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

by Christina Freeburn

  That wasn’t like Dawn at all. “Maybe she needed a few days away. It’s been tough for her lately.”

  “If she hadn’t been arguing with that man on Monday, I wouldn’t be worried.”

  “What man?”

  “I didn’t get a good look at him, but the truck he was driving had an Eden County volunteer fire department license plate on the front.”

  “What color was the truck?”

  “Black. He and Dawn were standing beside it. He sped off when I walked outside to see what was going on.”

  An alarm sounded in the background.

  “I have to go.” Nancy hung up.

  Dawn was in trouble. I hoped she was hiding out and not another victim. I called Ted.

  “You got yourself into trouble already?” Ted asked.

  The man told me to call him if anything weird came up and now he was acting put out. “No. But Dawn might be.” I relayed everything to him.

  Ted stayed quiet until I was finished. “I’ll go over to the nursing home and talk with them. I’ll also put an APB out on her. There might be a good reason she left town without a word. Stay inside.”

  Steve crossed the lawn, tossing his keys from hand to hand. “Talking with Detective Roget?”

  I stuck my hands into my pockets. I didn’t want Steve to see them shaking. “Maybe.”

  A smile inched across his face. “I’m sure you were. You two never just talk to each other, you argue. It can’t be healthy.”

  I wanted to tell Steve not to concern himself with the friendship I had with Ted, but instead I kept quiet. I wanted to spend a little bit more time with Steve, not chase him off. Besides, he was right. Ted and I argued an awful lot, about pretty much everything. We seemed to know which buttons to push to get each other riled up.

  Steve came up the stairs slowly, pausing momentarily on each one. My body yearned to lean forward, feel his arms around me again. I tightened my muscles, blocking myself from doing anything. Steve took the last two steps at once and reached out.

  My body trembled. My lips tingled, hoping for a kiss. When would my head and heart be on the same page?

  “Here you go.” Keys glittered in the moonlight as Steve dangled them near my face.

  My emotions froze. I took the keys.

  “I was going to give them to your grandmothers, but they aren’t home,” Steve said.

  “It’s Bunco night.” I gripped the keys, the edges digging into the palm of my hand. “What do you know about Vulcan Catering?”

  Steve pivoted, walked to the truck parked next to the curb, and got in. Without a wave, or even a glance in my direction, he drove away.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Sunlight poured through the window of Scrap This, bouncing off the wrapped Christmas-themed three-ring binders I pulled from our delivered order. Most people didn’t like seeing Christmas items displayed before Halloween, and definitely not before October, but last year I’d made the mistake of waiting until after Thanksgiving to bring out our holiday items, and most of the merchandise went on our clearance table. A lot of crafters started their holiday projects before Thanksgiving, and after Black Friday, it was time to start wrapping presents and decorating the house rather than crafting. Whatever handmade gifts and decorations weren’t complete by then were stashed away to become next year’s Christmas gifts.

  A few customers browsed around the store. I glanced at the front door every few minutes, certain I’d get whiplash by the end of the day, wishing I could stop Ted’s warning from playing in my head. I could do paranoia by myself; I sure didn’t need Ted planting ideas in my head.

  Marilyn was at the front windows, cleaning off toddler-sized fingerprints. The culprit and his mother had wandered to the back where there was much temptation. I logged into Facebook on the front desk computer. Social media seemed to be the key in this case, and I hoped to find something about Vulcan Catering. There was the possibility someone in the community mentioned it on the town’s page. Nothing.

  Next, I looked at Dawn Carr’s page. She was a regular poster, at least four times a day for the last three years, but there was nothing from the last two days. I dialed Ted.

  A screech, followed by a clatter, came from the back of the store where we displayed our embellishment packages on clips attached to the wall.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Marilyn said.

  “Detective Roget.” He answered right away. He must’ve been waiting for a key piece of information or confirmation on one he already had.

  “I’m worried about Dawn.”

  “And this is?”

  Gee, way to make a woman feel good about herself. “It’s Faith. I checked Dawn’s Facebook page and she hasn’t posted.”

  “We’ve noted the concern about her whereabouts. Remember, she is an adult and doesn’t have to check in with anyone.”

  “What about the argument in the parking lot?”

  “Dawn was seen later that night at the convenience store stocking up on snacks and bottled water.”

  “She wouldn’t be going on a trip. Her mother died. She’d stay here to plan the funeral.”

  “Goodbye, Faith.”

  I slammed the phone down. Dawn’s husband was recently murdered. You’d think the police would act a little more concerned about her disappearance. Someone else might be interested that the widow of the murdered suspected drug dealer has vanished.

  I dialed Karen’s direct line.

  “Karen England.”

  “This is Faith. Dawn Carr is missing. The police aren’t taking it seriously.”

  “What are you up to?”

  “A woman whose husband was murdered hasn’t been seen in the last two days since her mother died. Don’t you find it odd and a little concerning?”

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t,” Karen said. “Her husband was a drug dealer, and her invalid mother died of a drug overdose. Not surprising at all she took off. What I am fascinated by is the fact that the police aren’t following up on it. Dawn should be a person of interest, if not in the drug distribution, than at least in the death of Lucy Cooper. Once again, the police are letting feelings overrule legal procedures. I’ll get right to work on this story.”

