"What about the virtual store the message talked about?" Shepler asked.
Alan scratched the side of his head as he opened the website. Sophie grunted when she saw the name appear on the screen: Rainbows and Sunshine Shop. Below the name, which was rendered appropriately in rainbow-striped letters, was a picture of a book titled "Have A Great Day." Underneath that was a green Buy button to purchase the book for $7,000.
"Give me a few minutes to see what I can find out about this," Alan said as he stared at the screen.
"I wasn't supposed to pay this way before." Sophie said as she stared at the back of Alan's shiny, shaved head. "Somehow a new email was added to my contact list. I was instructed to use MoneyMover to transfer the money. I definitely didn't add that store link to my desktop."
Alan twisted in the chair. It swiveled, but not with three bodies pressed up against its arms and back. If he had managed to turn the chair, they all would've tumbled like dominoes. He looked up at Sophie and asked, "Can you see if the contact is still there?"
Sophie scooted sideways, forcing Shepler to flatten himself against the four-drawer filing cabinet where Sophie kept copies of recipes that she found in magazines or online. She called it her inspiration file. At that moment, it was more of an instrument of torture for Shepler. The sharp-edged metal handles couldn't be comfortable jammed in his back. Sophie took over the mouse and navigated to her email program. "It's gone. Like I should've expected anything different."
"It's getting warm in here. Let's step out," Shepler said.
Since the door opened into the room, they all had to get even closer for a few seconds. Amy was the first to emerge. The kitchen was warm but felt cool after being trapped in a sardine can. She gasped when the swinging door from the dining room banged open, and Matt barged into the kitchen. He peered over her head as he watched Sophie and then Shepler emerge from the office. "Detective Shepler? What's going on?"
Shepler raised an eyebrow at Sophie. "Maybe it would be better if you explained."
Sophie nodded. She held out her hand to Matt. "Why don't we go out back and get some fresh air? We could even walk down to the river while we chat."
Matt took her hand and let Sophie lead him to the kitchen's back door. He looked over his shoulder at Shepler while Sophie twisted the dead bolt. Matt's face was contorted with concern. Amy couldn't remember the last time she had seen the usually amiable store owner smile since his business partner was killed.
"Last night she confided to me that she hasn't told him about the threats to her," Shepler said as he pulled the office door shut to leave Alan to his computing duties. "I understand she didn't want to add to his worries, but I'd be upset if I were in his shoes."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Amy rubbed a sore muscle in the side of her neck as she watched the elderly gentleman shuffle across the parking lot. She tapped the accelerator pedal of the Mini and inched forward as he stopped beside a burgundy sedan roughly the size of a small yacht. When he opened the car door, Amy switched on her blinker to claim the soon to be vacant parking spot. She yawned as she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. The super quick nap she had squeezed into the afternoon was nowhere near enough to make her feel better. In fact, the odd position she'd settled in on the couch had left her with an aching neck. It wasn't often that she took naps, but when she did, she preferred them to last longer than fifteen minutes.
Earlier that morning it had taken over half an hour for Sophie and Matt to talk about everything Sophie had been hiding from him. He didn't look any happier when he walked back into the café's kitchen, but who would be cheerful after finding out a killer was tormenting their significant other? After he left the café, Sophie had pulled Amy aside to let her know she'd be staying with Matt until the murderous hacker was caught. The 180-degree change in Sophie's attitude about staying with her boyfriend took Amy by surprise, but she saw it as a sign that the relationship hadn't been harmed by Sophie's well-meaning omissions.
The hulking car finally backed out of the parking space. Amy stepped on the gas pedal and whipped the Mini into the open spot as the other vehicle crept away at the same pace its driver walked. Shepler and Carla were sure to be at Finley & Crowe already. It was the groom's turn to brave getting stuck with straight pins during the tailoring process. Amy had agreed to meet them at the menswear store so they could discuss what type of boutonnieres Shepler wanted for himself and the best man. Then they would take the divide and conquer approach to the wedding tasks with her and Carla heading to the flower shop. Shepler was supposed to hit the liquor store to buy beer and wine for the reception. They would meet up again for dinner to make more plans.
