Framed to Death (A Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery Book 4)

by Christina Freeburn

  Charlotte was sitting in front of a chair at the far end of the store. At the base of the chair was a tub filled with water. The large leather seats looked inviting. A control was on the left armrest, offering choices of different speeds of back and shoulder massages.

  “Have a seat.” Charlotte added a peppermint scent to the water.

  The crisp, clean scent washed over me, bringing to mind Christmas and relaxation. I’d never had a professional pedicure before and was looking forward to it.

  Charlotte pulled a tray closer to her. “I’ll take the polish.”

  I handed it to her, removed my socks and shoes, and then hoisted myself into the raised chair. The line was growing, even as Felicity tapped away at the keyboard, occasionally pausing to stretch her fingers. The moment Felicity hung up the phone, it rang again. Business was booming for Charlotte. Was there a local event tonight I didn’t know about?

  “Put your feet in the water.”

  I complied, then took them immediately out of the almost blistering water.

  “Sorry, I’m a little distracted today. I’ll add in some cold.” Charlotte turned on a tap and cold water rushed out.

  “You have to tell the police everything. You don’t want to take the blame for Chad’s murder.”

  Charlotte huffed out a breath, twisting the spigot off. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. It’s all taken care of.”

  I leaned forward, almost tipping myself out of the chair. “Being labeled as a murderer is taking care of the problem? You’re okay with that?”

  Charlotte gave me a tiny nudge back and turned up the bubbles. “Faith, let it go.”

  I scooted forward so I could whisper. “You lied. I lied. Chief Moore will find out.”

  “It’s all cleared up.” Charlotte used the back of her hand to smooth some tendrils of blond hair from her forehead. “I already spoke to Chief Moore this morning. I explained about the fire at my ex’s, in case his new wife decided to call the chief or the prosecutor and tell them. I also didn’t want you getting into more trouble because of us. I told him I threatened you to keep quiet.”

  “Your ex-husband’s girlfriend would change her story again?”

  “She’s his wife now.” Anger flooded Charlotte’s face. “My ex is so wrapped around her finger, he’d let his daughter go to jail if it made his wife happy.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “People are going to speculate,” I said. “The truth needs to come out. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life thought of as Chad Carr’s murderer?”

  Felicity limped to the back and returned carrying a pile of towels.

  “You okay?” I asked Felicity.

  “Of course I’m okay.” Felicity clutched the towels to her bosom. “Why would you ask?”

  “You’re limping.”

  She gave me a tight smile. “New shoes. They’re a little tight.”

  “You can put the towels on the chair.” Charlotte pointed to the one beside me. She lifted up one foot and dried it off. “Look around you. Do you think there’s a debutante ball going on tonight? The reason my business is booming today is because people think I had something to do with that man’s death. They’re here to show they approve of me taking out the drug dealer.”

  The salon was filled, in my opinion, past maximum occupancy. Women were crowded around the counter, some booking appointments and others picking polish and other nail care supplies from the store. Even a few men had come inside and browsed the items for sale.

  “And you’re okay with people thinking you’re a killer?”

  “No.” Charlotte twisted off the top of the polish. “But people can assume I’m a murderer if it means I can pay for my daughter to go to college.”

  “You have an alibi. Hannah doesn’t.”

  Charlotte looked up from my toes and glared at me. “How do you know? Were you following her around?”

  “No. But the other teens at the bonfire might say something,” I said. “What will people say once it’s known Hannah was at Made With Love, not with me?”

  Her hand jerked. The brush left my nail and colored the end of my big toe. “Those kids aren’t going to say anything. They don’t want anyone to know they were there.” Charlotte rubbed her forehead, leaving a thin line of pink over her eyebrow. She placed the wand down and swiped at the polish with the hem of her shirt.

  I plucked a towel from the chair beside me and handed it to her. “That means Hannah doesn’t have an alibi.”

  Charlotte scrubbed the polish from her forehead. “Tell people she was with you all night, then you won’t have to worry about Hannah anymore.”

  Something in my chest tightened. I did not like where this conversation was going. “I can’t. It’s not true.”

  “If you can’t do that for a friend, then just don’t say anything, and stop asking questions. You’re not a police officer.”

  “A man is dead.”

  “Don’t you get it? No one cares that Chad Carr died. It’s best to leave this all alone before someone innocent gets hurt.”

  “I’m sorry.” Felicity’s voice carried over to me. “We don’t have any openings until next Friday evening.”

  “Saturday,” Charlotte called out. “I’m going to the game.”

  “Chad Carr was murdered,” I corrected. “And there’s no proof he was guilty of anything.”

  “Murdered. Self-defense. Dead.” Charlotte grabbed my other foot and yanked it from the bubbling water. “It doesn’t matter the term used, the outcome is the same.”

  Her nonchalant answer stunned me into a momentary silence. Charlotte finished painting my toes.

  “What if one of the kids she was with killed Carr and is afraid a friend will rat on them? The police have to know the truth.”

  “Faith, drop it. No good will come from you poking around.”

  “The truth would come out.”

  “What makes you think anyone wants the truth?”

