Priced to Kill

by Margaret Evans

  It was an early day, and she had three whole hours to herself and her customers, racking up sale after sale, and laughing and joking with all of them, convincing them that if a person laughed enough in their lifetime, it would burn off all their calories. When she closed up shop around six-thirty, she sat for about thirty minutes back in the darkened kitchen, staring into space. Then she went home.

  The small talk began before lunch that Friday, through their food, and all the way to dessert and coffee. Harry and his college buddy reminisced, laughed, caught up on their respective families, swapped pictures of the grandchildren.

  When Harry asked what he thought was a question hidden inside a question, the whole tone of their lunch suddenly changed.

  His friend asked for the bill and paid it.

  “Treat’s on me, Harry. You’re in town and my guest. It’s really good to see you and catch up on things.”

  Harry didn’t disagree. He didn’t repeat his question.

  The men rose, left the restaurant. They didn’t speak again until they were outside by their cars.

  “Trust me, Harry. You don’t want to ask me about this. You don’t want to ask anybody else. You’re better off not knowing there’s even a question you should ask. As far as I’m concerned, I still owe you a favor, and you called me up for dinner because you were in the area and we haven’t seen each other in a couple of years. If I were you, I’d think up a really good reason why you came up here that has nothing to do with what you asked.”

  For the first time in a very long time, Harry Kovacs was at a loss for words, but he’d been around long enough to know when he should do what he was told. He stopped at his favorite jewelers in St. Paul, which thankfully was open late, and bought an early anniversary gift for Beth before heading home. He more than suspected Charlie was right. There was definitely rat stink here. But he would get together with his brothers and figure out everything in their power that they needed to do to prevent Connor Fitzpatrick from crossing the unions.

  nineteen

  Will Kovacs was annoyed for a number of reasons on Saturday, but at this particular moment it was because Kitty called in sick, especially after being late yesterday and not making the fudge she was supposed to have made. He had grown to depend on her over the past two years and hoped to get some fudge with various flavorings from her talented hands to sell today. They were running low on several varieties, and she refused to leave her recipe with him. He hoped she wasn’t seriously ill, and it was true she needed to stay away from baking or serving while she was sick. However, it was very inconvenient for him.

  “Sorry, we’re out of the sea salt caramel fudge, Laura. It goes like hotcakes and Kitty didn’t make any yesterday when I was out, and she called in sick today.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll get some another time. So tell me more about Kitty,” Laura said on this her first outing since being sick, a quick dash out before opening her own shop. Maybe she could worm a recipe or two out of Kitty, or at the very least, a helpful technique.

  “She’s almost too good to be true,” Will added. “She can sell anyone anything in the shop, even if it didn’t turn out quite right. She has a real gift.”

  “You be careful now, or I might try to steal her away from you and have her sell my ‘slow items.’ ”

  “Just try it, kiddo,” Will responded, winking at Laura.

  “Wrap up a couple of those éclairs for me, will you?”

  “My pleasure.”

  Will’s chocolate éclairs were the best Laura had ever tasted. While she was skilled herself in the kitchen with entrees, full meals and desserts, she had never attempted éclairs, and once she had tasted Will’s, she decided she would continue not to attempt them.

  “So what’s Kitty like, besides being a super salesperson and best fudge-maker in town?”

  “She’s fun, easy to work with, keeps Grumpy Gus in tow—”

  “Bob Ferguson?”

  “Yes. He’s back there making elephant ears. If he didn’t make such superb pastries and cakes, I’m not sure I could keep him around.”

  “His pastries are awesome,” Laura commented, smiling, “so you have to keep him around.”

  “Oh, I told Kitty this morning when she called that you run a thrift shop. She’s still trying to fill up an empty apartment in Belton, and I told her about your store. She seemed very interested, might stop by.”

  “Thanks for spreading the good word, Will. I appreciate it. Well, it’s back to work for me. I’ve got tax returns to work on today.”

  “Don’t forget to stamp those business cards for me. I can spread the word more.”

  She smiled. Will Kovacs was such a dear. The ordered rubber stamp was supposed to show up in a few days. Hopefully, she’d feel better by then.

  “Say, you’re not planning another Black Friday mob-thing like last year, are you?”

  Laura remembered her opening day the previous fall when the whole town plus folks from neighboring towns had shown up at the store, and how the Kovacs triplets helped her out on the floor and in the back room, including covering her short breaks, bagging purchases, and feeding her from time to time.

  “I don’t think so, Will. You’re safe and off the hook. They all know I’m here now,” she responded, laughing.

  “Actually, it was kind of fun. I was hoping…”

  “You can come over on Black Friday if you like, but that’s almost a year away! I haven’t even thought about planning anything yet.”

  “Get a move on it, Laura. You’re a retailer now. You have to plan things months, sometimes years, ahead. Speaking of which, remember the big town Halloween Haunted Woods thing? I’m sure you can come up with a good idea for things to sell that people will want for that. Maybe I can even nudge you into getting on the planning committee.”

