darlene looked at him with wide, trying-to-be-innocent eyes.
“I’m sure.” Ted crossed his arms over his muscular chest.
“Could you get it for me?” Darlene pressed the issue. “There wasn’t anything saying we couldn’t come in, like crime tape or a note. So it has to mean none of the stuff is evidence. Right?”
Ted released a long suffering sigh. He pointed at her car. “Go wait in there. If I can find it easily...”
“My keys.” Darlene shifted the folder from one hand to the other and pointed at the table behind the couch.
“I’ll get them.” Ted made the international sign for hand-it-over. “The folder.”
Darlene blushed and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. Forgot I had it.”
She gave it to Ted. He exchanged the folder for the keys.
“What about the fondue set?” Darlene batted her lashes. “It’ll be in the lower cabinet on the right hand side. You’ll see a large, red stand mixer on the counter. It’ll be in a box with a picture of an orange fondue pot, four plates, four sticks on the top. It’ll say Halloween fondue set on it. In a cursive font.”
“Thank you for that, I’m sure I couldn’t figure it out without all those details.” Ted pivoted and walked back into the house, muttering under his breath.
“Before he changes his mind and decides to arrest us, let’s go wait in the car.”
I grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the car. Fortunately, this time she was compliant.
“Don’t be silly, Faith.” Darlene brushed my hand off her arm. “It’s not like he knows we did anything wrong.”
Knows? I tripped and would’ve landed smack on my face if Darlene hadn’t linked her arm through mine and jerked me back to my feet.
“You worry way too much, Faith. There’s no way Detective Roget knows I brought all that stuff to purposely dump on the floor so we could check out the area.”
It was kind of ingenious in a way. I know I would’ve never thought to bring props to play a game of ‘pick-up-sticks’ as a ruse for searching for evidence.
She dropped the keys Ted gave her into my lap and pulled out a set from her coat pocket. “Those are Belinda’s keys. If she didn’t have them on her when she died...”
“Someone went with her.”
Darlene nodded. Her hands fisted around the steering wheel. “Someone she trusted enough to give a key to her home. I doubt she expected not to return.”
“Her man.”
Darlene stared at me wide-eyed. “Belinda wasn’t dating anyone. Hazel would’ve said something.”
“Then she had her eye on someone. I found some new additions to her wardrobe.” I showed her the pictures and explained about the odor in my house and in Belinda’s room.
Darlene took my phone and frowned at the images. “Why would she keep it from us? Belinda wasn’t a secret keeper.”
“She didn’t tell you she entered the contest.”
Darlene handed the phone back. “So all that’s left is pinpointing which man in Eden killed my cousin.”
“And why.”
Darlene shoved the key into the ignition and twisted it violently. “I really don’t give a damn why.”
TWENTY-FIVE
I gathered up the notes I made when I got home. I had three key pieces to place in the puzzle, the mystery man, the necklace I found in the store, and how I tied into the matter. And I had a feeling it all hedged on the identity of Little Lamb. Once I knew who wrote the vaguely accusing sentences, I could figure out why they worded it as they did and brought my name up.
Dropping the notes into my bag, I patted the pockets of my pea coat. Cell phone. Check. Flash drive with information I needed Oliver to read. Check. Keys. Keys?
I patted my pockets again. I knew I forgot something. Leaning the top part of my body into the house, I reached toward the key holder hung beside my front door.
Someone knocked into me from behind. A startled cry escaped as I fell forward. My purse slipped from my shoulder and landed underneath me. The items in my purse dug into my stomach. A body pressed into my back.
Fear rendered me immobile for a moment. The person who broke into my house was back. In broad daylight. This time they intended to harm me.
Not without a fight. Screaming, I kicked and bucked until I shook the person from me.
A woman wailed.
I turned over and stared at Hazel.
“You punched me. I’m bleeding.” Hazel cupped a hand around her nose. Her curls were matted and in disarray. She wore a mismatched set of a tunic with anchors and a pair of pants with reindeers embroidered on them. “Why did you do that?”
My heart broke at her haggard appearance. My mind reminded me the woman had just knocked
me down, and her body held a familiar stale smell.
“You attacked me.” I scrambled to my feet. “Stay right there. I’m calling the police.”
“No.” Hazel blanched. “I tripped. I didn’t mean to scare you. I wanted to talk to you. Make you understand.”
“Faith!” Grandma Cheryl bellowed running toward us.