  NINE

  “I was getting my nails done.” I sat on the rolling chair, removed my sock and shoe, and wiggled my smudged pink toenails at my grandmothers. “Whoever told you otherwise was mistaken.”

  When I strolled into Scrap This, the place was abuzz with excitement over Chad Carr’s death. The majority—at almost hundred percent—believed the man had received proper justice for supplying the teens with drugs. I originally thought the customers’ behavior—and not mine—had irritated my grandmothers.

  “I can’t deal with this right now, Faith.” Hope turned from me, heading down the hallway leading to the office and employee lounge.

  “There’s nothing to deal with. I promise.” I sent Grandma Cheryl a beseeching look and crossed my heart.

  “I wish I could believe that.” Cheryl dropped a stack of orders on my desk. “For a girl who wants a quiet life, you sure do have a way of working yourself into someone else’s mess. Check these product numbers against special order requests and what’s currently on the shelf. We’ve been putting too much product on the clearance tables.”

  “I verified those yesterday.”

  “Double-checking never hurts.”

  “This is busy work.” I knew what was going on. There was a mystery brewing in Eden, and Cheryl wanted me busy at the store, not gallivanting around town.

  Cheryl muttered something under her breath and followed after Hope. I wasn’t sure if it was to console her best friend or conspire with her on a way to lock me in a tower.

  “Have you found anything good?” Mrs. Barlow rushed into the store, panting and clutching at her side.

  “There’s nothing good about Chad’s murder.” I fixed a displeased look at Mrs. Barlow. “I have nothing to say.”

  “Chad Carr?” Mrs. B
arlow tilted her head to the side, looking like a confused soulful-eyed puppy. “I was asking about Lake’s album. A fire inspector is coming on Monday, and she’d like to have something to show him.”

  “Sorry. It wasn’t very nice of me to accuse you of being here for gossip.”

  Mrs. Barlow’s eyes twinkled. “But since you brought it up…”

  From my purse, I pulled out the stack of photos Mrs. Barlow had given me and walked away. I’d browse our products and find something to enhance pictures of Lake’s inventory. In the back of the store, a line of distressed pattern paper caught my eye. I picked out a few sheets and placed photos of roses in a gray vase on it. It would work. My gaze roamed the walls. This project was perfect to try out the new mosaic templates. I’d create a lovely collage using what were to me boring snapshots.

  I totaled up the purchases on my phone, subtracting my employee discount. I was still within the budget.

  “I wonder what she wants,” a customer stage-whispered.

  “It’ll be interesting for Faith.”

  Pushing down a sigh, I rummaged in my mind for one of the hundreds of I-know-nothing quotes that would work best with Karen. I knew she’d show up sooner or later to question me about being at the fire and bringing Hannah along for the ride. Or so the story went. I wasn’t up to talking with her. Fortunately, I had a good distraction at my fingertips. “Karen’s here to talk to me about what I saw this morning. If she spots you, she’ll interrogate you too.”

  Mrs. Barlow beamed.

  “That’s a wonderful idea. I should go speak with Karen about what I heard on the scanner last night. But she’s not here right now.”

  I glanced out the large picture window. A disheveled and angry Dawn Carr paced up and down the sidewalk, muttering and gesturing wildly. I already had all the drama I needed for one day. There was no way I wanted to tangle with a raging, grieving widow who was also a suspected drug dealer.

  “Can you go to the office and ask Hope to call the police?” I asked Mrs. Barlow.

  The bell above the front door jingled. Dawn stepped inside and stared right at me. Mrs. Barlow scurried for the office, a gleam in her eye and a bounce in her step. There was nothing she loved more than drama: real or self-created. My grandmothers were encouraging her to start writing fiction in hopes it would contain her drama to paper rather than creating a ruckus at basket bingo or during Bunco games. So far, Mrs. Barlow still liked dabbling in real-world drama.

  “You set my husband up. That’s why you came to my store Friday afternoon.” Dawn clutched a cell phone in her hand. “Admit it.”

  I looked her in the eyes. “I think you should go home.”

  “Why? So people can keep talking about me and my husband like we’re criminals and treat you like Miss Innocent?” Her body shook so hard, her teeth chattered.

  Two women standing near the back wall of stickers edged forward. Not a smart move on their part, but I guess the promise of good gossip outweighed safety.

  “I’m sorry about your husband and what you’re going through,” I said.

  “Then fix it.” Dawn leaned over the counter, sinking her nails into my arm. “Tell the truth. You were at Made With Love on Friday, along with Felicity. You left the drugs there.”

  “You really think I crawled under your building and left drugs?”

  “The kids didn’t just hang out at our store, they hung out here too. There was a picture on Instagram. The potpourri was here, not at my store.”

  The bell tinkled and another customer came into the store. Drat. Not Ted. The women paused by the front display, tilting their heads toward us.

  I squeezed Dawn’s wrist until she unclenched my arm. “No, it wasn’t.”

  “I have proof.” She ran her finger over her phone’s screen. Pictures flipped by. “See here. This is you.”

  How long would that picture of me confiscating the drugs lurk around? “That’s me, but I was at Polished.”

  “That’s a lie!” Dawn spun around and kicked one of the paper racks down.

