Purses and Poison

by Dorothy Howell

  Of all the times I’d been to the house, I’d never been in the kitchen. It looked neat and tidy, just like the rest of the place and Evelyn herself. The cabinets, appliances, floor, and walls were crisp white; she’d spiced things up with touches of pink and mint green.

  “How are your classes?” Evelyn asked as she took cups and saucers from the cupboard.

  I hated them. They were boring and dull, and I didn’t know how I was going to endure years of this abuse. But Evelyn didn’t want to hear that.

  “Great,” I said, then realized this would be a good opportunity to hit her up for money—my own money—for that evening bag.

  “You know, I have some pretty big school expenses coming up,” I said, which was a total lie, of course, but we were talking about a Judith Leiber evening bag. Desperate measures were justified.

  Evelyn paused at the fridge, a carton of creamer in her hand.

  “You’re not just saying that to get money for the evening bag you wanted, are you?”

  Damn. When did Evelyn get so sharp?

  “It’s a fantastic bag, and I desperately need it.”

  “I’m just doing what you asked,” Evelyn reminded me, placing the sugar bowl on a flowered tray.

  Yes, I know I made her swear not to give me an extra dime unless it was a real emergency, but how was I to know she’d actually do it?

  “You have a nice monthly income,” Evelyn pointed out. “Can’t you cut corners somewhere?”

  “I’m cutting corners,” I told her, my thoughts scrambling around to come up with a believable example. “I won a sewing machine and I’m thinking of making my own clothes.”

  “Oh, I love to sew!” Evelyn said, looking all dreamy-eyed. “If you need help, just let me know.”

  This wasn’t the direction I wanted this conversation to go, but Evelyn picked up the tray and headed out of the kitchen before I could say anything else.

  I followed her into the living room. Christine was still mesmerized by her baby; I doubted she knew either of us had been out of the room. Evelyn poured coffee and served the cinnamon buns. I took two, just to be polite.

  “Christine is very worried about Cecil,” Evelyn whispered.

  “Did something else happen?” I whispered back.

  “It’s just everything,” Christine said as she sipped coffee with one hand and straightened the baby’s blanket with the other. “Look, I admit I don’t like Barb.”

  “Barb seems a bit…rough,” Evelyn explained in a low voice. “She wears jeans and those leather jackets with some sort of skull on the back. Hardly Cecil’s type.”

  “And I could never find out much about her,” Christine said softly. She glanced down at the baby—to make sure she was still there, I guess—then went on. “When I asked Barb about her family or where she worked, she was very evasive.”

  “I only spoke with her once,” Evelyn murmured. “We didn’t hit it off.”

  “After Mom died, Barb showed up out of nowhere. Dad was lonely and I think she took advantage. Within no time at all, she’d moved in with Dad,” Christine said, rocking little Annie for no apparent reason. “Then, suddenly, Barb up and moved out. Dad was devastated. When she finally agreed to come back, he started doing everything he could to keep her from leaving again. He bought her a car, let her redecorate the house. Anything she wanted, he went along with it. Dad bought that motor home last fall because Barb asked for it.”

  It crossed my mind that Christine was more worried about Barb running through all of Cecil’s money—her inheritance—than her dad’s love life. But I didn’t say so. I took a third cinnamon bun—just so I’d look interested, of course.

  “Cecil is a completely different man,” Evelyn said quietly. “He used to stop by here occasionally, help out with little things, just to be neighborly. After Barb moved in, he wouldn’t even wave from his yard.”

  “Barb’s the jealous type?” I asked.

  Evelyn’s cheeks flushed and her back stiffened. “Cecil was always a perfect gentleman. We were friends. Neighbors. That’s all.”

  In her own way, Evelyn was an attractive woman. I could see that Barb might be jealous.

  “I hardly ever see Dad anymore,” Christine said, holding little Annie tighter and rocking at a frantic pace. “Barb won’t let him come over unless she’s with him. He’s hardly seen Annie at all.”