Ten minutes later, after a snail-paced trek from the parking lot, Amy walked through the front door of Finley & Crowe. Carla was stalking back and forth, like an irritated cat, in front of the bank of dressing room doors. In the middle of the store, Matt was tidying a display of neckties sitting atop a vintage dresser. He looked at Amy and almost smiled. One side of his mouth crooked up. He turned away, plucked two of the ties from the overlapping arrangement, and draped them over his arm. Matt waited for Amy to reach his side before walking with her to the back of the store. He offered the neckties to Carla. "I think these will go well with the suit you chose."
Carla took the ties then glared at one of the closed doors. "Thank you. We'll try them," the volume of her voiced increased, "as soon as Bruce decides on a shirt."
"I'll be out in minute," Shepler's muffled voice called from the other side of the door.
Matt gently touched Amy's forearm. "I want to thank you for helping Sophie through everything that has happened. I understand her motivation not to tell me, but it's made it even more difficult for me to digest at this point. We're going to start cleaning up her duplex tonight, but she'll be living with me until this psycho is caught. My apartment building has a very sophisticated security system, so I'm hoping I'll be able to finally keep her safe."
Amy nodded as Shepler emerged from the dressing room. She too hoped Matt could keep Sophie safe. Given the hacker's knowledge of not only computers but also surveillance systems, she had begun doubting whether the security system in her own home would stand up to a determined cyber attacker.
Carla ran her fingers through her toffee-colored hair as she looked at her future husband. Her brown eyes sparkled with annoyance. Amy couldn't blame her for being stressed. For one thing, he was wearing a white shirt. How long did it take a man to decide on a white shirt? Apparently longer than Carla had patience for. Then…the suit. Shepler's body shape was an upside down triangle sitting atop muscular legs. The gray linen jacket fit comfortably across his shoulders. The trade-off was that the rest of the jacket was so baggy he looked like a little kid wearing men's clothes from the chest down.
"Needs some work," Shepler said to the mustachioed tailor who had found Luke's body. Matt joined the man with the impressive, handlebar facial hair to examine Shepler's suit. Both of them plucked at the loose fabric along the muscled detective's waist. Shepler shook his head and said, "I've run into some difficulties, like I've never encountered before, in researching what we discussed."
"I figured you would." Matt lowered his voice and said something to the tailor who was drawing dotted chalk lines on the gray fabric. He looked back at Shepler. "I've told you everything I know."
Carla seemed oblivious to Shepler's lapse into work mode. Or she just chose to ignore it in the hope that it would pass quickly, like a summer rainsquall. She thrust a light blue tie at him. "Try this one first."
Shepler dutifully knotted the silk tie around his neck then repeated the process three more times until Carla was satisfied with the perfect shade of blue. The tailoring manipulations continued as the couple discussed white rose versus daisy boutonnieres. Shepler won the debate. Sophisticated, classic roses won out over funky, trendy daisies.
"I want to stay to make sure I like the alterations before we go to the flower shop," Carla said to Amy.
&nb
sp; "No problem." Amy flopped into one of the nearby leather chairs stationed in front of the dressing rooms. Of course Carla would want to see what the tailor planned on doing to the suit. With just over one week left until the wedding, there was no room for a redo. The squishy chair was ridiculously comfortable. Amy leaned her head back and stared at the metal duct pipes suspended from the ceiling. She sucked in a breath when her head bobbed forward. It wasn't the correct time or place for a nap, especially since it would most likely be accompanied by embarrassing snores.
She looked around the store and spotted Thane sitting behind the checkout counter. A conversation with him would keep her awake. She dragged herself out of the nap-inducing chair and trudged to the front of the store.
"You look tired," he said as he carried a stool around the end of the counter and set it down opposite from where he had been stationed. "Have a seat."