  “Stop.” I hustled around from behind the counter. “I’m not lying. I set the alarm before I left. The security company can verify that time. And I’ll show the police my bank records. They’ll see the only income I have coming in is what I make here.”

  After every sentence, Dawn went after another rack, tossing it onto its side.

  A flash went off. I spotted Hope and Mrs. Barlow standing at the entrance to the hallway leading to the back office and employee lounge. Mrs. Barlow used her cell to get another photo. I had to calm Dawn Carr down before she hurt herself or someone else, or I had to hurt her to stop the rampage.

  “You set us up.” Dawn grabbed a case of pens and heaved it toward the front window.

  I stepped into the path of the pens; picture windows were expensive to replace. I’d rather deal with a bruised body than a shattered window. The customers fled out the front door. Good choice.

  “I’ll stop you.” Dawn snatched up some packages of embellishments, preparing to heave those at me.

  “Why would I set you up?”

  “To clear your own name. I’ll prove I’m not a criminal.”

  “And how is this tantrum helping you?”

  She stopped in mid-throw, dropped the package, and raced out the door, crushing the three-dimensional flowers under her feet.

  I looked at the destruction around me: a bent wire rack, crushed embellishment packages, and crumbled and torn decorative paper. There was at least three hundred dollars of ruined merchandise on the floor. She’d better pay for all of it. I took off after her.

  Dawn scrambled into her car. I sprinted. Grabbing hold of the passenger door handle, I yanked it open, jumping into the seat. “Not so fast. You—”

  The rest of the words left me as Dawn crumbled against the steering wheel, soul-crushing sobs erupting from her.

  The woman’s husband died—was murdered—and the majority of the community’s response was “good riddance.” What were a couple of pieces of damaged paper?

  The words in my head felt insignificant under the circumstances, and I didn’t know if Dawn would even believe me.

  “He didn’t deserve to die like that.” Dawn sat up, wiping her eyes and nose on the hem of her t-shirt.

  “No.” Whether Chad was guilty or not of selling the illegal substance, I had to agree. Burning a man to death was cruel; a lot of hate had to churn through a person to do that to another human being.

  Dawn gripped the steering wheel and stared at the shopping complex which held Polished, Scrap This, and Home Brewed. “Why are people so heartless?”

  The intensity and grief in her eyes scared me. I placed one hand on the door handle, readying to bail in case she planned on doing something really stupid, like ramming the wall. “I don’t know.”

  “Chad didn’t sell drugs to kids. He sold potpourri.”

  “That potpourri was synthetic marijuana. It’s illegal to sell.”

  Dawn shook her head. “Not what we sold.”

  “Show the police your inventory and order records.”

  “I can’t. They were destroyed in the fire.”

  “Ask the companies and the local crafters to send you a copy of what you bought.”

  Dawn dabbed at her wet cheeks. “I don’t know who Chad bought from. He took care of all of that. How am I going to save my husband’s memory and reputation? I have nothing to prove his innocence. It was all destroyed.”

  “There has to be something. At the bank? Safe deposit box? At your home?”

  “We lived on the second floor of Made With Love. I have nothing. No one cares.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Huge tears trailed down her pale face. “Pastor Evans is hemming and hawing about Chad’s funeral. He keeps saying he does
n’t know if there’s a date available next week or the one after.”

  My face heated as anger raced through me. Chad was looking like a bad guy, but to deny his widow a funeral service for her husband was horrific. Shameful.

  “The police will uncover who killed your husband.”

  “They don’t care. Don’t you get that? Chad’s a drug dealer to them. He almost killed Felicity Sullivan’s son. Crime was rising. Chad’s death means it all stops.”

  “The truth is important to them. They won’t drop the case because Chad might not have been a law-abiding citizen.”

  “The world isn’t so noble, Faith. The kids at the bonfire last night were football players. Cheerleaders. Two of them Coach Rutherford’s children. Officer Mitchell has basically told me they think Chad set the building on fire himself.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not? It’s a good excuse to close a case. Drug dealer sets his building on fire and kills himself in the process. Just did the world a favor.”

  “Mitchell should never have said that.”

  “It’s not just him.” Dawn’s shoulders slumped forward, all energy seemingly leaving her body. “I have no pictures of Chad and me. No memorabilia. We couldn’t have children. The only thing I have of my life with Chad are my happy memories, and the murderer and this hateful town are taking those away.” Dawn’s voice broke on a sob.

  “We’ll find the proof.” If Chad was innocent.

  “We?” Hope shone on her face.

  “Yes. We.”

  TEN

  The computer’s hum added a serene background noise to my search. My stuffed animals stared down at me from the shelf above my head. I gazed fondly at my beloved teddy bear that Ted’s ex-wife had repaired for me after a murderer slashed it open and ripped out the stuffing. Ol’ Yowler jumped onto the desk, stalking over and settling his rump on my keyboard. The once-upon-a-time-stray tabby cat resettled himself, now using my hands as a resting place for his hiney.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have insisted the cat move inside. I yanked my hands out from under his plentiful rump. “Give me a break. I have some investigating to do. Time is of the essence.”