A pound sounded from across the yards. Grandma Hope was getting Steve.
“Please. I don’t need any more trouble.” Hazel clutched my arms. Tears glittered in her eyes. “I didn’t hurt her. I didn’t.”
The perfume had more of a fruit than a flower scent.
“I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t do anything to my daughter.” The pitch of her voice grew louder and higher, bordering on hysterical. Her grip tightened and her thin nails bent against my skin.
“Let go of my granddaughter.” Cheryl broke the hold Hazel had on me.
“I didn’t do it. Please, explain it to him. I didn’t.” Hazel trembled, tears running down her face in a torrent.
A car screeched to a halt in the middle of the street. Eliza, in a pair of dirty scrubs, jumped out of the car. “You had me so scared. You promised to stay home. Rest.”
“They have to tell him. Make him believe.” Hazel’s gaze ping-ponged from me to my grandmother then to her sister. “He’ll listen to Faith. I can’t have people saying, thinking, that I...I.”
“Steve must be at work.” Hope dashed over to us. “I’m going to call Randall.”
Choking on her words, Hazel fell into her sister’s arms and sobbed. “My baby. She was my baby. I’d never hurt my baby.”
Hope’s kind heart took over. She shoved the cell into her jacket pocket. “Let’s get her inside. Neighbors are thinking this is a show.” She helped Eliza usher her sister into my house.
Grandma Cheryl looked frustrated. I knew she worried Hope’s forgiving and helpful heart might get broken one day, especially since their granddaughter decided hunting down murderers sounded like a fun hobby.
“It’ll be alright, Grandma.” I dropped an arm around her shoulders. Together we went into the living room and watched Hope work her magic.
Hope settled Hazel and Eliza onto the couch. Tugging the coffee table closer, she lifted Hazel’s feet and placed them on the wood surface. “Now I’ll go make you a nice cup of tea.”
“I don’t think tea is what she needs,” Cheryl grumbled and dropped into the recliner across from the couch.
“It isn’t.” Eliza rocked her sister back and forth. “What Hazel needs is either her daughter back, or the police not to think she killed her.”
“That’s preposterous.” Cheryl tugged the afghan from the chair and handed it to me. “No one thinks Hazel killed Belinda.”
I draped the afghan around Hazel. The restraining order. Belinda told Mrs. Alwright that she wanted to file an order against her mother. Hazel was intense. No doubt about it. Hazel hardly ever left her daughter’s side. I was surprised they didn’t still live in the same house.
Belinda moved out six months ago. Was that when Belinda met her man? Did he help...or make...Belinda break away from her clinging mom? Hazel had hovered over and around Belinda from the day she was born—until the day she died.
Hazel still cooked for her daughter, scheduled her classes, arranged the book signing and her other appearances, signed her up for crops, and made not only her daughter’s clothes but matching outfits for herself.
Were the keys Darlene found ones Hazel had for her daughter’s home? Did Belinda take them away?
On Saturday, I noticed how Hazel even styled and colored her hair like her daughter’s. It was almost like she wanted to be Belinda. I drew back. I knew just because someone was accused of something didn’t mean they did it. I also knew, just because someone said they were innocent didn’t mean they didn’t kill a man.
Cheryl frowned.
Hope placed a cup of tea on the coffee table. She tilted her head. “Is something wrong?”
I shook my head, wanting to deny the truth and also shake my jumbled thoughts into some semblance of order.
“Customers will be arriving soon. I’ll go to the store and open up. Let you guys talk with Eliza and Hazel.”
What was wrong with me? I rung up an order and handed the bag to the customer. Thinking Hazel killed Belinda. The woman was falling apart without her daughter. She had no life without Belinda.
“Can I have my items?” The customer held the plastic bag open.
“Sorry.” I dropped in her packages of stickers, three-dimensional die cuts and bottle caps. “Have a nice day.”
The woman huffed and marched out the door.
Marilyn looked up from the pile of paper she was tearing for a potential class.
Not my best display of customer service abilities. My mind was focused on the basket. I needed to look at the necklace again. Study it. It would be hard to do at the register.
“Marilyn, I need to check an ordering form in the office. I think I inverted the numbers for two items. We don’t need one hundred reams of sexy fireman paper.” I snatched the necklace and headed toward the back.
“Speak for yourself,” Marilyn called after me.
Instead of going into the office, I went into the break room. If my grandmothers caught me sitting at the desk in the office, they’d know I was up to something. The only times I went in there was to get one of them or leave a note.