  Laura nodded. She did indeed remember it and being scared to pieces as a little kid. But it was so much fun. As she drove back to her shop, she thought about it some more, and ideas started twirling in her head about what she could do to make it scary and fun for the children in the town. But that was months away, and there was so much more going on between now and then.

  The Saint Patrick’s Day parade, the Easter celebration with an egg hunt, Memorial Day town picnic, Independence Day and Founder’s Day—all of those things had to be planned out by the town council with helpers. She hadn’t forgotten how much fun the holidays were in Raging Ford and had felt left out in Maryland with its community and civic-based local plans. Rockville had parades and lots of fireworks—fireworks at the drop of a hat—but little of it was as personal as events in Raging Ford. She’d just have to get herself on one or more of the planning committees for these events, which also reminded her that Connor’s birthday was also next month. She would definitely have to think more about that. Would he still appreciate her getting involved in his birthday? Eleven years was a long time.

  Then she realized how complicated everything was getting. She wanted it all back the way it had been, but her heart told her it could never be that way again.

  twenty

  As soon as Laura returned from her quick trip to the bakery, she opened the shop on time but had barely gotten the lock undone and the sign turned to “Open” than one of her most non-favorite friends pushed his way in the store. It was beginning to feel like Ground Hog Day. She decided Eric Williams had personality flaws that couldn’t be fixed and it was better to be his friend rather than his enemy.

  He leaned his arms on the counter and watched her, his face cut by a big grin as usual.

  “Why, Eric. I haven’t seen you in ages. Weren’t you just here?” Memories of her bad day returned. She hoped it wouldn’t happen again.

  He continued to grin, unabashed, and in fact, the grin grew wider, almost reaching his ears. Years away from the high school football squad hadn’t changed his build. He obviously
worked out and still looked awkward in a suit, but his blond hair was more neatly combed than it had been in the past.

  “You bought one little policy from me, Laura. I think your business could use better protection. You never know what can happen. You know, like acts of God. Did you read the paperwork I left you the other day?”

  She explained again she already had loads of insurance on the business and didn’t mention she’d been ill.

  “Well, what about your renter’s insurance? Do you have that? You rent an apartment from Harry. Are your personal belongings covered? You have a day or two left before those rates go up.”

  Laura’s face told him she hadn’t thought about that kind of insurance and she hadn’t read the paperwork yet. She did wonder how he kept all those different rate increases straight.

  “Aha! Okay, let me leave this other paperwork for you to look over. Remember, I have only your best interests at heart.”

  “Fine, I’ll think about it. Now, Eric, I have a business to run.”

  He looked around in all directions, in grand gesture, saw no customers.

  “I also have tax customers, Eric.”

  “Are you okay?” he suddenly asked, spotting the dark circles under her eyes. She was also pale and leaning both elbows on the counter, as if she were too weak to stand on her own, and a stool which he had never seen before stood by the register.

  That’s all she needed: Eric Williams concerned about her.

  “I’m fine. Hey, need someone to do your taxes this year, Eric? I’m a C.P.A. and an expert. I can save you money.”

  For some reason, the question got him out of her store in record time. He’d actually looked uncomfortable and anxious to leave. She wondered no longer than a moment about it and what crazy secrets he might be trying to hide before turning to a new customer who had just jangled the doorbells and looked interested in Laura’s collection of teacups. That was something she could handle with pleasure.

  At lunch time, she turned the Closed sign outward, locked the front door behind her, and headed next door to the florist in need of fresh flowers, fresh attitude, and a few minutes with a good friend. She was overdue for all of the above.

  Laura turned the knob on the florist shop next door and saw a lady with shoulder-length blonde wavy hair arranging flowers in a vase in one of the cooling refrigerators. For a brief moment, she thought Kitty Lenz from the bakery was there. As the door’s electronic chimes announced her, the lady whirled to greet her, and she saw that this was not Kitty.

  A bouncy head of red curls also popped up from behind the counter by the register.

  “Laura! You’re feeling better! It’s so good to see you out and about,” Erica said, coming out to hug her friend. “Oh, and you finally get to meet Willow Wright. Willow, this is my good friend Laura.”

  As Laura took Willow’s hand and exchanged greetings with her, she realized why she had thought it was Kitty Lenz from the back. The two women were of the same height and had similar hair, but their faces were very different. While Lenz was lively and outgoing, Willow Wright seemed shy. When Willow smiled, dimples showed up on either side of her face, adding to the charm of her long-lashed blue eyes and upturned nose.

  “Laura runs a thrift shop next door. We’ve been close friends all of our lives, and I’m so glad she’s right next door!”

  At the mention of the second-hand shop, Willow’s face brightened even more.

  “You have a thrift shop? What’s it called?”

  “Second Treasures.”

  “Laura has lots of good stuff there, Willow. Maybe you can find something for your dorm room.”

  Laura recalled Erica had told her friends about Willow entering nursing school in the fall. It also reminded Laura of where Willow was staying at the moment—Kelly’s aunt and uncle’s house.

