by Sara Rosett
I gave him a quick kiss and headed out. “I’ll be back before her next feeding.” You don’t have to tell me twice to go shopping. And I knew just where I wanted to go.
Chapter
Twenty
“I don’t know.” I twisted around and looked over my shoulder so I could see my back reflected in the dressing room mirror.“It’s kind of revealing.”
“You look great. You should get it. Everyone needs a little black dress,” Abby said from her seat on the plush bench. She put a shimmery blue cocktail dress back on a hanger. We were in a dressing room at Tate’s, a very expensive boutique-type store.
I turned around and faced front again. It wasn’t your typical wear-to-any-occasion black dress that could be dressed up or down with the right combination of heel height and jewelry. This little black dress was little because there was little material involved and that material was cut in a cunning way so that it revealed curves. The material had a deep, almost burgundy, sheen to it when I moved. Totally impractical. “Where else would I wear this?” I studied my reflection. I really did have cleavage.
“To a nice dinner with your husband.” Abby rolled her eyes. “He told you to go shopping and get something nice.”
It was great to see Abby relaxed. She’d sat silent and slumped on the drive over. I’d asked if she’d heard anything about the investigation.
“No,” she’d snapped, then said, “God. I’m sorry. It’s just so stressful.”
I checked my reflection in the mirror. “I do have that vintage handbag. You know, the black beaded clutch with the amethyst latch. But, I’ll never be able to fill out this dress after I stop breast-feeding Livvy,” I said with a sigh.
“How’s it going?” A cheery voice called out from the other side of the door. “Do you need another size?”
I studied my reflection for a moment more. “No. I’ll take this one.”
I handed over my credit card at the mahogany desk that served as the checkout counter. “This dress is wonderful.” The saleslady’s gray pageboy fell around her face as she tilted her chin down to read the receipt over the half-glasses perched on her nose. She handed over the receipt and a pen, then straightened the bow at the neck of her plain white blouse, above a stiff tweed skirt.
I agreed with her. The door to the store opened, setting off the mechanical chime, and Gwen breezed in carrying a soft leather briefcase, a sheaf of papers, and her purse. “Hello, Alice. Gorgeous day outside.” She sailed past, then paused beside a woman considering her reflection as she held a lightweight summer sweater up under her chin. “Oh, honey, that pale apple green looks spectacular on you. Did you know we’ve got the cardigan to match? Right here. Makes those green eyes of yours look like emeralds. Here, try it on.” Gwen escorted the woman to the dressing room and then disappeared through a door at the back of the store.
“That was Gwen Givens?”
Alice put on a tight smile and said, “Yes. The manager.” She handed me my dress on a hanger and I wandered back to the dressing rooms where Abby was trying on pants.
Gwen passed me on the way to the desk, but didn’t look at me. “Alice. Here’s the new schedule. Now about the next shipment, it’s due Friday. It has some stunning suits. They’re going to fly out the store, so you’d better call Mrs. Hampton. You know how fussy she is if we don’t have her size in the store.” Her words faded as I checked on Abby in the dressing room. A perky teenager with extremely short, curly red hair and an eyebrow ring stood next to her.
“Those look fabulous,” she gushed. “Your butt looks great in those pants.” Abby turned in front of the mirror again. I hid a smile. Tate’s seemed to be the type of place that would frown on conversations about butts, but the young saleswoman, HEATHER her name tag read, kept raving about the fit of the pants.
Gwen passed the door to the dressing room and Heather fell silent. I sat down on a bench. Alice walked in and collected the clothes from my dressing room.
Heather said, so quietly I could hardly hear her, to Alice, “I see Miss-High-and-Mighty is back.”
Alice gave a curt nod, flung the last dress over her arm, and left.
Abby said, “I’m going to try the navy ones again,” and shut her door. Heather checked the other dressing rooms. Alice didn’t look like she would talk about Gwen, but maybe Heather would. I still hadn’t found out what Cass knew about Gwen, but maybe her coworkers could shed some light on Gwen’s personality.