I stretched the necklace across the table and leaned forward. The silver hearts twined together to form what looked like a “B” or even a sloppy “D” where the hearts crossed over each other. Belinda. This had to be what she came to find, the necklace given to her either by her mother or her secret lover.
I turned the chain over and examined the back, my nose almost pressed into the silver. Why was she hiding the relationship?
Shame. The reason bounced in my head. The same reason I hid my marriage and got it annulled. I didn’t want to answer “divorced” when I filled out paperwork, nor lie and write “single.” Getting the annulment allowed me to say single truthfully.
Had Belinda been ashamed of her boyfriend? Or him of her? Did Belinda want to keep the relationship from Hazel? Afraid her mother’s over-the-top behavior would end the romance and leave Belinda single forever.
The gems sparkled. The design was beautiful and intricate, different. I’d never seen a piece like it before. It had been designed for Belinda. The man wasn’t ashamed of his woman.
There weren’t that many available men in Belinda’s age range in Eden. If she was dating someone older or younger, it might be the reason she kept it quiet. Though keeping a relationship quiet in Eden seemed impossible. Or at least for me. I wasn’t even really in a relationship and had my name coupled with Steve and Ted.
I pondered who could tell me for certain about the restraining order and who Belinda’s boyfriend was. I was sure she’d confide in him. This man either knew why Hazel killed Belinda, or was the killer himself. Why hadn’t he made himself known since her death?
If this man hadn’t set off our radars, it was because we knew him well or he drifted so far inside our community that we didn’t pay any attention. I could only think of nine unattached men in our community who Belinda would have wanted to keep a secret, or wanted to be kept a secret.
Four names I scratched off without hesitation. Steve. Ted. Chief Randall Moore. Seventy-five-year old Clive. Number five, six and seven were possible but doubtful: Jasper, Wyatt and Wayne. Which left Oliver White and Leonard Blue as the choices for boyfriend, killer—or both.
Before I set out proving either of these men a murderer, I’d make sure the necklace wasn’t a gift from her mother. If Darlene didn’t answer, I’d go over to Eddy’s Jewelry Boutique. She’s the only one I knew capable of handcrafting such an intricate piece.
I walked into Home Brewed and waved at Dianne. She returned the greeting while grinding some beans. I loved the smell of Home Brewed. Roasted coffee beans. Fresh bread. A wonderful mix of spi
ces crying out for me to choose them as the flavor my coffee needed. Today, I think I’d go with pumpkin.
A woman, and her perfume, strolled in right after me. I inched away, hoping I didn’t leave smelling like her. I wasn’t a gardenia kind of girl. I smothered a cough and glanced around, my gaze pausing on Darlene. Leonard stood by the table, hands pressed onto the back of an empty chair. He was making a valiant attempt at drawing Darlene into a conversation. She was having none of it.
Frustration built in the man’s face. Was he trying to get information from Darlene, or ask her out? Either way, he was behaving highly inappropriately. The woman just lost her cousin.
I placed my standard order.
With Leonard still trying to win Darlene’s attention, asking to join her seemed counterproductive. I wanted to eavesdrop, but knowing Darlene, she’d use me as a way of making Leonard leave. I did not want the man knowing anything about the necklace or my suspicions.
Frowning, Dianne had a keen eye on me. Great. My grandmothers called her and said I was up to something. I made the least suspicious choice, the table across the room. Gardenia woman headed for the last vacant table behind Darlene.
As I finished removing my lunch from the tray, a hacking filled the room. Diners near me cringed, faces twisting in disgust.
Darlene coughed and waved her hand in the air. Leonard shoved his hands into his pockets and strode out the door. Subtle was not a word in Darlene’s vocabulary.
Closing my eyes, I sunk my teeth into the crunchy pita and reveled in the basil, tomatoes and toasty, melty, mozzarella cheese goodness.
Darlene coughed again. Loudly. Obnoxiously. Like she had a hairball to dislodge from her throat.
Customers rolled their eyes. A young man in late teens tugged a pair of headphones from his pocket and shoved them into his ears.
“Excuse me!” Darlene snapped her fingers. “Owner. Over here.”
This wasn’t going to go well. I slunk down in the seat. I needed to stop agreeing to these meetings.
Dianne marched over and halted beside Darlene. “Is something wrong?”
Designed to Death Page 23