  “I’m starting school this fall and will need lots of things for my dorm room. I’ve been looking for a good place just like yours to find quality used things. I’ll have to stop by and see what you have.”

  Laura rattled off the days and hours when the shop was open but wondered where this lady would be able to store anything she bought at this time. Perhaps it didn’t matter.

  “Are you from the south?” Laura asked, dying instead to ask her if she had recently bought a Civic. “I’m trying to place your accent.”

  Willow hesitated before answering. “Yes, I’m from the south…Florida.”

  “Where in Florida?”

  “Oh,” Willow said, again hesitating, “in the northern part, near Georgia.”

  Laura would have loved to pursue Willow’s waffling further as well as asking about the Civic, but she suddenly felt tired and weak, and decided that questioning about the lady’s mode of traveling about the town could wait.

  “Do you mind if we go in the back for a few minutes?”

  “Of course not. I could use a break and Willow can man the flower oars.”

  In the back room was a kitchenette very similar to the one behind Laura’s shop. She gratefully took a chair.

  Erica noticed.

  “You okay? You still don’t look like yourself.”

  Laura waved it away.

  “I’m fine. Just a bug and I’m on the mend. I could have used a couple more days of rest, but I have rent to pay, like you.”

  “What can I get you? Coffee? Soda? Something stronger?”

  “Got any water?”

  So they sat for a few minutes over water, chatting away, although it seemed to Laura that Erica was doing most of the talking which was fine with her. She just wanted the company. Finally, she spoke about something she had noticed.

  “Willow seems very nice, but she sure is private about where she’s from originally. I don’t think it’s Florida. Her accent doesn’t jibe with folks I’ve met from Florida.”

  The red curls bounced as Erica shook her head.

  “I don’t think it matters, does it? I mean, she’s enrolled in nursing school, for Pete’s sake. There’s a shortage of nurses. Who cares where she’s from? Not everything has to be a mystery, Laura.”

  Laura shut up at that point, not wanting to irritate her friend, especially since she was helping Erica out so much. If Erica was happy with her as a temporary employee, then that’s all that mattered, right? Besides, she didn’t feel strong enough to argue further. Mysteries and stories that didn’t add up always intrigued her, and she did wonder. Was the lady just a very private person or was she running from something or hiding from someone? Why else would someone not want you to know where they were from?

  twenty-one

  The stream of customers Saturday afternoon in Second Treasures was steady but uneventful. At one point, Laura realized she didn’t know half what she should know about quilts when she got a customer who asked about the filling, lining, underlayment, type of thread used, brand of loom, binding, et cetera. When it got to the actual methods used and what type of loom, Laura knew she needed more information in order to sell her quilts.

  When she closed for the day, she went right to her laptop but sat listless in front of it for about twenty minutes. So instead of looking up quilts, she decided to look up more on Melanie Dorr’s illness.

  According to the blog posts, most of which seemed to provide the same information by people who claimed to have known Dorr, it started with indigestion that was treated with antacids without much success. When her condition worsened, she went to another doctor who ran some blood tests and she was put on acid-reducers. For a time, this appeared to work, and then some months later while her husband was out of town with his company, she grew suddenly worse. He flew home to be with her, called another doctor, and anemia was discovered. She was put on iron pills, but her stomach wouldn’t tolerate them, so they went to iron infusions. And so it went.

  Laura tried to find a complete listing of the woman’s symptoms
, but she couldn’t find anything other than the need for acid-reducers and iron infusions. There were many comments about her husband’s devotion, while others suspected the marriage may not have been as idyllic as it seemed. Indeed, remembering some of her parents’ arguments and knowing how much they loved each other, she understood that any marriage, no matter how good it looked from the outside, had all of the normal issues that occurred in any friendship or relationship. None of the post information about a genuinely unhappy marriage, however, was confirmed anywhere else, and Laura knew the value or non-value of blog posts. Rumors, guesses, attitudes, feelings, thoughts—these were the fodder of blog posts.

  She did some more digging into the post mortem and was not surprised to find she had to rely on what the newspapers published. There was more information in the international press where Dorr had made her mark and done so much to help others. They described severe stomach pains and low iron levels indicative of gastritis, but the cause appeared to be unknown.

  Laura thought more about what she had gleaned from the Internet that could turn out to be inaccurate. She felt driven to put together the pieces of what she could confirm to find out what had really happened to Melanie Dorr. But her eyelids were heavy, and she fell asleep on her couch. In a short while, her laptop screen went dark.

  Will Kovacs was closing alone today. Ferguson left at three o’clock as usual. It was not one of the Bakery’s late nights. People went out on Saturday night, usually movies, dates, parties, dinner, or whatever. They weren’t thinking about cupcakes or elephant ears, just the sweets they had already ordered and picked up on Friday afternoon or earlier on Saturday.

  When Will got home, Peeks jumped on him, happy to see him, but his mood remained dark. He put the leash on his Lab and took Peeks out for his usual walk, but while the mind of the dog was on all the interesting smells of the neighborhood, his master’s mind was miles away.