“What’s it like to work for Gwen?” I asked.
Heather popped out of a dressing room, more than ready to talk instead of work.
“I just met her through my husband’s work, but I’ve heard some interesting things about her.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Well, she is a little odd. I can see why people would talk about her.” Heather lowered her voice to a whisper. “Odd?”
“She’s worked here just as long as Alice and she’s never once taken a day of vacation. Something like three years. Can you imagine?”
“No.”
“Yeah. Alice was excited to meet someone else from Illinois, but Gwen won’t talk about her family there. In fact,” Heather’s voice was barely audible and I had to strain to hear her, “Alice says there was some sort of scandal and Gwen won’t even speak to her parents.”
“Really?” It seemed Heather only needed one-word responses to keep her talking.
“They’re one of those old, rich families that always had their picture in the paper for society stuff, so Alice recognized her.”
“Miss High-and-Mighty?” This was more than one word, but it kept the information flowing.
“Yes.” Heather nodded her head to emphasize her point. “Gwen’s about to get a big promotion, regional manager. Alice works just as hard, but Gwen is more what Tate’s wants people to think they’ll look like if they shop here. That classy, old money look.” Heather pulled up the sleeves of her orange form-fitting top. She definitely wasn’t going for that old money look. Heather obviously thought Alice was getting a raw deal. Nothing like competition in the workplace to create animosity and shake some gossip loose. “Do you know Gwen’s husband?”
“The military dude? Sure.” Heather fiddled with the row of pierced earrings that ranged from her lobe to the top of her ear. “He stops in sometimes.”
“Have you seen her meeting with another man besides her husband?”
“No.” She sorted through the clothes she held and then stopped. “But she does get these weird phone calls. A man asking for her. If she’s not here, he hangs up.”
“Have there been a lot of calls?”
“No, just a few in the last few weeks.”
Abby emerged from the dressing room. “I’m getting the navy and the khaki.”
“See, I told you your butt looked great in those,” Heather said triumphantly and led Abby to the checkout.
I stood to follow them out. If Gwen was having an affair, she sure was sloppy. Jill, I was sure, would deny Gwen was involved with another man. Steven and Gwen had seemed genuinely happy at the squadron barbeque, but I guess anyone could put up a good front. And then there was the DVD player. It had been in her trash can.
I flicked my plastic-shrouded dress over my shoulder and stopped dead in the dressing room doorway. Gwen blocked my path. “What is it with you?” Even though her voice was the same, husky, her words were clipped. She continued without waiting for my reply. “What are you doing here?”
She kept the volume of her voice down, but she was breathing loudly and her fists were clenched at her sides. She looked like she’d been interrupted in the middle of her kickboxing workout. The dressing area was empty, making her soft words even more threatening.
“Shopping. I needed a dress,” I said evenly.
“Why do you keep asking questions? Jill told me you asked about me. And now you’re back here whispering with my employees.” Her volume increased and heads swiveled in our direction. “Well, I won’t have it. You talk to me if you want t
o know something.” Her anger seemed to dry up her gushy, I’m-your-friend sales patter. She was strictly business now.
“Fine. What did Cass know about you that she was talking about at the barbeque?”
Gwen’s anger contracted. She briefly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “She thought I was having an affair, which is not true.” She gouged the air with her finger to emphasize her last words.
“Well, who were you meeting in LaMont’s parking lot a few days ago when it was raining? I saw you.”
Gwen swallowed quickly. Her anger surged back. Her cheeks flushed. “None of your damn business. Now get out of my store.”
“Feisty as ever, aren’t you, Gwen?” The speaker, a man in a leather bomber jacket and jeans with intense green eyes in a tanned face, stood behind Gwen. Her face went pale and she stood motionless for a moment. Then she braced herself and turned toward the man. He slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her on the cheek. “Still as beautiful as always, too.”
Gwen stiffly moved out of his casual embrace. “What do you want?”
