Interior Motives

by Ginny Aiken

  I wailed.

  He laughed.

  It was the perfect way to end a perfectly rotten day.

  14

  Two days after the battle of bellows in the kitchen, the much-delayed and even more anticipated hand-carved leather and ebonized-wood Guatemalan chairs for Tedd’s waiting room arrived. I did the dance of joy when I broke open the first shipping crate.

  “Absolute perfection,” I burbled at Dutch. “For this office, that is. I’d never stick these in the Weikerts’ house or anything like that. But here?” I kissed my bunched-up fingertips. “Mmmuaw!”

  “Watch out, Haley. You’re going to hurt your shoulder, patting your back like that.”

  I stuck out my tongue. “Get back to your pile of pick-up-sticks, Builder Boy. I know that’s boring, but you made your choice. You grew up to play ‘If I Had a Hammer,’ while I became the design star.”

  “Watch it! Your head’s so swelled up, it’s about to explode all over your nice, new reupholstered chairs.”

  I did a Bella and slammed my fists on my hips. “What? Are you calling me conceited? You don’t think my work’s any good? That these chairs aren’t faboo for this décor?”

  “Lighten up already. I was just joking. You have to cut down on the Starbucks.”

  “Bite your tongue! It’s pure bliss in a cup.”

  “Ever think what it’s done to your stomach lining by now?”

  I blinked. “Actually, no. Never.” I shrugged. “If my Star-bucks and Milky Way bars mean I’m living la vida loca, then life as we know it has taken a turn for the dull.”

  “So in Haley World, you’re the last of the daredevil risk takers.”

  “Oh yeah. For sure. I’m Evel Knievel in drag.”

  He sputtered, snorted, and laughed. Not some polite chuckle either. He let out a rich belly laugh so contagious that I had to join him.

  “That,” he said when he could talk again, “is an image to remember. You’re absolutely off-the-wall nuts.”

  I gave him a long look. Then I made both hands into pistols and in a goofy voice said, “Right back atcha, baby.”

  Dutch shook his head and left, his chuckles so loud that I heard them until he closed the back door. Even though he had too much fun dissing my detective talents, there was a lot to like about the guy. Not the least of which was his sense of humor.

  I was in trouble.

  I liked him too much.

  With a heartfelt sigh, I got back to work. Unveiling the unique chairs felt like a personal triumph. They were incredible in themselves, but when set against the warm, rusticated walls, and once I added the blanket-covered pillows that matched the newly covered meeting-room chairs, they would become absolute masterpieces. As I’d known all along they would.

  And because of their perfection, I lost it when I found the final one damaged. The stuffing that gave the tooled backs their fabulous dimension and turned them into 3-D works of art spewed out through a small slit in the leather.

  “Aaaarrrgh!”

  Okay. So I stomped, screamed, sputtered, and steamed. I griped and whined and contemplated flapping my arms all the way down to a certain Guatemalan artisan studio to confront the careless boob who’d let this happen to one of my beauteous, perfect chairs.

  Instead of damage to my arms, I opted for a phone call. Oh, but I did let them have it down in Guatemala. My rage rang out loud and clear; it rang out here in Wilmont. Even Dutch heard it, since he hurried back in, concern on his rugged face.

  “Are you all right?”

  I nodded, held up a finger, and ended my harangue when the studio owner promised to replace the chair once I returned it.

  “Can you believe it?” I asked Dutch. “Look at what they sent me. A torn-up chair, and they charged me 450 bucks for the thing—and it’s only four weeks late. Talk about insult to injury.”

  He checked it out. “Ouch! Bummer. That’s amazing work, even if I did tease you earlier.”

  “Tell me about it.” I knelt by the chair and gave the cotton fluff a poke. “I am bummed. But isn’t the Trapunto-type work awesome? Look how they stuff with little bits of cotton batting just those areas that are in relief. Can you see how they bring in this stuffing through small slits in the piece of leather that forms the backing? And it comes right up against the carved-out parts. It takes pure genius to do such precise work—”

  I gasped. With my pinkie I dug into the slit, parted more of the cotton wadding, and saw what had caught my attention.