Amy wiggled onto the wooden stool. A small victory that she was able to do so without demonstrating how to be a klutz. Tall stools and her short legs could be a difficult combination to navigate even when she wasn't tired.
"Thank you. I am running a bit low on energy. So how has business been lately?"
He shrugged. "It's picked up a bit. It seems that the murder is starting to fade from people's memories now, so customers are beginning to come back to buy things instead of to see where Luke's body was found. We sell accessories like ties and cuff links online, so I've been trying to drum up traffic on our website to make up for the decreased foot traffic."
Selling online, where news of the murder wasn't common knowledge, was a great way to make up for the difference in foot traffic into the actual store. It would take a while for the disconcerting murder to fade from the memories of local customers. Thane must've picked up his uncle's business sense, along with the physical resemblance.
"So, did Matt teach you about managing a business?" Amy asked as she leaned forward to rest her elbows on the counter. Now her back was aching. The leather chair was much more comfortable, but she didn't need to end up sound asleep with everybody cringing at the drool dribbling out of the side of her mouth.
"I always learn something new from Uncle Matt, but I did major in Fashion Marketing with a minor in Graphic Design." He turned the computer monitor sitting beside him, so Amy could see the screen. The Finley & Crowe website carried over the style of the store. Simple, with eclectic touches like wood-grained borders that framed the pictures of onyx cuff links and designer neckties. "I built the website for my senior project, from creating all of the art to setting up the layout."
"I love it! Somebody recently suggested that I start a food blog. Is that hard to do?"
"You'll probably want to get a website then publish your blog on there. It would give you more flexibility to customize it. Setting one up isn't bad once you get used to how everything works. Of course, most people don't do all of the graphics themselves." He grinned as though Amy had just given him a big bowl of chocolate ice cream with hot fudge on top. "I would love to help you set up a blog, if you'll let me link to it in my digital portfolio. Get yourself a domain, and I'll help you with everything else."
The offer was very tempting. When Kendra suggested a blog the idea burrowed into Amy's brain and kept re-emerging at very inconvenient times, like when she was trying to quickly fall asleep in the precious little amount of time she had to sleep. "I may take you up on that offer…after my friend's wedding is over."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"You should've seen Amy's face when I invited her here for tonight's dinner. Her reaction looked more like I had asked her to come to the hospital and work a shift for me." Carla chuckled. She slid the bowl full of orecchiette pasta with peas and creamy pesto sauce out of the microwave. The side dish was expertly made, a feat she couldn't accomplish on her own, by one of the chefs at Columbo's. The gourmet market, with cases full of heat and eat entrees, was her favorite place to find sustenance outside of Amy's kitchen. "I wonder what she expects to eat."
"Pizza and beer," Bruce said as he arranged square, black china plates on the dining table. "That's what I'd serve if I had my choice."
"I can't cook gourmet food, but I do know where to buy it and how to follow reheating instructions. Considering the amount of work she's done for our wedding, I owe her something better than pizza."
"I agree." Bruce wrapped his arms around her. His hands were warm as he laced his fingers together on top of her stomach. "Wouldn't surprise me if she ends up cluing me in on a major lead in my case, too. Working at the café makes her privy to information that I'm not."
Carla melted into the embrace as he kissed the side of her neck. The oven was on, but all of the heat in the kitchen was coming from Bruce. Ding. The sound could've signaled the beginning of a marathon love-making session, but it really meant that Amy and Alex had arrived. Carla welcomed them in then herded the couple to the table. They looked slightly confused at the delectable, yet totally uncharacteristic, aromas filling the loft.
Amy handed her a clear clamshell take-out container. The sticker on top said it was watermelon and feta salad from Riverbend Café. "Sorry, I took the cheater route and grabbed the salad from work."
"Not a problem. You know I always take the easy way. Have a seat. Everything's ready," Carla said. She slipped on a pair of green silicone oven mitts. Heating up entrees was one thing. Keeping food suitably warm for extended periods was another country in the barely explored world of cooking. At least she had figured out how to surreptitiously transfer the entrees out of the telltale plastic and foil containers into real baking dishes. One step at a time. Buy. Transfer. Heat. Serve. Eat.