  “And now no one has seen or heard from him for weeks,” Evelyn said.

  “Dad called two weeks before Christmas, saying they were taking the motor home to Arizona to visit Barb’s family for the holidays,” Christine said. “I couldn’t believe it. It was Annie’s first Christmas and Dad wasn’t going to be here?”

  “I spotted the motor home parked on the side street by Cecil’s house, just after New Year’s,” Evelyn said. “It was there for a day, then gone again. I saw Barb going into the house, but I never saw Cecil once.”

  “Dad never called to let me know he was back in town,” Christine said.

  “If he was only going to be here for a day, maybe he didn’t have time?” I suggested.

  “Then why come back for only a day?” Christine asked, jiggling the baby up and down. She shook her head. “See? The whole thing just doesn’t make sense.”

  Okay, she had me there. It didn’t make sense. But it didn’t add up to murder, either. More like Cecil was having a good time with Barb and enjoying life on the road, free from neighborly good deeds and a daughter who didn’t like his girlfriend.

  “Dad’s never been away for this long before. I think I should go to the police,” Christine said, then bit her lip. “But if nothing’s wrong, Dad would be upset with me. And Barb would throw such a fit I’d never get to see Dad again—and he’d never get to see little Annie.”

  “That’s why we need you, Haley,” Evelyn declared in a low voice. “Is there anything more you can find out?”

  Yeah, there was more I could find out, but I’d need help. And I knew just where to find it.

  Provided I was willing to pay his price, of course.

  Chapter 13

  “Do you have this in a size seven?” the customer asked.

  I looked across the counter of the customer service booth at the woman holding the ugliest shoe—even by Holt’s standards—I’d ever seen, and tried to pull off the newly required we-can-do-that smile. The store had moved past its of-course-you-can slogan—with accompanying smile—and instituted yet another idiotic mantra that we minimum-wage grunts were supposed to carry off.

  It wasn’t working. At least, not for me. That’s because I knew the whole lame-ass promotional plan had been the brainchild of Sarah Covington.

  Jeez, and she needed a college degree for that?

  “I’ll have to check,” I told the customer, and took the shoe—ugh, gross—from her.

  I turned to Grace, who was working at the inventory computer at the back of the customer service booth. Since Christmas I’d been assigned to almost every department in the store, including customer service. I didn’t like working here, but I liked Grace. She was nineteen, with spiked hair that she’d just colored dark red. Grace was in college working toward a real future, so she didn’t take things here at Holt’s too seriously, which was why we hit it off so well.

  “I need to check on shoes,” I said to Grace.

  She glanced at me, rolled her eyes, and said, “Go for it.”

  Don’t ask me why, but customers think that just because we’re in the customer service booth we should provide actual service to anyone at any time. I mean, really, it’s crazy.

  How would I possibly know if a certain shoe was available in a specific size when I was in the customer service booth and the shoe department was all the way across the store? You’d think they would just ask the clerks in the shoe department. Hardly a day goes by that this didn’t happen.

  But it was a good excuse to get out onto the sales floor and maybe visit with some friends, so I headed toward the shoe department, the customer trailing along behin
d. Sophia, the department lead, was straightening the boxes when I walked up.

  “Checking for a size,” I called as I walked through the door to the stockroom.

  The shoe department had its own stockroom. It wasn’t nearly as cool as the huge one at the back of the store, but it was still a good place to hide from customers. There were huge racks of shoes in there and a desk the department manager used to do paperwork on.

  I pulled out the chair and sat down as the door opened and Sophia walked in. She was Hispanic, short, and solidly built. She’d been supporting her five kids on her Holt’s salary for years.

  “Damn, that’s ugly,” Sophia said, taking the customer’s shoe from my hand. She tossed it on the desk. “Stupid customers.”

  No argument from me. I reared back in the chair and put my feet up on the desk.

  Even though Sophia had worked here for a long time, she wasn’t much for store gossip. She had a lot on her at home. Putting in her time here, then leaving, suited her fine.