  “Would you look at that?” I asked.

  Dutch drew closer. “What do you see? It looks like a bunch of stuffing to me.”

  “No, no. Check it out. There, right behind the fluff. Can’t you see the shiny glass?”

  He pressed the side of his head against mine. Again I didn’t pull away. Instead, I welcomed his warmth and closeness.

  Crazy, Haley. You are totally, raving nuts.

  “Okay,” he murmured. “I see what you mean. What do you think? A nail that poked through and tore the leather?”

  “Nope. That’s not metal. I told you. It’s glass.”

  “I can’t see it that well. But glass? Why would there be glass in the backrest of a chair? Can you reach it? Can you pull it out?”

  “I’ll give it my best.”

  My tool chest holds all kinds of goodies. I rummaged until I came up with a pair of long, slender steel tweezers. Because I had to return the chair, I couldn’t add to the damage. I didn’t want the studio owner to blame me for the tear. So little by little I shifted the cotton away from the glass. After a lifetime of sloth-speed minutes, my tweezers slipped around and caught the glass.

  “Careful,” Dutch whispered. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

  “I’m okay.”

  I was, until I extracted the stowaway. Once I had it out in the light of day, I fell back on my butt. Dutch drew in a sharp, sibilant breath, more whistle than intake of air.

  My tweezers held a rubber-capped glass vial.

  Liquid swirled inside.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked Dutch.

  “If that’s what I think it is, then I’m thinking Tedd’s in worse trouble than even you imagined.”

  A tear rolled down my cheek. “That’s what I’m thinking.” “You know what we have to do, don’t you?”

  Very slowly I pulled myself upright. It felt as if I’d swum through an ocean of mud. “We have to hit the cop shop, and right away.”

  He ran a long finger across his forehead, then flicked. “Phew! And here I was afraid I’d have to pull a Neanderthal again. You know, throw you over my shoulder and haul you away—this time to jail. To get the evidence to Lila, of course.”

  It took my all to give him a lame, wimpy smile. “Nah. I’m not that bad. Let’s go.”

  “Your car or mine?”

  “Boy, do you live in denial. Your decrepit junk pile is no car. It started life as a pickup truck, and now it’s just a massive display of rust.”

  “It runs.”

  “Just barely.” I grabbed my backpack purse. “Get a move on, Merrill. There’s a cop waiting for us. Even though she doesn’t know it yet.”

  We took off in my car. Not a word crossed our lips. I don’t know what went through his mind, but I couldn’t escape the implications of the vial found in the chair shipped from Central America. Tedd had referred me to the artisan studio.

  Tedd was in trouble.

  Big time.

  And no matter how much I cared, there was no way I could shield her from Lila’s radar. At this point my loyalties were split. I’d promised Darlene I wouldn’t let her down. I’d also promised to help Cissy prove her innocence. Now a contraband dose of voodoo med implicated one of my closest friends in the murder.

  Not a good deal.

  In the end one loyalty trumped all others. The Lord called me—all his children—to do justice. It was a no-brainer. I had to see this through; I had to see justice done.

  I opened my door. Dutch did the sa
me. I looked his way. Our gazes locked. Compassion glowed in the green.

  “You sure you’re ready?” he asked.

  Before I could stop myself, I answered, “I’m glad you’re here.”

  He slapped the roof of the car. “Then let’s rock and roll and get the show on the road.”

  I crossed the parking lot toward the squatty brick building. At the steps I paused. Dutch reached me, held out his hand. I looked down, then up to his face. That same tenderness I’d seen the night he found me in tears had returned. This time it seemed to hold more significance. I wasn’t sure what Dutch wanted from me, but I did know one thing.

  If I took his hand today, there’d be no turning back.

  Was I ready to take that step?

  Where would it lead?

  Wimp!

  With a quick prayer, I took his hand. We walked in, linked by a warm touch and a shared objective. Dutch is a decent man. He too wanted to see justice done.