Amy blinked as Carla set the bowl of the green-sauced pasta on the table, followed by a platter of sizzling, orange-glazed duck breasts that had just come out of the oven. The meal looked pretty impressive. Hopefully, it would taste good as well.
"Orange duck? I can't remember the last time I had that," Amy declared as she speared one of the glossy breasts with her fork then passed the platter to Alex. "I'm so excited that you made it. Yum!"
Carla couldn't keep the charade up any longer. She looked at Bruce and they both burst out laughing. "I can't lie," she said. "I got the pasta from Columbo's, and the duck is take-out from the new restaurant on the west side of town. You know I don't cook."
Amy rolled her eyes. "Well, you are very good at ordering take-out. Although if you can learn how to stabilize a compound fracture, you can learn how to cook."
"Considering the way you looked at the flower shop this afternoon, I figured I would need to perform first aid on you if I let you make dinner again tonight. But there was no way I could learn how to cook a nice meal in a matter of hours. So, please enjoy my expertly purchased pre-made meal."
Carla had never seen a person sleepwalk before, but she imagined it was similar to how Amy looked earlier in the day. While she appreciated the help, Carla felt guilty about keeping her awake to shop for boutonnieres after the long night helping Sophie. "Did you get a nap this afternoon?"
"Yes. I managed to get a full hour of sleep after I got home. Hopefully Sophie is getting some rest too. She and Matt were going to her duplex to clean the place up. If it were me, I'd be too stressed out to sleep after dealing with a mess like that in my house."
Amy took a sip of the lemonade. She didn't grimace or choke. Carla took those as good signs since she had actually made the lemonade herself, from scratch. And she had a sore, red eye from being squirted with lemon juice to prove it.
Amy took another sip of lemonade. "This is good. Is there basil in it?"
"Yes. I know because I made it myself." Carla patted the hair on the side of her head. Making lemonade was a pretty simple accomplishment compared to what Amy could do in the kitchen, but she was still thrilled with the results. "I found the recipe online and decided to give it a try to see if we want to serve it at the reception. I thought it was pretty easy to make, so it should be super simple for anybody who actually knows how to cook."
Carla followed Amy's gaze as she looked at the living room. Judging from the serious expression on her face the obsessive planning wheels were turning, trying to envision what a wedding and reception would look like in the space. Most likely she was thinking what a horrible idea it was to have a wedding in the loft.
"Don't worry, I'm moving a lot of the big pieces of furniture to the storage locker in the basement. I already have a couple dozen folding chairs rented. It'll be okay."
"I'm sure it will be okay." Amy pushed a chunk of watermelon around her plate with her fork. "But I want your wedding to be beautiful and special."
Bruce returned to the table from a beverage-fetching run to the kitchen. He set an amber bottle of beer in front of Alex. "If it makes you feel any better, Amy, I bought special, limited edition beer. It's just not a wedding if there isn't beer."
"I agree with your philosophy." Alex twisted the cap off his bottle and took a swig. He turned the bottle to read the label. "And I approve of your choice. So, how is the murder investigation coming along? I can't believe what happened to Sophie. She looked as if she was on the edge of a nervous breakdown when Amy brought her home last night."
Lovely. Back to talking about the case that was running Bruce into more dead ends than subdivisions in the suburbs. With everything that was happening it had been too much to even hope for a carefree, relaxing dinner.
Bruce scowled at his beer bottle and said, "This case is frustrating. The person has to be some kind of psychopath. Murdering a prominent businessman for a few thousand bucks then terrorizing women business owners to get more money doesn't make sense. Why not hit up one rich victim and get hundreds of thousands in one pop, instead of torturing a bunch of people for pocket change? Amy found out the jackass is messing with the woman who owns the cookbook store and possibly a bridal salon too. It wouldn't surprise me if there are others."
Doughnuts & Deadly Schemes (Culinary Competition Mysteries Book 3) Page 11