  Ted was going to blow when Karen called him, and more than likely it’d be directed at me. “The police aren’t letting her get away with anything.”

  “Detective Roget defended her in church. He’s allowing his sympathy for her being a widow to overshadow the facts in the case.”

  “No, he’s not.”

  “Then maybe it’s listening to a certain wannabe investigator he wants to hook up with.”

  “That’s not true either. I’m the last person Ted pays attention to.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, Faith.”

  Karen hung up.

  If she had witnessed how Ted treated me the last few days, she’d know I was right.

  Brandon was our only answer.

  A woman tugging a squirming little boy behind her approached the counter. The little boy clutched the end of a strip of stickers. A trail of superheroes stretched four feet behind him.

  “Got them all! Got them all!” the little boy sang, giddiness clear on his face.

  His mother, on the other hand, didn’t look happy about the parade of superheroes going home with her.

  Another shopper picked up the tail end of the sheet and draped it over the little boy’s shoulder. “Don’t want them to get stepped on.”

  The boy shook his head.

  The mother let out a long-suffering sigh and placed three packages of 3D amusement park stickers on the counter. “Also the stickers my son is holding.”

  “I’ll need to count them.”

  The mother took hold of the end of the strip resting on the child’s shou
lder. The boy’s lip quivered, tears welling in his bright blue eyes.

  From the corner of my eye, I caught Marilyn waving her hands frantically over her head. Once she knew she had my attention, she used her fingers to tell me the number. Twenty-three.

  “Twenty-three superheroes.” I punched the correct keys into the register. Fortunately, those stickers were a big seller, so I knew the SKU by heart. If not, I’d have had Marilyn bring me the number. No way did I want anyone else wailing and gnashing teeth in the store. I was doing enough of that myself.

  Mrs. Barlow pushed her way between the mother and the customer who had saved the superheroes from being stepped on. The mother took her change and left.

  The customer behind her poked Mrs. Barlow in the back. “I’m next.”

  Mrs. Barlow held the woman’s prodding hand. Pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, she brought the customer’s hand to her eyes for closer inspection.

  I rubbed my forehead. Mrs. Barlow was in her intense social butterfly mode, where she believed everyone was her best friend and craved physical contact. Some days, she was able to control her urges and allow people their personal space, other days—like today—not so much.

  The woman sent me a panicked look.

  “Mrs. Barlow, no touching the customers. We’ve had this talk before.”

  “I’m looking at her nails. I’ve never seen such an exquisite shape. They’re completely natural.” Mrs. Barlow thrust the woman’s hand toward me.

  The customer’s stomach pressed into the counter and an oof puffed out.

  “Mrs. Barlow, please stop.” I shouted my plea, hoping to draw the attention of my grandmothers, who were working in the back office.

  “You wouldn’t understand.” Mrs. Barlow released the customer, then grabbed my hand. “Short. Uneven. You have chipped nail polish.”

  I pulled away and hid my hands under the counter. “I’ve been busy this week.”

  “I know, dear, you’re a working woman and a detective.” She stuck her hand into her oversized faux leather tote, then slapped a thin catalog onto the counter along with a small packet of sample nail wraps in a leopard print. “That’s why these would be perfect for you.”

  I didn’t think so. “No, thank you.”

  “They have other designs, and some are even craft-related. It’ll be like having nails done at a fancy shmancy spa.”

  “I don’t go anywhere where I need fancy nails.” Heck, I didn’t go anywhere where I needed fancy anything.

  “Maybe if you took some time to do yourself up, that would change,” Mrs. Barlow said.

  “Those are lovely.” The customer offered me a sympathetic smile. “Mind if I take the sample?”

  “Please do.” Mrs. Barlow handed her a catalog and a postcard. “I’m hosting a party tonight at my house. You should come. I’ll nominate you for the hand model position. Your nails are breathtaking.”

  “I can’t,” the woman said. “The elementary school’s PTA meeting is tonight.”

  Mrs. Barlow pulled out her cell and tapped across the screen with a stylus. “No, you’re free. The meeting has been rescheduled to next week. Mrs. Rider is ill.”

  The woman took out her iPhone and checked her emails. “Oh, you’re right.”

  Mrs. Barlow grinned and winked. “I know everything that happens in this town. The Eden public network system begins and ends with me.”

  That was it! Mrs. Barlow kept records of all the calls she heard on her scanner, and recorded the calls that came through on the nights when she was at Bunco or taking part in one of her other community gossip research activities. She hated being out of the loop.

  “I’ll come.” I picked up a postcard. “Mind if I bring someone with me?”

  “No men.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Trust me. There isn’t one I’d want to hang out with right now.”

  The front porch of Mrs. Barlow’s house was lit up from all angles like she was protecting her area from invading marauders. I squinted and tried to find the doorbell through the unnatural brightness. I touched a prickly piece of plastic. Once my eyes adjusted, I saw a green plastic wreath with neon yellow, off-white, and rust-colored fabric flowers attached to it. Mrs. Barlow had hung up the same wreath every fall since I could walk and talk. I hoped she’d exchange the monstrosity for the gift I brought along.