“Just to see you and Zoë. You’ve been looking for me, haven’t you?” Gwen and the man had forgotten about me. I was still in the dressing room doorway and couldn’t get past Gwen.
“Don’t think for a minute you can walk in and pick up where you left off with me and Zoë. I knew you’d do this someday. I’m not going to let it happen.”
“Gwen.” He shook his head, mildly scolding, “You’ve always been too uptight. It’s not about Zoë. It’s about you keeping control. Now, don’t say anything you might regret.” There was a hint of a threat under his easy manner. “I think you’ll come around to my way. But we’re getting started all wrong. You haven’t even asked what I’ve been doing. Don’t you want to know?”
Apparently, Gwen felt the uneasiness, the vague hint of threat, because she didn’t order him out like she had me. She shrugged a shoulder.
He smiled again, his white teeth contrasting with his tan skin. “I’ve been taking pictures. You’ve probably even seen some of them without knowing it.” That thought seemed to amuse him. “Ever pick up Newsweek? USA Today? I’m freelance. It suits me. Hopping from one hot spot to another.”
“I bet it does,” Gwen said in an undertone. He must have heard her because he said, “I’ve been taking pictures here, too. Bet you didn’t know that.” His voice was completely malicious, now. “You’ll probably be interested in these pictures. In fact, we should probably go somewhere and talk about them. Your office?”
Gwen hesitated and then marched stiffly to her office with the man casually striding along behind her.
Later, as Abby buckled her seat belt she said, “Did you see her face?”
“Not really. But I could sure see his. He was almost gloating,” I said.
“Gwen was white the whole time. She’s scared,” Abby said.
I put the Cherokee in reverse. What did she have to be afraid of? Pictures, he mentioned pictures. Something related to Cass? Proof Gwen murdered Cass? I checked the parking lot for cars and backed out of the slot. I hit the gas and an irregular clunk sounded from the front of the Cherokee. I must need a tune-up. I made a mental note to find a mechanic.
If the man had proof, wouldn’t he go to the police? Any law-abiding citizen would, right? I sped up and the noise faded.
Unless he wanted something—something Gwen didn’t want to give, like access to Zoë. It sounded like blackmail to me.
An Everything in Its Place Tip for an
Organized Move
Leave a large, self-addressed stamped envelope with your new address for the people who move into your old home so any mail that slips through the post office’s automatic forwarding can be sent to you.
Chapter
Twenty-one
Science is organized knowledge. Wisdom is
organized life.
—Immanuel Kant
I dropped Abby at her door and cruised down to the gas station to fill up before I went home. My tires bumped over the hose and set off a bell, but I got out of the Cherokee and removed the nozzle.
A skinny man with a thin face emerged from the underside of a car in one of the bays. “I’ll be glad to pump that for you. Want me to finish?” He wiped his hands on a rough red cloth, then stuck it in his back pocket.
“Oh. No, I’ve got it.” I pulled the nozzle out when the numbers reached ten dollars. He picked up a squeegee and swiped it across the windshield.
“Thanks.” I replaced the hose and screwed on the gas cap.
He shrugged. “Anything I can do to keep people coming back, I do. It’s the only way to compete with the big boys down the street.” He swept the window clean and wiped the squeegee with a paper towel.
“Thanks.” I climbed back into the Cherokee to find my cash.
“No problem.” While he finished the back window, I studied the sign near the street, Bob’s Repair Shop. He came around to the driver’s side. I rolled down the window and handed him a ten for the gas. His cursive-stitched name tag read, BOB.
“I think my friend brought her car in here. It was a minivan, actually. Burgundy color. Her brakes were out. Do you remember?”
“No.” He rubbed his hand down his face, lengthening it even more and highlighting the bags under his eyes.
“Okay. Thanks.” I reached for the key, disappointed. I don’t know what I’d hoped to find out, but I felt let down anyway.
“No, I mean, her brakes didn’t go out. The lines were punctured.”