  Lila met us at her office door. “Let me guess. Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. Or is it Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dummer?”

  “Cute, Karate Chop Cop.” She frowned, and her lips thinned. I waved the vial. “Wait’ll you get a load of this.” “What is it?” She gave me her sharpest gimlet look. “Where did you get it? And have you tampered with evidence again?”

  I glared. “It’s a vial of liquid I found hidden in the stuffing of one of the Guatemalan chairs I ordered for Tedd’s office redesign. I haven’t tampered with anything. I brought what I found straight to you. And last I checked, this is my civic duty. Since the vial could be relevant to a murder investigation, I’m here to turn it over to the lead detective on the case. That’s it. Nothing more sinister than that.”

  She reached for the contraband container. “In a chair you ordered for Tedd’s office.”

  “Ordered from a studio she recommended.”

  “I’ll have it tested right away.”

  Dutch cleared his throat. “Will you let us know the results?”

  “Would she”—Lila nodded my way—“let me do my job if I didn’t?”

  I snorted. “Since when have I kept you from your job— the one you do so well?”

  “You’re notorious for your interference—”

  “You know what?” Dutch said. “Nature calls, and I’m tired of your bickering. Go at it all you want, but my bladder’s more important than your spitting contest.”

  I watched him walking away, my jaw sagging, my eyes popping. When I managed to close my mouth and blink again, I turned to Lila and giggled. Her almond eyes were opened so wide, they almost looked round. Her jaw gaped, and I realized what I must have looked like a moment before.

  “He got us,” I said.

  She shook herself and gave me a tight little smile. “Are we caught up in a spitting match?”

  “I have nothing against you, Miss Perfect. It’s just that painfully perfect perfection that grates on my nerves.”

  “Me?” She looked stunned. “Perfect?”

  Then she snorted. Yeah, her. Wilmont PD homicide detective, Captain Lila Tsu. The most elegant, well spoken, classy . . . I don’t know how many other superlatives I could with good reason add to describe Lila’s exquisite image.

  “That shows how little you know. I’m nowhere near perfect.” She glanced at her hands, clasped tight in front of her. “For the record, I’m the one who feels inadequate around you. You’re a formidable woman, you know.”

  I snickered.

  I hooted.

  I laughed so hard my eyes leaked. “You’ve got to be kidding, Lila. You’re talking about me: Haley Farrell, the klutzy interior designer you say bumbles into your cases and tromps all over your evidence.”

  “You might be a klutz, and you are too curious for your own good, but you have a rare kind of courage. You also have rock-solid convictions, and you cling tenaciously to them.”

  “But I—”

  “This time you’re going to shut up long enough for me to say what I want. Even more than your bravery and strength of conviction, I admire the way you’ve put your life back together after the rape.”

  “How’d you know about that?”

  “I do have access to all of Wilmont’s records, you know. Think I wouldn’t check you out? Give me credit for knowing at least a little about police work.”

  I saw red. “You went digging into my life? Man, are you—”

  “I’m a cop, Haley. Remember back when Marge died? You were the prime suspect. I had to investigate you. And what I found rocked me to the core. You survived a rape and a brutal beating but managed to recover, study martial arts, go back to school, launch your own business, and live a rich life. It takes a unique kind of tenacity, a special woman, to manage all that. You humble me.”

  My tears flowed. The memories hit me hard. Flashes of fear, pain, rage, grief dug into me. I remembered the struggle to crawl out of the pit of despair where I lived for a time after the rape.

  And Lila understood enough to say all that.

  “Thanks,” I said when I could speak again. “But I had no choice. He didn’t kill me. I had to go on and live.”

  “And you’ve learned to live well. Precisely my point. Kudos to you, Haley. I mean it from the bottom of my heart.”

  “Hey! What’s up?” Dutch asked. “Why’s Haley crying? I leave you two alone for a minute, and I come back to this. Did you accuse her of some monstrous crime again?”