  But I was pretty sure not much got past her, even if she didn’t usually talk smack about people. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask her about the day Claudia was killed.

  “What did you think about the luncheon?” I asked, not wanting to rush her into anything.

  “Lucky you,” Sophia said. “You won that sewing machine in the raffle.”

  What’s with everybody and sewing, lately?

  “Want it?” I asked.

  “I’ve got two already,” Sophia said, as if everybody did. “My girls all know how to sew their own clothes.”

  “What did you think of the fashion show?” I asked, trying to steer her back to the luncheon.

  She uttered a disgusted grunt. “Those models. What a bunch of little bitches.”

  “I heard one of the moms got into a fight with the pageant coach,” I said.

  Okay, I knew this was a leading question, but I had to find out which mom Debbie had overheard arguing with Claudia.

  “I didn’t see nothing like that,” Sophia said, shaking her head. “Did you find those cats in the stockroom yet?”

  After so many of the employees donated cat food, what could I do but put it out for the cats—even if they didn’t really exist. What choice did I have?

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “Maybe you need to put out more food for them?” Sophia suggested. She opened a desk drawer and pulled out a bag of Hershey’s Kisses. “I checked their bowls. They’re not eating.”

  Great. Now I’d have to sneak back there and empty some of the food.

  Sophia held out the bag and I took a few—just to be polite, of course.

  “My neighbor has some kittens she’s trying to get rid of,” she said. “I told her you’d take them.”

  My feet dropped from the edge of the desk. “What?”

  Sophia popped a kiss into her mouth. “You’re the cat lady now, right?”

  “I’m not the cat lady,” I insisted.

  “I’ll bring them so you can take a look,” she said, then disappeared out the door.

  Jeez, where do these crazy ideas come from?

  I sat back and enjoyed the candy, thinking about what Sophia had said. Neither she nor Bella had seen a mom arguing with Claudia, so I wasn’t getting anywhere with the suspect Rebecca had told me about. I’d have to figure another way to find out who it was—other than talk to Rebecca again. I didn’t want to do that until I had something concrete to tell her.

  I ate two more kisses and left the stockroom. Halfway across the shoe department a woman called to me.

  “Did you have them?” she asked.

  Oh yeah. The woman who wanted those god-awful shoes in a size 7.

  “We’re out,” I told her.

  I took the long way around to stretch my legs a little—and to delay my return to customer service booth hell—and Troy popped out from behind a mannequin in the men’s department.

  “Hey, Haley,” he said. He stared at me like he was in a trance, or something.

  He’d been annoying me for a while now, so I said, “What’s with you, Troy? You’re acting like a complete idiot.”

  He yucked a goofy laugh and kept staring. I kept walking.

  I headed for the break room—I saw no reason not to continue to abuse the time I was out of the customer service booth—to get something to eat. Those Hershey’s Kisses had only made me hungry. My shift would end in an hour or so and I needed a little boost to get me through.

  Seated at the table near the fridge was that girl who was always eating fruit and those frozen diet meals. I could never remember her name, which was just as well since I hated her because she’d lost so much weight. Forty pounds now, somebody told me. Really, how could I not hate her?

  “Hi, Haley,” Sandy called. She sat at a table nibbling chips and flipping through People magazine, and pointed. “Lots more stuff.”

  Piled up next to the employee lockers was another dozen bags of cat food, along with six cases of canned food. Jeez, what was I going to do with all this cat food? The trunk of my car was still full from yesterday’s haul.

  I plopped down in the chair beside Sandy, too overwhelmed to hit the vending machine.

  “My mom works with a pet rescue,” Sandy said. “She told them what you’re doing for the cats. They think it’s really cool.”

  “So,” I said, changing the subject, “what’s up with you?”

  Sandy shrugged. “You know.”

  I translated this immediately: boyfriend problems.

  “What did he do?” I asked.