  “Was all this really necessary?” Charlotte juggled two bags of muffins from Home Brewed while she stood behind me and stamped her boots. Mrs. Barlow had decided to spruce up her garden and sidewalk before the direct sales party. Small pieces of mulch covered the sidewalk, making it a little slick and coating the bottom of our shoes with debris.

  “Mrs. Barlow loves presents and hates giving out her documents. The key to the truth rests in the records of the calls to the fire station.” I shifted the bouquet of cut flowers and the fall wreath into one arm. Gossip she’d unleash without any encouragement, but if we wanted the actual proof to back up the statements, bribery was in order. And a lot of it. Buying some nail wraps wouldn’t cut it.

  “You can’t know that.”

  “Why did Andrew—or whoever’s guilty—destroy them? If Karen hasn’t visited Mrs. Barlow yet, she will. Her task is to get her cousin out of jail, even if it means your daughter or I get arrested. Unless—” I almost let “Hannah gives her real alibi” slip out.

  “Unless?”

  A war waged inside of me: to tell or not to tell. Hannah didn’t want me to mention it to her mother—but she never said I couldn’t tell Ted. And Ted would make sure Charlotte didn’t land in jail for assaulting Daniel. Charlotte would be furious I spoke to Ted instead of her, but I hoped one day she’d forgive me.

  “Faith…”

  I rang the doorbell and took a step to the side, gesturing for Charlotte to close ranks. “If Snickerdoodle gets out, Mrs. Barlow will be furious.”

  “Then she needs to train her dog.”

  “Don’t call it a dog, it’s her baby.”

  “I’m sure her daughter loves that.” Charlotte plastered a smile on her face. “I can’t believe you talked me into attending a direct market sales pitch for the competition.”

  “Maybe it’s something you can add to your store.”

  “That’ll help increase my income…a cheaper way for women to get a manicure.”

  Barking erupted from behind the door.

  Charlotte knocked. The barking grew more frantic. The dog sounded like he was scurrying from one side of the door to the other. “You think she’s okay? It’s taking her a while.”

  “She’s old,” I said. “Her pep isn’t what it used to be.”

  Melinda called me monthly to check up on her mom and make sure Mrs. Barlow wasn’t driving the community too crazy. While she worried about her mom, Melinda wasn’t so worried she wanted to move back to Eden. She enjoyed her own life in Florida and the improved relationship she had with her mother by not living in the same town.

  “I’m surprised she wasn’t waiting by the door.” Charlotte adjusted her hold on the bags of muffins. The movement released some of the aroma trapped in the bag.

  My stomach rumbled.

  “She wouldn’t want us to know she was. She’s all about the dramatic delay.”

  “Be there in a few,” Mrs. Barlow sang. “Had an important call to answer.”

  I smiled at Charlotte. “See?”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. “How would she know it was important?”

  “Caller ID,” I said.

  Mrs. Barlow opened the door with a flourish. “Come in, come in.”

  Snickerdoodle, a black Scottish terrier, bolted past us. Charlotte pulled off a small chunk of blueberry muffin and held it by her leg. The dog skidded to a halt and trotted up to Charlotte, sniffing away. She led him into the hous
e.

  Mrs. Barlow narrowed her eyes at Charlotte. “Don’t give him that.”

  “I was stopping him from becoming one with the road.” Charlotte shoved the morsel into her coat pocket.

  “He wouldn’t have gone far. Snicker doesn’t like being far from Mama. Do you, baby?” Mrs. Barlow clapped her hands on her thighs and the dog sprinted to her. His sturdy body trembled with glee as Mrs. Barlow caressed his head and back.

  “We brought you some presents,” I said.

  Mrs. Barlow’s attention was diverted from the dog. She eyed what I carried, then what Charlotte held in her hands. “Since those snacks were made by Dianne, you can place them on the table to serve tonight. I have a vase in the kitchen I can use for the flowers. Would you mind hanging the wreath on the door, Faith?”

  “Not at all.” Opening the door, I made sure I kept my smile toned down. I didn’t want Mrs. Barlow to know how pleased I was about the changing of the wreath. Now if there was only a trashcan I could sneak the old one into, everything would be perfect.

  “Anyone pull up behind you?” Mrs. Barlow peered around me.

  “Not yet.” I closed the door and debated how to ask about the wreath. “Where is the trash?” seemed a little harsh.

  “You can leave it by the front door. I’ll hang that one out when the weather gets really bad. I don’t want to ruin my new one.”

  Now there was an idea. Why hadn’t anyone in the neighborhood thought about it sooner? The next time we had a bad windstorm, I’d snatch the wreath and then commiserate with Mrs. Barlow when she woe-is-me’d about the storm taking off with her decoration.

  “Why don’t you girls have a seat and a snack. I need to make a few quick calls. Lake should’ve been here by now, along with my other guests.”

  Besides an uncomfortable-looking wooden rocking chair, the only other place to sit was an oversized couch with large floral pillows. It looked like the type of furniture that swallowed a person whole.