  “I’m okay,” I said. “Lila said something nice. How rare, huh? So I got mushy and cried.”

  Lila shrugged. “I called her an admirable woman, and she didn’t know how to take it. I’m impressed by the way she’s put her life back together. That’s all.”

  Dutch jerked his gaze so fast from the one to the other of us that he must have wound up with whiplash. “This mutual admiration society’s too weird for me. And I have to get back to work. You ready, Haley?”

  I nodded, still choked up. Who’d a thunk?

  When we reached the door, Lila called me. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Them’s fightin’ words, Detective Tsu.” “Just let me do my job.”

  “That you do so well,” I countered tongue-in-cheek.

  I left without a backward look. Dutch and I returned to Tedd’s office, and each of us took a dive into our work. I had a million pillows to stuff. He had a gargantuan bookcase to build.

  We both had too much to think about.

  We didn’t talk.

  The next day I brought the rest of the artwork I hadn’t yet staged around Tedd’s office. Since I’d worked last in the meeting room, where I’d left my toolbox, and since the conference table had the largest flat surface in the whole place, I went straight there. The paintings, sculptures, and other Mexican artifacts looked great spread out on the table as a group. They would really shine when I highlighted them one by one.

  With some of the items, like the antique carved Mayan chieftain, I’d known where they belonged right from the start. Others, like an amazing handwoven wall hanging in shades of pumpkin, pomegranate, vanilla, and walnut, required a little extra thought.

  I walked down the hall and into the waiting room, hanging in hand. I finally decided it belonged in the waiting room, smack dab under one of the small halogen lights I’d had installed around the perimeter of the ceiling. I’d last used the ladder back in the meeting room, so I dragged it out, apologized to the two women and one man waiting to see Tedd, and began to bang the necessary anchors into the faux-adobed drywall.

  That’s where Dutch found me.

  “Here,” he said. “You left your cell phone in the meeting room. I answered it when I recognized the number. You’re going to want to take this call, but I suggest you come down to solid ground before you do.”

  Great. His silent message came through loud and clear. When I heard Lila’s voice on the other end, I said, “Wait!” then sent Dutch a grateful look and hurried back to the privacy of the meeting room. He followed and closed
the door.

  “Okay, Lila. What’s up?”

  “You wanted the test results on the vial, didn’t you?”

  “Is Frank Lloyd Wright a genius?”

  “I presume that’s your way of asking if the sky is blue, only more funky, like you.”

  “Watch it, Miss Perfect.”

  “Do you want the results? Then give me a minute to tell you.”

  Even though the silence threatened to deafen me, I waited her out. I refused to give her another chance at a verbal swipe.

  After a long silence, she said, “The vial contains human growth hormone, just as you thought.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath. There are times when being right is the absolute pits. This was one of those times.

  “I’m waiting,” Lila said. “When does your ‘I told you so’ routine start?”

  My response came in a simple headshake she’d never see.

  Dutch came up from behind, and although he didn’t touch me, the warmth radiating from his solid bulk brought me unexpected comfort.

  “Very well,” Lila went on. “There’s more. The serum was tainted—”

  “With arsenic.”

  “Yes, Haley. You’re right about that too.”

  “Is that it now? Or do you have another shoe to drop on me?”

  “I’m done dropping shoes.”

  “Okay. Gotta go. Tons of work. You know how that goes.”

  “Actually, there is one more thing. Please don’t play gumshoe and confront anyone. We don’t have enough concrete evidence to do that yet. And you’re not the one to do it—ever.”

  “I’ll behave, Karate Chop Cop. I do know how.”

  “We’ll see.” And with a truckload of skepticism in her voice, she said good-bye.

  When Dutch placed his hands on my shoulders, all my starch and oomph took a hike. I sagged against him and fought hard to pull off a lousy imitation of normal breathing. My stupid stomach revved up to a rollicky rumba.

  “I bet you never thought you’d hear me say this,” I told my human crutch, “but being right’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “And you’re not going to do anything about the vial of poisoned HGH, right?”