  She sighed. “I had to stop by his place this morning. It was kind of early. When I got there I saw his ex-girlfriend leaving.”

  “What?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I guess she spent the night there.”

  “You dumped him. Right?” I asked.

  She shrugged again. “He said he really likes me. No one understands him like I do.”

  “Please tell me you dumped him.”

  “He says I’m his muse,” Sandy said.

  I couldn’t talk to her about this anymore. I changed the subject.

  “Did you see anybody arguing with that pageant coach who died at the luncheon?” I asked. No sense trying to be subtle with Sandy.

  “Yeah, that caterer lady,” Sandy said.

  I sat up straighter in the chair. “Marilyn?”

  Sandy shrugged. “I don’t know her name. She had on a really weird outfit and a thing in her hair. You know, one of those visors old women wear at the beach.”

  “Debbie,” I realized.

  Okay, that was weird. Debbie hadn’t mentioned that she’d actually spoken with Claudia the day of the luncheon. And she sure hadn’t told me that the two of them had argued over something. In fact, Debbie had claimed that she’d overheard Claudia in a row with someone else.

  “You’re sure?” I asked. “You’re positive it was the caterer you saw arguing with Claudia? Not one of the pageant moms?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” Sandy shook her head. “I don’t think Claudia was having much fun that day. I mean, even one of the models was giving her a hard time about something.”

  “It comes with the job,” I said.

  Sandy was quiet for a moment and I figured we were both thinking about Claudia’s last day of life.

  Then Sandy said, “Maybe I should plan a romantic weekend for my boyfriend and me. So he’ll know how much I love him. What do you think?”

  “I think you should dump him,” I told her, and left the break room.

  Two more hours of my life that I’d never get back crawled past and, finally, I punched out and left the store pushing a U-boat loaded down with bags and cases of cat food. Troy and that heavyset guy from the men’s department had offered to help, but I’d turned them down; they kept looking at me weird.

  I didn’t know what I was going to do with all this cat food. I’d left a bag in the stockroom so the employees would see that I was “feeding” the nonexistent cats. I knew everybody meant
well, but this whole thing was working on my nerves.

  I popped my trunk and crammed the cases and bags in alongside the cases and bags I’d put in there last night. Around me, the other employees got into their cars and drove away. The security lights in the parking lot dimmed. I pushed the U-boat back to the store entrance and left it there—if someone stole it, oh well—and headed back to my car.

  Not in the best of moods, I considered calling Marcie. It would be great to hang out for a while, but I had a ten-page paper to write for English that was due by midnight that I hadn’t even started yet; plus, I had to study for a test in Health, two whole chapters on addiction, which made me wish I were addicted to something.

  I hate college.

  And I hated that I wasn’t getting anywhere with Claudia’s death, or clearing Mom—or myself—of murder charges, and that Sandy’s boyfriend treated her like crap, and that my own sort-of boyfriend was just that: sort-of.

  Bright headlights cut through the darkness as a car whipped into the deserted parking lot. I froze. It sped diagonally across the spaces, directly toward—me.

  I ran for my car. My keys? Where were my keys?

  I yanked open my purse—a fabulous Gucci satchel—and shoved my hand inside, feeling for the keys. The car’s engine roared louder.

  Was that Detective Madison coming to arrest me?

  I found my keys—thank God—and pulled them out. I kept running. Bright headlights flashed on my face as I clicked the lock on my key.

  Could it be Claudia’s murderer? Had I stumbled onto him—or her—and not realized it?

  The car turned in a tight circle around my Honda and screeched to a stop next to me.

  Was it Kirk Keegan? Had he come after me, as he’d threatened?

  My heart raced. I jerked open the car door and jumped inside.

  “Haley, wait up!”

  Ty. Oh my God, it was Ty.

  I lurched out of my car as Ty got out of his. My heart pounded in my chest—but not from relief at seeing him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I screamed. “You scared the crap out of me!”

  “I did?” he asked, and looked genuinely surprised. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to catch you before you left.”