“What? Punctured?”
“Vandalism.” He pulled out the red rag and wiped his hands. “Sneaky way to go about it, too. If they’d been out or disconnected there would’a been a pool of brake fluid under the van and they’d a gone out right away when she first tried them. But with the punctures, well, there’s not much fluid on the ground. The brakes would work for a little while, but the fluid would leak out. Pretty soon, no brakes. Did the same thing to the power steering fluid, too.” A ghost of a smile cracked his long face. “She was hopping mad when I showed her. Called the police. They showed up and took the lines away. For evidence.”
“Have you seen anything else like that?”
“Nope. Not around here. We get a few busted windshields every once in a while. Kids out making trouble or something, but nothing dangerous.”
I remembered Cass’s words: “Good thing I wasn’t going down Rim Rock Road like I usually do.”
I pulled away and heard the clunking sound again. I stopped. Bob jogged back over, leaned over the front tire on the driver’s side. “You’re missing a lug nut and this one just fell off. Had your tires rotated lately?”
“No.” I got out and examined the bare bolts. “Could those have come off accidentally? You know, work their way off?”
“I’ve never seen anything like that.”
I gripped the open door of the Cherokee. “Got any extra?”
“Sure thing.” Bob trotted off and I walked to the back tire on the driver’s side and tugged on the lug nuts. They were tight.
“I checked the rest on this side. The other tires are all fine.” Bob’s voice made me jump.
“Every one ‘a those were loose on that front tire. Strangest thing I’ve seen in a while.”
Not strange. Scary.
I drove the two blocks home very carefully. What could have happened? Maybe just damage to the car, but what if I’d been on the highway or Rim Rock Road with its sheer drop-off? I swallowed hard. Lug nuts didn’t accidentally loosen on one tire. Porch railings didn’t fall off. And Cass’s brakes and steering didn’t go out on a fluke. Someone was orchestrating these mishaps.
I’d just dropped Abby off at her house, so it couldn’t be Jeff. He wouldn’t risk hurting her. Would he? No. He wouldn’t. Of course not. This was awful. I turned my thoughts away from that troubling mental debate and tried to think who else would have done it. I’d just made Gwen furious, not to mention the details I’d uncovered about Brent’s phone call
and Nick’s shots.
But how would Nick or Brent know what I’d found out? I’d told Thistlewait about the phone message a few hours ago. Was there time for him to question Brent and for Brent to track me down? No, not enough time and I doubted Thistlewait would give away the name of the person who gave him the phone. He never gave any information away to me. Gwen was right there in the store, but how could she have run out to the parking lot and loosened the lug nuts while she was closeted with the strange man who arrived at Tate’s?
I pulled into the driveway and breathed a sigh of relief. I’d made it. Somehow, something I’d done or said threatened someone. They were either trying to get me to be quiet or silence me permanently.
I glanced around the garage. So many dangerous things: weed killer, cleaning products, insecticides. I suppressed a shiver as I looked at Mitch’s circular saw.
I had two choices. Either run from this and maybe this person would leave me alone or press on and figure out who was behind the incidents, one of which led to death.
It wasn’t really a choice. I had to go on. Backing down didn’t guarantee anything.
“Where do you want these? In this cabinet?” Abby held a cookie sheet in one hand and had Livvy propped up on her shoulder with the other hand. Livvy let out a tentative cry. Abby bounced and bobbed.
I paused, a stack of mixing bowls weighing in my arms, and considered the cabinets. “No, put it over here closer to the oven.” I dragged the box across the floor for her.
“I think we had more boxes for our kitchen than any other room in the house.” I sliced the tape on a new box, pulled out the top bundle, and unwrapped a stack of china salad plates. I stacked them carefully in a high cabinet, where they would be far away from Livvy when she started exploring in a few months.
“I know. But you’ve only got a few more to go,” Abby said in a peppy voice. It did look like we might get finished before it was time for me to get ready for my big Saturday night date with Mitch.
